another place of prostitution? Chester Gates also had a beef related to the dance hall. The owner, Scottie Fife, had outbid him for some prime land. Whoever owned the property would make a fortune if the railroad expanded its headquarters.
Matt had taken “Go! Go! Go!” to be a command, but perhaps it had been a calling card. Everyone in Cheyenne knew G.O. stood for “Golden Order.” If these men had gone bad—a strong possibility, Matt had seen corruption in Texas—they had to be stopped before innocent people suffered.
Matt knew the cost of such violence and not as a victim. As long as he lived, he’d be ashamed of what he’d done in Virginia. Until that night, he’d been a man who prayed. Not anymore. He looked at Dan. “We need to keep an eye on the Golden Order.”
“I agree.” The deputy gave a sad shake of his head. “Jed Jones was a liar and a thief, but he didn’t deserve a necktie party.”
A lynching… Matt’s blood turned to ice. With every nerve in his body, he wished someone had stopped him and his men the night they’d tossed a rope over the branch of a tree. He couldn’t change what had happened to Amos McGuckin, but he could stop it from happening again. “We’ll stop these men. The only question is how.”
“Any ideas?”
“Not yet, but I’ll figure it out.”
Dan went to fetch his hat. “We won’t catch anyone sitting in the office. I’m going to take a walk.”
“Watch your step,” Matt replied.
As Dan passed Matt’s desk, he noticed the letters and put his hand over his heart. “Romeo…Romeo…”
“Shut up,” Matt joked.
Dan put on his hat. “You ought to take one of those ladies to see Romeo and Juliet at the Manhattan.”
The new theater offered fine plays and bad acting. The performance of Romeo and Juliet was said to be particularly awful. “Forget it,” Matt answered.
Chuckling, Dan walked out of the office, leaving Matt alone with the notes. He knew what the one from Carrie would say. Yesterday she’d invited him to bring Sarah to have supper with some cousins of hers, a minister and his daughter arriving from Denver. He figured the daughter was a little girl who liked to play with dolls. The note would be a reminder to come at six o’clock. The thought of an evening with a minister set Matt’s teeth on edge, but he could tolerate anything for a couple of hours. Except church, he reminded himself. He hadn’t set foot in a house of God for ten years, and he didn’t plan to change his habits.
He ignored Carrie’s letter and lifted the one from Pearl. He liked how she’d called him Deputy Matt, echoing the way he’d signed the card with the ribbons. Pleased, he peeled off the wax and read.
Dear Deputy Matt and Sarah,
Thank you for the beautiful ribbons. I’ve never seen lovelier shades of blue and will enjoy them very much. You’ve made a newcomer to Cheyenne feel welcome indeed.
Regards, Miss Pearl
Below the curly writing, she’d added a P.S. in block printing. It read, “Sarah, if you’d like me to braid your hair again, I’d be happy to do it.”
His daughter couldn’t read the words, but she’d know the letters.
Matt read the letter again, grinning like a fool because he’d charmed Miss Pearl out of her shell. Why he cared, he didn’t know. Not only did she have blond hair, he’d been straight with Dan when he said marriage wasn’t for him.
He opened the note from Carrie and saw exactly what he expected. Her cousins had arrived and were coming for supper. Good, he thought. Sarah needed a friend.
Matt glanced at the clock. He had a couple of hours before he had to be at Carrie’s house, so he opened the office ledger and recorded his conversation with Jasper. If vigilantes were at work in Cheyenne, they had to be stopped. And if Jasper and Gates were behind it, they had to be brought to justice. Matt wished someone had stopped him that night. He wished for a lot of things he couldn’t have…a mother for Sarah, a good night’s sleep. Maybe someday he’d be able to forget. Until then, he had a job to do.
Chapter Three
As the hired carriage neared her cousin’s house, Pearl considered the neighborhood. Cheyenne still had the ragged feel of a frontier town, but railroad executives and entrepreneurs had brought their families with the hope of bringing a touch of civility. Carrie’s father had been among the Union Pacific leaders. An engineer by trade, Carlton Hart had built a fine house for his wife and daughter. Tragically, he’d died two years ago in a blasting accident. A few months later, his wife had succumbed to influenza.
Rather than go back east, Carrie had taken a position at Miss Marlowe’s School for Girls. Pearl hoped to carve out a similar place for herself, but she had no illusions about her chances. Toby, swaddled in blue and snug in her arms, called her character into question. Some people would gossip about her out-of-wedlock child. Others would shun her. She knew from her experience in Denver that only a few would be kind. Without Carrie’s support, Pearl didn’t have a chance of being hired as a teacher.
As the carriage rolled to a halt, her father touched her arm. “You can still change your mind about explaining to Carrie. I’ll talk to her first.”
“No, Papa.”
She hadn’t come to Cheyenne to be a coward. If she couldn’t face her cousin, how could she manage an interview with the trustees of Mrs. Marlowe’s School? Meeting Carrie would be good practice. That’s why she’d worn her second-best dress, a blue-gray silk with a lace jabot. For added courage, she’d tied three of Deputy Matt’s ribbons into a fancy bow and pinned them to her hat. Not only did they complement her dress, they also matched Toby’s baby blanket.
Tobias climbed out of the carriage, paid the driver and offered his hand. “Are you ready, princess?”
She wished he’d stop using the nickname. It made her feel small when she needed to be adult. She’d have spoken up, but her father looked as nervous as she felt. Being careful not to jostle Toby, she took her father’s hand and climbed out of the carriage. The door to the house opened and she saw a young woman with a heart-shaped face and brown hair arranged in a neat chignon.
“Pearl! Uncle Tobias!” Beaming with pleasure, Carrie hurried down the path. “I’m so glad you’re—” She stopped in midstep, staring at the bundle in Pearl’s arms. “You have a baby.”
“I do.”
Her brows knit in confusion. “I didn’t know you were married.”
“I’m not.” Pearl took a breath. “I wanted to tell you in person. A letter just didn’t…I couldn’t…” She bit her lip to keep from rambling.
As Carrie stared in shock, Pearl fought to stay calm. First reactions, even bad ones, meant nothing. She had them all the time, especially to men who reminded her of Franklin Dean. A person’s second response was what mattered.
Carrie’s gaze dipped to the baby, lingered, then went back to Pearl. She didn’t speak, but her eyes held questions.
Pearl didn’t want to explain herself in the street. She wanted the privacy of four walls, the dignity she’d been denied by the man who’d taken her virtue. Thinking of the ribbons on her hat, a declaration of her courage, she squared her shoulders. “I’ll explain everything, but could we go inside?”
Carrie touched her arm. “It’ll be all right, cousin.”
Pearl’s throat tightened.
“Whatever happened, we’re family.”
“You don’t even know—”
“I know you,” Carrie insisted. “We’ve been writing for months now. Besides, our mothers were sisters.”
Tears pushed into Pearl’s eyes.