Tempting the Tailor, page 1
part #44 of Cowboys and Angels Series
Tempting the Tailor
Cowboys & Angels #44
Christine Sterling
Table of Contents
License Note
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Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
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License Note
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-- Christine Sterling
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Dedication
For Daniel. I love you.
Acknowledgements
My heavenly Father, all eyes are on you, Lord! I can’t wait until I stand before you and tell you of all the wonderful stories I wrote in your name.
My three beautiful daughters, Rebecca, Nora and Elizabeth, thank you for listing to my story line and helping tweak when necessary. It was so much fun having you in the same room as I write! I love you girls to the moon and back.
George W. I really couldn’t have done this without you. Really.
#EditorsRock – So much appreciation to Amy for jumping through hoops as I finished this at the very last minute! Thank you for making sure every comma was in place and that I got all the names correct!
Chapter 1
Spring 1893, Creede Colorado
Frances Brown bolted upright in bed with a start. Straining her eyes to see, she pulled back the curtain on the window and allowed the moonlight to illuminate the room. She could see that there was no one in the room with her, but that did nothing to calm her racing heart. She released the curtain and strained her ears to hear any sound in the darkness. The house was silent.
Suddenly a clock chime could be heard. One… Two… Three… Four… Five.
Five o’clock in the morning.
She pressed the back of her fist to her lips to stifle a sob. The nightmare was so real this time.
When would it end?
Five o’clock was normally the time that her husband Frederick would be waking up to get ready for the day. She would wake at the same time to prepare him breakfast before he would head to his job working for the rail lines. The carts would bring silver out of the mines and ship it off to the refinery. At least that is what she understood from what he told her.
What she didn’t understand was why Frederick was one of the poor souls that was taken when the great fire consumed part of the town. They never recovered a body so she buried a small box filled with his most precious possessions instead.
She lovingly placed their wedding picture, his pipe and a small pouch of tobacco, one of the watches his father gave him, a leaf from the tree in the back yard and a note she wrote to them when they were first married.
Even though it was three years ago that he passed, she still woke up every morning at the same time.
The nightmares of being alone were more infrequent, but occasionally she did have one where she lost her Frederick all over again. Tonight, she was inside the fire searching for him. She wandered through the smoky interior of a wooden building calling his name. He never responded.
Frances rubbed her forehead, trying to release the memories from the dream. She leaned back into her pillow and reached to pull the curtain aside once more. Frederick knew that looking at the nighttime sky calmed her when she couldn’t sleep. Now she looked out at the heavens and tried to draw comfort that her husband was somewhere out there.
Looking out the window at the moon, she could see it was full and bright, the light reflecting off the rooftops in the distance. Frances lived at the end of the lane; her house set apart from the others. Her husband didn’t want to be locked in with houses right next to them. He purposely purchased four lots and built the house in the center, straddling a corner of each lot. That way he knew that there would be enough space between him and his neighbors.
Frances stayed at home. She never worked a day in her life, apart from cooking the family meals. They had no children, so the meals were small and usually consisted of beans, a bit of meat and cornbread. Frederick, although wealthy, preferred to keep his finances private, not even Frances knew the extent of their wealth. They lived in a large house but ate like paupers. She rarely had new clothes. Instead, Frances patched and repaired the clothing they did have so it would last longer.
When Frances inquired why they couldn’t get new clothes, her husband simply said there was still enough wear in the ones they owned. He did treat her to a new dress when they went to the theater… once. She would have loved to go again, but Frederick simply thought it was a waste of money.
She loved her husband dearly despite his frugal ways. She knew it was just the way he grew up – having a father that squandered every penny the family had and forced them to go hungry many evenings.
Frances knew Frederick hid away his paycheck, keeping a large part of it in the house. He didn’t trust the banks. Unfortunately, Frances didn’t know where he stashed it, so she was reluctant to sell the house, until she could figure out where he hid the money.
Frances insisted that they put some money in the Creede Savings and Trust, as it looked bad for a well-respected, wealthy man not to have some money in the bank. He relented and they put a bit away each month into the bank.
What they had saved away, tided her over for the first two years after Frederick’s death, then she knew she was going to have to look for work. That was difficult to do considering the only skills she had were cooking, sewing and some light cleaning. Two people didn’t make much of a mess in the house.
Now that Frederick was gone, she didn’t like being alone in the house. The rooms were too empty, and her footsteps sounded hollow against the wooden floors. Not even Mr. Tom-Tom, her mackerel tabby liked being alone in the house. Her cat spent most of his days outdoors now, hunting mice and visiting the lady cats in the neighborhood.
The only other cat she really knew about was Mr. Gladstone, who belonged to Maximillian Blue down the road. She had never met Max before her husband died. Frederick didn’t allow her to socialize outside of church. She just knew about the cat from the stories that Maybelle would tell her.
That cat was an indoor cat or should have been. It seemed Max was chasing him all over the alleyways. Mr. Gladstone, named after the prime minister of England, had a habit of escaping out a window or slipping through an opened door. He was remarkably agile, darting out before anyone could grab him.
Max, Mr. Gladstone’s human, was a delightful man, if a bit odd, Frances first met the man while commiserating with her best friend over a pot of Earl Gray tea.
Maybelle, the local baker in town, came up with a brilliant idea to help Frances integrate into the community (even though she had been in Creede for over ten years), and maybe earn a bit of money in the process.
“Maybe you could cook meals for some of the unmarried men in town?” Maybelle offered. Not everyone stayed at the boarding house or hotel, and the community dormitories weren’t known for the meals they offered. The cost of going to a restaurant added up very quickly and there were several bachelors that Maybelle knew who would gladly pay Frances for a home-cooked meal.
Maybelle was a widow also. She had a talent for baking and used the money her husband left her to purchase the small bake shop in town. She was also a shrewd businesswoman. Most of the businesses in Creede had closed after the fire and folks left town. Maybelle and a few other business owners, however, were determined to bring life back to the town.
There was a bookstore, next door to a tea-room, which sold an amazing assortment of imported British and exotic oriental teas. Then there was a small clinic, the dry goods store, a mercantile, several other businesses, a new hospital, several restaurants, and the theater that were contributing to the business growth. And now Frances, was looking to make her own mark on the town.
Maybelle excitedly welcomed Frances to tea, having just that morning purchased a newly imported tea for them to try. Frances peered out Maybelle’s kitchen window when the bell on the back gate began to ring.
“That is Max,” Maybelle said, rising to stand by the door to the yard.
“Who?” Frances responded.
“Max Blue. Owns the haberdashery. His cat must have escaped.” Maybelle took a sip of tea and then added a bit of sugar, stirring the milky brew. “He is the only one I know that comes through the back gate. Everyone else uses the front door.” She gave a little wave and Frances turned to see a young man, of nearly thirty, waving ba
“Ma’am,” Max said. He looked at Frances and gave a nod in greeting. “Mrs. Brown.”
“Oh, I know you. You live down the path,” Frances said. “I just didn’t know your name.”
“Do come in and take tea with us,” Maybelle offered. She tilted a tray of pastries towards Max. “I just made some fresh jam tarts,” she said.
Max looked over at the corner of the yard. “I need to…” he began.
“You need to come and visit two old ladies who would love your company. Mr. Gladstone will be under that shed for a bit. You can see him from here.” Maybelle pulled the chair out next to her and patted the cushion.
“I can’t turn down an offer of a jam tart,” Max grinned. He opened the door three times, gently closing it after each count. Then he stepped on the carpet and back on the garden floor three times before entering the house and taking a seat in the small kitchen.
If Maybelle thought it was odd, she didn’t say a word. France was going to say something, as she had never seen anyone act so peculiar. Maybelle poured a cup of tea and handed the cup to Max, who turned his mug three times in a clockwise pattern before he took a sip.
When Frances had asked Maybelle about it later, her friend shrugged and asked, “Who isn’t a bit odd?”
Max tried not to just eat and run, but he really did want to retrieve Mr. Gladstone from under Maybelle’s shed. He finished his cup set it back on the table, turning it so the handle was parallel to him.
“Don’t leave yet,” Maybell said. “Stay for another minute and entertain two old ladies.”
Max laughed. “You are anything but old. I hope I’m as lively as you are when I’m older.”
As they finished their pot of tea, Maybelle found a way to interject about Frances needing a job into the conversation. “You need someone to cook for you, Max,” Maybelle would say, brushing aside her long blonde curls. “You are eating way too many jam tarts and I don’t know what you eat for supper.”
“I don’t eat much. There is no need to cook a hot meal for one person. Normally I simply make myself a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee.”
“Would you like someone to cook for you?” Maybelle prompted.
“I’ve never thought about it before.” Max took a jam tart and bit into it. “Delicious,” he said. “You make the best tarts in the world, Miss Maybelle.”
Maybelle beamed under the praise. “Thank you, I know you must like them. You come every morning for two.” She leaned forward on her arm. “Now, how about someone to cook for you?” Frances gave a giggle. She would swear that Maybelle would start batting her eyes if Max didn’t give her the answer she wanted.
“I do miss having a hot meal at night,” Max concurred. “I don’t know how that would work though. Do you know someone, Miss Maybelle?” he asked between sips of tea.
Maybelle nodded, pointing to Frances across the table. “Mrs. Brown is going to start cooking for several men in town. You know those that don’t want to have to go out to dinner every night?”
“I am?” Frances said, bewildered. Her friend had just mentioned the idea to her, but Frances didn’t have a clue how she would even begin to do such a business. She had a few dollars, but not enough to buy groceries to make a proper meal for several folks. She knew that if she was going to be cooking and being paid for it, it would require more than just stew with biscuits or beans and bread.
“Yes, you are,” Maybelle said, before turning back to Max. “You should snatch up the opportunity while you can.”
“I should?” Max asked.
“Of course. It would be ideal. Frances lives right up the road, so you’d be extremely close, and I know for a fact that she is a wonderful cook.” Maybelle sighed and rubbed her belly. “Beef simmered in a burgundy wine sauce. Poached chicken. Oh! Fried Chicken and the fluffiest biscuits ever.”
Max wiped his mouth. Even the sound of those meals made Frances hungry.
“When can you start?” Max asked.
“How about…” Frances began.
“Tomorrow,” Maybelle interjected.
Max nodded and took a few bills from his pocket and handed them to Frances. “We can figure out how much it will cost, but here is some money to buy food for the week. I can give you grocery money and then you just buy what you need with that.”
“Thank you,” Frances stammered. Not even her husband passed her money. She purchased everything on credit and then Frederick would go and settle the tab once a month. She took the bills from Max and pocketed them.
As a result, a beautiful friendship was born. Frances cooked meals for Max three times a week. She normally made him enough to last two evening meals and then she would come back the third day and repeat the process. On Sundays, she normally supped with him after church. She splurged on a whole chicken that she could roast, for their Sunday meals, complete with boiled potatoes, gravy and whatever vegetable was in season.
She loved spending time with him, and he soon became the son she never had. There was never a thought of anything romantic between them. And while at first Frances carried herself in a stiff and uncomfortable manner having never had a man in her home other than her husband, she soon relaxed and they fell into an almost familial comradery After all, Max was twenty years younger than she was. He was simply a good friend and the time she spent with him made her time alone in her big house at the end of the lane less lonely.
Opening her eyes with a rested smile, Frances listened, as was her habit, to the bonging of the clock: one… two…. Sighing contentedly, she stretched and gave herself permission to close her eyes for just a few more minutes before starting her day. Three… Four… Five… Six…Seven… Eight.
How did she manage to lose three hours? She must have fallen back asleep. At least it was a dreamless sleep.
Frances didn’t feel any more rested than before but decided to get up and start her day. She was already behind by sleeping those few extra hours. She quickly washed her face and grabbed her wrapper, gliding her arms through the sleeves as she walked down the stairs towards the kitchen. Mr. Tom-Tom was waiting by the back door crying to be let out.
Frances cooed to the cat and patted him on the head before opening the door and scooting him into the garden. She prepared a pot of tea and a piece of toast and placed them on a try to carry back upstairs. She would sip and nibble as she made herself ready for the day.
Since it was Saturday, she knew she would have to purchase a fresh chicken from the butcher since the store was closed on Sundays. She would also need to stop by the mercantile and pick up some groceries for herself.
Frances pulled out a watch on a chain and placed it over her head. It was Frederick’s pocket watch that she now wore on a chain around her neck. The butcher would be open in about half-an-hour. She needed to make haste.
She pulled out a simple red dress with a bit of black lace on the trim and a matching jacket from the closet. The weather was still cool, but the dress had a jacket she could remove if she started to feel too warm. She used her fingers to curl her gray hair and then pinned them in place against her head. She grabbed a matching bonnet, picked up her basket and headed out to the shops in town.
She had picked up the chicken from the butcher and was in the mercantile adding a few things to her basket when she saw Max waving to her. She gave him a grin and a little wave. “Max!” she called. “I never see you in town on Saturday. What brings you out here?”
Max grabbed her by the arm and led her to the counter. “Can you make your purchases? I need to talk to you, and I’d prefer it wasn’t here.”
Frances looked at him. Her brow furrowed and she wondered what Max might need to talk to her about that he couldn’t speak it in the store. She nodded and quickly finished up her purchases before following Max several shops down the road to the Haberdashery.
He held open the door and Frances entered, moving between the displays of shirts, ties and other offerings towards the table that was off to the side of the door.
“What’s going on Max,” Frances asked.
Max looked around as though he was expecting someone else in the store. Frances looked too, not seeing anyone but herself and Max.
