Brady shook his head. “I like it here, and another teacher might not be as nice as Miss Grainger.”
“That’s true,” Cilla said. “We’ve been selfish, not wanting to share Pa with anyone. It’s really not so bad having Miss Grainger around, and I really do want Pa to be happy. I don’t like him being mad at me, and I’d rather see him smile than have him give me a blessing out any day.”
“Me, too,” Brady admitted.
“Besides,” she said thoughtfully, “if we want Miss Grainger to be our ma, we have to be good so she’ll like us.”
Chapter Eight
What on earth had he been thinking when he’d kissed Allie? Colt berated himself the following morning as he headed toward Ellie’s, where he was meeting Gabe for an early breakfast. It was just light, and already the heat of the morning sun promised another scorcher.
Like the kiss.
Why couldn’t he get the kiss—and Allie—out of his mind? There was another problem, too. Would that one moment of madness ruin everything? Would she want to keep helping him with the kids now that he’d stepped over that imaginary boundary of propriety? She’d implied that nothing would change as long as they forgot what had occurred between them. As if that was going to happen anytime this side of the grave!
What would he say to her when he saw her later in the day? How would she react? He’d toyed with the idea of surprising her with some ice the following day, and even considered making the ice cream for her as a little surprise, but now he was questioning the wisdom of the idea. The last thing he needed was her thinking he was trying to butter her up for the sake of her help with the kids.
Charlie Pickens, who was unlocking the door of the newspaper office, called out to him from across the street, thankfully delaying his decision a little longer.
The light of Ellie’s beckoned. He’d been so wrapped up in the problem with the kids lately, it seemed as if he talked and thought of little else. Maybe some male conversation with Gabe would take his mind off things, at least for a while.
Gabe was already seated, and to Colt’s chagrin, Win Granville sat across from him. As usual, the wealthy Bostonian was decked out in the latest style. His double-breasted, dove-gray suit boasted a wing collar and covered buttons, and had no doubt been chosen to make him look more casual. It didn’t work. The only purpose it served was to make Colt, in his denim pants and plaid shirt, feel like a poor country relation. Even Gabe, in his tan trousers and plaid, square-cut waistcoat, outdid him in the style department, but then, their jobs were vastly different. As was Win’s.
The first—and last—time Win Granville was in town had been in the spring, when he’d taken perverse pleasure in running up the bids at the box-lunch benefit. Colt had been forced to pay far more than he’d expected for Ellie’s basket, and Gabe had been none too pleased at the price his stepbrother had forced him to pay for Rachel’s.
It looked as if they’d put that behind them, though, if the smiles on their faces were anything to go by. Despite the fiasco at the box lunch and his fancy way of dressing, Colt had yet to make up his mind about Win, unsure if he were just a smooth city slicker or if he possessed a contrary sense of amusement. Colt suspected that, like Allie, there was a lot more beneath the facade he presented to the world than most people suspected. Law enforcement had broken Colt of the habit of underestimating people based on their outward appearance.
Ellie had already delivered steaming mugs of coffee, and when she saw Colt step through the door, she headed toward the table with a plate of biscuits and the coffeepot, another mug dangling from one finger.
Both men stood. Hands were shaken all around. Ellie asked Colt if he wanted the usual, poured his coffee and then topped off the other cups while Colt settled into a chair.
“Thanks, lovely lady,” Win said with a lazy smile.
In reply, she plunked the biscuits onto the table, gave him a smile sweet enough to cause a toothache and murmured an equally syrupy “You’re welcome.” Then she stalked back to the kitchen.
Undaunted, Win grinned and reached for a flaky biscuit and knife.
“What was that all about?” Gabe asked.
“I do believe the lady is smitten,” Win said, using the knife to slice the biscuit in half and then spreading it with fresh-churned butter.
Gabe shook his head, chuckling at the sheer audacity of the statement.
“Looked to me like she wanted to put that butter knife in your back,” Colt told him.
“Oh, she just hasn’t come to terms with it yet,” Win said, winking as he added a spoonful of muscadine jelly to the featherlight creation. He took a bite and rolled his eyes in ecstasy. “To say I’ve missed Ellie’s cooking would be an understatement.”
He directed a challenging look at Colt. “Just so you know, I plan to marry that woman one of these days.”
Colt pondered the preposterous statement for a moment then smiled. “You may try, but so have a lot of men, and she leaves them in the dust with broken hearts.”
“Yours?”
Colt shook his head. “No broken heart—just bruised pride.”
“Good.”
“You may as well hang it up, Granville,” Colt told him. “Ellie can’t marry anyone.”
“I’ve told him her story,” Gabe said. “Didn’t faze him in the least.”
“I’ve always loved a challenge,” Win said. “Besides, I have a brother who’s a whiz of an attorney. While I’m winning the lady’s heart, Philip will be looking for the husband. He has a close friend who works for Pinkerton’s.”
Then, as if he hadn’t made the preposterous comment, he looked from Gabe to Colt and hit them with another. “So what’s the latest Wolf Creek gossip besides Ellie giving you the boot, Garrett?”
“You’re not much for beating around the bush, are you?” Colt said.
The Granville heir shrugged his elegantly clad shoulders. “There may be a time and place for it, but not much sense in it. When you see something you want, you go after it.”
He’d said more or less the same thing to Gabe about Rachel last spring, and from what he’d just said about locating Ellie’s wayward husband, it must be Win’s philosophy. It might be a good one, but Colt’s problem was identifying what he wanted. Did he want to give serious consideration to Allison as a prospective wife? Marriage was far too serious a commitment to enter on the strength of a single kiss. Would they suit in other ways? Would he grow to love her wild hair, and could she ever care for a man with a lesser education?
Most important of all, could he learn to love her?
You already do.
The words drifted through his mind softly, as if someone had whispered them, and at that instant he recognized them for the truth they were. He sat stone-still, his cup poised halfway to his lips. How could something so momentous slip up on a person so easily? How had it happened? When? The uncertainty he’d felt since the kiss had vanished. How it happened wasn’t really important. It had happened. He’d fallen in love with Allison Grainger, spinster schoolteacher. He set his cup onto the table so hard that the coffee splashed onto the pristine white cloth.
“What’s the matter?” Gabe asked, his forehead furrowed in concern. “You look like you just heard your best friend died or something.”
“I’m fine.” He tried to smile. He wanted to leave, to go somewhere he could be alone to get used to the idea and think about what it would—could—mean. He needed to figure out the best way to handle it.
When you see what you want, you go after it.
He couldn’t take Win’s advice. Unlike Win, Colt wasn’t the kind to rush into things. He liked to think through all the angles and have a plan. Besides, if he told Allie he loved her, she would never believe him. Love didn’t happen in a couple of weeks, did it? Especially when the person you thought you loved had been under your
nose for more than a year.
He would have to take things slowly, for both their sakes. He would stay with their original plan to spend time together with the kids, but... The kids! How could he tell them his decision without them blabbing it all over town? What would they think? Despite their recent good behavior and his laying down the law about sabotaging his relationships, if he told them he planned to court Allison, would they start their subtle attacks on her?
Questions tumbled through his mind, but he had no answers.
“I wish Ellie would hurry with that breakfast,” he muttered. “I’m starving.”
He noticed that both Gabe and Win were looking at him as if they weren’t quite sure what was going on with him. Not so strange since he wasn’t sure himself. All he knew was that the sooner he ate, the sooner he could get to the jail and do some serious thinking. As if in answer to his request, Ellie emerged from the kitchen with two plates. Bethany was right behind her with the third.
Thank goodness.
* * *
I’ll be a long time forgetting that kiss.
The sound of Colt’s voice played through Allison’s mind. Even though she’d told him they should forget their brief stolen moment, she was finding it impossible to do. Regardless of his reasons for kissing her, for a few precious seconds she had felt beautiful and desirable, something she couldn’t recall ever experiencing before.
Forget it, Allison.
Using the back of her hand, she pushed her spectacles up where they belonged. Drat the heat still radiating from the stove that was causing them to slide down her nose! And drat Colt Garrett for kissing her and causing the sleepless night that left her cranky and with dark circles beneath her eyes.
She’d tossed and turned for hours, thinking about him, wondering why he’d kissed her and what it might do to their unusual, somewhat volatile arrangement. When she’d fallen into a fitful sleep at last, she still had no answers. Even now, wide-awake, she was wondering what would happen next.
She pressed the iron against one corner of Colt’s freshly laundered handkerchief—the one he’d tied around her foot—and pulled it taut to minimize the puckering as she ran the hot iron along the edge.
How on earth could they continue to spend time together for the children’s sake, when being around him turned her into a mindless ninny? Or a lovesick schoolgirl.
Lovesick.
The thought held her motionless. Was she? Was it possible that after almost ten years of guarding her heart from the possibility of pain she had allowed Colt to slip beneath that guard and overcome her hard-found control with a single kiss? Was she falling in love with him—or worse—was she already in love with him?
The smell of scorched fabric assaulted her nostrils, and she looked down to see that she had stood with the iron in one spot for so long she had burned a hole clear through his handkerchief. She tossed the ruined piece of fabric to the tabletop and sighed, focusing on Cilla’s increasingly nimble fingers as she practiced her scales.
It was just her and Cilla this morning since Brady was with Ace, practicing his archery. Allison had to admit Colt’s young daughter was far more engaged in her piano lessons than she’d expected.
Cilla launched into a hesitant, faltering rendition of “Camptown Races,” and Allison smiled. She expected no less than the rousing tune from Hattie, who claimed there was plenty of time to learn the classical pieces. The main thing was to make learning enjoyable at first so students wouldn’t lose interest as soon as they started.
Adults might think “Moonlight Sonata” was a haunting, beautiful melody, but Hattie claimed that most kids found it dreary. Allison thought it was an interesting insight. Hadn’t she often improvised and modified her teaching methods in an effort to reach certain students?
Casting another look at the ruined handkerchief, she decided she might as well take a break. Cilla probably needed one, too. Setting the iron on the back of the stove, she went to the door of the tiny parlor, which was dominated by the upright piano, and poked in her head.
“Cilla?”
Cilla looked up. “Ma’am?”
“Are you ready for a cookie and some lemonade?”
“That sounds good,” Cilla said, rising from the round stool to join her.
In the kitchen, Allison poured two glasses of tangy lemonade that was nice and cold from the deep well out back. Then she gave Cilla a couple of raisin-dotted sugar cookies they’d made earlier.
“Thank you, Miss Grainger.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Allison was beginning to believe that the changes in Cilla were real, that she was not plotting to cause someone harm or pain. Allison truly enjoyed the time she spent with the child. It wasn’t her fault her father was...well, the way he was.
Aggravatingly attractive.
“For someone who hasn’t been taking lessons that long, you’re making great strides,” Allison said, determined to rout thoughts of Colt from her mind.
“Thank you. Aren’t you going to have any cookies?”
Allison shook her head. “Oh, no. I had two as they came out of the oven. I can’t possibly eat everything I bake.”
“What do you do with all of it?”
“Give it to the shut-ins and the sick people in town, mostly,” she said, sitting down at the oak table across from her guest. She smiled. “And I’ve been sending an awful lot of it home with you and Brady lately.”
Cilla smiled. “Pa really likes that. He has a terrible sweet tooth.”
Colt again. The child positively doted on the man! But then, everyone in town did. Yet despite her annoyance at him for kissing her and her own response to that kiss, Allison couldn’t deny the thrill of pleasure that shot through her at hearing Cilla’s admission.
“He does?” Allison asked with studied nonchalance. “Which ones are his favorites?”
“His absolute favorite is your chocolate pie, but his favorite cookies are the oatmeal.” Cilla gave a slight shake of her head. “When you send those over, he has them for breakfast with a glass of milk and tells me and Brady that’s all right because he’s eating his oats.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” Allison took another sip of her cool drink.
“Are your new glasses okay?” Cilla asked out of the blue. “Can you see all right?”
“They’re very much okay. I can see very well, thank you.”
“I’m really sorry for breaking them, Miss Grainger. I don’t know what got into me.”
Her contrition seemed real. Allison reached out and touched Cilla’s hand, which was curled around the glass. “We all do and say things we shouldn’t from time to time.”
Cilla seemed surprised by the gesture. “Even you?”
Feeling the threat of tears, Allison nodded. She was thankful her relationship with Cilla was progressing so well and pleased that she’d realized what she’d done was wrong.
“Even me. Someday I’ll tell you how poorly I behaved when I went to tell your father what happened. My conduct was not very grown-up or appropriate.”
Cilla looked fascinated by the admission. “What did Pa do?”
“Let’s just say that his behavior was on par with mine.”
“I’d like to have seen that,” Cilla said with a saucy grin.
Hoping to steer the conversation in a new direction, Allison asked, “Are you looking forward to the ice-cream social tomorrow?”
The smile disappeared. “Yes and no. I want to go, but I wish I had something new to wear. The only really nice dress I have is my blue-and-white gingham, and I’ll have to wear that to church the next morning.” A flicker of sorrow darted through her eyes. “Some of the other girls have new things.”
Allison remembered being where Cilla was. Changing physically and emotionally. Knowing she was
n’t as pretty as some of her friends. Knowing she was smarter than most of the boys. Uncertain how to handle either situation. Inherently happy, she was joyful one moment, sad the next. Flying off the handle for little reason.
Poor Cilla! As much as she loved her father and he loved her, Colt was no substitute for the mother she’d lost. She needed a mother, and for the moment, Allison was the closest thing she had. She searched her mind for something to say to make her feel better without putting the father she adored in a bad light. As she often did, Allison mentally framed a short prayer before speaking.
“Well, no doubt they have mothers who sew,” she offered when she’d finished and gathered her thoughts. “When I was growing up, dresses got passed down from Belinda to Ellie and then to me. My mother would let out the hem or take it up and add a different style of collar and maybe some cuffs or new sleeves. Sometimes she just changed the old buttons for new and added some lace, just something to make it look new to us.”
“You wore hand-me-downs?”
“Oh, yes, and was glad to have them,” Allison said. “My family wasn’t wealthy, but we did well enough until my father got ill, and then there was no money for store-bought fripperies. We were taught that it wasn’t what we had, but how we used what we had that was important. My mama always said that we were very blessed because we had a roof over our heads, food to eat, a bed to sleep in and we were healthy. She told us that there were plenty of people who would be thrilled to have what we did and that we should always be thankful God had given us so much.”
Cilla seemed to think about that.
“Here’s the problem as I see it,” Allison continued. “You don’t have any sisters to pass things down, you don’t have a mother to sew for you, and I doubt it ever enters your father’s head to get you anything new until you outgrow your dresses.”
Cilla’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
Allison leaned toward her young friend and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s men,” she confided, her eyes twinkling behind the lenses of her spectacles. “They don’t understand that we women need an occasional pretty dress and gewgaws and such. As long as they have a clean pair of pants and a shirt when they need them, they’re pretty happy. Why, most of them don’t even notice when their collars and cuffs need turning.”
Wolf Creek Father (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 3) Page 14
