Everett crossed his arms. “I tried to tell her she couldn’t take the cook stove.”
“But it’s a small one, very light.” She held her fingers apart, squinting at the miniscule space between them.
Everett looked to the heavens and shook his head.
Cook stove? Who cared if she wanted to take the cook stove? How was he supposed to tell her he couldn’t take her?
“I’m sorry, but . . .”
A whisper behind him, a rustling of skirts, and an escaped giggle sent his temperature up a notch. The entire crowd had perked their ears his way—though some tried to act interested in their baskets, clothing, or the person beside them.
But even the children were quiet. Why had all these people come so blasted early?
And Rachel?
He glanced around until his gaze landed on her face. She was too far off to have heard much, but she could see. Oh yes, she could see. Her face was quite pink, as if she’d been in the sun for hours.
The woman he wanted to marry turned and walked away, hugging herself about the waist, and Miss Pratt clamped onto his arm.
“Wait!” Dex hollered, trying to disentangle himself, but Miss Pratt’s slender-fingered grip was firm. “Rachel!”
Rachel looked back over her shoulder and shook her head at him, her face now ashen. “No,” she mouthed.
Then Grant stepped out of nowhere with an outstretched hand. “How do, Miss Pratt? Dex hadn’t told us you were coming before he left. Glad to have the chance to meet you. I’m his brother, Grant. And this here’s my son, Allen and . . .”
Dex tried to uncurl Fannie’s fingers. Dagnabbit, how could such a little thing hold on so fast? When she shook his brother’s hand, he wrenched himself free and darted into the crowd.
Rachel rushed toward the road, rubbing her cheek in a masked attempt to swipe away a tear. And then the crowd enveloped her, and she disappeared.
He stopped. Where were those feathers? He ran toward the road and looked east where she’d have to run to go home. But only two buggies and a wagon traveled there. Where else would she go?
Fannie jiggled his arm, and he jumped.
“I know I might be a surprise—”
“Might?” Dex sputtered.
“But you don’t have to run. I’m a reasonable girl. We can work something out.” She smiled so prettily that she’d have taken his breath away if he weren’t so doggone sore at her for coming.
“Yes, we need to talk. Right now.” He tugged on Fannie, giving her no choice but to follow. He had to put out this wildfire before it got any bigger. Five minutes and everything would be under control.
“Slow down.” She pointed toward the bake sale table. “Why don’t we see what they’re selling? We should take one or two with us.”
“Are you serious?” He stopped midstride and looked down at her, mouth agape. Had he written a second letter proposing marriage and somehow plumb forgot? Did this woman think that simply showing up gave her the right to claim him?
She fluttered her eyes. “Pretty please.”
He straightened and scanned the crowd for Everett. He had to be pulling one over on him. But Everett had disappeared. Dex stared back at the little woman beside him, the weight of her arm pulling him down. Was he dreaming?
“I can cook a mean apple fritter and a rich pecan pie, but not until we get settled and set up my cook stove.”
He’d had nightmares less bloodcurdling than this.
“So why not put some money toward whatever you’re raising money for—”
“No.” He sliced his hand through the air, and she flinched. He groaned. He wasn’t going to hit her no matter how stress-relieving strangling the pretty canary might seem at the moment. “Come on.” Though they’d moved away from where she’d first accosted him, a few in the crowd still eyed them. He escorted her farther down the road to a weathered stump on the outskirts of the fairgrounds. “Please have a seat, Miss Pratt.”
Her sunshiny face looked a little less bright, but her smile hadn’t budged.
He worked to swipe what must be a face-disfiguring scowl off his lips.
“All right, Dexter.” But she didn’t sit, only clasped her hands in front of her like some innocent.
“It’s Dex.” Why was he even arguing about his name? She could call him whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t put the word my in front of it. “I’m very sorry you drove all the way here and purchased a wagon load of supplies, but you and I have no understanding. I was only inquiring after your advertisement. Just because a man writes to tell you a bit about his situation and ask after you doesn’t mean he’s promised to tie the knot.”
“Oh, I realize you didn’t know I was coming, but we can arrange an understanding.” She sashayed toward him.
He glared at the hand she was about to put on his arm and stepped back. No, there would be no understanding. Not after he’d seen that look of despair across Rachel’s face. He had a chance with her, at least he’d had one before Miss Sunshine showed up. But for some inexplicable reason, this lady was intent on ruining it. “Why are you even here?”
She let her hand drop and smoothed her bodice. “I figured since I was prepared to go, and you’re looking for a wife, we could get to know each other on the trail. I don’t see the harm in—”
“But I didn’t ask you to come.”
She clasped her hands over her stomach and looked back toward the crowd. “I realize that, but I hadn’t the time to send you a letter.”
“Did you think I’d read another? Having a good laugh at my misspellings isn’t exactly endearing.”
“I thought you might bring that up.” She hung her head. “I realize now I shouldn’t have done so much . . . teasing. But it was all in good fun.”
“That’s your idea of fun?” He had to stop her now before the pulsing vein in his forehead burst. “I’m sorry, Miss Pratt, but there is only one thing I know about your future plans: They don’t include me.”
Her eyes went a little too wide and her lips tightened, making the lines around her mouth pronounced, and she turned a bit . . . discolored.
Blast it, he couldn’t keep ranting if she started to cry. “Are you all right?” He held out a hand, but she slapped it away as she shook her head. Her hands pressed against her stomach as she gulped a few deep breaths.
“I’m fine. I just need a little bit of something.” She reached inside her hidden pocket and pulled out . . . crackers? She perched on the stump, turning her back on the fairgrounds, and nibbled.
He hated towering over her while she sat, but he sure wasn’t going to bend a knee to talk to her. “Look. You’re a pretty enough girl. Take your time and find someone—”
“Why won’t you even consider me?” She swiped some crumbs from her mouth.
Besides her being crazier than a farmer milking a chicken? “The truth is I love someone else.”
“I’m sure whoever you’re corresponding with may not have ruffled your pride like I did, but we can start over, and I’m already here. With a wagon full of supplies.” She offered another over-bright smile and pulled out another cracker. “You haven’t had time to fall in love.”
“When I wrote that letter to The Marital News, I’d been in love with someone for a long time. I never thought I had a chance, but I just found out I might. So if I marry anyone before I leave, it’ll be her.”
She closed her eyes and groaned. “This is not good. Not good at all.”
He squatted down to her level. “Why don’t you go home and pretend this didn’t happen?”
She shook her head. “Can’t.”
Something pretty desperate must have sent her his way for her to show up unannounced and unable to return home. “Well then, I know a woman in town looking for a seamstress—”
“I’m not looking for work.” She looked up and smiled past Dex’s shoulder.
He spun to see Jedidiah, hat off, approaching with a cocked brow. “Dex?”
“Yes?” He sure hoped M
iss Pratt didn’t declare herself engaged to him with her next breath.
“The men were wondering if they should start the meeting without you?” Jedidiah looked toward Fannie. “If you could spare him, we’d like to get his opinion on a few things. It’s the last meetin’ before we head out.”
“Well, of course I can spare him; he’s got no claim on me.” She cocked her head, all vestiges of nausea seemingly gone.
Her change in direction, however, had whipped him around so fast he might have felt sick if he’d had a design on the lady.
She smiled at Jedidiah. “You’re going to Kansas?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And are you taking your family, Mr. . . . ?”
“‘Scuse me for not introducing myself. I’m Jedidiah Langston, and I’ve no family to speak of—not yet anyways.” If Jedidiah had looked at Rachel that way, Dex would’ve jabbed him in the eyes.
“Well, Mr. Langston. It seems that Mr. Stanton here isn’t much of a gentleman and won’t help me up.” She put out both hands. “Mind escorting me to the meeting? I’m going to Kansas too.”
Jedidiah shot him a glance.
Dex frowned at her and scratched his chin. Letting her get away with what she’d done didn’t sit well, but he didn’t have time to argue if he wanted to see Rachel yet tonight. If only she would believe him about Miss Pratt. “That would suit me just fine because I can’t make the meeting. Let the band know I won’t be there either.”
Jedidiah pulled Fannie up from her stump.
“Thank you, sir. And I know this might be terribly forward, but I’m all alone. Dare I hope you’d be willing to watch over me on the trail?” She fluttered her wide eyes. “I’m a little worried about the dangers.”
Jedidiah smiled and tipped his hat before putting it back on. “Of course, it’d be my pleasure to look out for you, ma’am.”
She glared at Dex for a second before turning her attention to the man at her side. “You know, it’s too bad I don’t have a husband, then I wouldn’t have to ask such a thing. What do you think of my chances of finding a good man on this wagon train?”
Jedidiah straightened his jacket lapel. “There’s more than one bachelor a-comin’.”
She sighed and flashed her pretty blues. “Are they as handsome as you?”
“I don’t know if I’m fit to say.” He started off toward the fairground, Fannie tucked into his elbow.
“I’ll just pray that God helps me find somebody honorable like you then.” She rubbed her hand atop his forearm. “A man who likes pecan pie.”
Jedidiah seemed to melt beneath her flattery, and Dex squirmed. He needed to find Rachel—the sooner the better—but should he warn his friend? Surely Fannie wouldn’t entrap him with the promise of pastries before they left.
Dex rubbed a hand down his face and grimaced. Maybe a fellow wasn’t that hard to win after all. Rachel’s snickerdoodles had certainly done him in.
Chapter 6
The fragrance of cinnamon and cloves wafting out of Hollenback’s Bakery mingled with the unfortunate aroma of the street as Dex marched to the Olivers’, leaving Jedidiah to escort Fannie Pratt wherever she wanted to go. Though one good thing had come from Miss Pratt’s appearance—she’d dragged Dex to the edge of the matrimonial cliff, and it wasn’t that terrifying. He wanted to jump—with Rachel. No matter that he didn’t deserve her.
Now if only he could figure the woman out.
Why had she fled his kiss, then dolled herself up and come searching the fairground for him? Would she believe Fannie was insane enough to drive all the way here unasked?
And what would convince Rachel to marry him? No proposal he could dream up would be as flowery as Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and he hadn’t the time to scour books of poetry again, even with Lily’s help.
Turning onto Rachel’s lane, he spotted Mrs. Oliver sitting on the porch bench, cradling a book in her lap. The sun wouldn’t be up long enough to read an entire chapter, but then she likely could read as fast as her daughter. Frogs chirped pleasantly in the surrounding trees while a pack of them jumped around in his gut.
Swallowing against the knot in his throat, he forced himself to walk like a man in charge of himself. He tugged off his hat and held it against his leg where his mother’s ring embossed his pocket. He’d run home for the slender band, but he was getting ahead of himself. He only hoped Rachel would accept letters from him while away at school.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Oliver. I’d expected you’d be at the fairground.”
She shut the book around her finger, holding her place. “I rarely attend. Mr. Oliver’s always more interested in gathering news than sitting with me. Can I do something for you?”
“I’ve come to see Rachel.”
“Sorry, but she isn’t feeling well.”
His doing. His stomach turned sour. The frogs hopping around his insides were likely poisonous. “I really need to talk to her.”
“Now is not the time for visitors.” Mrs. Oliver frowned like a bulldog. “You can talk to her tomorrow.”
Tomorrow would be too late. “Is she inside?”
Mrs. Oliver stood and jammed her hands on her hips. “I’m afraid you don’t understand, young man. Whatever you want to say will have to wait.”
Sure, he was being pesky, but why the vicious stare? Had Rachel told her mother he’d kissed her without permission? That a mail-order bride had made a scene in front of the whole town? Had Rachel asked her mother to turn him away if he came? He rubbed his wrist against the ring in his pocket.
Lord, can I ask that Rachel at least hear me out? I always figured my reading problem was Your way of telling me she was beyond my reach. I never thought to ask You to help Rachel see the good in me. But I want that chance.
“Did you hear me, Mr. Stanton? You’ll have to wait until after services.” Mrs. Oliver now stood in the open doorway.
He blinked. If Rachel was hiding, he should let her know she had no reason to. “Might I borrow a piece of paper and leave her a note?”
She sighed. “If you must.”
Rachel’s mother disappeared into the parlor, and he paced the yard. How romantic would a proposal be with his terrible spelling? No, he wouldn’t propose in a letter. But what if she avoided him at church as well? He had to write her something.
“Here you are.” Mrs. Oliver returned and handed him a pencil and pad of paper, then stood, toe tapping against the floorboards. The fierce glower still contorted her face.
He sat on the porch step, his back turned so she couldn’t see what he wrote, agonizing over not having a rubber. He scratched out a few words to the accompaniment of Mrs. Oliver’s sighing.
Rachael: I never asked that woman you saw at the fairgrounds to come here, but more importantly Im sorrie I never told you I Love You before now. I always hav I need to talk to you. Dex
Reading it over, he couldn’t find any glaring mistakes. This would have to do. He folded the note several times and handed it to Mrs. Oliver. “Please, tell Rachel I’m here.”
“She’ll need time to think. Why don’t you go on home?”
“I’ll wait for her.”
“Suit yourself, but don’t stay out here all night. You’ll need your sleep for the morrow.”
Even if Rachel would refuse him, she’d come down and say so. She was too nice to leave him out here alone.
The door to her bedroom creaked open, and Rachel subtly brushed away tears, glad she hadn’t been caught sobbing. Maybe Momma would leave if she laid still enough, breathed deep enough.
“Rachel. Can you tell me what’s wrong now?”
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The bed bowed in the middle, and as Momma’s fingers pulled hair away from her face, another tear fell. No use pretending. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Did Dex upset you?”
Momma would tell her “I told you so” in the most long-winded way possible if she admitted he had. Rachel shrugged.
“Hone
y, don’t waste your life weeping over a boy who isn’t worthy of you.”
She gritted her teeth against defending him. Why waste her breath? He’d been writing mail-order brides while wooing her with candy, poems, and kisses. How had she convinced herself his kiss meant something?
A handkerchief dropped in front of her. Rachel grabbed the lace-trimmed cotton square and wiped away the evidence of her folly. Oh, why had she told Momma she wanted to marry Dex?
Countless times, Momma had lectured about the worthlessness of a man’s kiss and that wise women waited for one to pledge his life before forming any serious attachment.
Patricia had been smart enough to listen. She’d found a man intent on providing—instead of stealing kisses—and had laid aside her more charming beaus for a committed lover.
Rachel sniffled. She was supposed to be the sensible one, and here she’d left her senses for a man writing other women. And he’d pledged himself to a mail-ordered stranger who had the audacity to be beautiful. Who probably thought sewing, baking, and cleaning were the pinnacle of womanhood and most likely felt no desire to stuff her brain with parsed Latin verbs and graphed equations.
Momma was right. Romantic notions wrecked a person’s ability to think and act logically.
“When you get to school, you’ll forget about him.” Momma’s voice hummed soft and smooth, like a contented kitten. “Before you know it, you’ll start to enjoy yourself. And then you’ll meet a handsome man or two at a dinner party. No, better—a charity function. And you’ll realize smart men of high social standing are more charming than you ever knew.”
Momma laid a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to settle, honey.”
Rachel rolled over to see Momma’s eyes. “Do you think Patricia’s settling?”
Momma cupped Rachel’s chin, setting her finger across her lips. “No. Despite her pretty face, Patricia can’t snag the caliber of man you can. She was lucky with Everett. He’ll make her a fine husband, and she’ll mature on the prairie. But you don’t need the grueling work of a homestead to test your mettle.”
Love by the Letter (An Unexpected Brides Novella) Page 7
