Stetsons, Spring and Wedding Rings

by Jillian Hart

  “No. Camp was abandoned. But they appear to be traveling on foot, same as whoever was on your place last week.”

  “You think some out-of-work lumberjack walked out here just to kill my horse?”

  “Perhaps he’d meant to steal her. With the newborn, perhaps she attacked him and he panicked.”

  Kyle shook his head, not buying that scenario. Blaze had been murdered. “I had other horses he could have easily trotted off with if he was interested in taking a mount. Just because we didn’t find tracks doesn’t mean he wasn’t on horseback. There’s plenty of ways to cover a trail. They take ammunition?”

  “Ja. Rifle and six-gun. I have two deputies keeping watch near the site. Tomorrow I will send theYork brothers to finish the floors above the schoolhouse. You come have a look at the campsite.”

  Kyle gave a nod, knowing he needed to stop in at the hotel and livery as well.

  Günter reached into his pocket, then tossed a piece of silver at him.

  He caught the tin star.

  “You are deputized. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a woman to woo.”

  “I’ll join you.”

  “Figured you might.” Günter chuckled as he shuffled up the back steps. “Been enjoying your evenings with your schoolteacher?”

  “We could join you and Stella on the porch.”

  “No.”

  “Thought not.” He brushed past him and opened the door.

  Both women turned as they stepped inside. “Stella, your suitor’s here.”

  “Sorry to be late,” Günter said, removing his hat.

  His sister rushed to greet him. “I was getting worried.”

  It was Constance’s reaction that captured Kyle’s attention, her slow, almost shy smile as she looked from their dessert to him.

  His chest tightened with an odd kind of tension.

  What the hell am I doing?

  As Stella and Günter retreated to the privacy of the porch and Constance sat across from him at the table, he knew what he wanted to do—he wanted to sample a sweetness that had nothing to do with baked goods.

  He’d never been one to spend time with a lady he didn’t have intentions to bed—not that he was opposed to that notion. The mere thought of Constance in his arms made his blood run hot.

  Problem was, he knew full well what it would take to bed her—

  a wedding ring.

  He wasn’t courting her. They simply enjoyed each other’s company.

  “I’d like to stay after school to tutor a few students with their reading lessons,” she said, having barely nibbled on the sugar cookie in her hand. She’d gotten into the pleasing habit of leaving her gloves off at home. “But I’m not sure how receptive their parents would be of me taking time they likely need for chores.”

  The front door slammed, and Constance snapped straight in her chair.

  Stella rushed into the kitchen, her face bright with a smile.

  Günter stepped beside her, his arm sliding around her waist.

  “Look!” She held up her hand. A tiny speck of a diamond on a silver band twinkled in the lamplight. “We’re getting married!”

  “You just started courting,” Kyle protested.

  “We’ve been seeing each other nearly every day for a few months,” Stella told him.

  “Your father gave his blessings when I asked for her hand last week.”

  “You asked him for her hand? ”

  Anger darkened his friend’s eyes. “Do you have a problem with our engagement, Kyle?”

  “I’m—” His sister’s stricken expression stopped his protest.

  “I’m surprised, is all.”

  Constance rushed forward. “Congratulations,” she said, giving Stella a hug. “I’m so happy for the both of you.” His sister’s happy glow returned as they fussed over her ring.

  Kyle offered his hand to Günter. “Congratulations.”

  Günter was slow to accept. “Thanks.”

  “So, when do you plan to have the wedding?”

  “A week from Saturday, providing your family can attend.”

  A week from— he hadn’t even gotten used to the idea of Stella courting! “You sure that’s enough time?”

  “I love your sister,” he said, pulling Stella close, their eyes glazing as they looked at each other. “Preacher said he can marry us. We want to be together. Why wait?”

  “Don’t you need a dress and…things?”

  “I’m going to wear Mama’s dress. We’ll send a wire tomorrow to make sure they can come. Constance, would you be one of my bridesmaids? Günter’s asked Juniper and Jake, and Kyle, of course.”

  Great. He liked church weddings about as much as he liked funerals.

  “I’d be honored,” Constance replied.

  Her smile was a tad too tight to be genuine. He knew she wouldn’t stay in this house without Stella. And he wasn’t about to put her a half mile away from him with a vandal terrorizing the town, which meant they’d best find the interlopers soon or Günter and Stella would be honeymooning in his house. That thought was too disturbing to contemplate.

  Chapter Nine

  Chalk dust filled the air outside the window as her young volunteers finished cleaning the erasers.

  “See you on Monday!” Molly called on her way out of the door.

  “I think our first week went well.” Stella followed Molly outside before Constance could agree. Their first week had been wonderfully successful. Even in a week, her students had made amazing progress. By next week they’d have—

  Footsteps sounded from up above, drawing her gaze to the ceiling as a vision of warm indigo eyes filled her mind. Sensation swirled, stealing her breath. Thumps and bumps had been distracting her throughout the day, making her lose her train of thought more than once. Kyle was back to working upstairs after spending yesterday helping Günter. They’d both made it home in time for supper, and Constance had enjoyed Kyle’s company…and the light touches she was starting to believe were a sinful pleasure. No one had ever made her feel these volatile sensations he elicited with a mere glance. The admission brought to mind Stella’s description of her “love test.”

  “He just looks at me and my stomach turns to butterflies. He can smile in a way that…melts me.”

  Constance didn’t even have to see him; the mere thought of Kyle had her stomach erupting in flutters. His smile could paralyze her mind. His slightest touch, a brush of his hand, a bump of his arm, could stop her heartbeat. After sharing coffee and chocolate cake last night he’d leaned so close—his eyes a hypnotic smoky blue—she’d thought he might kiss her. Fixated by a rush of shock and anticipation, stopping him hadn’t crossed her mind.

  He hadn’t announced any such intention, but there was no point in exposing herself to such volatile emotions when she knew nothing could come from it. Next week she’d move upstairs above the schoolroom, and tonight she was going to bed without dessert.

  Realizing she stood in the center of the room, her upturned gaze still fixed on the ceiling, she gave herself a mental shake and started for the door. The sheriff stood beside the road, the late-afternoon sun lighting up his pale hair, his long frame leaning against a horse-drawn cart.

  The cluster of colorful flowers in his hand and the grin on his face said he was ready to whisk Stella away. She rushed over to greet him. His arm moved around her as she took the flowers.

  “I love them.”

  “I come to take you to dinner.”

  “Hey, Günter.” Kyle’s boots clapped against the side staircase as he made a quick descent. “You’ve come to steal my sister away for the evening?”

  “I have.”

  Constance hoped he’d deny his request.

  “Be sure to have her home at a decent hour.”

  Stella looked back at Constance standing on the front steps.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not,” she lied.

  Günter didn’t waste a moment, quickly packing his fiancée into the sea
t beside him and cracking the reins.

  “The place is about finished,” Kyle said from beside her.

  “Come have a look.” He started up the stairs as though she’d have no objections to being alone with him—in her apartment no less!

  So arrogant. And impossibly bossy. With a last glance at the road, a cloud of dust all she could see of her deserting assistant, she followed him. She had yet to step foot in her soon-to-be home. Like the classroom, the long outer walls had windows, lighting up the wood floor, a small kitchen and the doorway leading to a bedroom. The thumping and bumping she’d heard must have been the arrival of the cookstove. The cast-iron monstrosity stood on the far wall like a dark unwelcome shadow.

  “You don’t like it?”

  Kyle filled the doorway to the bedroom area.

  “Oh, no, this is wonderful. Very spacious.”

  “Constance?” The question in his eyes was more of a demand.

  “I don’t cook.”

  “You can’t cook?” he said, his face fixed with surprise.

  “I can cook. I don’t. I haven’t lit a stove or a match since before the fire. I haven’t had to. Meals were provided at the mission.”

  “This stove is perfectly safe,” he said, joining her in the tiny kitchen. “A stove didn’t catch that house on fire.” His gentle tone increased her embarrassment.

  “I know.”

  “The stove downstairs has been lit each morning.”

  “Stella’s doing.”

  “Darlin’, Stella won’t always be here. We get snow all but four months out of the year. Lighting a stove is a necessity.”

  “I know.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I assure you I can find a way to deal with it.”

  “You’re hardly hapless, Constance. What you need is practice.”

  “You think I should practice lighting fires?”

  “I do. I was thinking we’d go to town for supper, but why don’t we eat at the house. You can practice striking matches and I’ll help you light the stove.”

  Alone? With him? All evening? “It wouldn’t be appropriate for us to be alone at the house.”

  He arched a dark eyebrow. “We’ve been alone every evening this week. Quite frankly, I look forward to your company.”

  She couldn’t fight her smile, terribly pleased by his admission. “Stella was home all this week.”

  “We won’t be together the whole time. I have chores in the stable I have to attend. But if you’d rather have Stella help with lighting—”

  “No. I don’t want her to know.” It was bad enough she’d told Kyle.

  “Honey, having a fear of fire after all you went through is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  She shook her head. “You understand because you were there.

  You were in the house, too, and you’re not afraid.”

  Kyle couldn’t believe he hadn’t picked up on her fear sooner.

  He hadn’t seen her near the stove. Nor had he ever seen her in the front room where a fire burned in the open fireplace most evenings. “I wasn’t the one tied to a bed. Plenty about that day has haunted me. You’re not alone in that respect.”

  “Really?”

  More than I care to admit. “Honest to God. Let me help you light the stove.”

  “You think lighting a bunch of matches will help?”

  “I’m willing to strike every match in the house to give it a shot.”

  She heaved a sigh, her tense expression suggesting she wasn’t quite so willing. “Okay.”

  The kitchen reeked of sulfur. A pile of smoking matches sat on a plate on the table, and Constance hadn’t lit a single one of them. He’d hoped the five-inch matchsticks used to light the stove would ease her worry about burning her fingers. She stood beside him, an unlit match in her hand, and nearly jumped out of her skin each time he gave a demonstration.

  “I feel silly,” she said, her frustration and fear as palpable as the burnt matchsticks piled in front of them.

  “You’re not silly.” His lighting-matches idea had clearly been a bad one. “I could hold your hands, help you strike it.”

  Her fierce glare nearly made him grin. God, she was irresistible, and a refreshing change from the endless line of townsfolk and husband seekers constantly approaching him with a list of favors, wants or ulterior motives. Constance wasn’t a woman who liked to have anything done for her. Harboring such a fear had to be at odds with her stubborn nature.

  “I’ve had my share of spills and mishaps and know how fear can play on the mind, growing stronger when not confronted.

  Once you get past the first strike, the rest will come easier.”

  Her gaze was skeptical.

  “I know from experience. I was fourteen when an ornery bull caught me by surprise. Look here…” He tugged his shirt from his waistband to reveal the pucker of skin where a steer had gored his side. “Damn near bled to death, and I was flat on my back for two weeks. I avoided that pasture for months, until Juniper forced me to go along when that old bull had to be moved. I was scared as hell and damn cautious.”

  “Kyle—”

  “A bullet dug a trench into my side in my first shoot-out,” he said, tugging his shirt higher to show the wound.

  “Kyle!”

  He looked up to see Constance blushing to the roots of her hair, her gaze flickering from his chest to floor.

  “Put your shirt down,” she said, sneaking another peek.

  He couldn’t fight his smile. “I didn’t mean to offend. The point is, fear makes you cautious. Caution is good, so long as you’re not crippled by it. You used to light stoves, right?”

  She hardly remembered why she was standing in the kitchen, her mind swooning at images of dark hair over a bronzed muscular chest. She blew out a shaky breath and glanced at the deceptively harmless match in her hand.

  “I know it will spark,” she said. “I’m going to jump. What if I drop it? ”

  “It’s a match, darlin’, not a torch. You could step on it, though it’ll likely go out before hitting the floor.”

  His simple explanation renewed the heat in her cheeks.

  “Normally I’d know that.”

  “Might also help to know a match alone didn’t burn that boardinghouse. Kerosene started the fire. Rotted wood and sod patches carried the flames. There’s not a speck of sod in this house, the wood is new and solid. Watch. ” He struck a match that fast and dropped it. The flame died long before the partially blackened matchstick hit the floor.

  “See?”

  His gentle smile eased her nervousness. How could she not love him? She knew without a doubt he wouldn’t allow her to come to harm.

  She picked up the matchbox and scraped the end across the side, jumping as fire sparked. She stared at the lit match, watching the small ball of fire slowly creep down the stick.

  “Oh, hail Mary—now what!”

  “Shake it out, sweetheart.”

  She did, and laughed with relief as smoke snaked up from the blackened tip.

  Kyle held out a new match. “Ready to go again?”

  “Yes,” she said, charged with a heady rush of excitement.

  After wasting another pile of matches, Kyle led her to the stove and opened an empty firebox. “Fill ’er up,” he said, standing back. He watched as she arranged the firewood as she’d done years ago, tucking kindling beneath the larger logs. She scratched the match and managed not to flinch quite so badly.

  The glow of embers flared up into ribbons of yellow and orange flames, and Constance shut the door.

  “Good job.” He gathered her in his arms, giving her a tight squeeze, easing the tremors she hadn’t realized needed soothing.

  Holding her close, Kyle was reluctant to let her go. She smiled up at him and he felt a true ring of pride.

  Lord, she smells good. Wasn’t rose water or floral perfume…he couldn’t define the earthy, clean scent, but the heated stir of his body confirmed he liked it�
�too damn much. He released her and stepped back.

  “Let’s get supper started.”

  Constance peeled potatoes and carrots while he prepared chicken. With supper roasting, they went to the stable, Constance tending Sunshine as he forked fresh straw into the stalls and brought the horses in from the outside corral. By the time they left the stable, the sun had long since set. He draped his arm over her shoulders as they walked up the path.

  “Dark out,” he said, as though that gave him the right to tuck her against his side. She didn’t object, and he found himself in no hurry to reach the back door.

  Once inside the aroma-filled kitchen, he went to his room to find some control and wash up. He took a detour into the front room, lighting the fireplace before he returned to the kitchen.

  Constance was about to set a second, filled plate on the table.

  “We’re going to eat in the front room.” He snatched the plate from the table and hooked his arm around her waist.

  She didn’t budge.

  “I’d rather not.”

  He leaned down, touching his forehead to hers. Her eyes widened, emphasizing flecks of brown and gold in rings of honey. She had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen.

  “I thought we agreed the best way to face your fear is to confront it.”

  “We agreed on the stove, and you’re trying to distract me.”

  He grinned as he straightened. “Is it working?”

  “Yes,” she said, fully aware of his hand on her waist, the warmth in his eyes, and spirals of sensation. “You’re using an unfair advantage.”

  His smile widened. “And what’s that?”

  Heat flamed into her cheeks and she glanced down at the food on her plate.

  “Just come sit by me,” he said, ushering her along. “Fire isn’t going to leap out. I promise.”

  She knew that, of course, had been around plenty of fireplaces—she simply chose to avoid the discomfort whenever possible. She tensed the moment they entered the room, her gaze fused to the flames twisting over the stack of wood in the large stone hearth. They sat on the sofa, their plates on their laps, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders as they ate.

  “I still can’t believe my sister is getting married,” he said, drawing her gaze away from the fireplace. She didn’t mind watching the flames reflected in his blue eyes. “When I left home she was a tiny thing, all braids and giggles. She grew up and I missed it.”