Cowboy Homecoming. Louise M. Gouge

had participated in every part of building his hotel. Tolley hadn’t gotten along with the Englishman when he came to Esperanza, but when he and Rosamond visited Tolley in Boston on their honeymoon, they’d put the past behind them.

      Dressed for business in the suit he’d worn on the train, he emerged from his room just as Laurie came from Mrs. Foster’s chamber, her arms laden with laundry.

      “I’m going to the mercantile. Do you need anything?”

      Those big blue eyes blinked with obvious surprise, and something twanged in his heart like a cowboy plucking his guitar.

      “Let me think.” She walked toward him, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully.

      He’d never noticed how pretty and smooth and plump her lips were. Sure would be nice to—

      “You could take the wash to Chen’s Laundry,” she whispered. “Don’t tell Mrs. Foster, though. I’ll pay for it.”

      “Laundry again today?”

      She nodded. “It never ends. Apparently she does towels and kitchen linens on Wednesday and the boarders’ clothes and sheets on Thursdays.”

      “Whew. That’s a lot of work for a little old lady.” Tolley didn’t know where toting laundry fell on the list of women’s or men’s appropriate chores, but he’d do it this once until he found out. “I’ll take it.”

      He waited by the front door while Laurie gathered the guests’ laundry and bedding. She dragged it down the stairs all bundled up in a sheet. When he slung it over his shoulder, the weight made him wince. What a heavy load for a little gal like Laurie. How much harder for old Mrs. Foster.

      “See you later.”

      Laurie held the door open, and he stepped outside as Doc Henshaw rode up from the south.

      “Hey, sis, Tolley.” He dismounted and came to the front door carrying his black bag. “I want to look in on Mrs. Foster. How is she?”

      “In pain.” Laurie’s delicate eyebrows bent into a worried frown. “And a little dizzy. I gave her another dose of laudanum in the middle of the night, as you said, but she wouldn’t take any this morning.”

      “Probably best.” Doc eyed the laundry and clapped Tolley on his free shoulder. “Glad to see you’re helping out. Good for you.”

      An odd and foolish sense of satisfaction swept through Tolley. He admired Doc, so his approval meant a great deal. If his father had ever once said anything like that—

      As if he’d heard Tolley’s thoughts, Doc continued. “I was out at Four Stones just now. The Colonel is doing as well as can be expected. I’m optimistic about his recovery. Pray for him and for your mother. She won’t leave his side.”

      “Thanks.” Tolley’s suddenly raspy voice held more emotion than he wanted to reveal. He cleared his throat. “See you later.” He lumbered off down the street, feeling the weight of his burden like the ragmen he’d seen carrying similar loads in Boston, where they scoured the streets for cast-off cloth to sell to the paper mills.

      In spite of Doc’s approval, Tolley could only picture his father lying still on his bed, face immobile, a face that might never show approval for Tolley. A selfish thought, of course. Poor Mother sat beside her husband day and night. That was her way. He’d even admit to harboring some pity for his father. Yet if the Colonel recovered, Tolley wanted to have a long list of accomplishments to show him so he’d no longer be ashamed of his youngest son. Or, at the least, so he could no longer ignore Tolley’s very existence.

      The residential areas of Esperanza had grown since Tolley left for Boston, with numerous new houses on every street. More businesses had come to town, such as the six shops lining the south side of the Esperanza Arms, his sister’s hotel. With a bank, a mercantile, many other small businesses, even an ice cream parlor, now the community would be able to boast about having its own lawyer.

      After depositing the washing at Chen’s Laundry on the east side of town near the railroad tracks, Tolley strode up Main Street to the bank. Then he cooled his heels in the lobby for a good half hour, wondering whether the banker would refuse to see him. But why? Nolan Means owed him for helping to thwart a bank robbery four years ago. That should give him some favor in the man’s eyes.

      Don’t be defensive. Trust the Lord to bring about His will for you. Remembering Reverend Harris’s wise words soothed Tolley’s growing uneasiness, and none too soon.

      Nolan entered the lobby through a door beyond the teller’s cage and strode across the space, hand extended. “Good morning, Tolley. It’s good to see you back in town. Let’s go into my office.”

      “Thanks.” After shaking his hand, Tolley followed him into the well-appointed room. The banker’s polished mahogany desk and chair didn’t show a speck of dust. Oil paintings adorned the walls, and several figurines graced the bookshelves and side table. Tolley could imagine his own office furnished this lavishly, as befitted either a banker or a lawyer. “Thank you for seeing me.”

      Nolan chuckled. “Would I ever refuse to see a Northam?”

      Tolley grimaced. Echoing Nolan’s question, would he ever earn respect without relying on his family name? Fortunately, Nolan was making his way around the massive mahogany desk and didn’t notice Tolley’s involuntary reaction to his rhetorical question.

      “Have a seat.” Nolan sat and waved toward one of the brown leather chairs in front of his desk. After they’d exchanged general news—Nolan’s recent marriage, the Colonel’s tenuous health, Mrs. Foster’s accident—he asked, “What can I do for you?”

      “I understand the bank owns that building on the other side of the sheriff’s office. I’d like to rent it.”

      “Ah.” Nolan sat back and steepled his fingers. “So you’re a lawyer now.”

      A statement, not a question. Tolley smiled, but not too broadly. “Yessir. I have my credentials from Harvard and a letter from Judge Thomas, the Colorado attorney general, welcoming me into Colorado’s judicial system.” In his own ears, he sounded a bit of a braggart. Or a boy reciting his lessons.

      Nolan apparently thought no such thing. His eyebrows arched, and he gave Tolley a broad smile. “Congratulations. That’s quite an achievement for—”

      “A former troublemaker?” Tolley wanted to bite his tongue. What had Reverend Harris said about not criticizing himself?

      Nolan chuckled. “I was going to say for such a young man.”

      “I turned twenty-two last month.” And no family there to celebrate with him. Uh-oh. Self-pity. Another habit the good reverend warned him against. “Twenty-one is the minimum age to practice law here in Colorado...legally, that is.” He grinned.

      “A clever bit of wordplay, eh?” Nolan laughed aloud. Tolley could grow to like this former stuffed shirt. Maybe his recent marriage had mellowed him. “So you’d like to hang out your shingle next to the jail, not in your sister’s hotel?”

      Now Tolley laughed. “It’s the only way I can show my independence.”

      “I know all about that,” Nolan said. “It’s why I moved here from New York. Out here in the West, a man can make his own reputation.”

      Tolley grunted his agreement. Yes, he could easily see becoming friends with this man.

      Nolan dug into the center drawer of his desk and pulled out a key on a metal chain. “Here you go. Rent is five dollars a month.”

      Tolley’s lawyer instincts sent out an alert. “No contract?”

      “Absolutely a contract.” Nolan stood and stuck out his hand. “A handshake and a good man’s word is contract enough for me.”

      “Thank you, Nolan.” As they shook hands, Tolley appreciated the respect this man showed him. He took the key and made his exit. Once he’d