On his way back to the depot, Micah passed the Lockridge home. He slowed his steps as Rod’s comment echoed in his head. Part of him wanted to warn Gabrielle of Rod’s determination to break down her defenses, but God nudged his heart. He couldn’t allow himself to be controlled by jealousy. For the same reason he kept his opinions about Rod’s stories to himself instead of sharing his suspicions with the sheriff, it wasn’t his place to tell Gabrielle who she should or should not see.
A thought startled him. To his shame, he realized he’d never prayed about Gabrielle being his girl. Would God think his desire toward Gabrielle trivial? He knew God cared about those things that weighed on him, but it never occurred to him to ask God to connect Gabrielle’s heart to his.
His feet picked up speed. He and God had some talking to do.
Gabby stirred her coffee and gazed out the window while her parents discussed plans for the week. The memory of Micah playing with the children two days ago still tickled her. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but a twinge of regret arrowed through her at the same time. The same generous spirit that prompted Micah to trade places with Jed Franklin so his assistant could attend the picnic and square dance also prevented him from asking her to dance.
Discouragement wilted the edges of her heart, even though part of her was proud of Micah for his unselfish actions. He likely wouldn’t have asked her anyway, but now she’d never know. Her wishes were nothing more than morning dew that burned away with the sun’s rays.
“Gabby?”
She jerked her attention back to her mother. “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”
Mama’s smile took the sting out of the admonishment in her eyes. “I asked how the book drive donations were going.”
“I still plan to stop by the bank and speak with Mr. Linquist. I’ll do that this week.”
Her father nodded. “Harold will come through with a sizable donation. The missionaries on the Foxe reservation are in desperate need of schoolbooks and slates.”
Mama refilled Papa’s coffee cup and then her own. “Let me know when you’re going to the bank. I want to make another batch of plum preserves and send some over to Bessie. They’re her favorite.”
Papa slurped his coffee. “I thought your plum preserves were Widow Greeley’s favorite. We should pay her a visit and see if there is anything she needs.”
Mama tapped her chin with one finger in contemplation. “We can certainly stop by for a visit, but I don’t think she needs anything. She said Micah North has been keeping her supplied with firewood. He cleaned out her chicken coop and even repaired a leak in her roof. But it was the strangest thing.”
The mention of Micah’s name sent a rush of warmth through Gabby’s middle.
Mama shook her head as if she was trying to make sense of her own words. “While Widow Greeley was telling me all this, she leaned close to me and said, ‘Now don’t you tell anyone I told you so.’”
Papa chuckled. “Why wouldn’t she mention Micah had helped her out?”
Mama patted his hand. “You know Mrs. Greeley. She’s a dear, but never could keep a secret. From what I understand, Micah told her not to say anything. He was the one who didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Micah always has been a quiet one.” A contemplative expression fell over Papa’s face. “I wish more folks would perform charitable deeds. ‘And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus—’ I suppose I understand why Micah doesn’t want applause or commendation for himself, but then the other folks of the congregation miss the example to follow. It’s fulfilling the mandate in scripture about caring for the widows and orphans. When people see that being done, they’ll follow suit.”
Gabby threw her dish towel onto the dry sink. “Well, I know why Micah does things like this in secret.” She blurted the words with more conviction than necessary, but the restraining bonds that had held her mute for too long finally broke. “For the same reason he sneaked over to the church when it was nearly dark to repair that wobbly railing when he thought nobody was around. For the same reason he took two sacks full of food supplies to the Newberrys and left them on the porch. Did you know Micah mentioned to Calvin Murdock that Robert Newberry was an expert wood-carver? Now Mr. Newberry is able to support his family, thanks to Mr. Murdock wanting to sell his wood carvings in the mercantile. Then Micah helped out an elderly widow lady and doesn’t want any recognition for his deeds. He doesn’t want any praise.”
She turned and faced her father. “Isn’t that what you preach, Papa? We should do good deeds, not for the praise of men, but to become God’s hands here on earth? To have a servant’s heart? That’s the kind of man Micah is. He’s unselfish, and giving, and considerate, and kind, and… and—”
And she realized both her parents were staring at her, their mouths agape. Heat rushed up her neck into her face.
Papa stroked his chin and gentled his voice. “I wasn’t suggesting there was anything wrong with what Micah did, only pointing out more people would benefit from the example.”
Mama inclined her head toward Gabby. “Daughter, what has you in such a state? I don’t think I’ve seen you this undone since—”
A knock at the door interrupted. Mama and Papa exchanged looks and Gabby wiped her hands on her apron as she crossed to open the door.
Cullen Poole stood on the porch.
As addled as she’d been the day his letter arrived, seeing his face again proved nothing more than annoying, especially after all the gossip and speculation the missive had stirred up.
“Hello, Gabby.”
“Cullen. Won’t you come in?”
Cullen entered and pulled off his hat. He took two steps inside and jerked to a halt when Papa stood to greet him.
“You remember my parents, Cullen.”
“Y–yes, of course. Mr.—I mean, Reverend Lockridge. Mrs. Lockridge.”
Mama stood and stepped to the cupboard. “Can I get you some coffee, Mr. Poole?”
“Oh, no. No, thank you. I won’t be here but a few minutes.” He tipped his head toward the door. “Gabby, can we talk outside?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “No, I don’t think so. Anything you have to say can be said in front of my parents.”
His eyes darkened, and he slid his gaze from her to her father and back again. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and twisted the brim of his hat. “Uh, you know my mother’s ruby ring I let you borrow?”
Gabby arched her eyebrows. “You mean the garnet ring you gave me after you proposed marriage more than three years ago?”
Cullen’s face went scarlet, and he swallowed hard. “It’s a ruby ring, and it was my mother’s and… I—I need it back.”
Gabby crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s a garnet, so says the gemologist who passed through Whitley a couple of years ago. Stay right there. I’ll get it.”
She turned and strode to her bedroom, returning a few moments later. She dropped the ring into Cullen’s hand. “I hope this ring will mean more to you with the next girl you give it to.”
Cullen’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he coughed. “I’m sorry, Gabby.”
“Good-bye, Cullen.”
The man nearly broke his neck rushing out the door. Relief washed over Gabby, barrelfuls of sweet respite from the dark cloud that had dogged her steps from the day his letter arrived.
Chapter 10
Micah finished chasing the dust and debris collected by the broom out the door. Whitley’s sheriff was a methodical man who didn’t make hasty decisions, so Micah wasn’t surprised to see Sheriff Trask approach the telegraph office two days after the telegram about the Slaters arrived.
“Mornin’, Micah.”
“Sheriff.” Micah gave the broom a rest. “Mail hasn’t come in yet.”
Trask nodded and glanced over his shoulder. “Need to send some wires. Let’s talk inside.”
Micah followed the sheriff into the office and sat at the desk wh
ile Trask pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. “Here’s what I want you to send.” He laid the paper on the desk.
Micah read the message and glanced up to see if it was a joke. Trask wasn’t laughing.
Micah’s jaw dropped. “The Union Pacific payroll is—”
“Shh!” Trask held up his hand and looked over his shoulder. He reached around and closed the door before turning back to Micah. “Yes, part of the Union Pacific payroll is in the Whitley Bank.”
Shock tied Micah’s tongue for the space of several seconds. He shook his head, as if the motion might help him regain his good sense. “How many people know about this?”
Trask planted his hands on the desk and leaned down, his whiskery face almost nose to nose with Micah. “Me. You. And Linquist.” The sheriff’s quiet declaration rocked Micah back in his chair.
Trask seemed to read his mind. He straightened and heaved a sigh. “I questioned the wisdom of depositing such an amount in our small bank, even temporarily. A courier is supposed to pick it up next week.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “But I just have a bad feelin’… like when you’re huntin’ a rabid wolf and you realize the wolf is huntin’ you instead of the other way around.”
Micah pulled himself up to the telegraph key. “Where is this telegram going?”
The sheriff stuck his thumbs into his vest pockets. “The sheriffs at Emporia, Council Grove, Junction City, and Topeka. If any of them can spare a deputy for a few days, I’d sure appreciate it.”
“I’ll get these sent right away.” Micah tapped the key.
“Is your cousin around? With his Pinkerton experience, I could use his help protecting the payroll and the town, especially since he’s already had experience with the Slaters.”
Micah chewed his lip. “So you do think the Slaters might come here?”
Trask shrugged. “If they got wind of the payroll, they might think it’s easy pickin’s because we’re a small town.”
A shaft of dread sliced through Micah. Despite thinking his feelings were motivated by nothing more than jealousy, he’d not been able to dismiss his suspicions that Rod’s stories were exaggerated. But without proof, he couldn’t voice his concerns to Trask. There was One, however, to whom he could go, and as soon as he was finished sending the telegrams, he intended to seek the wisdom and leading of God.
“I’m not sure where Rod is right now.” Likely off spinning his tales if he could find an audience. “As soon as I see him, I’ll let him know you want to talk to him.”
Trask gave a short nod. “Thanks.”
Micah stared at the retreating form of the sheriff as Trask strode back toward his office. If Rod was going to give credence to his stories, now was the time. If not, Micah prayed God would protect Whitley and its residents.
Gabby measured the sugar and slowly poured it into the bubbling pot. The aroma of the plum preserves wafted up and made her mouth water. Mama had been unusually quiet all morning, but as she stirred the savory mixture, she cast a sideways look at Gabby.
“Your father and I were somewhat taken aback yesterday by the way you expressed your opinion of Micah North.” Mama’s tone held no condemnation, but the lines that graced the corners of her eyes defined her concern. “Would you like to talk about it?”
Her mother’s inquiry didn’t surprise Gabby. The way her parents exchanged looks over breakfast this morning hinted the discussion was eminent. She only wished she knew how to answer.
With a sigh, Gabby pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat. “Honestly, Mama, other than what I told you yesterday, I’m confused. I know that Micah is a good man. The qualities I see in him are the same ones I’ve grown up watching Papa demonstrate.”
A tiny smile softened Mama’s face. “So why are you confused, daughter?”
A warm flush rose up Gabby’s neck, and she ducked her head. “I’ve known for a long time I’ve had special feelings for Micah, ever since we were in school together. But he is so—”
Mama waited, her brows raised.
“I suppose he’s shy. He carries on conversations with other people, but every time I speak to him, he acts as if my very presence makes him uncomfortable.”
Mama gave the preserves one more stir and came to sit across the table from her. “Are you saying you don’t know if your feelings for Micah are reciprocated?”
Gabby lifted her shoulders. “I suppose. How will I know if he doesn’t talk to me?”
Silence accompanied Gabby’s question while Mama traced a circle on the tabletop with her finger. “I know you’re relieved that Cullen’s reappearance is over and done with, but what about Micah’s cousin, Mr. Walker?”
Gabby frowned and cocked her head. “What about him?”
Mama intertwined her fingers. “Are you attracted to him? Most of the girls in town are.”
The sudden shift in the conversation puzzled her. “I may have been at first. He’s quite handsome, and the stories he told were fascinating.”
“Were?”
Gabby rose and crossed to the stove to check on the bubbling preserves. “He has certainly led an exciting life, and his adventures charm the ladies. But I get the impression he tells those stories to make himself appear better than everyone else, like a thespian on a stage. Why are you asking me about Rod Walker?”
Mama studied her clasped hands instead of looking at her daughter. “Because Mr. Walker came by yesterday afternoon while you were out. He asked your father’s permission to court you.”
Gabby nearly choked on her sharp intake of breath. “What?” Momentarily speechless, she stood holding the wooden spoon as it dripped on the floor. She hastily stuck it back into the pot. “What did Papa say?”
Mama shook her head. “They went outside to talk, so I didn’t hear their conversation. When your father came in, he told me Mr. Walker was polite and respectful. We have always raised you to use wisdom and discretion and seek God’s leading in your life, because we won’t always be here to advise you, and certainly not to make choices for you where issues of the heart are concerned. Your papa told Mr. Walker the decision was up to you. But I thought you should be prepared in case Mr. Walker comes by.”
Gabby plunked down on the chair. “Does Papa know you are telling me this?”
“Of course, dear. Both of us spent time praying for you.” She reached over and squeezed Gabby’s hand. “Sounds like you have plenty to pray about yourself.”
Micah hadn’t seen Rod all day. By the time Jed came in, Micah was more than ready to sample the pot of stew the widow Greeley had given him—unless Rod already ate it. His cousin usually preferred to eat at the café or the hotel dining room where he was surrounded by his newfound friends.
Before he reached the door, Rod opened it and ambled out, his limp barely detectable. A black silk tie fluttered from the collar of his white shirt and every hair was meticulously combed in place.
Rod greeted him with a roguish grin. “Home from the salt mines, I see.”
Micah pushed away the resentment that rose from his belly every time Rod implied Micah’s job was boring drudgery. “Seeing Millicent again this evening?”
“No.” Rod didn’t elaborate, but the sly grin on his face prodded Micah’s senses to alert. He didn’t like the gleam in his cousin’s eye.
“You’ve given up Millicent already? I’m fairly certain she still fancies you.” Did his cousin realize Micah’s pointed comment was designed to convince Rod to continue pursuing Millicent, or any of the other young ladies? Anybody but Gabrielle.
Rod peered at his reflection in the window glass and straightened his tie. “The fun has… shall we say, dimmed with Millicent. She’s a bit too eager. Too clinging. She smothers me.”
Several of the other girls chased after him as well, but Rod still appeared to enjoy their company. Micah bit the inside of his cheek. The wicked smirk on his cousin’s face sent shards of foreboding spiraling through him.
“I’ve always craved adventure. You know—t
he thrill of the pursuit.”
His cousin’s cavalier attitude left a bad taste. Just as Rod stepped off the porch, Micah remembered the sheriff’s message.
“Rod, Sheriff Trask was looking for you. The Slater brothers were seen not far from here, and Trask wants you to help him protect the town if the need arises.”
Rod’s cocky demeanor drained from his face along with most of the color. In its place, sweat beads popped out on his upper lip and something akin to panic widened his eyes.
Chapter 11
Aloud thump jarred Micah awake, and he rolled to one side. Before he could blink, he landed on the floor, tangled in the quilt and sprawled on the rag rug. Fighting the cobwebs in his brain, he threw the quilt aside and leaped to his feet.
He glanced toward the front window. A faint glow barely painted the sky to the east. Another thud drew his attention to the bedroom, where light peeked out from under the door. Rod had come in early last night and had gone straight to bed, complaining of a headache.
Micah ran his hand through his hair. “What’s he doing in there?”
As if in response to his muttered question, the door flung open, spilling light across the floor. Rod entered the main room, satchel in hand. “Oh, uh, sorry to wake you, but it’s just as well. I need to buy a ticket on the eastbound stage.”
Micah pulled his pants over his long johns and hiked the suspenders onto his shoulders. “Isn’t this kind of sudden? You didn’t say anything yesterday about leaving.” He struck a match and lit the kerosene lamp on the kitchen table.
“Uh, well, I… uh… I got a letter. My boss… I’m—I’m expected back—”
“A letter? I don’t remember a letter for you when I was sorting mail yesterday.”
“I mean a tele—” Rod’s eyes widened and his face flushed red.
Micah narrowed his eyes at his cousin. “I guess your leg is all healed up now?”
“That’s right. And I—I have to get back, so I n–need to secure passage on the stage. Today.”
Rod’s formerly sophisticated manner had evaporated overnight. In its place was a man unsure of himself and off balance—much like the man Micah saw in the mirror every day.
The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons Page 38
