“I think I’d like a piece now and another piece later.” George watched her admiringly as she got up and cut them each a piece of the cake. “Is that gingerbread?”
She nodded. “I’ve always been partial to gingerbread.”
“Me too. In fact, my mother fed me gingerbread constantly when I was younger.” His mouth was watering as she put the cake in front of him. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had gingerbread?”
“How long?” Miss Hazel sat across from him with her fork poised, ready to take a bite but waiting to hear his answer first.
“Since before I joined the force. Almost thirty-five years. No man should ever go without gingerbread for thirty-five years.” He could almost taste it as he stared down at the generous piece of the delicacy. “How often do you make gingerbread?”
“For myself? Not often. If I had someone to make it for, it would be different, and I’d probably make it every day.”
“I’ll expect you to have more ready when I get home tomorrow. It’s just so much better when it’s still warm from the oven.”
Miss Hazel laughed. “I would be delighted to make gingerbread for you any time you would like. I happen to be a fan of it myself.”
He finally cut into his piece, raising his fork to his lips. He was almost afraid that the reality of it wouldn’t be nearly as good as the memories he had. He was wrong. As he bit into the piece, his eyes closed, and he concentrated only on the flavors exploding on his tongue. Each bite was a piece of heaven. “Miss Hazel, you are a mighty fine cook. This gingerbread alone would be enough for me to beg you to marry me. Let’s run off to the hills and get married. I won’t suggest babies, but I sure would be happy to help you with those grandbabies of yours.”
“Grandbabies? Oh, I do hope you’re right. I only ever had one, but more than one grandchild would make me the happiest woman alive. Oh, who am I kidding? Just one grandbaby has made me the happiest woman alive. Who needs more?”
George reached out and took her hand, staring deeply into her eyes. “I’m not kidding, Miss Hazel. I want you to marry me.”
“I—well, I don’t know what to say to that. I have only known you for a day, and I knew my Stanley for over a year before I married him.”
“That won’t work though,” he said softly. “Out here, people marry faster. You just brought three girls out here who married the men they met within minutes of meeting them. Now you’re telling me that you don’t think you could marry me after knowing me for only a day? You wound me to the quick!”
Miss Hazel laughed at his theatrics. “Really? I think that you’re going to be just fine.”
“I might. But what if I perish of longing for your kisses?”
“Now, I don’t remember saying I’d be withholding any kisses. I’m all for kissing. In fact, I’m about to do up the supper dishes—well, the ones I didn’t wash as I went along. And then I want you to take me for a nice romantic walk around the lake. We’ll see what Bob is doing.”
“Bob?” George didn’t know of any Bob in the area, and he’d been stationed there for five years.
“You know, Bob the beaver. The one who is making a dam in the lake.” Miss Hazel frowned at him, wondering how he couldn’t have noticed Bob. She knew the other Mounties were planning on finding a way to kill him or remove him.
“Oh! How did he get the name Bob?”
“It just seems to fit, doesn’t it?” she asked, clearing the table. “We all thought Bob was a good beaver name.”
“You mean the ugly beaver, right?”
“Bob isn’t ugly!” She was clearly frustrated with him. “How could you say that?”
“His ear is totally messed up. Did you not see that?”
“Of course I did. It gives him character.” She washed the dishes quickly, ready to go out and make sure the beaver was all right. It wouldn’t be good if someone had hurt him.
“That beaver is a menace. He needs to be shot.”
“You’re not killing Bob!” Miss Hazel glared at him. “He’s a father! How hard would it be for his sweet bride to raise those baby beavers without him?”
George wasn’t even sure how to respond to that. “He’s going to cause much of the farmland in the area to be flooded if we don’t do something about him.”
“Surely he can be relocated.” She refused to believe that the only option was to kill the sweet animal. “Beavers lived in this area well before white men were farming it. He has the right to live!”
“Relocate a beaver? That would be so much more trouble than it’s worth.” George shook his head at her. “I thought you were perfect, and here you are, trying to get me to rehome a beaver. Why would anyone do that?”
“I happen to love nature and wildlife. And I know my girls’ hearts would break if someone killed one of those beavers. How could you even think of being so cruel?” At first, Miss Hazel had been joking, but now she was feeling a great deal more serious. If he was so uncaring about the life of an animal, how would he feel about the life of a baby? They were about the same size!
He sighed. “Will it make you feel better if I promise not to kill any of the beavers?”
“Especially Bob?”
“Fine, especially the silly, ugly beaver named Bob.” He rolled his eyes, glad she had her back turned. The stupid beaver obviously had supporters now, whether he needed them or not.
“He’s not ugly. He’s injured!” She was getting more than a little annoyed by his attitude about Bob. She finished the dishes and put the last one away. “Do you want to walk me back to the store now?”
He frowned. “I’d rather go for the walk around the lake like we talked about.”
“Will there be more insults for poor Bob?”
“I promise, I will leave Bob alone.”
“Then you may take me for a walk around the lake.” Miss Hazel removed the apron she was wearing and hung it over the back of a chair. “I do think you need to be kinder to God’s creatures.”
“I promise I will never again insult Bob. I wouldn’t dare hurt his feelings, knowing how sad that would make him.” George may not agree with her emotions about the beaver, but he had to admit, they were real. He would do his best not to upset her or any of the ladies she’d brought with her. He’d learned from a young age that an angry woman could make a man more miserable than anything else in the world.
“Are you making fun of me and my love for Bob?” she asked softly.
“Never.” George opened the door and offered her his arm. “Let’s forget all about Bob and everything else in the world. We’ll just walk around the lake and be happy.”
“That works for me.” Miss Hazel had no desire to be angry with George, but something about his attitude toward Bob made her see stars. “Have any of the men mentioned how their marriages are going?”
George shrugged. “That’s not something I feel comfortable talking about. The men come to me often in confidence, and it wouldn’t be right if I just started telling their secrets. Not even Liam.”
Miss Hazel was curious about his phrasing. “Why not even Liam?”
“Well, Liam is something of a mama’s boy in my eyes.”
“A mama’s boy?”
“He spends an awful lot of time writing letters to his mama. Sounds like a mama’s boy to me.”
“Or maybe he’s just a respectful son. All sons should be that good to their mothers.”
“Don’t go getting your dander up again, Miss Hazel! First the beaver and now Liam. Is there anything you won’t defend?”
She thought about his question for a moment. “Very little. I enjoy defending the defenseless. I always root for the underdog. I believe everyone should!”
“Everyone? And if I like to root for the man I think will win?” George found he enjoyed baiting Miss Hazel a bit more than he should. She was a pretty special lady with very strong opinions about many things.
“Then you can be a big bully. See if I care.” The grin on her face told him sh
e wasn’t serious, and for that he was thankful. He enjoyed lively conversations, but when he was as attracted to a woman as he was to Miss Hazel, he didn’t want to constantly be fighting with her. Although, he had heard that making up was something to be enjoyed.
They reached the lake and stood, looking out over the water. The sun was setting, and the way it turned the water a deep shade of pink made Miss Hazel sigh happily. “I love sunsets.”
“What about sunrises,” he asked.
“Sunrises are fine, but sunsets are better. Because I’m always awake by the time the sun goes down, but I’m rarely awake to see the sun rise. I did my early mornings when I was married and when Teddy was young. Now that I’m a widow and live alone, I choose my own hours, and I must say . . . I’d rather see midnight than sunrise any day. It just seems to be my natural sleep pattern.”
“I believe that I will be much happier when I can stay up as late as I want,” George agreed. Truly, he could stay up late or get up early with no problem, but if she had a preference, then he would share that preference.
“Well, that’s finally something in your favor. I was worried you’d have no redeeming qualities at all, other than your handsome face, of course.”
“Handsome?” George asked surprised. “You think I’m handsome?”
“Well, do you really think I’d be stepping out with you and allowing you to kiss me in the Mountie office if I thought you were homely? Think about it for a moment, and you will have your answer.”
“Kissing you in the Mountie office made me very happy indeed. I have a feeling that I would enjoy kissing you beside the lake during the sunset just as much. What do you think?”
“Lakes at sunset do strike me as a great deal more romantic than Mountie offices during the busy time of day.” Her eyes met his head on. “I suppose we can try another kiss out here.”
He grinned at her, his hands going to her shoulders and pulling her toward him. “I don’t know where you’ve been all my life, Miss Hazel, but I hope you’ll stay beside me for the rest of it.”
That’s when it hit her. He wasn’t playing games with her or looking for a long courtship. The man wanted to marry her. Immediately.
She looked into his eyes for a moment before she wrenched herself free from him and ran as fast as her chubby body was able back to town.
5
George stared dumbfounded at the woman running away from him. He wouldn’t have thought Miss Hazel would be a runner, and he wasn’t sure why she was running from him. He’d thought they were getting along nicely. Apparently, she didn’t think so.
Rather than chase her, he walked back toward town slowly, trying to figure out exactly what he’d done wrong. He hadn’t talked to her any differently than he had since they’d met.
He had never claimed to understand women, or anything about them really, but this was a new one even for him. Running from a kiss . . . when she’d been perfectly content to kiss him earlier in the day, just made no sense to him.
When he got home, he turned off the light and climbed into his bed fully clothed. He folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling in the darkness. He didn’t even know when he’d see her again—or if he’d see her again. Could she have changed her mind about him that completely?
He sighed. He would just have to go to the Dandy’s house the next day and see if he could talk to her. She might be losing her mind, but he wasn’t certain even insanity would keep him from her now.
Miss Hazel was halfway to town when she realized that she was acting like an utter fool, but it was too late to turn around and go back, so she just kept running. She’d had no idea she could run that far that fast, and she was pretty darn proud of herself, even if she was more than a little embarrassed.
When she finally reached her room, she closed the door, praying that the Dandys were already asleep and hadn’t seen her running through the house as if she’d lost her mind. She quickly changed into her nightgown—dreadful things if you asked her. She preferred to sleep nude, and she wasn’t ashamed of it either!
She got into bed and picked up one of the romance novels she had brought with her. The heroines in her novels never ran from the men who they were interested in when one tried to kiss her. She thought maybe it would be a good idea for her to try her hand at writing romance novels because the type of heroines she would write would truly be memorable.
She put her book down and thought about the type of heroine she would write. She would certainly be a woman of a certain age, who enjoyed climbing trees and sometimes found herself in mischief . . . she cackled aloud. She could not write herself into a romance novel! It would truly be preposterous. Who would want to read a romance about a fifty-something woman with far too many extra pounds on her?
As she closed her eyes, she replayed the moment where she ran from George over and over in her mind. What on earth had she been thinking? You don’t run from a man when he kisses you. You kiss him back! It was time for her to start taking her own advice.
When Miss Hazel went out for breakfast the following morning, she was only a little surprised to see George sitting in the chair opposite from where she usually sat. He stood up and held her chair out for her as if she hadn’t acted like a lily-livered nincompoop the previous evening. Well, if he could ignore the fact that she had run, then so could she.
As they ate together, they chatted about the weather and about the state of the country. “I truly believe that with the alliances of Europe being so tightly interwoven as they are, another war on the continent would be impossible. The Mounties will have skirmishes here in Canada with whiskey runners and First Nations at times, but there won’t be another all out war.” Miss Hazel calmly buttered her toast as she gave her opinion of the state of affairs in Europe.
George didn’t respond. How could he respond to such an intelligently worded political opinion from a woman who had run away from him when he tried to kiss her? It didn’t make sense. At all.
Mr. Dandy gave some sort of intelligent answer that went right over George’s head. He was still trying to figure out the dichotomy that was Miss Hazel Hughes. He hoped he could get a few minutes with her that morning, and she would walk him to the Mountie office on her way to do whatever it was she planned to do all day.
As soon as breakfast was over, George got to his feet. “Would you walk with me for a moment, Miss Hazel?”
“Certainly, George. I’d be happy to.”
Miss Hazel took his arm when they were outside and strolled along the streets. George kept quiet for a minute, hoping she’d offer an explanation for what had happened, but one didn’t seem to be forthcoming. Finally, after a long silence, he asked, “Would you have supper with me again tonight, Miss Hazel?”
“I’d be happy to. Would you like for me to cook again?”
He couldn’t say no to her offer. Not only had he had the best meal he’d had in ages, but his home had never been so clean. “I’d like that a great deal.”
“Then I will be there with supper waiting when you get home.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek, and she hurried away. She hadn’t refused the cheek kiss, but she hadn’t explained what had happened the night before yet either. He was certain the woman had lost her mind now, but what was a man to do? Whether she had a mind or not, he had already lost his heart.
Miss Hazel spent the day flitting between the girls and sitting at the lake, thinking about how she’d messed things up with George. Then she thought about what she would do if she was a romance writer, writing about her and George. She thought it would be funny to have the heroine just ignore her absurd behavior, so that’s exactly what she decided to do.
As she watched Bob, she saw another beaver about his size working with him to build the dam. She was thankful George had agreed not to hurt the beavers. She couldn’t imagine something so sweet being murdered for absolutely no reason.
As she walked the small town, her mind fluttered from one thing to another, and she jus
t let it go, refusing to engage in any of her thoughts. Why would she engage when she was trying not to be nervous about spending another night with George? She really hoped that she was able to get through the evening without doing something that made her feel like she was too stupid to live, but she wasn’t sure it was even possible.
Finally, she went back to the house where she was staying, and she sat down at the small desk in her room with several sheets of paper and a pen, and she began writing. It was nothing much, but she was going to start writing her own romance novel and see where it took her. Why not? She had read so many that she was certain to be good at writing them. She definitely knew how they were supposed to go!
It was almost five when she realized the time. She had to make supper for George, or she could let him think she was even crazier than he already thought she was. Of course, that might not work out so well for her real life romance she was trying to live, but you never knew. Maybe George enjoyed chasing after women who ran away from him for no apparent reason.
She jumped up and hurried down to the store, picking up some chicken. She knew George had everything else she needed for a delicious fried chicken dinner, and there was still bread that she had made the previous day. She could have a good supper on the table for him in forty-five minutes flat or her name wasn’t Augusta Stoltfutz.
She threw back her head and laughed as she called herself by the name of her romance book heroine. Her hero’s name was George. She sighed. Maybe Stanley should be the make-believe hero because he was truly only pretend to her now. He was but a memory, and George was the real life tall, dark, and handsome Mountie who was pursuing her like she was thirty years younger and fifty pounds lighter. Who could complain about that?
When George walked into his home at the end of the day, he was once again thrilled with the smells filling the air. Miss Hazel might be slightly eccentric, but she sure knew how to cook.
He walked to her and wrapped his arms around her, just holding her close. “It’s nice to have someone to come home to at the end of a long day of work.”
RNWMP: Bride for George Page 4