by Jo Grafford
He held out a hand to her, palm up. “Well, that’s a complaint if I ever heard one, Goldie,” he crooned. “But that bridle won’t bite, little one. You’ll see.”
She eyed his hand with interest. He hated the fact that he hadn’t thought to bring her a snack. “I don’t have any carrots today, beautiful, but I’ll bring you plenty next time.”
She nickered at him and tugged at her reins.
Chase had no difficulty after that leading her in Kane’s direction. “You’re a natural with these beasts.” He wiped an arm across his brow and studied his guest as he petted the spirited creature. “What brings you to the Redburn home this morning, my friend?”
“Bert Langston.” He saw no reason to beat around the bush. “I believe she is in your care as a matchmaker?” Good gravy! A matchmaker. He’d never imagined he’d find himself dealing with one face-to-face like this.
Chance tipped his hat back to take a closer look at him. “She is. Though, to be honest, Violet handles most of her training in deportment.”
He hid a smile at the mental picture of Bert being trained in the art of how to conduct herself like a lady. No doubt her opinion on the subject was colorful. “With your permission, I’d like to court her, sir.”
Chance looked astounded. His brow puckered. “In all the weeks I’ve been running my aunt’s matchmaking business, you’ve not once approached me about my services, and there’s no record you ever discussed them with her, either. Naturally, I presumed you weren’t in the market for a bride.”
Well, things change, neighbor. “I’m not. That is, I wasn’t,” he answered truthfully. “I never pictured myself settling down this soon. I hoped to see more of the world first.”
“But?” Chance prompted, smoothing a hand down the pony’s neck to soothe her impatient stamping.
“I met Bert at the picnic yesterday.”
A guffaw escaped the matchmaker. “I see.” He coughed and seemed to be attempting to school his expression. He didn’t succeed, and his grin indicated he found the entire situation hilarious. “If you’d like me to draw you up a contract, it’s $25 down with $25 more due when you’re ready to get hitched.”
Kane grimaced. Their conversation was starting to sound more like a livestock transaction. “Money is not a concern. However, Bert’s good opinion of me is. She’s made it clear she’s only courting out of financial necessity. I believe, under the circumstances, it would be best to hide my intentions to woo her.”
Chance lifted his Stetson to run a hand through his unruly blonde waves. “Now that’s a request I haven’t heard before from a prospective groom. Then again, this is Bert we’re discussing.” He let out a long, gusty whoosh of air. “Perhaps, you’re right. Courting Bert calls for a different sort of agreement.” His striking green gaze narrowed in consideration. “How about no contract and no money down on her? You may begin courting her with my blessing.” Again, he looked as if he was struggling not to chuckle. “And on the day of your wedding, you can pay up the full amount.”
“Deal.” Kane swung his arm over the fence.
“Alright then.” Chance clasped it, looking unaccountably pleased, as if he’d struck the bargain of a lifetime.
“Remember, mum’s the word on this to Bert.” Kane scowled for emphasis. “If she catches wind of our discussion, the deal’s off.”
Chance drew back in mock offense. “Whoa there, cowboy! This is a gentleman’s agreement. You’ll find my word is good.”
Both stood there bristling as they took each other’s measure.
“Well, don’t the two of you look like a pair of prickly cactuses this morning.” Bert’s dry announcement made Kane jolt and take a step away from the horse ring.
“Morning, Bert.” He swiveled away from Chance to watch her approach, and his mouth dropped in surprise. She was wearing a feminine white blouse with a cheeky bow tied at her throat. However, it was tucked into a pair of very manly trousers — denim ones with a patch on the knee. Though her feet were encased in equally well-worn, black work boots with scuffed toes, he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he found her fetching.
“You ready to get to work, cowboy?” She raised her chin at his scrutiny.
“Where did you get those trousers, Bert?” Chance’s voice was strained.
“From Beans.” She tossed her braids. “I did some mending and chores for him. He gave them to me as payment.”
“Who’s Beans?” Kane inquired, feeling a flush rise to his face. Bert in a skirt, albeit a wrinkled and stained one, was lovely to behold. Bert in trousers, however, was a whole different kind of charming. They outlined her slender, boyish figure to perfection. Egad, but the chit was enchanting!
“My cook.” Chance’s expression cleared as he glanced between Bert and Kane. “In the event you’re wondering, I’ve cleared out the space you asked for, lass. You can move your things into the rear section of the old barn as soon as you like.”
“Thank you, Chance.” She clasped her hands and smiled at him in delight.
He waved a hand. “Think nothing of it. You kept your word. I’m keeping mine.” He wheeled the gold horse away to resume her training in the ring.
Her smile dimmed a fraction at his words. “Well, Kane?” she asked, turning to him with a false air of brightness.
He quirked his lips at her. “A bargain with a matchmaker, eh? I smell a story.”
She scowled and beckoned him to follow her. “Believe me, it’s not a story worth repeating.”
Though she moved in agitated swiftness, he easily kept pace with her with his longer legs. They strode in the direction of the barns together.
“It is if it has you this distressed,” he prodded gently. “We’re partners, remember? You can tell me anything.”
They reached the barn doors. She flung them open and stepped inside.
He followed. The scent of hay and horses swirled after them on the morning breezes.
“If you persist on knowing,” she gritted out. “I’ve agreed to try harder to attract a proper husband.” Twin spots of red appeared on her cheeks. “You’ve no idea the lectures I’ve had to endure on the topic, as of late.”
He swallowed a laugh. “Is that why you attended the picnic and dance with Rafe Adams?” He was having a difficult time imagining how she and the quiet, stuttering man would get along together.
“Yes,” she muttered. “And it was a complete disaster as expected.” She stomped down the center aisle of the barn, past the rows of stalls on either side of her. Most of them were empty. A few were filled with lumber, farm tools, and other odds and ends.
“Again?” He arched a brow at her.
Her flush deepened. “It was his and Violet’s second attempt at matching me with the poor fellow,” she confessed. “All I managed to do was trod on his toes, tip us over, and forget about him altogether while he was running to fetch us some lemonade.”
Tip us over. Kane could no longer contain his mirth. He snickered. “I reckon that explains the grass stains on your skirts.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him in irritation. “You try dancing in a floor-length gown with a set of scratchy petticoats and see how easy it is!”
The image of himself in petticoats made him laugh harder.
“What’s so funny?” she snapped, flinging open a door to reveal the rear compartment of the barn.
“Me,” he chortled. “Trying to imagine myself wearing petticoats is all.”
She turned to him, lips twitching; but her halt was so abrupt, he was unable to pause his advance in her direction.
He closed the distance between them with one long stride and narrowly missed slamming in to her. In the nick of time, his arm shot out to connect with the door frame. He stood there, towering over her with his face bent over hers, not touching but standing much closer than he intended.
“Pray pardon me,” he said huskily, finding he was in no hurry to step away. Bert from a distance was a force to be reckoned with, but Bert up clo
se was an entirely different experience. For one thing, she smelled good — like soap and something flowery. Up close, he could also read the vulnerability in her features. It made him suspect his Bert might not be as tough skinned as she pretended.
My Bert. He wasn’t certain where the thought came from, but he liked it. He allowed his head to dip a little closer, because he was enjoying their proximity. Plus, he was curious to see what she would do.
She balled her right hand in a fist and sank it into his midsection.
“Ow!” he wheezed, taking that long overdue step back. “What did you go and do that for?”
She scowled at him. “You were standing too close. I couldn’t breathe properly.” She pushed past him to enter the back room of the barn.
He followed, rubbing his belly. Bert Langston packed a punch, no doubt about it. She was stronger than he’d calculated. He found himself grinning at her petite, rounded shoulder blades. He’d never been walloped by a woman before. One thing was certain, Bert Langston wasn’t indifferent to him. He might have a lot of work ahead to make her fall in love with him, but he chose to take her punch as a good sign. Yes, sir, anger was much better than indifference!
Once inside the rear storage room, he paused and stared in amazement at her collection of tools and supplies. “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered.
There were hammers and chisels; neatly lined up little bowls of screws, bolts, and nails; and a rather sizable assortment of lumber, fabrics, canvas, and ropes, plus a row of bottles. One of them was labeled Glue.
“What do you think of my workshop?” Bert spun around to face him, hands clasped, her expression anxious. There was no indication in her demeanor that she’d sunk her fist into his gut a few minutes earlier.
“How in tarnation did you acquire all this?”
Her chin came up. “I have my ways.”
“Indeed.”
“I came by every piece of it honestly.” Her tone grew defensive.
“I am not calling your honesty into question,” he shot back in exasperation. “I am amazed is all. You’ve managed to accumulate an impressive pile of goods, none of which I presume arrived with you to Bent in your travel bags?”
“Not so.” She swept up a pile of papers and waved them in the air. “I’ve been working on these hot-air balloon sketches for months. Long before I arrived into Bent.”
And she’d somehow managed to carve out a borrowed work space and fill it with supplies in a very short span following her arrival. Kane was more than impressed. “May I?” He reached for the papers and was tickled to no end when she readily handed them over.
He plopped them down on a work table in the center of the room, and his eyes widened. They were good, as in meticulously detailed. It was immediately clear that Bert had an excellent grasp on the mechanics of ballooning. He’d done enough research on hot-air balloons, himself, to recognize that. It was equally clear she possessed an innovative mind. Several of her sketches were variations of the original one. She was experimenting, at least on paper, with different balloon shapes and sizes, basket shapes and sizes, thickness and composition of ropes securing the basket, size of balloon vent openings and mouth openings, number of passengers, types of fuel being utilized, and more. She even had sketches with rudders of varying shapes in the attempt to provide a steering mechanism for her balloon.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Bert noted dryly.
He glanced up in surprise. He’d been so engrossed in her sketches, he’d all but forgotten where he was. “They’re good,” he said simply.
A glow of gratitude infused her features. “Do you really believe so?”
“Oh, yes.” He returned his attention back to her sketches, taking the time to hold up and compare several similar ones. “This one.” He handed his choice to her. “I think this is the one we should build together.”
With a small frown riding the center of her forehead, she examined the sketch he’d selected. Her expression cleared. “I concur. This is my best work so far. On paper, at least,” she said ruefully. “I’ve never had the opportunity or resources to see it through to completion, but if you really can produce that basket you promised…” She arched a questioning brow at him.
“I can.” He had plenty of funds. He’d either find a way to secure one, or he’d build it himself.
“This is really happening, then.” She sounded awed. “Oh, this is so much better than tower jumping!” She laid down the sketch, staring blindly at it.
“Tower jumping?” A slice of physical pain shot through Kane’s chest. “Please assure me you’re jesting.” He’d heard some horrible stories about the more fanatical air enthusiasts who seemed to think they could turn their arms into flappable wings like birds. Most of the stories he’d heard had ended in tragedy.
“I wish,” she admitted shamefacedly. “It wasn’t one of my brightest ideas, but I’m poor and it was a project that required the least amount of resources.”
He shuddered. “Did you jump? Please tell me you didn’t jump.”
“I did.” She offered him a faint smile. “From the second-story balcony of our Boston apartment.”
He cringed. “And?”
“I sprained my ankle.”
“You were fortunate you did not do worse — far worse.” The good Lord himself must have been looking after her.
“On that we agree.” She shuffled her sketches back into a pile and turned to him with her hands on her hips. “Thank you again for your offer to help with my hot-air balloon. I know I’m not the easiest person to rub along with at all times, but my gut tells me we will work well together.”
He nodded in full agreement. It was becoming more and more apparent why Bert didn’t “rub along well” all the time with others. She possessed so much talent and ambition. She had such big plans and big goals. No doubt she often grew impatient with others who couldn’t see beyond the next tea party. He imagined most of the other brides at the Redburn mansion were engrossed in things like clothing choices, social schedules, and the current lineup of eligible bachelors in Bent. Bert, on the other hand, merely endured each of those items while inwardly pining for the exact moment each day when she could hang up her dress, don her breeches, and head to her workshop.
He surveyed her orderly work space. “How about we assign tasks between now and when we meet again?”
“A capital idea!” She beamed at him. “I’ve already starting cutting and sewing the pieces to form our balloon.”
“Excellent. I need to either secure that basket I promised you or gather the supplies to construct one.”
She bit her lower lip. “If it’s all the same to you, I prefer the latter idea.”
“You wish me to build it from scratch?”
“I do. I’d like us to weave it from a lightweight wicker.” She made a face. “Some of the baskets other folks try to race are far too big and elaborate. Their frivolous decorations weigh it down and slow the speed. I’d like to construct a small rectangle, one that is big enough for two people but with no adornments.”
“We really must race it together. Sometime. Somewhere,” he mused. He not only wanted to share the glory and excitement of being airborne with her, he wanted to cross the finish line with her ahead of dozens of contestants. He wanted her balloon design to blaze new trails and set new records.
“You’re right. We must find a way.” She looked so wistful that he wanted to sweep her into a hug. “Who better to fly our finished creation in a race than the inventors, themselves?”
Who better, indeed? “I’d be mighty pleased to co-pilot with you, Inventor Bert.”
Her delighted chuckle filled the small workspace, giving him visions of other pleasurable past times — like kissing her once they were airborne.
Chapter 5: The Challenge
Kane
Three weeks later
Bert eyed Kane as he dashed into her barn workshop with his Stetson askew and toolbox in hand.
“We’re not making much progress,
are we?” She assessed his pitiful contribution to their project with a dismal look in her brown eyes. The basket he was building was framed out. He’d been meticulous about the details, using the narrowest and most lightweight pieces of lumber, but the weaving wasn’t even started yet.
There was a sigh in her voice that tugged at his heart, because he knew he was responsible for it. Between keeping up with his rancher responsibilities and helping his brother run the Black Barrel Inn, it had proven a difficult task to carve out much time to spend with Bert. Sure, he squeezed every possible hour or half hour from his schedule, sometimes arriving after his morning chores on the ranch and sometimes before his evening shift at the inn began; but it wasn’t nearly enough time to accomplish everything they’d set out to do.
“We may have to come up with a new plan,” he grumbled, setting down his toolbox with a clatter. He pushed back his hat in order to drink her in with his gaze. She was a sight for sore eyes in a cheeky pink blouse with a ribbon tied carelessly around the collar. It was tucked into her favorite pair of trousers. Her hair tumbled in a riot of dark auburn waves over her shoulders. Every so often, she had to shake it out of her way as she sewed.
What he wouldn’t give to run gather her in his arms and simply hold her! Instead, he caressed her bent head with his eyes. “Business at the inn remains steady, and with Paisley’s baby coming soon…” He shrugged, feeling his exhaustion creep over him. He’d been getting up early and staying up late for weeks. On top of being a head-spinning kind of busy, they were about to be shorthanded. “Griff and I are going to have to advertise for help.” They couldn’t keep up their current pace without collapsing. But acquiring help wouldn’t happen in two snaps of his fingers. There would be interviews, salary negotiations, and all the required training and orientation. And when was he going to find the time for that?
