“T-Bone—Mr. Robinson—correctly pointed out we should eat soup with a spoon. Not just any spoon, either, but the spoon farthest away from the plate. If you noticed, we had two spoons with the plate.”
The men stared at the right side of the plate as if they hadn’t noticed the extra spoon.
“Here’s a hint: there is also an extra fork. Use the one on the outside first and save the smaller fork for dessert.” Wes didn’t understand the reasons, either. A spoon was a spoon and a fork was a fork, but just in case he ever took Millie to a fancy restaurant…
“If I may interrupt,” Millie said.
Wes realized he hadn’t continued with the explanation for the napkin. Feeling foolish, he said, “Of course, Miss Cain,” and took his seat.
“While we are speaking about silverware, let me mention some more practices. One is, when we use a knife and a fork to cut a piece of meat, always lay the knife across the plate before you carry the food to your mouth with the fork.”
That was a rule that didn’t make any sense at all, as far as Wes was concerned. What was coming next?
“Another rule concerning the knife. While it might seem proper to cut your bread into bite-sized pieces, the correct manner is to break it apart by hand.”
Wes could see the men were getting restless at the rules that seemed as senseless to them as they did to him. When Millie sat down, she gestured for him to continue.
What else did he have left to say? “About the napkin: Tex—Mr. Brown—was right. It shouldn’t be hog-tied to our necks and shirts like a bandanna. From what I understand, they are mostly used to dab our mouths after we take a drink.” He took his goblet of water, drank from it, and dabbed at the corners of his mouth, while the girls giggled.
“One thing no one mentioned: I took seconds on the soup.” He saw the puzzled looks on the faces of the men around him. “I know, we might think we’re complimenting the cook by enjoying more of her good cooking. But in a large gathering like this, not everyone wants extra helpings, and we’re making them wait while we’re satisfying our appetites.”
When the laughter died down, he turned to Millie. “Have I missed anything, Miss Cain?”
She shook her head, a wide smile showing her pleasure. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Wesley.”
Wes savored acting as Millie’s partner during the first course of the meal. They enjoyed a lively conversation with Hank as well as the others at their end of the table. Following the second course, Millie had another lengthy list of suggestions, equally mixed with sensible and unnecessary rules. Don’t talk with your mouth full. His mother taught him that. Don’t consult your watch, as if in a hurry to leave. Wes smiled at that. If he had a watch, he might be studying it right now. Men should attend to the needs of the ladies nearest them. Now, that one he enjoyed; making sure Millie had all the rolls and water that she wanted.
When the meal ended, people crowded around Millie, congratulating her on the success of the dinner and the lessons presented. The ladies thanked Wes while the men teased him and called him a good sport. Wes only spoke to Millie once, to confirm their afternoon promenade, before he had to leave.
Tex and T-Bone joined Wes as they returned to the boardinghouse. “I can’t wait to get into something comfortable,” Tex grumbled. “But you. Are you staying dressed up for your afternoon with Miss Cain?”
Wes rubbed the back of his neck, where the wool of the suit coat rubbed and irritated his skin. “No, sir. One fancy dinner meal was enough for me. Clean and comfortable.” He knew exactly which clothes he would wear. A comfortable blue flannel shirt that had green plaid running through it. He’d heard it brought out the green in his eyes, and he was vain enough to appreciate it. Any lady would expect a gentleman to dress to please her. Millie wouldn’t come in a potato sack.
“Seriously, Wes. What do you think of Millie the Magnificent, now that you’re getting to know her better?”
Wes exchanged boots for his dress shoes before he answered the question. “She deserves the nickname, for reasons good and bad. She has definite opinions on how people should behave in social gatherings. Some of those rules about the dinner today…”
“Strange,” Tex said.
“But she’s more than that. She cares about people. She put Hank on her left and included him through all the conversation. That seat was reserved for the second distinguished guest at the meal.” Wes felt his face heat as he realized the implications. “And she sees what is happening. She put couples together, and she mixed talkers with ones who were shy.”
“This wasn’t a class on manners at all. It was a matchmaking service with a different title.” Tex grinned.
“Is that a bad thing?” T-Bone said. “Put men and women together and we’ll seek each other out. Ever since God put Adam and Eve together in the garden.”
Wes finished altering his appearance for the afternoon outing. His face would have a shadow of a beard by five o’clock, but if he shaved now, he would only get a razor burn. The food from the lunch, as delicious as it was, rolled around in his stomach like a sour ball. Maybe the outdoor air of their promenade would help settle his stomach.
Tex and T-Bone left about half an hour before Wes’s appointment with Millie. “Praying for you, brother,” Tex said. “Whatever happens, God is in control.”
God’s in control. He hummed the tune God had put in his mind last night, and it fit the chorus. They weren’t the right words yet, though.
One way or another, music would play a role in resolving the differences between Wes and Millie.
Chapter 7
Millie prepared for the afternoon’s promenade with a mixed bag of feelings. She could use it as an opportunity for further instruction in etiquette; but that was rude. Mr. Wesley meant it as a social call.
And what should she call him? After his help playing pranks at today’s dinner, “Mr. Wesley” felt too formal. Besides being too informal, calling him Wes would confuse her—Ellen’s cousin Wes, or Mr. “Wes” ley?
Wes Harper hadn’t written a single letter since he announced the delay of his arrival. He stopped communicating at the same time that Mr. Wesley arrived, as though Mr. Wesley had taken his place. As if they were the same person, but they weren’t. They couldn’t be.
What foolish thoughts. She would call him Wes. Instead, Millie should concentrate on Emily Thornwell’s directions on her appearance. Dressing by the book for a blond on the petite side meant wearing blue with a few green accents. In the fall, she preferred her navy-blue dress with thin forest-green stripes and a bright white collar. Ellen dressed to please herself, saying if she felt good about her looks, others would respond to her good cheer, and she succeeded.
What would Wes wear? He could wear solid black and still look like a handsome gentleman, and not an outlaw.
She spent most of the time fixing her hair so that it would look effortless. The Bible said a woman’s hair was her glory, and common sense agreed. If she took pride in anything about her looks, it was her light blond hair, rare in a grown woman.
Wes arrived exactly on time, and she did him the favor of appearing as soon as he was announced. “You look lovely this afternoon, Miss Cain. Even lovelier than this morning, which I thought was impossible.”
Heat rushed to Millie’s cheeks, but she told herself the color improved her appearance. Wes had changed his clothes as well. His shirt was similar to hers, blue-and-green checks—even more handsome than this morning. The colors brought out the green flecks in sea-blue eyes.
He bowed, his eyes twinkling. “You may wish to take a wrap with you. A wind has come up this afternoon. Perhaps this one?” He pointed to a shawl hanging on the coatrack, a soft wool that matched her dress perfectly.
When he draped it around her shoulders, his light touch skimmed her arms, and she shivered. Up close, she noted his well-groomed fingernails. He had strong hands, a workman’s hands, but cared for. A gentleman’s hands.
Mother—who had answered the door and admit
ted Wes into the house—cleared her throat. “When shall we expect your return?”
Wes looked from Millie to her Mother then back. “I am hoping to have the pleasure of your company until late afternoon, say five o’clock, if that is agreeable with you?”
Three hours. Millie’s heart beat rapidly. “I would enjoy that.” But Mother had the final say.
“The sun will set right around that time. I will expect my daughter home before the sky turns dark.”
“Of course.” Wes held the door open for Millie and led her to a buggy in front of the house.
“I thought we were going to walk.” Mother might not have approved of a buggy ride.
“We’re heading downtown. There is one store you might not have discovered on your own.”
Millie’s trust in Wes—and God—overcame her concerns. His proposal sounded intriguing. Which one of Wichita’s fine, reputable businesses would Wes choose?
Whatever store Wes meant, he took a circuitous route, driving past parks and neighborhoods while telling stories. From his familiarity with Wichita, he must have spent considerable time there. He described the early years of the cattle drives. “It turned into a good thing for ranchers out west. Supply and demand—the more beef we sent east, the more they wanted. Ranching’s hard work, but it usually pays better than farmers scratching a living from the dirt.”
He talked about life on the trail, making campfires sound like parties with music, good food, and a tall tale or two.
“It can’t be as easy as you make it sound,” Millie said. “What about stampedes? Where do you find grass and water for all the animals? Does anyone try to steal your cattle?”
He flicked the reins over the horse and curled the side of his mouth in a smile. “Why, Miss Cain, do you worry about me?”
Light heat ran across her cheeks. “I enjoy a good steak, but I never thought about how it reached us in Boston.” She decided to tease him back. “But I do know a few things about gardening. Kansas has a longer growing season, which is a blessing.”
Wes’s arched eyebrows suggested he thought no one from her background even knew where vegetables came from. “Next you’ll tell me you had an apple orchard.”
Millie thought about the discussion she’d had with Mother about different varieties of apples. “We had a single tree, and I couldn’t wait for the first fruit to ripen in the fall. In fact, when we moved to Wichita”—this time she looked at him with laughter in her eyes—“we wondered if we would have to import apples from New England. Johnny Appleseed didn’t make it to Kansas, as far as I know.”
Wes let go of a belly laugh. “No, I don’t suppose he did. But the early settlers brought apples with them. And now it’s time for my surprise.” He turned the buggy toward the center of town.
Before long, they arrived in the shopping district. When he found a place for the buggy, he offered his arm for a stroll.
With Wes at her side, she felt light, protected by his strength. They made a good-looking pair, and in her inner heart she wished they would run into someone she knew.
Someone who would report the encounter to her real Wes, after he arrived? He had started to fade from her mind, as she spent more time with the flesh-and-blood H. J. Wesley Jr., even if he was a cowboy.
So far, the afternoon had accomplished everything Wes could have hoped for. Millie expressed interest in the cattle business, instead of dismissing it as beneath a gentleman. Would the upcoming surprise reveal his secret to her? Or would she need more hints? Was she ready to learn his identity?
When Wes heard the rapid click of Millie’s heels, he realized he was walking too fast, and he slowed down. “My apologies. Even in Wichita, a man knows better than to hustle a lady down the street like a racehorse.” Millie was such a tiny thing, she probably needed to take two steps to match every one of his. After a few steps, he had shortened his stride and slowed his pace until they walked in comfortable companionship.
“What is the favorite place in Wichita so far?” Wes asked.
She bit her lip, something he’d noticed she did when she was nervous. He didn’t care—it made her more human.
“I’m vain enough to enjoy the dress shops and milliners. Ellen—Miss Harper—has been teaching me how to make my own clothes, in styles more suitable for life on the prairie.” She stopped and posed. “This is one I made for myself.”
Wes swallowed. “Then perhaps you should become a dressmaker, for everything about the dress makes you prettier than you were before.”
His compliment, and her blush, coincided with their arrival at his destination: a bookstore. He teased her further. “You are a gardener, a skilled seamstress, an effective teacher, an accomplished musician. If I had to guess, I would venture to say that you might also be an author, a storyteller, or perhaps even—a poet?”
Her face turned as red as he had ever seen it. Of course, he had read her poetry, words that sang in his mind, in his letters. She’d told Wes she hadn’t shared her poetry with anyone since she moved, afraid that her new neighbors would laugh at something so very impractical.
“How did you guess?” She hung her head, her words barely audible.
“You tell such excellent stories in class that I guessed you were a writer. Since we are at the bookstore, shall we visit?”
With her agreement, they entered the store. During a previous visit, he had discovered they carried books by Sarah Orne Jewett, a native of Maine who frequently visited Boston. Wes theorized that Millie might have met her. He had made previous arrangements with the clerk, so he winked at the clerk when he asked, “Do you have any books by Sarah Orne Jewett?”
“As a matter of fact, we have her latest book, Country By-Ways.” The clerk led them to the shelf where the book was displayed.
Millie seized the book with delight and carefully looked through a few pages. In a reverent voice, she read, “‘At the head of tide-water on the river there is a dam, and above it is a large millpond, where most of the people who row and sail keep their boats all summer long.’ Oh, Wes, I feel like I’ve been there. We spent several summers in Maine.” She danced as she read the book. “Those are some of my favorite childhood memories.”
Wes nodded at the clerk. “Let this be my gift to you, as a thank-you for your company this afternoon, as well as for all the valuable lessons I have learned this week.”
Desire and hesitation warred within Millie. Wes asked, “Is there something in Miss Thornwell’s book against accepting gifts from gentlemen callers?”
Millie blinked rapidly. “Not that I can remember. However, it might imply a closer relationship than exists between us. We have only just met. How did you know about Sarah Orne Jewett?”
“I like to read myself, and I have heard of Miss Jewett’s books. Unfortunately, I can’t bring much more than my Bible when we’re on a cattle drive. This year I brought along The Last of the Mohicans as my one extra book.” He had revealed more of himself than he had intended. “So think of Country By-Ways in the same way. When you read it, you can think of this week, and perhaps—remember me.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Wesley. I will never forget this week—or you. After the way you presented your gift, how can I refuse?”
Her tears brought renewed worry to Wes. Was the book a mistake? Would it renew her desire for New England, which she had once written seemed as close to heaven as any place on earth?
No, Wes refused to believe it. She had gone on to say that no place on earth could compare to streets paved with gold and that she had determined to make her home in Wichita, since God had brought her here.
“We have time for one more stop before our curfew. A good surprise.”
Her lips curled in a smile. “Another surprise? My heart can’t take much more.”
He grinned. A step at a time. Their next stop took them closer to the ending he believed they both longed for.
Chapter 8
Wes tucked the book parcel under the seat of the buggy and promised yet
another surprise. Already he had exceeded her hopes for this afternoon. His real and kind presence made the Wes she had written to for so long fade by comparison.
When they turned left at the next corner, Millie knew their destination: Wichita’s one and only music store. After checking to make sure the street was clear, she lifted one corner of her dress and briskly crossed the street.
Wes caught up with her in two steps.
“Music.” She breathed the word. “But no more gifts. This time, show me your favorites.”
Wes’s step hitched, as if her suggestion surprised him. “I have something else in mind.” He helped her onto the sidewalk and held the door open for her.
She headed for the displays that held sheet music and collections. She had a liking for Mozart’s operas, even though she found singing Italian as difficult as Wes probably would. But who couldn’t love one of his arias? She hummed under her breath as she looked through the music.
While she browsed, he asked the clerk about music staff paper. She had asked for his interests and then went her own way. Chagrined, she joined them. “Do you write music? Play an instrument?” She put a finger to her cheek. “I know. A guitar.”
“This’s my other surprise today.” After Wes paid for the paper, he asked the clerk, “Do you have a piano we can borrow?”
How did a cowboy learn how to play a piano?
He must have sensed her unasked question, because he said, “My mother was a pastor’s daughter.”
Like Wes Harper’s mother, who taught him how to play.
“She brought a piano to her marriage and insisted on taking it everywhere we moved. She insisted on giving me piano lessons.” He laughed. “I stopped when I had more chores to do but still play from time to time.”
Wes’s mother teaching him music. Was it possible… of course not.
Before she could ask another question, the clerk led them to a corner where several upright pianos stood. “They are all in good tune.”
The Cowboy’s Bride Collection: 9 Historical Romances Form on Old West Ranches Page 29
