Sherri Shackelford - A Temporary Family

“Oiling the harnesses.”

“How come?”

“Because dry leather cracks and breaks. Oiled leather is stronger.”

“What happens if the leather breaks?”

“The horses get hurt.”

“Can I help?”

“I’m finished,” Nolan said.

Victoria grasped the oil can. “What’s this?”

“Machine oil.” Nolan reached for the tin and replaced the base in the circle in he’d drawn on the workbench. “For machines.”

He nudged the handle until the tin faced north.

“Oh.” Victoria plucked a tool from the wall. “What’s this?”

“Pincers.” Nolan retrieved the tool and hooked the handle on the nail in the silhouette he’d drawn on the wall. “For shoeing horses.”

“Are you a blacksmith?”

“No. But sometimes a horse will throw a shoe on the trail. I can do some basic repairs.”

“It sure is quiet in this town.”

“I like quiet.”

“Hmph.” Victoria tapped her chin. “Do you have any matches? I want to light a fire.”

“Stay away from fire.” Nolan slid his hand over the box on his workbench. He surreptitiously stowed the matches in his pocket. “Even with the rain, the buildings along Main Street are nothing but dry tinder.”

“I just wondered.” Victoria shrugged. “Aunt Tilly found some oil lamps.”

“Where did she find them?”

“She and Elizabeth are exploring the town while Caroline sleeps.”

“Your aunt sure keeps busy.”

“Mama said that Aunt Tilly needs activity like some other folks need water or air.”

“You don’t say.”

He’d managed to cover his outburst the previous afternoon with relatively little notice. He’d set up a cot in the livery, and let his guests take over the relay station. Mostly he’d spent his time avoiding Miss Hargreaves. She had a look in her eye that didn’t bode well. She kept staring at him as though he was a knot she wanted to unravel. He wouldn’t let her get to him like she’d gotten to Bill.

“I like Aunt Tilly,” Victoria said, “but I miss my mama.”

He was curious about the circumstances, but reluctant to pry. Pulling answers from a seven-year-old didn’t sit well with him. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Mama stayed behind to sell our furniture and stuff, but that’s not what she told Aunt Tilly,” the girl said matter-of-factly. “I don’t think Mama wants Aunt Tilly to know that we’re poor. Mama even sold our horse and our dollhouse. We’re going to live with our nanny and poppy in Omaha because Papa spent all our money and left us with a worthless gold mine. Mama said that she wasn’t surprised our pa died. She always said that gold fever was going to kill him. Can you catch gold fever?”

“No.” Nolan cleared his throat. “Sorry about your pa, too.”

He tugged on his collar. That was more information than he’d intended to learn. While he figured Eleanor ought to confide in her sister, pride was an emotion he understood all too well, and he certainly wasn’t the man to pass judgment on someone else.

“I’m glad you can’t catch gold fever,” Victoria said. “I don’t think Mama liked Pa very much. She complained that he worked all the time and made us live in Virginia City.”

“I’m sure she liked your pa just fine. Sometimes folks say things they don’t mean.”

An ear-splitting scream sounded from the direction of the abandoned hotel. Nolan’s chest tightened.

Victoria took off through the double doors in a dash but Nolan quickly outpaced the child. He crossed the street and vaulted over the boardwalk railing, then shoved open the door of the hotel. Frightened chatter reverberated from the recesses of the building.

He wove his way through the abandoned tables and chairs that littered the dining space and pushed into the kitchen. A small hand tugged on the hem of his shirt, leaving a purple print. A muscle throbbed in his temple.

The toddler seemed to have an endless supply of blackberries.

“Ti-wy,” Elizabeth said.

The little girl appeared unhurt, and his heartbeat slowed a notch.

“It’s all right.” He patted her head. “I’ll take care of this.”

Tilly perched atop a single chair with a broom held protectively before her.

“What is it?” Nolan demanded. “What’s happened?”

“In there.” Tilly gestured with her broom handle. “There’s something in the stove.”

He motioned with his hand. “Hand me the broom.”

While he’d known the hotel was equipped with a kitchen, he’d never explored the building. An enormous cast-iron stove took up most of the limited space. The chimney pipe exited through the ceiling, and light showed around the space.

Opposite the chimney, a bench and shelves lined the wall. The room smelled of neglect and dust coated every surface. The untidy mess triggered his unease, and he searched for something to ground him.

Disorder in the spaces surrounding him had a way of seeping into his mood. The previous owner had left behind only a few dented pots and pans, along with some chipped plates and cups. He snatched a bandana from his back pocket and pinched the edge of a plate between the unsoiled fabric. With his fingers protected from the dust, he stacked one dish atop another, then repeated the process.

“What are you doing?” Tilly wore a scarf wrapped around her hair, pulling the chestnut mass away from her face. “I wasn’t shrieking my head off because the cupboards are in disarray!”

He nudged the handle of a cup toward the north, neatly folded his bandana and stuffed the square back in his pocket. “What’s the matter?”

Even the simple task of straightening the plates had a calming effect.

She urged him forward. “Take a look.”

The space between the workbench and the stove was narrow enough that she rested her hand on his shoulder and peered around him. The warmth of her touch seeped through his shirt and landed somewhere near his chest.

He grasped the broomstick once more and stuck the end through the oven handle. As the cast-iron door fell open, the rusted hinges squeaked. Tilly’s fingers tightened on his shoulder.

Something growled.

An enormous raccoon bared its teeth.

Nolan surged backward.

Tilly shrieked. From her perch on the chair, she leaned around Nolan and kicked shut the door. “I told you something was in there.”

“You can’t just trap the animal.” He splayed his hand to hold her back. “It’ll suffocate.”

Memories settled over him like a bleak dirge. He’d once spent an entire month in isolated confinement for a minor infraction of the rules. A month in complete and utter darkness with nothing but the scuttle of rats for company. His throat tightened painfully and he searched the open shelving behind Tilly’s head. There were four plates, an even number, and the handles on the cups faced north. Restoring order forced calm. If he spun the last plate clockwise, he wouldn’t even see the chip on the edge.

Tilly’s face swam before him. “Thank you for coming to our rescue, Mr. West. That animal startled me. Not what I was expecting to find during our explorations.”

“Explorations?” he said.

“Yes. Aren’t you simply fascinated by this town? Think of all the stories people left behind. Haven’t you ever wondered about who lived here and what they dreamed about?”

Frustrated by his inability to control the actions of others, he offered a curt “No.”

“I do.”

There was a gentleness and a guileless optimism about her that had been missing from his life for a very long time. An eternity. Part of him wanted to reach for the soothing comfort of her limitless hope in the world, but any thoughts in that direction were folly. He needed the distance. Nolan tore his gaze from the vulnerability in her clear eyes and stared at the dusty shelves.