She shivered, chilled to her bones. “Who’s doing this?”
“Whoever it is, I’ll find him and throw his ass in jail so fast his head will spin. If I don’t wring his neck first. ”
Sorrow had to laugh at Billy’s vehemence. “Thanks. You know, I believe you will. ”
They lay in the dark a while longer as he idly stroked his hand up and down her back. She sighed—she felt safe with Billy. Safe in his house. In his arms.
But she still couldn’t sleep.
“That’s it. ” He slipped out of bed and pulled on his boxers. As he handed her his robe, he said, “You’re coming with me. ” He grabbed an old pair of wool socks for her, too. “This time of night, you’ll want these. ”
She swam in the green and navy plaid flannel robe, but there was nothing more intimate than the feeling of wearing her man’s clothes. They walked downstairs hand in hand, and when she spoke again, she couldn’t help the excited curiosity in her voice. “Where’re we going? It’s got to be past two. ”
“I’m making you a cup of tea. And”—he snagged her purse from where she’d dropped it onto the dining room table—“we’ll need this. ”
“We’ll need my purse?”
“We need what’s in your purse. ”
“What’s in my—?” Her eyes lit, watching him extract the thick packet. “Ohh. The letters. ” Ever since the fire, she’d been anxious to keep Sorrow Crabtree’s letters safe and carried them with her, tied in a neat bundle that she kept wrapped in a Ziploc bag.
It wasn’t just their historical value to her family and the town that had her so careful. As troubles around the lodge escalated, so did her feeling of connection with her great-great-great-grandmother. Her ancestor had faced struggles Sorrow couldn’t begin to contemplate. So many of those pioneer women must have. And she figured, if her ancestor could weather the old days as a single mother, then she could buck up and deal with a little stress at the lodge.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you read these every possible free moment. ” He helped her into the kitchen chair and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Have you finished reading them yet?”
“No, I’m going slowly. ” She carefully pulled the collection from their layers of plastic and contemplated the paper, crisp and yellow with age. “Her story takes my mind off my troubles. I want to prolong it. ”
She wanted to savor every moment reading them, and the desire to understand what the older Sorrow endured had only intensified since Emerald’s death. Why hadn’t she ever asked Marlene’s mother more questions? About how Sierra Falls used to be? About Marlene’s childhood? So many simple things that’d never been asked and would never be answered now.
She half listened as Billy puttered around the kitchen, getting out tea bags and filling the kettle with water. He asked, “Would you read one to me?”
She popped her head up to make sure he was being serious. Her breath caught to look at him, scruffy in the dim light, wearing just his T-shirt and boxers. She couldn’t believe this guy was hers. “Really?”
He stopped his bustling to pin her with his eyes. Standing still, he held the teakettle poised in midair over the stovetop. “I told you, I’m in this for keeps. What makes you happy makes me happy, too. ”
“Oh,” she said simply. She darted her eyes back down, overcome with emotion. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had expressed an interest in her happiness alone. “Okay. ”
“And hey, it’s not exactly a stretch, either. ” Billy was still by the sink and hadn’t caught her sudden shyness. “Those letters you found are amazing. To think Buck Larsen was prospecting for gold before he was elected as one of the first California representatives. ”
“I guess he must’ve bought his post with gold rush money. ” The man was infamous in California for having appeared out of the blue, replacing his political advisors with businessmen, then resigning midterm when elected life bored him. Rumors about bribes had followed him out the door. Larsen went on to build a railway empire, but not much was known about his life before he burst onto the scene.
“I guess all his money didn’t come from bribes after all. Maybe some of it came from gold. ” The kettle whistled, and Billy poured their tea and joined her at the table. He gestured to the letters. “Where’d you leave off?”
She shuffled through. “Let’s see…last thing I knew, Sorrow Crabtree had been bemoaning the town’s judgmental biddies. ”
He gave a thoughtful shrug. “Can’t have been easy, pregnant and alone. Life was hard and cheap back then—especially for women. ”
“Well, aren’t you the strong, sensitive type?” She gave him a playful smile and squeezed his hand. He’d been right to bring out the letters—the more they chatted, the further away her troubles at the lodge seemed. “But you know, back then it wasn’t just the men who made names for themselves. I read that some of those gold rush dancers made a fortune. ”
Billy leaned closer to scan the writing. “Maybe I’ve seen too many Westerns, but I bet there were other types of women than just dancers. You know, those kind of women. ”
She exclaimed, “A ‘lady of the night’? She couldn’t have been, could she?”
“Read it and see. ”
Sorrow traced her finger down the page to find her place. “Here’s where I stopped. She wrote, ‘Thank the Lord for Madame Lizzie. I know what you’d say, you’d be like to call her a harlot or worse. But, to me, she’s my angel. She invited me to live with the Parlour Ladies, but she don’t make me dance no more, nor worry about any of that other business on account of my swole belly. Swole with your child, Buck. Maybe I can see how you’d walk away from me, but I don’t understand how you could walk away from your son. ’”
Amused, Billy raised a brow. “Doesn’t make her do that other business?”