How Miss West Was Won

by Diane Darcy

  An older, grizzled man wandered in, and Minnie set him up with pie and coffee as well.

  After reading for about twenty minutes it started to get busy again, and she excused herself.

  “You ever gonna marry me, Miss Carmichael?”

  She smiled at the cowboy. “Not today.”

  The young man grinned at his friend. “Well, you notice she didn’t say never!”

  “I know how to get her to marry you.”

  As Grace was about to replace the book on the shelf, the cowboy’s friend snatched it out of her hands. He opened the front door and made as if to toss it out into the dirt. “Miss Carmichael, marry me or this book is a goner for sure.”

  His friend backhanded him in the shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m proposin’.”

  “Give it back. She’s not going to read to us anymore if you act like a polecat.”

  “Mr. Anderson,” Grace said in her strictest governess voice. “Give me the book, please.”

  Just then, Luke took the book as he walked into the shop. “What’s going on?”

  The cowboy grinned, good-naturedly. “I’m just tryin’ to convince Miss Carmichael to marry me.”

  His friend hit him in the shoulder again. “You’re just being an idiot is what you’re doing. I asked her to marry me first. If she’s going to marry anybody around here it’s going to be me.”

  Luke studied the two young men. “Do you ask her to marry you often?”

  The book stealer looked mulish. “It’s not the first time, if that’s what yer askin’.”

  “My pa says that girls more often than not say no the first time,” the second boy interjected. “Makes them seem more valuable, you see?”

  Grace rolled her eyes.

  “Ah.” Luke nodded once. “Good to know.”

  Grace reached forward to take the book from Luke. “Thank you.”

  “Miss Grace, that book you’re reading to us, it’s pretty good. But I was wonderin’, do you have any dime novels?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what a dime novel is.”

  The cowboy took a small book out of his pocket. “Read this, and let me know what you think.”

  She was reluctant to take it, as it felt like a courting gift, but couldn’t resist. “Thank you. I’ll return this to you when I’ve finished reading it.”

  Grinning at each other, the boys left.

  Luke stood staring at her.

  “What is it? Can I get you some pie? Coffee?” After what had occurred earlier, she was having a hard time looking into his face.

  “How many men do you have propose to you on a regular basis?”

  The edge in his voice made Grace look at him. “I’ve lost count.”

  “You have so many men ask you to marry them, that you’ve lost count.”

  Her vivid eyes narrowed. “If you want an exact number, well that’s my fourth offer this week. Beyond that, I don’t remember the number. Now, would you like some pie?”

  “No.” He sounded irritated. “I don’t want any pie.” Without another word he turned and left.

  Grace turned to look at Minnie eyebrows raised. “What was that about?”

  Minnie smiled widely. “Somebody sounded jealous!”

  “He did, didn’t he?” Her heart fluttered in her chest. And she was suddenly hopeful once again.

  While she’d been regretting her emotional outburst, maybe Luke had time to think about how her absence would affect him.

  Would it affect him?

  Would he recognize that before she actually left?

  Would she leave?

  The day suddenly looked brighter.

  Helen watched Luke leave the pie shop, and her eyes narrowed. She changed direction, headed to the shop, and entered to see the girls smiling. “Hello, girls. How is business today?”

  “Mrs. Braxton,” Minnie’s smile widened. “Things are going really well. We’ve been busier this month than we’ve ever been before.”

  Helen was glad to hear that, of course, but it wasn’t the reason she’d come in. “That’s good. That’s very good.” She hesitated a moment. “Minnie, did I see you talking to Sawyer Graham outside the mercantile?”

  Minnie blushed. “Yes, ma’am, you did.”

  “And was that not the mayor I just saw leaving?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Though he didn’t order any pie.”

  Helen tried to think of a subtle way about it, and finally just asked, “What did he want?”

  Grace blushed and Helen wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign, but there was a lot of blushing going on in this room—and it wasn’t because of the heat from the oven.

  “I’m not sure. He didn’t say.” Grace wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  And that said a lot in and of itself, didn’t it? “No pie, or coffee?”

  “No, ma’am,” they said in unison.

  Helen nodded, and bit back a smile. Luke was hooked. What he didn’t know was that Grace was like a finely honed weapon and that Helen was pointing the girl right at him.

  When that man was married, and had children to take care of, he’d be singing a different tune about the direction this town needed to take, wouldn’t he?

  She thought about how Minnie blushed over Sawyer, and considered. Maybe she could make use of the other girl as well. “All right, carry on, girls.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they echoed again as she left the shop.

  Luke might not know it yet, but she had him exactly where she wanted him.

  Later that evening, Mrs. Braxton and Mrs. Simpson wanted to know if Grace would like to walk with them to church. “It’s to help with the quilting,” explained Mrs. Simpson.

  “We’re going to sell them at the Fourth of July picnic for charity,” Mrs. Braxton added. Both women looked at her expectantly. She could hardly refuse, could she?

  Grace walked obediently behind them and when they arrived at the church, walked into a maelstrom of chattering, busy women.

  Elizabeth and Margaret waved at her when she walked in.

  She had absolutely no desire to talk to those two ladies, so she pretended not to see them.

  Mrs. Braxton waved back. “Why don’t you go talk to your friends? I’ll just go have a word with the good reverend.” She gestured toward Mrs. Simpson, and together the two women surged forward to corner the poor Reverend Dutton. That was what Grace had started calling the man in her head. The poor reverend.

  Rather than join the girls, Grace slowly followed after Mrs. Braxton and stood a short distance away.

  “Reverend,” Mrs. Braxton began. “We would like to discuss a plan to stop the mayor from giving his customary speech. I mean really, don’t you think the people of this good town would much rather hear you speak at the Fourth of July picnic?”

  The reverend’s eyes darted and he looked like he’d tasted something bad. “Ladies. I really don’t see how we can stop him speaking. It is customary. Traditional. You know that I’m big on holding up our traditions.”

  Both women glanced at each other, then back at the reverend. “But Reverend, if we could only have your backing on this, I’m sure the mayor would understand. Especially if the idea came from you.”

  The reverend backed away. “No. I’m sorry ladies. I just can’t do that.”

  They followed him. “Well, can we at least exclude the gamblers from the picnic?” Mrs. Braxton tried for a wheedling tone, but didn’t quite pull it off.

  The reverend’s hands were in the air, palms up, as if warding the women off. “No. I’m sorry, ladies. I really don’t see how we can do that. Do you want this town to be known as exclusionary?”

  Mrs. Braxton lifted her chin. “What we want is the people who live here to know we’re taking care of them.”

  “By keeping the mayor from speaking?” The reverend straightened, apparently grew a backbone, and stood his ground. “Perhaps your time would be better spent helping stitch the quilts? Or perhaps thinking up another fundraiser?”
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  He fled, and the women watched him go.

  Grace felt for the man. He was in the middle of a war, and the peace talks on both sides had failed.

  Perhaps a skillful retreat was the only option the poor reverend had left.

  As the ladies took themselves off to plot and plan, Grace declined to follow. She took a seat next to a couple of young mothers, and the moment she did, Elizabeth and Margaret came hurrying over.

  “Didn’t you see us?”

  Oh, she’d seen them, all right. “Of course. But I wanted to say hello to the reverend.”

  Elizabeth waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, he doesn’t care about things like that.”

  Grace picked up an already-threaded needle. She pulled her chair closer to the quilt in front of her and tucked her needle into the material. If she worked, perhaps the two girls would go away.

  Instead, both girls pulled up chairs of their own, and picked up needles.

  “Anyway,” Margret said. “We just happened to be chatting about dear, dear Mrs. Carrington. Louise, to her friends.”

  That made Grace’s eyebrows shoot up. “Luke and Louise?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Oh, yes. Isn’t it darling,” she gushed. “If their son would have lived, no doubt the child would have been named Lucas Junior.”

  Grace’s lips tightened. “No doubt. Though you girls seem awfully young to have been friends with a married lady.”

  “It was so difficult for her to find friends of her own class, you see.”

  Margaret shrugged. “And as we were so mature, we naturally drifted together.”

  “Naturally.” Grace’s tone was drier than dirt, but the girls didn’t seem to notice.

  “She was a debutante from San Francisco. Did you know that?” Margaret wasn’t working, but rather gesturing with her hands.

  “Yes, I did know that.”

  Grace considered pressuring the girls to start on the quilt. It was what she would do with the girls in her care. She liked to keep them busy. Idle hands and the devil’s handiwork, and all that. But, with these two girls she didn’t say a word, hoping they’d get bored and wander away. She had no obligation to improve either their minds or their needle skills.

  “Yes, well, anyway,” Elizabeth glared, the pretense of friendship dropping away. “You were seen with Mayor Carrington outside of the dress shop today. In fact, my own mother was in the shop when he went inside to fetch something for you.” The girl’s words sounded like an accusation.

  “Is that so?” Grace asked, mildly amused.

  Elizabeth leaned forward as if to impart important information. “Yes, that is so. Margaret and I hope to impress upon you the fact that Mayor Carrington will ever be in love with his dear, dear Louise. Yet you seem inclined to ignore our concerns. It’s as if you were actually chasing after the man.”

  Grace took another stitch. “Is it?”

  Margaret’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “It’s obvious to everyone!”

  If the girl were in Grace’s care, Grace would be quick to point out that her face could freeze that way. And then no man would ever show an interest in her. Again, these girls were not her concern.

  “Is it?”

  Elizabeth sputtered, looking like she might explode. Now that would be amusing.

  “You think that just because you’re a Carmichael from New York City that you can come here and treat us like a bunch of country bumpkins. Well, my father knows of your father—”

  Grace sincerely doubted that, as her father had died many years ago.

  “And he says that he likely made his money during the Civil War selling retail goods to both sides, so he doesn’t think a lot of your father.”

  Based on whispers she overheard from time to time, it was very likely Mr. Carmichael had done exactly that. However, Mr. Carmichael had also married well, and all had been forgiven. The New York elite didn’t question too closely where he’d come by his money, as he’d married a well-connected wife. Apparently, if one married well, all else was forgiven.

  Now that Mr. Carmichael was in land, and speculating in oil as well, no one questioned too closely how the coffers of the Carmichael fortune had originally been filled. “Perhaps I should speak to your father. We can compare notes.”

  Elizabeth’s face crumpled into panic. “Oh, no. I mean … there’s no need to …”

  “There’s no need to what? Malign my father with rumor and innuendo and then walk away?”

  Elizabeth suddenly looked young and frightened and Grace realized the girl was likely younger than she’d realized. “How old are you, Elizabeth?”

  “Eighteen.”

  So she was Penny’s age. The two girls would likely have been fast friends if Penny had actually shown up here.

  Thinking of Penny, and her father’s money, once again reminded Grace she really didn’t belong in this situation at all. The girls worried one of their best men might be lured away by wealth and position and were trying, in their clumsy way, to warn her off.

  Would Luke want or need a rich, well-connected wife?

  If he did, she certainly wasn’t for him, was she? Perhaps at one time she’d have fit that mold, but that hadn’t been true since her father’s untimely death.

  She bit the inside of her lip. Perhaps she’d better take a serious look at the cowboys who were offering for her.

  Or resign herself to returning home.

  “You’re not going to tell my father I said that, are you?”

  Grace sighed. “No, I’m not. Let’s just let it go, shall we?”

  The two girls hurried away, and a young mother sitting near her smiled. “You handled those two girls very well, didn’t you?”

  “They’re just young girls.”

  “That’s a kindly way to look at it, as you’re a young girl yourself. But very mature I might add. I am Edwina Levy. My husband sells ice in town.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you Mrs. Levy.”

  As the other ladies in the quilting circle introduced themselves, Grace realized this was where she was most at home. In the background, with the mothers and children, and not at the forefront of life. Girls like Penny, Elizabeth, and Margaret were raised for more exciting things. They had more expectations, anyway. Grace’s were long gone.

  That thought depressed her.

  She was, and always would be, the help.

  Chapter 23

  He stood in his new hotel, rummaging through the bags on the bed, and was frustrated, enraged, and desperate to take it out on that governess.

  Where was it? Where was the bottle?

  He opened the bag and started pulling out all his clothing. Wigs, makeup, eyeglasses, but no bottle. Where was it?

  The anger built inside him to almost unmanageable levels and he barely restrained himself, barely kept himself from destroying everything in the room. The vase, the drapes, the window. He’d like to take a knife to the overstuffed chair and the bed and shred both to pieces.

  Breathing heavily, he struggled to control himself. Because he was in control. He’d get hold of that girl calling herself Penny Carmichael and he’d make her sorry for all the trouble she’d put him through.

  Yes, he knew who she was. He’d recognized her almost immediately.

  She was that viper. The one who’d kept him from his true love. And here she was, at it again. She was the reason he didn’t have Penny. She was the reason he wasn’t happy.

  Why couldn’t he get her alone? Why was she so well-protected?

  His clothes and accessories scattered across the bed, he finally found what he was looking for.

  Triumphant, he held up the bottle of chloroform.

  Now he was ready for her. Now he was ready to get her alone.

  She wouldn’t escape him again.

  Early the next morning, Grace was still in her nightgown, curled in the window seat reading a book of poetry.

  Pebbles sprayed against her bedroom window, and she jumped.

  She couldn’t help but smile. If t
his was a courtship, it was the strangest one she’d ever heard of.

  She didn’t look out the window, but turned the page, and ignored the man on the ground below.

  A moment later there was another spray of pebbles.

  She muffled a laugh, and gave up trying to read, though she pretended otherwise. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, but she still wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

  She saw movement, and a quick glance told her he’d retrieved the ladder again. He moved it underneath the window.

  She giggled.

  She still didn’t look away from the book in her lap, though she hadn’t read one word since his arrival.

  A thump against the house, and another quick glance showed Luke climbing the ladder.

  She turned another page, still not reading.

  She couldn’t believe he was doing this. The widow could wake at any moment. Mrs. Braxton could go outside to enjoy her garden. He could definitely get caught!

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his head outside the window, slightly below her own. She still didn’t look, but a small smile slipped out.

  “Grace, open the window!”

  She finally turned her head to look at him.

  He was grinning, and she couldn’t help it; she smiled too.

  He motioned for her to open the window.

  She slowly shook her head.

  He gave her a stern look, his eyebrows raised as he motioned with his chin.

  She shook her head again.

  “Grace!” She heard him growl her name through the glass, low and demanding.

  He took another step up the ladder, and they eyed each other through the glass.

  She truly couldn’t resist. She jumped up, checked that her robe was concealing everything it should, and opened the window. “Yes?”

  She was quite proud of herself. She sounded as if she’d simply opened the front door to find a stranger standing there.

  “Hello, Miss Carmichael.” He sounded just as formal, and just as entertained.

  “Is there anything I can help you with, Mayor Carrington?”

  “Why, yes. Now that you mention it, I wonder if perhaps I might talk you into going shooting with me again today?”