“You act like you’ve never been to a box social before.”
“I haven’t.” She giggled. “I wonder who will buy mine.”
Enchanted by her playfulness, Michael pulled her aside, into the shadow of the feed store awning. He didn’t realize he intended to kiss her until suddenly she was looking up at him, her face bathed in the lamplight, eyes shining in wonder. He slid his hands up her arms and lightly rested them on her neck. Drawing a quick, shallow breath, he traced the line of her jaw with both thumbs, his fingers laced in locks of silken tresses.
“Star,” he breathed, just before closing his lips over hers. She responded clumsily at first; and, delighted, Michael knew she’d never been kissed. The realization only made him desire her more, and he gathered her closer. She melded against him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Dizzy with the feel of her in his arms, the sweetness of her surrender to his kisses, Michael almost lost all sense of reason and begged her to become his wife. He might have, if she hadn’t pulled away just then, released a soft sigh, and rested her head gently against his chest. His heart pounded and he knew she must hear her name on every beat; but the trusting nature of the simple movement cooled his passion and evoked such tenderness within his breast, he laid his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes, willing his heart to return to normal.
“We better get to the social, or someone will buy your box and I won’t be there to punch him in the nose.”
She glanced up at him and smiled shyly. “All right.”
He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm once more. “Unless of course you want to tell me what to look for. In which case, I won’t have to beat anyone up and steal your box away.”
“No, Sir. You’ll just have to be a good sport.”
Raucous laughter blended with the sound of rowdy music coming from the saloon up ahead. A man stumbled outside, accompanied by a lady of the evening.
Michael scowled. “Let’s cross the street.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you that close to the trash up ahead.”
Star stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him with disbelief. Her lips trembled. “God doesn’t make trash.”
“Maybe not, but someone does, and I’d just as soon not have you exposed to it.”
“Is it me you don’t want exposed to it, Michael, or you?” She stomped indignantly and walked past him.
Reaching out, he snagged her upper arm and stopped her. She wheeled around to face him, anger sparkling in her eyes. “Turn me loose this instant!”
“Lower your voice, please.” Michael couldn’t understand why he’d offended her, but it was obvious she would fight to have her say.
“I refuse to cross the street as though these people are somehow not as good as I. Jesus died for that poor woman’s sins every bit as much as He did for mine.”
“That may be,” he replied through gritted teeth and righ-teous indignation, “but you aren’t living in that sin. You have asked forgiveness for anything you did in the past and are living a respectable life.”
“You don’t know her! Maybe she has no choice. Maybe she needs help.” She shook her head in disgust. “If the good, respectable folks of Hobbs would give women like that a chance, maybe they could change their lives, raise their daughters in a little house somewhere, and go to church without feeling like society’s trash. Ever think of that?”
“Star. . .” She just didn’t understand that women such as this one couldn’t change who they were. Sarah never could.
“Don’t! I’ll not have you escort me to the social. You can’t miss my box. I used the fabric left over from making this dress to decorate it. I wanted to surprise you and make it easy for you to figure out which was mine. But I will thank you not to do any bidding for my box tonight.” With that she spun around and walked along the boardwalk, her heels clacking with every step. Michael bristled when she smiled at the lady of the evening as she passed. “Lovely night, isn’t it? I’m so happy the rain has stopped.”
The woman and man gaped after her. Then the woman turned, as though to head back inside. Michael drew in a breath at the pensive look that covered her face. But when she caught him staring at her, her eyebrows drew up and her lips curved into a sensual smile.
Disgusted, he looked away and crossed the street. Lie down with pigs, rise up dirty and stinking of the same filth as the animals. He’d gone that route before and had no intention of ever doing it again, nor would he allow any woman he married to voice such opinions and become fodder for speculation and gossip. If Star was to be his wife, she’d have to learn to keep to her own side of the street.
One question burned in his mind. . . . On which side did she belong?
Twelve
Star’s heart raced when Reverend Hank, acting as auctioneer, held up her box for display.
Michael stepped forward, poised for action. Star slammed her hands on her hips. Clearly he hadn’t taken her seriously when she’d told him not to bid on her box. Well, he wouldn’t get away with it. She’d sooner eat with a skunk.
“Now, this is lovely,” Hank called. “And if I’m not mistaken, I smell fried chicken, fresh bread.” He lifted the cover ever so slightly, then looked over the room, a wide grin on his face. “Mmm. . .and apple pie. A meal fit for a king. Who wants to start the bidding?”
Michael glanced at her, and Star sent him the full force of her glare. With a scowl, he turned toward his brother. “Fifty cents.”
Hank’s lips twitched into a smirk, and he looked across the room. “Fifty cents? Are you young men going to let this delicious meal go for only fifty cents? Just smelling this wonderful aroma has my stomach grumbling something fierce. I’m awfully tempted to bid on it myself.”
“All right. Fifty-five cents.” Michael’s annoyed voice filled the room, and suddenly the place roared with laughter. Star covered her mouth with her hand to suppress her own mirth.
Michael’s face flooded with color at the realization that he’d just upped his own bid. He looked around with a sheepish grin and shrugged. “I’m partial to apple pie.”
“Sixty cents!” Star turned to see Joe had placed a bid for her box. And then it began. From all over the room, bids of a nickel more each came in, raising the price until, at two dollars, most of the men dropped out, including Joe. Michael and Mr. Cole, a lean farmer who ate frequently at the restaurant, seemed to be warring for the box. Hank glanced at her and winked. Star’s eyes widened. He knew it was hers! Did that mean Mr. Cole knew too? Or was it just a coincidence that he kept trying to outbid Michael?
“Looks like Michael is going to have some competition from now on.” Star turned at the sound of Rosemary’s voice.
“But how did Mr. Cole know the box was mine?”
“Besides the fact that it matches your dress?” Rosemary’s teasing laugh was infectious.
Star giggled. “I didn’t want to take any chances that Michael wouldn’t figure out which one was mine.”
“A stroke of genius!” Rosemary looped her arm through Star’s and glanced toward the men. “The bid is up to three dollars. Who do you think will win?”
“From the look on Michael’s face, I don’t think he’ll let it go, short of mortgaging the farm.”
Rosemary threw back her head and laughed. “I think you may be right. But Mr. Cole looks pretty determined as well. I’ve noticed he spends a lot of time staring at you during services.”
Dismissing Rosemary’s observation with a wave, Star sniffed. “I wouldn’t want a man who can’t pay attention in church.”
Glancing about, Star found plenty of eyes focused on her. Apparently everyone had figured out that the box was hers, and clearly they were tired of the bidding war. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to get on with the auction. Everyone, that was, except for, perhaps, the members of the ladies society who were no doubt hearing the lovely ringing of a new bell.
Stepping forward, Star released an exasperated breath. “I’m going to
put a stop to this.”
Rosemary grabbed her arm. “Wait. Let them drive the bidding price a little higher. They can both afford it, and bells aren’t cheap.” She gave a teasing grin. “Just a couple of dollars more?”
“Seven dollars!” Michael’s steady, determined voice rang out. The man had lost his mind! Seven dollars for a boxed dinner that, truth be told, Rosemary had cooked while Star worked at Joe’s. The only thing Star had been responsible for was the decorating. She’d done none of the cooking.
“Seven fifty!” Mr. Cole called out, his voice just as determined as Michael’s.
Star managed to capture Michael’s gaze. She silently pleaded with him to stop the humiliating event. The intensity of his returning stare sizzled the air between them, and Star knew he was remembering the kiss they’d shared, just as she was doing.
“Seven fifty?” Obviously, Hank could barely contain himself, so amused was he by Michael’s competition. “Going once. . .”
Michael’s eyes went wide, and he snapped to attention. “Hey, I’m not finished! Eight dollars.”
“Eight fifty.” Mr. Cole stepped next to Michael, clearly challenging him. Michael’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw muscle jumped as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. “Ten dollars!” he called.
Rosemary chuckled. “Ten dollars is a big help toward the bell. Be my guest at putting a stop to this battle before everyone starves to death.”
Star nodded. Stomping to the front of the room, she stood before them both. “This is ridiculous,” she said, including both in her glare. “You’re embarrassing me and making spectacles of yourselves.”
“I’ll risk the humiliation for dinner with you, Miss Star,” Mr. Cole said, grinning at her.
“That’s very sweet of you, Mr. Cole.”
“Call me Thomas.”
“No, thank you. The fact is that Michael and I are courting.” She bristled at the look of triumph on Michael’s face. “Although I’m mad as a wet hen at him right now, and I have no intention of eating with him even if he spends a hundred dollars on that cold chicken.”
“You two are courting, for sure?” Thomas asked, looking from one to the other.
“Yes,” Star replied. “So don’t waste your money if you’re hoping for anything more than dinner. I won’t accept anyone else as a suitor.”
Extending his hand to Michael, the farmer grinned. “Looks like you got yourself a ten-dollar meal, Riley. You’re a lucky fellow.” He turned to the room and put up his hands in surrender. “The lady has convinced me to concede. Preacher, bring out the next box, and maybe I can find another dinner companion to help mend my wounded pride.”
“That’s the spirit, Cole,” Hank said. Through a smattering of laughter and congratulations to Michael, Hank handed over the box. He patted his brother’s shoulder and grabbed the next one in line. “Mmm. . .what a surprise. This one smells like fried chicken and fresh bread too.”
Michael turned to Star. “Come on, I need to talk to you.”
Folding her arms across her chest, Star jerked her chin. “I refuse to eat with you. You just wasted your hard-earned dollars.”
“Ten minutes?” he asked, his lips close to her ear. He took her by the elbow, the warmth of his hand and tickle of his breath making her knees go weak.
“F–fine. Ten minutes. But that’s all.”
They looked around for a quiet spot, but with the bidding and laughter going on, there was none to be had. “Do you mind going outside?” Michael asked. “I know it’s a little chilly.”
“It’s not so bad,” Star replied. “Just let me grab my shawl.”
Michael stepped back and allowed Star to walk outside ahead of him. “How about walking back to the boardinghouse and eating this in the kitchen?”
So much for only giving him ten minutes, but her curiosity got the better of her. “All right. I’m sure Mrs. Barker won’t object as long as I clean up any mess we make. There will be plenty of chaperones in the house.”
With a bit of annoyance, she noticed he led her to the opposite side of the street so they wouldn’t have to walk past the saloon. She remained silent, and so did he. The last hour, she’d felt his presence as strongly as if he’d been next to her, although in truth, she’d avoided him. Hearing him call the saloon girl trash had been more than she could overlook without speaking out. Her heart ached at the thought that one day in the past, he might have been talking about her own mother—her mother, who had felt she had no choice but to stay in that life. Luke had convinced her that she couldn’t raise Star without his help. But Star knew they would have been all right if they’d moved somewhere away from the mining and lumber camps. Somewhere folks wouldn’t be likely to recognize them.
When the music from the saloon across the street reached them, Star ventured a peek at Michael. “There are always two sides to any story, you know.”
He slipped his arm about her shoulders and drew her close as they continued to walk. “I know, Honey.” His gentle endearment and protective gesture sent shivers up her spine and soothed her troubled thoughts. Maybe things would be all right between them, after all.
Once they were clear of the saloon, Michael tightened his hold, and they crossed the street. “I need to explain my side of the story. I know it seems that I’m unusually harsh. But I have to be. That life is the most abominable I can imagine.”
He gathered a shaky breath and stopped walking just before they climbed the boardinghouse steps. He removed his arm from around her and took her hand in one of his. “Can we sit out here for a few minutes? I’d rather not discuss this where folks might hear.”
Dread clenched Star’s stomach. She nodded, and they sat on the step. Michael set the boxed lunch on the landing behind them. Shifting so that they nearly faced, he drew another deep breath. “First, I’m sorry I was so abrupt with you earlier.”
“I forgive you, Michael,” she said softly, taken aback by the seriousness of his demeanor. She braced herself. Would he tell her he realized she wasn’t the woman for him? Maybe their argument earlier had convinced him that she could never be good enough for him. Although, the fact of the matter was that he knew nothing of her life. He didn’t know why Clem had been chasing her or why Luke wanted her back. It wasn’t possible that he knew about her mother or that Luke wanted her to work the men at the saloon. Gathering a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. She gave him a nod of encouragement.
“I want to tell you about Aimee’s mother.”
So, that was it. He had realized he could never love her the way he’d loved his Sarah. She would never measure up to the woman he’d practically enshrined. The woman whose Bible he’d given to Star. The pain clouding his features bespoke his reluctance to hurt her, and she didn’t have the heart to let him. She reached forward with her free hand and pressed her fingers to his lips.
“It’s all right, Michael. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want you to. I don’t need to know about Sarah to understand why you can never love the likes of me.”
A frown creased his brow, and he took her hand in his, kissed it hard, then pressed it to his chest. “That’s not it. I could easily love you, but we can’t take this relationship forward until you understand why I feel so strongly about things being right and proper.”
There was that word. . . . Star couldn’t think of any word more disconcerting than “proper.” Unless it was “respectable.”
“You have to understand,” he went on, “why I hate places like that saloon and why I don’t want my family anywhere near those people.”
Those people. Star inwardly retreated. She had to tell him the truth. But if she did, she’d lose him. Her heart cried out to God. Why did You allow me to fall in love with a man who will never love me once he finds out where I come from? Oh, Lord, help me trust You with my heart.
“Star, my wife was one of those women before I married her.”
A gasp escaped Star’s lips, and she felt the blood drain from her cheeks.
“
I took Sarah out of a house like that.”
“Y–you used to go visit the saloon girls?”
“Wha—? Oh, of course not. Never! I was walking past the saloon one morning when I saw her. She was hurt. I found her crying and couldn’t pass her by. She was so lovely and fragile. I just. . .” He glanced at Star and shrugged, shaking his head. “I fell in love with her at first sight.”
A twinge of jealousy pinched at Star, but she forced it away.
“She convinced me that she wanted to leave that life. She knew all the right things to say. Her pa was a preacher. As she grew up, he’d beaten her every day, until she ran from him. When she went to work for the man who owned the saloon, she figured it couldn’t be any worse than the daily beatings. By the time I met her, she’d been a saloon girl for nearly two years.”
Tears burned Star’s eyes. She’d heard that story—or a form of it—over and over.
“Don’t you see, Michael? Not one little girl is born with a desire to grow up and become a prostitute. We all dream of marrying our handsome prince and raising babies, taking care of a home. Circumstances force many young girls into such a life. They don’t want it, don’t plan it, but it happens. We can’t turn our backs on them. Can’t treat them as though they have less worth than we do just because we were blessed to escape.”
His eyes flicked quickly to hers. “Escape?”
Her impassioned pleas fell silent, and she lowered her gaze, afraid she might let slip more than she felt ready to reveal. “Anyone who grows up in a loving home and isn’t forced into that life has escaped it.”
“But I rescued Sarah. Or at least I tried to.” He released a short, bitter laugh. “She never returned to that place. I bought her new clothes and married her before I’d known her three hours. I adored her. I thought she loved me too; but before long, I realized that I was only a means to an end for her. She’d never intended to stay with me in the first place. She only used me to escape the man who owned the saloon. He’d taken to beating her, and she’d determined to do whatever it took to get away. When she found out she was carrying Aimee, she flew into a rage. I had to practically sit on her for nine months to keep her from doing something to harm the child she carried.” He drew a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that part.”
But For Grace (HEARTSONG PRESENTS - HISTORICAL) Page 13