He’d done everything possible to make sure she would. His new black suit had been pressed to perfection at Chen’s Laundry, as had his white shirt and gray waistcoat. He’d bought a gray cravat at the haberdasher’s and new patent leather shoes to replace his boots. His carefully brushed black bowler hat topped his ensemble. He’d even scandalized Mrs. Winsted—in a humorous way, of course—by purchasing a manly scented bergamot cologne. The storekeeper informed him that Napoleon Bonaparte had been partial to bergamot, but Micah wasn’t sure that was the best recommendation for the product. Nonetheless, he dabbed a tiny drop of the fragrant liquid behind one ear in hopes that it would improve his appeal, or at least not drive Miss Sutton away.
And what of his own feelings for the young lady? Would he be like the biblical patriarch Isaac, who loved Rebecca the moment he saw her? To calm himself, Micah rationalized that perhaps Joel might not be playing matchmaker after all. Even though he’d mentioned wanting to find a husband for his sister, perhaps this trip was merely exploratory as they considered whether to move to Colorado permanently. Micah supposed Joel would need a trade, but where did his interests lie? A position was now open for a science teacher at the high school, and Joel had always been a bit of an inventor. Would he qualify to teach?
As much as Micah tried to occupy his mind with such questions, only one thing dominated his thoughts, overshadowing even his joy at seeing his old friend after more than ten years: Was Miss Sutton the woman God had chosen for him?
He left the parsonage and strode toward the train depot, arriving just as the great black locomotive chugged into sight, white smoke flowing from its smokestack. To his surprise, Grace and her older sister, Maisie, stood on the platform.
“Good morning, ladies.” Micah doffed his hat, noticing the smirk that passed between the sisters. Ah, yes. Grace didn’t like the bowler. Perhaps he should have asked her advice about his attire. “Are you meeting someone today?” He nodded toward the approaching train.
“Yep.” Maisie cradled her infant son in her arms. Little Johnny was bundled up in bunting against the cold but sunny day. “We want to meet your friends.”
“That’s right.” Grace gave him a smile that held a bit of wiliness. “My, my, Rev, you sure do smell good. Just like a city dandy.” She laughed, and Micah’s heart did an odd little turn. What was she up to?
“As I was about to say, everybody ought to have a welcome party when they arrive in Esperanza.” She tilted her head toward the yellow-and-brown train station, from which several friends emerged: Maisie’s husband, Doc Henshaw, Rand and Nate Northam, along with their wives and children, and Georgia Eberly, all chatting and smiling as if this were a grand party.
Laughing at his own foolishness, Micah relaxed. “Thank you all for coming. I’m sure the Suttons will be delighted to meet everyone.”
The train slowly chugged into the station and came to a stop with a screech of brakes and mighty puffs of steam blasting from the undercarriage. A half dozen workers jumped into action, unloading luggage and freight while passengers emerged from the Pullman cars and set about claiming their possessions.
“Micah! Here we are.” A brown-haired man disembarked from the second passenger car, waved and then turned to assist a young woman as she stepped down.
She was stylishly dressed in a brown traveling suit with black trim and a matching wide-brimmed hat sat elegantly on her upswept dark brown hair. Knowing he should go to meet them, Micah found himself unable to move because of the crowd. He could only stand and stare as Joel and his sister made their way toward him.
Miss Sutton’s ivory complexion appeared flawless except for a faint blush on her cheeks. A cameo brooch on her high lace color enhanced her attire. The smile she aimed at her brother might be described by a poet as glorious, revealing even white teeth. Her blue eyes sparkled with good humor, as though she were on a grand adventure and couldn’t wait for the next episode. The young lady looked as if she’d just stepped out of a painting by one of the old masters. At least that was the way Micah would describe her if she were a character in one of his novels.
All around him, his friends exclaimed over her beauty in hushed tones and a couple of low whistles. Except for Grace. Micah heard her sigh, though he couldn’t imagine why. As for himself, he continued to stare and stare, waiting for his heart to respond. Instead, it sat in his chest like a cold lump of coal, feeling nothing.
He forced his feet to move forward and shook hands with Joel. They slapped each other on the shoulder and laughed heartily.
“You haven’t changed a bit.” Joel shook his head as if in disbelief. “Not even a hint of gray in that dark hair of yours. You using bootblack to color it?”
“Not hardly.” Micah laughed again. They’d always insulted each other in fun, so it would be like old times. Still, he refrained from returning a similar jest because Joel did bear a few signs of aging. Although he hadn’t yet passed his thirtieth birthday, strands of gray frosted his light brown hair, and worry lines had settled around his eyes. Even his posture seemed a bit stooped over. Were those changes a result of his difficulties back home in Virginia? Still, Micah must return a friendly insult, or the moment would turn awkward.
Still holding Joel’s hand, he said, “You call that a handshake? When you meet the cowboys out here, you’d better tighten your grip or they’ll think you’re a dandy.”
Sorrow flickered across Joel’s lightly tanned face. Had Micah unwittingly hit a nerve?
“I’ll be sure to remember that.” Joel gave him another bright smile and then stepped back to draw his sister to his side.
She moved forward with elegance that should have impressed Micah, but again, he felt not the slightest attraction.
“Electra.” Pride and fraternal affection shone in Joel’s eyes. “May I present the Reverend Micah Thomas, who caused me no end of grief when we were boys?”
“How do you do, Reverend Thomas.” Her smile was the picture of graciousness.
“Miss Sutton.” Micah took her offered hand and bent to kiss it. “It is a pleasure. Welcome to Esperanza. Welcome to the Wild West.” He added a soft chuckle to his last words, trying to force some feeling into this encounter.
“Ahem.” Nate Northam’s artificial clearing of his throat reminded Micah of the welcoming party behind him.
Before he could begin introductions, Nate’s wife, Susanna, hurried forward and introduced herself and her small family in her soft Southern accent. “Miss Sutton, I know we’re a bit more formal in the South, but out here, most people use first names. Do you mind if we call you Electra?” She grasped the lady’s hands and placed a kiss on her cheek.
Miss Sutton drew back, her eyes briefly widening. She seemed to catch herself, but the smile she offered didn’t quite reach her eyes. “By all means, we must follow local customs, mustn’t we, Joel.”
“Of course.” Joel offered a tired laugh that wasn’t entirely jovial as he shook hands with Nate.
The others moved up to meet the two newcomers, and Micah stepped to the side. Clearly Miss Sutton preferred the old customs. He couldn’t fault her for that, but he would address her accordingly. Besides, she had just traveled across the country and needed time to rest before she could be expected to adjust to Western ways. Still, he wished he felt more than compassion for her. Did this mean the Lord hadn’t sent her to be his bride? Or did it mean the Lord had sent her, and Micah would grow to love her? Or wasn’t he meant to have a marriage like Isaac and Rebecca’s? For the first time in his life, he experienced confusion and disappointment over the direction the Lord seemed to be leading him.
Grace stepped over and nudged him with her elbow. “Electra? What kind of name is that?”
Her slightly derisive tone should have raised his defenses on behalf of the newcomer. Instead, he had to stifle a laugh. “According to Joel, it’s an old family name.”
&n
bsp; “You don’t say. That’s truly sad.” Grace snorted out a laugh that had the entire group turning their way. She stepped over to Electra and stuck out her hand. Electra looked at it as if she had no idea what to do with it. Grace, being Grace, grabbed Electra’s hand and shook it up and down as though she were pumping water.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Sutton. I’m Deputy Eberly, but you can call me Grace.”
Obviously shocked, Miss Sutton questioned Joel with a glare. He shrugged. Miss Sutton turned back, offering a lifted chin instead of a smile and stared down her nose at Grace the way Micah’s mother used to do when required to meet someone she’d rather not know. “How do you do, Deputy Eberly.”
And with that, Micah felt a door close in his heart. But if Miss Sutton was not the Lord’s choice for him, who was? And how on earth would he figure it out?
In spite of his quandary, he offered another smile to the young lady and followed Joel to help him make arrangements for their luggage. The welcoming party dispersed, everyone somewhat subdued after Miss Sutton’s cool response to their warm reception. Micah did notice that Susanna Northam remained behind to speak quietly with the newcomer. Perhaps with her sweet Southern manners, she could help Miss Sutton overcome her icy reserve.
Chapter Five
The moment Miss Sutton lifted that flawless, sculpted chin and stared down that aristocratic nose—a little difficult because she wasn’t all that tall—Grace knew she wasn’t right for the Rev. A quick glance at his smiling face revised her opinion. Maybe he wanted a snobby ice queen. Even as Grace chuckled to herself over that title, she felt her heart sink. Not only would the congregation suffer under such a pastor’s wife, but Grace herself, well, she would lose her friendship with the Rev for good. But then, that’s what she’d expected to happen anyway.
She hiked up her gun belt and touched the brim of her hat as a parting gesture to all and then headed down the street toward the sheriff’s office. Maisie fell in beside her and looped an arm around Grace’s. Her mother and sisters were the only people Grace allowed such familiarity. Wouldn’t do any good to refuse them because they’d grab her anyway.
“So much for our neighborly reception.” Maisie glanced behind them and waved at her baby boy, Johnny, who snuggled in the arms of his proud pa, Doc Henshaw. After he’d delivered countless babies to the women in and around Esperanza for five years, he and Maisie finally had their own child. “It takes all kinds, doesn’t it?”
Grace laughed at Maisie’s remarks, despite the hollow feeling in her chest. “I suppose.”
“Any success in finding the thieves?” Maisie nodded toward Mrs. Winsted’s mercantile as they walked past it.
Glad to talk about something besides the ice queen, Grace shook her head. “She’s had a steady stream of things stolen, little by little, mostly inexpensive survival items. But a theft is still a theft whether it’s penny candy or a fancy Remington rifle.” Now that the Rev would be busy with his company, Grace would be on her own in solving the crime, especially since Sheriff Lawson had become more absentminded. Working on her own might prove to be the best, because she still had her sights on Adam Starling, while the Rev insisted the boy was innocent. Those thoughts restored her deputy focus. No use thinking about losing the Rev’s friendship when she had the responsibility to protect the community.
They stopped at the street where Maisie and her family would turn toward their two-story home. “Will we see you at prayer meeting tonight?” Her sister gave Grace’s waist a squeeze before releasing her to loop that same arm around her husband’s.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Grace hiked up her gun belt. She expected Maisie’s, or at least Doc’s, expressions to show disapproval of the way she lifted the heavy leather belt to make it sit more comfortably on her hips. Although the Rev never said anything, he didn’t seem aware of the shadow that crossed his face when she did it. Instead, Maisie’s and Doc’s faces beamed with their usual acceptance, not only of her behavior but of everything about her. Oh, how Grace loved her family. What would she do without them?
She placed a kiss on baby Johnny’s chubby cheek—he and her horse, Mack, and Ma, of course, were the only creatures she ever kissed—and said her goodbyes before heading over to the sheriff’s office. Inside, she found her boss poring over a new stack of wanted posters.
“These just came in the mail this morning.” He shook his head in disgust and glanced behind him at the pictures of Hardison and Smith hanging on the wall. “Maybe I’m just getting old, but it seems the world’s getting worse by the day.”
“Yep.” Grace poured herself some coffee from the new blue pot simmering on the roaring potbelly stove. Five matching pots had arrived at Mrs. Winsted’s store in early October. The sheriff’s wife had purchased one for her husband’s office and one for her home, and two still sat on the shelf at the mercantile. The fifth had been one of the first items stolen from the store. Grace should probably make a visit to the Starling home to see if they had it. She could just hear the Rev chiding her for her suspicions, but she considered being suspicious an important part of her job.
“By the by, here’s a letter for you, Grace.” Not even looking up from his wanted posters, the sheriff held out an ivory linen envelope.
“Thanks.” Grace felt a rush of excitement over this rare arrival of a letter addressed directly to her, not to the whole family. Had Laurie written from music school? Had she splurged on the expensive-looking paper at some fancy Denver store to let them know she’d visit home again over Christmas? Or was it from her sister Beryl, all the way from England?
The instant Grace took the letter in hand, dread swept away all pleasant feelings. The stationery looked exactly like the type Mrs. Winsted sold, a box of which had been stolen from the mercantile in the first robbery. Further, the clumsy writing of Grace’s name on the envelope was far different from Laurie’s or Beryl’s elegant penmanship.
“It’s not even stamped.” Grace plopped down into a chair beside the sheriff’s battered oak desk. “This can’t be good.”
“Huh?” He looked up from his stack of papers.
She grabbed his carved wooden letter opener and carefully slit the envelope open. Hating the way her hands shook, she pulled out the letter, unfolded it and read the chicken scratch writing.
Be warned. You will pay for what you did.
Grace’s heart felt like it had dropped to her stomach. She’d been threatened before, mostly by cowboys who’d imbibed too much at the Independence Day celebrations and didn’t like her confiscating their weapons. To a man, every one of them had apologized profusely once they sobered up.
This was different. This connected the thefts from the mercantile with Hardison and Smith. After all, the two outlaws had vowed to take revenge on everyone who’d had a hand in putting them in the Cañon City State Penitentiary. Grace, being the one who’d led the group that captured them, would be their prime target.
“What is it?” Sheriff Lawson’s voice held a stern tone, and his eyes took on a steely glint. “You’re as pale as that paper.”
She held out the letter, which he took and read.
“Cowards.” He thrust it back at her, his expression grim. “This scare you?”
She shrugged. “More like sets me on edge. It’s not like we didn’t know they were coming. It was just a matter of when. Now we know they’re here, so we can figure out how to apprehend them without anyone getting hurt.” Brave words she didn’t entirely believe.
“Good girl.” He grinned, even as his sharp gaze searched her face.
Like Miss Sutton had at the train station, Grace sniffed and lifted her chin to show her disdain or, more truthfully in her case, to hide her alarm, her fear over the direct threat the outlaws had sent to her.
An odd thought interrupted her musings. Maybe fear of new surroundings had caused the ice queen to act so stuck-up.
Maybe Grace should give the woman a second chance. After all, if she was going to marry the Rev—
For the second time in about two minutes, Grace felt her heart drop to her stomach. Right now she didn’t know which bothered her more, the threatening letter or the idea of the Rev marrying anybody, especially an elegant beauty like Miss Sutton.
On the positive side, Grace was pleased at the recent change in Sheriff Lawson. For all of his complaints about the increase in lawlessness, this old lawman just needed to feel useful. She laughed to herself. The Rev would say “all things work together for good.” Maybe in this case, he was right.
* * *
“Reverend Thomas, your parsonage is absolutely charming.” Miss Sutton stood in the center of the parlor pulling off her kid gloves as she gazed around the room.
After a leisurely dinner in the Esperanza Arms dining room, Micah had brought his guests to his home, which he’d done his best to clean and arrange into a welcoming if temporary abode for them. Miss Sutton’s praise, like her comments on just about everything she’d seen so far in Esperanza, seemed to come from the heights of aristocratic judgment, polite enough and yet with an edge of hauteur that hinted at the obvious inferiority of the object under discussion. Even the wealthiest inhabitants of this community never spoke that way to anyone, about anyone. To Micah himself, however, Miss Sutton was the soul of warmth and friendliness.
“Of course it could use a woman’s touch.” She ran a finger over the small table beside his brown plaid settee, which suddenly looked a mite shabby to Micah. She looked at her finger, apparently searching for dust, and gave him a nod of approval at not finding any. “Would you mind if I do a bit of rearranging and decorating while Joel and I visit you? It will keep me occupied while you men catch up on old times.”
While the young lady’s rich Southern accent reminded Micah of the best parts of his home life in Virginia, her proprietary attitude sent a thread of unease skittering down his back. Had his old friend come with a serious expectation that Micah would marry his sister without their even learning whether they were compatible? Which, at this point, Micah was fairly certain they were not.
Cowgirl Under the Mistletoe Page 7
