Mrs. Euell held out her hand. “The ten dollars, if you would, Mr. Sterling.”
Dusty reached into his billfold and gave her his hard-earned pay, more than half a month’s wages. Weeks before he even decided to bid on baskets, he planned on getting a saddle. Now that would have to wait, along with a picnic with Sophie. Time and money would have been better spent if he stayed to look at Wes’s saddles.
As Mrs. Euell went away to continue the bids, Margaret nudged his arm with the rim of her basket. “Congratulations, sir.” She spoke in her clipped British tone. No enthusiasm.
“I guess we’ll have us a picnic.” He tried to sound chipper. She didn’t look up from her feet as she left the stage area for the tables set up in front of the general store.
Hoppin’ John and pudding pie in hand, he went toward the back of the crowd and hung around to see who bid on the rest of the baskets. No wonder Sophie had been smiling. She outfoxed him.
Mrs. Euell lifted basket fourteen. “Here we have a Louisiana delicacy. Jambalaya with hot sausage, and for dessert, pecan pie. I wonder who made this.”
Everyone knew Sophie’s family originated in New Orleans. Dusty was helpless to stop the twenty or so young men that raised their hands to bid.
“Five dollars.”
“Six.”
“Eight dollars.”
“Eight dollars. Do I hear nine?” Mrs. Euell clearly enjoyed playing the auctioneer.
“Twenty dollars.” Chad lifted a triumphant hand in the air. Dusty groaned. Few folks had that kind of money to spare, let alone spend on perishable foodstuffs.
No one attempted to best his offer. Mrs. Euell exchanged the basket with the mayor’s son for several neatly folded bills. “Sold, for twenty dollars.”
Dusty headed for the tables while Chad was applauded for making a costly investment. What good would it do to watch him eat a bowl of jambalaya with Sophie?
Margaret sat on the far end of the last table. She plopped her cheek in her hand and cast a wistful stare out at the crowd. “Sophie got a twenty-dollar bid on her basket.”
“Ten dollars is mighty good too, in my estimation.” Dusty seated himself across from her. He said grace before unfolding the basket cloth containing the food and utensils. Might as well focus on the positive. He had lunch and company, even if that company came off a bit prim. “I didn’t know they made Hoppin’ John in England.”
“We don’t. I thought I would try an American recipe for the festival. The plum pudding is from England.”
Dusty uncovered a curious brown dish that loosely resembled cake left to bake a little too long. “I thought I heard Mrs. Euell calling it pudding pie.”
“She was mistaken.” Margaret folded her arms when he offered her a portion. “No, thank you.”
What did it mean if a woman wouldn’t eat her own cooking? Dusty wondered as he plunged a fork into the crumbly mixture and stuck it in his mouth.
Her brown eyes filled with expectation. “Well?”
He chewed. “Doesn’t taste like plums at all.”
“That’s because there are no plums in plum pudding.”
He swallowed. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense. What is it made of, then?”
She flattened her mouth again and blinked twice. “Currants. Quite similar to raisins, actually. Also, other dried fruit.”
“So it’s fruitcake?”
“Not exactly. You should have started with the main course.”
Confused, Dusty tried his luck with the Hoppin’ John. He chewed a portion of ham, rice, and pinto beans, waiting for the kick to hit his tongue.
“Well?” She asked for his opinion before he could finish the first bite.
Hoppin’ John, at least what he had growing up in Texas, was known for being peppery. Margaret’s version contained not one ounce of heat. “It’s a bit different from what I’m used to.”
“You don’t like it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No need. I can tell.” She tossed her hair. “I told Mama that I should have prepared a beef stew instead.” She pronounced mama in such a way that Dusty never heard, putting all the emphasis on the second ma. “It is so difficult to assimilate here where everyone prefers food I’ve never heard of.”
Dusty put down his fork. “You’re not from these parts. No one expects you to know our way of cooking.”
“Ah, but they do, Mr. Sterling. And preparing that basket was my failed attempt.”
“You sure are hard on yourself.”
“You try entering a town belle contest. No girl can beat Sophie.” Margaret gestured behind him.
Dusty turned to find Chad and Sophie making their way to the other table. Chad pulled the bench out for her to sit. While she unpacked her basket, he looked up at Dusty’s table with a smug countenance. Dusty suddenly lost what little appetite he possessed.
CHAPTER 4
S OPHIE KEPT A discreet eye on the next table where Dusty and Margaret sat. It tickled her to see the expression on Dusty’s face when he realized he bid on the wrong basket. Served him right for trying to buy a picnic with her when she told him she didn’t want him to.
She giggled as she watched him take a bite of Hoppin’ John. Margaret had said she was going to combine the food of her British culture with that of the southern region of the American states. Hoppin’ John and plum pudding. Bless Margaret’s heart for trying.
Sophie made conversation with Chad before her lack of speech could be considered rude. “I understand you just finished your studies at college in Missouri. Are you glad to be back home after a year away?”
Chad ran a hand over his lacquered hair. “Yes, and working in a higher position at the bank. We haven’t spoken much since the fair in Claywalk last year, have we?”
He had grown out of his gawkiness in a short time. He reminded her of the male lead in a dime novel Linda had let her borrow, with his frock coat, starched white shirt, and silk cravat. The unusually hot spring day did nothing to rumple his handsome, polished appearance.
Sophie offered him her best smile. “That day at the fair seems so long ago.”
“Not to me. I remember we danced and traded partners with Reverend Winford and Miss Pierce. Hard to imagine she’s his wife now.”
Sophie thought of the reformed saloon girl whose reputation and courtship with the new preacher caused quite the scandal last summer. Talk of the Winfords still managed to leave a sour taste in her mouth. She changed the subject by pointing to the food basket. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.” Chad smoothed the front of his cravat.
She unearthed the carefully packed jambalaya, still warm, and poured it into the bowls. Little steam curlicues drifted across the table. She wondered if Dusty could smell the cayenne pepper she used.
“Your stance on women voting caused quite the stir today, especially with my father.”
She spilled a bit of sauce onto the table. Her stance had caused a stir with her parents too. There would be a discussion once they got home, away from the ears of Assurance’s residents. She knew it was coming. “
I didn’t mean to make Mayor Hooper mad.” She reached for a cloth napkin in the basket.
“You didn’t, but he wasn’t expecting that kind of answer. He thought you’d do something more . . . I don’t know. Lighthearted.” Chad speared a piece of chili pepper and sausage on his fork.
Was he calling her frivolous? Sophie lifted her chin in defiance. After a year of doing farm chores as discipline from her father for her past gossiping and frivolity, her muscles had hardened as much as her will. “Other towns in Kansas let women vote on school elections. Why don’t we?”
“I meant no offense. I simply didn’t peg you for a politician.” He ate the forkful of jambalaya. In seconds, his face contorted. “That is too much pepper.” He coughed. “Water.”
Sophie reached for the pitcher on the table and filled him a tin mug. He downed it in two gulps. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting not everyone is used to spicy food.”
Chad continued to cough, drawing the attention of other picnickers, including Dusty and Margaret. Dusty appeared to be in good humor over the scene.
Pretending to ignore him, Sophie refilled Chad’s mug. “Regarding the women’s vote, I don’t think I need to be too political to get my point across. I won’t walk with a sign or anything.”
Her picnic companion consumed another glass before his complexion returned to normal. “If you don’t demonstrate, what will you do, then?”
“I’m still thinking about it.” She hadn’t the slightest idea of where to go with her promises. “I’d be very appreciative to hear your suggestions.”
He gave a soft laugh. “My father’s the politician. I am capable of giving the new town belle other assistance, however.” His gaze lingered on her in a subtle flirtation.
She batted her eyelashes. “Such as?” She noticed he wasn’t touching his bowl of jambalaya.
“Being your escort for the remainder of the festival. You should enjoy this day. Worry about your cause later.”
Sophie’s ears grew warm. Dusty was listening. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn his head. “You won the bid on my basket, Mr. Hooper. Of course you can be my escort.” She said it loud enough to carry across the table.
That should make Dusty give up. “Provided you finish my jambalaya.”
The look on Chad’s face was worth the twenty dollars he paid for her basket of food. “Sophie, the dish is, ah, rather hot. You can’t expect me to finish all of it.”
She loved teasing. If Chad could withstand her humor and spicy cooking, then he was a man worth her company. “I spent all morning making that jambalaya. I couldn’t bear for it to go to waste.” Innocently, she looked toward the vendor stalls. “Maybe one of the food sellers has some milk to aid you.”
Chad stabbed his fork into another chili. “No, I’ll be fine with water.” He gulped down the food without further comment, sniffling as the heat of the spice burned his nose.
Sophie ate her portion of jambalaya while studying Chad’s watering eyes. “So good it makes you want to cry, doesn’t it?”
The day continued into evening with music, games, and a skit played onstage by the children of Assurance’s east schoolhouse. Sophie maintained company with Chad until it was time to leave. He walked her to her family’s wagon at the livery.
“I have to be away on business for the bank. May I call upon you in three weeks’ time, say the second Tuesday of next month?” he asked, helping her into the wagon. Such a proper gentleman.
Sophie couldn’t help but feel a tinge of triumph at snaring him so quickly. “You may. You can have dinner with my family. It was good becoming reacquainted with you.”
“Please don’t be formal. Our families have known each other for years.”
She settled on the low bench beside her with Bernard and Rosemarie, who played with a newly purchased doll from the festival. “Don’t let your work keep you a stranger.”
Chad offered a little bow. “Have a good evening. You as well, Mr. and Mrs. Charlton.”
Sophie’s mother commented on him as they set out on the road back to the farm. “A nice young man. He’s matured very much since last year, hasn’t he?”
Sophie’s father assented. “Going to take right after his father, from the looks of it. Which reminds me, Sophie, we’ll be having a talk once we get home about what you said to the mayor today.”
She had hoped that her parents would have forgotten the matter in light of the afternoon activities. “Have you seen Dusty?”
“He might be at the fair still.” Her father removed his hat to scratch his forehead. “With that big basket of food he bid on, he probably doesn’t want to get on a horse right away.”
“He knows the way home,” David chimed in. “I wonder if he ever misses being a cowboy, riding the range.”
“Farming is real honest work, boy. Don’t you doubt it.”
Sophie’s brother wisely kept quiet for the remainder of the trip. As the horses pulled the wagon up the winding path to the house, Sophie saw Dusty coming from the barn.
“I’ll unhitch the wagon and take the horses for you, Mr. Charlton.”
Her father eagerly handed him the reins and climbed to the ground. “Thank you, Dusty. It’s been a long day.”
She didn’t want to go into that house just yet and have the promised discussion of her voting cause with her parents. “Daddy, can I look on Bess? I want to see how her hoof ’s healing from that infection she had last week.” Sophie referred to her favorite mare.
Her mother arched a smoothly plucked eyebrow. “Do it quickly, and come right into the house. Your father and I will be waiting in the sitting room.”
David whispered to her as he got out of the wagon. “You’re not escaping this one.”
Sophie waited for her family to go into the house. She observed Dusty as he unhitched the horses from the wagon. “How was your Hoppin’ John?”
He removed the leads from the harness with quick efficiency. “Just fine. Miss Margaret’s a good cook.”
Sophie placed her hands behind her back. “You didn’t seem all that hungry at the picnic table. I thought you may have lost your appetite.”
“I got caught up in good conversation. Miss Margaret was nice company.” He led the horses into the barn, where the setting sun provided a dim light of the interior.
Sophie walked up beside him. “You’re fibbing, Dusty. I saw you looking at Chad and me while we had our picnic.
You weren’t thinking at all about Margaret.”
“Is that so? You must not have been troubling yourself much about that banker boy if you had time to look my way.” His mouth tilted up in humor.
She felt her skin tingle where blood rushed to her face. “Nonsense. Chad is very engaging.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” He folded his lean-muscled arms across his chest. “What made you stop paying attention to him, then?”
“You are mistaken.”
“Am I?” He stepped toward her. She took one back.
“Yes. I’m simply not concerned about you.”
“That would hurt if I believed a word of it.” He reached out and snatched her in f
or a kiss.
Sophie had no time to react. The retort she was in the process of making died on her lips as he smothered them with his own. The stubble from his jaw scratched her chin. This was no sweet, innocent kiss from a boy, but a firm and certain one from a man. He continued to lay claim to her mouth until she yielded.
A fluttery feeling developed in her stomach, making her warm inside. Sophie’s hands came in contact with hard muscle as she splayed her fingers against his shoulders.
Wait. Why was she letting him take control of her senses like this? She pushed against him until she was free, losing her bonnet in the process.
“Dusty Sterling, how dare you?” She seized the bonnet up from the barn floor and settled it back upon her head. The horses flicked their dark gazes to her.
He gave her a wink. “That was my congrats for winning the town belle contest.”
“I should tell Daddy.”
Dusty chuckled. “You won’t do a thing. You enjoyed that as much as I did, else you wouldn’t have kissed me back.”
She put a hand to her lips. Despite the coarse way in which he kissed her, it hadn’t been altogether objectionable. He would never hear her say so, of course.
Dusty regarded her with a bold confidence that set her on edge. “Now what were you sayin’ ’bout you and Chad Hooper?”
She couldn’t remember. The shock of his audacious move made her forget why she ventured into the barn in the first place. “Chad will call on me soon, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“We’ll see.”
“I’m done speaking to you.” Sophie whirled on her heel to leave.
“Aren’t you going to check on your horse’s foot?”
“Not with you around.” She kept walking toward the house, knowing that if she glanced behind all she’d see was a big wide grin.
A Windswept Promise Page 3
