Tentatively, she came forward, putting a hand on his arm.
“Miss Gilmore, nice to make your acquaintance. Good day,” called Raney, but she merely nodded with a chilly hauteur Sam would have found humorous if not for the circumstances.
He stifled the urge to take a huge, relieved gulp of air. Raney hadn’t appeared to recognize him—yet. Thank You, Lord.
But What if Prissy had had Houston with her, the very dog Raney had planned to feed to the alligators along with him? The dog might well have been enough to trigger Raney’s memory. Perhaps he should tell her to keep the dog at home from now on. But what excuse could he have for saying that?
“’Miss Priscilla?’” she teased, as soon as the men in the carriage were out of earshot. Then, when he did not respond with a smile, her own faded and she murmured, “Did you really need to speak to my father?” Her voice trailed off and she peered up at him.
He nodded. It was probably a good idea to notify the mayor that the third member of the triumvirate had arrived in Simpson Creek. “Sweetheart, let me carry your packages,” he said, forcing his voice into a normal tone.
“Thanks,” she said, handing them to him. “Mrs. Patterson got in some lovely tablecloths that will be just perfect for the party. And she had the prettiest ear bobs that will set off my dress perfectly,” she continued, clearly trying to distract him.
Why had Raney come just now? Did the fact that he had finally arrived have anything to do with Tolliver being accused of murder, or was it merely coincidental? Were they going to intervene to set him free, or leave him to his fate?
You are not alone. I’m fighting alongside you.
He was so astonished at the reassuring voice within him that he almost stopped stock-still in the middle of the street.
“Sam? Are you all right?” Prissy asked him, her pretty brow furrowed with concern.
He smiled now, and felt a surge of hope in spite of the dangers he faced. He gazed down at the woman he loved. “It’s a beautiful day, and I’m walking with you and the Lord. I couldn’t be better.”
The following day the Spinsters came to Gilmore House to help prepare for the party. Prissy had already helped Flora make sure everything sparkled within the mansion, of course, and Antonio had groomed the grounds to perfection. But they couldn’t leave everything to the two servants, and so Gilmore House was a beehive of activity on Friday. With Houston yipping with excitement and following everyone around, begging for tidbits, the ladies prepared the food that could be cooked ahead, set up tables, and decorated them with gaily colored streamers and centerpieces they’d made.
“But what if it rains?” Polly Shackleford wondered aloud, staring at the crepe paper that festooned the tables, the verandah, the fiddlers’ stand, and even the big live oak that shaded the tables.
“It won’t,” Caroline Wallace said with calm assurance. “I consulted Papa. His big toe would be aching if it was going to rain. It’s not, so quit fretting.”
“Caroline showed the bachelors to the hotel today,” Hannah Kennedy said. “After serving them all dinner, the clever girl! The rest of us haven’t caught so much as a glimpse, and she’s already on speaking terms with them.”
Caroline reddened as if she’d been caught stealing cookies. “Well, goodness, they all showed up at the post office about the same time, right at noon, and they were hungry from traveling. It wouldn’t have been hospitable not to.”
“You said they’re all nice and quite handsome, right, Caroline?” Hannah prodded.
Caroline nodded with a half smile. “I think you’ll all be pleased, ladies,” she said.
“But what about you, Caroline? Weren’t you just the least bit interested in any of them?” asked Jane Jeffries curiously.
“You deserve happiness, too, Caroline,” Maude Harkey chimed in.
Caroline held up a warning hand. “Now, let’s not start that all over again, ladies. I’m enjoying helping with the party, but this is just something to get out of the house for a while, so I don’t constantly have to be hearing about the state of Papa’s big toe.”
Everyone chuckled.
“Listen, ladies, I learned one of them has a partiality for green dresses—didn’t you say your dress for the barbecue is green, Polly?”
Polly nodded excitedly.
“And another has a penchant for pecan pie. Wasn’t that your contribution, Hannah? Half a dozen pecan pies?” Caroline asked.
It was, Hannah confirmed.
“And the third man says he’s crazy for girls with freckles,” Caroline said, looking right at Bess Lassiter, who clapped her hands over her freckled cheekbones.
“And to think I’ve been trying to get rid of these for years!”
Maude Harkey gave Caroline an admiring look. “And you learned all this with skillful questioning while they ate? You could have been a spy in the war!”
Caroline shook her head. “I didn’t ask any questions, ladies. It’s all a matter of listening.”
“But which man had which preference?” Polly Shackleford asked. “Tell us, so we’ll each know which man to concentrate our wiles upon.”
“Ah, but where would be the fun in that?” Caroline asked coyly. “Those things are for you ladies to discover!”
“Caroline, how dare you tease us so!” Polly cried, exasperated.
They stayed till dusk, and finally only Sarah Walker, whose husband would be coming down to walk her home, remained.
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Sarah asked.
“Papa? No, I’m sure he’ll be home any minute now. He and Mrs. Fairchild are dining at the hotel tonight, so as to stay out of our way, and—”
“No, I mean Sam,” Sarah said seriously. Prissy had told her earlier about their encounter with Pennington and his newly arrived partner, Kendall Raney.
“No, I’m sure it’ll all—” Prissy began, then dropped her gaze. “Yes, I am,” she admitted with a sigh. “He’s just got so much on his shoulders right now, what with holding that accused murderer in his jail and wondering if the Alliance men are going to try and break him out.”
“Is he going to be able to come to the barbecue, at least for a little while?” Sarah asked, her eyes warm with sympathy and understanding. “From what you and Nolan have been telling me, he could use a little time away to relax and enjoy himself.”
Prissy sighed again. “I don’t think so. He has so much he has to look out for right now. I’ll enjoy watching the other ladies meet the bachelors, and I hope we raise some money for the church rebuilding, but it’d be so much more fun if I could do it…with Sam.”
Sarah gave her a thoughtful look. “You’ve come a long way, Miss Prissy Gilmore,” she said.
Prissy blinked. “What?”
“Only a few weeks ago, you would have stomped your foot and pouted that your beau couldn’t make it. That man loves you. I’ll bet he going to ask for your hand.”
Prissy smiled at her friend. “I can’t hide anything from you, Sarah, can I?”
“No, you can’t,” Sarah agreed with a grin.
“I know that these troubles won’t last forever. I just wish that old judge could have come this week, and the trial could be over. But I know Sam and the rest of the men will find a way to bring peace back to Simpson Creek.”
“We just have to be patient, and pray for wisdom for the sheriff and the other men,” Sarah said.
“Like your Nolan.”
Sarah smiled again. “I take back what I said about you being in love with love, Prissy. Sam Bishop’s been good for you.”
Prissy threw her arms around her friend and hugged her, tears springing to her eyes. “Thank you, Sarah. Your approval means the world to me.”
Flora came in just then, carrying Houston, who had a length of crepe streamer tangled in his collar.
“That dog just treed my cat again, after chasing her all across the tables,” Flora scolded. “You’d better keep him in your room tomorrow, Señorita Prissy, or he’ll undo all y
our hard work—if he doesn’t get trampled underfoot by someone’s horse as the carriages arrive.”
“I’ll keep him locked in my room, I promise, Flora,” she said penitently. “Thanks for bringing him in.”
Just then Dr. Walker arrived to collect his wife. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Prissy. The party starts at one, doesn’t it? I’ll be there at noon to help you. And perhaps Sam will get away for a moment, even if just to say hello to you.” Sarah winked at her.
Prissy could only hope so. She wasn’t sure she could go on much longer without seeing Sam Bishop—and telling him exactly how she felt.
Chapter Seventeen
That night, when it came time to get some sleep, Sam tossed and turned, then fell into a restless sleep, only to dream he was once more tied up in Raney’s back room in the Houston gambling den. In this dream, however, he wasn’t working to free himself. Raney and his henchmen stood over him, gloating at his misery, preparing to carry him and the dog out to a waiting wagon for their trip to the bayou and the alligators. Once more, he’d felt compelled to feel the underside of his mattress, to reassure himself that the ruby ring was still there. He had to find a way to rid himself of that thing, especially now that Raney was here.
In the morning, his deputy dozed in his chair, facing the cell that held Tolliver, who also slept, snoring with buzzing gusto. No troubled conscience there, apparently. Sam stood in front of the window that looked out on Main Street, drinking coffee and awaiting the arrival of whomever was to relieve Luis—his sleepy brain couldn’t remember who it was supposed to be. There was a list somewhere.
The weather looked fine for Prissy’s barbecue. Sunny, but with a pleasant breeze. If only he could be there. He could tell himself till he was blue in the face that there would be a lifetime of other celebrations with Prissy, but he wanted to ask her to marry him—today. Before the party started. He could picture her, radiant with joy, telling everyone, showing off the sapphire ring he now fingered in his pocket.
If she accepted him, that is. After he’d told her everything. He supposed a man shouldn’t be too confident.
He sighed and dipped his head toward his coffee again, only to raise it when a wagon trundled past with Milly Brookfield on the driver’s seat next to one of their cowhands. Her husband and another man rode beside it. Then Brookfield and the other horseman peeled off and stopped at the hitching post in front of the jail.
So it was the Englishman who would keep him company guarding Tolliver today. He was glad of it, but it seemed a shame Nick would miss the barbecue, too. Nick took down a basket that had been tied onto his saddle horn.
The other man tying up his horse looked vaguely familiar. When he turned to follow Nick to the door, Sam recognized the sheriff of San Saba, Wade Teague.
Sam opened the door before the men could knock, wondering if Teague was here because there had been trouble at the county seat. But Brookfield’s cheerful countenance belied that notion.
“Good morning,” Nick Brookfield said. “My good wife’s sent breakfast, and then perhaps you ought to go down to the barbershop and spruce up. You’re looking a little the worse for wear, Bishop.”
Sam rubbed his beard-roughened cheek. It had been days since he’d allowed himself the luxury of the barber’s attention, and he’d done a poor, hurried job of shaving himself. “Yeah, I know, but—”
“And that won’t do, Bishop,” Nick went on, interrupting without apology, “for you’ve a party to go to. Teague here, good fellow that he is, has come to help me mind your prisoner for the day while you go Miss Prissy’s barbecue.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “But I can’t leave like that. It wouldn’t be right.”
“You not only can, you will,” Nick told him with a smiling firmness. “I’ve secured the mayor’s approval, and Teague’s ridden all the way from San Saba to do a good turn, so we mustn’t waste that, must we? Of course not. Sit down and eat, then hie yourself down to the barber. Have a bath while you’re there. You’d frighten the ladies, looking like you do now.”
Sam couldn’t believe his ears. “But surely you’d like to attend with your wife. I should stay here with Teague—thanks for coming, by the way, Wade—”
“Nonsense.” Nick interrupted him. “Milly will be so busy showing off the baby she won’t know if I’m there or not. I’ll wager you and Miss Prissy haven’t had a proper moment together since that blackguard took up residence, have you?” he said, jerking his head toward the snoring Tolliver. “Think how happy and surprised she’ll be to see you.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Sam said, grinning in spite of his misgivings. He told the two men how he’d been wishing he could ask Prissy to marry him before the barbecue began.
“And now you can,” Teague said, grinning.
“Ah, that is good news, Señor Sam,” Luis added, yawning and stretching his lanky frame.
“Congratulations, old fellow,” Brookfield said, clapping him on the back.
Sam dug into his pocket and brought out the ring.
“That certainly ought to persuade her, if she weren’t already willing,” Nick said approvingly. “Right, then. A man about to propose marriage needs sustenance,” he said, taking the basket and spreading the breakfast his wife had sent out on the desk. The four men tucked into the bacon and freshly baked biscuits and jelly Milly had sent. For a moment, Sam almost believed everything would turn out just as he hoped.
“You bring any grub for me, limey?” demanded Tolliver, who had woken up at clatter of forks and crockery. “I’m hungry, too, ya know.”
Brookfield eyed him narrowly. “Mind your manners, fellow, and I might give you a share. But only if we don’t have to listen to your prattling.”
Sam ignored their byplay, caught up in a wave of hope. Thanks to the selfless kindness of these two men and the mayor, he would be at Prissy’s side during the barbecue, hopefully with his ring on her finger.
He pulled open the drawer and glanced at William Water’s pocket watch, which he was keeping as evidence. Nine o’clock—he’d have plenty of time for a bath and a shave before the party started. He dashed back into his room and grabbed up his good trousers and shirt, making sure he transferred the ring into the new trouser pocket.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he told Nick and Teague. “Whatever I can do for you, Nick, and anytime your jail needs minding, Wade—”
“Bring me back some barbecue, Sheriff,” Tolliver demanded. “Must be nice, hobnobbing with the mayor’s daughter.”
All four of the men ignored him.
Nick made shooing motions. “Run along now, my good man, and don’t come back until you can tell us you’ve won the fair Prissy.”
He felt as if his boots had sprouted wings as he headed down to the barbershop-bathhouse.
Prissy bent to pull a tablecloth even, hearing footsteps behind her.
“You can put those last chairs at that table over there, Mr. von Hesse.” The German carpenter from Fredericksburg had come from the hotel early—to get a jump on the competition, Prissy suspected with amusement—and had been agreeable to being put to work with the last-minute touches. “Goodness, I’m glad the hotel was willing to loan us some chairs. Ordinarily, we’d have borrowed them from the church social hall, but as you’ve no doubt heard or seen, our church burned down—”
“Who’s Mr. von Hesse?” asked a familiar voice. “The name’s Bishop.”
She whirled, hardly able to believe her eyes. “Sam! You came!” she said. “But how—who’s at the jail?”
He told her how Nick had shown up with Teague in tow and taken over his duty during the barbecue.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I could cry, I’m so happy! I so wanted you here, but I thought there was no way you’d be able—”
He looked at her with a seriousness she’d never seen before in his eyes. “Well, I need to ask you something before any more guests arrive,” he told her.
All at once she thought there was somethi
ng wrong after all, and reached out to him with a shaky hand. “What is it?”
Something sparked in those dark brown eyes, and then suddenly he was kneeling before her, taking hold of her hand. His other hand held a sapphire ring.
“Priscilla Gilmore, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
And then before she knew what she was doing, she was kneeling in the grass with him, heedless of her new pink marquisette dress, laughing—yes, and crying—all at once.
Around them, the Spinsters, Flora and Antonio stopped what they were doing and applauded. Then they were crowding around them, too, congratulating and embracing each of them in turn. Someone must have run and told her father, for suddenly he was there too, smiling proudly and embracing both of them.
“But what is happening?” Prissy heard Mr. von Hesse ask Polly.
“That,” Polly said, “is how a Spinster graduates from the Spinsters’ Club.”
Prissy looked back to Sam, full of joy. He looked happier than she’d him look before, but there was something in his eyes, something off. She could only hope he was still worried about the Alliance, but a little voice inside her told her something else was amiss.
Prissy had to admit that their sudden, unexpected engagement had been just the thing to get the party off to a good start. As the townspeople arrived and learned the happy news, the intense focus was taken off the Spinsters and their bachelor counterparts, and they were able to meet one another without being the cynosure of all eyes.
Later, full of barbecue and all the trimmings, as well as Hannah’s pecan pie, she sat on the wooden swinging bench on the verandah with Sam’s arm around her and they lazily watched the ladies flirt with the new candidates.
“Looks like the Spinsters made a lot of money for the new church,” he said, nodding toward the basket near the refreshment table that was full of coins of various denominations.
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful? Hmm, I see Bob Henshaw’s partial to a lady dressed in green, just as Caroline reported,” she murmured, watching the way Polly Shackleford flirted outrageously with the hardware store owner from Austin, and he just as obviously relished it. “And that rancher from Mason must have been the one who liked freckles,” she added, seeing Bess Lassiter dimpling and blushing as a tall, rangy fellow with the weathered face of a man who spent his life outdoors teasingly reached out and touched one of Bess’s freckles.
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