Frontier Matchmaker Bride (Frontier Bachelors)

by Regina Scott

  Beautiful, perhaps, but Beth would have called her cunning instead of kind. And she wasn’t alone. She had Bobby.

  “Mrs. Jamison could snap her fingers and have a dozen men jump to her call. In fact, that’s just what she did last week when she dropped her hanky.”

  He stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  Beth sighed. “It’s a known gambit to get a fellow’s attention. I wasn’t sure who she was after that day, but apparently, you’ve piqued her interest. Here, I’ll show you.” She pulled her handkerchief out of the reticule she’d made to replace the one she’d lost and lifted it high with two fingers. Releasing it, she watched it flutter toward the ground.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, raising her voice. “I seem to have dropped something.”

  The world exploded. One of the fellows loitering nearby rushed forward only to bump heads with his comrade who must have had the same thought. A third bent for the hanky while a fourth shoved him aside. The first two got into fisticuffs, while the second two said a few choice words that she was sure should never be uttered in the presence of a lady. Scout clutched her arm and drew her back from the melee.

  A shot rang out. Beth gasped, people closer to the church ducked for cover, and everyone else froze.

  Hart lowered his gun. “Enough. I ought to arrest the lot of you for breaking the peace.”

  The men lowered their gazes, shuffled their feet, muttered apologies that seemed more directed at Beth than the lawman.

  “Get inside and thank the Lord for my patience,” Hart ordered them. “And ask Him for the sense to make better decisions,” he added as they hurried past.

  Scout shook his head, releasing her arm. “You made your point, Beth. But you’ve forgotten something. Mrs. Jamison wouldn’t drop her hanky to attract my attentions. I’m nothing special.”

  Her heart hurt for him. “Yes, Scout, you are. You’re kind and loyal and hardworking. My point is she hadn’t known you long enough to realize all that before furthering your acquaintance, which makes me afraid she’s interested in something else entirely.”

  His brow cleared, and he looked away. “Of course. The money. I should have realized. I just thought she didn’t know about Pa, so she might like me for me.”

  “And so she should!” Beth wanted to grab the lady and shake her until her fancy hairpins fell.

  “And so she might,” Hart said quietly, moving closer. “Only time will tell, Scout. You can give the lady that much.”

  Beth frowned at him, but Scout nodded. “Good advice, Deputy. Thank you both for your concern.” He pushed past Beth for the church.

  Beth sighed. “You didn’t have to defend her.”

  “I didn’t intend to. Scout Rankin never struck me as stupid. Maybe he could figure things out on his own.”

  John had said something similar. Was she becoming so used to matchmaking she’d overstepped?

  “I just want him to be sure,” she told Hart. “He doesn’t have to jump at the first woman to look his way. Any number of young ladies would be pleased to have Scout court them.”

  “You sure about that? He’s right. Anyone who’s lived in Seattle longer than five years will remember his father, and not kindly.”

  “But Scout isn’t his father. He shouldn’t be judged by the man’s deeds.”

  The church bell began ringing. Beth grabbed Hart’s hand. “Hurry! We’re late!”

  “Hold on.” He pulled her up short and held out his free hand. “You forgot this.”

  In his fingers was her handkerchief. She took it from him, searched his face. Something softened those hard gray eyes, warmed his smile. He turned and strode for the building as if to hide the emotion from her.

  Beth stared after him. He had to have heard Scout’s comment. He must know a gentleman returned a lady’s handkerchief to indicate she’d succeeded in attracting his attention.

  What was he trying to say?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hart found it a little harder to focus on Mr. Bagley’s sermon that Sunday. Beside him, Beth had sung with her usual enthusiasm and bowed her head to pray with the same devotion, but at odd moments she glanced his way with a frown, fingers clutching her handkerchief. Did he have dirt on his face? He surreptitiously rubbed at each cheek just in case, but her looks didn’t cease.

  Still, the minister’s words poked at him. Love again. It was almost as if the Almighty was trying to tell him something. As the congregation followed Mr. Bagley in prayer, he reached out.

  Lord, You know how much I regret what I’ve done, how it ended. I’ve tried to be a better man since then. But love, real love? I don’t know if I’m ready.

  A verse popped into his head. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

  He’d heard that said before, at Annabelle’s funeral. She’d certainly lived its truth. Could he?

  The service seemed to have set Beth to thinking as well, for her head was down, her steps small and determined as she walked beside him through the churchyard.

  “We in a hurry?” he couldn’t help asking.

  She slowed as they reached the street. “What? Oh, no. No hurry.”

  He didn’t believe her. “Something bothering you, Beth?”

  She shifted on her feet, gaze shooting past him. He didn’t have to follow it to know when she spotted Scout with Mrs. Jamison. Beth’s mouth tightened, and her eyes narrowed.

  He’d seen the pair the moment he and Beth had left the church. Even though Beth was annoyed with the woman, he’d thought she would go into raptures over the fancy gray dress trimmed in black and white, the white net fluttering around the seamstress’s feathered hat. With Bobby at her elbow, Mrs. Jamison and Scout were now conversing with Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Denny, with the Hortons waiting their turn nearby.

  “The cream of Seattle society,” Hart remarked. “Scout’s making his mark.”

  Beth started, and pink flushed her cheeks as if she was embarrassed to be caught staring. “Yes, I suppose it is good that Scout is being accepted at last.”

  “But...” he pressed.

  She looked at him with a smile. “But I would appreciate it more under other circumstances.”

  She surely had it in for the seamstress. Hart glanced at Scout again. The fellow had ducked his head respectfully to listen to something the railroad president was saying. The same pink tinged Scout’s cheeks.

  “I need to know more about Mrs. Jamison,” Beth murmured. “It would either assure me of her intentions or give me something to convince Scout to leave her be.”

  “You want the best for Scout,” Hart told her. “She’s pretty and likeable, and it seems her husband didn’t leave her well enough off because she’s still working. Scout’s not the shiniest penny in the bunch, shy and wealthy. Why shouldn’t they make a match?”

  Beth rounded on him. “First, Mr. McCormick, a lady’s attributes go beyond her looks. Second, one can use one’s talents with or without income from another source. Would you expect Rockefeller to retire after he made his first hundred dollars? Samuel Colt to stop refining his revolver?”

  She had a point. “Very well. Mrs. Jamison is dedicated to her profession. She might also have money of her own. So, why do you think she’s after Scout’s?”

  Her gaze returned to the other couple. “Because she seems more interested in how being with him could improve her life than how she might improve his.”

  Sacrificial love, as the minister had said. It was a high ideal. No doubt Beth expected it in her romances. But having seen it in action, he wasn’t sure he agreed that the other person was always better off for the sacrifice. There had been a time he would have done anything to change places with Annabelle, to lose his life instead of losing her.

  Scout must have finished his conversation with the Hortons, for he led Bobby and Mrs. Jamison their way. The widow’s smile didn’t falter, but he thought he saw a tightening around her eyes as they approached.

  “Lovely day
for a stroll,” Scout said with a nod to Beth and Hart. “I thought we might stop at Kelloggs’. They have a new ice cream churn. Care to join us?”

  Hart thought Beth would perk up at that. It wasn’t easy to come by the treat in Seattle. Instead she put her hand on Scout’s arm. “Not today, thank you. But Scout, I just realized I hadn’t invited you to spend Easter with us.”

  Scout glanced at Hart. “Us?”

  Beth seemed oblivious to the undertone. “Yes, all of us at Wallin Landing. I confirmed plans with John just this week. We’ll have a wonderful feast with some of your favorites. I know how you like Levi’s biscuits.”

  Scout’s smile widened. Hart understood why. The youngest Wallin brother was famous for baking biscuits light enough to fly.

  “There will be a special service too,” Beth continued as if encouraged by Scout’s reaction. “Callie and Simon are playing a duet. Nora organized the egg rolling. And Rina has a school recital scheduled for the evening, with the community invited to share talents as well. Please say you’ll join us.”

  His eyes lit. “I wouldn’t miss it. I know you’ll enjoy it, Evangeline.”

  The seamstress batted her eyes at him, but Beth dropped her hand. “Oh, I’m not sure our little get-together would interest Mrs. Jamison.”

  She turned her smile on Beth. “You’d be surprised what interests me, Miss Wallin. Unfortunately, I really should stay in town with Bobby. I’d hate to leave him alone for the holiday.”

  Bobby’s smile was even more strained. “You could go, Evie. I’ll be fine. Maybe Deputy McCormick and I could keep each other company.”

  Him? Hart peered closer at the boy, noting his pallor, the way he edged back from his sister.

  “Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Jamison said with a stern look Bobby’s way. “Deputy McCormick has more important matters to attend to.” She turned to Hart. “Have you caught that horrible gang yet, Deputy?”

  The question was all soft inquiry, but he felt the heat behind it. Was she worried the danger might approach her door?

  “Just about, ma’am,” he said. “Thank you for asking.”

  “You see?” she told her brother. “We have no need to fear when Deputy McCormick is on duty.” She aimed her smile at Scout, hand stroking his arm as if she were petting a tabby. Hart had never seen the motion so proprietary. Maybe Beth had the right of it after all.

  “You must accept Miss Wallin’s kind offer, Thomas,” the widow murmured. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of time with your friends. All I ask is that you bring me back tales of your triumphs.”

  Hart wasn’t sure church services and egg rolling constituted triumphs, but Scout smiled fatuously, promised to join Beth for Easter and excused himself to stroll off with his lady, Bobby following, after a forlorn look in Hart’s direction.

  “Well,” Beth said.

  Hart raised a brow. “I thought you’d be pleased. You managed to separate them.”

  “And made her a martyr in the process.” She shook her head. “I almost wish she had agreed to come. Nothing shows up tin like true silver.”

  “I’d like to see her up against all the Wallin ladies,” Hart agreed. “But you’ll probably have more fun without her.”

  “There is that.” She put her hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. “Why don’t you join us, too, Hart? My whole family adores you.”

  He found that hard to believe. All her brothers were upstanding gentlemen. What need did they have for someone like him? Of course, none knew about his past. Maybe they saw the badge and assumed the man wearing it had a character as bright. He started to demur, when an idea struck.

  He cocked his head. “Is that an invitation?”

  “Of course it is.” Her smile brightened as if to prove it.

  “In that case, I accept.”

  “Good. You might want to ride out early that morning to be in time for service. I’m sure you could bunk with the logging crew so you could stay for the concert.”

  “Wise plan,” Hart said.

  She frowned. “Why are you smiling like that? Are you so pleased with the festivities?”

  “Your family knows how to enjoy a holiday,” he assured her. “I’m glad to be invited to join.”

  “Oh.” She relaxed. He ought to leave well enough alone, but he couldn’t help adding, “After all, I promised to accept the next invitation I received.”

  “Oh!” Her head came up, eyes blazing. “Hart McCormick, you know what I meant. This doesn’t count.”

  “First invitation from a lady,” he replied. “That’s the first invitation, and I’ll jail any man who claims you aren’t a lady.”

  She shook her head. “You are impossible. Is one dinner, one promenade too much to ask to become better acquainted with a lady you might want to court?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes. I’m not going courting.”

  “Why are you so pigheaded?”

  They were attracting attention. Heads turned their direction, frowns began to form. Hart took Beth’s arm and led her away from the church. “You know where I stand on the matter. I don’t see why my refusal is such a surprise.”

  “What’s a surprise is your determination. I thought with the right lady, the right circumstances...”

  “I’d give in. I won’t, Beth. Not now, not ever.”

  Her jaw moved back and forth, as if she were fighting to keep words inside. Finally, she squared her shoulders. “Very well. Have your fun. Just remember two can play at this game.”

  He was certain a cloud crossed over the sun. “Now, Beth...”

  Her sweet smile didn’t reassure him. “Never fear. I already spoke with Mrs. Dunbar and warned her off your trail. No, I had something else in mind.”

  “Like what?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

  “Perhaps it’s time I started my own investigation.”

  * * *

  She had the satisfaction of seeing his face darken like a thundercloud. “You gave me your word.”

  “And I intend to keep it,” she told him. “I promised not to investigate the men who hurt Mr. Schneider. I never said I wouldn’t look into anyone else.”

  “Beth Wallin...”

  “Hart McCormick.” She pulled out of his grip. “Thank you for your escort to church. I have plans for the rest of the day. I hope you enjoy yours.” She sauntered up the street. A quick glance back showed her he was following her. Did he intend protection or deflection? Either way, she wasn’t about to gratify him. She walked straight back to the Howard house and shut the door behind her.

  Oh, but she had an idea. Could she follow through on it? He had certainly paled when she’d mentioned an investigation. She wasn’t going to do anything rash or dangerous. Very likely he thought she meant to investigate Mrs. Jamison, which she fully intended to do. But his continued refusal to take even the smallest steps toward matrimony was beginning to concern her.

  She’d become so accustomed to having him a part of her life—always in the background, a dependable force for good, a legendary figure—that she’d never really questioned what she knew of him. Now she understood he’d been raised in an orphanage, which meant his parents had passed on. It sounded as if he didn’t remember either of them. How sad. She’d been four when Pa had died. All she had of him were stories. But Ma had been a big part of her life, guiding her, encouraging her. She couldn’t imagine having no one.

  Still, his barren upbringing hadn’t stopped him from forming attachments. Sheriff Wyckoff and his wife had only the highest regard for him. He and Clay had long discussions about politics and world affairs. She saw them out at the paddock from time to time. He treated Georgie and Gillian kindly, and he was trying to encourage Bobby Donovan. Her brothers relied on his judgment. What had she missed?

  Ciara had said that Maddie knew more about Hart. Perhaps it was time Beth learned more as well. She waited at the upstairs window until she saw him ride out on Arno. Then she hurried back downstairs and headed acro
ss town.

  Maddie Haggerty generally took Sundays off. She and her family had originally lived in a four-room flat above the bakery. Her husband, Michael, had built them a bigger house on Fourth Avenue a few years ago. With bric-a-brac around the roofline, and white and yellow paint, it resembled some of the cakes Maddie made.

  The Haggertys were delighted to see her when Beth showed up at the door. She had known Maddie since the Irishwoman had arrived with the second Mercer Expedition in 1866. Michael had arrived a year later, escorting Ciara and Aiden out from New York to live with their sister. The burly longshoreman-turned-blacksmith and the outspoken baker had fallen in love. Their son Stephen was now six years old. He had his father’s thick black hair and his mother’s shining brown eyes.

  But as cute as Stephen was, Beth had come to see Maddie. It took a little maneuvering to get her alone. After all, they expected she’d come to see Ciara. But a whispered conversation with her friend was enough to convince Ciara of Beth’s need. Accordingly, Ciara chivied the rest of the family into the rear yard to play battledore.

  “Was there ever anyone more devoted to the game?” Maddie remarked with a shake of her red head as she poured Beth another cup of tea. “How is it you’re immune, me darling girl?”

  Even after more than two decades in America, Maddie still hadn’t lost the lilt of Ireland in her voice. Beth leaned closer where she sat on the rose-patterned sofa in the parlor. “I’m as competitive as the rest of them, I fear. But today, I have another task in mind. Maddie, Ciara tells me you know more about Deputy McCormick than most of us. I need your assistance. You see, I’m trying to find him a bride.”

  Maddie’s eyes widened. “Why would you be doing that?”

  She willed her cheeks not to heat. “The Literary Society asked me to lend a hand.”

  Maddie leaned back. “What a kind, sweet girl you are to agree. I’d have told them to mind their own affairs.”

  Beth chuckled. “I probably should have done the same. But if I didn’t agree, they’d have found someone else who might not have had his best interests at heart. Deputy McCormick agreed to let me try.”