Engaging the Competition

by Melissa Jagears

  © 2016 by Melissa Jagears

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-2893-2

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  These are works of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Melissa Jagears is represented by Natasha Kern Literary Agency.

  Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from A Heart Most Certain.

  About the Author

  Books by Melissa Jagears

  Back Ads

  Chapter One

  1901—KANSAS

  Harrison Gray had never heard of anyone holding a competition over mounting or dismounting a horse, but then, Charlotte Andrews could turn anything into a contest. Since he’d never compete with Charlie again unless he was willing to lose, he’d wait beside his gelding until she rode off.

  “You’ve always had a soft spot for Charlie.”

  Startled, Harrison shook his head at the reverend, who’d appeared at his side. More of a sore spot than a soft spot. That woman could bring out the worst in him. She was not something he wanted to discuss. “Wonderful sermon, Reverend McCabe.” He gave the reverend’s hand a firm shake.

  “Thanks.” The man’s full beard split open with a smile.

  Harrison’s gaze drifted to Charlie as she swung herself up onto her mare with more grace than a fox jumping a fence—not that many around town would consider a woman riding astride graceful. He could imagine her fitting in better on a ranch farther west in Kansas than in the bustling, modern town Teaville had become in the past few decades. But since she was still here, she must feel as tied to her birthplace as he did. After all, he’d returned home to teach despite better job offers elsewhere.

  The reverend gestured toward his petite redheaded wife waving from the church’s front steps. “Lauralee reminds me we’ve yet to have you over for lunch. There’s a roast I’m willing to share at the parsonage.” He shaded his brow and looked to the darkening northern sky. “Of course, if that storm hits, you might be stuck at our house for a while.”

  The huge anvil clouds certainly did look as if they’d roll straight toward them.

  Whereas most of the congregation scurried about in an effort to get home, Charlie and her mare wove between carriages and people as if they danced. If not for the escaping tendrils of dark, wavy hair falling out from beneath her Stetson and the bulky split skirt, a stranger could’ve mistaken her for a well-seasoned cowboy.

  “We invited Charlie, but she was worried about the storm.”

  Harrison shook his head and forced himself to focus on the Reverend McCabe. “I’ll have to pass, unfortunately. I worked all day Saturday grading, so I didn’t get prepared for the upcoming school week.” Hopefully he’d figure out how to manage his time better before his first school year ended.

  “Did you hear Charlie’s getting married?”

  Some invisible force turned his head back to where she broke through traffic and galloped toward the railroad bridge. His cheek twitched. Charlie? Married? That wasn’t something he’d ever expected to hear. Rubbing a hand against the stubble on his chin, Harrison pressed his lips together. He hadn’t talked much to Charlie after he’d returned from college. She was a rancher, he a teacher—they existed in totally separate worlds now.

  He glanced at the reverend, who seemed content to watch her gallop out of sight. Was that all he was going to say? Of course a reverend shouldn’t gossip, but he couldn’t just blurt out that Charlie was getting married and not mention to whom.

  The reverend clicked his tongue. “He’s not the man I’d have chosen for her.”

  Since she’d been old enough to pick up a lasso, she’d sneered at ever having need of a man. Royal Whitaker was the only man who’d ever shown an interest, but she wouldn’t be stupid enough to marry the schoolhouse bully. And he likely only wanted the chance to humble her for breaking his nose during their childhood—twice.

  “I’m certain August Whitaker can ranch, but . . . she needs something more.”

  August. One of Royal’s brothers? Harrison scratched behind his ear and envisioned the line of Whitaker boys. He knew some of them. Scout, Noble, Ace, Cash, Duke . . . though the Whitakers used nouns to name their children, he still couldn’t remember them all. “Which one’s August?”

  “The third child, I believe. He’s stocky with a slight red sheen to his hair.”

  Then August was older than the brothers he knew. But surely just because a handful of Whitakers were bullies didn’t mean they all were. Charlie wasn’t book smart, but she wasn’t dumb either. “How many are there now?”

  “I believe Mrs. Whitaker’s about to have number eighteen. Fourteen boys and three girls so far.”

  Harrison shook his head at the marvel that was Mrs. Whitaker.

  “I’ve known you and Charlie since you both were in diapers, and though I pray for everyone in my congregation, sometimes a reverend’s advice just isn’t enough.” He tapped his chin. “I think a friend of Charlie’s should talk to her.”

  But she didn’t seem to have many friends.

  Did the reverend think they were friends? Ever since the day she’d humiliated him at a Sunday school party by picking up his new rifle and shooting the two cans he’d missed in front of all his friends . . .

  Well, she definitely didn’t need his “four-eyed” help in fending off August, if that’s what she wanted.

  “It’s too bad her father passed away last year. I’d have felt better knowing he approved of August.”

  Mr. Andrews was dead? Harrison looked to the east, where Charlie lived on the outskirts of town. Her father was the only man who’d reveled in her ability to outshoot and out rope him. If she’d had a best friend, it had been her father.

  “Despite saying they wanted to marry within the month, they acted like strangers. . . . Well, I better get back to the wife.”

  With that, he left Harrison to himself. Obviously the reverend wanted him to talk to Charlie. But why? He’d never told anyone that though she was a bossy show-off and had crushed his fifteen-year-old heart, she still fascinated him.

  But nursing an attraction to someone who’d once brought out the worst in him was not wise. A decade ago, he’d spent years learning to compensate for his visual impairment in hopes of showing her up with a gun one day. Just before he’d left for college, he’d had the chance to shoot against her at the local rodeo, but when he’d stepped forward and saw her overconfident grin, he realized he’d spent years intending to humiliate a woman, to embarrass her in front of a whole town, just because he could.


  What kind of man did that?

  So he’d backed out of the competition and watched her win as per usual.

  Pushing his glasses up, he squinted at the ominous clouds in the distance. The menacing gray sheet of rain falling miles away had caused the temperature to drop since he’d arrived at church.

  “What do you think, Dante?” He hiked his leg, planted a boot in his stirrup, and pushed himself up into the saddle. “We could make the livery before the storm, but if we go to Charlie’s, we’ll likely have to shelter somewhere before we return.” He pulled off his glasses to rub off a smear. Not only was he practically blind without them, but his mother had lamented that the new glasses made him look ugly. Sighing, he put them back on. Better ugly than blind.

  Watching the clouds, he estimated the miles to Charlie’s, the speed of the horse, the movement of the storm, and the number of ungraded essays back home.

  Would next week be too late to talk to her? Reverend McCabe had said she planned on marrying within the month. Did that mean thirty days or before the end of March on Tuesday?

  He rubbed his forehead. He’d only stew about this at home. If Reverend McCabe thought he should talk to her, then he might as well try. “Let’s go.” He turned Dante east and sped out of town, which was easy since the sane people of Teaville were sheltering in their homes instead of cluttering the streets.

  Glancing over his shoulder at the looming anvil cloud, he shook his head at himself. What was he doing? Why would Charlie discuss her life with him—let alone listen to his opinion?

  Of which he really had none.

  She could marry whomever she wanted without an ounce of his approval.

  It didn’t matter to him who she married.

  But if Reverend McCabe thought she shouldn’t marry August, and she no longer had her father to talk to . . .

  Huge splats hit his shoulders, and he frowned back at the massive cloud rumbling forward faster than before. He groaned. He’d miscalculated. Hopefully Charlie wouldn’t find him odd for risking the storm just to duck into her barn. He nudged Dante faster toward the rambling ranch house settled against a small rise.

  As expected, his hat’s brim was failing miserably at shielding his lenses from the rain. Would wiping his glasses with his free hand make visibility better or worse?

  Galloping through her gate, he pushed Dante faster.

  “What’re you doing here?” Charlie hollered from the clothesline, where she picked up a basket heaped with clothes just as fat water droplets started beating down on them. Without waiting for an answer, she rushed to the porch and through the front door.

  Dante nickered at a crack of lightning, and Harrison had to lay a calming hand on him and tighten the reins a little. He wouldn’t enter her barn without permission, but the heavier rain he’d just outraced would hit within minutes.

  Stepping back onto the porch, Charlie slammed the door behind her.

  He rubbed the edge of his sleeve over his lenses, but all he did was smear water.

  “Can’t you see there’s a storm coming?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’ve got glasses.” Pulling them off, he slipped them under his coat to dry them with his shirt. They wouldn’t stay dry long, but he’d be able to see again for half a minute—enough time to get into the barn.

  “They can’t be any good if you can’t see the swirling.”

  He pushed his glasses back onto his face and turned in his saddle. The clouds hung heavy, thick, and dark, but the “swirling” looked like nothing more than windblown rain.

  “We have to get into the root cellar.”

  “I don’t see anything that alarming.” And then the patter of miniscule ice pellets against soft ground surrounded them.

  She shooed him. “Put your horse in the barn. I’m going inside for a minute, and then I’ll meet you in the cellar.” She gestured toward the low earthen mound beside the house, where the top half of a door peeked above the ground.

  Dante pranced around, ready to go, but . . . “Should I shut up a horse if there’s a tornado?”

  She spun around, her teeth worrying her lip, glancing between the storm cloud and the barn, specks of hail bouncing off her Stetson’s brim. “I don’t know. I’ve never been in a tornado before.”

  He attempted to wipe his glasses again. A tiny portion of the clouds did seem to be descending, and the rain grew heavier.

  “Maybe you should put your horse inside but not shut the stall door. Let his instincts tell him whether he should stay or not.” She turned and ran for the house.

  “Come on, Dante.” He rode him into the barn and slid off the saddle. While rain pelted the roof, he wiped his glasses again, then led Dante toward an empty stall. “In you go, boy.” Dante went in willingly, but Harrison didn’t shut the gate.

  The barn contained two cows and Charlie’s mare. Shouldn’t he make sure they could escape too? After unlatching the cows’ gates, he stopped to shush the beautiful bay Charlie rode. “It’s all right, lady.” He placed a calming hand to her neck, and she stomped the ground.

  Passing Dante, he realized he should remove his horse’s reins so they’d not snag if he bolted.

  Dante nuzzled him, and off went Harrison’s glasses.

  They slipped off far too easily. “Ugh, just what I needed.” He should’ve gotten ones with temples that hooked around his ears or something. He bent down to search for his glasses and pushed against his gelding’s nose to move the beast back. Squinting, he searched the area around his feet, scanning the stall filled with golden straw and deep shadows.

  But of course his gold frames blended in. If only lightning would reflect in his lenses. Kneeling, he patted the floor, hoping to snag them, but a surge of wind rattled the barn and made Dante dance.

  If he didn’t find his glasses quickly, Dante would crush them. But if he stayed, Dante just might squash him instead. He stood and shushed his horse. “All right, boy. I’ve got to go. You need to stay back.”

  With his foot, Harrison shoved a two-foot swath of straw against the sides of the stall, hoping his glasses went along with it.

  A crack of light and a simultaneous boom made him jump out of his skin.

  If he was going anywhere, the time was now.

  He poked his head out the front door. The world was a swirl of grays, browns, and greens. A sudden gust of cold wind tore through his hair and caught in his clothes.

  An onslaught of falling ice turned the world white. Flashing bright lights lit the sky. “Charlie!” His voice was nothing but a whisper lost in the pelting hail, the roll of thunder, and the creaking of wooden things in the wind.

  Squinting against the whiteness, he pushed the hair out of his eyes, as if that would help him see. The wall of dark clouds that had trailed him flickered with cloud-to-cloud lightning. Was that a sheet of rain descending or a twister? The sound of a freight train filled the air even though no tracks came near Charlie’s house.

  Chapter Two

  Nearly blind without his glasses, Harrison squinted into the gloom. Should he forge out into the rain or take his chances in the barn? If he could just orient himself. A crack of lightning reflected in the windows along the east side of Charlie’s house to Harrison’s right. Yes. Surely he could find the cellar if he kept in that direction, on the other hand, if he got disoriented . . .

  Perhaps the barn was a better place to hunker down.

  “What in blazes are you still doing out here?” The yellow of Charlie’s shirtwaist and brown riding jacket bobbed into view.

  She rushed into the barn, took off her hat, and flicked it. “Where are your glasses?”

  “Dante knocked them off.”

  “You’ve been in here for nearly five minutes. This isn’t the time to give him a good rubdown and pick his hooves.”

  He fisted his hands. “You told me not to tether him in case he wanted to run, so I figured I’d make sure your animals weren’t trapped either.” He took a deep breath to keep from growling.

  “
Come on.” She pushed open the door and looked out. “No more time for yammering.” She grabbed his hand and yanked.

  Shielding his eyes from the ice pellets, Harrison frowned as Charlie led him as if he were helpless. . . . Of course, he was helpless, which made him want to growl even more. This woman didn’t need any more reasons to think him weak.

  Stumbling, he fumbled with his free hand to grasp the earthen wall that suddenly sprang up on his right. “Slow down. I didn’t see the step. You’ve got to warn me.”

  “Sorry.”

  The door slammed behind him with a thud. He ran a hand across his forehead to flick off the moisture and realized he’d lost his hat. His head brushed against the ceiling, likely making his hair into a muddy nest. Good thing he wasn’t an inch taller or he’d have knocked his head off since Charlie hadn’t bothered to warn him of the cellar’s low ceiling.

  Other than the sound of hail battering the door as a wind gust sent precipitation sideways, heavy quiet filled the cellar. He looked around for movement but didn’t sense anyone else’s presence beside Charlie’s. “Where’s your mother?”

  “In town.”

  That’s right, her mother no longer attended their church. He frowned. “Why’d you go back inside the house, then?”

  “Money, guns, things I needed.”

  So she criticized him for spending time in the barn without his spectacles, but running into the house for guns with a tornado approaching wasn’t crazy? “Aren’t you worried about your mother?”

  “She should be fine in the Lutheran church’s basement. She’s been going with Marie Eggleston for months now so she can attend ladies’ high tea or whatever they call their girly get-togethers after service.”

  With his eyes adjusting to the dimness, he could at least see a bit of shadow and movement now. He took a step away from Charlie but only ran into shelves. He shot out an arm to prevent jars or cans from plummeting to the floor.

  To keep Charlie from berating him for his clumsiness, he grasped at a question off the top of his head. “Why didn’t you change churches with her?”

  “I didn’t have friends pulling me one way or another, and I like Reverend McCabe’s sermons. I find him inspiring.” She pulled off her hat and thumped it. “Now, back to my first question. Why are you here? This storm was rolling in before church let out. You couldn’t have missed it when you still had your glasses.”