by Jo Grafford
Her eyelids fluttered closed right before his hard mouth pressed against hers.
And he cares for me. I am the luckiest woman in the world. Bert kissed him back, no longer trying to make sense of anything. Who cared? Kane was hers, which meant she wasn’t going to be forced into a marriage of convenience, after all. At the least, she would be courting a friend, but her heart told her he was fast becoming much more than that.
Chapter 7: Chaperone Interference
Bert
Bert’s first day working at the Black Barrel Inn passed in a happy haze. She greeted patrons as they came and went from their rooms and made small talk with those enjoying a meal at The Feeding Trough, hardly remembering a word that came out of her mouth. All that really mattered was she was keeping Kane and Griff’s customers smiling. It was an easy task, because she was in such a glorious state of mind, herself.
“My lands! You’re a natural at this.” Paisley smoothed her hands over the goldenrod cotton fabric that covered her blooming belly. They were standing together behind the wagon check-in counter. It was nearing dinnertime, which was when Chance and Violet would expect her to join them for her next lesson in all things related to becoming a bride. “I can go have this baby in peace now that you’ve hired on.”
“I am glad to help.” Bert closed the cash register drawer she’d been counting. It gave a firm click as it sealed shut. It felt good to be doing something useful after so many weeks of dawdling around the Redburn mansion. Sure, there were cooking lessons, embroidery lessons, and endless chats about decorum; but none of those things felt as satisfying as running a cash register. This was real work — work that mattered — just like the construction of her hot-air balloon, which she was soon going to get to pilot in a real race!
“Tell me more about the race,” she begged as she promenaded on Kane’s arm back to the Redburn mansion.
He covertly glanced around them before delivering a quick kiss on her nose. “Griff and I have been haggling out details all afternoon at the ranch. We think it makes sense to set the date for a month from now.”
She nodded excitedly. That would be in late-September when the scalding summer temperatures would begin to fade to the milder degrees of autumn. “You were right about working the front desk at the inn. I should have plenty of time to finish sewing the balloon and then some.” If necessary, she could take over the basket weaving, as well. She was ecstatic that Chance Redburn had given his blessing on her new position of employment. It meant she would be required to attend far fewer tea parties and lessons in decorum, because she would be too busy serving the inn’s patrons. It would also allow her the time to get a lot more accomplished on her hot-air balloon project.
He patted the top of her hand which was resting on his arm. “Do not worry, partner. Griff and I also negotiated a new schedule with our ranch hands this afternoon, which should allow me more time at the inn during daylight hours. I’ll finally be able to finish that basket.”
“All in good time.” Bert grinned in delight. “What with the race being a month away and all.”
“We’ll be ready,” he promised, slowing their pace as they approached the stairs to the front veranda of the Redburns’ stately mansion.
This was goodbye for the evening. Bert’s heart sank. She wasn’t ready for the best day of her life to end. “Would you care to come in for a spell? Beans will have his last pot of coffee for the day brewing by now.”
He gave her a look as tender as a kiss. “Griff will probably forgive me for being away an extra five or ten minutes.”
The front door opened before he could knock. Annabelle Bradshaw stood there with her hair piled in her favorite, impossibly high up-do. As usual, not a strand of it was out of place. Also as usual, she wore a solid black dress with no adornments.
Egad! The woman looked as disapproving as ever, though Bert couldn’t imagine what she’d done wrong this time since she’d been gone all day.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bradshaw,” she said in the politest tone she could muster.
The young widow stared down her nose at them, and it was only because she had the vantage point of standing at the top of the entry stairs. Otherwise, Kane would have towered a good several inches over her. “I heard about your new position at the inn.” Her brow wrinkled in distress.
“Yes.” Bert subtly squeezed Kane’s arm. “Mr. Jameson and his brother were so kind to offer me a place on their staff.”
“Indeed.” The woman’s disapproving expression drifted to their joined arms. “I presume Paisley Wilson was there to chaperone you all day?”
“She was.” Bert stiffened, not liking the direction their conversation was heading.
“And where is she now?” The widow made a point of craning her neck to glance around them.
“With her husband.” Kane answered firmly. “Her baby is due soon. There was no need to trouble her to join us for the walk home when it’s still daylight and the streets are full of pedestrians.”
“No need, eh?” Mrs. Bradshaw sniffed in disdain. “We’ll see what Chance and Violet Redburn have to say about that!”
Bert resisted the urge to groan out loud. I cannot believe this is happening to me. No matter how hard I try to do everything right, someone always manages to find a reason to pick me apart at the seams.
“We are officially courting now,” Kane explained mildly as he gently guided Bert indoors. “I assure you my intentions towards Miss Langston are everything that is honorable.”
Bert’s heartbeat sped at Kane’s quick claim on her affections.
Mrs. Bradshaw gasped as if they were guilty of an even greater sin. “All the more reason why I should be the one to chaperone you.” Raising her chin in defiance, she snapped the door shut and hurried ahead of them into the parlor.
“I’ve recovered my charges at long last,” she announced in a long-suffering tone to all those who were gathered. “You should have told me sooner about Bert’s new job.” She speared Chance, who was reclining on the sofa next to his wife, with an accusing glance. “They might have been properly escorted home if you had.”
Chance glanced in surprise across the room at the large picture window. “There’s plenty of daylight out yet, and the streets are full of townsfolk.”
“Streets full of townsfolk with their minds on dinner and the like is not the same as a proper chaperone,” Mrs. Bradshaw snapped. “If you wish for the Ladies Auxiliary to continue supporting this…this matchmaking mayhem of yours, you’ll follow a few rules of decency and order.”
Mayhem! Bert choked out a laugh and covered it with a cough. The youngest and newest widow in town couldn’t have sounded more disapproving of the Redburns’ business.
“Which are…” Violet prodded in an offended voice. Two bright spots of red rode her cheekbones.
Annabelle Bradshaw rested her pale, slender hands on her hips. “I thought we agreed that each of your fellow brides would be assigned a widow as a chaperone.”
Chance spread his hands. “We did, and you agreed to help out with Bert as needed. I honestly do not see the problem.”
Mrs. Bradshaw look scandalized. “Neither do I, outside the fact I cannot ever seem to find my charge.” She shook a finger in Bert’s direction. “How can I safeguard the reputation and assure the well-being of this young woman if I have no idea where she might go gallivanting off to next?”
At Violet’s gasp of outrage, Chance stood and raised his hands in surrender. “Very well. Though I do not agree there is anything to worry about in Bert’s case, you make a good point.”
She does? Bert felt a prickle of alarm stir beneath her ribcage.
He glanced over at her and Kane. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to sit next to Mrs. Bradshaw at dinner this evening and apprise her of your new work schedule.”
“Thank you for your kind offer to join you for dinner.” Kane reluctantly disengaged himself from Bert, casting an apologetic look at her. “However, I promised my brother I would return wi
th haste to the inn. The dinner hour is especially busy most evenings. Pray excuse me.” He politely bowed his head and backed towards the pocket doors leading from the room.
Bert wished more than anything she could join him. In a handful of minutes, she found herself seated in the dining room next to Annabelle Bradshaw, instead. She noted that Violet Redburn scooted her chair closer to Mrs. Bradshaw’s and wondered if it was to make it easier for her to listen in on their conversation.
“Well, Miss Langston?” Mrs. Bradshaw demanded the second Chance finished saying grace. “What sort of hours will you be keeping at the inn, child?”
Bert stared for a moment. “First of all, Mrs. Bradshaw, I am not a child. I am a twenty-year-old inventor who is gainfully employed at the Black Barrel Inn. Secondly, I will start off working five days per week. That may change when Paisley’s baby arrives. At that point, I will most likely work Saturdays, as well, until she is well enough to return.”
“Harrumph!” The widow pursed her lips as if tasting something sour. “I reckon I can escort you to and from work most days, so long as my dearest brother can spare me. I can also check in on you from time to time at the inn, as much as my busy social schedule will allow.”
Bert wrinkled her nose, hoping the woman’s social schedule was far too busy to allow for many impromptu visits. Catching Chance’s eye, she asked impulsively, “Is this truly necessary?”
“It is,” Violet stated firmly before he could answer. “As Annabelle so rightly pointed out, we made an agreement with the Ladies Auxiliary, and we plan to keep our end of it.”
“But—” Burt spluttered.
Violet stopped her with a wave of her hand. “Their presence in our lives lends a level of respectability to the matchmaking process we might not otherwise enjoy.”
Who cares? I do not! Bert raised her chin stubbornly, inherently realizing this was a battle she couldn’t win. For the first time in her adult life, she found herself longing to get married, if only to escape the unwanted surveillance of a widow who was taking her assigned responsibilities entirely too seriously.
“It matters, Bert,” Violet assured in a gentler tone. “It very much matters concerning the reputation of our business and the marital prospects of your fellow brides.” She nodded at Jasmine and Abigail who were watching Bert with varying degrees of curiosity and envy.
Good heavens! It was as if Violet had already mentally paired her off with Kane and moved on to focus on the plight of his remaining brides. Kane hasn’t even proposed yet!
“Very well,” she muttered, pushing her spoon around her bowl of Beans’ prized beef vegetable soup. Her next words caused her physical pain, but she managed to grit them out. “From now on, you will be our one and only chaperone.” Just until I can convince Kane to set a wedding date. Then I’ll gladly wash my hands of you, once and for all.
“Good.” The widow gave a small clap. “Then it’s settled. How soon will you return to the inn, Bert?”
Bert nibbled on her lower lip while she gathered her thoughts. “Seven o’clock,” she stated in a no-nonsense voice. Kane said she didn’t need to arrive until eight, but reporting early might give them the opportunity to eke out some extra time together in their newest workshop. They were set up in one of his inn storage rooms.
“Seven o’clock?” Mrs. Bradshaw shuddered. “I wasn’t aware anyone was up that early.”
This time, it was Chance who choked and covered the sound by clearing his throat. “Ranchers are up by that time, Mrs. Bradshaw. Every day of the week, I assure you.”
The woman looked scandalized but kept her peace.
The rest of the meal passed in near silence.
Bert was enormously relieved when it was time to escape back to her room. To her dismay, Jasmine followed her inside.
“Oh-h-h-h-h!” Jasmine squealed the moment her bedroom door was shut. She kicked off her dress shoes and settled herself on the corner of Bert’s bed. “Do start talking about that scrumptious Kane Jameson, and don’t stop until I say so.”
“What do you wish to know?” Bert asked in what she hoped was an innocuous voice.
“Oh, do not pretend to play the innocent.” Her friend’s voice was dry. “Everyone in the house overheard Kane bellowing about how you were officially courting now.”
They did? Well, bless us all! A girl can’t have any privacy in this place. Bert stomped in the direction of the dresser while untying the bow of her blouse. “It sounds as if you’re already caught up on my latest news.”
“Go ahead and say it, Bertie,” Jasmine coaxed in a teasing voice. “Abigail and I were right, weren’t we? The whole time Kane Jameson was slaving away in your workshop, he was trying to work up the courage to pop the question.”
Bert made a face at her in the mirror. “Kane has plenty of courage. If you must know, neither of us was initially interested in marrying, a state of affairs we have since grown past. That is all.”
“Grown past, eh?” Jasmine snorted. “Is that what put so much color in your cheeks today, Miss Langston? Growing past the horrid prospect of marriage to one of the most eligible men in the West?”
Bert tried to tune out her friend’s words by forcing herself to think of something else — a trick Abigail had taught her. Butterflies, rainbows, and hummingbirds. Butterflies, rainbows, and hummingbirds. Unfortunately, the little exercise failed to keep the heat from seeping into her face.
“Aha!” Jasmine pointed gleefully. “You’re blushing. Did he say sweet nothings in your ear? Did you embrace?”
The color in Bert’s face deepened to a painful level.
“Heavenly days!” Jasmine waved both hands at her face. “He kissed you, didn’t he?”
Bert hastily ducked her head and began to undress.
“You little termagant, you! Perhaps Mrs. Bradshaw had the right of it, after all, and you do need chaperoning.” Jasmine make a clucking sound and fiddled with the pins in her hair. Her brown hair came tumbling around her shoulders.
What I need is a breath of fresh air. Instead of getting ready for bed, Burt yanked on her trousers and all but ran from the room. She sneaked down the stairs with the stealth of a thief, pausing now and then to listen.
Chance, Violet, and Mrs. Bradshaw had returned to the parlor and were once more discussing the expectations of the Ladies Auxiliary.
Ugh! Bert managed to sneak past them by hugging the wall and taking a shortcut through the kitchen.
“Well, now.” Beans was elbows deep in sink suds. “Where may you be off ta this time, little filly?”
Bert scowled at the ceiling. “Anywhere I don’t have to listen to gossip about Kane and me, that’s where!”
“Why? Did that feller of yours finally pop the question?”
“We’re courting!” she snarled. “That is all. If I hear one more blasted question about how many sweet nothings he does or does not whisper in my ears, I shall scream.” She stomped across the kitchen.
“Well, I’m happy fer ya!” Beans called after her. “It’s about time that cowboy did right by ya.”
With a growl of frustration, Bert allowed the side door from the kitchen to slam shut behind her. She jogged to her workshop, lit a lantern, and stared at the unfinished passenger basket. And suddenly she knew exactly what to do with the last hour of her day.
Her fingers flew over the wicker cording as she wove. She lost track of the time. The silence in the old storage barn coupled by the distant baying of cattle proved to be the perfect antidote for soothing her jagged nerves.
That was where Widow Bradshaw found her. “Mercy me!” the woman exclaimed. “What are you wearing child?”
“Work clothes.” Bert glanced up from her weaving, irritated at having to endure yet another earful from the tiresome woman.
“It looks more like trousers to me.”
Then why did you ask? On the spot, Bert decided she would never go to any great effort to hide them again. Kane approved of her wearing them, and that was all that mattered
since he was the one she intended to marry.
Heavenly days! She actually wanted to marry him. Bert’s hands paused in her weaving. She was looking forward to it, in fact. It would lend her a certain dignity she’d never otherwise be able to obtain on her own. No more silly lessons in decorum. No more chaperones. As the wife of Kane Jameson, she would be able to wear trousers as often as she wanted, tinker to her heart’s content on her inventions, and put as many hours in at the inn as she wished without having to defend or explain her actions to others.
When Bert didn’t respond to her verbal jab, Annabelle Bradshaw gave a long-suffering sigh. “I am fortunate I caught you alone, child.”
Fortunate is not the term I would use. Bert resumed her weaving with jerky movements. And I’m no more a child than I was an hour ago when I disabused you of the notion.
“I didn’t wish to worry the Redburns any more than necessary, but things are worse than I let on concerning you. Rumors are flying like germs around town.”
“What sort of rumors?” Bert asked suspiciously, refusing to look up from her work.
“The worst kind,” the widow warned in a dire voice. “You did yourself no favors by running off alone with that pack of gentlemen the evening of the picnic.”
Pack of gentlemen? What are you talking about? Oh, right. Bert recalled her conversation about air travel with Matthew Crutchfield, Kane, and Griff that had extended all the way to a cinnamon roll fest at the Black Barrel Inn.
“It was a scientific discussion over coffee,” she explained stiffly. “Your own brother was present.”
“I am well aware, child. How else do you think I got to the bottom of this mess?” Mrs. Bradshaw sounded falsely sympathetic.
Ah. Bert’s lip curled as understanding slammed into her. You are the busybody stirring up gossip about me. “I suppose the best way to quell such nonsense is to keep you close at all times, eh, Mrs. Bradshaw?”
“Precisely! I knew you would see reason if I took the time to properly explain things.” The woman preened like a peacock as she walked in a half circle around Bert. “That means keeping me informed of all your activities, not just the ones the Redburns know about.”