Hill Country Christmas. Laurie Kingery

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      “This is extraordinary news, Miss Keller,” Amos Dawson, the bank president, said, laying aside his wire-rimmed spectacles and the certificate Delia had shown him, and crossing his arms over his considerable paunch. “You’re saying you had no idea that your father had amassed such a fortune?”

      “Yes,” she murmured, feeling uneasy at his staring. His black beady eyes reminded her of her grandpa’s old rooster—right before the bossy bird tried to peck at her legs. “I—I mean no, I had no idea. We—my grandpa and I—hadn’t heard from him in years, you see. We didn’t even know if he was alive or dead.”

      “How did you get hold of this document? Did it come in the mail?”

      Delia wanted to say it had, to avoid questions about Jude Tucker, since he had cautioned her not to claim any acquaintance with him. But it would be easy enough for Dawson to check with the gossipy postmaster of the little town, who knew who was receiving mail from where and didn’t mind telling anyone who asked.

      “I…That is, the man who had been working for him brought it to me.”

      Dawson continued to scrutinize until Delia felt a flush creeping up the scratchy neckline of her dress.

      “We’ll have to telegraph the bank in Nevada to verify its authenticity,” he said at last.

      Delia felt foolish. The bank couldn’t just assume the certificate was real and start issuing her funds based on it. The document could be a clever fraud.

      “I…I assumed as much,” she said, trying to sound like a woman of the world. “Naturally.”

      Dawson seemed pleased with her composure. “We’ll do so immediately, I assure you, Miss Keller. I would imagine it will take a few days to obtain an answer—but during that time, I regret that I can’t…that is, the bank cannot act on the basis of this document.”

      Delia nodded. “I understand completely,” she said, rising. It wasn’t a problem. She had been poor when she woke up this morning, and she could go on pinching pennies and doing without for a few more days. She only wished she had brought those eggs after all—now she was going to have to walk back to the house and get them or do without sugar in her tea another day.

      Dawson rose also. “Assuming this certificate is authentic, Miss Keller, this is very exciting news, isn’t it? Just wait until the word gets out!”

      Delia felt a prickle of alarm dance up her spine. He was practically clapping his hands together with glee, as if he wanted to be the first to spread the news. “I hope I can rely on your discretion, Mr. Dawson. I…I wouldn’t want to be the subject of speculation…especially before the certificate has been proved genuine.”

      Dawson coughed and took a step back, and his features smoothed out as if an invisible hand had wiped all expression from his face. “Of course not, Miss Keller. Rest assured. But only imagine the possibilities of what you will be able to do with such a sum! The bank will be pleased to be of any assistance to you that you would require.”

      “Fine. Please let me know when you’ve received confirmation. Good afternoon, Mr. Dawson.”

      She swept out, disturbed at the complete transformation in the way the bank president treated her once he had heard the news. No wonder Grandpa had never had much use for Amos Dawson!

      Intent on her thoughts as she pushed open the ornate, heavy door of the bank, she nearly collided with Charles Ladley, the mayor’s son, who was just coming in.

      “Why, hello, Miss Delia,” he greeted her, extending a hand to steady her. “I hope everything’s all right? Is there anything I can do for you?”

      Delia felt a hidden amusement bubbling up within her at his concerned expression. He must think she was here to ask for a loan!

      “Thank you, Charles. Everything is fine,” she said serenely. “It’s kind of you to ask.”

      He studied her more closely. “That’s good, that’s good. You would let us know if you needed anything, wouldn’t you?”

      Us meant the Ladleys, the pillars of the community.

      “Of course I would,” she said. “Tell your mother I said hello.” She smiled and kept moving. It would be interesting to see how this man, on whom she had once pinned all her hopes and dreams, treated her, once he knew she was no longer the poor little church mouse.

      Chapter Four

      Positioned at a table by the window that faced the bank, Jude was just about to sink his fork into his savory beef stew in the Llano Crossing Hotel dining room when he spied Delia Keller exiting the bank. He straightened, seeing her almost run into the dapper man who then chivalrously kept her from falling. Jude noted, too, how the handsome swell’s hand lingered a moment longer than was strictly proper on Delia’s elbow.

      Jude was surprised by the urge he felt to jump out of his seat and dash out the door, shouting a command for the other man to take his hands off Delia Keller. But then she smiled at her rescuer, and Jude ordered himself to remain where he was.

      Obviously Delia knew the man who stared down at her so familiarly, so he needn’t interfere. Delia was in no danger, and the richly dressed fellow speaking to her was perhaps the very sort of man she should be associating with from now on.

      However, despite the fact that the encounter had taken no more than a minute at most, Jude couldn’t quash the primitive stab of jealousy that arrowed through him as he saw Delia gift the man with a warm wave of farewell. Involuntarily his hand clenched into a fist as he watched the other man linger to eye the gentle sway of Delia’s hips as she walked down the street away from the bank.

      “Care for more coffee, sir?” purred a voice near his ear, and he looked up to see the waitress standing there, steaming pot in hand. She was pretty in a commonplace way, but she grinned as if they were old friends. “I’m Polly. New in town, ain’t ya?” She batted darkened lashes at him and he smelled traces of a cheap floral perfume.

      “Thanks,” he said, deliberately ignoring her inquiry and not giving his name in return. In a small town like this she would already know that he was a stranger, anyway. He extended his cup, his gaze returning to the view out the window. Once his coffee had been refreshed, however, the waitress showed no signs of leaving.

      “Who’s that fancy gent standing at the bank door?” he asked, the more to keep her from asking him any further personal questions than from a real desire to know.

      She СКАЧАТЬ