Chapter Thirteen
The path led Charlotte into a thickly treed wood, and as she stepped into the welcome cool of the shade, she continued her self-lecture. “Whatever in the world would make you want to stay in a town like Wyldhaven? Especially after the way Mr. Heath deceived you into coming!”
Well, she’d certainly like to show Sheriff Callahan that she was made of sterner stuff than he obviously thought she was. Charlotte groaned aloud as she navigated a fairly steep incline in the trail. She rolled her eyes and mumbled to herself, “Surely this melancholy arises from more than the desire to prove yourself to that man?”
That was when she thought of little Zoe Kastain and her twin sisters, who had never lived in a town where they’d had access to an education. Sure, Sheriff Callahan had promised that he would try to find another teacher to take her place, but what if she left and they could not find a replacement? The children would go another year or more without learning.
And then there were the people themselves… When she’d first arrived, she couldn’t imagine what would make anyone want to live in a dirty, uncivilized town like Wyldhaven, but as she’d gotten to know several of the women this past week, she’d come to realize that each family was just trying to scrape out a living for themselves. They worked dawn to dusk, and not many of them had time to spend on building boardwalks or cobbling streets. They rose with the roosters and worked straight through at laborious work until they fell into bed in exhaustion at night, then woke up and repeated the process the next day. Special occasions like tonight’s boxed supper gave them something to look forward to—something to break up the monotony of their days. And yet despite the grueling nature of their lives, Charlotte couldn’t help but admire their work ethic and the commitment of women who stuck by their husbands, even when it meant living in a backwoods place such as Wyldhaven.
Relieved to know that her dilemma did have some substance to it other than a man with broad shoulders and alluring blue eyes, she rounded a bend in the road, and to her right a field opened up. A soft breeze whispered over the meadow, and Charlotte gasped at the beauty stretched before her. As far as her eye could see, there were wild roses bursting with magenta blooms, and here and there a splash of cobalt lavender where a butterfly bush broke through the monotony of pink. With the sun cascading through windswept leaves to create mottled patches of shadow and light, the sight quite literally took her breath away.
Her gasp must have revealed her presence, for suddenly, a woman stood from behind a rosebush not too far away. She quickly swiped at her cheeks and started to hurry past Charlotte.
Concern immediately filled Charlotte. The woman had obviously been seeking some solitude, and she’d disturbed her. She held out a hand to stop her. “I’m terribly story to have intruded on you.” She lifted the basket. “Dixie Pottinger asked me to come pick some roses for the centerpieces on the tables.”
The woman stilled, a look of surprise on her face.
Charlotte frowned. It was almost as if she hadn’t expected Charlotte to speak to her.
She had blond hair braided into a delicate halo, and though her dress was a plain muslin, she had a very pretty face with large eyes and delicate brows. She was holding something in her hands, but Charlotte couldn’t quite make out what the brown clump might be.
Charlotte stepped forward and held out one hand. “I’m Charlotte Brindle, the new schoolteacher in town. Though truth be told, I don’t know how long I’ll be staying.”
The woman stared for a long moment before transferring the object she was holding to her left hand and reaching out to grip Charlotte’s fingers. “Liora. Liora Fontaine.”
Charlotte smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Liora. If you don’t mind my asking, what do you have there?” She tipped a nod to the object.
A hesitant smile transformed Liora’s face from pretty to beautiful. She glanced down and then held the item out for Charlotte to see. “It’s a sparrow’s nest.” She looked to the trees above. “Likely this is an old one and they are up in the branches weaving a new nest even as we speak.”
There was something about Liora’s expression that took Charlotte back to the year she was ten when Father had moved them from New York to Boston. Charlotte’s first day to school had been miserable, uncertain, and lonely until Bonnie Blythe had approached her and offered to share her apple. Just that one simple act had been like the first ray of morning sunshine after an all-night storm. She and Bonnie had been fast friends ever since. And now as Charlotte studied the uncertain expression on Liora’s face, she wanted to offer that same ray of friendship.
She reached out one finger and touched the edge of the perfectly woven nest. “Amazing, isn’t it? How the Lord gave the birds the ability to create something so intricate?”
Liora tilted her head. “If you believe in that sort of thing.”
Charlotte felt a jolt of surprise. It never ceased to amaze her when someone claimed not to believe in a God whose fingerprints were so obviously visible in all His creation. “I do believe it. The Bible says not a sparrow falls that He doesn’t see and care about. It goes on to say that if He cares that much about small sparrows, we can be sure to know He cares for us even more.” She studied the girl’s face, hoping her words might be an encouragement since she’d been so obviously distressed moments ago.
Liora studied the bowl of intertwined grass and twigs, one edge of her lower lip tucked between her teeth.
Charlotte assessed that she’d likely said enough on the subject for now. She glanced around. “It almost seems a sacrilege to pull out the scissors and start cutting, but I need to hurry back with the flowers if we are to get them arranged and on the tables in time for the supper. Would you like to help me? I only have one pair of scissors, but with one of us choosing blooms and the other cutting, it might go faster.”
Liora tilted her head. She darted a glance to the path leading to town and continued to work the one edge of her lower lip between her teeth. “I’d really like to, but I have to get back into town myself. I’ll be late for work if I don’t get on.”
Charlotte frowned. She didn’t recall seeing Liora about town. “You work in Wyldhaven?”
Liora hung her head toward the ground. “Yes, and I’ve already been gone too long, so I need to scuttle. Nice to meet you.” She dipped a curtsy and then turned and hurried down the path.
Charlotte debated whether to call after her, but decided to let her go. Wherever did the woman work? She would make it a point to ask Dixie. Maybe even encourage Dixie to include Liora in a few of the town’s social gatherings. The woman was obviously lonely and troubled. She would like to help her, even if she was heading back home on tomorrow’s stage.
Right now, she needed to get Dixie her flowers.
Lenny watched from behind a tree at the edge of the wood as Liora left the schoolteacher standing alone with naught but a tin pail clasped in her hands. He checked the trail. Empty. This was exactly the opportunity he’d been searching for. Finally he would return to Waddell with the prize in hand.
The truth was, he’d known the story Reagan and Joe had spun was a trap from the first moment. He’d also known that Horace’s impulsiveness would have him charging right into the trap. Which should have left Lenny with a nice free piece of territory for his own pillaging. What he hadn’t counted on was Waddell escaping. And he could see the distrust reflected in the man’s gaze each time they spoke. What he needed now was to regain some of the man’s confidence.
The woman hummed as she made her way to the first bush.
Lenny ducked his head to keep out of sight as he crept from behind the tree and cat-footed to a row of grass between the rosebushes. He imagined the look of surprise and appreciation on Waddell’s face when he returned to camp with the woman. This was exactly the ticket he needed to get back into Waddell’s good graces.
Her humming grew louder. He parted the branches of one bush and could see the yellow of her skirt just ahead.
But
just as he reached for the knife in his belt and decided now was his chance, she muttered something about butterflies, of all things, and sprang away to cut flowers from a blue bush several paces ahead. Too far to make a quick grab for her.
Disgusted, he let go of the branch he’d been holding. It sprang up and slapped him in the face, one thorn gouging so deep it was all he could do to withhold a howl that would alert her to his presence. He cursed softly under his breath and pressed his fingers to his chin. They came away bloody.
He cursed again and was just about to start forward for the second time when he heard boots crunching through the grass a few feet away. Boots that supported too much weight to be the slip of a teacher.
Carefully, he parted the branches again. He could no longer see the schoolmarm, who must have moved deeper into the field, but above a bush several feet away, he could see the broad shoulders of a man making his way through the field. The man turned sideways to slip between two bushes, and sunlight glinted off something on his chest.
Lenny jerked back and pressed his face to the ground. The sheriff! He wanted no part in that fight. He’d once witnessed the man bring down a jackrabbit at seventy-five yards.
Slowly, he slithered backward toward the relative safety of the dark woods. Waddell would have to wait a little longer to get his revenge.
And Lenny would have to hope he lived long enough to get back into Waddell’s good graces.
Charlotte chose her clippings carefully, both so that she would have the best of the blooms for the tables, but also so that she didn’t strip any one bush too bare. And a few minutes later she looked up to note that she stood in the middle of the field. Any direction she looked, there spread a fuchsia and blue ocean of beauty.
A thrill of joy zipped through her. “Father, Your creation is amazing!” She spread her arms wide, tipped her face to the sky, and spun in a circle, laughter spilling from her lips.
When she came to a rather dizzy stop, her gaze landed on the sheriff, who was standing in the middle of the field not far away, arms folded over his chest and Stetson tipped back as he watched her unashamedly. From this distance she couldn’t see any laugh crinkles around his eyes, but something in his stance told her they were there.
Heat flaming through her face, she bent and retrieved her pail and dropped the scissors down between the stems. “Sheriff, what are you doing here?” As she made her way through the sea of flowers toward him, she scanned the area to see if any other people had witnessed her very unladylike display of giddiness.
His lips tilted into a slow grin when she stopped before him. “No one here but me, don’t worry.”
Charlotte’s heart rate picked up. She remembered being dismayed at finding herself alone with him on her first day in Wyldhaven, but now she felt chagrinned to note that her uptick in pulse had nothing to do with dismay but very much an emotion of another sort. And that right there was both a reason to stay and a reason to run as fast as she could to get on tomorrow’s stage. To run and not look back. She didn’t know if she would ever be able to bring herself to trust her heart to another man.
So why was it she couldn’t seem to stop herself from wondering what it might feel like to be wrapped in his arms? Especially since he had made it abundantly clear he shared no such attraction? He felt she would be inadequate as a teacher and wanted nothing more than to see her get on that stagecoach tomorrow.
She tore her gaze away and focused on one of the blooms in the bucket. “What brings you out here?”
His feet shuffled. “I saw you heading this way, and I figured I’d tag along to make sure you made it back to town safely. Quite a few newcomers around today. And what with the recent dealings with the Waddell gang…” He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and settled his weight on one foot. “Just didn’t want any monkeyshiners to find you.”
Her brows arched in curiosity, and she couldn’t suppress the humor that quirked one lip. “Monkeyshiners?” Definitely a term she’d never heard in Boston.
“Yeah, you know. Troublemakers. Wanted to make sure you were safe, is all.”
Ah! So he was simply doing his job and naught more. Why, especially when she’d just been thinking she’d never be able to trust her heart to another again, was she so disappointed with that realization?
She swept a hand toward the path behind him. “Well, I was just heading back. So I won’t keep you. I appreciate you taking time to check on me.”
He stepped over beside her and took the pail but didn’t retreat right away. With a crinkle of amusement at the corners of his eyes, he reached out and lifted a rose petal from her hair. He held it up for her to see, rubbing the softness of it between his thumb and first finger before he tossed it to one side. Still he didn’t step back. His expression shifted to something more serious, and his gaze drifted from her eyes to her hair. From her hair it swept across both cheeks and then on down to linger on her lips. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he returned his focus to her eyes.
“How’s your head been?”
Heat hammering through her with each pulse in her veins, she folded her hands together. She couldn’t seem to make sense of his question. Not when he’d just been looking at her like a man did when he was interested in a woman. Her mouth went dry. She must think. He’d asked her… She frowned, searching through the fog of the last few minutes, and then it hit her. “My head. Yes. It’s been fine. No more pain. Thanks for asking.”
Standing this close to the man, she noticed for the first time a small scar that started above his eye and angled back beneath his Stetson. Her fingers itched to reach up and trace it, but she clenched them together tightly to ensure they stayed put. He studied her further, the lawman in him likely trying to assess if she’d spoken truthfully, and yet she doubted any of his captives had ever felt the impact of his searching blue gaze quite as deeply.
Had Kent ever looked at her in such a way? She’d certainly never felt such knee-weakening force from any look he’d ever given her. Had never wanted him to look at her like this.
She could hear her heartbeat thumping in her ears, feel the prickle of awareness that raised every particle of her body to attention, hear the soft inhale and exhale that indicated she was still breathing even though the tightening of every muscle in her chest would surely cut off that ability at any moment.
He cleared his throat softly and stepped back. He stretched a hand toward the pine-needle-strewn trail. “I’ll see you home safely, if you don’t mind.” The words were low and gravely, as though he might be having a hard time finding his voice.
Charlotte suddenly felt as though someone had lit a match to the brush just behind her. She hoisted her skirts and tried not to look as though she’d like to run through the rosebushes back to the trail. But all the while she could feel his gaze drilling heat into her back.
Once they reached the trail, he stepped up beside her, and that was not much better, for then she could feel the warmth of him through her sleeve each time they swayed near to one another.
After a few awkward paces, the sheriff said, “You’ve kept yourself rather busy this week.”
Good. Something neutral. Maybe that would help her get her mind off this infernal attraction for the aggravating man.
She nodded. “I’ll be glad to leave the next teacher in a better position, and though I’ve been disappointed with some of the limitations I’ve come up against in planning the benefit, I still think we are going to have a wonderful time tonight. It looks like there’s going to be a good turnout, and perhaps with a church building, Mr. Heath will be able to talk a minister into settling in the town soon as well. I just hope he’s more honest with a man of the cloth than he was with me!”
The sheriff chuckled. “So you’ve not changed your mind then? About returning to Boston?”
There was a hopeful note in his voice that set her teeth on edge. Skirts hoisted, she spun to face him, effectively blocking the trail. “You really can’t wait to be shut of me, can you, Sheriff?”
He stopped and, cocking one hip to the side, hooked a thumb into a belt loop. “My concern is only for your safety, Miss Brindle. And for that of Wyldhaven.” A glitter that bordered on challenge flickered in his blue eyes.
Charlotte’s irritation rose. She took a step toward him. “Seems to me that your concern has more to do with the worry that if I stay, it’s going to mean more work for you!” She reached out and flicked the star pinned to the front of his shirt.
He had hold of her hand before she could retreat even half a step. His thumb caressed the backs of her knuckles, and there was something distinctly similar to hurt in his gaze.
Charlotte’s breathing hitched.
He released her and stepped back. “You seem set on making a villain of me.” He loosed an exhale that came out just short of a growl. “I assure you my only aim in asking after your decision was to make conversation, though I stand by my belief that you will be safer in Boston, and I think you would be wise to keep to your plan of returning home. So I ask again, have you changed your mind? Or will you be getting on that stage tomorrow?”
She hesitated. Here it was again. The conundrum. Go? Or stay? Retreat? Or fight? Abandon little Zoe Kastain and the students like her? Or stay and put up with some less-than-adequate conditions in order to teach them? Back in Boston there were drawbacks. Here there were drawbacks, one of them the frustrating man standing before her at this very moment. Despite her desire to stay away from Kent, she longed to retreat to the safe familiarity of home. But if she did, she would be abandoning the children of Wyldhaven. Children who very badly needed an education.
And yet the sheriff had promised to find a replacement for her. “Have you found another teacher to take my place yet?”
He cleared his throat and looked like he wished he didn’t have to answer that. “These things take time. But I can assure you that I will make it my highest priority to find a new teacher just as soon as I can.”
There, you see? You needn’t worry. Surely the man wouldn’t deceive her in this. She could return home knowing that the children would still be in good hands. Yes. In the end, she was fairly certain that returning to Boston was the right thing for her to do.
Not a Sparrow Falls (Wyldhaven Book 1) Page 17
