Winning the Schoolmarm: Wyoming Legacy (Wind River Hearts Book 14)

by Lacy Williams

Michael landed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "No one's going to hear any gossip from me. But this is a small town. The first time anyone sees you together as a couple, tongues will wag. Every family with a child was anxious to get a schoolteacher here. They aren't gonna want to lose her."

  John knew that. He also knew that Cecilia wanted to keep teaching. He knew that, in most cases once a woman got married, she left the schoolroom. But he was head of the school board. And he was pretty sure he could get Tellers and Collins to agree with him that it was a ridiculous rule. Surely there was no reason Cecilia couldn't stay on if they married.

  He was getting ahead of himself.

  "I've got to get her to agree to be seen with me first," he said.

  Michael’s brows went up. "She doesn't feel the same way about you?"

  John thought again about the yearning in her expression that night in the kitchen. And the swirl of her skirt as she fled. “She likes me. She just won’t admit it."

  His friend laughed. "You're the handsomest devil I know. You can talk the ear off a mule. And you run a successful business. You're telling me you can't charm her into taking a walk with you?”

  John took offense. "I haven’t exactly tried yet. That's why I was asking for your help. How do I get her to—?” He didn't even know what he wanted. To take long walks together. That sounded mighty fine to him. To have a meal together—at a town picnic perhaps—without Mrs. Fitzgerald and Ruth hanging on every word. That could work too. Right now, he was so smitten he would even settle for her reading a dictionary to him.

  His friend took pity on him. “You promised to get her home to her family, didn't you?"

  He had. But he didn't quite see what Michael meant.

  “If you drove her home, it’d be a lot of hours together in a buggy, or maybe a sleigh if we get some snow. Plenty of time to woo her. And no witnesses around to spread gossip."

  John lit up. It was a perfect idea. Why hadn't he thought of it? "You are a bona fide genius," he told his friend.

  "Of course, if the stage comes through town, you won't have a chance."

  That was true. But John could phone the nearest station and ask them to hold the stage. He could bribe the driver to skip the Granbury stop for one more week.

  It was a little bit devious. The part of him he’d buried for two years rejoiced at the idea. And he really wanted to spend the time with Cecilia.

  But the new John, the man who insisted on Ruth making restitution for her petty theft, didn’t like the idea of deceiving Cecilia just to get her alone.

  His two sides were at war.

  What should he do?

  Ultimately, John decided to bide his time. He didn't want any hint of deception between him and Cecilia, even if it was for a good cause.

  He’d leave it up to chance. If the stage arrived, he would not keep her from taking a solo trip home this weekend. There would always be the next trip, and maybe he could even get her to agree to let him escort her home. Then there would be no point in finagling behind the scenes.

  Hope crackled through him like static on a cold day.

  He’d sent Michael on to deliver the load of wood planks, and now he was dawdling on the boardwalk as he walked home. He was passing Jamison’s store when he caught sight of a pretty lace shawl in the window.

  Would Cecilia like it? Christmas was coming, and…

  He was getting ahead of himself again. She hadn’t agreed to his friendship or anything more.

  Plus, what would Jamison say if John went inside to purchase it?

  Still, he couldn’t help imagining Cecilia with the shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

  Except for Sunday mornings, she always wore serviceable clothes. Dresses that wouldn't show dirt or grime as she worked in the schoolroom. Even on Sundays, her finery showed simple tastes. He could just imagine her in the shawl...

  Christmas was still six weeks away. It would be silly to buy it now. He didn't know what would happen between them in the next six weeks. He didn't know whether she would even like something as fancy as the shawl.

  He would wait a couple weeks, even though he itched to go inside and ask Jamison to put it on hold for him. He forced his feet to move on down the boardwalk.

  He was on the opposite side of the street when he caught sight of someone dismounting from a horse in front of the livery. Something about the man beneath the derby bowler hat struck John, and he stopped to take a closer look.

  The silver mustache, and that scar on the man's neck…

  He turned, and John saw his face.

  It was Charles Torres.

  The bottom of John's stomach fell out. He hadn't seen Torres in almost three years. The last time, he and Pa had struck some kind of deal. John didn't know the details, and then the robbery had gone bad, and John had run away from his old life as fast as he could.

  He crossed the street toward Torres, every sense alert for danger.

  "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

  The other man took stock of him. His eyes roved up and down. John knew he was mussed and dirty, sawdust coating his boots and lining every crease in his clothes.

  "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

  John wanted to shout that Torres was no friend of his. He had never thought to see the other man again. He was a reminder of the past John had walked away from. Worry swirled through him.

  “Hey, John.” Bart walked out of the livery’s large barn door. “How’s it going?”

  John was frustrated by the interruption but tried to stifle it.

  “Hello, Bart.”

  “This a friend of yours?”

  A refusal sprang to John’s lips, but he didn’t get it out.

  "I'm Charles Torres.” He stuck out his hand in greeting. "I'm an old friend of John's."

  "He and my father were friends," John corrected quickly. He didn't know what Torres meant by showing up here, but he needed to do everything he could to distance himself from the other man.

  Bart didn't seem to register John's discomfort. He shook Torres’s hand enthusiastically. "Any friend of John's is welcome here."

  John wanted to correct him, was opening his mouth to do just that when Torres shot him a smirk. "I'm really happy to hear that. I can't wait to catch up with John. Spend some time together.”

  "You planning to stay at the boardinghouse? That's where John and Ruth live."

  John ground his back teeth. He wanted to snap at Bart, ask him to stop revealing information to Torres, but that would tip off Bart that something was the matter. John didn't know whether he was in town for some nefarious purpose.

  The other man's eyes lit up. "I'm not sure how long I'll be in town, but this boardinghouse sounds like a fine idea." He fished a coin out of his pocket. "Can I leave my horse with you?"

  Bart was quick to accept the transaction, still oblivious to the tension that ran between John and Torres.

  There was nothing for it now. At least if Torres was under the boardinghouse roof, John could be sure he wasn't causing trouble somewhere else. He would find out what the other man wanted and send him on his way as quick as he could.

  "I was heading home anyway," John gritted out. "Come along and I'll introduce you to Mrs. Fitzgerald, my landlady."

  Torres took everything in as they walked down the boardwalk, his sharp eyes not missing anything. "Interesting place, Johnnie. Seems to have had something of a revival.”

  John didn't want to reveal anything. "We're a fair pace from anything I might expect you to find interesting. How did you end up out here?"

  "I was down in Casper and heard your name mentioned. I wondered what sort of con you and your folks were running, so I came to find out. Especially after your family up and disappeared on me."

  “My folks are dead."

  No hint of surprise showed on Torres’s face. John knew he was a liar and would only show whatever emotion he thought John wanted to see. But still, the fact that he wasn't surprised told John he had already known.

/>   John lowered his voice. "I'm not running any con. Ruth and I came here for a new start."

  Torres’s expression didn’t change.

  John rolled his shoulders. "I work to earn an honest living. And I'd appreciate it if you would head on out of town."

  Torres’s eyes narrowed slightly, and then his expression smoothed. “I’m turning my life around too. Tired of always having to watch my words."

  John wished he could believe the man, but he’d grown up with a pa and ma who’d played fast and loose with the truth. If Pa were here, he would've said the same thing to get in John's good graces.

  It wasn't going to work.

  "It'll be good to catch up.” Torres smiled, but it was the smile of a predator. A smile John recognized.

  With Torres at the boardinghouse, John would have to be vigilant. Keep him away from Mrs. Fitzgerald, Ruth, and Cecilia.

  And beyond that, he needed to find a way to get Torres out of town. Fast.

  11

  "Ruth, please stay after class."

  There were soft murmurs and whispers from a few of the school children as they picked up their belongings and left the classroom at the end of the day.

  Cecilia ignored them.

  She had thought long and hard about how she might reach Ruth, and she'd concluded that she couldn't let the poison ivy trick go unpunished. She rose from behind her desk and fetched the broom from the corner, then brought it to where Ruth sat with her arms crossed at her desk.

  "That was a mean trick you played on me. Today, and every day this week, you will stay after class to help me clean the classroom. Start by sweeping the floors."

  At first Ruth looked as if she would refuse, but after a tense pause, she stood and grabbed the broom out of Cecilia's hand. She swept while Cecilia left the classroom and toted an armful of wood for the potbelly stove inside.

  Cecilia couldn't help but notice that the girl was purposely doing a bad job. Her strokes were small, and she’d missed the corners. Cecilia knew she could do better. She had done so when she’d offered to clean the room that very first day.

  "Do it again," Cecilia said firmly. "I know you can do better."

  Ruth sighed, but she started the task over again. This time she got all the dust she had missed before. She put the broom back in its place and then looked at Cecilia with her hands on her hips. "Is that all?"

  "No. Please wash off the blackboard."

  The girl gave a obstinate jut of her chin, and Cecilia braced for her to refuse. She wasn't sure if she would be forced to take it up with John, but the girl ultimately set about the task.

  As Ruth worked, Cecilia glanced over her lesson plans for the morning, deciding to swap the spelling practice for math.

  "My brother isn't looking for a wife, if that's what you're thinking."

  Cecilia startled, the unexpected words a surprise.

  "I don't think anything about your brother." It was a white lie. Since the almost-kiss, she’d thought about John with great frequency.

  She had promised herself she wasn't going to get involved with any man, much less the chairman of the school board, the man who held her fate at the Granbury school in his hands. But everything she’d learned about John had softened her toward him. He was doing his best by Ruth. He helped his friends when they needed it. He seemed a decent man.

  She was so confused.

  "He was almost married once," Ruth said.

  Cecilia pretended not to hear her. The girl’s rag swished almost angrily on the blackboard.

  "Her name was Miranda, and he courted her for months. She was so pretty. Much prettier than you."

  Cecilia kept her head down, her pen scritching across the paper. She tried to ignore Ruth, but the barb hit home. Cecilia had never had a real suitor. She knew she was plain. Nothing compared to Susie, whose beauty seemed to captivate everyone.

  As if Ruth could sense her morose thoughts, she went on, her voice slightly smug now. "They were really and truly in love. Her father didn't approve of the match, but John didn't care. He got down on one knee and proposed to her in the most romantic way. Then a week before the wedding, she died in a stagecoach accident."

  Cecilia glanced over her shoulder and saw that Ruth had left one corner of the blackboard unwashed. "You've missed a spot." She pointed.

  Ruth’s eyes sparked. "He told me he'll never love anyone else." She said the words almost defiantly.

  Cecilia stood from her desk and gathered her lunch pail and the school books she intended to take home.

  The story sounded as far-fetched as one of Emma's dime novels. What man told his sister such private details?

  John had never mentioned a broken heart from his past.

  Maybe Ruth hoped telling Cecilia that John's heart was unavailable would scare her off.

  Ruth had to know that all Cecilia needed to do was ask John for the truth.

  Wait. When had she started believing she could trust John?

  Cecilia took the washrag from Ruth but stopped her from leaving with a hand on her shoulder. "My duty is to you and my other students. I made a promise to myself that I would not let anything in my life interfere with your schooling. If you continue to cause problems in the classroom, you will be punished. But I will never kick you out. Maybe I’ll even insist on more tutoring at home. Would you like that? Working together more closely?”

  The girl said nothing, but Cecilia saw her eyes widen infinitesimally. Maybe that was a cruel thing to do—threaten the girl with more schoolwork.

  But Cecilia needed Ruth to understand that she was not going to let this behavior go.

  Cecilia remained determined to be invited back to teach at Granbury again.

  John needed to talk to Cecilia.

  Somehow Friday evening had arrived before he was ready. He’d spent two days subtly following Torres around town. He still had no idea what the man hoped to accomplish by showing up in Granbury. So far, Torres had introduced himself around. He’d been obvious about making friends. He’d even helped Jamison load up a wagon with supplies.

  John didn’t know his purpose. And what exactly could he accuse Torres of? Making friends?

  But his presence made John twitchy.

  Earlier in the day John had received some bad news from the stage office. Now Ruth had gone to bed, and he was trying to out-wait Mrs. Fitzgerald. He nursed a cup of coffee at his desk in the sitting room.

  The two women were sitting in the parlor conversing. He didn't know where Torres was this evening. The man hadn't been present for the dinner meal.

  He didn't know what to do.

  He was either going to upset Cecilia or put his friends at risk.

  It was Cecilia who rose from the sofa first, taking her needlepoint with her.

  He stood as well. "Miss White, I need to speak with you privately."

  Her eyes flicked to him.

  With Torres in town, he hadn’t had a chance to speak with her about what happened between them.

  Cecilia had seemed grateful to have another person at the dining room table during suppertime this week, and she had quickly assured John it was fine if he missed some tutoring sessions.

  Now she said, “I would prefer it if you said what you need to say in front of Mrs. Fitzgerald."

  The older woman raised her eyebrows but studiously kept her gaze on the knitting in her lap.

  John cleared his throat. He didn’t particularly want an audience for what he had to say, but it couldn't wait.

  "I had a phone call from the stagecoach company. The stage won't be through tomorrow." It was ironic that the solution Michael had suggested on Monday was necessary now, when he needed to stay and watch over Granbury.

  Cecilia frowned. “You promised you would make sure I had a way to get home."

  He sighed. "I thought to drive you there myself. Bart thinks it's going to snow, and we’d need to use a sleigh, but it wouldn't be a problem. "

  She glanced at Mrs. Fitzgerald. "I don't know whether it would b
e proper for us to be alone together for that long."

  Mrs. Fitzgerald shrugged. "You’ve got nothing to fear from John. He's good folk."

  Cecilia frowned. "That's not what I meant. Wouldn't people talk? Speculate about a relationship between us?”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald shrugged. "I never did abide by gossip. John is your boss, and it's his duty to make sure you get home safely."

  Cecilia's lips were still pinched.

  "Our being alone together doesn't concern me," he said. "Everyone in town knows what kind of a woman you are. Your actions speak for themselves. It's Torres that I'm worried about."

  Mrs. Fitzgerald looked up. "I thought you were friends."

  John shook his head. "He was friends with my pa. I don't trust him."

  Mrs. Fitzgerald squinted. "Should I be worried about my safety?"

  "I never would've brought him under your roof if I thought you were in danger," John said. "But he and my father were… schemers, I guess you could say."

  John had kept the family business a secret for so long that he was afraid of what Mrs. Fitzgerald would think if he told her now. He couldn’t risk it.

  "My family is expecting me," Cecilia said stiffly. "I don't want to wait another week or six to have a chance to see them."

  He rubbed the back of his neck, where an ache threatened to bloom into more. "I know it's not right to ask you—”

  “Then don't ask me," she said quickly. "Isn't there anyone else who could drive me?"

  “Michael’s wife is about to have her baby. I can't ask him."

  "I reckon you gotta do right by this young lady," Mrs. Fitzgerald said. "It's only for the weekend, right? How much trouble can Torres get up to in a couple of days?"

  If only she knew.

  But John had no choice but to honor the bargain he’d struck with Cecilia, no matter how worried he was about Torres. A small part of him wanted to believe that his pa’s old friend had changed his ways. He’d heard no whispers of Torres asking for money. Would that change if John was out of the picture?

  He was also a little worried that Torres would talk about John's activities in the past. Torres had kept quiet so far. But John didn't know if that was because he had practically been following the man around everywhere or if he had some purpose in it.