Courting Miss Callie

by Dorothy Clark

  He wasn’t going to say anything about her appearance? No comment about her long, curling tresses? No flowery compliments about her beauty? The tension in her shoulders eased. “If you’ve no pressing work to do, I can have coffee ready in a few minutes. It’s the least I can do in return for your bringing in the firewood.”

  He stopped, and turned. “That’s not necessary—but there’s no work pressing enough to make me miss a good cup of coffee.”

  It was impossible not to respond to his grin. Her lips tugged upward. “Then if you will light the lamps, I’ll start the coffee.” She turned to the stove and reached for the door to the firebox, felt the heat radiating off it and glanced at the dampers. They’d been opened a bit. “You started the fire?”

  “Yes. I hope that’s all right?”

  He was close behind her—too close. In her experience that meant he would try to steal a kiss. She braced herself, gripped a cooking fork and glanced over her shoulder. He was standing with his back toward her, lifting down one of the lamps that hung over the worktable. The tension flowed from her. “Of course. Thank you.”

  She frowned, grabbed the coffeepot, lifted the tin of ground java off the shelf and inched to the side. She hadn’t thought about how close they would be while he was lighting the lamps. She scooped some of the coffee into the pot, replaced the tin on the shelf, then moved to the sink cupboard and ladled in water from the bucket.

  He adjusted the wick on the first lamp to a steady flame, hung it back on its hook over the worktable and moved to lift down the second lamp.

  He certainly had broad shoulders for a lean man. She eyed the narrow space between his body and the stove, changed direction and walked around the other end of the table.

  “Bringing in firewood and starting the fire brought back memories. It made me feel right at home.” He gave a soft, low chuckle that made her want to share the memories. “When we lived on the farm, I did those chores for my mother before I headed out to the barn to help my father.”

  She set the coffeepot on the front stove plate where it would heat rapidly, and let her mind form a dream of such a life.

  Light swayed side to side on the wall in front of her, shadows danced, then steadied. He’d hung the second lamp. She heard him step toward the dining table and let out a quiet breath of relief. He’d be out of the way now. She could start breakfast.

  She turned toward the worktable, collided with his solid body and bounced backward toward the stove. He shot out his hands, grabbed her upper arms and yanked her back toward him.

  “Sorry. I should have warned you I was behind you. I was after the lamp on the shelf. You didn’t burn yourself?”

  She gazed up into his blue eyes warm with concern and shook her head. “No. You caught me in time.” Heat from his hands passed through her sleeves and warmed her skin, spread out into a shiver. She held herself from leaning forward to breathe in the blend of fresh air, hay, horses and witch hazel that clung to him.

  “You’re trembling.”

  His eyes darkened. His gaze dropped to her mouth, jerked back up to her eyes. His brows knit together. His hands lifted from her arms and cold replaced the warmth. She shivered and stepped back.

  “I think you were more shaken than you realize. Perhaps you should sit down and rest a moment.”

  She shook her head, avoided his eyes. “I’m fine. And I’ve work to do. The guests will be wanting their breakfasts. Some of them like to leave at first light.”

  Speaking of the commonplace settled her shaken nerves. She checked on the coffee, stepped to the pantry and gathered the dry ingredients for griddle cakes, placed them on the table and walked to the door. She draped her cloak around her shoulders, snatched the basket off its peg and stepped out onto the porch.

  The sky was brightening in the east. Dawn was on the way. She’d have to hurry. She moved down the steps and headed for the buttery to get eggs and milk and bacon. Her steps lagged by the door. She glanced down the pathway where Ezra had come striding to her to ask for food and her mood went as gray as the sky in the west.

  Why did he let them think he was a logger? What was he hiding? Mr. Ezra Ryder was most certainly a liar. She’d best not forget that just because he had a disarming smile and told charming tales of living on a farm.

  * * *

  Ezra turned at the sound of quick, light footsteps, spotted the tall, slender woman hurrying through the stream of sunlight coming in the barn door and stepped out of the stall. “Good morning, Mrs. Sheffield. May I be of service?”

  Surprise swept across Sophia Sheffield’s face. “You’re still here, Ezra?”

  He dipped his head in polite acknowledgment. “The stalls are cleaned, but I have not yet finished cleaning the barn.”

  “Well, gracious, I didn’t mean you had to set the whole barn to rights in exchange for a meal and a night’s sleep.”

  “We made a deal, Mrs. Sheffield. And I am a man of my word.” Would it work? Would she allow him to stay?

  “Hmm.” Sophia gave a small nod and stepped to the stall on her left, peered inside and moved on to the next.

  He thought of his head groom at home, tamped down his amusement and stood quietly and waited. It was odd being on the other end of such a decision—made one want to squirm. He’d be a little more patient and understanding of job applicants from now on.

  “Where is Joseph?”

  “He went to the apothecary to get some ointment. His back is troubling him.”

  “I see.” Sophia turned to face him. “You’ve made an excellent job of cleaning these stalls, Ezra. You said you were raised on a farm?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you handle the horses?”

  He smiled and nodded. “I did indeed, madam. My father always said I had a gift for handling them.”

  She nodded, gave him a speculative look. “Would you be interested in staying on to help Joseph? I would pay you a fair wage in addition to your meals. And you would keep your sleeping quarters in the equipment room.”

  He hid his elation with a small bow. “I would be most appreciative of the opportunity, Mrs. Sheffield.”

  “Then you will help Joseph with the horses as well as cleaning the stalls, but mind you, my guests’ horses must be fed and cared for as their owners dictate.”

  “I understand.”

  “Very well. You may start your employment by hitching Star to the shay and bringing it to the back door. Come to the kitchen when it’s ready.” She turned and walked away, the dust motes disturbed by the hems of her long skirts dancing in the sunlight as she neared the open doors.

  He listened to her soft footfalls hurrying toward the hotel and let his smile free. He’d done it. His hard work had earned him employment with Sophia Sheffield and, more importantly, the opportunity to get to know Callie Conner. The way she had looked this morning... He yanked his thoughts from the memory, spun on his heel and headed for Star’s stall.

  * * *

  Callie stiffened at the opening of the door. It was too soon for Sophia to return from her trip to the post office, and Joe never came to the kitchen except for meals. It had to be Ezra. Presumptuous of him to enter without knocking. Warmth climbed into her cheeks at the memory of him holding her so close earlier. If he thought...

  She turned from stirring the stew simmering over the fire, the spoon she’d been using held like a weapon in front of her. “Aunt Sophia!” She glanced at the basket on Sophia’s arm. It was empty. “You’re back early. Is something wrong?”

  Her aunt placed the basket on the table, removed her bonnet and looked across the kitchen at her. “I chanced to meet Doctor Palmer on my way to the mercantile. Charlotte Deering had her baby early. She had a rough time of it.”

  Concern shot through her. “Is Charlotte all right? And the baby?”

  “Than
kfully, yes.” Sophia draped her shawl over a chair and smoothed back her hair. “Doctor Palmer decided to check on her last night on his way home from a call at the Hoffmans. She’d been in labor all day and was weak and exhausted. The baby was in the wrong position. She never could have birthed it on her own. He said it was a near thing, but he was able to save them both—though the baby is only a little scrap of a thing.”

  “Thank the good Lord Doctor Palmer chanced to stop by.”

  “Yes. He says Charlotte has to stay in bed until she mends or she could bleed to death, and that she has no one to do for her or her little ones. Charley’s gone downriver with the rafts.”

  Tears stung her eyes at the thought of the young woman’s plight. “Perhaps we could bring Charlotte and the children here and I could care for her. She could have my bed and—” Shock turned her mute when Sophia shook her head. Her aunt was the most generous person she’d ever known. Why would she refuse?

  “I offered to bring Charlotte and the children here, but Doctor Palmer said it would not be safe to move her. So, I told him I would send meals and see the chores are taken care of meanwhile. But we must hurry. Charlotte is alone with those small children. What have you on hand?”

  She should have known. She smiled as Sophia joined her and glanced down at the pot of food hanging over the fire.

  “That’s venison stew. And there’s bread and apple butter. And I’m sure the children would like some doughnuts.” She pointed to the crusty, brown rounds draining on the slotted rack resting atop the dishpan she used to mix the dough for bread.

  “Wonderful. The stew should help Charlotte regain her strength. And those little ones— Yes, Cora?”

  “There’s two gentlemen want rooms, Mrs. Sheffield. And Mr. Betz is wanting to leave. He’s got Mr. Totten holding the trolley out front for him.” The maid scuttled back to her work.

  “Oh, bother!” Sophia scowled and headed for the hallway that led to the front of the hotel. “Gather the food into a basket, Callie—and don’t forget oatmeal and a bit of sugar. Sweetened oatmeal water might keep the baby alive until Charlotte is able to nurse him. Oh, and take extra broth from the stew. Get as much of it into Charlotte as you can.”

  “Me?”

  Sophia paused at the door, turned to look at her. “Why, yes. I cannot leave the hotel. Now, hurry, dear. Ezra will be bringing the shay for you any moment. Tell him I said he’s to wait and bring you home. He can occupy himself doing any heavy chores. And don’t hurry, dear. Wait until you have those children in bed for the night before leaving. I’ll manage supper. It won’t be the first time.”

  “But—” she stopped, shook her head and picked up a large, wicker basket off the floor at the end of the fireplace.

  “What is it, dear?”

  “Nothing really. It’s only that I thought Ezra would be gone by now.”

  “Oh. He did an excellent job on the stalls. I’ve asked him to stay.”

  Chapter Five

  Callie clutched the hastily assembled bundle in her arms and hurried down the path. If she were quick enough, she could climb into the shay before Ezra could secure the basket on the shelf in back and come around to assist her. Since it was certain he would. The man’s manners were faultless. But, after this morning, she was leery of letting him hand her into the vehicle. Not that he’d done anything wrong. Far from it.

  She laid the bundle on the seat, gripped the dashboard, placed her booted foot on the small iron rung and stepped up. Ezra’s actions had been innocent enough—even heroic, saving her from a possible burn. And he had made no attempt to take advantage of the situation—as her wealthy suitors would have done. For that she was grateful. Still, the thought of her hand in his was unsettling. The man made her nervous. Which was odd, since she had no such reaction to the wealthy men courting her. Indeed, she had become quite adept at escaping their advances without causing offense. Her father had cautioned that she was not to offend the suitors he permitted to call. After all, it might lower their bid for her hand.

  The bitter thought stole the luster from the sunny day. She frowned, shook out her long skirts, settled herself and lifted the bundle onto her lap. The shay trembled as the weight of the basket hit the shelf and the attached straps were tugged tight around it. Ezra’s boots crunched on the gravel. A flutter rippled through her stomach. She stole a sidelong glance as he stepped to the hitching post. There was no sign of a limp. And the swelling on his head was gone—though the scab of the healing gash was visible at his crown. What was the truth about Ezra Ryder? He was no more a logger than she. Why did he lie? He turned toward the shay, the freed reins held in his hand, and she jerked her gaze from him. Heat crept into her cheeks. And of what concern were Ezra Ryder’s doings to her? She had troubles enough of her own to ponder. She straightened in the seat and pulled her burnoose close about her.

  The vehicle dipped left as Ezra stepped up, ducked beneath the hood and took his seat. His shoulder brushed against hers. She scooted as far right as possible in the narrow space and looked straight ahead, wishing that Sophia had ordered the carriage brought around instead of the smaller shay.

  “Ready?”

  She glanced over and met Ezra’s smiling gaze. Another flutter tickled her stomach. She must have been feeling more confined since her arrival than she realized if the prospect of a simple ride to the country brought such a reaction. She pressed the bundle hard against her abdomen to stop the sensation and nodded. “Yes.”

  He made a clicking sound and shook the reins. Star moved forward and the shay rolled along the graveled way to the entrance to Main Street and stopped. “You’ll have to direct me, Callie. All I know of Pinewood is the wooden walkway between Cargrave’s Mercantile and your aunt’s hotel.”

  She looked away from his smile. There was something of the little boy in it that made her want to trust him, and she’d trust a liar as far as a pig could fly. “We go left, then turn right onto Oak Street.” She gestured across the road a short way up Main Street from the hotel. “It’s there, beyond the gazebo.”

  A wagon loaded with bundles of thick, wood shingles rumbled by, headed toward Olville. She held herself immobile as Ezra flicked the reins and urged Star out onto Main Street in the wagon’s wake.

  Olville. In the concern and bustle over Charlotte, she’d forgotten about Sophia’s trip. Relief stole the tension from her body. Sophia would not be going to Olville today, and the Citizen was only printed on Fridays. She was safe for another week.

  Star’s hooves thudded against the drying mud of the roadbed. The shay swayed around the corner onto Oak Street, rumbled past the gazebo in the park on the corner. She shifted her gaze to the left side of the street, spotted the Hall home ahead and smiled. She’d spent a lot of time in that house when she was young. She and Willa and Sadie coming to play with Ellen—or to get Ellen to come off on an adventure with them. Her smile turned into a sigh. So much had changed. Sadie had moved to Rochester. She now lived in Buffalo. And Ellen was in Buffalo, too, staying with her Aunt Berdena. But they had little in common now, only their memories. Ellen was after a rich husband and loved every minute of the social whirl, coveting the attentions of the wealthy men drawn by her blonde beauty. She was welcome to them. Including Jacob Strand. Especially Jacob Strand. The man was beyond—

  “There’s a bell hanging on the porch of that small building. Is that a schoolhouse?”

  She started, drawn out of her thoughts by Ezra’s question. “Yes, it is. My friend, Willa, was the schoolmarm until a few months ago.”

  He looked her way. “She lost her position?”

  “She got married.” Amusement rippled through her. Willa, who had trusted neither men nor God and vowed she would never marry, was the first of the four of them to do so. Matthew Calvert had come to pastor Pinewood Church, and his love and lopsided grin had brought the wall of defense around her frie
nd’s heart crashing down as surely as the walls of Jericho had tumbled at a shout. Now, Willa was Matthew’s wife and mother to his charges—the young son and daughter of his late brother.

  Envy rose, fastened a choking grip on her heart. She was happy for Willa, truly she was. But, oh how she wished she could marry a man like Matthew. An honest man who would love her for herself. Not one of the rich men who took one look at her and professed undying love. Liars! They didn’t even know her. If they did, they would know she was not impressed by their wealth or their arrogant boastings and would not be bought. Pain shot up her arm. She glanced down. Her fingers were buried in the bundle of old sheeting. She took a slow breath and relaxed her grip, dipped her head toward the dirt road that wound up the hill on their left. “We’ll turn here.”

  * * *

  Ezra looked from the spidery shadows on the dirt road to the bare limbs of the huge trees that cast them. What a beautiful, shaded lane this would be in the summer. Too bad he wouldn’t be around to enjoy a ride with Callie then.

  He lowered his gaze, shifted it to the right. The rough ride over the rain-gouged gullies in the road had shaken Callie’s hood back a bit, exposing her exquisite profile. He had a sudden urge to make her look at him, talk to him. She’d been quiet since they’d left the village. “It’s a nice day. The sun is quite cheering, though there’s still a chill to the air.”

  “Yes.” She glanced his way, then tugged her hood forward.

  He frowned and shifted his gaze back to the road. Polite and brief. Clearly, Callie did not care to engage in conversation with him. Why? Was it her initial suspicion of him? Or had she sensed his intent this morning when he’d thought about kissing her? His tenacious side reared, formed a list of questions she would have to answer with more than a yes or no. He wasn’t a successful businessman because he backed away from a tough opponent. And the first step to making a fair and beneficial deal was to get your adversary to talk with you. He tugged gently on the right rein turning Star into the sharp curve ahead. “This road is getting pretty bad. How much farther do we have to go?”