“Shut up, Timothy.” Harriet back-handed his shoulder and pushed off the ground. Though she was a couple months younger than Celia, she’d filled out much quicker and could talk to boys like that.
Harriet walked up the embankment to put her arm around Celia’s shoulders. “Come sit with me and catch your breath.”
Celia shook her head. “Don’t have time.” She blotted her hairline with her shirtwaist’s sleeve. Hopefully her face wasn’t too red. “Just wanted you to know.” She sucked in air. “That the marshal and my ma have decided to lock me up in the house for a week.”
“Yet here you are.” Daniel’s lips formed into something that resembled a smile and a sneer at the same time. “Knew you were my kind of girl.”
Celia’s fast pumping heart stumbled at his words.
Harriet’s posture stiffened and her arm tensed against Celia’s back.
Though Timothy was older, Daniel was the one whose eyes could make a girl swoon—a girl weaker than her, anyway.
Celia straightened and tilted her chin up, trying to appear as put together as her lungs would allow. “That’s right. No marshal is going to tell me what to do.”
Daniel faced Timothy. “She’d come in handy, for—”
“She’s too young.” Timothy’s gaze swept her from head to toe.
Harriet took a step away from Celia and frowned at the boys.
“I’m not.” Celia threw back her shoulders. “I just turned fifteen. Ma married at seventeen. If I can marry in two years, then I’m not too young for anything.”
Timothy shrugged and returned to throwing things in the water.
“I just came to tell you why I might not see you for a few days. No telling how many times I can sneak out before getting caught.”
Ma marrying the marshal had been good for one thing: the group needed her now. She knew his whereabouts and suspicions.
“Don’t get caught.” Daniel twirled a knife handle between his fingers. “I don’t want anything happening to you.” He winked.
Her lungs filled up as if they had not just tried to collapse from lack of air. She attempted to give Daniel the smile Miss McGill flashed around that made men stumble over their words. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
Ignoring Harriet’s glare, Celia walked toward Daniel in the way Ma said proper ladies walked, instead of how she normally clomped around. She sat down beside him. “Were you the one who changed the town’s name to Hades?”
“Yep.” An amused twinkle lit his eyes, those beautiful dark blue eyes.
She swallowed and made herself stop staring at them. If anybody found out she liked him enough to practice signing her name as Celia Margaret Crawford, she’d lose her reputation for being tough.
She threw a stick into the water. “What else did you paint?”
Daniel picked up a twig and sliced off a long wooden curl with his knife. “Nothing. Didn’t have much paint.”
“The marshal saw the empty buckets on your porch. He’s on to you. Plans on asking your daddy about them.”
Timothy squinted against the dying sun. “You could tell your pa you whitewashed my fence yesterday.”
Celia sneered at Timothy. “And did he whitewash your fence yesterday?”
He sneered back. “No.”
“Then how would that work if the marshal checks on it?”
Timothy glared at her before picking up a rock to throw into the rapids.
Harriet sighed. “Do I have to do all the thinking around here?”
“And what would you do?” Daniel dropped what was left of his stick onto the ground and grabbed another. “We can’t go whitewash his fence now. His pa won’t lie about when we did it.”
Harriet put her hands on her hips. “Tell your pa you finished painting your fort last night.”
“I don’t have a fort.”
Harriet shrugged. “So? You think your daddy’s going to go tromping around to find it? Even if he did, not finding your fort doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
Daniel snapped his fingers then pointed at her and winked. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
Harriet’s heart-shaped face lit up.
Celia glowered at the two of them, but they didn’t seem to notice. Stepping between them, she picked up a rock and chucked it clear out past the two boulders in the middle of the river. “So what fun am I going to miss this week?”
“We should steal clothes off Mrs. Tate’s line this time.” Harriet dropped onto a tree stump and fluffed her skirts about her. “I bet they’re big enough to fit Sullivan’s pig. Then we let her loose wearing fancy drawers. Now wouldn’t that be a hoot.”
Daniel smirked and turned to Celia. “Is the marshal in for the night?”
Celia nodded.
Timothy grunted. “Daniel and I got better things to do than dress up pigs.”
“Like what?” Celia cocked her head.
“I’m not telling you.”
Harriet sat up straight. “Why not?”
“Men stuff.”
Harriet rolled her eyes.
Daniel placed his hand on Celia’s shoulder and an ooey-gooey feeling crept up her neck. “Listen. You come whenever you can, but don’t get into any more trouble with the marshal. We can’t get away with much if we don’t know where he is.”
The thought of groveling to the marshal made her stomach churn, but if Daniel wanted her to do it, she’d do it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jacob handed Annie the last dish to dry, then leaned his hip against the counter to watch her. Without Celia at the table this evening, Annie had seemed more inclined to talk. Was it Celia’s presence that caused her to freeze around him?
The night she’d purposely placed her hand on his leg had made him think their relationship was finally going somewhere, but the moment her daughter had shown up she’d pulled away. He’d tried to hide his disappointment, but hadn’t succeeded.
She’d yet to purposely touch him again.
“Think Celia’s all right?” She put the bowl away and wiped her hands on the towel, bunching the fabric in her hands.
Jacob loosened the towel from her white-knuckled grasp and tossed it aside. “What trouble can she get into in her room? Don’t worry so much.” Taking Annie’s hand, he pulled her toward the parlor doorway and peeked in.
Spencer’s forehead was puckered in concentration as he stared at a paper on the writing desk.
“You still writing your story?”
Spencer turned to smile and waved his pencil at him. “Yes, sir.”
“I can’t wait to read it. You keep working on it until we come get you. All right, son?”
“Sure, Pa.”
He’d never thought being called Pa would feel so good. He stepped back and tugged on Annie’s hand. Without protest, his wife followed him onto the back porch.
“Wait here.”
He reentered the kitchen, grabbed two chairs, and returned. “Have a seat.”
He placed his chair next to hers and inhaled the loamy, fresh-turned earth smell drifting on the cool night breeze.
A frog under the porch croaked a lullaby for the setting sun.
Hunched over and hugging herself as if cold, Annie stared up at the full moon glimmering in the bright yellow and rose sky. “Pretty sunset.”
He fixed her shawl to cover her exposed neck, left his arm around her, and then settled back against his seat. A few seconds passed before Annie’s muscles relaxed under his arm. Then he pulled her in tight.
As much as he’d like to just sit and hold her while watching the dying sunset, he needed to tell her about Bryant’s offer. “How would you feel if I started looking into purchasing another tract of land?”
Her face contorted a bit one way and then another, but she said nothing.
“I can’t afford anything as good as yours was, but it would be something.”
An owl’s screech echoed about in the silence.
Did she not like the idea of starting over
again? “Or what about me looking for a new job? I’m not meant to be a lawman. I could herd sheep.”
“No, we’d never see you.” She shook her head adamantly, turning to stare at him, the horizon’s red and orange flickers dancing in her eyes.
If the thought of him working the long, lonely hours of a shepherd made her protest, perhaps he’d captured more of her heart than he’d thought. He studied her delicate profile surrounded by stray strands of auburn hair blowing in the breeze. “Then we’ll hold out for ranch land. Bryant offered to keep his eye open for a good deal.”
“A deal like mine?”
“Not that good of a deal.” He cleared his throat. “We’d have to settle for less.”
“But where would we get the money?” Annie’s voice trembled.
“I have savings. It just wasn’t enough to pay for your land. But if Bryant learns of a distressed property, I might be able to haggle with the owner before he loses his land to auction.”
The neighbors’ upper story shutters opened and their youngest boy’s violin bow screeched across strings. Jacob braced himself for the nightly torture.
Over the past year, he’d thought Joe would improve, but he’d clearly been wrong. Why the boy’s parents hadn’t yet talked themselves out of paying for music lessons, he didn’t know.
The boy’s screeching stopped for a second. “I think I have enough to buy a small plot I could fence. We’d never be able to compete with the big operations, so maybe I’d try my hand at breeding fine horses.”
“But what would you—” Annie grimaced so forcefully at Joe hitting a particularly atrocious note that if she didn’t already have a headache, she’d probably just given herself one. “What will we do with my cattle?”
Surely she had to know this was coming. “Unless I hear of something promising soon, I think we should sell them.”
A musical screech split the air, and a shudder took over her body. “I don’t know enough about land to help you make decisions.”
“Bryant could advise me on the land’s worth.” He tried not to grit his teeth as Joe started playing something that sort of sounded like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. “As long as I don’t try negotiating directly after an evening of listening to Joe murder his fiddle, I should be able to keep myself from paying three times its worth for some country silence.”
She chuckled. “I trust you. However you decide.”
Had he earned her trust for anything other than putting a roof over her head yet?
He could find out.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, he leaned across their chairs and placed a kiss on the soft spot below her ear.
The same look that had crossed her face earlier when he’d kissed her temple scurried across her features. He forced himself not to run a finger against the gooseflesh that had popped up on her arm and reached for her hands instead. “Come.”
“Where’re we going?” She looked over her shoulder as he tugged her to stand. “Spencer might—”
“Not far.” He walked her out to the strip of hard-packed earth she’d left between her gardens. “Just out here to enjoy the music.”
She screwed her face up at him. “You call what Joe’s doing ‘music’?”
“Can’t let a few bad notes fool you.” He threaded her stiff arm around his waist and clasped her free hand. On the next note, an oddly recognizable one, Jacob started a waltz pattern. Annie tripped a little as he struggled to find a triple beat to dance to.
After a few box steps, she blew the hair from her face. “Coyotes sound better than this.”
He chuckled. “Much better, I’m afraid. We need to buy the kid more rosin or tell him to lighten up on his pressure.”
“You play?”
“Not anymore. Couldn’t keep from screeching.” He smiled and twirled her around. “But we have to practice dancing together before the church fundraiser next Sunday. So, why not take advantage of the serenade under the lover’s moon?”
Surprisingly, she didn’t stiffen at his silly attempt at romantic words and shook her head at him. “I’m pretty sure the lover’s moon is in June.”
He slipped his arm completely around her waist and pulled her in tight. “Hush,” he whispered against her ear. “Don’t stop me with technicalities.”
Humming, he moved back into a closed position and tried anew to find a triple beat.
She stepped on his toe, and he tripped on a dirt embankment. Then a terribly harsh note caused a shiver to run down his spine.
She huffed after tripping over him yet again. “How can you pretend to keep any sort of time when there isn’t a melody to be had?”
“Don’t ruin my fun, woman.” He changed to dancing in common time and moved her into a two step. Once he got her into a consistent, albeit repetitious pattern, he fought to sing lyrics against Joe’s successful attempt to play anything but music.
“Then we all would eat our supper, after that we’d clear the kitchen,
That’s only time we had to spare, to have a little fun,
Neighbor Joe would take the fiddle down…”
She chuckled at his forcing Joe’s name into the song.
“…that hung upon the wall,
While the silv’ry moon was shining clear and bright—”
“I’m impressed.”
He reeled Annie out and twisted her back in. “With my singing or my dancing?”
“That you can do either while Joe’s playing.” She stepped under his arm.
He twirled her back against him. “Sing with me.”
She stepped away and laughed. “I can’t. I think you’ve changed keys no less than three times in the last line alone.”
He pulled her closer and nearly lost his ability to stay on his feet when she laid her head on his shoulder. “Just following our talented neighbor’s lead,” he murmured.
Now where was he?
“How the old folks would enjoy it, they would sit all night and listen,
As we sang in the evening by the moonlight.”
The boy’s practice ended abruptly on a flat note, but Jacob dared to place his hand against Annie’s head to keep her against him, humming a second time through the song—staying in one key this time.
She exhaled and wrapped her arms about him, joining in with a pleasant soft soprano for the last chorus.
“Neighbor Joe has laid the fiddle down, that hung upon the wall,
While the silv’ry moon was shining clear and bright,
How us old folks would enjoy it, while we danced all night and listened,
As we sang in the evening by the moonlight.”
In the silence that followed, her warm breath against his neck sent chills through his body.
He no longer worried about fancy dance moves, just swayed to a nonexistent beat.
When she didn’t bother to pull away, he unlaced his fingers from her waist and tilted her chin up, letting his thumb trace her upturned jaw.
She lifted her eyes to meet his, the brown specks in her irises nearly drowning in the golden vestiges of sunset. She swallowed hard but didn’t look away.
He let his fingertips trail down along her neck, and she closed her eyes.
His pulse thundered like a thousand stampeding hooves, and beneath his fingers, her accelerated heartbeat matched his beat per beat.
He did rouse her senses. What a lovely thing.
He lowered his mouth within a hair’s-breadth from her lips.
Her breathing quickened, but she didn’t retreat. And like a butterfly alighting on a sprig of new spring grass, he touched his lips lightly upon hers. A hint of sugar and vanilla pulled him in, but this evening’s apple dumpling wasn’t the reason she tasted so sweet.
She voiced a tiny moan and pressed against him.
With his pulse pounding in his ears, he continued to kiss her, drawing her in as if she were bracing nectar.
Though only the space of a few heartbeats had passed, if he didn’t break away soon, he wouldn’t stop. He pulled
away, struggling to catch his breath.
Her cheeks were warm beneath his palms, and she seemed intent on not looking up.
“How should we end tonight, Anne?” He choked on the words he hadn’t meant to voice.
“Not the way you want it to.” Her emotionally wrought whisper mashed his heart. Her gaze finally traveled up to his, and her breathing grew frantic. “Not yet.”
Though he tried not to, he couldn’t help but stare into her eyes with all the longing that kiss had created.
Her gaze dropped back down to his chest. “Sometime soon. I just don’t know when.”
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and kissed her forehead with a shuddery sigh. “I’ll wait, Mrs. Hendrix. I can wait.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The deep furrows of cottonwood bark gouged into Annie’s back. She rocked her head against the tree to peer through the slats of the fence that surrounded her family’s little cemetery.
Why had McGill evicted her the second the loan was past due if the city didn’t plan to sell the property immediately? Hadn’t Bryant said they’d had a buyer? Were they holding out for more money?
When Leah had informed her this morning that no one yet owned the property, she’d begged Jacob to ask the city to allow her to tend the graves. Later that afternoon, Bryant had come by to tell her she was free to visit as long as he was informed.
Tears had welled up with the knowledge that she could come back, and Leah had volunteered to go with her. Bryant hadn’t been keen on them going without him or Jacob who’d gone off in search of the rustlers again, but had been appeased when they’d promised to return before supper.
Annie stared out across the vacant pastures that used to be filled with the endless bawling of calves in the spring.
Why wasn’t the city at least leasing her land to graze cattle? Why couldn’t she have left hers here?
In the south field, Leah was picking handfuls of feathery-leaved bloodwort and placing them in the flat basket she’d brought along.
Romancing the Bride Page 17
