Free Dreams of Gold by Linda Carroll-Bradd Page B

mercantile, Quinn glanced at the store’s darkened windows. Guilt shot through him that he hadn’t checked in to see how Miss Morrissey’s actions had affected his folks. Tomorrow, he’d make that visit.
    His boots crunched on the rocky dirt when he stepped off the boardwalk. Within the last hundred feet from the church, he heard the low rumble of men’s grumbling voices and spotted a group huddled in the churchyard.
    “Here he comes.”
    “Let’s see what the sheriff will do.”
    Bodies circled him and swathes of light from a few lanterns held aloft swept across the crowd. Concerned expressions on most of the town’s men hinted at the scope of the problem. He raised his hands and waited for the buzz to quiet. “Gentlemen, I’m sure this can be handled in a few minutes.”
    “You think so, Sheriff? We don’t need that gal’s big-city ideas brought to our town.”
    Quinn recognized the blacksmith, Otto Bremmer’s, gravelly voice. “Let me go inside and see what’s happening.” As he stepped forward, the crowd parted. At the foot of the stairs stood a familiar square-shouldered figure. “Pa? You’re involved in this?”
    “Not by choice” He shook his head then ran a hand over his high forehead. “Remember we told you how your sister, Allene, championed the cause?”
    “Yeah.” During the years he was gone, his younger sister had passed out suffrage literature and made speeches. Irony was, she’d married four years earlier and moved to Oregon Territory before having the chance to cast her vote in an election.
    “Well, your ma’s in there now. Said something about this newcomer carrying on the spark that Allene lit.” His pa rested a hand on his shoulder. “Son, sort this out quick. I know you can.”
    Quinn looked into trusting hazel eyes—the emotion and color just like Logan’s. His chest tightened as the weight of responsibility settled. Rather than the inconsistencies of war, this situation was one he could deal with. One petite woman should not be so hard to quell. “I will, Pa.”
    “Nevin’s right. We want our women home now.” A masculine voice rose above the din.
    “Yeah, where they belong.”
    Sensing the crowd’s frustration, Quinn nodded at his father, then climbed up several stairs and turned. “You men stay here. This will go easier if I go in alone.” He scanned the crowd and spotted his deputy at the outer edge. “Bud, come on up and take my place.” Quinn waited until Bud reached the bottom step, then climbed to the doorway and slipped into the cloakroom. A familiar lilting voice tickled his ears.
    “Your comment, Mrs. Renato, leads into one of the reasons I suggested this gathering. Most of you have heard of the circumstances under which I arrived in your town. Because of the actions of despicable thieves, I find myself with limited cash and in need of employment.”
    Murmurs of agreement sounded from around the room.
    “This evening at supper, I was surprised to learn that in the only territory where women have the right to vote, not all believe this should be. I was chastised for insinuating myself where I wasn’t wanted and for accosting men for employment. I was also told I should be looking for a husband instead. Granted, the comments were spoken by a woman from a generation that held these archaic ideals. But her repressed attitude shocked me.”
    Quinn leaned a shoulder on the wall, hesitant to enter the room. So far, Ciara wasn’t doing more than stating an opinion—albeit a progressive one that hadn’t filtered throughout the entire state of Wyoming yet.
    “My dressing down came after I made a suggestion to Mr. Stanton about contributing a fashion article or two to the newspaper. Back in Massachusetts, I worked in the millinery trade and know firsthand how women crave knowledge of the latest trends. I offered to share that information about Eastern styles. He doesn’t believe such a need exists because you women”—her words paused—”don’t read