McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [30]
Mrs. Parkinson looked down at Melina. “What kind of news?”
Melina didn’t turn her head. She was still watching Holt, with an occasional glance at the Captain. “I’ve got to go to San Antonio,” she said.
“Gabe doesn’t want you to do that,” Holt said, though he’d already guessed there was little hope of convincing her.
“I’ll get my things,” Melina said.
“Melina,” Mrs. Parkinson protested. “You can’t just leave! How will I get the washing done?”
At last, Gabe’s woman faced the boss lady. “I’m sorry about the washing,” she said directly, “but I still have to go.”
“But the baby—what will you do in San Antonio? How will you live?”
“I’ll see that she’s taken care of,” Holt said, for Melina’s benefit more than Mrs. Parkinson’s. “I have friends she can stay with.”
Melina studied him, evidently weighing his words for truth, and must have decided in his favor, for she picked up her skirts and made for the house at a good clip.
Mrs. Parkinson watched her go, probably struggling with the realization that she couldn’t stop Melina from leaving. Resignation slackened her shoulders as she turned her attention on Holt and the Captain. “I don’t like trusting that child to strangers,” she said.
“I do not qualify as a stranger, Mrs. Parkinson,” the Captain said. He got off his horse at long last, gathered the reins and led the animal to the water trough. Holt’s Appaloosa followed along on its own. “And Mr. McKettrick here is a gentleman. I can assure you of that.”
Mrs. Parkinson looked as though she’d like to haul off and spit, the way Melina had, but in the end she refrained and made for the house.
“That woman doesn’t think very highly of you, Cap’n,” Holt observed, worrying that in his mind the way he kept worrying the sight of that corpse strapped to a board on the main street of town. “Why is that?”
The Captain went to the pump, brought up some water and splashed his face and the back of his neck thoroughly. “I reckon it’s because we used to be married,” he said.
CHAPTER 12
LORELEI WATCHED from her bedroom window as the judge climbed into the buggy Raul had hitched up for him, the way he did every weekday morning and most Saturdays, took up the reins and set out for the main part of town. He would not return home until late in the day, as he had court cases to hear.
Once he’d rounded the corner onto the road that ran alongside the river curling through town, she sprang into action.
Kneeling, she pulled out the valise she’d packed the night before from under the bed. A rap at her door startled her so that she nearly choked on an indrawn breath, but she recovered quickly. “Angelina?”
The door opened, and the housekeeper stood on the threshold. Her eyes traveled to the valise, while Lorelei scrambled to her feet.
“You are really going to do this,” Angelina marveled.
“Yes,” Lorelei said firmly.
“Mr. Sexton, from the bank, will be waiting on the courthouse steps to tell the judge what you’re planning. And he will put a stop to it.”
Lorelei hoisted the valise in one hand, reflecting upon her interview with Mr. Sexton the afternoon before. She’d gone directly to the bank, after her visit to the property, and he’d been pleased to see her—until she’d made it clear that she had no intention of signing her inheritance over to Mr. Templeton.
“I would like to see my account,” Lorelei had said, standing her ground.
“The judge has strictly forbidden—”
“I don’t care what the judge has forbidden,” she’d interrupted.
Sexton had sighed, rummaged until he found the proper ledger and licked a fingertip before flipping through the pages.
“You have two thousand, seven-hundred and twenty-two dollars and seventy-eight cents,” he’d said, with the utmost reluctance.
Lorelei, peering over his shoulder, had already deduced that. She’d blinked at the sum, then her gaze had shifted to the debit column. Judging by the long list of tidy figures, her father had made regular withdrawals over the past ten years.
“I’m afraid I must insist that Judge Fellows’s wishes be respected,” Sexton had said, closing the book.