Her Fearless Love_Seeing Ranch Mail Order Bride

by Florence Linnington

  A little cat, its eyes wide, stood at August and Zeke’s tool shed and watched Miss Meyers.

  At the sound of the door opening, Miss Meyers looked over at August--and her eyes turned as round as the feline’s.

  “Hello,” August said quietly, so as not to scare the cat. “Lose your pet?”

  Miss Meyers swallowed, looking hesitant. For a moment, August thought she would not answer. Clearly, she had not known this was his yard. If she had, she likely would not have chased her cat into it.

  “It’s not mine,” she whispered. “But I would like to catch it.”

  She opened her hand, showing the bit of sausage there.

  “Ah.” August looked back to the cat, who now watched both of the humans with extreme uncertainty. The animal had to be hungry. It was too scrawny to have had a square meal anytime recently.

  “Perhaps we can corner it,” August said.

  Margaret quirked an eyebrow.

  “You stay here,” he explained. “Keep trying to lure it in.”

  Hustling back through the door, which he shut delicately so as not to spook the cat, August hurried through the house and out the front. Veering wide around the side of the house, he came up on the cat from the back.

  So far, the plan was working. Miss Meyers had gained a few feet, and the cat slowly touched a paw to the snow. With all of its attention on the sausage, it did not know August crept up behind it.

  Her gaze shifting upward and onto August, Miss Meyers smiled slightly. A pleasant feeling spread through August, and it did not matter that he’d left his coat inside, for he suddenly felt warm from head to toe.

  Miss Meyers bent lower, crouching in the snow, and extended the sausage far as she could. The cat paused, and August seized hold of the opportunity.

  Catching the cat by the scruff of its neck, he lifted it from the snow. The animal yowled, but it was only a kitten and did not have the skill or strength to escape the hold.

  “Here, kitten,” Miss Meyers said, running forward. “Here.”

  She pushed the sausage under the cat’s nose. August cradled the cat like a baby, and, sedated, it gobbled up the food.

  The second it was done, though, it thrashed around in his arms.

  “How about we give it some milk?” he suggested, doing his best to hold onto the kitten while avoiding its claws.

  “Yes,” Miss Meyers agreed.

  August rushed for the door, eager to get the cat out of his arms before it tore his face to shreds. Miss Meyers followed close behind him, and in the kitchen, he closed the door so the cat could not run off.

  Allowing the cat to leap from his arms, August retrieved the milk from the ice box and filled a saucer for the kitten, who hid under the table.

  With the saucer on the floor, the kitten found it hard to resist and crept forward. Its pink tongue darted out, lapping at the milk. Little droplets splattered on the floor, and the milk was gone in a matter of seconds.

  August filled the saucer once more, and once more, the cat drained it.

  “Hungry little one,” he commented, filling the saucer a third time. This time, the cat only finished half of it. Miss Meyers held her hand out to it to sniff, but the cat recoiled and retreated to its spot back under the table.

  “At least it is not trying to escape the room,” August said. “That is a good sign. It knows there is food here.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Meyers said.

  “It’s my pleasure.” Corking the milk bottle, August put it back in the ice box. “I was just about to have a cup of tea. Will you join me?”

  As he’d expected, she hesitated.

  “It’s merely a cup of tea,” August said. “Nothing more.”

  He let that hang in the air, allowing nothing more to stand for whatever it was Miss Meyers feared the most. Courtship? Any kind of attention from a man? Simple friendliness from any human being?

  She nodded slowly. “Yes. I would enjoy a cup of tea, thank you.”

  “Wonderful.” Careful to make languid movements so as not to spook the cat any further, he pulled a chair out for Miss Meyers, heated water for tea, and served it to her with soda bread. As a last touch, he set the sugar dish and the jar of milk on the table.

  She stayed silent the whole time, sitting with her hands folded and her attention not the cat. The animal, tired after the chase and the sausage and milk, relaxed on its haunches and cleaned its face.

  “She seems at ease now,” Margaret said as August took the seat across from her.

  “Good.”

  “Thank you for your help.”

  “I am glad I could be of service,” August answered. “You said it is not your cat?”

  “Oh. No. She just ran into my employer’s backyard.” Miss Meyers stirred her tea, eyes on the spoon.

  “But you are keeping her, I imagine? After the amount of effort you put into catching her, it would be a shame to let her go.”

  August chuckled, and a bit of light entered Miss Meyer’s eyes.

  “Yes,” she said. “I would like to keep her. We need a good mouser. I have to make sure she is comfortable with me, of course, or else the moment I let her out she will run away again.”

  August peeked under the table. The cat had moved from stretching to laying spread out across the floorboards.

  “I think she is becoming comfortable,” August said. “We fed her, and it is warmer in here than out in the snow.”

  Miss Meyers smiled, and the whole room lit up.

  “You are very helpful,” she said. “Again, thank you. I am afraid I have not been...” Her eyelashes fluttered, and once again she put her attention on her tea cup. “The friendliest,” she concluded.

  August opened his mouth, eager to respond, but realized he did not know what to say.

  “I am used to spending time alone,” Miss Meyers said. “And I, um... Yes.” She cleared her throat. It seemed like she had more to say but had decided against it.

  “It’s all right,” August said.

  Her lips twitched. “Is it?”

  “How about we begin anew? And forget about any interactions prior to the cat running into my yard?”

  She thought about that. “It sounds like a nice idea.”

  “Good.” August nodded in satisfaction and took a sip of tea.

  “You live here on your own?” Miss Meyers asked. “As a bachelor?”

  Her voice dropped at the end. Was she self-conscious about asking that?

  “I have a housemate,” August explained. “Zeke Davis. He is the schoolteacher.”

  “Ah. Yes.”

  “You know him?” August asked.

  “No, but I know of him. My employers, the Bains, they have two school-age children.” She bit her bottom lip, her shoulders squaring. “Mr. Dowdell, I know we just agreed to begin anew, but I feel I must address the elephant in the room for the sake of my own conscience.”

  “All right,” August said, hoping she would keep going and not become afraid once more and stop mid sentence.

  “When we met at the post office, I was very defensive. I lashed out at you when I should not have. I revealed much more than a person should in an initial meeting, and I apologize for that.”

  August nodded. “I accept your apologies, Miss Meyers, and I thank you. But please believe me when I say I was not holding that interaction against you.”

  Her eyes slitted the slightest bit. She likely did not believe him.

  “When I asked about your past,” he continued, “I was wondering whether you were born in the West or whether you arrived here from the east.”

  The tension in her shoulders visibly lifted. “I am from Ohio. I came here last year.”

  “Ohio. Yes.” August smiled. “And I am from Virginia.”

  “I remember,” she said softly.

  From under the table, a gentle purring began. August and Miss Meyers leaned over and ducked their heads. The cat slept with its chin on its paws.

  “Success,” August announced.


  “Yes.” Miss Meyers smiled. “Thank you, again.”

  “What will you name it?”

  She tilted her head, gaze floating to the ceiling. August sat patiently, enjoying the new quiet. With Miss Meyers there, the house had taken on a whole new feel.

  “I do not know,” she said. “I am assuming it is a girl, but I have not checked. And Charlotte and Horace would like to name it, I am sure. Mrs. Bain will be pleased to have a cat. The mice are driving her into near fits.”

  August grinned, mostly because Miss Meyers was speaking much more than he expected her to.

  “How about Snowy?” he suggested.

  Miss Meyers laughed. “That works.”

  “Or Milky?”

  She wrinkled her nose.

  “You do not like that one?” August asked.

  “Sorry.” She grimaced.

  August sipped his tea. “I am afraid I am not very creative.”

  “You work at the bank, do you not?”

  “Yes.”

  Miss Meyers shrugged and smiled. “Then you must be phenomenal with numbers. Who cares if you are not creative?”

  August laughed. “Thank you. I am glad you are on my side.”

  The front door opened, and the smile fell from Miss Meyers face.

  “That will be my housemate,” August explained.

  Her jaw tightened, and she looked down. August’s stomach knotted.

  “Hello,” Zeke called. A couple seconds later, and he entered the kitchen. At the sigh of Miss Meyers, his eyebrows rose. “Oh. Hello.”

  “Hello,” Miss Meyers answered in a quiet voice.

  August cleared his throat, which had turned dry. “Miss Margaret Meyers, this is Zeke Davis.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Meyers.”

  “You as well,” she whispered.

  “Is that... purring?” Zeke looked around the room.

  “There is a kitten under the table,” August explained. “Miss Meyers just caught it, and will be taking it home.”

  “I should be going now,” she said, standing.

  August’s head jerked in her direction. “There is no need for you to depart.”

  She smiled tightly. “It is getting late. My employer will be wondering where I am. It was good to meet you, Mr. Davis.”

  Zeke nodded.

  Reaching under the table, August lifted the cat as gently as he could. It open its eyes halfway, but must have been too exhausted to do anything else, because it fell back asleep as he handed it over to Miss Meyers.

  “Thank you again,” she told him.

  August kept his eyes on hers. “Let me know how the cat acclimates.”

  “Certainly,” she said, but she no longer looked at him.

  August went to open the back door for her, but she beat him to it. In the blink of an eye, she was in the yard and trudging through the snow. August watched until she disappeared around the corner of the neighbor’s house, then shut the door, and looked at Zeke.

  “How on earth did that happen?” Zeke asked. “The one woman you’ve been moaning over, here in our kitchen?”

  August rubbed the back of his head, drained and exhilarated at the same time. “Divine providence?” he suggested.

  “And then I scared her away,” Zeke said.

  “It would appear so.”

  August looked out the window, where the tracks from the chase cut across the back yard. The only creature who spooked almost as much as that kitten was Miss Meyers.

  Chapter 8

  8. Margaret

  Chapter eight

  Margaret skimmed the feather duster over the sitting room’s pictures frames as the kitten sniffed in the corner. Pausing in her cleaning, she turned to the cat.

  “Good job, little Muffin,” Margaret told the kitten. “Find those mice.”

  The cat’s arrival the day before had caused a flurry of excitement. Mrs. Bain had thanked God aloud for the gift, the children had crowded around and giggled in glee, Lulu had sliced it some salted ham for supper, and Mr. Bain had grumbled something about it being “a good thing to have, I suppose.”

  The children had named it, and while Margaret would have picked something a tad more... traditional, had it been up to her, the cat’s simple presence was the true gift.

  She’d woken that morning to find Muffin in her bed, curled up against her feet. For the first time in a long time, Margaret smiled before arising.

  It was not only the cat’s arrival that made her happy. The visit with Mr. Dowdell had put her in a good mood as well. She knew that she was taking a risk by interacting with him. The chance always remained that he could hurt her.

  That chance remained with everyone.

  And yet she could not stop thinking about him. Or humming as she went about her cleaning.

  Footsteps pounded down the hall, and the children entered the room.

  “Kitty kitty,” Horace said, pointing at the cat.

  Muffin shrank back some. She’d already been subjected to Horace’s overly-exuberant pets.

  “Don’t touch it,” Charlotte instructed, lowering her little brother’s pointed hand. “You’ll spook it.”

  Charlotte walked slowly to the cat and picked it up, which Muffin allowed.

  “She likes me,” Charlotte announced.

  Margaret smiled. “Yes, you are sweet with her. Continue being that way, and she will always be your friend.”

  “I’m going to take her to Lulu and get her some milk.” Charlotte left, Muffin in her arms, Horace trailing behind.

  Margaret chuckled. That cat had certainly stumbled into the land of milk and honey.

  Someone knocked on the front door, and Margaret put the duster down. Smoothing her hair, she crossed the hallway.

  Answering the door was her least favorite part of working at the Bain’s, as she never knew who she might have to converse with, but it had to be done.

  This time, though, instead of it being a lady calling for Mrs. Bain or an associate of Mr. Bain’s, it was August.

  Margaret’s jaw dropped, and she stared dumbly at him.

  “Hello, Miss Meyers.” He tipped his hat. “I was walking by, and I thought I would stop in and see how the cat is doing.”

  “She is... she is well.”

  Margaret glanced over her shoulder. She’d never had a caller at the Bain’s. In Ohio, it was highly inappropriate for someone to call on a servant at the front door. Perhaps things were different in the West.

  Her heart thudded. Her employers were kind people, and she did not want to anger them.

  Before Margaret could think of what to do next, though, Mrs. Bain appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Hello,” she said, walking for the front door.

  Margaret’s cheeks burned, and Mrs. Bain looked between her and August.

  “Mr. Dowdell, correct?” Mrs. Bain asked. “From the bank?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Bain.” He removed his hat.

  “Well, come in. Don’t stand in the cold.”

  He obliged, and Margaret folded her hands, still not sure what to do.

  “Curiosity pushed me to come inquire about the kitten,” August explained.

  Mrs. Bain smiled. “Oh, you helped Margaret catch it!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Margaret had told Mrs. Bain nothing of the sort, but when Lulu asked, she’d given a condensed story of the cat’s capture, so it made sense that everyone in the house knew about it.

  “That kitten is just what we need here,” Mrs. Bain said, “with the mice, you see? Oh, Mr. Dowdell, will you come in and have some tea or coffee? My cook just made a wonderful poundcake.”

  Mr. Dowdell smiled, and Margaret’s heart flipped. Quickly, she looked down. That was not right. She could not be fancy Mr. Dowdell. She could not fancy any man. To do so would be dangerous.

  And, yet, Margaret also knew it was too late. The very moment she set eyes on him for the first time, he awoke something in her. A part of her heart that had been dormant for far
too long.

  August Dowdell made her feel things, and even while she hated that she loved it at the same time.