From the midst of the crowd, Beryl ran pell-mell toward Schuller and attacked his shins with the ferocity of a kicking mule. “Don’t you be mean to our grandma, mister.”
Schuller hopped about trying to get away from the braids-flying little spitfire as he swung a hand to slap her away. “Why you damned little—”
Joe snatched Beryl out of the way and handed her to Ginny, then standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Dale, he said, “It’s time for you to leave.”
Schuller looked them over, his face sullen, his eyes narrowed to dark, dangerous slits of I’ll-get-even-with-you-yokels. He touched the back of his hand to his mouth and spit blood on the floor. “This isn’t finished.”
Dale said, “Yes, it is.”
“I’ll press charges for assault.”
Sheriff Lathrop came up behind the man. “I suggest you return to whatever hole it was you crawled out of and be glad I don’t run you in for disturbing the peace, swearing in public in the presence of women and children, and attempting violence toward a child. There’s been no assault. I witnessed, as did all the people here, a rightful defense against a verbal threat of harm to a woman.”
Ben stepped forward. “My journalist’s curiosity senses a deeper story afoot. I suspect your name isn’t Calvin Schuller, and I question the legitimacy of any business you profess to own and/or operate under any name. I will send forth details of what transpired here this evening to the Matrimony Courier as well as to my fellow newspapermen throughout the country.”
Schuller cast a wary eye over the crowd without finding a friendly face among them. Backing up, he made his way slowly to the door with the sheriff matching his pace. When he reached the door, Schuller made one last threat. “You’ll hear from my attorney.”
Sheriff Lathrop warned, “And I’ll be glad to put you up in the jail if I ever see you in this town again.”
Schuller spun on his heel and was gone.
Dale turned to Irene. “If you’ll have me, I’d be honored if you’d take my name.”
She didn’t answer, and the longer she hesitated, the nearer the crowd hovered, the quieter the room became, and the more expectant the tension grew. He hadn’t expected this. It was written all over her. She wasn’t going to accept his proposal. Irene looked at the people looking at her. She looked into the hopeful faces of three little girls whose dreams she would crush if she said no, then she looked at him.
“Please. Say something,” Dale managed to whisper.
“I want to say yes. My heart aches for me to say yes, but my mind tells me I’m crazy to accept, even though I’ve never known a man as good and decent and honest as you. I rushed into a marriage one other time, and I spent more than two decades paying for that decision. I promised myself I’d never do that again.”
Dale tried to smile. “I understand.”
Irene shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I love you. But that’s not enough. I have to know. Can you say the same for me?”
Dale sucked in a startled breath. Murmuring rumbled through the crowd. Meredith nudged him. “Grandpa, this isn’t the time to take a really long time to make up your mind.”
Laughter broke out, and Dale took hold of Irene’s hands and drew her to him. “I don’t need any time to think about this. I do love you, Irene.”
“Then, my answer is yes.”
Dale dipped his chin to meet Irene’s upturned face, but just as their lips met, Beryl popped up between them, jostling them apart.
“See? Didn’t I say the reason you came here was to marry Grandpa?”
Irene lifted Beryl into her arms and hugged her. “You certainly did.”
Violet tugged Dale’s coat tails, and he hoisted her up, swinging her around until she giggled.
Meredith called out, “Reverend Shipley, hurry on over here before anyone changes their mind. We girls have our hearts set on a grandma by Valentine’s Day, and we’re not leaving tonight without her.”
About the Author—Kaye Spencer
Kaye Spencer writes romances from her basement utopia in a small town located in the heart of the infamous 1930s Dust Bowl. While drawn to cowboys and the Old West, all genres and time periods are within her story-crafting realm.
Louis L’Amour’s westerns, Marty Robbins’s gunfighter ballads, classic television westerns, and growing up on a cattle ranch all inspired her love of the American Old West—truths and myths alike. Kaye's favorite movie line is from Quigley Down Under: “I said I never had much use for one. Never said I didn’t know how to use it."
Kaye’s website – http://www.kayespencer.com
Prairie Rose Publications
How do you capture a cowboy's heart? HEARTS AND SPURS is a collection of nine stories by some of western romance’s best—just in time for Valentine's Day! Following up their Christmas collection WISHING FOR A COWBOY, these ladies have done it again with new stories of handsome cowboys and the women who captivate them. Features 9 sensual Valentine's Day love stories of the old west.
What could be better on a cold Valentine’s Day than to sit down with a book chock full of stories about special cowboys and their ladies? COWBOY KISSES has just what you’re looking for! Eight stories by some fabulous authors who share with you their love stories of the old west!
Lariats, Letters, and Lace Page 34