She reached for her cup. “I don’t guess I’ve been more than thirty miles from here since I was a child. It used to be too much of a danger, because of the chance of Comanche raids, and everyone just stuck close to town or their ranch. I guess it’s just habit to stay home, these days.” And what would she do in a big city like San Antonio? Shop? It didn’t really hold much appeal. She had everything that she needed. And the one thing that she wanted wasn’t available.
He grinned and took another drink. “You’re not missing anything. I was anxious to get away, once I talked to Mrs. Wayne. Poor woman. I wish there was some way to help her. I think she has a good lawyer, though, and he’ll get things straightened out for her.”
“It’s a shame you had to go all the way down there to find out something.”
Ethan leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs. His eyes settled on her, sending her heart into a series of somersaults. He grinned. “It didn’t do me any harm to get away for a few days. I think it made me appreciate everything back here.”
If only he meant she was what he appreciated.. Hallie brushed her hair from her face and looked away. It was almost time to bring out the paper, ink, and pen. He would want to get started soon. She had no excuses to keep him from the task.
He cleared his throat. “I guess I’m ready to start that letter. . .if you are.”
She sighed. Why did his tone sound like he was getting ready to compose a eulogy?
***
He would put it off longer, this letter, but Hallie would become suspicious of his feelings if he lingered in her company too many more evenings. It was hard to estimate how many more suppers with her it would take before he wouldn’t make himself write the letter. Before his heart would take over and he would forget the common sense plan he had for his life. And then it would be Hallie that he asked to marry him.
He cleared his throat. “There is one thing, before we start.”
She paused as she picked up a book and small stack of paper. “What is it?”
“While I was in San Antonio, I went over and talked to the sheriff about Trevor. Just to see if he’d been around town. Sheriff had never heard of him. The next morning, he sent off a telegram to Kansas City. He got a telegram back from the police chief up there. No Barrington Real Estate in the city.”
Hallie frowned. “So, what does that mean?”
He narrowed his eyes. “It means, if you see him coming back around up here, you have your rifle ready. Nobody really knows just who he is.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous?”
He hadn’t meant to scare her. “No. I’m not saying that. I figure he’s down here trying to buy up property for some rich investor. I’m not saying he’s out to hurt anyone. Just be careful, alright?”
Hallie nodded and picked up the inkwell.
He sat back as she brought a large book and put in on the table in front of him. The white paper she arranged on top of it was clean and smooth. Her small hands looked so delicate in the lamplight as she set the ink and pen beside the book, then took a seat beside him. He removed the page of paper from his pocket and put it beside the pen and paper.
She gave him a quick smile. “Have you decided what you want to say?”
Her voice sounded remote, as if her thoughts were somewhere else. He cleared his throat. “Well, no. I thought. . .maybe you might have an idea.” He had pondered this very thing on his ride back, knowing it was his next task. But the time hadn’t produced any thoughts on the content of the letter. What sort of thing to write to the strange woman had eluded him.
Chapter 24
So much for thinking she might get an idea from him for a letter. And he had been thinking on it much longer than she had. Maybe she made it harder on herself since she had acknowledged her feelings for him. Most people writing these letters were probably not already in love with someone else. They were looking for love. “I. . .I don‘t know. Let’s read the advertisement again.” If nothing else, it would add a few moments to their time together. She reached for the slip of paper and read the words aloud. “Young woman, 27, seeking ranch life in the west. Am able to bake, sew, and do most household chores. Prefer tall man with home established. No children. Not expecting love, just companionship. Am willing to come at once.”
Hallie waited and watched as Ethan’s lips moved, re-reading the paper. In the lamplight, the crinkles around his eyes appeared deeper than usual, and the blue of his eyes was dark, like cobalt glass. Her fingers tingled to reach up and touch his face, feel the roughness of his shadowy beard on her palm, smooth away the hard lines on his forehead. Tell him everything was going to be all right.
“I’m not sure,” his voice broke her thoughts. “I would prefer to correspond for a few letters before I ask her to come. I mean, I want to make sure that she’s the right one.”
Hallie squirmed in her seat and pretended to get more comfortable as she did her best to erase the thoughts of him from her mind. “I don’t think that’s unreasonable. You could explain that in the letter.”
His eyes met hers and her heart dropped to her stomach. Please don’t let me give away my feelings, Lord. He would never understand.
“Then let’s get started.” He reached for the pen and dipped it in the inkwell.
“Or, you could choose another.” Stop it, Hallie. It was nothing more than a move to stall the inevitable. His trip away from her had done nothing to endear her to him. His mind was still set on sending off for a bride. “There are plenty more advertisements in this column, alone,” she pointed. “And new ones come out every week,” she reminded him.
His forehead wrinkled. “You don’t think she sounds like a good one to write to?”
His voice was so earnest that she couldn’t help but smile, however much the process was tearing at her heart. “I think she’s fine. I’m just saying that there are others to choose from.”
Doubt washed across his handsome face. A twinge of guilt coursed through her. The one he had selected was probably exactly what he was looking for. The woman didn’t stand out anymore than the others, but she had specified that she didn’t expect love. That was probably what drew him to her. If only he wasn’t so afraid of loving someone. Had only one failed romance done this to his heart? What sort of woman could leave a man’s heart in this condition?
“What about this one? I’d thought about her,” he pointed on down the column.
Young woman looking to move west. Can cook, sew, and break horses. Available to come at once. Was this woman applying for a husband or a job? Maybe it felt the same when you were selling yourself in a newspaper. She had given up on her letter to Mr. Westbury. Somehow, the whole thing was just too complicated.
“I liked the first one better,” he added.
“Then that is the one you should write to,” she smiled at him. “You need to pick her yourself, Ethan. You’ll be the one married to her.”
“You’re right.” He reached for the pen and dipped it in the inkwell.
Her eyes followed the words as he began his letter. His writing was slow and careful, taking time with each letter. Dear Miss Bradley, my name is Ethan Kane. I am thirty-four years old. I own a ranch with a small herd of cattle. I have a cabin on the property. It is a small home, but I have plans to make an addition soon. If you are agreeable, I would like for us to exchange several letters before we make a. . . “How do you spell commitment?”
Hallie spelled it aloud, watching his hand glide with the pen. The hand that would soon belong to a Miss Bradley from Atlanta, Georgia.
She pushed her spectacles to the top of her nose. “That looks very nice,” she complimented in her best school teacher voice. “Now what?”
“How should I describe myself?”
Tall, handsome, strong, kind, loyal, sweet. . . “I guess you tell her that you are tall and blond. You are strong and able to work. Maybe tell her that you are originally from Tennessee. Just general things. You could save some of it for the next letter.” It occ
urred to her that Miss Bradley had not described herself at all. Maybe she was waiting for a letter and would then send a picture.
He stopped writing and looked at her. “You think she’ll really write back?”
Hallie pulled her eyes from his and considered the words. “Well, I guess it just depends on how many letters that she gets and, also, which letters come first.” Maybe everyone he wrote to would already be taken. That might put her in a better light to him.
Ethan put down the pen and picked up the newspaper page. “The date is April 15. Almost a month. Maybe I’m too late.”
“Probably not.” Miss Bradley would write back in a few weeks, then they would exchange a few more letters. The two of them would be married by late fall. It was a fact she had best prepare herself for.
***
The clock struck midnight, rustling him from his thoughts. He had read and re-read the letter several times. His imagination wasn’t active enough to allow him to picture the woman that would receive his words. What did she look like? Was she nice? Pretty? Did she have a laugh as sweet as Hallie’s?
He set his jaw. He should leave that last thought alone. He folded the letter and put it on the mantle beside his unopened mail. He stared at the envelope. Maybe it was best to get on with whatever was inside of that letter, while he was busy with correspondence.
He picked up the envelope and took it back to the small table. Easing himself into the rocker, he picked up a knife and slit open the heavy paper. Unfolding the document, his heart dropped when he recognized the handwriting. The sight of the distinctive scrawls had not touched his eyes since he was fourteen years old. The handwriting belonged to J. T. Kane, the man that had deserted them. Left his mother, himself, and brother Gilbert to get by on their own. The strain had killed his mother and sent Gilbert to drink, becoming just like the man that had put them in poverty.
Tension shot through his arms, begging him to crumple the paper and throw it into the cook stove, banishing it from his sight. It would be the easiest thing to do, but the fourteen year-old boy had grown up. He was a man and had to face head-on whatever came. It would be easy to pretend that he was shocked, amazed, to hear from the man. But something inside of him had always held on to that spark of fear that his father might return and set his world spinning out of control, once again.
Too many years had passed and now there was only Ethan. Mother and Gilbert were long in their grave, thanks to the actions of his father. He grit his teeth and clenched the paper in his hands. He would force himself to read the words that filled the paper. The words from the man that had ruined his life. The man that deserved to die for his actions against his own family. He was as guilty of their deaths, as if he had taken a gun and put a bullet hole in their heads. And someday. . .someday he would pay.
Chapter 25
“Today is the day, Essie,” Hallie proclaimed to the tired looking mother. The pups were almost four weeks old now and starting get around the stall much better. The lone black puppy seemed to be the strongest, plowing down all the others in his hurry to get to the other side of their little pen. “It’s just a shame you can’t help me write the letter,” Hallie laughed, taking the food dish from the dog and checking the water bowl. “I’ll be back to check on you in a while,” she said, latching the stall gate.
***
Her eyes focused on the crisp white piece of paper. It was still blank. The words were all in her mind, but they were so jumbled they would never do on paper. Well, she’d just have to try harder. She picked up the pen and dipped it in the inkwell. Dear Mr. Westbury, I am writing in answer to your advertisement. She rolled her eyes. Of course she was writing to him because of his advertisement. She grabbed the paper and wadded it into a ball, tossing it toward the stove. She could use her scraps with kindling tonight. Good thing she bought an entire packet of paper when she was in the mercantile. Possibly, she would have to buy another.
Her mind set, she began to write, putting down words that might encourage the man to think that she was competent and would be a good wife. If nothing else, she had the ranch to entice him. It seemed a poor excuse for love, but what else was she to do?
And as soon as the letter was finished, she had to check her list for the basket dinner for tomorrow. If only she could just make a donation, but that would never do. Reba Barkley would tease her and call her cowardly if she refused to participate. Well, that was all well and good for Reba. No one expected her to make a basket.
***
Hallie chewed the inside of her cheek and watched as Wally Stoner, serving as the auctioneer, picked up another basket. The one beside her own. A shiver of relief ran down her back. But it was only temporary. No doubt, she would be next.
She glanced across the group of men and boys, crowded near the front. Most seemed to be speculating on which basket belonged to which female. Most women did their best to keep it a secret.
Last year, her own basket had gone to Mr. Royce, owner of the lone barbershop in town. The odor of bay rum had almost overpowered her as she watched him devour her carefully-made supper. She had refused a bite, saying the heat made her feel faint. Thankfully, he had only wanted her company for the benefit of the meal and he hadn’t pursued any sort of courtship.
And who was she fooling other than herself? A woman her age was not going to be courted by anyone in this town. There were plenty of younger women for the men to choose among. No one wanted to start with a wife that was almost middle-aged.
There was a stirring in the back of the group of males. Several stepped aside to let someone through. Hallie almost choked on her breath. It was Malcolm Trevor. Was he going to bid on the baskets? She held her breath, hoping to slow down the sudden galloping of her heart. He had no way to know which basket was hers, but all her pity went to whatever woman was forced to spend the next hour or so with him. The rattlesnake Ethan had killed in her barn was almost a preference to the man’s company.
Against her will, she searched farther back, and found Ethan, leaning against the corner of the back wall. His hair had been trimmed and slicked back. The oil he had applied made the blond look dark. And it hadn’t spoiled his good looks at all. The shirt he was wearing was new. Like all bachelors, it was store-bought from Stoner’s. He had not bothered to iron out the folded creases in his haste to get to town.
She smiled thinking how much pleasure she would have found in ironing out those creases. Of course, if he belonged to her, she would have made the shirt out of a better quality cloth.
His eyes found hers and she forced her lips not to smile. Swallowing hard, she turned her attention back to the auction. She was sure that the basket being sold belonged to Ophelia Lauderdale. She could see the young girl busy making eyes at Ethan at that moment. He didn’t seem to notice. Or at least he wasn’t responding. He was keeping any possible romantic emotion he might have for his mail order bride.
“I’ve got fifty cents for this one. . .do I hear seventy-five?”
“Sixty!” A tall, young red-headed man shouted, giving another glance to the change in his hand.
It was hard to see, but she was sure he was Ron Brackett’s son. She had taught him in three grades, through five years. And he’d never been very good at math. She hoped he actually had the sixty cents. The council didn’t take kindly to being stiffed by the bidders.
In the end, the basket went to Royce, the barber. Hallie briefly wondered what his Christian name was. She had never heard it. Ophelia was going to have to call him Mr. Royce, as she had, herself, last year, during their meal. Not very companionable, she smiled. And she had been nothing but thankful that his sole purpose in buying the basket was for the food. He had barely spoken, except to praise the merits of her blackberry jam and biscuits.
Her heart skipped a beat as Wally picked up her basket. He moved it closer to himself and opened back the napkin. “Looks like some fine fried chicken in here, gentlemen. Some perfectly-baked cornbread, a small jar of pickles, and a couple of baked potatoes.
And I’m pretty sure there’s a whole buttermilk pie in here, too, as well as a bottle of tea,” he grinned. “Can’t get much better than this. Do I hear the first bid?”
Hallie held her breath and waited. She could imagine what the group was whispering among themselves. The food was good, but who did the basket belong to? They all knew that each woman did her best to make her basket look different than it had the year before. For the bidders, it was a guessing game.
“I’ll bid fifty cents.”
Hallie turned and stared at Ethan. That was a high first bid. Usually most baskets started at a nickel. What was he thinking?
“I’ll up that to seventy-five,” a weak voice sounded.
Hallie swallowed hard. Trevor. The thought of eating an entire meal with that man send her stomach spinning. Please, no, Lord.
“One dollar,” Ethan answered.
She dared not look at him. She didn’t want her basket purchased out of pity. He should just leave it alone. If Trevor won the bid, she would endure the meal and be done with the man, once and for all. There was no harm in watching him eat for an hour or so.
“One twenty-five,” a new voice bid.
Hallie recognized the voice of Robert Lewis, a hand at the livery. Probably about nineteen years old. Where did he get that much to bid on a basket meal? She suspected he thought it was Ruby Dirk’s basket, as the silly girl kept smiling and winking at him. Eating lunch with an old maid was not something a young man of Robert’s age would be looking forward to doing.
“I’ll make that one fifty,” Ethan shouted from the back.
Hallie felt the heat begin to crawl up her neck. Soon her cheeks would be flushed. This was a silly situation. She’d just as soon not eat with any of these men. What had possessed her to make the meal in the first place? Reba Barkley. The woman could talk a cat into sharing its mouse.
Ethan's Wild Rose Bride (Texas Frontier Brides Book 2) Page 14
