Electing to Love Read online

  Electing to Love

  Roses of Ridgeway, Book 4

  By Kianna Alexander

  -In Loving Memory of McNeil Pettiford

  We'll never forget you, Papa Mac-

  The Roses of Ridgeway Series

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  BOX SET of Books 1-3 (4.99)

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  Book 2 (2.99)

  Book 3 (2.99)

  Book 3.5 (99 cents)

  Electing to Love

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  Angel May Lane hoisted the hand painted wooden sign above her head again, her feet keeping pace with the marching of her friends. Raising her voice, she chanted along with them.

  "We demand the vote! We demand the vote!"

  She and six of her female friends were circling on foot in the center of town, at the intersection of Ridgeway's only two major roads-Town Road and Founder's Avenue. Their small town, about fifteen miles northeast of Oakland, was home to a population of just under two thousand people. The town itself encompassed about twenty square miles, and every passing year seemed to bring new growth and change. Ridgeway now had a library, a general store, barber and beauty shops, and a travel depot where stagecoaches arrived and departed to connect folks to the train routes in Oakland. The jewel of town, the three-story Taylor Hotel, sat behind them on the northeast corner of the two roads. No other small town in the area could boast such well-appointed accommodations. And with her saloon, the Crazy Eights, plus Lilly's Dress Emporium, Ruby's Eatery, and Hats by Zelda, there were four female owned businesses in town.

  If women here were capable enough to run profitable businesses, then why couldn't they vote? Why shouldn't they? It was a question she'd grown tired of asking, so she and some of the others had decided to act. They weren't little girls acting out to get their way, no matter how much the men tried to characterize them that way. Angel was thirty-three years old, a full-grown adult, and she was one of the younger members of the group.

  She looked up and down the road at the folks around her, beyond the women who'd come to fight for the cause of suffrage. There were mothers walking their children to the schoolhouse, business people opening their various shops, and men driving through town on the way to begin a hard day's work. Some were wealthy, some were poor. There were whites; there were people of color, and some of mixed heritage. While some of them didn't agree with what she and her friends were doing, she didn't see them as enemies. No, when she looked around at the faces of these people, she saw her neighbors.

  She looked upon them all in kindness, but that would not hinder her cause. Women deserved the right to vote, and she and her friends aimed to bring attention to the issue, in the hopes of bringing about a positive change. Their presence drew a lot of attention from the townsfolk carrying out their business in town, and effectively shut down most vehicle traffic.

  "Go home where you belong!' shouted one angry man seated atop a listing old buggy that had seen better days.

  Others trying to traverse the intersection shared his view, and made their opinions known.

  "Yeah, take your nonsense elsewhere!"

  "Get out of the road!"

  All around her, the shouted protests of angry drivers rang out, at times drowning out the chant Angel and her friends continued to repeat in loud, boisterous tones.

  One man, having given up on getting anywhere in his buckboard, threw his hands up. She watched as he set his hand brake, climbed down from his vehicle on the eastern side of the intersection, and struck out on foot. Apparently, he'd gotten frustrated enough that he didn't mind leaving his carriage in the middle of the road. As he passed by her, he glared.

  "I don't have time for such foolishness, I have an appointment!" He muttered the words through a clenched jaw as he made his way up Founder's Avenue, leaving his vehicle and horse parked in the middle of the road.

  While she didn't relish inconveniencing her neighbors, she did believe her cause was a worthy one. In less than a month's time, the men of Ridgeway would report to the polls and cast their vote for a new mayor as well as the next President of the United States. Due to Bernard Ridgeway's decision to retire, the seat would be open, and two candidates were out rustling up votes. While she knew who she favored in both races, she also knew it didn't much matter what she, or any other female citizen of town thought, unless they could cast a ballot.

  The women of Ridgeway didn't consider their demand unreasonable; after all, they were not asking for the right to vote in the upcoming presidential race. All they wanted was a say in the political landscape of their own town. Angel and the other women all agreed that local suffrage should come first. If that could be achieved, then they'd go on with their work to win state voting rights, and beyond. It was their fervent hope that someday, any woman in the country would have the right to vote in any and all elections. But to reach that goal, the work had to begin somewhere. Angel and the other women thought it may as well be here, on the streets of their tiny little California town.

  So, amid the angry shouts, threats, and curses being hurled at her by the drivers trying to navigate the road, they marched on, holding their signs high and echoing the chant.

  As Angel passed the entrance to the Taylor Hotel for what seemed like the ninetieth time, a tall, broad figure stepped into her path.

  She walked right into him, colliding with him so that her nose was crushed against the hard plane of his chest, level with his shoulders.

  Her sign fell out of her hand, and landed on the hard-packed dirt road with a thud.

  Behind her, the bank clerk Daisy Trice walked smack into her back.

  Raising her head, Angel looked into the dark, storm-filled eyes of Deputy Gregory Simmons. The burnished face held a proud nose, full lips, and bore the shadowy remnants of a missed opportunity to shave. He was as painfully handsome as always, but his expression conveyed disdain, perhaps even anger.

  "Deputy..." she stammered as more of her compatriots crashed into each other like the wayward cars of a derailed train. Gathering her composure as best she could, she plastered on a smile. "Have you come to join our cause?"

  One of his thick eyebrows lifted. "You know I haven't. I told you that if you and your ladies held up traffic again, I would arrest you."

  She cocked her head, remembering the threat he'd uttered just three days ago, when she and her cohorts had staged a similar protest in front of the recently opened Ridgeway Travel Depot. "I remember you saying that. But I didn't think you'd actually do it."

  A smile holding very little humor lifted the corners of his mouth as he removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt. "Ah, but I was quite serious, Ms. Lane." Deftly, he grasped one of her hands and snapped the cuff onto it, then reached for the other.

  She could feel her jaw tightening with indignation. How could he do such a thing? "You're actually going to arrest me? Surely you see the logic in letting women have the vote, don't you, Deputy?"

  He shook his head as he fastened her other hand into the cuffs. "Yes, I am arresting you-Sheriff Rogers' orders. And no, I don't see the logic in letting women vote."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Why not? We've got just as much right as..."

  He rolled his eyes, raising a dismissive hand. "Spare me. The fact that you're out here disturbing the peace and blocking traffic shows just how irrational and foolish you women can be. Now tell your friends to disperse, or they'll all be cooling their heels in the cell right along with you."

  She could feel her face fold into a deep scowl. "Why, I never!"

  "First time for everything, Miss Lane." He grasped the steel chain linking the cuffs with one hand, and placed the other hand on her waist. With a firm but gentle motion, he turned her around to face th
e other ladies.

  She trembled at the contact of his hand so near her denim clad hip. The heat from his fingertips penetrated the layers of cloth, making her feel as if they were touching, skin to skin. She had the strangest sensation of wanting the touch to last, of wanting more sensual contact with him.

  His gruff words cut through her fantasy. "Miss Lane, send your friends away. Now."

  Snatched back to reality, she drew a deep breath. Looking at Daisy, Prissy, and the others who had gathered to protest, she shook her head. She felt a very real sense of defeat. When she'd left the Crazy Eights this morning toting her sign, she'd never imagined she'd be arrested like a common criminal.

  Daisy, her eyes wide, spoke. "Lord, Angel. Is he really going to haul you in?"

  She nodded. "Ladies, you all best be getting home. There's no sense in all of us going to jail."

  Lupe, who tended bar at the saloon, stepped forward. "Don't worry, Angel. We'll have you bailed out before nightfall."

  The others all expressed their agreement, and that brought a smile to her face. Knowing she could depend on her friends made accepting this travesty of justice a bit easier. Turning back toward Deputy Simmons with pursed lips, she gave a single nod. "Let's go, Deputy."

  "We will, as soon as I see these ladies disperse." His dark eyes scanned the assemblage of women.

  Lupe tucked a dark ringlet of hair beneath her flowered hat. "Come on, ladies." She started walking away from the intersection, staying to the plank walk and headed in the direction of the saloon. The other ladies followed suit.

  As if satisfied, Gregory began walking Angel up Founder's Avenue toward the structure housing the sheriff's office and jail.

  Once inside, he undid the cuffs and escorted her into the first of three empty cells. When he closed the iron bars and locked her in, she sat down on the short wooden bench situated against the rear wall of the cell.

  Her handsome, but surly captor walked away, leaving her to contemplate her current situation. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the sights. The bench she sat on, and the low cot in the corner, were the only furniture in the space. Above her head, there was a single, square shaped window hewn out of the stone wall. Though it was not very large, the window was still outfitted with three short iron bars.

  She couldn't help wondering if the murderous Crazy Charlie had been incarcerated in this cell. Three years prior, the outlaw had killed Doris Ridgeway, a prominent citizen of town. It outraged her to think that she, an upstanding, taxpaying citizen of town, would be thrown into a cell with only slightly more regard than a hardened criminal like him.

  Now that she was in the quiet of the cell, away from the commotion outside, she remembered something the deputy had said. Recalling his accusations made her even madder, and she resolved that if she were going to be stuck here all day, she would make the best use of it by giving him a good-sized piece of her mind.

  To that end, she stood and came to the door of the cell. A glance to her right let her see him, sitting at the desk at the end of the hall, just a few feet away. The dark waves of his brown hair barely grazed the base of his neck. He appeared to be writing something, and was a bit hunched over the desktop.

  In any other situation, she might have hesitated to interrupt whatever he was doing. But right now, she didn't care what he was busy with.

  He was going to hear her, and hear her good.

  She opened her mouth and shouted, "Deputy! I need a word with you!"

  ***

  Gregory looked up from his arrest report when he heard Angel shrieking for him. A groan escaped his lips. Whatever she wanted would likely be a waste of his time, but responding to her request was the professional thing to do. With that in mind, he lay down his pen, got up, and took the few steps down the corridor to the first cell.

  She stood there, her small hands propped on her denim clad hips. If her tone hadn't given away her displeasure, her posture and facial expression made it clear. Her full lips were pursed so tight they almost disappeared, and he noticed the same tightness in the chocolate brown jaw. Angel's hazel eyes were flashing with fire and brimstone, and he braced himself for a lecture of some sort. "Yes, Ms. Lane?"

  "You called me irrational. I demand an apology!"

  He wanted to chuckle, but held back, thinking the better of it. "I didn't call you irrational. I called all women irrational. The fact that you 'demand' anything, when I'm the law and you're the prisoner, proves my point."

  She gripped the bars, and narrowed her eyes. "How dare you say such things? Do you presume to know every woman in the world, to make such blanket judgments about an entire sex?"

  He shrugged. "I don't need to know all of you. The few I've met have all proven to be crazy on some level."

  A sound of utter disgust erupted from her mouth. "How much will it cost my friends for you to release me from this den of charlatans?"

  "Seventy-five dollars, the fine for disturbing the peace. If you ladies stop parading around making silly demands, I won't have to arrest you again."

  She folded her arms across her chest, squaring her shoulders. "Silly demands, you say? Tell me, Deputy, what do you know about politics?"

  He grazed his fingertips over his chin. Venom spitting aside, Angel Lane was a beautiful woman. Chocolate skin, a mop of wavy dark hair that reached her shoulders, and as shapely a figure as he'd ever seen on a woman. With her penchant for tight denim trousers and frilly collared blouses, like the ones she wore now, he could easily make out the curves beneath.

  "Deputy, I'm waiting."

  Her impatient tone wasn't lost on him and it was enough to draw his attention back to the present, and the question she'd asked him. "I know that Noah is running against Nathan Greer for mayor, since Bernard's decided to retire."

  "And? Don't you know anything further?"

  "I know who I'm going to vote for, what more is there to know?"

  She shook her head, as if she pitied him. "What do these men stand for? And what of the national elections? America will choose a president this year as well, if you didn't know."

  She might think him dim-witted, but he when knew he was being insulted. "I know there's a presidential election going on, I'm not an idiot. I just don't care much for politics."

  "Hmph." She gave him a rather dismissive look.

  He could see from the tight set of her face that she meant to rile him, but he remained calm. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned his back against the wall opposite the cell. "I already know who I favor in the mayor's race here, what more do I need to know?"

  She blew out a breath, her hazel eyes rolling as if she were speaking to a child. "Do you really think the mayor's race in a little town like Ridgeway is the only important vote you need to make? What about the presidential race?"

  He shrugged. He'd never had much interest in national politics. "I'm not of a mind that my vote counts much when it comes to that."

  "Come now. You're a white man, and voting is your birthright. Do you really take it for granted so much that you don't even bother to inform yourself about national elections?"

  He didn't like her tone, but fought to keep his expression neutral. "I suppose so. And I suppose you're going to teach me the err of my ways."

  She harrumphed, flopped down on the bench inside the cell. "Not sure I can do that. But I can tell you all about the facts in the presidential race."

  He watched as she leaned back against the cell's wall, and slung one long, lean leg over the other. The demure positioning somehow managed to cause a tightening in his groin. Clearing his throat as he dragged his gaze upward to her face, he nodded. "Go ahead. My shift's not over till this afternoon."

  Raking a graceful hand through her dark locks, she started in. "As you know, Grover Cleveland in the Democrat incumbent in the race-- you do know he's the current president, correct?"

  He cut her a hard look, but nodded.

  Her face softened a bit, and she continued. "Senator Benjamin Harrison, of Indiana
, is the Republican candidate running against him, along with his vice-presidential candidate, a mister Levi P. Morton."

  He looked at her between the iron bars, amazed by the way her hazel eyes danced with light as she listed the facts of the election. It was a topic most folks, including him, found endlessly dull. Somehow, Angel May managed to be enthralled with it.

  "There are a few other candidates-Clinton B. Fisk of the Prohibition Party, Alson Streeter of the Union Labor Party, and of course Belva Lockwood, the only female candidate-she represents the National Equal Rights Party. Out here, though, she'll likely be a write in."

  That last sentence gave him pause. "So, there's a woman in the race? Running for President of the United States?"

  She pursed her full, pink tinted lips. "Sure there is, and why not? She's run before, back in '84." She paused, touched a fingertip to her chin. "I can see why you're surprised, though, seeing as how you think women too stupid to vote, let alone run for office."

  He felt a tinge of guilt, but vowed not to reveal it to her. She was already high and mighty enough without him playing into her little tirade. Grasping the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he groaned. "Yeah, sure. Just go on and tell me, then. I suppose you'd vote for Lockwood, then, if you could vote?"

  She shook her head, her expression giving away her distaste. "Tisk, tisk, Deputy. Once again you think you know all there is to know about women, and once again, you're wrong. I don't base my political decisions on gender."

  He felt his jaw tighten as a bit more of his patience with this smart mouthed, headstrong woman slipped away. "Cut the sass and tell me who you'd vote for, Ms. Lane."

  She tapped her chin again before she spoke. "Actually, I favor the Prohibition party candidate, Fisk. He was a Union general in the War Between the States, a senior officer of the Freedman's Bureau, and has done a lot of good work for education in the south."