The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride. Debra Cowan
did everyone assume she and Gideon were a couple? “He’s not my— This is Gideon Black, a friend of my brother’s.”
Gideon shook the man’s hand as she studied the cluttered space. “It looks as if you might have trouble locating the message from Smith.”
“No, no.” Elmer shoved a hand through his thick gray-streaked hair, making it stand on end. He looked around helplessly. “It just might take me a while. I can’t seem to find my spectacles.”
“These spectacles?” Smiling, Ivy picked up a pair of glasses in plain view on the counter.
Giving her a sheepish look, he slid the glasses on and began digging through the clutter on the counter. He thumbed through a stack of correspondence, muttering.
Gideon stood quietly by, but Ivy moved about impatiently. “You should get some help in here, Elmer.”
“Yes, yes. The sheriff’s brother starts today after his schoolin’.”
“That’s good.” Fifteen-year-old Coy Farrell was dependable and smart. And surely more organized than this.
“Aha, here it is.” The older man smiled triumphantly and handed her the telegram.
It was indeed from Smith, and a quick glance confirmed everything Gideon had said upon his arrival. Though having the message in hand didn’t much matter now that her brother’s friend was already here, Ivy was glad to have it anyway.
“Now.” Elmer cleared a stack of paper from atop the telegraph machine. “Let me find the information for the stage line office.”
Ivy grimaced. “Are you sure you have it?”
“Yes, yes.” He set aside a scribbled note and looked up, his blue eyes troubled. “I can do this, Miss Ivy. It don’t matter what the mayor says. I can still run this telegraph office.”
Though Ivy wasn’t sure of that, she could see it meant a great deal to Elmer. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but this was too important to mess up. What if he couldn’t even get her message to the right place?
“It’s okay, Elmer. I can just write a letter.”
“No, no.” His voice cracked.
Gideon leaned close. “Are you worried he can’t tap out the right message?”
“Yes,” she said under her breath.
“Let him do it. I learned Morse code during the war. I can tell if it’s right or not.”
She looked up at him in surprise, as much because of his knowledge as because of his kindness to the older man.
“Here it is!” the telegraph operator exclaimed.
“Okay.” She leaned toward Elmer. “This is what I need to say.”
Minutes later, Ivy and Gideon stepped outside and began walking to the bank.
Despite her disappointment that she hadn’t received a quick response from the stage company, she tried not to dwell on it. She glanced at Gideon. “I can’t believe Elmer didn’t make a single mistake.”
“He’s probably done it for so long that he could tap those letters out blind.”
They crossed the street and angled past Howe’s Mercantile. As they neared the bank, Ivy spotted Conrad coming out of the saloon down the street.
When he started in her direction, she inwardly groaned. She had neither the time nor patience to deal with him today.
Gideon touched her elbow, sending a spark of heat up her arm. He tipped his head, showing that he had also spotted the stage driver.
Blocking her body with his, he opened the bank’s tall front door for her. “I’ll be right here. Take as long as you need.”
Peeking around his broad frame, she saw Conrad turn and go in the opposite direction. “Thank you.”
He nodded, his blue eyes warm on her face.
The look had her going soft inside. Aaargh! Flustered, she went through the door. The spacious interior boasted gray slate floors and stone walls. Three teller’s cages, constructed of gold-trimmed wrought iron, greeted visitors. Each space had a desk, and on the wall behind was a wide vault door.
She approached the manager’s office, her stomach knotting. She’d never asked for a loan. She’d also never been in this situation before.
A few minutes later, she was sitting in front of tall, lanky Titus Rowland’s desk. Her spine went rigid. “What do you mean, you can’t loan money to a single woman?”
“It’s bank policy, Ivy.”
“But...but you know me.” She curled and uncurled her reticule strings, her gaze falling on the tintype of Titus and his late wife, Lolly, on the wall behind him. “You’ve known me for years.”
“I’m sorry.” Sincere regret stamped his homely features.
“I was married longer than I’ve been a widow. Why should I be denied help just because I lost my husband?”
The gangly man shifted uncomfortably. “This isn’t my decision in the end.”
“I plan to use my farm as collateral, and I’m waiting to hear if I have a new contract with the stage line. That has to count for something.” A greasy knot formed in her stomach. She couldn’t just give up. “I see no reason why you can’t help me.”
Especially since she had put more sweat and effort into the stage stand than Tom ever had. Jittery with anxiety, she forced herself to remain seated, though she scooted to the edge of the leather chair. “I’ll lose the business altogether and maybe my farm, too, if I don’t get this loan. Please, Titus.”
His shrewd gray eyes softened. “You’ve sure given a lot to make a go of it.”
“And I’ll continue to work hard. I will pay back the money. You know I will.”
“I’ll talk to the other members of the committee and try to convince them to waive the policy.”
Ivy jumped up and snagged his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Titus. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. What if I can’t change their minds?”
“You will. And you won’t regret helping me. I promise.”
His smile transformed his gaunt features. “It will be a few days, but I’ll let you know.”
He walked her out of his office and across the slate floor, opening the front door for her.
She patted his bony arm. “Thank you again, Titus.”
He lifted a hand in farewell as she stepped outside. Feeling more optimistic than she had since all the trouble at the farm had begun, she joined Gideon at the bottom of the stone steps.
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