The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection #3

by Margaret Brownley

  Flustered, he stood. It wasn’t often that such a lady set foot in his shop. “Miss Davis.”

  It was hotter than blazes, but she looked as cool as a cucumber in a blue skirt and lace shirtwaist that showed off her feminine curves to full advantage. Her outfit was topped by a straw hat tilted at a perky angle.

  “Mr. Colbert,” she said, matching his wary demeanor.

  He reached for a rag on his workbench and mopped his forehead. “What brings you here?”

  “I’ve been. . .thinking.”

  “Go on.”

  “It seems we’ve been sharing the same dog. I believe Mo. . .uh. . .has been taking advantage of us.”

  He’d been thinking along those same lines himself. It was the only thing that made sense.

  “Seems that way.”

  “Since I’ve only had him for a few months and you’ve raised him from a puppy, it seems only right that you claim ownership.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, now.” Praise the Lord, his troubles were about to end. He could now claim the reward money and maybe even repair his undeserved reputation. Who knows? Once the whole story came out, maybe even Maizie would give him a second chance.

  “That’s mighty thoughtful of you, Miss Davis. Sure do appreciate it.” He just wished he didn’t feel so doggone awful. It was obvious she cared deeply for Dyna, just as he did.

  She moistened her lips. “Do you mind if I say good-bye to him?”

  “No, no, of course not. Go right ahead.”

  She stooped next to Dyna and rubbed his head. “I’m going to miss you, Mo, but this is where you belong.”

  Her voice broke, and much to Jed’s dismay, her eyes filled with tears. He felt in his pockets. Blast it all. Of all the times not to have a clean handkerchief on him.

  He moved toward her meaning to comfort her. Take her in his arms even. Make her tears vanish. But before he had a chance to do any of those things, she rose to her feet, lifted her chin as if trying to control her emotions, and backed toward the door.

  “I—I better go,” she stammered. Without another word, she turned and dashed out of the shop.

  “Wait!” He chased after her, catching up to her just as she settled in the seat of her buckboard.

  “Feel free to visit him,” he called up to her. Every day if you want.

  She blinked as if trying to clear her vision. “What?”

  “Dyna. . .Mo.” Whatever his name. “You can visit him any time.”

  She shook her head, and he could see her struggling for control. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It would only prolong the pain. But. . .but thank you anyway. It was very kind of you to offer. Just. . .just take good care of him.” She reached for the reins and drove off.

  Watching her he felt awful. The worst. Lower than dirt. He didn’t do anything wrong, but he sure did feel like a heel.

  He blew out his breath. That crazy dog would be the death of him yet. He spun around and stalked into his shop.

  “Now look what you’ve gone and done, you dumb dog.” He stopped and looked around. “Dyna?” When that got no response, he called, “Mo?”

  He looked under his workbench and behind the forge, but the dog was nowhere to be found.

  Chapter 6

  Arriving home, Marilee hardly had time to remove her gloves and hat when she heard the bark.

  “Oh, no. God, please don’t let that be—”

  But it was. No sooner had she opened the door than Mo bounced inside and took up residence on her green velvet sofa.

  “Mo. Down, now.”

  Mo hopped off the sofa and pranced around barking. Marilee dropped down to her knees and ran her hands through the dog’s soft, fragrant fur. He still smelled pleasant from his earlier bath.

  “You’ve got to go back, Mo. You can’t stay here.” The longer he stayed, the harder it would be to let him go. The problem was she didn’t have time to take him back. A student was due to arrive at any minute. “As soon as I’m finished here, I’m taking you back to Mr. Colbert. Is that clear?”

  A knock on the door announced her student’s arrival, and she hurried to let the child in.

  Jed locked the door to his shop. His horse, Marshal, greeted him with a wicker. He ran his hand along the bay’s neck. Thoughts of Miss Davis continued to plague him. If only she hadn’t looked so devastated when saying good-bye to her. . .his. . .dog.

  “Jed. Yoo-hoo!”

  Much to his surprise, it was Maizie Denton, who hadn’t talked to him since the day Dyna first came home reeking of perfume. He waited for her to cross the street. She was a tall, slender woman with blazing red hair and lively green eyes. She stopped and gazed at him over the saddle of his horse.

  “I heard all about the fight over Dyna,” she said. “It seems I jumped to all the wrong conclusions.”

  He tightened the cinch on the saddle. “Oh?” He frowned. “What conclusions were those?”

  “I accused you of seeing other women.” She did her fluttering-eyelash thing. “All the time it was your dog carrying on.”

  He frowned. “I tried to tell you.”

  “Yes, you did, and I’m really sorry.” Lips pouted, she gave him a beseeching look. “Will you ever forgive me?” she asked in a high-pitched voice usually saved for babies and puppies. When he didn’t answer, she persisted. “Well? Do you or don’t you?”

  “Do I or don’t I what?”

  She looked at him all funny-like. “Forgive me.”

  “Sure. Why not?” he said. He wasn’t one to hold a grudge, but he was still irritated at her for spreading rumors and ruining his reputation.

  It was obvious she wanted him to say more, and when he didn’t, uncertainty crossed her face. “You don’t look like you forgive me.”

  “We’ll talk about this later, Maizie.” He splayed his hands in apology. “I’ve got to go and find Mo.”

  “Who’s Mo?”

  “What?”

  “You said you had to find Mo?”

  “I meant. . .Dyna. I have to find Dyna.”

  Her forehead creased. “I have to say you’re acting very strange,” she said, looking hurt.

  For the second time that day he felt like a heel. None of this was Maizie’s fault. Anyone smelling perfume would naturally assume he was seeing other women. If only she’d trusted him enough to believe him. Or at least trusted his faith in God enough to know he wouldn’t lie to her.

  “I just have a lot on my mind, is all. We’ll talk later.”

  “When later?” she persisted.

  “Tomorrow.”

  Satisfied that he had placated her, he untied his horse from the hitching post and mounted. He avoided her eyes as he turned his horse and galloped out of town.

  No sooner had her student left when Marilee heard a rap at the door. Mo jumped up with wagging tail.

  “Sit, Mo.”

  Mo sat, but only long enough for her to open the door. He then sprang past her and greeted the visitor like a long-lost friend.

  “Mr. Colbert!” she uttered. “You shouldn’t have come all the way out here. I would have brought him back.”

  He looked up from petting the dog. “Jed.”

  “What?”

  “My name’s Jed.”

  “Marilee,” she said without thinking, and he immediately repeated her name as if committing it to memory.

  Normally she would object to such familiarity. But she liked the way her name sounded when he said it—like a rolled piano chord.

  “Please come in,” she said, a bit more primly than she intended. No sense keeping him standing on the porch for all the neighbors to see.

  He straightened and stepped inside, his long lean form seeming to fill her parlor. The room suddenly seemed too small. He knocked against the kerosene lamp, catching it before it fell to the floor. Turning, he almost sent a music box flying off the low table.

  “Sorry,” he said, catching the music box just in time, only to knock against a porcelain figurine. Straightenin
g, he glanced around as if checking for other obstacles. Clearing his throat, he ran a finger around his collar. “About the dog. . .”

  “I had nothing to do with his return,” she said. “He just showed up on my doorstep.”

  “Yes, well it seems we have a problem. But I think I’ve come up with a solution.”

  “A solution?”

  His gaze locked with hers. He really did have nice eyes. Kind eyes. “We could go on just like before. He’s yours from Monday to Friday. The rest of the time he’s mine.”

  She bit her lower lip. “That doesn’t seem fair. You only get him for the weekends.”

  He shrugged. “Not much I can do about that. He made the schedule, not me.”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It does seem like a rather strange arrangement, don’t you think?”

  “It’s no different than what we’ve been putting up with for the last few months.”

  “I suppose. But I do want you to have the reward money. You had Mo first.”

  “Dyna,” he said. “His name is Dynamite.”

  She gave her head a slight shake. “Such an unpleasant name for such a sweet and gentle dog, don’t you think?”

  “Sweet and gentle? He’s a herding dog. Nothing sweet and gentle about that. Put him with a herd of cattle and we’re talking Dyna the Terrible.”

  She glanced at Mo and gasped. He knew better than to sit on the sofa. “Mo, down. Now.”

  Jed frowned. “Is there something wrong with the sofa, ma’am?”

  “What?”

  “The sofa. You were worried about the dog sitting on it. Thought maybe a leg was loose or something. I’ll be glad to fix it if you like.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the sofa. I just don’t want him getting his fur and muddy paws all over the cushions.”

  Jed frowned. “I guess that means he doesn’t get to sleep on your bed either,” he said.

  “Certainly not. No one gets to sleep—”

  He raised a brow, waiting for her to continue. A moment of awkward silence passed between them before she cleared her throat. “Dogs don’t belong on the furniture,” she said.

  “And Dyna agrees to your rules?” he asked, clearly astonished.

  “Dyna doesn’t, but Mo does,” she said.

  He surprised her by laughing. He really was a handsome man when he wasn’t scowling. “That’s all we need, a dog with a dual personality.”

  She laughed, too. She couldn’t help herself.

  He stared at her for a moment before seeming to catch himself. “I won’t keep you any longer.” As he backed toward the door, he bumped into the hat tree, catching it before it toppled over.

  Suddenly she didn’t want him to go. Or maybe she didn’t want to face yet another night alone. “I was just about to have supper. Would you care to join me? I have plenty.”

  He looked surprised by the offer, but no more surprised than she was for making it. “That’s mighty generous of you, ma’am. If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “N–no trouble at all.” Now look what she’d gone and done. Mrs. Pickwick would have a fit if she knew she’d invited the womanizing Mr. Colbert to supper.

  “Make yourself at home,” she said.

  She left him alone with Mo while she escaped to the kitchen. It had been a long time since she’d entertained a gentleman guest. Not that he was a gentleman guest, of course. At least not in the full sense of the word, so there really was no reason for her heart to bounce around like a rubber ball.

  Hands on her chest to still the thumps, she chided herself for behaving like a silly schoolgirl. Now where was she? Oh, yes. The stew. . .

  Chapter 7

  After nearly knocking the lamp over for a second time, Jed looked for a place to sit. Not brave enough to risk his bulk to the spindly chairs, he sat on the only sincere if not altogether stable piece of furniture in the room: the sofa.

  He wasn’t usually so clumsy, but the furniture seemed to crowd in like animals at a water hole. About the only thing he hadn’t knocked against was the bookshelf, which contained at least half as many books as the lending library across town.

  Pulling off his hat, he set it on the cushion next to him and raked his fingers through his hair. Confound it. He needed a haircut. Why hadn’t he thought about that before?

  The delicious smell wafting from the kitchen made him forget his hair. Whatever she was cooking sure did smell good, and his stomach rumbled. Should he join her in the kitchen or wait to be called? The lady seemed to be a stickler for rules, so he better wait.

  Leaning forward, he rubbed his hands between his knees. That’s when he noticed his dusty boots against the pristine red carpet. He lifted one foot and then another, wiping each toe box in turn on the back of his trouser legs.

  “I’m lucky the lady didn’t toss me in the bathtub,” he muttered. He should never have come here straight from the shop.

  As if to commiserate, Dyna sat up, ears perked. Ruff!

  “You got that right. Dealing with women is rough all right.” Especially one who was such a lady.

  “Supper’s ready,” Marilee called.

  Standing, he straightened his vest. He walked into the kitchen just as she set the second plate of stew on the table—and what a table it was. Candles and fresh flowers shared space with gold-trimmed china dishes and sparkling glassware.

  Dyna padded after him and sniffed at the dish on the floor before gulping down his food.

  “It sure does smell good,” he said. “Real good.” He hadn’t had any honest-to-goodness home cooking since Maizie stopped talking to him.

  He held her chair for her before taking a seat opposite. Dyna licked his plate clean and flopped down on the floor between them, resting his head on crossed paws.

  Jed stared down at the confusing amount of silverware. Why anyone needed three forks and two spoons he couldn’t imagine.

  “Would you care to say the blessing?” she asked.

  “Sure thing, ma’am.” He might not know which spoon was which, but he knew how to talk to the Lord. He lowered his head and thanked God for the company, the food, and all that was good in the world. “Amen.”

  “Amen,” she said. She picked up her napkin and, giving it a dainty little shake, spread it across her lap.

  Following her lead, he picked up his own napkin and, forgoing the dainty part, set it on his lap still folded.

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, helping himself to a roll, “what brought you to Bee Flat?”

  “Actually I ended up here by accident.” She buttered her roll like an artist painting on a canvas. “I was on my way to San Francisco. When I came to the end of the train line, I couldn’t find a stage or wagon train willing to haul my piano the rest of the way.”

  He stabbed a piece of meat with his fork. “So you decided to stay.”

  She shrugged. “At the time, it seemed like God’s will. What better place for a music teacher than a town named Bee Flat?”

  His fork stilled between the plate and his mouth. “I’m afraid I don’t see the connection.”

  “B flat. It’s a musical note.”

  “Don’t know much about music,” he admitted. “Don’t know a B flat from a bullhorn.”

  “But you have an ear for it,” she said. “You did pick out that ditty in church.”

  She sounded impressed and that surprised him. Surely it didn’t take any special talent to recognize a tune. “I always wanted to play an instrument but never got around to it.” He took a bite of his meat and chewed. Something occurred to him and he chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Actually, Bee Flat has nothing to do with music. It was named after a real person. Her name was Beatrice Flat. Bee for short. Story is that her covered wagon broke down on the way to Oregon. She refused to lighten the load by parting with her books, so she and her husband abandoned their plans to travel west and stayed here. They lived in a soddy and founded the town. Thanks to
Bee Flat the lending library was built first and the rest of the town sprang up around it.” Not that he was a book person, himself, but judging by the number of books in the parlor, Marilee was an avid reader.

  Her eyes shone bright in the soft yellow light. “I can understand someone not wanting to give up her books,” she said.

  “I reckon you can.” He tried to think if anything he owned meant that much to him. Maybe his horse. And of course, Dyna. He buttered his roll with the same broad movements it took to feed the hogs.

  “What’s in San Francisco?” he asked.

  “Music. Concert halls,” she said. “I thought it would be a good place for a music teacher to live.”

  “Doesn’t Boston have concert halls?”

  “How do you know I’m from Boston?” she asked.

  If the way she pronounced her As didn’t give her away, her dress and manners surely did. “Lucky guess,” he said.

  “My mother was British, and my father was a military man stationed at Fort Warren.”

  “Is that right?” That explained a lot. The British were as rigid in deportment as the military. No wonder the dog wasn’t allowed to sit on the furniture. “So why’d you leave?”

  She hesitated as if she wasn’t certain she wanted to answer the question. “I won a blind contest and the prize was an audition for the Boston Symphony Orchestra. It was a dream come true.”

  The closest Jed had ever come to hearing an orchestra was when Bruce Miller played his mouth organ along with Jake Randall’s fiddle and Bob Henshaw’s washboard. “What’s a blind contest?”

  “Contestants were required to play behind a curtain so the judges couldn’t show favoritism to friends or relatives. No one knew I was a woman until the winner was announced. When my name was called it caused quite a stir.”

  He grinned. “I can imagine. But they let you audition, right?”

  She shook her head. “Women aren’t allowed to play in the orchestra no matter how well they play. I was accused of duping the judges, and it made the front page of the Boston Globe.”

  “That’s. . .that’s terrible.”