by Regina Scott
But she wasn’t going to be the one to admit her feelings first this time. If he was interested in courting her, he would have to prove it.
She paused at the steps leading up to her door, tingling with the thought that he might kiss her again. Moonlight streamed down through the trees, anointing him in silver. She tipped back her head, drew in a breath, waited.
“Good night, Beth,” he said. “Thank you for inviting me.”
He remained at the bottom of the steps until she was in the door.
So, what was she to make of that? He’d kissed her on the street in broad daylight, where anyone could have noticed and remarked on it. Why did he hesitate to kiss her in private, where no one but the two of them would know?
Had she misread him, again?
She’d certainly misread Scout. Even though he’d promised to come out to Wallin Landing for Easter, he hadn’t arrived. That could only mean Mrs. Jamison had convinced him to stay in town with her instead. Beth had gone so far as to check the back issues of Godey’s she kept, but she hadn’t found a single instance where the seamstress’s name was mentioned. Mrs. Jamison was clearly a manipulator, saying what she thought the other person wanted to hear to get her own way.
“Doesn’t he realize she has him wrapped around her little finger?” Beth lamented to Hart as he drove them back to Seattle the next morning, Arno tied behind the wagon. Beth had decided to come in one last time and speak to Ursula Wyckoff about Hart.
“Most fellows in love don’t realize when their sweetheart orders them around,” he said, guiding the horses through a puddle in the road. It had rained that night, and the trees were still dripping.
Beth gathered her coat closer over her pink skirts. “I wouldn’t think much of a sweetheart who laid down orders. Marriage should be a partnership. Look at my brothers and their wives.”
“Your brothers married fine women, their match in every way. Not every man is so fortunate.”
She bridled, then forced her shoulders down. He was right. She’d seen a few uneven marriages in her life, where either the husband or the wife dominated the other.
“That’s just it,” she told Hart. “I want better for Scout. His father never appreciated him, rarely showed him any affection. He deserves a wife who holds him in the highest esteem.”
“Might be hard to find him one in Seattle,” Hart pointed out with a look her way. “Too many folks remember his father.”
He was right there too. It wasn’t fair that Scout was tarred with the same brush, but she’d heard the murmurs, seen the looks. Some of the most established citizens might be seeking him out now, but that didn’t mean they wanted him marrying their daughters.
“A mail-order bride, then,” Beth said. “I’m sure I can locate one perfect for him. I found Dottie for John.”
He shifted on the seat. “As I recall, that almost didn’t work out.”
“Because I didn’t let John know what I was doing. Men can be so stubborn that way. They always want to think an idea is theirs.”
“Funny how that works,” he murmured.
Was he teasing? Beth shook her head. “I’ve learned my lesson. This time I’ll talk to Scout, make him see reason.”
“Beth.”
She loved hearing her name in that rough voice. It made her sound strong, sure, wanted. “Yes?”
“Let Scout find his own way.”
She threw up her hands. “But he’s doing a terrible job of it!”
He cast her a glance, more concern than censure. “That’s his business. He doesn’t seem to have much confidence in himself. You stepping in isn’t going to help.”
Why was he always right? Well, nearly always. Beth sighed. “I don’t know if I can step aside.”
His smile edged into view. “I have complete faith in you.”
That was one of them. Between Hart and Scout, she was beginning to feel as if she wasn’t as skilled a matchmaker as she’d thought. Still, she’d never failed in work she set out to do. Hart had encouraged her to let Scout discover that Mrs. Jamison wasn’t the right woman for him. She’d already voiced her concerns to her friend. Perhaps she should say no more.
Yet when she spotted the yellow buggy outside Kelloggs’, she couldn’t help but ask Hart to pull in behind it.
He jumped down and came around to help her down. Once more the touch of his hands on her waist made her breath stop. He bent his head, and she raised hers, but still he didn’t kiss her.
“Watch yourself now,” he murmured. “You don’t want to lose a friend.”
Beth nodded as he stepped away to untie Arno. He swung up into the saddle.
“Let me know when you head for home.”
Annoyance pricked her. “I’m not a child. I don’t need your permission.”
He chuckled. “And I’m the law. I need to know who’s in my town and who isn’t.” He turned Arno and set off toward the sheriff’s office. Likely he hadn’t noticed her stick out her tongue at his back.
Beth laughed. And wasn’t that just the most mature thing to do? Ah, well. Perhaps she would fare better with Scout.
She found him looking over the tinned goods, paper in one hand.
“We missed you at Easter,” she said, moving in next to him.
Scout looked up with a smile. “I missed you, too. But I didn’t like leaving Evangeline and Bobby all alone. They don’t know anyone else in town.”
As far as Beth could see, the seamstress had gone out of her way to make herself known to all the best families in Seattle. But perhaps they wouldn’t invite her to dine.
“That was kind of you,” she told Scout. “The lady is very fortunate to have such an attentive friend.”
He glanced down at the paper in his hand. “I’m the fortunate one.”
Beth tipped her head to read the words on the paper. That wasn’t Scout’s hand, unless he’d learned to add fancy curlicues to his writing while he was on the gold fields. “Oysters?” she asked.
He nodded. “They’re Evangeline’s favorite. And fish eggs.”
Beth wrinkled her nose. “Fish eggs?”
“Caviar,” Mr. Weinclef said, appearing from behind the stack of tins. “Imported from Russia. A personal favorite of Mr. Arthur Denny’s.”
Beth shuddered. “Fish eggs make good bait. I don’t think I’d enjoy eating them.”
Mr. Weinclef put his pointed nose in the air. “I understand they are an acquired taste.”
And Mrs. Jamison had obviously acquired it. “She has you doing her shopping, Scout?”
Scout colored. “I offered. Bobby has quite an appetite, I understand. Growing boy, I suppose. You remember how Levi and I would eat your ma out of house and home.”
Beth smiled. “I do. So, what else is on your list?”
Quite a lot. She helped him gather flour, sugar, salt, cornmeal, and assorted other staples, in amounts that would have fed half of Wallin Landing. Mrs. Jamison, it seemed, was stocking up.
And allowing Scout to pay for it.
“Do you have an understanding?” she whispered to Scout as Mr. Weinclef tallied up the supplies. “This seems a large gift otherwise. People will talk.”
Scout shrugged. “Let them talk. Why do I have this money if I can’t do a favor for a friend?”
“Scout,” Beth started.
Scout laid his hand over hers on the counter. “All my life I’ve had to live on the generosity of others. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the times your family fed me, found ‘spare’ clothing that would supposedly go to waste if I didn’t take it, let me stay the night in a clean bed. It’s my turn to help.”
How could she argue with that?
She helped Mr. Weinclef and Scout load the goods into his buggy, which sank in the mud under the weight, and watched him drive away. Then she followed the clerk back into the store.
Kelloggs’ carried the newspapers from the East Coast that featured advertisements from people seeking spouses. Many of the store’s male customers made use of them. She�
�d posted an advertisement in one when she’d been looking for a wife for John. Like Scout, her most tenderhearted brother had held love high and had needed a little help locating the perfect bride for him.
“But all your brothers are married,” Mr. Weinclef protested when she asked for a copy of the newspapers, which were kept behind the counter.
Beth smiled at him. “They certainly are. I’m looking for a friend.”
He drew out the sheets so slowly she might have thought he had rheumatism. “I don’t think Deputy McCormick would like a mail-order bride.”
The very idea made her giggle. “Not that friend.”
He lowered his voice. “I hope you aren’t thinking of a groom for yourself, Miss Wallin. I know any number of fellows who would be glad to pay you court, at the least encouragement.”
Her smile felt tight. “Just give me the papers, please.”
He laid them down, and she paid the twenty-five cents and left.
Outside the store, she stopped by the wagon to scan through the offerings. No older widows—Scout needed someone who would match his experience in courting, which was nearly nonexistent, as far as she knew. Look how easily he had been taken in by Mrs. Jamison. And no children—he would need time to accustom himself to the idea of fatherhood. No one who wrote with an overly flowery or highly educated tone—he was a simple man who had barely graduated from Rina’s school because Beth had tutored him.
Ah, there was one. “Sweet-natured, shy lady seeks husband out West who will provide safe, stable home.”
Just because a lady claimed she was sweet-natured and shy didn’t make her so, but Scout could surely provide safety and stability. She’d write for more information before presenting the possibility to him.
She lowered the paper in time to see a man slip back into the shadows of the alley across the way. Something about him was familiar.
Was that the man who had accosted her?
Determination flooded her. Oh, but it would be satisfying to pursue him and give him a piece of her mind. A shame that was out of the question, as it was entirely too dangerous. Better to point him out to the law. She smiled just thinking about how Hart would respond.
Folding the papers, she hurried to the hitching post and retrieved the reins. Even pulling a wagon, Lance and Percy could go faster than Arno’s usual stroll through Seattle. There were only so many streets where Hart might be patrolling. She’d find him, bring him back. The fellow wouldn’t escape this time. Climbing up on the bench, she slapped down the reins.
Lance and Percy leaped forward with their usual enthusiasm. The wagon didn’t follow. Before Beth could grasp what was happening, she was yanked from the box. The ground rose to meet her, and the light snuffed out.
* * *
Not a bad day for a Monday. Hart tipped his hat to Mr. Horton, who was inspecting the property where he planned to erect his new bank, the first stone building in Seattle. Hart had been a little concerned that the lack of a visible law presence on Sunday might encourage some of Seattle’s citizens to act out or even embolden the gang. But no complaints had been waiting for him at the office, and no one came forward now to share a concern as he rode Arno down Commercial Street.
The quiet gave him time to think about Easter, and Beth.
He’d never considered courting again, and certainly not her. He’d told himself she was younger than he was. She was light to his shadow. She didn’t really know him, or she wouldn’t have been so quick to claim friendship.
Having spent more time in her company these last few weeks, he could see he had been wrong. She wasn’t that much younger than him. Several of Seattle’s leading families had a larger age difference between husband and wife, and they seemed happy. While she had a more childlike wonder of the world, he was coming to see the value in not always expecting the worst of people. When he was with her, the darkness abated. And now she knew about his past and still seemed to enjoy his company.
He’d once dreamed of settling down, marrying a woman he cared about, being part of a true family. That dream had died with Annabelle. Could he recapture it with Beth? He couldn’t imagine recapturing it with any other woman.
He turned Arno onto Mill Street and around the corner to Second. There was a commotion up ahead, the street blocked, a crowd gathering. He urged Arno forward.
Billy Prentice, the porter at Lowe’s Hotel, ran to meet him. “Deputy, come quick. There’s been an accident.”
He could see that much. A farm wagon stood alone in front of Kelloggs’, the horses missing from the traces. Weinclef paced the boardwalk wringing his hands. Hart swung down from the saddle, handed the reins to Billy. “What happened?”
“It just came apart,” Weinclef cried, eyes wide. “I always watch when she leaves. She’s so purposeful. This time she flicked the reins, and the horses pulled her right off the seat.”
All sound shut off. He felt hands on his arm, shoulders bumping his as he pressed forward to the center of the crowd. He shook them off, cold filling him.
Beth lay in the mud, her pretty dress soaked. Someone had turned her on her side, arranged her skirts modestly, but her eyes were closed, her face white. He knew that look. It raised bile in his throat.
“Is she...” He couldn’t ask the question, wasn’t sure he could bear to hear the answer.
“She’s alive, Deputy,” Aiden O’Rourke said, face pinched, as he knelt at her side. “But I can’t wake her.”
“Fetch Doc,” Hart ordered, crouching beside him as a wave of thanksgiving broke over him. Aiden rose and ran.
Hart reached out, smoothed the hair from her forehead. Already a bruise was growing, an angry purple, and he had the absurd notion she would be annoyed to find it clashed with her outfit. But now that he was closer, he could see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Was it forced? Had she struck more than her head?
He wanted to gather her close, whisper her name until she woke, but it wouldn’t be wise to move her until Doc had determined the extent of her injuries.
“Beth,” he murmured, bending over her. “Beth, honey, wake up.”
She didn’t move. Pain lanced him.
“Deputy.” Doc was kneeling beside him. “What happened?”
Hart pushed back his hat, tried to marshal his thoughts. “Some kind of accident with the wagon. I think she hit her head.”
“Miss Wallin,” Doc called, touching her cheek. “Beth. Can you hear me?”
She didn’t respond.
Someone was crying. Hart could hear the soft sob. Others talked in hushed tones, as if she was already beyond their reach. Aiden stared at him as if just as afraid.
Hart straightened. “Billy, I’m commandeering you. Hitch Arno and see if you can find Lance and Percy. Weinclef, Aiden, move these folks along. I’ll get Miss Wallin to Doc’s.”
Doc rose as well. “I don’t think anything is broken, but I won’t know for sure until I can examine her more closely. If you would, Deputy.”
Hart squatted and slipped his arms under her, lifting her carefully. The mud sucked at her body, and her head lolled against his shoulder.
Please, Lord, don’t take her. I’ll do anything You want. Just heal her.
He carried her down the street, the crowd parting before him, people crying out, asking questions. He paid them no heed. All that mattered was Beth.
Doc directed him to lay her on the tall table in his office. Hart did so and stepped back, feeling empty without her in his arms.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asked as Doc set his stethoscope against her chest. “Why won’t she wake?”
“Sometimes a blow to the head renders a person insensible,” Doc said, repositioning the device. “Give her a bit, and she may come around.”
He wanted to believe that. What would the world be without Beth in it? Dark, devoid of joy, an abyss of silence. He’d done everything he could to prevent this kind of loss for others. Now he faced it again.
Once more, he could lose the woman he love
d.
And he did love her. He’d fought against the notion, denied it to her face. Yet who wouldn’t love her? That infectious smile, that bright giggle. Her enthusiasm for anything, everything. Her faith in her family, in a loving God.
Her unshakeable belief in him.
Choked, he knelt beside the table, his face on a level with her. “Beth, please. Wake up.”
Doc pulled back his stethoscope, frowning at Hart. He didn’t care. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t. He took her cold fingers, clasped them close. “Beth, come back to me. I’m only whole when you’re at my side.”
Her lashes fluttered, and he caught his breath. Her eyes opened, and she blinked, focusing on his face. “I see you’ve been reading Vaughn Everard’s poetry again.”
Hart dropped his head to the table, fingers tightening on hers. Thank You, Lord. You brought her back. Now show me how to keep her safe.
Chapter Nineteen
Though she had a raging headache, Beth could only touch Hart’s thick hair and marvel. Had she really heard words of love from his lips, or had she been dreaming?
“Miss Wallin.” Doc bent over her, craggy face concerned. “You’ve had an accident, and we need to assess the extent of your injuries. Can you answer a few questions for me?”
Beth started to nod, then winced as her head protested. “I’ll do my best.”
Doc proceeded to ask about various aches and pains, requesting that she move this part of her body or another. Hart had straightened and stood with eyes narrowed, apparently daring Doc to treat her well or suffer the consequences.
Finally, Doc stepped back. “It seems the worst of your injuries is a concussion. I’m sure you’ll have some discomfort from bumps and bruises over the next few days as well.” He looked to Hart. “She’ll need someone to watch her through the night. I suggest bed rest for the next few days. I’ll send some laudanum with you.”