August (Prairie Grooms, #1)

by Kit Morgan

  “I didn’t buy him, actually. He gave him to me.”

  Logan chuckled. “Sounds like a better deal. Not sure for who, but free’s free.”

  August pulled Penelope closer, and she had to fight from sighing against him. The warmth of his body, the size and strength of him so close, was like being surrounded by Heaven. Why did he affect her like this?

  His voice drew her back to reality. “What is it about that rooster? You make it sound like Old Man Turner couldn’t wait to get rid of him.”

  Logan shrugged as he turned back to the front counter of the store. “Heard he’s different, is all.”

  “He’s got an attitude, that’s for certain,” August agreed.

  “Well, don’t turn your back on him, from what I’ve heard,” Logan chuckled as Wilfred came out from behind a curtained doorway and went behind the counter. “How about a peppermint candy?” Logan asked of him.

  “Sure thing,” Wilfred said and reached for a jar on the shelf. “Peppermint sticks for ever’body! I hear we’re gonna have us some weddins?” He turned and looked at August and Penelope. “Ladies’ sewin’ circle meets here tomorrow. Let the weddin’ dresses commence!” He winked and held out the jar.

  Penelope took a candy as Constance and Eloise whispered their excitement to each other. She sighed in contentment, and before she realized what she was doing, leaned against August.

  He put a hand on her shoulder, snapping her to attention. “No,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t move, stay right where you are.”

  “But Mr. Bennett,” she managed, her knees feeling as though they would buckle at any moment. “This is highly ...”

  “Normal,” he finished for her. “After all, we’re going to be husband and wife in a few days – and if I had my way, Miss Red, we would already.”

  He put his hand to the small of her back as he reached out to the jar and took a candy. “I hope you’ll like being a farmer’s wife,” he said before popping one end of the treat into his mouth. “Because I am very sure I will like having one.”

  She started crunching the candy in her mouth to distract herself from his heated gaze. If the look on his face was any sort of an indicator, he wasn’t just referring to working alongside him. He was hinting at other things a wife and husband did ...

  She smiled at the thought, feeling almost wicked, and continued to munch.

  * * *

  Thackeray Cuthbert Holmes had once been a fastidious man. His taste in clothes had always been impeccable, his hair styled in the latest fashion. Men revered him in London as one of the dandiest dandies there ever was. He smelled and looked of money, even though he hadn’t a penny to his name. But back then, he appeared the part, and none were ever the wiser, until his bank account ran dry due to an unfortunate gambling decision on his part.

  As one would imagine, this left him with a rather large problem. If he didn’t come up with some cash fast, he could lose it all. Not money or property, which he didn’t have much of to begin with, but the one currency he did hold: his reputation.

  The key piece was the townhouse in London, which his father had left him – he couldn’t bear the thought of selling it. Not that the building itself was special, but if he lost it, his friends would be quick to find out he was poor, and Heaven forbid he should let that happen. His relations had money, but they’d already bailed him out in secret at least a half-dozen times, so asking them was out of the question. And as he was loath to let his friends find out, he couldn’t ask them for help either.

  But then Heaven (or somebody) had smiled upon him, when he received word his dear Uncle Anthony, the Duke of Stantham himself, had fallen terribly ill, could pass at any time in fact, and if Thackeray wanted to see him, he’d better come quick.

  He did, and just as quickly got a list of all the other relatives in line to inherit, so that he could figure out a way to climb to the top of said list in a hurry. Suffice to say, Thackeray was not without friends in the London underworld, as was the case with a small percentage of the ton. There was no profit in getting his own hands dirty – not when he could just as easily pay someone else to soil theirs.

  Unfortunately, things don’t go as planned, and here he was four years later, alone, half-starved, dirty, wearing nothing but rags, and with more hair on his face than he knew what to do with. And still without a penny to his name, except ...

  Yes, except. Except what he had managed to scrounge up doing odd jobs for a kindly young man who had set up residence at the base of the Oregon hills, where the prairie met the tree line. He was an affable fellow who’d pay Thackeray a few coins to help around his place whenever he came down to sniff up news of the Cooke family and buy supplies. It was easier to steal from the wagon trains that came through, but there hadn’t been as many lately due to some sort of upset happening on the other side of the country, (at least that’s what he gleaned from eavesdropping on the settlers he robbed). So he found himself needing supplies again sooner than he liked.

  Well, nothing for it, then. He grabbed his top hat – what was left of it, anyway – stuck it on his head, and headed down the mountainside to see about earning a few coins, gain some company, and find out if those no-good, stinking Cookes had sent the new Duke of Stantham off to London yet to claim his inheritance. For if they had, it was thus time for Thackeray to begin exacting his revenge.

  Nine

  After breakfast the next day, the three sisters made ready to depart for their first official meeting with the ladies sewing circle of Clear Creek. “Who else will be there?” asked Eloise.

  “Every woman in the area,” Sadie answered. “This is a sewing emergency. We thought you’d have dresses, but as none of you do ...”

  “It was most unfortunate, losing them the way we did,” Constance remarked. “But there was no help for it at the time.”

  “Dismissing Mr. Thompson would have been the only viable option,” Penelope said. “But as it was, he ... quit of his own accord.”

  “That’s one way of putting it, sister,” said Eloise. “Bravo.”

  Penelope smiled at her. The loss of Mr. Thompson had been great and tragic, but there was nothing any of them could do about it. If he hadn’t met with his untimely demise, then who knows what else he might have tried to gamble away. One of them, perhaps? She shuddered at the thought and looked to the baskets on the kitchen worktable. “Whatever is in those?”

  “Lunch,” Belle replied as she pulled back the checkered napkin covering the contents and added a few hard-boiled eggs. “This is going to be an all-day project.”

  Sadie bounced Honoria on her hip. “Are we ready?”

  Belle glanced around the kitchen. “I believe so. I left sandwiches for Colin and Harrison and the other men. They’ll have to fend for themselves today.”

  “Where does the ladies’ sewing circle meet?” Constance asked.

  “At my aunt and uncle’s mercantile,” said Belle. “But if we get more women into town, and our group grows, we’ll have to see about holding our meetings at the church.”

  “Grows?” Eloise asked. “Are you expecting more women to come to town to marry?”

  Sadie and Belle exchanged a quick look. “Of course,” said Sadie. “Your other relatives for one. They’re probably already on their way.”

  “What?” asked Penelope in shock. “Are you talking about our Uncle Leonard?”

  “Our cousins from Kent?” Eloise muttered to herself.

  “Yes, they’re on their way now and should be here by harvest time,” Sadie informed them.

  “How wonderful! I so miss them!” Constance said happily.

  “And we’re going to miss the start of the meeting if we don’t hurry,” said Belle as she picked up the baskets. “Let’s go.”

  Jefferson drove them to town and let them off before taking the wagon to the livery for a few repairs. Besides, he liked helping Chase the blacksmith out now and then, as his father used to smith, and he himself had filled in at the forge for a short time
a few years before. Sadie told him to pick them up later that afternoon, and, with Honoria on her hip, she led the rest of the women inside.

  “Good morning, Sadie!” a woman cried from across the mercantile. Penelope recognized her from the day of their arrival. As she recalled, her name was – of all things – Fanny Fig.

  “Good morning, Fanny! Where are Lucy and the others?”

  “Oh, they’ll be along. She was pickin’ up Mabel. That Tom disappeared again this mornin’, and they don’t know where he’s gotten off to. His pa’s gonna be mad as a rattler with that boy if he don’t come back and get his chores done on time.”

  “That’s the third time in a month he’s taken off. Where do you suppose he’s going?” asked Belle.

  “Don’t know, but a boy that age disappearin’ at odd times ain’t right. He’s up to no good, you’ll see!” Fanny threw in a curt little nod for emphasis.

  Sadie shook her head, and looked to Penelope. “Tom Turner’s a fine boy from a fine family.” She leaned toward her and added with a whisper, “don’t believe a word Fanny says.”

  Penelope nodded in understanding. Every town had its gossip, and Fanny was obviously Clear Creek’s.

  “How old is Tom now – fifteen, sixteen?” asked Belle.

  “Old enough to know he shouldn’t be gallivantin’ around the countryside to leave his pa with a bunch of chores!” snapped Fanny.

  “Maybe he’s found a young lady,” Constance suggested.

  “Impossible,” Fanny said. “There are no unmarried women around, other than yourselves.”

  “What about a girl his own age?” added Penelope.

  The women looked at one another. “No,” said Sadie. “There are none.”

  Before anyone else could comment, Mabel Turner and Lucy White entered the mercantile. “There you are, you little bundle!” Mabel said and went straight for the baby on Sadie’s hip.

  Sadie handed Honoria over to her and sighed. “Where’s Mrs. Mulligan?”

  “Here I am!” the saloon owner’s wife called as she came through the door. In her wake were Grandma Waller, Annie the preacher’s wife, Elsie Drake and Susara Kincaid.

  “Good, we’re all here!” Sadie said with a satisfied smile. “Let’s get underway. Mrs. Dunnigan?” she yelled, looking up at the ceiling.

  Several sets of footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs from the living quarters above. Mrs. Dunnigan came through the curtained doorway behind the store counter, accompanied by two other women about her age. “Hellooo!” one of the women greeted, her eyes twinkling.

  For the next few moments, Belle introduced Penelope and her sisters to the rest of Clear Creek’s female population. Sally Upton was the woman with the twinkling eyes and merry demeanor. Her sister Mary Beth was more subdued, but no less bright when she talked. They were Edith's sisters and had been out visiting Lucy White the day they toured the hotel. Lucy White herself seemed very shy at first, but eventually warmed up. And Mrs. Dunnigan was, of course, simply Mrs. Dunnigan. Penelope liked the woman, cranky as she was, and maneuvered into a seat next to her once they went to work on her dress.

  “How do you like Clear Creek so far?” Lucy White asked.

  All three sisters looked at her. “I think I can speak for all of us when I say we find it most charming,” Penelope told her.

  “Charmin’ ain’t the word I’d use for it!” quipped Mrs. Dunnigan. “There’s outlaws in these parts, you know!”

  “Now, Mrs. Dunnigan,” Susara said. “Don’t scare them.”

  “You and Annie ought to know – you’ve had run-ins with that kind of filth!” she barked back.

  Susara, a pretty blonde, looked as if she were counting to ten before speaking again. “Now, Mrs. Dunnigan, I had a run-in with Indians, not outlaws.”

  “Indians?” Eloise squeaked. “Red savages?”

  Penelope rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse my youngest sister. She and Constance are both enamored with the thought of meeting a wild savage.”

  “Well, they’re not likely to see any ‘wild savages’ ‘round here,” Susara told her. “The Indians in these parts are very friendly. If it hadn’t been for them, I might not be here today.”

  The other women nodded, and Penelope wondered what Susara’s story was. She was about to ask when the bell above the door rang, and in walked Ryder Jones. Constance’s eyes lit up as she looked at him, and she pricked her finger. “Ow!”

  Ryder was at her side in three steps. “You all right, ma’am?”

  “Of course she’s all right!” Mrs. Dunnigan said with a scowl. “Wilfred!” she yelled at the ceiling overhead. “Customer!”

  Penelope pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at Mrs. Dunnigan. She was so wonderfully crass. In London, Penelope and her sisters would have been appalled by her behavior, but out here in the wilderness, her bellicosity had made her a pillar of strength.

  Wilfred’s footsteps thundering down the stairs pulled her out of her musings. He popped out from behind the curtain and manned his post at the front counter. “Howdy, Ryder! What can I do you for?”

  “I need nails, and Cutty here wants some flour and beans,” Ryder said as he tore his gaze from Constance and Eloise.

  “Cutty?” Wilfred mumbled and looked behind Ryder. No one had noticed the disheveled man standing in the doorway. His hair was matted, his long beard and mustache had been braided together to hang down his shirtfront, and he stunk like the mouth of the Thames. He was the most bedraggled specimen Penelope had ever seen.

  He took one look at her and froze, then began to nervously twist his hat in his hands. Finally he pulled his gaze away and shuffled to the front counter.

  His reaction piqued her interest. She studied him, and noted there was something familiar about him, something half-hidden behind the mess of unkempt manhood. She saw his worn-out boots and immediately took pity on him. The poor thing appeared to have not had a decent meal in months, and his clothes looked as if they had once been ...

  She sat up in her chair and looked more closely. What he was wearing looked at one time to have been a fine suit of clothes – and was that the remains of a top hat in his hands? She shuddered as a sick feeling lodged in the pit of her stomach. What was it about this poor wretch?

  “Penelope?”

  She jumped in her chair. “I ... I beg your pardon?”

  Constance gave her an impatient sigh. “Didn’t you hear a word I said?”

  “No ... I’m afraid not,” she told her, her back stiffening.

  “I said, I think you should have buttons on the collar. Remember how Mother’s dressmaker put them on the collar of Angeline Peabody’s wedding dress?”

  “Angeline Peabody?!” Penelope said in disgust. “However did we get to the subject of her?” Her sisters knew well that she and Angeline did not get along, and for good reason.

  “Oh, never mind about Angeline – I’m talking about her dress,” Constance retorted.

  But Penelope’s attention had already been drawn back to the vagabond standing next to Mr. Jones at the front counter. He spoke in low tones, and she watched Mr. Jones glance at the group of women, smile, then turn his attention back to the poor chap. They were obviously discussing the women, but what were they saying? And why did she have such an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach?

  She shook her head and returned her focus to the sewing circle. “I do not wish to have buttons on the collar,” she finally said. She looked at the ladies seated around her, hoping to distract herself from the strange feelings she was having. “I do so thank all of you for this, I could not have sewn a dress for myself had my life depended on it.”

  “Aw, we don’t mind at all,” Belle told her. “Right, Constance?”

  “Ah ... what?” Constance asked, her eyes glued to Ryder Jones.

  “Constance,” Belle said in a soft voice. “Pay attention to your sewing, please, or you’ll prick your finger again. There will be time enough for gawking later.”

&nb
sp; Eloise burst into giggles. Constance glared at her.

  Susara and Annie exchanged a quick look. “Is Ryder the man who sent away for you?” Annie whispered to Constance.

  Constance nodded enthusiastically.

  “Does he know?” Mrs. Dunnigan blurted, not bothering to keep her voice down.

  “He does now,” Mrs. Mulligan muttered.

  “What do you mean?” asked Susara Kincaid. “How would he not know?”

  “Do I know what?” Ryder Jones asked as he sauntered over to their circle. Penelope watched as her sister turned pink.

  “Oh,” Sadie said, “we were just making wedding plans.”

  He looked between Eloise and Constance. “Which one o’ you pretty ladies is mine?”

  “I am!” Constance cried without reservation.

  Sadie and Belle threw their faces in their hands and groaned. Mrs. Dunnigan harrumphed to herself. Fanny Fig’s face lit up with the flames of new information. And Penelope and Eloise looked at each other, and in unison rolled their eyes.

  Ryder, meanwhile, looked Constance up and down like she was a horse, cocking his head this way and that before he took a step back, swallowed, and gave her a weak nod. “Land sakes, ma’am,” he said, his voice barely audible. “But I’ll be hornswoggled if you ain’t the prettiest thing I ever did see ...”

  The bedraggled chap shuffled up behind him, and grabbed his arm. “C’mon, Ryder, let’s go,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  “Now, Cutty, there ain’t no rush,” Ryder said with a smile, unable to peel his eyes from Constance.

  Sadie let go a heavy sigh. “Very well, now you know. But hear this, Ryder Jones – you‘d best get your house in order or there won’t be a wedding. I will not have Miss Sayer sleeping out of doors, do you understand?”

  “Oh, I don’t really mi-ouch!” Constance’s breathless reply was cut short, and her eyes finally turned from Ryder, by a jab of Eloise’s elbow.

  Penelope saw the vagabond’s mouth form the word “Sayer” just before his eyes turned dark. A chill went up her spine and she studied him once more, still trying to place the sense that she knew him from somewhere. But where? And how could she?