"What are your sisters like?"
"I've already told you about Susie. Velma is turning thirteen soon. She’s curious. Sometimes a tomboy."
Cecilia found herself full of nervous energy. Maybe it was the way he watched her so intently, or the sheer breadth of his shoulders. She didn't like the flare of attraction she felt for him. It made her vulnerable, and she couldn’t afford to be so.
"I think that is quite enough about myself."
"On the contrary, you hardly talk about yourself at all."
She frowned. "If we are to maintain a professional relationship…”
He stepped closer, not in her personal space, but one more step would make it so. "I think you're plenty professional. Why can't we be friends?"
One part of her thrilled at his suggestion, which opened a tiny crack in the armor she’d been so careful to gird herself with since her arrival in town.
"And what if people in Granbury start to speculate about our friendship?" she asked.
He considered it for a moment and then dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "Then I would set them straight."
"That's right. In Granbury, John Morgan can do no wrong." The words burst out of her, her tone cooler than she’d intended.
His gaze sharpened on her. "What does that mean?"
She wanted to ask about the money. About the investments he made in half the businesses in town. But it wasn't her place. She shouldn't even know about it and wouldn't if it weren’t for Lucy’s gossip.
She pinched her lips together and shook her head tightly. "Nothing. Just that maybe you should consider what might happen if the folks who think so highly of you stop approving?” She took a breath that was supposed to calm her but did little. “I told myself when I came here that I wanted to do the best job I could so I would be invited to teach again next year."
His gaze on her face was searching. She couldn't help the blush she felt rising in her cheeks.
"And what if they don't mind?” he asked. “Should I give up the chance to know you better out of fear of something that might not happen?”
"It would be safer to maintain a professional relationship.” She hated that she sounded so cold. She looked away when his stare lingered a moment too long.
He opened his mouth to say something else, and she feared that he would overrule her. And feared that was exactly what she wanted.
"I think it's time I excused myself,” she said. “Good night."
She brushed past him quickly, aware of the heat of his body and that his gaze followed her down the hall. She almost tripped on her skirt as she rushed up the stairs. She closed her door behind her and leaned against it, out of breath.
She was a fool. The man had offered her friendship, and she’d rejected it. Maybe even offended him.
If only she could do away with her inconvenient attraction. Surely, it wasn't healthy. She’d prayed for it to go away. After what happened with Simon, she couldn’t risk her heart again. She was a schoolteacher. That was her calling.
She was happiest when she was teaching.
John’s offer of friendship was a temptation she didn’t need. She dared not get any closer to the man. Hadn’t she already decided he was too charming to be trusted?
It was better to stick with that decision.
Wasn’t it?
8
Cecilia approached the bustle of activity on the outskirts of town, where a barn-raising was slated to take place on this Saturday morning. It was early yet, and she needed to find John.
Since their encounter in the kitchen almost two weeks before, she had done everything she could to avoid being alone with the man. She had kept the tutoring sessions to times when Mrs. Fitzgerald was present. She had begged off on the night that Mrs. Fitzgerald had supper with a friend in town.
She didn’t want to have to seek him out now, but it was important.
She caught sight of him in a huddle by six other men, peering at a large piece of paper spread between them. Several huge stacks of lumber were scattered across the area where the ground had been plowed and flattened. No doubt this was where the new barn would be constructed.
John looked up, his eyes connecting with hers while she was still a dozen yards away. Almost as if he had sensed her presence.
Ridiculous. She was still acting as silly as the characters in Emma’s books.
John spoke to one of the men in the circle and excused himself to stride toward her.
She was conscious of curious gazes from where the women gathered, spreading cloths on several tables near the Campbells’ house. No doubt there would be a spread of delicious food.
"Aren't you supposed to be on your way home?"
She clutched her carpet bag in front of her. “The stage does not seem to be running this week."
His brow furrowed. "What?"
She had been looking forward to this trip for weeks, and disappointment swamped her. She tried not to show it.
"The station was dark, and no one was inside. When I banged on the door, no one answered."
“That can’t be right. I purchased your ticket last week. Hold on."
He strode back to the group of men and spoke in rapid-fire to Mr. Jamison from the dry goods store. John was headed back toward her in moments, shaking his head. “Apparently, the town got a phone call yesterday that the stage driver had fallen ill. Nobody thought to tell me."
“There was no replacement?”
John looked as frustrated as she felt. "We're such a small station, with folks hardly coming to and from. They decided not to send a replacement this week."
She pinched her lips together to keep them from trembling. "So I… can't go home."
He frowned, an expression she realized she rarely saw on him. "I wish I had known about this sooner. I committed to help the Campbells today." He waved his hand to encompass the men who were starting to fit boards together. Hammers were pounding, the sound sharp in the early morning air. "I would take you myself, but I made a commitment. We all did."
Her last bit of hope faltered. What about the commitment he’d made to her? He’d promised her a way home every six weeks.
He braced one hand on his hip. "What if… if we leave tomorrow, you could take the day off on Monday. I'm sure the families would understand."
She swallowed tightly. "I had planned to start a new type of arithmetic problem on Monday. And I would hate to ask you to miss Sunday morning services."
And she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be trapped in a buggy alongside John for half a day. Not after rejecting his overture of friendship.
“What about next weekend, then? You could give the children a day off on Friday and have an extra day at home."
She was disappointed, but she couldn't see any other way that this would work. “And if the stage isn't running again?"
"Then I'll pay one of my freighters to take you home.” He smiled a charming smile, and she felt her heartbeat speed up.
Aware of all the eyes on them, she tempered her responding smile. "I suppose it will have to do." She would call her uncle Maxwell later and see if he could deliver the message to her parents that she wouldn’t be coming home this weekend.
"You should stay."
She turned, not acknowledging his statement. As she made her way toward the house, one of her younger students, Ethel, rushed up to her. "Miss White, you're here!"
The thought that she might sneak away unnoticed and enjoy a quiet morning in the boardinghouse quickly evaporated as two of her students’ mothers engaged her in conversation. She found herself helping set out the bountiful meal and watching the antics of the younger students as they played tug-of-war with a length of rope.
No matter how she attempted to keep from doing otherwise, she constantly found her gaze drawn to where John worked with the men. There was a definite snap in the air, but the men were working hard, and as the sun rose in the sky, most of them shed their coats.
John braced one of the walls with seve
ral other men as it was nailed into place. Even from here, she could see the muscles in his shoulders and back beneath his white work shirt.
"He's a hard worker," Lucy said, not attempting to hide her grin as she joined Cecilia.
Cecilia startled, not realizing she had been staring. “Hmm?” Perhaps if she pretended she didn't know what the other woman was talking about…
But Lucy wasn't so easily fooled. "John. He's a hard worker, and he's easy on the eyes."
A blush stole into Cecilia's cheeks. “The town has certainly benefited from John’s work. And no doubt the Campbells will appreciate his help today.”
Lucy’s eyebrows twitched, but she left it alone. "How are things in the classroom?"
Cecilia appreciated the subject change. “The children are dedicated. We've been preparing for a spelling bee."
“Mrs. Sullivan told me about how you've been having trouble with a mouse in the classroom."
The children had been all abuzz when a tiny mouse had run across the floor on Wednesday morning. Since then, it had been spotted twice more.
Cecilia found the mouse’s sudden appearance suspicious. She suspected Ruth was behind it. Cecilia had checked the classroom carefully as she had closed it up on Wednesday afternoon. The seal on the window was tight, and so was the door. There were no holes where the mouse could've entered on its own.
She had left the door open during the afternoon in hopes that the animal would let himself out.
When it had reappeared on Friday after lunchtime, she couldn't help but suspect that Ruth had somehow been involved. She hadn't seen the girl release the mouse into the classroom, but someone had to be behind it.
Her other students seemed happy to be there. They were studious and attentive and engaged.
Ruth was the lone holdout.
Whatever John had said to his sister had made her sit quietly through lessons. She did the work assigned to her, but she rarely spoke to Cecilia without being called upon. When they ate dinner together at Mrs. Fitzgerald's table, Ruth’s sickly sweet smile was too saccharine to be real. Cecilia continued to be consistent with kindness and dedication to the girl’s learning. She was determined to win her over.
"I'm certain our little guest will find its way out of the classroom soon enough."
“Do you think one of the children brought in the mouse?” Lucy asked. “Maybe Ruth?”
Cecilia hadn’t breathed a word of her suspicion to anyone. Was it a lucky guess on Lucy’s part? She shrugged noncommittally.
"Maybe she needs a mother figure in her life," Lucy said with a smile.
“The mouse?”
“Ruth.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald had finally ceased her matchmaking attempts. Was Cecilia now to be subjected to the same from John’s friend?
Cecilia opened her mouth to tell the other woman off, but Lucy only laughed and walked away, attaching herself to one of the other mothers.
The barn came together quickly. With so many helping hands, they finished the task by lunchtime.
John was aware of Cecilia's eyes on him. And every time he looked her direction, she glanced away, pretending she hadn't been staring.
He couldn't understand why she continued to reject his friendship. She was obviously attracted to him, and it was reciprocated. Every time he chanced to be around her, he was reminded how beautiful and dedicated and smart she was. Maybe the stage delay was a blessing in disguise. Maybe they could eat lunch together.
He looked forward to diving into some of the delicious dishes he knew were spread on the tables. He was heading toward the water pump behind the house when he caught sight of Peter Sullivan in the middle of the yard, holding up the length of rope the children had been using for tug-of-war earlier.
"Come on, fellas,” the man called out. “Us farmers want to challenge you townies."
John thought about the food waiting for him. He could see some of the women standing in the shade behind the house, looking on.
"I think we already proved who can swing a hammer," Bart called out in response. He was trudging past the other man, uninterested in the challenge.
But Jamison joined the first man at the rope. “C’mon, John. We know your hands get a lot of use, flipping them papers in your office."
His words made John laugh outright. He hauled heavy logs and cut lumber all day long, and everyone knew it. He had a physical job and was glad to put in the work.
He was also aware of Cecilia when she emerged from the kitchen and stepped out onto the grass. A gust of wind plastered her skirt against her legs, and she lifted one hand to shield her eyes from the sunshine overhead.
He had never been one to back down from a challenge. It had nothing to do with the pretty woman watching him.
"You really gonna let these guys put me down?" he called after Bart.
The man turned, wearing a grin as he approached John and the other men gathered at the far end of the rope.
"Let's make quick work of them,” Bart said. “I’m hungry. And I happen to know my wife brought a cherry pie."
John's stomach rumbled agreement. The rope was sun-bleached and bit into John’s hand as he gripped it. If Sullivan wanted to lose, John was happy to oblige.
They quickly gathered five men on each team, the farmers and those who lived out of town versus the men who lived and worked in town. Children laughed and clapped, gathering around as the men lined up along the rope. The women stayed further back, whispering and watching. They were almost as obvious in their enjoyment as the children.
Someone yelled “Go!” and John braced his feet against the ground, leaning his weight back into the rope as the other men did the same. They gained a few inches on the other team and then lost them again as Jamison gave a mighty heave.
John hadn’t even begun to pull. He’d only leaned his body weight. Bart, inches behind him, grunted.
"You ready?" Bart asked.
John knew that, between swinging his heavy hammer all day at the forge and wrangling large animals the rest of the time, Bart was made of muscles.
John nodded.
The two of them gave a mighty heave that started the beginning of the end for the other team. One man lost his footing, and that was all it took. John's team pulled the rope loose, falling to the ground when the other team let go.
Dust and grass flew when he landed on his posterior, and he couldn't help the great belly laugh that rumbled out of him. Bart helped him to his feet, and he slapped his friend on the shoulder. “They should never have challenged us."
Bart grinned, his teeth flashing white against his tanned face.
They went together to wash up, John still smiling as he splashed his face with water. The shock of cold felt good after a morning of hard work and the last few minutes of playful effort.
There was plenty of back slapping and teasing as the men converged on the food tables. A couple of the farmers pretended to be sore losers, their grins belying the complaints as they filled their plates.
Cecilia had joined the Stauck family and their two boys about Ruth’s age. She perched on the edge of a picnic blanket in the sun.
He visually checked to see that Ruth was taken care of. She was running in the yard, playing a game of tag with several of the littler kids. John knew she would eat when she got hungry. She was old enough to fill her own plate.
Since the Staucks were his friends, too, he moved to join them. Cecilia glanced up as he neared. With five of them taking up space on the blanket, there wasn't room for him. He saw the color slip into her cheeks and guessed that she had chosen that blanket in particular so that he wouldn't have a place to join them.
He grinned so she would know he didn't harbor any hard feelings. And then he plopped onto the grass beside her. It felt good to stretch out and let his elbow take the weight of his torso. The sun beat down on his bare head, but the breeze was plenty cool.
"I'm glad you stayed," he said. "Thought I heard you cheering me on just now."
She shook
her head, and he saw the exasperated light in her eyes.
It made him grin. He crunched into a carrot stick.
"I believe your efforts this morning have made you delusional,” she murmured. "What I saw was a bunch of men acting like schoolboys."
Mr. Stauck laughed, and John mimed taking an arrow to the heart.
Cecilia had color high in her cheeks, and a smile played at the corner of her lips. He wanted to see it grow. She held herself so distant. Careful to be proper, not to make a misstep at any time. What would it take to get her to soften her hold on her tightly leashed emotions?
"Miss White was just telling me that her… aunt? Is the author of several dime novels." Mrs. Stauck said.
She won the smile from Cecilia. “My family lineage is hard to remember. Emma is my aunt, by marriage, though she is a couple years younger than I am."
"How interesting,” John said. “I suppose you've read all of her books."
Cecilia nodded. Her eyes didn't quite meet his. "Of course."
"Maybe someday I'll read one."
This time her eyes flashed to his, and he held her gaze.
She blushed and looked away.
"What are the books about?" Mrs. Stauck asked.
Cecilia seemed relieved to turn her attention away from John. He hung on every word.
"They are tall tales for certain. You know that farming and ranching are full of day-to-day drudgery." The other woman nodded. "Emma writes adventure. The characters in her novels always get into so much trouble. An out-of-control stagecoach. A stampede of buffalo. A bank robbery."
Whatever humor he had been enjoying fled at her words. There was a rushing in his ears, and he missed Mrs. Stauck’s reply.
He knew Cecilia was talking about a book. No one in Granbury knew about his past or what his parents had done.
Even so, his discomfort grew, and he let their conversation wash over him, paying particular attention to the food on his plate. It all tasted like sand now.
He’d come here intending to force his friendly presence onto Cecilia. But how could he ask her to consider a friendship when he couldn’t even tell her the truth about where he’d come from?
Winning the Schoolmarm: Wyoming Legacy (Wind River Hearts Book 14) Page 7
