by Sharon Sala
“My goodness, Priscilla, you take me by surprise. I was not expecting such forwardness from a woman of your stature.”
Priscilla heaved herself out of bed, unmindful of her naked state or the fact that her bosoms were swinging.
“Forward? We’ve made love, Randall… several times, in fact. I’ve risked my reputation to be with you.”
She threw herself into his arms, and it has to be said that for a moment, when her bare body pressed against him, Randall did consider the institution of marriage. But the thought left almost as quickly as it had come. All he could do now was placate her until he figured a way out of this mess.
He pressed a nervous kiss to her cheek and then helped her into her robe.
“I know, I know,” he said quickly. “And I appreciate your feelings. But you must give me time.”
Her pout tightened. “I never did like to wait, and Papa would tell you it’s true.”
The fact that she’d thrown her father’s name into the conversation had been no accident. It was a subtle reminder that her father was the deacon of his church. He stifled a curse and took her into his arms.
“My dear, it is with sorrow that I must leave you now. The church council meets tonight. I need to have time to gather my thoughts, both for it… and for the future.”
He watched as her face broke into a smile. He’d purposefully misled her into thinking that his future and hers were one and the same. His conscience pricked again, but not enough to make things right. A few minutes later he was in his buggy and leaving the small country inn with haste. Priscilla Greenspan had gotten herself there. She could get herself home. He had plans to make and they did not include the deacon’s daughter.
To say that Bishop Hale was surprised by Randall’s request to move on was putting it mildly. He still couldn’t reconcile himself with the man he knew, to the man standing before him now.
“Are you certain this is what you want?” Hale asked.
Randall nodded solemnly, clutching his bible close to his chest.
“As I told you before, I believe it to be a revelation from God, Himself that I am to turn to missionary work.”
The bishop frowned. “But to the Territories?”
Randall wore his most benevolent expression. “Where else is God’s word more needed?”
Bishop Hale felt like crying. All these years and it seems that he’d been misjudging this man terribly.
“Then the West it shall be! I’ll firm up your initial itinerary by the end of the week. In fact, this timing is most opportune. I’ve had a letter just last week from a friend. It seems there is a need for a man of the cloth in a place called Lizard Flats.”
Randall’s heart skipped a beat. Lizard Flats? Somehow he doubted that the amenities of civilized society had yet to reach that far, but he nodded in accord.
“And Randall, after the first month, you will be on your own as to where or how far you travel. As for monies, you understand there won’t be a lot. Our missionary budget is slim. You must count on donations for a goodly portion of your livelihood.”
At this point, Randall gave himself a mental pinch. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He hadn’t thought of that. He’d been so set on escaping before everything fell down around his ears that he hadn’t taken into consideration his standard of living would suffer as well.
Then he sighed. It was, after all, no more than he deserved. “When I am in need, I’m certain that God will provide.”
It was the perfect answer. Bishop Hale beamed.
While Howe’s journey was about to begin, there was the story to be told of the people he was being sent to wed.
Alfonso Worthy was the banker of Lizard Flats. His rise to success had been hard-won. He was not a man given to flights of fancy, and yet, because of his adoration for Sophie Hollis he’d become something of a rake. For the first time in his life he’d fallen in love. Making money no longer gave him the satisfaction it once had.
He had long ago accepted that his physical appearance was less than admirable. He was small and skinny and his white-blonde hair had been thinning for years. He feared that openly courting the wealthy widow was out of the question, but his lust and love had overflowed, so he’d begun a rather unique method of gaining Mrs. Hollis’s attention.
Several times a week after all others were asleep, he would sneak out of the hotel where he resided and leave small gifts and letters, even poems of adoration and love upon her doorstep. It wasn’t gaining him any ground with her, but he was able to pour out his heart just the same.
In effect, he’d become Sophie Mae Hollis’s secret admirer.
The Man Of Her Dreams
Sophie Hollis squinted as she peered into the mirror. The faint, but permanent, frown lines between her eyes and across her forehead only deepened her resolve. By her reckoning, she was in full bloom—very full bloom. If she didn’t latch onto another husband within the next couple of years, it would be too late. By then, her looks would be gone and she’d have to spend the rest of her life without a man in her bed. For the lusty and lonely widow, it would be a fate worse than death. While some people refuse to accept certain truths about themselves, Sophie had long ago come to terms with the fact that she didn’t like to live alone. Yes, she was a well-to-do widow, but her life was empty without a man.
If Nardin Hollis hadn’t happened along twelve years ago and snatched her out of her own bed and into his own, Sophie suspected that her youthful bodily desires would have gotten the best of her. She would have mounted the first man who hadn’t smelled like manure, and ended up flat on her back being rode by every other man who did, like that disgusting Letty creature down at the White Dove Saloon.
With a heartfelt sigh, she pinched the soft, fleshy parts of her face and bit her lips to the point of pain. When she looked in the mirror again, the pink pout on her mouth and the rose flush on her cheeks sent the frown on her face into hiding. She reminded herself that all was not lost. For the past six months, small gifts of wildflower bouquets and pretty rocks—even a delicate little bird’s nest with three tiny blue feathers interwoven within the grass and twigs had been appearing on her doorstep. Then the letters began, sometimes just a message relating how fetching she had looked that day, or a bit of poetry that leaned toward love and romance while maintaining decorum. She’d been shocked, excited, and then downright curious to know who had become her secret admirer.
But six months had passed and the idea of being adored from afar wasn’t as enticing as it had once been. Sophie was tired of the secrets. She wanted a flesh and blood companion to grow old with—someone with whom she could share her fears, as well as her desires. But as hard as she’d tried, she couldn’t figure out who, of the unattached men in Lizard Flats, was eloquent enough to have penned the sweet missives.
She moved to the desk and opened a drawer, taking out a packet of envelopes then lifting the top one from the stack. She knew what was inside, but she wanted to read it again. Maybe this time she would see a hint of the writer’s identity in the lines.
You passed me on the street today and my poor heart went aflutter.
I wanted to tell you how your smile delights me, but all I could do was mutter.
The brief hello I managed to say was pitiful and small,
Dear lady of my heart please know that you’re the best of all.
Your ardent admirer
Sophie laid the poem back on top of the stack and then closed the drawer.
Dear lady of my heart. He always calls me dear lady of my heart.
“I might be a bit more impressed if he had the guts to say it to my face,” she stated, then tucked her shopping list into her purse, picked up her parasol, and headed for the front door.
Once outside, she paused long enough to open the parasol against the blistering heat of the day. Holding it at a stylish tilt, she stepped off the porch and started down the walk, then stopped at the gate to look back at all that was hers.
The two-story clapboard house gleamed w
hite in the sunshine, while the gingerbread decorating the eaves, porch, and posts had been painted a robin’s egg blue. Well-kept flower beds burgeoning with hollyhock, sweet peas, and asters circled the house from front to back, broken only by the cobblestone walk that Nardin had carefully laid to keep Sophie’s feet dry during the rains.
In Savannah, where Sophie had been raised, the small white house would have been nothing to talk about. In Lizard Flats, where she and Nardin had settled, it was elegance at its finest.
Sighing with satisfaction that all was well in her world, she gave her parasol a quick spin and walked out the gate. Nardin Hollis might have died and left Sophie in heat, but he had not left her penniless. She owned half of Lizard Flats and the connecting stage lines to seven other towns in the territory. But while Sophie owned one thing, she wanted another. All the way to the store, she kept thinking of what she’d lost when Nardin had died.
Moments later, with the territory dust swirling around her head and the parasol threatening to take flight, she turned the corner toward Main Street and stepped onto the uneven planks of the sidewalk. The bell-like skirt of her new yellow dress swayed vigorously with each step that she took. She was a bright flower of womanhood on the verge of shedding.
Inside the Territorial Bank of Lizard Flats, Alfonso Worthy kicked back in his chair, contemplating his worldly goods. It was true that he had accomplished more in his forty-two years than he would ever have believed. As the seventh and last child of a widowed Kentucky dirt farmer, his future had been uncertain until the day his daddy had unexpectedly died. After the bank had reclaimed the land on unpaid debts, the offspring of Conrad Worthy were suddenly homeless and began scattering to the four winds.
At the age of seventeen, Alfonso hired out as a driver to a sickly couple who were leaving with a wagon train heading West. They died in mid-trip, leaving Alfonso with a wagon full of dry goods. It would amount to the beginnings of a small store that would be his grubstake.
After that, it seemed as if his good fortune continued to rise. It had taken him several years and several territory towns to get where he was today, but as the only banker in Lizard Flats, he had the world by the tail. Only now and then did he ever wonder what had become of his six brothers and sisters, but the thought never stayed with him long enough to pursue it. Except for the absence of a woman in his life, Alfonso was as satisfied with himself as he knew how to be. He had steak when he wanted it, a bath every other night, and could afford the pleasures of Letty Murphy, the only easy woman within two day’s riding distance. But life wasn’t perfect. What he wanted but had yet to achieve, was his heart’s desire. He was in love with a woman who barely acknowledged his existence.
In the midst of that thought, a flash of yellow caught his eye. He turned to look and then jumped to his feet. He didn’t have to look twice to know who he’d seen. Sophie Hollis stirred his blood. The fact that she begrudged him so much as the time of day hardly mattered. When he thought back to where he’d been and how far he’d come, changing an unwilling widow’s mind had become his next and, hopefully last, challenge. Determined not to let the opportunity to speak to her go to waste, he took his hat from the hat rack.
“Greeley, I’ll be out for a bit,” he told the teller, and hurried out to the street.
He admired Sophie’s attributes greatly; those long, blonde curls and that sweet baby-face, her wide, blue eyes, and the way she filled out a dress. He smiled as he called out.
“Sophie! I say… Sophie Hollis!”
Sophie stopped in mid-step, wondering if it would be possible to ignore him, yet when she heard the rapid beat of his footsteps behind her, she sighed. She knew who it was. She recognized the voice, but ignoring Alfonso Worthy was like trying to ignore a tick stuck fast to your skin. No matter how small and unsightly, the little thing would persist, sucking and chewing and drinking you dry. She stifled a sigh and turned around.
Alfonso swallowed twice in rapid succession as their gazes connected. Hers wavered as she found herself staring at his Adam’s apple. It was bobbing up and down on the inside of his neck like the float on a line with a fish on the hook.
“Good morning, dear Sophie. I must say, you look positively beautiful.”
Sophie twirled her parasol in absent fashion. She would have to speak. He’d put himself directly in her path again. The quick once-over she gave him was out of habit. As often as she looked and as close the inspection, his appearance did not entice her, but she managed a smile in response to his praise.
“Why, thank you, Alfonso.”
He shuffled nervously as he stood, manfully tried to lift his gaze above her breasts, but for a man Alfonso’s size, it was nearly impossible. Sophie’s bosom was too close to his eye level and she’d left too much of it bare to ignore.
Sophie fanned herself as Alfonso’s eyes glazed over. She thought of how long it had been since she’d had a man in her bed and fanned a little faster.
Alfonso frowned. “Sophie dear, are you all right?”
“It’s just the heat. I’d best be on my way. I want to finish my errands before the day gets any hotter.”
Alfonso offered her his arm, his accounts and the bank quickly forgotten.
“Allow me.”
Sophie slipped her hand beneath his elbow. Gentlemen were few and far between in Lizard Flats and manners forbade her to ignore his offer. She stifled a sigh, wishing Alfonso was more of a man. It never entered her mind that he might be her secret admirer. He was the banker who stored her money and nothing more.
Upon entering Goslin’s General Store, she released the catch on her parasol, letting it fold like a wounded bird. Inside, the shade was welcome, even if the odors that came with it were not.
Matt Goslin was the size of a buffalo and nearly as wooly. He carried an assortment of goods ranging from asafetida to bear traps and everything in between. Sophie was never sure what it was that smelled the strongest, but the heat of the day and how close she got to the storekeeper seemed to have a lot to do with it.
“Mornin’ Miz Sophie.”
Matt eyed the buxom widow’s escort with a baleful glare. He’d had his sights set on Nardin Hollis’s widow since the day of old Nardin’s funeral, yet no matter how many overtures toward courtship he had made, she kept turning him down. Finally in desperation, Matt had turned to Letty Murphy at the White Dove Saloon for relief from his manly needs. What she gave could hardly be called affection, and whatever attention he got cost him a dollar on a regular basis. It was, however, better than nothing, which was exactly what he’d gotten from Sophie Hollis.
Sophie nodded primly at Matt as she laid her list upon the counter for him to fill. She watched as he peered at the scrap of paper, using a grimy finger as a guide while he read it slowly, spelling out the words, item by item. It was all the proof Sophie needed to eliminate Matt Goslin as her admirer. No way could he be the one writing such beautiful missives when he could barely read.
Unaware of Sophie’s thoughts, Matt was mentally ticking off the items she wished to purchase. When he got to the last one on the list, he looked up.
Frowning, he scratched his belly through a hole in his shirt while subversively measuring the size of Sophie Hollis’s breasts in comparison to Letty Murphy’s over at the White Dove. They seemed of about the same size, but he knew from experience with Letty that one too many men had sucked on that cow’s tit for his liking. What he’d like was a chance at Sophie Hollis. He’d show her what a real man was all about. Then he remembered what he’d been about to say.
“Ain’t got no cinnamon. Shipment’s due in next week. Maybe I’ll have some by then.”
She pouted, aware that both men’s eyes went straight to her lips as she’d intended. “And I did so want to make fresh apple pies. My trees are just loaded.”
Alfonso almost danced in a circle before he got himself calm enough to speak. “I have cinnamon. Sometimes I use it in my tea. I’d be glad to loan you some. Maybe you could see clear to making me on
e of your fine pies in return. I hear you’re quite a cook.”
Sophie flushed. Praise always did go straight to her head.
“Why thank you, Alfonso. I do believe I will borrow some. Just until Matt gets in his new shipment, you understand. If you don’t mind, you could drop it off at my house tonight. I’d come get it myself, but I wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea.” She flushed again. “Coming to your hotel room just wouldn’t be proper.”
Alfonso grinned. He wouldn’t care if the entire population of Lizard Flats got the wrong idea about him and Sophie Hollis.
“Of course, of course. I understand.” He looked down his nose at the wooly storekeeper who was turning redder by the minute. The point he’d scored was well worth gloating about. “I’ll be over as soon as the bank closes. I don’t have anything else to do. I’ll just drop it off and then go eat my evening meal at the boarding house… just like always.” He paused after the bait that he’d dropped, waiting to see if he got a strike.
Sophie sighed. Alfonso was not a subtle man. That was as blatant a plea for a dinner invitation as she’d ever heard. Every manner her Southern-born mother had taught her knocked at the door to her conscience like an undertaker to a wake. She pinched the bridge of her nose, looking everywhere and at everything but Matt Goslin who was now standing in the corner of the store, grinning like a shit-eating dog. Finally she sighed.
“About dinner…”
Alfonso held his breath.
“I’ll be frying a chicken and making beaten biscuits and cream gravy. If you want to join me, I’d be pleased.”
Anxious to pin down the invitation before she reconsidered, Alfonso asked, “What time?”
“I usually eat my evening meal around six. That’s when my dear-departed husband always wanted it. I seem to have kept the habit, even though Nardin is no longer with me.”
