Sharkey fashioned a set of crutches out of tree limbs, then he and Big Sam helped Logan out of bed. Logan hadn’t even left the tent when Sharkey confronted Big Sam.
“Do you mind a-tellin’ me what all that talk about spirits and sl’very was ‘bout?”
“Search me,” Big Sam said.
Sharkey groaned. “Some wisdom and intell’gence you got.”
Big Sam’s booming voice followed Logan out of the tent. “I have a feeling I have more wisdom and intelligence than even I know.”
*****
Logan hobbled along Main Street on crutches like a man possessed. He fought off dizziness. He had to make her understand; her place was in Boston. She had to know the truth of that. Boston. Not here. Not with him.
His beard itched and his hair stood up. He’d lost at least ten, fifteen pounds during his ordeal and his eyes looked sunken and his clothes hung from him. Let her see him at his worse. Maybe then she’d give up this ridiculous idea and go back to Boston where she belonged.
His resolve weakened as he made his way through tent city. Her presence was everywhere. Each tent had a small vegetable garden in front, divided by a neatly graded walkway.
One tent was designated as a church, with a little white cross in front. Another had a sign that read Shakespeare’s Theater. A barber pole marked Sharkey’s tent, and next to that, Beaker’s wood objects were displayed in front of his canvas door, including a baby cart just like the one he’d built for Noel. Hap was already set up for business, and his voice could be heard harping on a customer who had apparently displaced some merchandise. Next to Hap’s General Store was a tent marked Duncan McGuire, First Mayor, Calico Corners.
Everyone, it seemed, had found a home in this place called Calico Corners. Everyone that is, but him. It struck him as strange that this should affect him. His home was in the wilds. Up north, in what was left of beaver country. Not confined to a town where people were forced to live in close proximity.
As he continued passing row after row of neatly placed tents he continued reading signs until he spotted one that made his heart skip a beat. The sign read Libby’s Bakery.
He hobbled the remaining distance and tore open the flap of the tent. Tossing his crutches to the ground, he hopped inside on one foot.
Libby stood in front of a table rolling out dough. She looked up and stared at him dumbfounded. At the sight of her, he stilled as he so often stilled when coming across something in nature of such indescribable beauty that the full splendor of it could only be absorbed over time.
Even his heart seemed to freeze mid beat until he’d had a chance to sort through her every essence, from her sweet fragrance to the faintest sound of her breathing. As his overwhelmed senses gradually adjusted to the overload, he felt himself grow stronger. His heart began to beat so rapidly he could hardly breathe fast enough to keep up.
“Logan!” Her voice barely a whisper took a long time in coming. It was as if she, too, was obliged to absorb him fully before she could respond. She wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron, her gaze drifting down to his bandaged leg. “What happened to you? Your leg…”
“The leg feels terrible,” he said gruffly. Let her know just how bad things are! Drive some sense into that stubborn head of hers. “The leg is no good to me at all!”
She looked so devastated by this he was almost overcome by the need to hold her and comfort her, to repeat the lies of the past and tell her he was on the mend.
But knowing what a fatal mistake that would be he forced an even harsher tone. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you on your way to Boston?”
“My plan has always been to take Noel home,” she said quietly.
He frowned. “So why didn’t you?”
“I realized that home is Calico Corners. Home can never again be Boston.”
Staggered by this news he stared at her, willing his one good leg not to buckle under him. Finally he managed to find his voice again. “What about Noel’s education?”
The outer edges of darkness began to claw at him. He shook his head slightly and forced himself to continue. Must stay strong.
“There are no schools here, no families. Why would you choose to raise a child in a place like this?” he demanded.
“It’s because of what I saw in Centreville. Men had sent for wives and children. There’s even talk of building a schoolhouse there. Oh, Logan, don’t you see? We can do the same thing here in Calico Corners. By the time Noel is old enough for school, he’ll have everything he needs right here.”
Logan felt that his very foundation had been pulled out from under him. With Noel’s future no longer an issue, there was nothing left to do but admit to the truth. Knowing that she was here in town, accessible to him in a way not possible if she were in Boston would make it that much harder for him to stay away. It would be so tempting to put his own needs above hers. But he must never do that. He loved her too much.
“Do you know how hard this is for me? Knowing that I can’t give you the kind of life that you deserve?”
“This is where I want to be,” she said. “I want to raise Noel with the people who love him. Big Sam, Sharkey, and Hap.”
He glanced around. “Where is Noel?”
Libby nodded. “Cast-Iron took him for a walk.”
“Cast-Iron?” He shook his head in disbelief. “What about Thornton?’
“Let’s not talk about Thornton,” she pleaded softly. “I want to talk about us.”
“There isn’t any us!” he snapped and almost doubled over in pain.
Libby ran to his side. “Please, Logan, sit down.” She pulled a barrel that served as a chair toward him. She looked so worried he didn’t have the heart to argue. He sat down and stretched his leg out in front on him.
“Can I get you something? Some tea?”
He shook his head, but his gaze fell on a can of baking soda inside a wooden crate used for a cupboard.
He picked up her hand and she knelt before him. This woman who had turned his life inside-out and upside-down had also saved it. There had to be a way to express his gratitude and love without sacrificing her future. But he was a simple mountain man and though he knew what must be said, the actual words eluded him.
Her one weakness was her son. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for Noel and he counted on this. “What Noel needs is a real honest-to-goodness father.”
“I don’t think he would ever find a better one than you.”
He touched his fingertips to her rosy soft cheeks. “What kind of father would I make? I can’t even provide for myself, let alone a family. All I know is setting traps and selling pelts. And now I can’t even do that.”
“There’s a lot you can do,” she insisted. He shook his head but she stared him down, hands on her waist. “You listen to me Logan St.John. You can do other things. These are people who would pay good money for a buckskin suit like you made for Noel,”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m taking about starting a business.”
He laughed. “I’m a trapper, Libby. I know nothing about business.”
Trapping is a business,” she said stubbornly. “And considering that beaver is out of fashion and has been for quite some time, I would say that anyone able to make a living from selling beaver skins as you have done has very astute business sense. You should have heard the fuss people made over Noel’s little suit.”
He frowned and tried to make sense of what she was saying. “People? What people?”
“In Centreville. And that’s only the beginning.”
He rubbed his whiskered chin, scratched his temple and looked at her in disbelief. “Do…Do you think it’s possible? Do you think I could…a businessman. Me?”
“With a shop of your own,” she added.
“And a sign.” He shook his head. This was crazy. Insane. “I don’t know, Libby.”
“Just think. You won’t have to set traps or ride a horse, or sleep out in the cold ever agai
n.” On and on she went and it was hard not to catch her enthusiasm. “Big Sam said he’d supply you with all the hides you need.”
He thought about what she said and for the longest while sat and didn’t move. Finally he smiled. “Well now.”
She cried out and flung herself into his arms. “I thought I would never see you again.”
“Oh, Libby!” he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. “Libby Summerfield,” he whispered between kisses. “If you’re crazy enough to think I can be a businessman, I wonder if you’re crazy enough to—“ He pulled away so he could study her face—and that’s when sanity took hold. What is the name of Sam Hill was he thinking? He couldn’t propose marriage with his future so undecided.
“What were you going to ask me?”
“Nothing.”
“Logan St. John, don’t tell me nothing.”
“I was going to ask you to be my…personal baker.”
She looked unconvinced. “You were going to ask me to be your wife.”
“I most certainly was not.” He breathed deeply and tried not think about her sweet, sweet fragrance. “If I did happen to ask that question, which I wasn’t, what would you have said?”
“I’d say it was about time that you decided to get down off your high horse and ask me to marry you.”
He widened his eyes. “That’s not what you said the last time I proposed.”
“That’s because you weren’t ready back then,” she said. “Neither one of us was.”
“Does this mean you would accept? That is, if I were to ask.”
She pulled back to look him square in the eyes. “Does this mean you’re asking?”
A slow grin spread across his face. “Just so there’s no question. Libby Summerfield, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
“It’s about time you got off your high horse and—“
She never got to finish what she was going to say, because he had pulled her into his arms and proceeded to give her the most thorough kiss possible under the circumstances.
“I love you,” he whispered. He held his hands where God could see them, but by cracker he had no intention of holding them out for long. “I only hope that you never come to regret—that you never—”
She stayed his words with a finger to his lips. “I love you too.”
All at once weakened and strengthened by her declaration, he pulled away and pointed to the opening of the tent. “Get my crutches.”
“What?”
“My crutches!”
She retrieved his crutches and then stepped back to watch him struggle to his feet. “Are you coming with me?” he asked, ducking beneath the tent flap.
She followed him outside. “Where are we going?”
“To the church,” he said. “Where else would we go to get married?”
She smiled her lovely sweet spring, summer, fall and winter smiles all rolled into one. She had to lift her voice to be heard above the loud cacophony of hammers and saws. But what she said was music to his soul. “Welcome home, Logan.”
He dropped his crutches and took her in his arms, right there in the middle of tent city for all to see. “Welcome home, Libby.”
The End
About the Author
Thrills, mystery, suspense, romance; Margaret penned it all. Nothing wrong with that—except she happened to be writing for the church newsletter. After making the church picnic read like a Grisham novel, her former pastor took her aside and said, "Maybe God's calling you to write fiction."
So that’s what Margaret did. She now has more than twenty-five novels to her credit, is a New York Times bestselling author and Romance Writers of America RITA finalist—not bad for someone who flunked 8 grade English. Just don’t ask her to diagram a sentence.
www.margaretbrownley.com
Margaret can also be reached through Facebook and Twitter
If you liked Libby’s and Logan’s story you might like some of Margaret’s other books available in both print and eBook from Thomas Nelson or where all fine books are sold.
Brides of Last Chance Ranch series
Dawn Comes Early
Waiting for Morning/Dec 2012
Afternoon Tea/2013
Rocky Creek Series
A Lady Like Sarah
A Suitor for Jenny
A Vision of Lucy
Table of Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
About the Author
Margaret Brownley Page 30