Cinnamon and Roses by Heidi Betts Page A

she left. Once he saw her onto the front porch and locked the door for good measure, he made his way back to the study, Sabrina's “dilemma” already forgotten.
    Rebecca's antics were not, however. He found himself chuckling again as he scooped up the pile of correspondence resting on the corner of his father's desk.
    What gall it took to do such a thing. To sew a dress that no woman, including Sabrina Leslie, could wear outside the bedroom. Rebecca must sleep on a mattress filled with brass tacks, he thought as he opened the top envelope. No woman could be so bold otherwise, he was sure.
    His eyes scanned the paper in his hand. He blinked, then read the figures again.
    Damn! Brass tacks was right. And she must battle grizzly bears for fun to have that much gall. The thin stationery floated to the floor as Caleb moved to write a scathing reply to Rebecca's latest bill.

    When Rebecca finally looked up from her stitching, it was well past ten o'clock. She took off her spectacles and set them on the table beside her rocking chair, then pulled the pins from her straggling hair. Brushing her fingers through it, she let her nails scratch at her tired scalp while rotating her head, trying to loosen the stiff muscles of her neck.
    She stood up slowly, giving her body time to acclimate itself to movement. Picking up her teacup, she walked across the room to the kitchen. On the round wooden table lay the newest book of fashions she had picked up at the Pony Express office early that morning. She'd come home and tossed it onto the table, needing to get right to work on the dress Megan was to pick up at noon the next day.
    Rebecca lifted the magazine by its corner, thinking to flip through the pages and get a quick look at the newest patterns. Anabelle Archer would surely pick one, if not more, the next time she came in.
    Just as she started to open the book, something floated to the floor. Rebecca stooped down and picked up the square, off-white envelope. She slid her thumb under the triangular flap and worked it loose, sliding the crisp, perfectly folded, paper out. She opened the letter and read the short, scrawled note.
     
    Rebecca,
    I have no intention of paying for such an expensive gown, especially now that Miss Leslie and I are no longer associated. If you want your money, I suggest you meet her at the Express office, as she is leaving town in the morning.
     
    There was no signature, but Rebecca knew darn good and well who had sent it. Her hand clenched into a fist, the envelope crackling between her fingers. Of all the nerve, she thought. Mr. Adams and his not-so-attractively aging mistress have a falling out, and I'm the one to suffer. Well, she needed that money. Rebecca had put all of her own into her business—except what she used for food, of course—and she couldn't afford not to be reimbursed for what she'd spent on that last elaborate gown.
    Rebecca threw the book of fashions across the table. Her foot tapped angrily, the beat echoing through the small house. She had fought with Caleb once about Sabrina's bill and won. She would just have to go back and fight with him again. How dare he refuse to pay her!
    Completely forgetting her earlier fatigue, Rebecca marched to the door, slamming it behind her as she ran down the porch steps and stalked across town. The street was empty except for a few horses tethered in front of the saloon. She headed directly for the Adams Express, hoping Caleb was working late.
    All was dark when she reached the office, upping Rebecca's rage yet another notch. She studied the week's stage schedule that always occupied the lower right corner of the window glass. The last stage had pulled in at nine-thirty. Which probably meant Mr. Adams was staying at the hotel. The problem was, which Mr. Adams had worked this evening?
    Rebecca made her way to the Wilkes Hotel, quieting her footsteps the closer she got to the main doors. She opened one and poked her head in, thankful no one was about. Mr.