by Kit Morgan
Abigail looked around nervously. “What about you?” she countered. “What game are you going to participate in?”
Jasmine shrugged. “If I can find a decent partner, I’ll do something.”
“Why not the egg race?” Abigail challenged. “It’s just about to start, and you don’t need a partner.”
Jasmine smiled, looked at the folks gathering near the starting line, and nodded. “Fine, I will.” She lifted her skirt – no mean feat with all the layers of fabric and petticoats – and headed that way. She might as well have a little fun while she was here, even if an egg race was hardly a competition for the clumsy. She got a spoon, an egg, and took her place at the starting line.
Sheriff Jamerson was about to start the race when someone waved at him. “W-w-wait for me!” All heads turned as Rafe hurried to the starting line with his spoon. He got an egg from Mr. Crookshank and moved in next to Jasmine.
“You almost missed it,” she said.
He looked at her and smiled. “L-l-lucky for m- me I didn’t.”
“Ready,” the sheriff called. “Set … GO!”
Jasmine, her other hand gripping as much fabric as was decent, took off with quick little steps. She knew there was a good chance she’d trip over her feet or the hem of her dress and fall flat on her face. All she could hope for was that she didn’t land on the egg. But it was all in good fun, and she wasn’t likely to be the only one to take a spill.
To her surprise – and everyone else’s, judging from the shouts and hoots filling the air – Rafe quickly took a big lead and crossed the finish line first. Several other competitors dropped their eggs to groans of disappointment. Jasmine came in dead last, but stayed on her feet with her egg intact. A moral triumph. “Congratulations, Mr. Adams,” she said as she gave her egg to the next contestant.
“Th-th-thank you. You r-r-ran a good race.”
She laughed. “Well, I didn’t trip for once.”
“Not everyone has n-n-nimble feet,” he stuttered. “Or a nimble m-m-m-m-mouth.”
She laughed at his joke. “My feet, your mouth. If we were the same person, we’d be in trouble.”
Now he laughed. “True.” He glanced around. “I wonder where M-Miss Langston got to?
“I wonder what the next race is…”
He looked into her eyes. “We c-could find out, then f-f-find Miss L-Langston and your friend.”
Was it her imagination, or was he stuttering less. “Abigail? She should be with Mason Stillwater.”
“Is she s-s-sweet on him?”
“Yes. I think he’s a good match for her.”
“I know Mason. A g-g-good man.”
She smiled at him and noticed they’d drawn closer. When did that happen? Had she moved, or had he? “I’m glad to hear it. These women deserve good men.”
His eyes roamed her face. “What about you, M-M-Miss Hammond? Don’t you d-deserve a good man?”
She fidgeted and brushed at her skirt. “I’m afraid there are no more eligible men in Bent currently interested in a bride. That’s how it is sometimes.”
His eyes widened. “Don’t w-w-worry. Chance will find you s-someone. Everything’s t-t-turned out s-so far.”
She forced a smile. “Yes, it has.” For everyone else, she didn’t add. It was obvious things weren’t working out for her, but she didn’t expect him to notice. He had his hands full with Bertha. She hoped things worked out for them. “Well, I’ll go find Bertha and Abigail.”
“Shouldn’t I-I-I b-b-be l-l-l-looking for Miss L-L-Langston?”
Jasmine stared at him. Had they gotten closer again? She looked him up and down.
“Wh-what’s the matter?”
“Nothing it’s just that… never mind. I think I’m seeing things. Maybe it’s from the running.”
“You r-r-run surp-prisingly well in a b-ball gown.”
Jasmine smiled. “Thank you. But you won.”
He shrugged. “This wasn’t m-m-my first egg race. I’ll t-tell you a secret.” He leaned toward her until they were almost touching and cupped his hand near his mouth. “I’m almost a p-p-professional egg racer.”
She stepped back and laughed. “How does that happen?”
“M-my hometown has a b-big Fourth of July celebration every year. They give p-p-prizes for the races.” He held up his hand, fingers outspread. “I’ve won the egg race there f-f-five times.”
“I see. You took advantage of us amateurs.”
He grinned. “You won’t t-t-tell anyone, will you?”
His stutter was milder. Maybe he wasn’t as nervous. “I won’t say a word.” She crossed her heart.
He pantomimed an exaggerated sigh. “Wh-what a relief.”
Jasmine laughed and looked at her feet. They should be looking for Bertha and Abigail, but neither of them had moved. How strange. Thankfully Chance and Violet happened upon them and distracted them from whatever was growing between them. Good grief, she couldn’t let anything stand in the way of Bertha finding her happiness. She’d have to be more careful around the man. Much more careful.
“I’m sorry,” Bertha apologized later that evening in their shared bedroom. “What I did to Mr. Adams was wrong. What I did to your gown was worse.”
Jasmine bit her tongue. After the egg race, the rest of the picnic turned into a disaster. Then the dancing started, Bertha took a tumble and, well, she could only hope the grass stains would come out of the ivory fabric.
“But I do think Kane Jameson is a better match for me,” Bertha added. “We have a lot in common.”
“I could tell, after you started talking to him and you didn’t give your escort a second glance.” Jasmine sighed and turned over to face her. “But I do admit, you and Mr. Jameson are a good match. Still, poor Rafe.”
Bertha’s eyebrows shot up. “Rafe?”
Jasmine called him by his Christian name, but at this point, so what? “After all he’s been through with us, yes, we’re on a first-name basis.”
Bertha smiled. “You’re right. Poor Rafe. But I don’t think he was afraid of me like Abigail mentioned earlier today.”
“No, I don’t think he’s afraid of anyone. Take away the stutter and what do you have?”
Bertha thought a moment. “Well, I suppose if one thinks about it, a very handsome man with a successful business.”
Jasmine stared at the ceiling. Rafe was all of that and more. Since the day she followed him all those weeks ago she’d learned that he was a fine furniture maker and carpenter. He was patient and generous and well-respected in town. And he’d never once complained about her clumsiness or told her she talked too much. The more she thought about it, the more there was to like. “Hmmm …”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She sighed. She was thinking too much and should stop before her thoughts got her into trouble. Yet, if Bertha had set her cap for Kane Jameson and Abigail was in love with Mason Stillwater …
“Kane knows all about hot air balloons, did I mention?”
Jasmine made a face. “About fifty times.”
“Oh,” Bertha said and giggled. “Sorry.”
Jasmine closed her eyes and prayed she could sleep. She hadn’t considered Rafe. She’d danced with him at the dance Mr. Redburn and Beans tossed together, but since then hadn’t had a chance to be matched with him. Now why would that be? Did Mr. Redburn and Violet see something that she didn’t? Did they think she wouldn’t like him because she was such a talker? Or because he wasn’t? Maybe she’d ask one of them tomorrow … just out of curiosity, of course.
“Good night, Jasmine,” Bertha said with a contented yawn.
Jasmine turned to her side and faced the window, a tear in her eye. As soon as Bertha and Abigail were married, she’d be going home. Mr. Redburn had done a good job in the end by matching nine out of ten. If he didn’t think Rafe Adams would work, who was left? At least with him she could do all the talking. But maybe he didn’t want to be matched with her.
The thought haunted he
r until she fell asleep.
Chapter Eleven
The days rolled by. Abigail and Mr. Stillwater were soon wed. Bertha had to work to convince Mr. Redburn that she and Rafe wouldn’t suit. Then Rafe came to him and told him she wanted to use his carpentry shop to build a balloon, and that did it. Bertha was now officially with Kane Jameson.
Jasmine was the only bride left and felt more alone than ever. She’d had her share of matches since she arrived in Bent, the most memorable being Colt the bank robber. Dances, picnics and now a hot air balloon race served as backdrops for Chance Redburn’s passel of brides to find their true loves. All except her.
She trudged through the house when no one was looking – not hard to do, as almost no one was left – agonizing over her failure at finding a husband. Okay, so Mr. Redburn had his hand in said failure, but really, when it came down to it, her constant chatter and clumsy ways were the real culprits. That and not recognizing a bank robber when she saw one, but who had?
On several afternoons she stood at the window of her bedroom and cried. Abigail caught her at it once and was sympathetic and comforting. But for the most part no one knew how she suffered, or much cared. At present everyone was preoccupied with Bertha and Mr. Jameson’s balloon race. It was the talk of the town, making it easy for Jasmine to go unnoticed until she wanted to be. Then all she had to do was open her mouth.
“What’s the matter with you?” Beans asked the morning of the balloon race. They were the only two in the kitchen.
Drat – caught! Jasmine forced a smile and stabbed her potatoes. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”
He sat across from her. “Look, I’ve come to learn a sad face when I see one, and you, missy, don’t look so good.”
She touched her forehead with the back of her hand. “I don’t have a fever.”
“Stop it right now,” he growled.
She gulped. There was no fooling Beans at this point. She sighed and tried to keep her mouth from quivering. She would not cry! “Don’t you have to leave soon for the race?”
“No. What’s wrong?”
She sighed again. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“What, you’re moping because you don’t have a beau? Pah!”
“But Beans …”
“Don’t you realize it’s only a matter of time?”
She set down her fork. “How much time? I’m the only one not matched and every time they try, something happens! Face it, I’m never going to find a husband, at least not here. After Bertha and Kane marry, I’m going home to Noelle and I’ll come up with another plan. Or maybe work at the women’s mission the rest of my life.”
He sat back in his chair. “Nothing wrong with either of those. Other than you still want a husband.”
Jasmine crossed her arms and bit her lower lip.
“Don’t try denying it. But what I want to know is, why are you giving up so easy? There’s still one fine gentleman unattached.”
She gave him a blank stare. Who was he talking about. There was no one except …
“Yep,” Beans said with a smile. “And I’ve already seen you like him a little. So what’s the problem?”
She tried to speak. She couldn’t. What was the problem?
Beans pointed at her. “Now hear me out, missy. He’s a fine man, a good man. Did you know his daddy’s a preacher?”
“I think I heard that.”
“Well, he is. Rafe comes from good folks – he ain’t riffraff.” He held up a second finger. “He has his own business, a very successful one I might add.” A third. “He ain’t hard to look at as far as you ladies go.” A fourth. “And he ain’t never said a bad word about you neither.” The thumb came out. “And did I fail to mention he’s a kind and gentle soul? And I’m out of fingers.”
“And he doesn’t want me,” she tacked on.
Now Beans gaped. “Who told you that nonsense?”
She shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? Mr. Redburn hasn’t matched us. I can only assume Rafe doesn’t want to be matched with me. They had to have talked about it by now.”
“You can only assume,” he grumbled. “Did it ever occur to you that Rafe has had as many bad matches as you? And Chance has had his hands full with all you gals and listening to your complaining and whining, and now he married one so he’s busy with her.”
“I never said …”
“I heard what ya said. Now hear what I’ve got to say. Don’t quit.”
Her lower lip trembled.
“Oh, dagnabit!” Beans left his chair and went around the table to her. “Stand up. Let’s get this over with.”
She blinked back tears.
“I said stand up! I ain’t got all day.”
She stood and stared at him.
To her surprise he gave her a hug. “Just get it out, missy.”
His voice and demeanor were gruff, but his hug said it all. He cared. That was all it took – the water works started and she blubbered like a baby.
“There, there,” Beans soothed, patting her back. “There’s a wonderful fella available. If he’d told Chance he didn’t want to be matched with you, I’d know about it.”
“You mean … hic … Rafe didn’t tell …. hic … him that?”
“Sure didn’t.”
Jasmine smiled through her tears.
“You women need to look at a man for who he is, not at the missing eye or a funny leg or a stutter!”
She cried harder.
“Oh, I’m sorry, missy,” he soothed. “I didn’t mean to upset you like this.”
“You didn’t,” she insisted. “I did.”
Beans pulled back, took one look at her and grimaced. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He offered it to her. “Best use this, missy. Blow your nose, for crying out loud.”
Jasmine laughed as she cried, took the handkerchief and blew into it. When she collected herself, she smiled at the grizzled old cook. “Thank you, Beans. I had given up. I thought that Rafe didn’t want to be with someone like me.”
“How would he know? The two of you ain’t spent any real time together.”
“Not the way the others have, but we’ve been around each other since I got here.”
“Good. So, what do you think of him?”
Jasmine re-took her seat. “Well, when I think about it, he’s all you say he is.”
“Now how did you come to that conclusion?”
She looked at him with new tears in her eyes. “Because I’ve seen it. This whole time I’ve watched him.”
“Well, fancy that!”
Jasmine smiled. “Yes. Fancy that …”
Jasmine accompanied Chance and Violet to the balloon races. It was an exciting time in Bent and the turnout was impressive. All Jasmine could think was how brave Bertha was. Climbing into one of the baskets and operating the contraption was beyond her. She’d told Bertha she wouldn’t catch her doing it – she was terrified of heights.
“Oh, look, there’s Rafe,” Chance said as they stood next to a cart selling slices of pie. He waved at him. “Too bad we didn’t see him earlier – he could have had his picture taken with us.”
Jasmine smiled. Not moments before they’d had their photograph taken with Bertha and Kane. She sighed and watched Rafe approach as Beans’ words rang in her ears: Don’t quit. Was it just her, or did Rafe look more handsome than before? She smoothed her skirt and tried not to fidget.
“Hello, M-M-Miss Hammond.”
She smiled warmly. “Hello,” she said shyly.
He smiled back.
She kept smiling.
Chance and Violet watched them and grinned like loons.
Today is a good day, Jasmine thought. And maybe, just maybe, Rafe would be interested in her. But was Beans right? She stared at the ground again.
“F-f-f-fine day, isn’t it?”
When she looked at him again his eyes were intent on hers. “Y-y-yes,” she stammered.
Chance snorted and quickly turned away. “Behave,” Violet
hissed
Jasmine’s eyes stayed locked on Rafe’s. Good Heavens, for the first time in her life, she was speechless!
“W-w-would you like some l-lemonade?” He offered her his arm.
Her face broke into a wide smile. “Yes, I-I’d love some.” Egads, she was stuttering too!
Chance winked at Violet. “Why don’t we all go get some lemonade?”
“That sounds fine,” Violet agreed. “Oh, but Chance, I’d like to look at the balloons first.” She winked back.
Chance grinned. “Well, there’s one near that lemonade stand there.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out some money and handed it to Rafe. “Drinks are on me. Why don’t you and Miss Hammond fetch the lemonades and meet us at the balloon?”
“Sure, Ch-chance.” Rafe wiggled his arm. She still hadn’t taken it.
Jasmine smiled at the Redburns, wrapped her arm through Rafe’s and they were off. She knew the chaperones were giving them some distance. They’d be able to see them, but …
“Wh-wh-what’s wrong?”
She gasped and looked at him. “Nothing. I was just thinking …” She couldn’t tell him! What if he was just being polite and there was no interest whatsoever? She’d been affected by all the rejection she’d suffered and was terrified of one more, especially from this man. He was her last chance. And after Beans pointed out that there was nothing wrong with him other than a stutter, she was ready to really look at him, get to know him. But what if the feeling wasn’t mutual? She didn’t think she could take it.
“J-Jasmine?”
She gasped again. “Rafe?”
He smiled. “So you d-don’t mind if I call y-you …” he took a deep breath. “… Jasmine?”
That took effort, she could tell, but he was trying. “No,” she said without thinking. “I don’t mind at all. And I’ll call you Rafe.”
He smiled again and nodded. “Good.”
Her brows shot up. “You didn’t stutter.”
He laughed. “Sometimes I get l-l-l … grrr … lucky.”
“I don’t think it’s luck. Maybe it has to do with time.”
“How so?”
“When you talk slower, you don’t stutter as much. I’ve noticed it over the last several weeks.”
