Courting Miss Callie

by Dorothy Clark

  He stepped off the path and strode beyond the barn to the river and tore the letter to pieces, the ripping sounds loud in the silence. He watched the bits of white paper darken and disappear in the water, turned and headed back for the barn. It was in God’s hands now. Tomorrow, Callie Conner would meet the real Ezra Ryder.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She was a coward. All during breakfast she had avoided looking at Ezra, afraid to face him after her outburst last night—afraid of the disgust she might see in his eyes. And just now, she’d told Mary to tell Jacob Strand she would not speak with him instead of facing the man herself.

  A shudder ran through her. She frowned and scooped the pieces of carrots and turnips out of the bowl into the iron pot dangling over the fire. The tantalizing aroma of simmering ham rose from the disturbed broth. Her stomach clenched in rebellion. She was unable to even entertain the idea of eating this morning. Jacob Strand had truly frightened her when he’d gripped her wrist so forcefully. It had taken all of her self-control to not throw herself into Ezra’s arms when he’d come striding toward them out of the dark.

  She stepped around Agnes, rolling out dough to be fashioned into tarts for supper, and slipped the bowl into the pan full of soapy hot water, swished the cloth around it then slipped it into the rinse pan. Ezra had seemed so...confident last night. He had not appeared at all intimidated by Jacob Strand. It had been quite the opposite.

  She snatched up the towel hanging over the edge of the dry sink and pulled the bowl from the water, paused, and remembered the glitter in Jacob Strand’s eyes, the snarl in his voice.

  You do not know to whom you are speaking!

  Neither do you.

  What had Ezra meant? He had made his reply with such authority—

  The door squeaked open. She abandoned her thoughts, and smiled as Sophia entered. Her smile died. “What’s wrong, Aunt Sophia?” She put the bowl on the shelf, absently wiping her hands.

  Sophia placed her basket on the table and glanced around the kitchen. “Cole Aylward just stopped by on his way to deliver shingles in Olville. Cora’s mother is not well. Her father says she’s to come home immediately.”

  “Oh, poor Cora.”

  “Yes.” Sophia removed her hat, smoothed back her hair. “Callie, please go and tell Ezra to hitch up the shay and bring it around to the back immediately. I’ll go tell Cora and help her gather her things.” She started for the door, looked back over her shoulder. “And tell Ezra if he pushes Star, he can have Cora home within an hour. He can rest Star on his way back.”

  She nodded and hurried out the door and off the porch onto the path, lifted her hems and ran toward the barn. The doors were open. She slowed, brushed back the curls shaken free by her quick dash and stepped into the cool, dim interior. She blinked to adjust her eyes, heard a sound and looked up.

  Ezra was in the loft forking bedding down into an empty stall, his broad shoulders straining the fabric of the blue shirt he wore, the muscles in his forearms, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves, knotted and stretched. Her pulse skipped at the sight of him. “Ezra.”

  He froze, and glanced her way.

  “I’ve a message from Aunt Sophia.” Coward. Afraid to face what you feel. Afraid he’ll think little of you after your tirade last night.

  He stuck the fork in the mounded hay, swung over the edge of the loft, dangled there a moment then dropped and came to stand in front of her. “What is it?”

  His eyes. Her heart thudded. She looked down, focused on the piece of straw clinging to the front of his shirt. “Cora’s mother is unwell. You’re to hitch up the shay immediately and take her home.” Her fingers twitched to reach out and pluck off the bit of hay, to feel the coarseness of the fabric of his shirt against them. She looked up and met his gaze, warm and deep and— Warmth crawled into her cheeks. It was safer to look at the bit of straw. “Aunt Sophia says to push Star on the way and get Cora home as quickly as possible, then rest Star on the way home.”

  She turned. His hand caught hold of her upper arm—gently, but there was power in his long, callused fingers. She fought the urge to turn into his arms, to feel their strength around her. She took a breath and looked up at him. “Yes?”

  “I want to talk to you, Callie. Will you go for a walk with me along the deer path at dusk?”

  His voice was warm, quiet. His intent gaze steady on hers. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. She prayed her quivering knees would continue to support her and nodded. “I would like that.”

  “Good. I’ll call for you at dusk.”

  He smiled, and she almost fell. Traitorous knees. She nodded, made a careful turn and walked, step by cautious step, from the barn.

  * * *

  A bird in the tree outside her window chirruped a happy song. Callie smiled, straightened from the mirror and went to the window to try and spy the cheerful creature among the leafy branches.

  She whistled at the bird as Daniel had taught her, but received only silence in reply. She was out of practice. “All right, stay hidden in your leafy bower!” She laughed, then whirled back across the small bedroom to finish tying the bow of the wide ribbon restraining her curls. Not even their obnoxious habit of pulling free to fall on her forehead and dangle down her neck dulled her happiness. Ezra would be returning soon. She would watch him drive to the barn. And then, this evening after supper—

  Hoofbeats! Her stomach flopped. Could he have returned so soon? She ran to the window—drawing back at the sight of the matched blacks prancing and tossing their proud heads. The horses halted, the phaeton they pulled rolling to a stop. She jerked her gaze to the driver. Joe. Breath gusted from her.

  The elderly groom climbed slowly from the fancy rig, tied the reins to the hitching post and limped back toward the barn. The hood of the phaeton was down. Her face tightened. No doubt Jacob Strand was going for another posturing ride for the benefit of the residents of Pinewood. She turned away from the window, lest he see her there when he walked to his rig, and returned to the mirror. She would not allow Jacob Strand to ruin her day, to spoil her anticipation of what was to come.

  Ezra wanted to talk with her. The mere thought of being with him alone brought a restless, breathless excitement. She adjusted the loops of the bow and straightened the ends, smiled at the slight trembling in her fingers. Ezra wanted to walk with her—on the deer path. She glanced at the sprig of pussy willow on the nightstand. Her stomach fluttered. His choice of place must mean something special. And his voice and his eyes when he had asked her! Surely that look in his eyes meant he found her...attractive.

  She turned her head left then right, studied her reflection. He’d never said he found her pretty, or tried to kiss her—not even when the opportunity was there. An image of him holding her close by the stove flashed into her head followed by the memory of him bending over her in the tilted shay, his face so close to hers. Perhaps tonight...

  She stepped back from the mirror and wrapped her arms about herself. What would it feel like to have Ezra embrace her? To feel the strength of his arms about her, his lips pressed to hers? She smiled and closed her eyes.

  Knuckles tapped against the wood of her door. Heat rushed into her cheeks. “A minute!” She pushed away the dream, and walked slowly over to open the door, giving her cheeks time to return to normal. “Yes? What is it, Agnes?”

  “There’s a man here who wants to speak to Mrs. Sheffield, and I can’t leave my doughnuts to fetch her.” Agnes pivoted and rushed back to the stove.

  She walked over to the stranger standing just inside the kitchen door. The man’s eyes had that glazed look men wore when they first saw her. She lifted her chin. “May I inquire as to why you wish to speak with my aunt, sir?”

  “Um...er...” The man’s head gave a sharp shake. He cleared his throat. “It’s about a sign she wants made.”

  “Oh.
Yes. For the restaurant.” Excitement tingled. “Wait here please. I’ll get Mrs. Sheffield.”

  She exchanged an excited smile with Agnes and hurried into the empty dining room—a room that would soon be filled with patrons all day. The excitement grew. She glanced into the living room and smiled at the guests sitting and conversing with one another. Sophia was not among them. She hurried toward her aunt’s office, her head swarming with ideas for table decorations and special menus, and froze at the sound of Jacob Strand’s voice. Why was he with her aunt?

  I shall be staying on, madam. Perhaps I can change Miss Conner’s mind...or yours. Bile rose into her throat at the remembered words. Her pulse raced.

  Not Aunt Sophia, Lord, please. Don’t let Jacob Strand harm Aunt Sophia. She gathered her skirts close so their rustle would not betray her presence and edged closer.

  “...is being unnaturally obstinate about seeing me, but it will do her no good. I will not increase the amount I am paying her father for her hand one cent.”

  “My niece is not interested in your money, Mr. Strand. And she has made it clear she does not wish to entertain your suit. As you will not leave willingly, I am telling you to leave my hotel today.”

  “You are telling me?” Jacob Strand gave a disdainful snort. “My patience is at an end, madam! My plans are made. You will go to your niece now, and you will advise her to come back to Buffalo with me as my betrothed. We will journey to Dunkirk tonight. And we will wed tomorrow, after I take her to her parents’ home where she will change into suitable attire. Now please hurry. My conveyance is waiting outside.”

  Her heart jolted. It was there—right outside her window. The strength leached from her body. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Almighty God, help me! Please help me.

  “How convenient, as you are leaving my establishment now. And you are leaving alone.”

  “You will not advise your niece to marry me?”

  “I will not.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. She pressed her hand to her constricted chest and sagged against the wall, waiting. It wouldn’t work. She knew Jacob Strand, he was too proud to lose.

  “I believe you will, madam.”

  The certainty was there, in his silky tone. She turned her head toward the door, strained to hear over the pounding of her heart.

  “...outstanding loan on this hotel. Unless you go to your niece this instant and advise her to marry me, I will return to Buffalo, buy your loan from the bank and then return to throw you both out into the street. Unless you do as I say, not only will Miss Conner no longer have a home here, you will be homeless as well.”

  No, God, please—

  “Do what you will, Mr. Strand. I will never tell Callie to marry a man as vile and contemptible as you.”

  “Very well, madam, if that is your decision. I advise you to prepare to live elsewhere with your niece. For when I return as owner of this hotel, I intend to burn it to the ground.”

  So cold and emotionless. So uncaring of the damage he would do to so many by his vengeful act. And it would be her fault. She never should have come to Pinewood.

  “No.” Fury replaced her fear. She shoved away from the wall and stood in the doorway, her hands clenched and her chin lifted. “You will not ruin Aunt Sophia’s life. I will return to Buffalo and marry you. And I promise you, I will do my utmost to make you regret it the rest of your life.”

  “Callie, no! Don’t go with him! Don’t marry him!” Sophia rushed toward her.

  Jacob Strand stepped between them, his eyes glittering, his mouth tight.

  “Don’t touch her.” She looked full into those dark, mean eyes and issued her ultimatum. “If you want me for your wife, don’t you dare touch her.”

  She turned and walked through the entrance hall to the front door and stepped out onto the porch, blocking Sophia’s cries from her mind. A door slammed. Jacob Strand’s footsteps sounded behind her.

  The sun shone bright upon her as she strode to the phaeton and climbed to the seat. She’d never been so cold in her life.

  Jacob Strand freed the reins, climbed in beside her and cracked his whip. The horses leapt forward.

  Sophia was rushing down the front porch steps as they swayed out onto Main Street. She faced straight ahead, thankful she couldn’t hear her aunt calling to her over the thundering beat of the horses’ hoofs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Star’s hooves thudded against the plank floor of the barn announcing her eagerness to be home. The shay left the gravel way, bumping over the sill. Ezra eased his taut hold on the reins and glanced toward the empty space on his left. The phaeton was gone—and the black geldings. No doubt Jacob Strand was out riding around showing off his fancy rig again. Or, perhaps, after last night, Strand had gone back home to Buffalo—though he wasn’t the sort to give up when he wanted something, and Strand wanted Callie. He’d be glad to see the last of the man. And not only because of Callie. Strand’s presence was like a dark blotch on the village.

  He scowled, draped the reins over the dashboard when Star halted and tossed her head. He’d met many men like Strand, arrogant, unscrupulous thieves that hid their sly deeds beneath the law, good manners and elegant trappings. His good fortune was that he had an ability to recognize them for what they were, thwart their underhanded ploys and make them accept a straight, upright deal. It seemed Callie had that same ability. He’d seen that in her suspicion of him when he arrived. What would she think of him when he told her the truth? His gut clenched.

  Lord God Almighty, please give me the words to make Callie understand that I’m not like—

  “I’ll take care of Star.” Joe stepped into view, looked at him over the top of the mare’s broad back. “Mrs. Sheffield said she wanted to see you soon’s you got back.”

  “What about?” He jumped from the shay and walked forward, rubbing the mare’s muzzle. “Good girl. You’ve earned your feed today.”

  The older man shrugged, ran a gnarled hand down Star’s neck. “Don’t know. But she sounded upset, and it takes a lot to rile Mrs. Sheffield. You’d best go find out what she wants.”

  He nodded, his mind sorting through possibilities. “It might be something to do with opening the restaurant.”

  “Could be.” Joe turned and began unhitching Star.

  He gave the mare a last pat and strode out of the barn toward the hotel, glancing at the kitchen window. Was Callie watching? His pulse quickened at the thought, his stomach tightening. He’d sure be thankful when tonight was over and this push-pull of apprehension and anticipation had ceased. He was a man of facts and wasn’t accustomed to dealing with emotions and uncertainty. But Callie was worth it. Glory, how he loved her!

  He broke into a whistle and lengthened his stride, took the porch steps two at a time and crossed to the door, frowning at the squeak when he opened it. He made a mental note to check the hinges for rust and stepped inside.

  Callie wasn’t in the kitchen. He swallowed his disappointment and looked at Agnes. The young woman looked a little harried. “Mrs. Sheffield wanted to see me.”

  Agnes nodded, spooned ham and vegetables onto a plate and reached for another. “She’s in her sitting room.”

  He caught a whiff of ham, frowned as his stomach grumbled at not having been fed since breakfast and stepped around the dining table to Sophia’s door. His pulse sped at the muffled sound of voices. If Callie wasn’t in the kitchen serving up dinner for the guests, she was likely with her aunt. Odd that the door was closed.

  He raised his hand and knocked. The voices stopped. The latch clicked. He stepped back as the door opened.

  “Ezra! Thank God, you’re back! Come in.”

  He stepped into the room, stared at Sophia, taken aback by the woman’s puffy, red-rimmed eyes, her tense features. He glanced at the young woman st
anding by the settee, noted the same puffy, red eyes and tense features on Willa Calvert’s face. Callie. His throat tightened, squeezed. He closed the door and turned to Sophia. “You wanted to see me?”

  The older woman nodded. Her mouth worked. His sense of foreboding deepened.

  “Callie’s gone—with Jacob Strand.”

  The words slammed into him with the force of an enraged stallion’s kick. His heart lurched. His gut knotted. He stared into her eyes and read the distress, the anger and the helplessness in them. Learn the facts. He took a firm hold on his roiling emotions and cleared his throat. “What happened?” His voice came out tight, but calm.

  Sophia searched his face, straightened her shoulders and placed her hand on his arm. “To understand, you have to know that Callie came here to Pinewood to escape Mr. Strand and others who were bidding with her father for her hand.”

  He forced back the dark anger uncoiling inside him and nodded.

  “Mr. Strand won Callie’s father’s blessing.” Bitterness laced Sophia’s voice. “Knowing of Callie’s effort to escape his offer for her hand, Mr. Strand made some inquiries before he came after her.” Sophia’s eyes flashed violet sparks. “He found I have a loan—with the hotel offered as surety of payment—with the Bank of Buffalo. When Callie refused to speak with him this morning, he came to me and ordered me to advise Callie to marry him. I refused and—” Her voice broke. Her fingernails dug into his arm.

  “And he threatened you with the loan.” The dark ugliness gave way to a clear, cold calmness at her nod. This was familiar ground, but he needed more details. “What exactly did he say?”

  “He told me if I did not persuade Callie to return to Buffalo with him and marry him immediately, he would go buy the note. Then he would throw both Callie and I out into the streets, and burn the hotel to the ground. I told him to do what he must, but Callie overheard—”

  “And she went with him.” I will never wed that man. Never! His hands fisted. Callie hadn’t fully realized the viciousness of her opponent.