The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons
Page 36
The door opened and Rod limped inside. “Morning, Cousin.”
Micah glanced at the clock. “It’s a little early for you to be up and about, isn’t it?”
Rod settled himself into Micah’s desk chair. “I was hungry, and the café down the street serves a pretty good breakfast for a little Podunk town.” He propped his feet on Micah’s desk and looked around the small office. “I’d go crazy working all cramped up and stuck behind a desk like this.”
The growing dissatisfaction niggled at Micah again, but he pushed it away. “I’m not stuck behind the desk all day. The job requires that I deliver telegrams and meet the stage, sometimes help the driver change out the horses.” As soon as the words left his lips he realized how pathetic they must sound in light of Rod’s exhilarating occupation.
Rod smirked. “You have to do all that and sort mail, too?”
Micah refused to be baited. Instead, he changed the subject. “Will you be around when I’m finished working this evening? We haven’t had a lot of time to catch up with each other. I thought we might go to the café for supper.”
“Sure, sure.” Rod stretched and raised his arms, tucking his hands behind his head. “We’ll probably run into friends there.”
No doubt.
Micah couldn’t help commenting. “You certainly have become popular since you arrived.”
Rod shrugged. “Have I? I suppose I’ve gotten used to flocks of women following me around. Seems like the ladies can’t resist a man of adventure, but I’ve learned to deal with it.” He swung his feet back to the floor and placed his hands on his knees. “Tell me about the preacher’s daughter.”
Micah stiffened and clenched his fingers around the mail pouch. His cousin’s bragging was hard enough to swallow, but hearing him express interest in Gabrielle was stretching his restraint to the breaking point, especially after the arrival of Poole’s letter. Micah couldn’t lay claim to Gabrielle, no matter how much he wished she was his girl.
“What about her?”
“Is she seeing anyone?”
The muscles in Micah’s jaw clenched. “I don’t think so.”
Rod stood and limped to the open door. He placed one hand on the door frame while he looked out onto the street. He turned and rubbed his chin. “You know where she lives?”
“With her parents.” Micah tried to appear busy at a file drawer.
“Hmm. I might have to pay a visit to the preacher’s house.” The cavalier tone in Rod’s voice grated on Micah.
“Why?” Micah doubted Rod’s interest had anything to do with discussing the scriptures.
Rod laughed. “Why do you think? She’s a mighty pretty girl, and I’d like to get to know her. Her name’s Gabby, isn’t it?”
“Miss Lockridge. And her father is very protective.” Micah closed the drawer and forced his gaze to the desk. Truth be told, Reverend Lockridge was a very gentle, soft-spoken man, but Micah assumed any father would be protective of his daughter. He picked up the stage schedule and pretended to examine it, even though he could quote it from memory. “You already have every girl in town swooning over you. You can take your pick.”
Rod’s chuckle lacked true mirth. “I know. But having those girls fawning over me is getting a little boring. Gabby Lockridge is a challenge, and I’m always up for a challenge.”
Micah curled his fist and the schedule crumpled in his hand. Anger smoldered in his chest. Much as he wanted to tell his cousin Gabrielle was spoken for, he didn’t have the right. But hearing Rod refer to her in such a flippant manner set his teeth on edge.
Rod rubbed his palms together. “Yes, sir, I might just take a stroll by the Lockridge home.”
Micah yanked the desk chair back with more force than necessary. “I thought the doctor wanted you to rest that leg.”
“Well, maybe not today.” A wicked smile slid across Rod’s face. “I may make her wait a day or two.”
Gabby attacked the dirty footprints across the front porch with her broom. Her brothers managed to leave a trail everywhere they went no matter how many times Mama reminded them to wipe their feet. When she’d swept the last speck of dust from the porch, she picked up the corner of her apron and blotted the moisture from her brow. As soon as she put the broom away, she intended to work on her new dress. The softly rounded neckline with its delicate lace edging might be a bit too dressy for a picnic, but every time she worked on it, she imagined a look of appreciation lighting Micah’s eyes.
Lifting her face to catch the cooling breeze, she caught sight of Micah walking down the boardwalk, just beyond the white picket fence. Was it her imagination, or did his step shorten and slow as he passed her house?
She slipped one hand up and smoothed her hair. “Hello, Micah.”
He halted, and a ray of light flickered across his expression. The corners of his mouth twitched for the space of two or three heartbeats before he seemed to withdraw.
“M–morning.”
Her heart beat a tad faster. She stepped to the edge of the porch and gestured toward the wicker chairs to her left. “Won’t you join me for a glass of lemonade?”
Micah’s eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed, but he made no reply.
“Please?” She hoped she didn’t sound as if she were begging. “It’s such a pleasant day.”
He stood, one hand gripping some papers and the other fingering the point of a fence picket. Finally, he gave a hesitant nod and pushed the gate open. As he walked to the porch, she suppressed the urge to frown. Is that what a man looked like on his way to the gallows?
He barely met her gaze, his focus sliding left and right as if searching for an avenue of escape. She crossed the porch to the chairs. “Please have a seat, and I’ll fetch the lemonade.”
With jerky movements, he pulled off his hat and lowered himself to a squeaky wicker chair. “N–no lemonade. I—I c–can’t stay.” The papers in his hand waggled, and he muttered something about Sheriff Trask and Wanted posters.
Gabby gathered her skirts and perched on the edge of the opposite chair, waiting for him to start the conversation. When he silently stared at his feet, she cleared her throat.
“It’s rather warm today.”
Micah nodded, nearly imperceptibly, but refrained from commenting. He twisted the brim of his hat.
“I need to drop by the post office to see if there is any mail for Papa.”
Micah’s brows dipped into a scowl. He pursed his lips and shifted uncomfortably to a symphony of wicker squeaks, but he offered no reply.
Impatience gnawed at her. “Well, is there?”
His gaze flicked up at her. “Is there what?”
“Mail.”
His gaze traveled elsewhere again, and he dragged his palms down his pant legs. He mumbled something that sounded like “There might be.”
Her fingers twisted the corner of her apron. “Are you planning on attending the church picnic?” In past years, he normally volunteered to help in some way, and she hoped this year would be the same.
Again, all he did was nod. Frustration stirred in her chest. She wanted to blurt out questions—no, demands that required more than a yes or no answer—to force him to tell her why he was so uncomfortable in her presence. Was it something she’d said or done? But backing him into a corner didn’t seem like a good way to pull conversation from him. Perhaps a switch in topic might loosen his tongue.
“So—are you having a pleasant visit with your cousin?”
Micah’s gaze shot up to meet hers, alertness sharpening his focus. “Uh-huh.”
Gabby smiled. Maybe he’d rather talk about his cousin than himself. “Mr. Walker tells such interesting stories about his adventures. How long is he planning on staying? Will he be in town for the picnic?”
Something undefined steeled Micah’s eyes and intensified his entire demeanor. His posture stiffened and he leaned slightly forward, locking his eyes to hers. “Rod tells a lot of stories, but don’t take everything he says too seriously.”
Surprise jolted through her, not so much from his statement as the fact that he’d uttered a complete sentence without a hint of a stammer.
“Oh? Are you saying he embellishes his escapades?”
Micah’s hand moved forward, as if to grasp hers, but he pulled it back and gripped his hat instead. The tone of his voice gentled. “Just be careful. Rod seems to enjoy a rather worldly life. I…” Color climbed his neck and emblazoned his face. She could almost feel his eyes probing deeply into hers before he finally broke the connection and dropped his gaze to his hat. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”
Chapter 7
Micah watched as Gabrielle paused on the boardwalk outside the post office. She stared for almost a full minute at the envelope in her hand before she turned it over and broke the seal. The ache in his chest reminded him to exhale the breath he’d sucked in when he handed Poole’s letter across the counter to her.
Try as he might to divert his attention to his other duties, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Gabrielle. Her back was to him, so he couldn’t observe her expression, but her posture stiffened as she stood there reading Poole’s letter.
For a few seconds, Micah gave serious consideration to rushing out the door and snatching the missive from her hands, banishing it to where it could do no harm. Or stir any buried emotions within her. It must have been a short letter, because after only a few moments, she folded the paper and slid it back into the envelope.
A voice hailed her, and Micah followed Gabrielle’s line of vision. Daphne and Clara waved from across the street and dodged a couple of wagons and horse droppings on their way to greet her. He hoped Poole’s letter wouldn’t be important enough to her to share with her friends, but to his chagrin, Gabrielle held up the envelope. The other two girls gasped and giggled, but Micah couldn’t hear if she shared the contents of the letter with them.
What had he told her just yesterday as they sat on her front porch? He didn’t want her to be hurt. Between him and God, he had to admit that was only partially true. The other half of his warring emotions declared that he hated standing by and watching other men—Cullen Poole and his own cousin—communicate romantic interest in Gabrielle, especially since one of those men had already hurt her and the other possessed the capability.
Gabrielle walked down the boardwalk between her two friends, and Micah returned to the ledger book on his desk. If he stayed busy, his conflicted thoughts wouldn’t torment him so. But his heart accompanied her down the street.
Utilizing all the self-discipline he possessed, he made himself focus on the records the state required him to keep. After a while, he stood and stretched, working the kinks out of his neck. He stepped over to the small stove to pour his third cup of coffee when the telegraph key began to click.
He grabbed his pencil and copied down the message as it tapped across the wire. When it completed, he tapped back his received code and folded the telegram for Eli Timmons, the editor of the Whitley Chronicle. Mr. Timmons fussed at him if he waited until Jed arrived to deliver messages, regardless of how trivial. It wouldn’t take long—the newspaper office was only a block away.
He tucked the telegram into his vest pocket and hurried down the street. As he approached the dressmaker’s shop, the door opened and Daphne Purcell stepped out, engaged in animated conversation with Trudy Henderson.
“I couldn’t believe it myself, but she showed us the envelope.” Daphne waved her finger, as if tracing invisible handwriting in the air. “Just as plain as the nose on your face. Cullen Poole, with an address in Abilene, Texas, of all places.”
Micah’s steps slowed. He told himself he was only trying to avoid running into the pair. He wasn’t really eavesdropping. Not intentionally.
“Just think, after three long years.” Trudy’s screechy voice grated on his ears. “Isn’t that romantic? Did he say when he was coming back?”
“He must be coming soon, because Gabby was certainly all aflutter.” Daphne’s giggle punctuated her statement. “But I should think she would have better sense than to welcome Cullen Poole back with open arms after not hearing a peep from him all this time.”
The two traipsed off in the direction of the mercantile, and their gossiping faded as they distanced themselves from Micah. Unwilling to put any stock in the clucking of hens, he drew in a fortifying breath and proceeded on to the Chronicle office to deliver the telegram.
On his way back to the depot, Millicent Brown yoo-hooed to him from the door of the apothecary. He nearly stumbled midstep in surprise. Most of the young ladies in town, including Millicent, acted as though he didn’t exist. They barely said hello, much less yoo-hoo.
He nodded to her. “Miss Brown.”
She intertwined her fingers at her waist and twisted to and fro, a demure smile lifting her lips. “I was wondering…” She leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “Is your cousin at home? I made a strawberry pie for him. If I’m not being too presumptuous, do you think I could stop by and give it to him?”
Micah shrugged. “I suppose.”
Millicent laughed. “You sure aren’t anything like your cousin, are you?”
He lifted his shoulders again. “I suppose not. Good afternoon.”
Self-incrimination dogged Micah’s steps all the way back to the depot. Millicent’s comment stung. No, he wasn’t charming or adventurous, handsome or popular. For as long as he could remember, he’d been the one left behind, the one whose name nobody remembered, the one most people overlooked.
He stepped inside the depot door and plopped down onto the desk chair. The mail was all in its proper place, the telegraph key was still, and the stage wasn’t due in for another hour. Silence roared within the confines of the office.
Propping his elbows on the desk, Micah rested his head in his hands. “God, I’m nobody. I’m not a man who draws the interest of people, I’ve never done anything noteworthy, I’m not wealthy or important or influential, my life is so dull most folks don’t even know I’m alive. My cousin has been here for less than three weeks and more people in Whitley know who he is than know me. I’m in love with a beautiful woman, and I can’t tell her. I’m just… nobody.”
A scripture he learned at his mother’s knee fell over his aching soul like a gentle rain. “I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.” He curled his fingers into fists and pressed his knuckles into his forehead. “Thou wast precious in my sight… and I have loved thee.”
How could he have forgotten? Where did he misplace the assurance God gave him the moment he first believed so many years ago? When had he given the favor of men a place of higher importance than the favor of God?
His heart bowed before the Lord, and he cried out in contrition. “Oh… Father. I am Yours. I have need of nothing else.”
Gabby read Cullen’s letter again in the privacy of her bedroom. What did it mean? Why would he return now after more than three years without a word? Nowhere in the note did he state his purpose in coming, nor did he use any expressions of affection or terms of endearment the way he had before he left Whitley. His note appeared to have been hastily scrawled. There were even a couple of smears where the ink hadn’t dried completely before he folded the paper and stuffed it into the envelope. She frowned at the letter as if she expected to find an explanation she’d previously overlooked, but no additional information magically appeared.
Dear Gabby, I have need to travel to Wichita near the end of June. I plan to detour through Whitley, as I have something important to ask you. Sincerely, Cullen
She flopped back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. “God, what does he want? Why would You let me put all my feelings for him behind me and then bring him back into my life?”
She’d been so befuddled when she’d received the missive, she didn’t think to guard her tongue when Daphne had asked her what was wrong. Asking her friends to keep the news to themselves didn’t occur to her at the time. Daphne and Clara must have already told half the to
wn. When she stopped by the mercantile, Mr. Murdock winked at her and snorted, saying it was about time her beau got over his cold feet and came back. Millicent was practically beside herself, giggling one minute and weeping the next, and Bessie Linquist asked if she’d begun sewing her wedding gown yet. Even Mama nailed her with a scrutinizing look and inquired about the letter the moment Gabby set foot inside the door. While she didn’t want to put her mother off, there was truly nothing to tell.
“Eli Timmons will probably plaster it across the headlines of next week’s edition of the Chronicle.” Her sigh rang like a dismal dirge within the walls of her room. No doubt she’d be the recipient of advice from at least a dozen people before nightfall.
And what of Micah? Whenever she stopped by the post office, normally his face reddened and he kept his gaze fastened on whatever he happened to be doing at the time. But this morning, he looked her straight in the eye for several seconds before sliding the letter across the counter to her. A longing filled her to know what he’d been thinking. Of course, he had no way of knowing the contents of the letter, but he certainly knew Cullen had courted her at one time. Was there the slightest possibility feelings of jealousy had connected his gaze to hers?
Oh, who was she fooling? He likely didn’t care that Cullen had renewed correspondence with her, and the look in his eyes was nothing more than curiosity, like everyone else in town.
She pulled herself into a sitting position. Moaning about it wouldn’t change a thing. Her emotions might be in a tizzy, but she knew what to do. She slid to her knees at the side of her bed.
Jed shuffled into the office five minutes early, toothpick stuck in his mouth and humming off-key. “Hey, Micah.”
If Micah hadn’t been so drained, he might have poked fun at Jed for arriving early for the first time ever. Yet, although the sweet time he’d had letting God minister to his hurting heart had breathed comfort over him, he simply wasn’t up to bantering with his relief man today.