Energized after shedding the heavy jacket, she quickly came out of her bodice and skirts all the way down to her camisole and drawers. She hadn’t felt this carefree since they’d left Philadelphia. Despite the fact she was a grown woman of twenty and a lady, she waltzed about the room, while singing, In the Good Old Summertime . After the last twirl, she bent over to pick her skirt up off the floor.
She heard the door open, and said, “Oh, good, you haven’t gone downstairs yet. I could use some extra hangars.”
When silence greeted her, she turned and sucked in so much air she nearly strangled on her own spit. Coughing and trying to breathe, she covered herself with the deep lavender linen. A tall, sturdy man with a thick chest and broad shoulders filled the doorway. He stared at her but didn’t say anything.
After a few seconds, she found her voice, and finally managed, “Good golly, who are you?”
2
L inc’s valise hit the floor with a thud. He hadn’t expected to find anyone in the room he’d stayed in, when he was last here.
He took in the woman’s state of undress and knew, as a gentleman, he should leave the room or, at the very least, look away. But he couldn’t. He tried to decide what exactly it was about her that commanded his attention. Her dark brown hair shone in the light from the window, her waistline slim without the aid of a corset, her lips plump as if she’d just been thoroughly kissed.
While it was all those things, it was none of those things. No, it was her eyes, an intoxicating shade of violet, that took over his imagination. They surely held the secrets of her soul and, quite possibly, the universe.
“Excuse me,” she said, breaking into his thoughts. “I asked who you are and what you’re doing here?”
He grinned and said, “Lincoln Bass, miss, and I believe you are in my room.”
“You are mistaken, sir. This is my room, and I’ll thank you to leave at once!”
“Miss,” he sighed, “I have just ridden on horseback from town and climbed three flights of stairs. I do not intend to turn right around and go back down.” He dropped his bag onto the floor, and grimaced, as he reached for the chair at the dressing table. He carried it to the door, turned, and said, “I’ll wait outside here for you to get dressed and then, we’ll figure this out.”
She dropped the skirt into a heap onto the floor, grabbed the patchwork quilt from the bed, threw it around her shoulders, and marched right past him.
“Where’re you headed?” he called after her.
“To get this settled, once and for all!”
Another grin split his face and he chuckled. He couldn’t have said why he didn’t grab his bag and go downstairs. Shoot, he’d even bed down in the barn if necessary, but she was so darn cute, all riled and such. He hadn’t been able to resist the temptation. Even now, watching her storm off in her bed quilt, stockinged feet, and feathered hat, she was one fetching woman.
Minutes passed before he heard female voices on the second floor beneath where he sat, and he moved to the top tread to hear the conversation. He recognized the one belonging to Griffin’s wife, Laurel, and of course the voice belonging to the one with the ruffled feathers.
“Now, Emmeline, calm down,” Laurel said in a soft voice. “I didn’t find out until five minutes ago that Griffin had invited Mr. Bass here on business.”
“But, you said I could have the attic room.”
“My goodness, you don’t sound a day older than my seven-year-old, Coral,” Laurel scolded. “Next, you’ll be stomping your foot. I also said I had fixed the room next to the girls’ because they want to be close to you.”
“Well . . . it will be slightly cooler down here for sleeping, I guess. And especially if the girls want me to be close. All right, then,” she huffed.
He listened to the bristly one temper her tone as she reconsidered their arrangements. That one, what was her name . . . Emmeline . . . may be smarter than he’d first thought. It had been fall and early winter when he’d stayed here last during his recovery. He’d completely forgotten about heat rising. Damn, this being summer, he’d be well roasted by the time morning rolled around.
He took his seat again in the chair as feminine footsteps and the rustling of skirts sounded in the stairwell with Laurel emerging first.
“Lincoln, it’s so nice to have you here,” she greeted him warmly. “I hope you can stay with us for a few days.”
He stood again, hat in hand, to greet her. “Sorry to intrude, ma’am. I mistakenly assumed you knew I was arriving. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Graciously, she smiled and answered, “You’re welcome anytime. May I formally introduce my sister, Emmeline Weidner? Emmeline, this is Mr. Bass.”
“Miss Weidner, I look forward to getting to know you.” He bowed slightly from the waist, resisting the urge to call her princess or click his heels together. Her nod of acknowledgement was so small, he almost missed it. If he read her right, and he’d have to be blind to miss it, she looked mad enough to chew nails and spit tacks.
“Hmmpf.” She stirred up a whirlwind of a breeze, as she stormed past him. She stopped and waited by the door.
“I apologize for my sister, Lincoln,” Laurel said.
“No need,” he answered. “I’m afraid I’m the reason for her behavior.”
“Nevertheless, she knows better.” As she reached the threshold, she turned and said, “Supper’s at six.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
His gaze followed them as they disappeared into the room, and just before Emmeline closed the door, he caught a glimpse of satin and lace, as she laid the quilt on the bed. The bird’s nest hat, one he felt certain was considered fashionable, but completely hideous, took up residence on the poster at the foot of the bed. He wouldn’t have thought any woman could’ve worn it gracefully, but she had.
Interesting how everything happened in a way you least expected. After the accident, he hadn’t planned on ever coming back to Flat Rock Point. Now that he was here to help his friend, he’d crossed paths with the fetching girl/woman named Emmeline. He found he was intrigued by her, and he very much looked forward to figuring her out.
Emmeline began to gather her things after she closed the door. She’d never met a man so insufferable, and yet, so appealing. He was cocky and sure of himself. Why did all men think they were God’s gift to women?
“Where are your manners, Emmeline Louise?”
“Exactly where they’re supposed to be, and readily accessible when needed.”
“I swear, this is the type of attitude that always gets you in trouble with Mama and Papa.” Laurel placed the last of her sister’s things into the trunk and closed the lid. “Etiquette demands we conduct ourselves as ladies and act accordingly. You whined worse than Josie does at age five.”
Emmeline dropped to the bed in her petticoats to put on her shoes and sighed. “I don’t know, maybe I did, but the truth is, I’m tired of being ordered about by men. Papa, Malcolm, Mr. Hodges at school, and then this strange man in my bedroom telling me to leave . . . it just got to me.
“I bet Aunt Lottie wouldn’t have put up with his arrogance either.” As soon as she’d referenced their aunt, Carlotta Carlisle, she regretted it. She finished hooking the last button on her leather shoes, put the hook away, and rose to give Laurel a hug. “I’m sorry, I know you miss her.”
“I do, and losing her the way we did in the tornado . . . not having her body to bury . . . was devastating.” Leaving Emmeline’s embrace, Laurel helped her put on the day dress made of pink and white striped poplin. Smiling, she said, “You’re right about Aunt Lottie, too, though she could put a gentleman in his place in such a way, he would enjoy the trip.”
“So, you’re saying I have a lot to learn in the art of handling men and people in general.”
“In a word, yes. You don’t always need a sledge hammer to get your point across.”
Emmeline placed her hat in its box, set it atop the trunk, and asked, “What happened to Mr. Bass?
I noticed he seems to favor his right leg.”
“That’s a story for Mr. Bass to tell.
“But you must know what happened.”
“Suffice it to say, there was a logging accident last year.” Laurel checked the timepiece pinned to the bodice of her dress. “Come along, now. We should start cooking if we’re going to have supper on the table by six.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Emmeline said, as she followed her to the door. “But remember, I’m a product of Philadelphia society. I can’t cook worth spit!”
“That won’t be a problem.” Laurel smiled, broadly, and her eyes lit up. “I have just the thing for you.”
“Oh, no, not that blessed book you prattled on about when we were here last.”
“That blessed book, as you call it, saved my life after I got here.”
Emmeline followed Laurel down the stairs to the kitchen. She knew her sister had arrived in this frontier town of Flat Rock Point two years ago, with little to no knowledge of anything domestic. She admired her for that, but didn’t feel she had the courage it must have taken.
At the bottom of the stairs, Laurel continued, as she led the way into the kitchen. “I knew nothing about running a household, much less a farm. Before I left Lawrence, Massachusetts for my life here, my friend, Roberta McDaniel, suggested I buy Aunt Jennie’s Household Bible. I wouldn’t have survived without it.” She plucked the book from its place on the shelf next to the plates, bowls, and saucers, and carefully handed it over.
Emmeline accepted the book, with its tattered edges and loose pages, realizing, not for the first time since that weasel, Malcolm had deserted her at the altar, how much her older sister had changed. She had truly matured into a woman, wife, and mother. She questioned her own abilities to transform herself, but if she did, she seriously doubted any book would play a part.
“Thank you for sharing Aunt Jennie with me, but for safe keeping, I think I’ll leave it here in its safe place.”
“But . . .”
“It’s all right,” she soothed, returning it to its owner. “I’ll know exactly where it is, when a reference is needed.”
“Well . . . all right.” Laurel placed her beloved book back on the shelf and put on her apron. Passing another one over, she said, “Here’s one for you. And, if you’ll flour this chicken that’s been soaking since we arrived home, I’ll start the biscuits.”
Emmeline took the bowl of chicken pieces that were swimming in some sort of thick, slimy, white liquid. Her nose crinkled in disgust, as she sniffed the contents, and her stomach did a nosedive.
“Oh, good golly, what’s this?”
“Don’t put your nose in it, silly. It’s buttermilk to make the flour stick better when we fry it, for a delicious crust.”
“Is this how Cook did it?”
“Yes, of course,” Laurel said. “And stop making faces or you’re going to have permanent railroad tracks between your eyes.” She opened a drawer containing flour, and grabbed a large mixing bowl. Adding a couple of scoops of flour, she seasoned it with salt and pepper, and set the mixture on the counter beside the stove. “Here, this is what you’ll coat the chicken with. Put a fire under the skillet to heat the grease.”
The skillet looked more like a cast iron pot to Emmeline, but she lit the fire. There were two scoops of lard in the skillet and, while the heat melted them, she watched Laurel pour milk into the flour drawer and mix the biscuit dough right there. She watched so intently, that she jumped when Laurel spoke. “What did you say?”
“I said, you need to start cooking the chicken before the grease burns.”
“Oh.” Gritting her teeth, she delved into the white slime for a chicken piece. When the last one was in the skillet, she placed the lid on and thought to herself, she would never again eat fried chicken.
A few minutes later, she grimaced again at her slime-and-flour-caked fingers. “What a mess,” she said, more to herself than to anyone in the room.
Laurel laughed. “Believe it or not, it does come off with soap and water.”
“It feels like a glue paste.”
Laurel sighed, picked up some flour, and flicked it at Emmeline’s face. “Oh, for goodness sake, you’re hopeless!”
Emmeline flipped clots of flour and buttermilk in her sister’s direction. “Am not, it’s disgusting!”
“Are too, and yes, it is.” She reached for Emmeline and the two tussled with each other as they’d done as young girls.
After a couple of minutes, Emmeline realized they weren’t alone. Two little girls, with eyes as big as saucers, stood huddled together. She grabbed Laurel’s attention and said, “Look.”
“Coral, Josie, hi, sweethearts.”
Coral, the older of the two said in a small voice, “Mama? Auntie Em? Are you fighting?”
“No, girls, we were just playing and it got out of hand,” Emmeline said, as she wiped a streak of dried flour and buttermilk off her sister’s cheek.
“Would you do me a favor?” Laurel led her step-daughters to the table. “Sit here with some milk and cookies while we clean up our mess?”
The youngest, Josie, giggled, as Coral said, “Can we crack the whip, like Papa says?”
Emmeline blinked some flour from her lashes, grinned, and said, “Absolutely. You keep a close watch on your Mama. She’s the lazy one!”
Linc found Griffin in the barn putting away tools and tending some of the stock.
“Can I help?”
“Nah, thanks, this is the last one.” Griffin spread out the hay in the stall and hung up the pitchfork. “I want to thank you, too, for coming as quick as you did.”
“No problem. I didn’t know anyone to recommend to you, and besides, there was nothing to hold me in Little Rock.” He followed Griffin out into the yard doing his best to avoid looking in the direction where the accident had happened. Remembering, still made him anxious. “What’s going on?”
“You recall me telling you, back in the spring, my brother’s lumber mill in Texas burned to the ground?”
“Yeah, they lost a lot of good timber, too, didn’t they?”
“Too much to get the mill going anytime soon.” He dragged the gate closed and latched it for the night. “I’ve been trying to convince him to come up here and work with me for a while, but he says he’s too involved to make the trip.”
“Seems it’d be a good thing, if he could manage it.”
“He’s working with the sheriff and a Texas Ranger to find out what started the fire. Originally, they assumed a lightning strike caused the fire, but a kerosene can was found near the office.
“Evidently the Ranger knows his stuff, because he also discovered an oily residue on wood from the desk and file cabinet. Markus was a suspect until he could provide an alibi.”
“Good news for your brother, but how are you involved?”
Griffin leveled his gaze at Linc and his eyes narrowed. “That, right there, your intuitiveness, that’s why I need you here. You see, before I knew about the suspected arson, I hired a couple of men who said they’d worked for Markus. I found out later, they’d been fired for not doing their job.”
“And you want me to come to work for you to find out what I can about them, as discreetly as possible.”
“No, those men are gone. I cut ‘em lose as soon as I found out.” He rubbed the back of his neck and continued, “With all the new expansion going on, I’m hiring a mill foreman, planer foreman, and yard foreman, and a lot of new men. Ansel Hailstock will remain my woods foreman.
“I was thinking, Linc, that technically, you’re still an employee of Sealy Lumber Mill, so it shouldn’t raise any questions to have you come in to work for Clem and Otto Hailstock, when they leave to go back to school in a few days?”
Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip at the thought of working out in the field again. If Griffin wasn’t such a good friend, he might have refused the request.
“Look, Linc,” Griffin said, “I know what I’m asking, how h
ard this is for you, but I also know you’re the only man I can trust. I hope you’ll say yes.”
He studied his boots a second or two longer, and then lifted his head to meet Griffin’s gaze. Grinning, he put out his hand. “When do I start, Boss?”
Griffin clasped Linc’s hand. “In a couple of days, I think, give you time to reacquaint yourself with the town.”
“Should I get a room at the hotel?”
“You’re welcome to stay here. Most of the men already know we’re more like family. Besides, Laurel would make a feast of my backside if I let you stay anywhere else.” He clapped Linc on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up for supper, and I’ll introduce you to my sister-in-law, Emmeline.”
“Thanks,” Linc answered, with a glance toward the house. “We’ve met.”
“Uh-oh, what’d she do?”
“It was me.” He chuckled and scratched his head. Though it was interesting her brother-in-law had thought she was the culprit. There must be some history there. Out loud, he said, “I’m afraid I caused the uproar. I don’t know if she’s forgiven me.”
“Well, you’re not going to find out, out here. Let’s go see if the dust has settled, and maybe find a chicken leg to gnaw on.”
Linc followed Griffin through the front door. The large family gathering room with the fireplace to his left and the dining room to his right looked serene, but giggling and a mysterious white cloud emanated from the kitchen.
Griffin started that direction as he called out, “Laurel?”
Both little girls popped through the kitchen door to greet their father.
“Papa!” Coral shouted as Josie wrapped her arms around Griffin’s knees.
“What’s going on in there? A tickling contest?” He picked up Josie, his fingers searching for her ribs, giving his youngest daughter some personal tickle time.
Emmeline, Bride of Arkansas Page 2
