Under Starry Skies by Judy Ann Davis Page B

heels. “It was embarrassing.”
    “Oh, yes, you are. You never let the weasel win, Abigail.”
    Once inside, he ushered her straight toward the teller’s window where he demanded to see Patrick March.
    The old banker appeared almost instantly, scuttling across the floor like a crab. “This is a surprise, Captain Trumble. Is there something I can do for you?” He looked uncomfortable as soon as he noticed Abigail standing beside Brett.
    Around them, Abigail felt the heavy silence as the teller and bank personnel ceased their tasks, watching the display.
    “Now, now, Marsh,” Brett said in a lazy tone as his gaze circled the bank and landed on each employee. “You know I never discuss business anyplace other than behind closed doors, away from prying eyes.” Heads dropped on cue, and paper rustled as employees scuttled about looking busy.
    “But…but of course,” Marsh stammered. “My office. This way, please.”
    Inside the office once again, Abigail took a seat Brett held for her before he lowered him to one on her right, propping his booted calf casually atop the other knee. Patrick Marsh eyed Abigail suspiciously, then glanced at Brett.
    “Is there something I can do for you, Captain Trumble?”
    “Actually, there is something you can do for Miss O’Donnell here.” Brett smiled an easy smile that Abigail was becoming accustomed to. “I don’t believe you know Abigail’s dear cousins, Joshua and Adam, fought valiantly beside me in the cause.”
    When Abigail started to protest, Brett reached out and laid a restraining hand on her arm. “And Miss O’Donnell, noble to the end, has spent her last penny trying to bring these brave soldiers to their final resting place beside their beloved uncle. Now she yearns to get her uncle’s inn on solid financial ground and reopen it, and all she needs is a loan, but I understand she was refused. How terribly unsympathetic and unpatriotic of you.”
    Abigail watched red heat creep up Patrick Marsh’s neck and settle about his ears. Clearing his throat, he asked, “How much does the young lady wish?”
    “Three hundred dollars,” Abigail spoke up. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. Brett Trumble was shameless. She almost hoped the banker would refuse her request. Instead, he merely nodded and said, “I shall draw a draft this afternoon, and she shall have her money tomorrow morning. Will that be acceptable?” He pulled uncomfortably at his cravat as if it was choking him. “I didn’t know you were familiar with Miss O’Donnell, Captain Trumble. She never mentioned she knew anyone in Golden.”
    “Know her?” Brett grinned and gave the banker a conspiratorial wink. “Why Mr. Marsh, I was so smitten by Miss O’Donnell the first time I met her I felt like I was falling overboard into the depths of the Arkansas River! Of course, I know her.”
    Later, back out on the street, Abigail threw him a vexed look. “Besides a thief, you’re also a very talented liar.”
    Brett threw back his head and roared with laughter. He pulled her around the side of the building, yanked her to him, and kissed her soundly. When he released her, she stepped back dazed and regarded him.
    He held up a hand palm up. “Just add amorous rogue to my list of qualities, if you must,” he said. “And I’m enormously pleased you’re keeping one!” Then he turned and sauntered away, hands in his pockets and whistling softly to himself.
    “And a scoundrel,” Abigail called out after him. Her hand went to touch her lips as she watched his back disappear from view. “A pompous one, too,” she added in a whisper.

Chapter Seven
    Tye Ashmore stopped outside the General Store and stared at all the goods in the window, but especially the black lace scarf his sister had thrown over the shoulders of a mannequin dressed in a yellow satin gown. The black color reminded him of Maria’s thick raven locks, and the jewels sewn into the lace sparkled as bright as her hair in