NEW RELEASE: Opening Scene

The Drifter’s Proposal

Opening Scene

Subject to Change

Copyright © 2015 Kristin Holt, LC

Mountain Home, Colorado

December, 1900

Adaline Whipple accepted Mr. Malloy’s payment for a thick slice of raisin bread, spread thick with whipped cinnamon butter. His fingertips brushed her palm as she accepted his coin. She forced her attention away from his startling blue eyes.

A woman could drown in those pools, bluer than a deep, summertime lake reflecting cloudless skies.

“Obliged, ma’am.”

And that voice. Deep, rich, and on the border of raspy.

She doubted he knew her name yet her insides fluttered, and like a silly girl half her age, she tracked him to the last remaining empty table. Bright sunlight streamed through the bay window, warming his freshly shaved jaw and single-minded focus on his breakfast.

Warmth gathered in her belly, watching him close his eyes, savoring the mixture of buttery bread and cinnamon-sugar. He licked a dripping finger and her weightless tummy rolled all the way over.

In too many daydreams, he looked at her with the same single minded focus, the same absolute adoration. Oh, what it would be like to be courted by him… or have him even notice her as more than the clerk behind the bakery counter.

Shameful, her fixation on Malloy— the stranger who’d become a daily customer, a regular, over the past three months. How he had time to dally in the bakery while working the Erickson spread, she had no idea.

The bells tinkled and a wash of frigid air entered with a customer. A gentleman, outfitted in a finely tailored overcoat and stylish silk top hat. He swept the hat from his head and approached the counter.

Usually, customers scanned the blackboard for listed offerings or searched the display case in order to make a selection. But this citified dandy searched the nearly full dining area, then peered past her into the back, obviously looking for someone. Sandy brows lowered over dark eyes. His heavy mustache, well-trimmed and curled at the outer corners with pomade, twitched. Fashionably styled hair shot through with a touch of gray at the temples put him at roughly her parents’ age.

Adaline didn’t know him. “Might I help you, sir?”

“I’m here for Mr. Thaddeus Whipple.”

Grief, a constant companion, perked up its ears. She swallowed, fighting down the still too-familiar sensation. “Gone from this world.”

The gentleman spun his hat in his hands. “Would you be Mrs. Whipple?”

“Miss Whipple. His daughter.”

“Might I speak with your mother?”

No condolences. No change of expression. Not a businessman Father had ordered supplies from, then. Notably, the dandy hadn’t introduced himself.

Whatever this was about, he’d deal with her, and her alone. Mama’s health and constitution had been… fragile… since that fateful September day.

“You’ll address this with me. Mother isn’t well.”

As if hesitant, he withdrew a sheaf of papers from his breast pocket, tapped it against the polished oak counter top, and finally met her gaze. “As I said, this is a matter of business. I believe we ought to sit down with your mother.” Another tap-tap of folded papers. “Somewhere private?”

Adaline glanced at the customers filling the dining tables. They’d want coffee cups refilled. She had a fresh batch of rolls rising in the back. In less than five minutes, crusty loaves of wheat bread would need pulling from the oven. At the moment, no customers waited in line behind this fellow, but that could easily change. He’d caught her at one of their busiest hours, and on a Saturday morning, when half the town bought fresh bread, rolls, and sweets for Sunday suppers.

“That’s not possible.” She held her ground. “Suppose you tell me what this is about?”

“All right, then.” He spread the folded documents between them with blunt, well-manicured hands. He spun the pages about to face her right-side up.

Her gaze latched onto a most familiar signature at the bottom.

Papa’s penmanship.

Familiar, sharp grief sliced through her. Sometimes it seemed she could still hear his cheerful whistle. Long quiet hours often felt as though he’d just stepped outside, and he’d burst through the kitchen door, a wide grin on his dear face at any moment.

Apparently, a mature woman of twenty-five still needed her papa.

“Do you know what this is?” The man’s carefully styled mustache lifted in a most ungentlemanly smirk.

Adaline cleared grief, thick as cold butter, from her throat. She scanned the document from the top. M-O-R-T-G-A-G-E, with flourishes and fancy typeset, printed on quality letterhead stock.

Bearing Father’s signature.

No, no, no!

Too aware a dozen regular patrons could easily overhear the conversation, Adaline set her jaw. She held the stranger’s gaze while her heart pounded wildly. “Suppose you tell me why you’re here, Mr…?”

“Forgive me,” he murmured, offering his hand.

She refused to take it.

“Why, I’m Mr. Sheridan Lockhart with First National Bank in Denver City.” He waited, still expecting her to shake hands. The moment eventually passed and he withdrew.

“Do you know,” he repeated, “what this is?”

Lockhart had a way about him she most certainly did not like. She’d love to punch him down to size like an over-risen batch of bread dough.

“I can read, Mr. Lockhart.” She lowered her voice, hoping he’d follow her lead and lower his. After all, this was a private matter.

If Papa had mortgaged the bakery— everything their family relied upon, all they had— she’d have known. Wouldn’t she?

Sound came rushing back, as if a spring thaw had occurred all at once. The rattle of coffee cups on saucers. The scrape of boots across polished wood floors. She found her strength, movement, and snatched up the proffered documents for a closer look. Her hands trembled.

“I regret to inform you, Miss Whipple, I’ve come, on behalf of First National Bank, to collect. The mortgage payment is sixty days past-due, and per the contractual agreement, the balance must be paid in full.”

Embarrassment flushed, surely coloring her cheeks. All noise in the shop ceased. Winter wind battered the side of the building, and the cozy bakery suddenly felt far too warm. Somewhere amongst her guests, a fork clattered to a plate, leaving her with the most ridiculous sense that all present had heard the banker’s condemning words.

Due in full.

I’ve come to collect.

Mortgage.

Past due.

Oh, the humiliation!

The register held less than five dollars. Just enough to make change.

The local Bank of Mountain Home had her parents’ accounts, sure, but…

Did Mama know about this?

Adaline snagged on the staggering sum and shocking, ridiculous monthly payment…

How had Papa ever thought he could repay this? And at such exorbitant rates? Yes, the holidays always brought a brisk business, but if Pa had taught her anything, he’d taught her not to count on money not yet in hand. Why would he preach against the evils of mortgaging hard-earned property, yet sign away his life’s earnings in secret?

Her heart pounded double-time. The address of this property was correct. Father’s full name. The family’s residence above the shop, too.

Oh, dear God in heaven, what had Father done?

“Miss Whipple?”

Though Adaline’s ears rang, her gaze snapped back to the banker. She opened her mouth to respond, but words failed her.

His features arranged in an expression most contrite. Apologetic, even. “I see we’ve caught you ill-prepared for such news.”

“Indeed.” Just how was a woman in her predicament to act?

Lockhart leaned on the counter, invading her space. He carried the pungent fragrance of too much Bay Rum. Her stomach rebelled. “Perhaps we should complete this transaction somewhere more private.”

She hadn’t the money to pay this debt, at least she didn’t as far as she knew. After the funeral, she’d worked twice as hard, doing her work and Father’s, just to keep the bakery operating.

Why hadn’t she made time to review the business finances?

Humiliation burned all the way to the tips of her ears.

No matter the bank balances, it surely wasn’t enough to pay off the loan, or Father wouldn’t have sought a mortgage in the first place.

She simply had to delay, send this bank representative away, talk with Mother, and figure out what to do. “Is this my copy of the mortgage?”

“No, ma’am. That’s the original. Your father received his copy the day of the loan’s origination.”

Where would Papa have put it? Mama’s writing desk? In a drawer of the business desk, in the back?

Lockhart cleared his throat. “I assume your business funds are kept locally. I’ll accompany you to the bank, so you might make the necessary withdrawal.”

“I have bread in the oven, a business to run.”

Lockhart smiled easily. “For the moment.”

Adaline started. Why, the blatant threat—

Heat surged up her neck, no doubt flushing her face. She blinked, realized conversation among the regulars had ceased. Most simply stared, stopped eating. Oh, what they must think!

The banker made a condescending tisking sound and shook his head ever so slightly. “The payments are already sixty days past-due. I can’t delay the bank’s actions to recoup losses.”

“You’ll wait,” she informed him, vinegar in her tone, “twenty-four hours or more.”

He shook his head, condescension thick as icing on a three-layer cake.

“Sir, you’ve caught me unaware. I require time to discuss this with my mother.”

He inclined his head, just a notch, but enough to convey he understood her. “Very well. Twenty-four hours, it is.”

He gestured for the documents.

She wanted him gone so she could confront her mother, so she shoved the documents across the counter to Lockhart.

Without so much as a good day, Sheridan Lockhart strode through the door, set the bells to jangling, and let the cold air in.

Rage choked her.

Against her better judgment, her gaze sought Mr. Malloy’s bottomless blue eyes—a man whose calm confidence always seemed to soothe… though he had no way of knowing he had such an effect on her.

But he was already gone.

The Drifter’s Proposal is my contribution to Silver Belles and Stetsons, available NOW for Preorder (Releases November 2, 2015). The single-title with the individual book cover, pictured above, will be available for Preorder on October 6, 2015, and releases November 16, 2015.

Related Post– NEW RELEASE: Coming November 2nd (Preorder Available)

Copyright © 2015 Kristin Holt, LC