“Five seventy-five!” someone yelled from the back of the room.
“Six,” Ginger urged from behind the fan. “I’ll chip in the extra twenty-five cents.”
“Seven-fifty!” John yelled, then leaned over to whisper. “Keep your money. I’ll pay fifty if I have to.”
“Seven-fifty! Sold to John Jacobs for seven dollars and fifty cents! Come claim your supper, John.”
John parted his way through the crowd, accepting congratulations as he reached up to take possession of the basket.
Veda looked unforgivably smug. “Enjoy your meal, John.”
Handing over the money, he threaded his way back to Ginger. But she wasn’t there. His eyes frantically searched the room before he detected a movement toward the back door. Hurrying in that direction, he was relieved to see Ginger casually strolling across the yard to the wall where he’d made such a fool of himself earlier.
He shot out the door and followed her.
“I thought we could picnic out here,” Ginger said as he caught up.
“A perfect place,” he agreed.
Ginger untied the ribbon and loosened the checked cloth, then spread it across the top of the stone ledge. Handing John the daisies, she opened the basket. The tantalizing aroma of fried chicken wafted upward, and John smiled.
“You are a temptress,” he accused.
Ginger laughed, and the charming sound coursed through John’s veins like wildfire.
“Biscuits, chicken, Aunt Veda’s pickles, baked beans with sorghum, apple pie.”
John reached to help extract a round plate. Their hands touched, and he felt as if he’d been hit by lightning.
“And cheese.” Their eyes met and held in the moonlight. “A beautiful woman, a warm spring night. Life is good.”
“You’re a romantic, John Jacobs.”
“I like to think so, Miss Gonzales.”
Later, they packed the remnants of the meal back into the basket, and John escorted Ginger back into the school building. Excusing herself, Ginger went to gather her things.
“There you are! Yoo-hoo, John!” Veda stood on tiptoe, vying for his attention. “How was the meal?”
Striding toward her, John reached out to take her pudgy hand in his. “Mrs. Fletcher, I owe you my heartfelt apologies.”
Veda blushed prettily. “What on earth for?”
“Because you tried to tell me how completely lovely your niece was, and I was reluctant to take your word.” He leaned close and whispered into her ear, “Indulgent aunts and parents tend to be a bit prejudiced, you know.”
Veda tittered. “I was so pleased when you bid on Ginger’s basket,” she confessed. “And I didn’t even have to tell you which one it was. Could this mean you no longer consider yourself engaged? Have you finally come to your senses and realized Miss Kallahan isn’t coming?”
He hadn’t thought that far yet, but he supposed he must. And soon. He couldn’t go on this way forever. Hope wasn’t coming; he’d only been fooling himself. As bad as he hated to admit it, she’d stood him up.
“I’d rather your niece doesn’t know anything about my engagement until I think it through.”
“Of course, but, John—” Veda squeezed his hand affectionately—“I only want the best for you. I know you’ve thought me pushy and overbearing at times, always on you to meet my niece, and I admit I’ve been overly anxious. I’m a selfish woman. I want you in the family. You’re a fine man, and my niece couldn’t be more blessed were the two of you to fall in love.”
John’s gaze located Ginger across the room. She was chatting with Idella Merriweather, her animated laughter drifting to him. Three hours ago he would have found Veda’s thoughts ludicrous. At the moment they didn’t seem at all out of place.
“If you don’t mind, I would like to walk Ginger and you home.”
“Of course, dear. And you can take your time. It’s a lovely night. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Veda zeroed in on Pearl Eddings. “Oh, Pearl!” she warbled. “Wait up. I have something to tell you.”
Chapter Thirteen
The old mule, Cinder, was a pest. The cantankerous beast of burden nipped at Dan’s dangling legs with its big teeth, making a real nuisance of herself.
“If we didn’t need the transportation so badly, I’d shoot this thing!” Dan groused, swatting the critter’s rump when she bit him a third time.
Even Hope’s newfound positive attitude was flagging. She was beginning to feel as if everything was against her, even the mule. What had her life become? What would Aunt Thalia think if she could see her now—riding a mule, wearing Letty’s ridiculous-looking straw hat?
But no matter. She would be in Medford before much longer, and her troubles would be over. By this time next week, she would be serving John Jacobs dinner.
The thought didn’t do much to lift her spirits.
She spent the day trying to revel in her final hours of freedom, glorying in the spring flowers blooming along the hillsides, the call of meadowlarks, and the occasional glimpse of a deer through the thick foliage. She sang songs, inviting Dan to join in. To her delight, he did, his rich baritone blending harmoniously with her alto as they rode through the greening countryside.
Hope waved to occasional passersby, though Dan barely noticed them. He seemed preoccupied, deep in thought. Hope wondered if his thoughts included her. At times, she was certain that he was attracted to her; but at others she realized he was a man with a duty and she was only a part of that duty.
Her feelings for Dan had deepened with lightning swiftness. During the idyllic days at Letty’s, they had been inseparable, working side by side during the day, talking late into the night over popcorn and sugared tea at the table while Letty snored in her bed.
Yet at other times, they seemed continents apart.
She knew what her problem was—love. But other than the one time at the smokehouse, she’d fought the feeling because there was John to consider.
There was always John.
Her resentment bloomed. What sort of man put an ad for a wife in a journal, anyway? How could she possibly explain to her husband-to-be everything that had happened to her since she’d kissed Aunt Thalia good-bye and boarded the stage in Cold Water?
Had that been almost two months ago? She’d lost track of time.
Would John believe that Dan had been only her protector? Or would he have qualms about her respectability, requesting that she leave? Her spirits lifted at the prospect, then plummeted back to earth. John Jacobs was an honorable man. If he had misgivings about her reputation, she doubted that he would openly voice them.
If God had put these trials upon her to test her faith, then she had most certainly failed. She wasn’t even sure God loved her. How could she believe this man she didn’t know but was consigned to marry could love her?
“Muddy Flats straight ahead.” Dan indicated the silhouette of buildings against the distant horizon.
A few miles back, a passerby had told them the small crossroads settlement had a general store. Letty had insisted that they take fifteen dollars for necessities. Dan assured her the money would be repaid the moment he contacted his commander. When they reached Muddy Flats, they would have to purchase food. The sandwiches would last for one more meal.
“If only there was time to buy a dress that fits me.” She lifted the baggy waist of the dress Letty had given her. It was going to be embarrassing to meet John looking like a beggar. “And a bath would be nice.”
“We’ll see if the town can accommodate your wishes, miss.”
“A bath isn’t a necessity,” she reminded him. “But it sure would be nice.”
Dan’s hand rested on hers for a brief moment. The artless touch set her heart rate into double time. “We’ll make you presentable to meet John. Another couple of hours isn’t going to make a difference. You can buy a pretty dress and have a long soak in a hot tub. Come to think about it, a bath sounds good. We’ll each have one.”
Hope felt like s
he was going to explode with all the emotions boiling up inside her. “Thank you.” She squeezed his waist, and he squeezed her hand back.
Muddy Flats wasn’t large, but Hope was happy to see a mercantile, a small livery, a saloon, a blacksmith, and a boardinghouse that promised bathing facilities.
“We might even stay the night,” Dan decided as they rode the mule down Main Street. “Probably do you good to sleep in your own bed, stay in your own room for the first time in weeks. We can start out early in the morning, be in Medford by noon. What would you say to that?”
“Sleep in a clean bed with real sheets? I’d say yes!”
“I’ll leave you at the mercantile. You pick out a pretty dress and buy some matching shoes. I want John Jacobs’s bride to be the talk of the town.”
She did too; she just wished she wasn’t that bride. She poked her foot out and studied her once-fashionable foot attire. During the weeks since she’d left Michigan, she’d plowed through wet grass, forded streams, and walked untold miles. Her shoes weren’t a pretty sight.
“What will you do while I shop?”
“I’m going to sell this ornery critter. Or bury it.” He jumped when the mule turned, trying to take a chunk out of his leg. He boxed the animal’s ears. “Either way, Lucifer here and I are parting company.”
Dan stopped the animal in front of the mercantile, and Hope slid off the mule’s back. “Stay out of trouble.” He winked at her.
“I’ll try.” It was her heart, not her feet, that needed to stay out of trouble.
She felt like a street urchin as she opened the door to the mercantile and stepped inside.
“Afternoon!” A short, round older man behind the counter greeted her, his gaze sweeping her appearance.
“I need a new dress,” she explained.
The clerk’s mouth turned up in a half smile. “That right? Right pert hat you’ve got there.”
“Well,” she admitted, “it keeps the sun off, thank you.”
“I see that. Hiram Burk, clerk, at your service.”
“Hope Kallahan, battered traveler, at yours.” She extended a soiled hand and they shook.
“I suppose you’d like to look at some ready-mades?”
“Yes, and shoes. Comfortable ones—inexpensive, comfortable ones. I don’t have much money.”
She had no idea what a mule would bring. Not much, she ventured to guess, and they would need all they could get to buy a horse to replace it. She needed to be thrifty, even though they also had Letty’s fifteen dollars.
“Dresses to the right, bonnets three aisles back. You’ll find everything you need.”
Hope easily located the rack of ready-made gowns. Most were too large for her, but she eventually decided on a pink-and-white calico. Browsing through the rack of bonnets, she found a pretty white one; then she selected a few simple undergarments and carried them to the counter.
“How much?” she asked, anxiously watching the clerk tally the apparel.
“Well, let’s see.” The old gentleman figured on a piece of brown paper, his pencil flying. “Three dollars.”
“Three?” She worried her teeth on her lower lip. “Dan and I both need comfortable walking shoes.”
“Three dollars includes two pairs of shoes,” he said with a friendly smile. “I’d throw in a brush and comb for three and a quarter.” He leaned forward slightly. “Got some fine bathing facilities up at the boardinghouse.”
“Thank you,” Hope said, heartened by his generosity. As Papa would say, the world needed more men like Hiram Burk. “You’re so very kind.”
“The Lord’s been good to me; I like to pass it on.” Straightening, he picked up his duster and tidied the counter. “Looks to me like you’ve had a time of it. You slip off one of those shoes and I’ll see if I can match the size. Meanwhile, there’s some finely milled soap, sweetest smelling thing this side of heaven, right over there near the window. You pick out a bar, and I’ll sell it to you for a penny.”
Hope unlaced her shoes and handed them over the counter, then went to see about the soap. She smelled each and every bar before she selected one that smelled like the roses that vined along Aunt Thalia’s backyard fence.
“Now let’s see, little lady. Think these will fit?” Mr. Burk held a sturdy brown pair of shoes aloft for her inspection.
“They look as if they might.”
Sitting on a stool Mr. Burk provided, Hope slipped her feet into the shoes and stood up, testing their length.
“They look mighty fetching on you.”
“They’re perfect.” She sat down and pulled them off.
“Don’t you want to wear them? I could wrap up this old pair—”
“No, I won’t wear them until I have a bath,” Hope said.
Mr. Burk smiled, nodding with understanding. “Just what my wife, Beulah, would say.”
Reaching for her parcels, Hope smiled. Sometimes a person just knew when she was in the presence of angels. This was one of those times. “God bless you, Mr. Burk.”
The old clerk looked almost angelic. “It’s mighty nice to be of service. You send your man in, and I’ll fix him up too.”
Hope didn’t bother to correct Mr. Burk’s assumption that Dan was her husband. She rather fancied the idea herself.
Hurrying out of the store, she anticipated the hot bath, rose-scented soap, shampoo for her hair, clean, new clothes, and a night’s rest in a real bed with clean sheets and feather pillows.
Not looking where she was going, she ran smack into a tall man just exiting the mouth of the alley. She opened her mouth to apologize.
“I’m so—no!” She shrieked as Joe Davidson’s filthy hand clamped over her mouth.
“Thought ya could escape Big Joe, huh? Well, think again, missy.”
Hope’s heart hammered wildly in her chest as the outlaw hooked an arm around her waist and hauled her into the alleyway. Her packages scattered. Struggling, she pawed at his hand, but Big Joe’s grip was far superior. He stifled her cries by stuffing a dirty bandanna into her mouth.
“Now, hush up!”
Manhandling her onto a waiting horse, he stepped into the saddle, digging his spurs into the horse’s flanks.
The gelding burst from the alleyway and headed east.
Dan emerged from the boardinghouse and strode toward the mercantile, whistling.
Stepping onto the porch, he cupped his hands, peeking through the store window. His gaze swept the empty store, and he frowned. A moment later he entered through the front door.
The portly man behind the counter glanced up. “Can I help you?”
Dan’s eyes scanned the empty aisles. “I’m looking for a woman. Dark hair, wearing a yellow dress, silly hat?”
“Mrs. Kallahan! You must be the mister.”
Dan smiled. “Is she still here?”
“No, she left a moment ago—you must have passed her on the way in.” The friendly clerk stepped to the front window and looked out. “Now that’s odd. She couldn’t have gone far.”
Dan joined him to look out. “I didn’t pass her on the way over. I’d have noticed that.”
The clerk walked outside, and Dan followed him. The two men stood on the porch, their eyes searching the street.
“I think she was heading over to the boardinghouse. Said something about wanting a bath.”
Dan suddenly bounded off the porch and started running.
“Mister! Hey, mister!” the clerk called. “I’m sure she’s all right—”
Dan dodged the packages spilled in the dirt—a dress box, a pair of brown shoes. A small bar of feminine-looking soap.
“Hope!” He ran faster, his breath coming in bursts, his eyes searching the sidewalks and walkways.
“Did anyone see anything?” he shouted as a crowd started to form.
Serious expressions stared back. Not a man, woman, or child indicated they’d seen anything peculiar.
His eyes swung to an old-timer dozing in a chair propped against the saloon
wall on the opposite side of the street. Dan sprinted across the road.
“Did you see a young woman come out of the mercantile a few minutes ago?”
The old man cracked a sleepy eye, peering up at him. “Eh?”
“A young, pretty woman. Coming out of the store—just a few minutes ago.”
“Young woman?”
“Yes.”
“Pretty?”
“Tall, slim, dark hair, wearing a silly straw hat.”
“Oh, that woman.” The old fellow stroked his bristling jaw. “Yes, sir, I did see that little filly. Wearing a dirty yeller dress, leastwise it looked yeller—could have been white. Can’t even say it wasn’t faded brown; could even have been coffee-colored—knew a woman once who had a coffee-colored dress. It was real pretty. Or it could have been—”
Dan cut him off. “Where did she go?”
“Rode out of town.”
“Rode out?” Dan whirled to look down the road.
“Yep. On th’ back of a horse … with a big ol’ fella.”
Dan grabbed the front of the old-timer’s vest. “How long ago?”
The old man showed surprising strength. He struggled to break Dan’s grip. “Now hold on, you young whippersnapper—”
Relaxing the clench, Dan stepped back. He swiped a hand over his face. “This is important. What did the man look like?”
Frowning, the old man shook his head. “Big—tall, hat pulled low. Beard. Ridin’ a big gelding. That one’s trouble, I tell you. Why any woman would want to—”
“Joe Davidson,” Dan muttered. “Which way did he go?”
“Thataway.” The man pointed up the street. “If you want to catch him, you better lasso yourself a cyclone, sonny. That feller was in a powerful big hurry.”
Leaping off the porch, Dan sprang aboard a big roan standing at the saloon hitching post.
A cowpoke just coming out from the watering hole threw his arms in the air, yelling, “Hey! That’s my horse!”
“I’ll return it later!” Wheeling the mare, Dan spurred the animal’s flanks and galloped out of town.
Chapter Fourteen
Well. This is getting out of hand, Lord! Is there a particular lesson you want me to learn from this insanity?
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