Reluctant Brides Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  She had to ask. “He called you Doc?”

  He nodded.

  “You…are the celebrity?”

  His gaze met hers. “No,” he said. “You are.”

  Chapter 2

  Dr. Grant Gordon had seen varied responses to all sorts of injuries—broken bones and even the insides of a man blown away by rifle shot. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a more baffled expression than was on the face of this woman.

  This should not be whatever her name was. This should be Adelaide Montgomery, his beautiful blond, blue-eyed fiancée from Asheville. Or—he corrected his thought—his fiancée-to-be. The only thing lacking was a ring on her finger. That would happen after he made the final payments to the jeweler.

  His fellow passenger wasn’t really the celebrity, of course, since she was not Adelaide Montgomery. A little scrutiny revealed she was likely a couple years older than Adelaide. Definitely darker. Medium-brown hair, wide surprised-looking eyes. Would her dark eyes dance with golden fire if he obeyed his sudden urge and asked her to be his fiancée?

  He understood that crazy impulse—it was the product of desperation. This situation could ruin his career in the cove. Over the past few years while waiting for Adelaide to be ready for marriage, he’d won the people’s trust. He’d started out as one of them, but after going away to university and medical school, he had to prove he didn’t have highfalutin’ ideas.

  In Asheville, he had to do the opposite and prove himself intelligent, competent, and without backwoods ideas.

  He’d given the impression that he and his intended would come to the cove because that’s what he wanted and what Adelaide had implied. Promised, in fact!

  What he hadn’t counted on was the predicament that had delayed Adelaide’s arrival. He’d determined to return to the cove and explain things. That was before these greeters had assumed this woman seated next to him was Adelaide.

  He drew in a deep breath and prepared to explain. However, the only words he uttered were, “I’m truly sorry.”

  Sorry? Christa thought a more apt word would be crazy.

  Or else she was!

  Her brother, William, had said she was doing a dangerous thing, traveling alone on the train to a backwoods place she’d never seen.

  Her sister-in-law thought her motives noble, but Christa had a feeling Bettina would be glad to have her out of the house and shop. The woman had wished Christa well and warned her not to talk to strangers.

  Now, Christa sat behind a stranger in a wagon that was taking her to Uncle John’s and taking this strange man…where?

  She was about to ask when he took a letter from his pocket. She tried to see what was on that pink sheet of paper upon which was scrawled a feminine script. As if aware of her intent, he tilted the paper, studied it, then returned it to his pocket. He sighed heavily.

  Whatever his problem, it wasn’t hers!

  She would not respond to his “celebrity” remark, in case he wanted a discussion of whether being the preacher’s great-niece gave her celebrity status and rated a couple of singers, a harmonica player, and a horse with a red ribbon.

  Dear Uncle John was treating her as special, so she would simply enjoy it. With that resolve, she looked at the scenery.

  Everything was lushly green in mid-June. The air cooled the higher they went. At times, the thick forest prevented the midafternoon sun from filtering down on the road. She wouldn’t want to be out here alone at night. Her previous thought resurfaced. She was in this secluded place with two men she didn’t know—strangers!

  She had seen nothing but trees and mountains for quite a while, one piled behind another until they faded into the horizon. Where were the houses? She’d noticed a few near the train station at Grey Eagle, and farther out she’d noticed a few buildings making up a small town with a main street, a hotel, and several houses.

  Occasionally she glimpsed a log cabin or a plank-board house, or smoke curling from a chimney back in the forest.

  She began to wonder how far back into these mountains they were going. She leaned forward. “Mr. Carmichael!”

  Wearing that friendly smile, he looked over his shoulder. “You’ll have to speak up. I’m a little hard of hearing.”

  She leaned closer. “I was wondering how much farther to Uncle’s John’s?”

  “Oh, a few miles as the crow flies. ’Course we don’t take the same route as the crows.” He laughed. “But we’ll be there directly.”

  Clem Carmichael then described what a fine preacher her uncle John was. “Too bad he can’t be here for the festivities.”

  Christa looked at the doctor, whose gaze lifted to the sky as if pleading for help. She leaned forward again. “Festivities?”

  “I don’t want to give anything away. I guess John was in too big a hurry to get down to Flat Creek Community for their revival meetings to tell me you’re his niece. But we sure are glad to have you here in the cove.”

  Christa wondered why. A light began to dawn. Of course! Uncle John must have told him she wanted to find unique mountain-made handcrafts to sell at the shop in Hendersonville.

  “When is Uncle John coming back?”

  “Later tonight. Has to preach here tomorrow, it being Sunday and all.”

  She was disappointed it wouldn’t be sooner but understood her uncle had obligations. At least she had a place to stay.

  “Did Uncle John leave a key?”

  “Don’t need no keys around here, Miss Walsh. Nobody’s got anything anybody else wants, ’cept maybe some food. John would give anybody his last bite. No need to steal it.”

  Christa leaned back and tried to relax.

  That wasn’t easy. The weird man beside her had just learned she’d be at Uncle John’s alone—and without a key to lock the door.

  Grant realized he had another problem after hearing that John McIntyre wasn’t in the cove. The depot hadn’t been the place to explain the mix-up because, yes, Grant did know Clem’s Dora. Sending Clem and the singers to the station indicated this was only a preliminary welcome.

  Nevertheless, a hope grew within. Maybe this would be a quiet dinner for Clem and Dora, Grant and his fiancée. He would explain the mistake, and they would laugh. Dora would be pleased she could do this nicety for the preacher’s niece.

  Soon they rode out into a clearing. The horse trotted along on level ground. A line of children held a long WELCOME TEACHER banner. In front of the church stood women and a few men who began to sing “She’ll Be Comin’ ’Round the Mountain” to the sound of the harmonica and the rhythm of their hands.

  No, this would not be a quiet dinner for four.

  Chapter 3

  Whoa, Nelly!”

  Christa knew this was no welcoming party for her, although “Doc” had implied so.

  She could not explain this situation, so she might as well stop trying. Clem was thoughtful to bring her to this celebration instead of to her uncle’s empty house. Besides, this was a good way to meet people and ask about their crafts.

  The doctor stepped down and turned to assist Christa. His strong hands easily encircled her waist. By the time her feet touched the ground and he had moved aside, a regal-looking woman with silvery gray hair stood in front of her, smiling. She hugged Christa. “I’m Dora Carmichael, dear.”

  Christa thought the woman must have been a friend of Aunt Sadie’s. They were about the same age. Maybe as a tribute to Sadie, who had died six months ago, and to their beloved preacher, the celebration really was for her. Back here in the cove, any change might be an excuse for a celebration.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Carmichael. I’m Christa Walsh. I’m here—”

  “Finally!” Dora Carmichael gushed. “Just follow me!”

  With a flourish, the woman turned and strode up a path bordered by at least fifty people. They applauded, and the children chanted, “Teacher, teacher, teacher” in unison.

  Dora must be a teacher.

  Dora looked over her shoulder. “Come on, G
rant, and get your dues. You’re responsible for this.”

  Grant stepped up beside Christa. She realized he must be the teacher. He had admitted he was a doctor, and she had thought his degree was in medicine. But it must be academic.

  “This is the worst day of my life,” he said. “I’m sorry to drag you into it.”

  She tried not to feel scared. “Are they going to tar and feather us?”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Worse.”

  When she stopped, he shook his head. “Not you. I’m the one who’s going to be run out on a rail.”

  “You just came in,” she said.

  “That’s where I made my mistake.”

  Christa followed his gaze. They stood in front of the church, and the others were following.

  Dora loudly declared, “We have waited a long time for this. Our dear children have suffered from the lack of a teacher for more than a year. Now our prayers are answered.”

  Grant’s eyes met Christa’s for an instant before he shut them and shook his head. If he didn’t want to be a teacher, why was he here? Come to think of it, why was she standing beside him?

  “Grant told us he would persuade his intended to come and teach our children.”

  His intended? Where was she? Christa could only stare at Dora, who said, “Let’s thank Grant and welcome the new teacher, Miss Christa Walsh.”

  “Hip! Hip! Hooray!” the crowd cheered. “Hip! Hip! Hooray! Grant! Grant! Christa! Christa!”

  “Miz Dora,” the doctor choked out, just as Christa said, “I feel rather faint.”

  Dora ignored Grant and addressed Christa. “Oh, my dear, you’ve had a long trip, and this hot sun doesn’t help. You don’t need to make a speech now. You can talk to the people during our potluck.”

  Dora led her around the side of the church.

  Christa wondered if the train ride up the mountain had done something to her mental processes. Perhaps she had caught whatever disease Doc had. Amidst the women welcoming her, children trying to talk to her, and Dora gushing about her, she tried to figure this out.

  Doc…or Grant…was the teacher.

  Christa was John McIntyre’s great-niece.

  But Dora Carmichael hadn’t said that. She had said that Christa was Grant’s…intended?

  She had to do something. “Do y’all know John McIntyre?”

  Dora stopped in her tracks. “Oh, honey, he’s our preacher. You know him?”

  “I’m his niece. Great-niece, I should say.”

  Dora placed her hand over her heart. “Oh, my dear. If you’re kin to John, you have to be great. He’s the dearest man. We all just love him.”

  The other women nodded, expressing similar sentiments.

  Dora huffed. “I could just box that Grant Gordon’s ears. He wouldn’t say much about you. But word got around that he was bringing his fiancée here to teach. Now we have a double reason to celebrate. A teacher! And kin to John McIntyre. Just wait ’til the others hear this. You’re balm to a sin-sick soul, child.”

  Christa wondered whose sinful soul Dora referred to. Before she could say she was not a teacher and could not be, they had reached white cloth-covered tables supported by sawhorses. “Say grace for us, Clem,” Dora said.

  “Let’s bow our heads,” Clem said in a loud voice, “and thank the good Lord for the blessings of this day and what it means for our children’s future.”

  They bowed their heads. His prayer echoed across the mountains as if the entire cove was being blessed. When he said, “And thank You, Lord, for this young lady who has come to fulfill Your purpose,” Christa sneaked a peek at the doc.

  His glance met hers. He grimaced and shut his eyes tightly.

  “Here, dear. Take a plate. You go first behind the children.”

  Christa raised her head and looked into Dora’s eyes, which held a hint of mischief. She must have seen Christa and Grant peeking at each other. She would think…what everyone already seemed to think…that they were…promised to each other. Feeling flushed—and not from the sun—Christa took the empty plate and followed the children and their mothers.

  A woman on the other side of the table spoke. “We think the world of Pastor John.” The man behind the woman nodded. Christa smiled. She could not explain the teacher part, but she was glad they were accepting her as Uncle John’s kin. Without further hesitation, she filled her plate with fried chicken, green beans, sliced tomatoes, corn on the cob, and corn pone.

  “Let’s go over to that table,” Dora said. “You’re the guest of honor, and we don’t want your pretty outfit to get messed up.”

  Christa followed her to a table shaded by a tall oak. She sat on a bench facing tombstones in the cemetery beyond the backyard. Grant strode up. It took all her strength not to ask what in the world he thought he was doing.

  Dora patted the place across from Christa. “You sit here, Grant. Across from your sweet lady.”

  Since none of the other women were wearing hats, Christa removed hers. She looked steadfastly at the man, then glanced at the graveyard, hoping he got the idea that if he continued this farce, he might end up there.

  Something flickered in his eyes as if he found the idea amusing. At least he got her point! He looked slightly repentant. “Could I get you ladies something to drink?”

  “I’m going to need something to be able to swallow this,” Christa said.

  He held his breath.

  Dora laughed. “They do know how to put on a spread. Some of the girls managed to get some tea and make it for this special occasion. We know city girls like tea.”

  “Thank you.” Should she partake of this hospitality? Wouldn’t refusing be cruel after all the trouble they’d gone to? They obviously accepted her as Uncle John’s niece. Doc could explain the rest.

  She stared at him. “I would like tea, please.”

  He glanced at Dora, who nodded and took the seat next to Christa. Dora gasped. “Oh, look. Just in time.”

  Christa looked up to see Uncle John on a fast-galloping mount. He hopped down, tied the reins to a stake, and rushed forward.

  Clem and some other men stopped him and talked. He reared back at one point as if hearing something unbelievable. His smile broadened, and he strode toward Christa, chuckling, his thumbs at the lapels of his suit coat.

  Christa scooted off the bench, ran, and fell into his arms. Now they could put an end to this charade.

  Her uncle’s embrace felt warm and comforting, reminding her of her daddy’s hugs. She wanted to nestle there and bask in the feeling. However, she stepped back, and he placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “My, it’s good to see you,” he exclaimed. “How long has it been? Two years? Sorry I didn’t meet you, but I didn’t know you were coming. I just got your letter on the way back from Flat Creek,” he explained. “The mail had been held up because of storms last week.” His eyes twinkled. “They don’t deliver to your door up here.”

  Christa felt her smile was stuck. He didn’t know she was coming? Then the welcome at the depot had nothing to do with her.

  “And to think, my little niece is a teacher. And engaged. Well, glory be!”

  Before she could protest, he looked beyond her. “And here’s the lucky fellow.”

  Chapter 4

  Grant felt helpless. He should have known better than to confide in Clem that his fiancée would graduate from college this year and might become the cove’s teacher after their marriage.

  He should have had better sense than to go to Clem’s son, who was a jeweler in Asheville. He should have known the son would tell Clem about the ring, Clem would tell Dora, and Dora would turn possibility to fact. That woman had a way of turning a kitten into a bobcat.

  The pastor would know how to ease things without upsetting this crowd. Grant set the glasses of tea on the table and hurried toward Christa and Pastor John.

  John spread his arms wide. “Well, you ol’ rascal. Who would of thought we’d end up kinfolk?” He laughed jovially, then add
ed, “Son!” Obviously, someone had already given the pastor the news.

  Grant suffered through the embrace while staring into Christa’s eyes. Her chagrin had changed to amusement. She had an ally in her uncle. He could see his well-planned future dissolving before his eyes.

  John released him long enough to put an arm around his shoulders. “I need to get me some of those victuals, son. Have you eaten?”

  “No. But I’d like a word with…um…” Miss Walsh hadn’t given him permission to address her by her first name. Instead of saying “Christa,” Grant finished, “your niece.”

  John chuckled. “I understand. She’s a beauty like my Sadie was. Has that same reddish-gold hair when the sun shines on it.”

  The brown did have a reddish-golden sheen. Quite…impressive. But Grant had no business looking at her as his fiancée. She was not Adelaide.

  Pastor John went off toward the food, chuckling. Grant turned to Christa. “How are we going to handle this?”

  “We?” Christa crossed her arms. “I have no idea how you’re going to handle this.”

  She kept her voice lowered and spread a smile on her face for the benefit of onlookers. The doctor looked like he might have a heart attack. “All I want is for you to tell them that I am neither your fiancée nor the schoolteacher.”

  He nodded. “Before this is over, I’ll tell them.”

  “Think they’ll be sorry they fed me?” She gazed longingly at her plate. “That is, if I ever get to eat.”

  “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll fill my plate. I’m sure Pastor John will sit at our…your…table. I’ll relate the situation to him and the Carmichaels. The custom is to have a few welcoming speeches. They will expect me to introduce you since I know you best—”

  “You don’t know me!”

  “What I mean is, they expect me to introduce Adelaide. Instead, I will explain the mistake.”

  “How will they take it?”

  “They’ll be disappointed. Especially the children.”

  Christa frowned at the food. They had prepared it for the person they thought she was. She had to eat. She had to show appreciation. Besides, she was starved. She returned to her seat at the same time Dora Carmichael stood.