Reagan scanned the baskets once more, and that was when he noticed one of the boxed suppers was tied with a large pink bow of the same material as Belle’s skirt.
He coughed to hide the bark of laughter that almost burst forth. Subtle, she was not.
As soon as he’d composed himself, Reagan tipped her a nod. “I think I see it now, Miss Kastain. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go see to the first round of the sawing contest.” That was true enough, though he also needed to find Joseph Rodante and let him know which basket was Belle’s, and a quick chat with Dixie to learn which basket was Miss Brindle’s wouldn’t hurt either.
As he made his escape, he pondered over the fact that he probably shouldn’t even consider bidding on the schoolteacher’s basket. It was bound to cause all sorts of ruckus about town, and not only with Belle. There was his mother to consider. And all the other clucking hens who had been trying to marry him off for the past several years. But what could it hurt? When he’d left her at Dixie’s this afternoon, she’d all but promised she was leaving for Boston on the morning’s stage, so all the fuss and bluster would have no foundation to build upon.
And a man certainly couldn’t be chastised for hoping to spend a platonic evening with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting, even if she was a bit stiff around the edges.
Of its own volition, his gaze sought her out as he passed where she stood chatting with the Carlton family. The golden yellow of her dress, and the jaunty tilt of her flower-bedecked felt hat, enhanced her complexion to a rosy hue and brought out the golden flecks in those haunting green eyes.
Yes indeed. A picnic meal sitting across from her wouldn’t hurt his feelings in the least.
Charlotte wished she could be in several places at once. But since that was impossible, she scurried from one event to another as quickly as she could manage.
First she stopped by the log-sawing competition—and tried to convince herself that she was only there to witness the fun and not because she might bump into a certain blue-eyed sheriff. But she needn’t have worried. His back to the crowd, the sheriff was deeply engrossed in judging the competition where teams of two men each got on either side of a long, viciously-toothed blade with handles on each end and made quick work of sawing through logs as thick around as a wagon wheel. Charlotte was fascinated by how the team on the right worked so smoothly that it made their blade seem as if it were passing through softened butter. The team on the left kept getting their saw stuck, and at one point the blade buckled and nearly nicked the leg of one of the sawyers. The crowd gasped. But the two men on that team simply laughed and went back to work.
The woman next to Charlotte leaned close. “Those two ain’t normally sawyers. But they can burl a log down the river without once falling off. They just joined the competition for the fun and to support the cause.”
The crowd cheered as the team on the right made their last push and a round of the log toppled to the deck at their feet.
Reagan stood between them and lifted their hands high in the air. “I present to you tonight’s first winners!”
Charlotte looked across the crowd. Their laughter and cheering brought a smile to her face. With a happy sigh, she went in search of the next booth.
The canned goods table was being run by Mrs. Callahan. Everything looked delicious. Charlotte paid two bits for a small jar of pickles and one of raspberry preserves. She would have bought more, except she was thinking of the long journey back to Boston.
Holding a jar in each hand, she stared down at them. A heavy weight seemed to be resting over her heart. Was she making the right decision? She lifted her focus to the street teeming with joy and joviality. She never would have expected it, but she found herself admiring these hardworking people who came together in support of a cause.
She glanced back down at the jars. Would they make it home without breaking if she tucked them carefully into her luggage in the morning? The thought dropped a rock into her stomach.
She took the time to run the jars up to her room in the boardinghouse and stood at her window for a moment, looking down on the flurry of activity on Main Street. The sawing contest was down near the livery, and the canned goods table was just across the street in the open lot, and more people than Charlotte would have guessed possible milled on the street between the two.
But now the people started moseying back toward McGinty’s. It must be time for bidding on the suppers.
A beautiful blonde in a bright-red dress caught her eye. Not necessarily because of the color of her ensemble, but because of the way she sauntered up to the sheriff’s side and threaded her arm through his. He pulled away from her in surprise, but when he took note of the woman’s face, he seemed to relax slightly and even tipped his hat in her direction, though he didn’t offer her his arm again.
As they walked closer, Charlotte squinted and leaned nearer to the glass. The woman was Liora! The girl who’d been crying in the wildflower field just this afternoon. Charlotte had forgotten to ask Dixie about her. Charlotte’s gaze skimmed to the low cut of Liora’s dress and the paint that heightened her features, and realization over why she hadn’t known Liora worked in Wyldhaven washed over her. She felt a wave of revulsion, immediately followed by self-chastising guilt. Still, her ire reared its head as it always did when she thought about women like that. The ire was accompanied by an ugly feeling at the sight of Liora next to the sheriff. And the realization that the sheriff hadn’t acted like she was a stranger. Charlie, there’s not a man alive who doesn’t have his needs met by such a woman once in a while. A sick sensation trembled through her, and her first instinct was to dash down and give the woman a solid and unquestionable piece of her mind.
But then, as if on a soft whisper, the image of Liora as she’d been earlier came to mind. She’d been crying, cowering behind a bush and dressed in a conservative brown. And she’d touched a place inside Charlotte that made her want to be her friend. Charlotte swallowed. Why would a woman such as that be crying? She certainly seemed happy enough right now. Charlotte’s stomach twisted. She closed her eyes, willing away the familiar bitter enemy of her soul, the pride that didn’t want to love the sinner.
She remembered the day that she’d discovered Kent had been visiting…women…behind her back. She’d told the Lord that she simply wanted someone to truly love her. Could it be that a woman like Liora only wanted the same? And yet—Charlotte’s face heated—perhaps love meant something entirely different to a woman like her?
A visage of Pastor Sorenson’s frown popped into her mind. She released a short puff of breath. Yes, even if the woman didn’t understand what true love was, she deserved to have it offered to her. Lord, I have so far to go before I’ll be like You, offering true love to sinners one and all. Help me to be Your love extended to her in any way I can. Don’t let my bitterness, disgust, or critical attitude stand in the way of Your love reaching out to her.
Determining that she would try to offer friendship to Liora if the opportunity presented itself, Charlotte quickly locked her door and placed one hand to her stomach as she hurried down the stairs to join everyone next door.
Liora disguised her dread over the evening behind a bright smile that she knew would deceive everyone. She knew it because it worked every other day of her life, so why wouldn’t it work tonight also? The smile might be a little more difficult to maintain on this evening, however. Joe had stopped by just this morning to let her know Ewan had declined to grant her leave to see her mother. Ewan’s refusal terrified her. Maybe because it was something so much like John Hunt would have done to her mother.
In danger of falling into melancholy, she hurried forward and looped her arm through the sheriff’s again, but the moment they stepped through the door, he tipped his hat in a good-bye and pushed through the crowd. He hadn’t said where he was going, and if she was honest, he likely only had one destination in mind—somewhere away from her.
“Evening.”
He grabbed her finger. “Don’t.” He released her and propped his hands on his hips. A hard light in his brown eyes matched the clenching of his jaw.
Her mask slipped just a little. “I’m glad I bumped into you.” She pulled in a breath, wishing she didn’t need to impinge on his helpfulness again. “I have some more money to send to my ma. Would you be willing to take it to her?”
He studied her without reply for a long moment, something like disappointment in his eyes. Finally he said, “If you quit working for Ewan, you could take it to her yourself.”
A tremor of wistfulness swept through her. If only she could. “I’ve contracted myself to Ewan for a year.”
“I’d buy it out for you.”
“You’d—” Her jaw dropped. No one had ever offered to do something like that for her. Ever. How much would Ewan even require to buy out her contract? It would be an astounding amount, she felt sure. But then she would be left still needing work. Even if Ma was dying, she would still need medicine for weeks, maybe months to come, wouldn’t she? Liora shook her head. “And where would a woman the likes of me get a job besides”—she swept a hand around McGinty’s Alehouse—“this.”
He seemed unfazed. “I’d help you find something. You could do laundry for the crewman. Or start a cookshack.” His lips tilted up at the corners. “You could certainly give Ewan a run for his money there.”
She was too shocked to laugh at his dry wit. He was serious. “And where do you think I’d come up with the money to start such a venture?”
He glanced down and kicked at something on the floor, then lifted his gaze to hers once more. “I’d front you the capital to get started.”
The man was crazy. That was all there was too it. How much money did he have anyway? “Why would you offer to do something like that? You barely know me.”
A soft breath slipped from him. “Because I believe in second chances. I’ve certainly been given enough of them in my lifetime. You were created for better than this.” He encompassed the room with a gesture that matched her earlier one. “You deserve better than this. And I know God would want that for you.”
God. So there it was. She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Listen. I appreciate your kindness. I really do. But trust me when I say that God wants absolutely nothing to do with me. He’s certainly proven that, time and again.”
He shook his head. “If you believe that, you’re deceiving yourself, Liora.”
So matter of fact. So trusting. So deluded. How did a smart and kind man like this fall into such a pointless belief? She dug the envelope from her pocket and held it up. “Will you take it to her?”
With a sigh, he took the money and tucked it inside his suit jacket. “First thing in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
He only nodded before he slipped through the crowd, greeting people as he went, and she couldn’t help but feel that she might have just given up her last chance at true happiness. What if she had held out for just a little bit longer? What if she’d come to town and asked for help instead of signing Ewan’s stupid contract? What if she’d found a good man like Deputy Rodante to step in and lighten her burdens?
She pressed her lips together. It was too late for what-ifs now, and she knew it. She’d never have a good man like Joe in her life. Didn’t deserve a good man like him in her life. Especially not now after the recent choices she’d made. If Ma hadn’t gotten so sick maybe— She jerked her thoughts off that trail. What was done was done. She lifted her skirts and sashayed through the crowd, just like McGinty had instructed her, smiling and flirting with any man who would look her way.
Alan Trollick sat alone at one end of the bar, and she scooted up next to him, pushing down the roil in her stomach. “Alan…” She ran one hand over the man’s shoulder. “How are you this evening?”
He grunted and scraped a look from her head to her toes before going back to his drink. She couldn’t believe Ewan was serving alcohol still. She would have thought that he’d put a pause on that, at least for this one evening when the entire town would be crammed into his establishment. But she didn’t get paid to think, just to serve. “Can I fill that up for you again, Alan?”
The door opened, and the schoolteacher stepped inside. Liora still couldn’t believe the woman had taken the time to speak to her earlier today. But it had been obvious only a moment after they’d begun conversing that the woman had no idea what kind of job Liora held in the town. It would only take one look this evening for the teacher to put two and two together, and then the friendship she’d offered would be yanked back quicker than a blink, for none of the other women would tolerate a person of Miss Brindle’s standing befriending her. And somehow that realization dropped a rock of dread into the pit of Liora’s stomach. How she had missed having everyday conversations about silly things like fallen sparrows’ nests.
She remembered the woman’s words about the nest and snorted softly. Why was it everyone in her life lately seemed set on lying to her about how much God cared? If God had ever cared about her, it had only been to see how flat He could smash her beneath His heel.
The teacher seemed to be looking for someone, and in that moment their gazes connected. Liora couldn’t have been more surprised when the woman smiled and lifted a hand in greeting.
She offered a nod in return but looked away before anyone noticed and she got the woman in trouble. Let her live in her dreamland of fallen sparrows that were noticed by a caring Creator a little longer. She would soon enough be jolted back to the reality that the rest of the world lived in.
Chapter Fifteen
Charlotte braced herself for whatever sight might greet her with regard to the sheriff and Liora when she stepped into McGinty’s. She halfway expected that she might see them just disappearing from sight at the top of the stairs when she entered the room. But to her relief and surprise, Liora was standing near the bar, talking to an older man, and the sheriff was nowhere to be seen. In her relief she even managed to dredge up a smile for Liora, who gave her a brief nod before turning away.
Charlotte’s relief over the fact that the sheriff had parted company with Liora had her trembling. She clenched her teeth. Wished she could summon as much indifference toward the man as he seemed to feel toward her. And reminded herself that she never would have suspected Kent of consorting with such a woman had she not seen the proof with her very own eyes. Just because the sheriff had walked away from Liora’s obvious invitation this time didn’t mean he would the next. Something in her throat cinched up hard and tight at that thought. It was best that she just put the man from her mind.
Ewan was preparing to begin the auction and urging people to gather around, and Charlotte’s thoughts turned to the evening ahead. She wished she hadn’t let Dixie talk her into making a basket of her own, but what was done was done. And now she would have to face partaking of her meal with whichever man won the bid on her basket. Now more than ever, she hoped the sheriff had fallen for her ruse about Dixie’s basket, because now that she’d seen him conversing rather cordially with a woman of the night, affable dinner conversation might be more than she was capable of.
The married women’s baskets went up for auction first, and without fail each husband bid until he won his wife’s—with some good-natured raising of bids from other members of the community.
And then the first of the single women’s baskets was placed on the podium. Ewan McGinty, who was serving as the auctioneer, grinned like a mule in an alfalfa field. “Gather ’round, gents! Never has there been such amazing opportunity to spend the evening in the company of a pretty lady and the delicious food she prepared!”
Charlotte swallowed as several burly loggers, who smelled like they hadn’t seen the inside of a bathhouse since last mo
nth, brushed past her to get a better look at the baskets. Could she be stuck sharing her dinner with a man such as that? One hand went to her throat. Perhaps stilted dinner conversation with the sheriff wouldn’t be so bad after all.
She searched the room. She hadn’t seen him since she’d walked in. Was he even in here? She spotted Liora across the room, laughing with a man Charlotte didn’t recognize, but she still didn’t see the sheriff. Her disappointment was unaccountable.
“The flowers on the tables are right fetching, Miss Brindle.” The sheriff’s voice came from behind her, and her relief was such that her eyes dropped closed for a moment.
Sheriff Callahan stepped up beside her, close enough in the crowded room that she could detect his faint scent of leather and spice.
Liora laughed in a way meant to draw attention and then smiled seductively at the sheriff, but he didn’t seem to be paying a bit of attention to her. And for some reason that added even more impact to Charlotte’s relief.
Though he kept his gaze fixed on the baskets up front, he leaned close. “You did say ‘purple’ was a lovely color, correct?”
Her fingers fiddled with the lace of her high collar, and she swallowed again. My, how she wished propriety would allow her to just out and tell the sheriff that her basket was the green one—Dixie had claimed the evergreens, ferns, and tight green buds of the not-quite-budded holly bush blooms matched her eyes to perfection—but that would be too forward. So all she allowed herself to say was, “I did say that, Sheriff, yes.” Her gaze skittered across the room. “Do you think Liora might have made a basket?”
The sheriff was so startled by her question that he actually jolted. “How do you know Liora?”
Charlotte studied him. Was it guilt that had made him start? Or simply the fact the she was bringing up a woman of the night like Liora?
“I met her earlier, when I was up in the rose field. She was crying. I got the feeling she might need a friend.” She frowned. What had made her confide in the sheriff in such a manner? Liora might not appreciate her spilling out the truth about the state she’d been in, but the words were out now.
Not a Sparrow Falls (Wyldhaven Book 1) Page 19