Hartman slapped Caleb’s arm. “I’m glad to hear I haven’t driven you off.”
Henry offered seating at their usual bench, but Caleb begged off on the pretense of keeping an eye on the stable and slid into the back row. He wasn’t quite ready to be so close to the pulpit.
And the view was a bit better from the back row.
Henry bent and lowered his voice. “I do believe you’re keeping an eye on more than the livery.”
Caleb hadn’t realized he was so obvious.
Bertha pulled on Henry’s arm, and Caleb pulled on his collar, pretending for himself as much as for anyone else that it was the chapel’s woodstove putting out so much heat that had caused his face to redden.
* * *
Annie had seen Caleb exit the livery. She wanted to cross to him right then and there and tell him that she knew he was hiding something, that there was something he wasn’t saying.
And it wasn’t just their secret about Nell.
But ladies did not run after men in public, or anywhere, for that matter. She straightened her spine and tried to ignore the irritation she felt as she recalled Caleb’s tight-lipped responses to her questions.
It just wasn’t that easy to ignore anything having to do with Caleb. How handsome he was this morning—his long, confident stride, his clean white shirt, his low, tilted hat. Could he be the same man that had taken a stubborn stance and refused to answer her questions?
At the steps she paused to let her father and Martha go ahead. Once inside she angled away from the door, tucked her Bible under an arm and fussed with her reticule as she listened to Caleb’s deep voice while he spoke to Pastor Hartman.
When he passed by, she turned and fingered a stray lock beneath her velvet hat, then stepped in behind a young couple heading down the aisle. From behind her raised hand, she peeked at the horse handler seated on the last bench, broad hat in his hands, an inscrutable expression on his face.
During the sermon it took all her concentration to focus on the message. Her mind wandered—daydreams about who and what Caleb could be interrupted Reverend Hartman’s sermon on the parable of the sower.
A hired gun? He wore no holster.
A grieving widower? He wore no ring.
A swindler, a bank robber, a gambler?
She snickered, and her father cocked an eyebrow her way. Quickly she seamed her lips, a childhood trick she’d used when hiding a joke from Edna. But it wasn’t enough to keep her thoughts where they should be. Her mind kept returning to Caleb.
The man had all but finished off an entire apple pie on one visit to the store. He ate more than she and her father put together. Perhaps he was a farmer, missing his fields and family back home. Had he come for a share of fertile land in the Arkansas River Valley and been robbed?
Everyone stood, and Annie rushed to her feet, heat flooding her face. The closing song forced her attention to the blessed tie that binds, but during the prayer she finally gave in to her desire to peek over her shoulder. She couldn’t make Caleb out through all the bowed heads. Either his was also bowed or, like before, he’d slipped out already. The binding tie pulled to a disappointed knot.
“You must come for dinner, dear,” Martha said, gripping Annie by the elbow as they drifted out the chapel door when the service was over. “I’ve made a chicken pie and a lovely rice pudding for desert.”
Annie looked to her father, whose eyes fairly brimmed with longing for both, she guessed.
Laughing, she linked her arm with the little woman. “Of course we will come. Can we bring anything from the mercantile? Tea or coffee?”
“No, I have everything. But we’ll need to hurry. I left the pie on the back of the stove to keep warm.”
Just then, Hannah Baker, Cañon City’s bride-to-be, caught Martha’s eye as they exited the church. So much for hurrying.
Wanting for her heart’s soil to be fertile and not futile, Annie resisted an envious tug. Fair Hannah could not be more than sixteen, yet here she was, engaged to be married to Reverend Hartman. An Abraham and Sarah romance, no doubt. Or was romance even involved?
Annie watched the animated girl describe to Martha the precise placement of seed pearls that she wanted on her gown. Her flushed cheeks and the urgency in her voice betrayed a deep and earnest passion.
Envy took a step closer, but Annie backed away.
While Hannah bombarded Martha, Annie’s father ambled over to visit with Henry and Mrs. Schultz. Annie’s breath froze in her chest.
What if Henry mentioned Nell’s condition?
She couldn’t bear to sell the mare now, not like this. Not with winter coming on and long, dark nights ahead. Oh, Lord, please.
“He won’t say anything.”
Annie whirled to face the man who had read her thoughts and answered her unspoken prayer.
Trying to find her breath, she fingered the cameo broach at her throat.
“Are you sure?” she whispered, clutching her Bible to her chest.
One side of his mouth twitched as if he fought a smile.
“He might not even know.” Caleb lowered his head, holding her with his eyes. “He doesn’t pay the horses much mind.”
Annie pulled in a deep breath. Was it fear of discovery or the intimacy of Caleb’s rich voice that left her light-headed?
“Oh, I pray you’re right.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw, and his eyes swept her face, making her dip her head to avoid his gaze. Where was the anger that she’d last felt in his presence?
She pushed at the small hat clinging desperately to her hair. He held out his opened hand, revealing two hairpins. “Looking for these?”
She met his gaze and saw nothing but gentleness. No mockery, no criticism. She reached for the pins, and as her fingers brushed his palm, he clasped her hand in his.
“Truce?”
The warmth of his strong hand drew the very breath from her.
She nodded, helpless to do more, and he released her fingers as quickly as he had closed upon them.
“Come along, dear,” Martha piped from the church steps. “And you, too, young man. There’s chicken pie aplenty to go round. You know what they say—the more the merrier.”
Annie’s Sunday suit squeezed tightly as she fought for a steadying breath. Now she was forced to share much more than a truce with the man. And not just casual biscuits around a potbellied stove, but an intimate meal with Martha and her father.
* * *
Caleb offered his arm. For three beats of his heart, he watched indecision cloud Annie’s eyes. When she finally rested her fingers in the crook of his elbow, his pulse nearly broke and ran. With one hand, she again lifted her skirt as they crossed the dusty street, and he fought the urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her across.
As they passed the Fremont Saloon, Annie tensed, raised her chin and stared straight ahead. The others walked by the ornate doors with no response. What had Jedediah Cooper done to make Annie react so strongly to even the man’s establishment?
At the next corner, they strolled north, and Martha led them to a rock-lined path and a small cabin with a stone chimney. White lace curtains peeked through the front window, clinging to their place against the rough logs that framed them.
“Come in, come in,” Martha said, holding the door wide with a smile to match.
The aroma of baked chicken and piecrust set Caleb’s mouth to watering, and the amply supplied table vied with church dinners he’d long forgotten.
An unusual contraption hugged one wall, draped in long, silky folds with silver pins along an unsewn edge. Martha’s latest project.
A large braided rug covered the tiny cabin’s floor, but by Caleb’s living standards, the homey room was a palace.
He hung his hat on a peg by the door and noted
that Martha had set the table for three in expectation of the Whitakers. She whisked an additional plate and utensils from the sideboard, quickly balanced the small round table for four and insisted everyone be seated.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Caleb said. “I’m hungry as a horse.”
“Speaking of horses, Caleb,” Daniel said, “have you noticed anything unusual about our mare that would keep someone from buying her?”
Annie choked on the morsel in her mouth.
Caleb’s heart twinged at the barbed look she threw him over her napkin. So much for their truce. Her heart would break if her father sold Nell, especially with the foal on the way. And she would blame him.
He rested his hand at the table’s edge. “Why sell her, sir?”
Daniel harrumphed around a mouthful, then swallowed. “Well, I’m sure at this point, Caleb, that you’ve seen how much she eats.”
Caleb glanced from Daniel to Annie’s warning glare and back.
“I suspect it’d be hard to sell her now, so close to the snow coming. You might get a better price if you wait until spring.”
Daniel chewed on Martha’s chicken and Caleb’s reply, his white brows pulled together. “Duke Deacon said he’d think on buying her.”
Annie’s head snapped toward her father. “We can’t sell her.” She seemed to catch herself, dabbing her mouth with her napkin and softening her tone. “Did the freighters really say they wanted her?”
Daniel’s tender glance at his daughter eased the creases at his eyes. He shook his head. “I know you love her, though why, I’ll never understand. But she’s too expensive a pet, Annie girl. And she’s built for pulling a load.”
Martha eyed her guests and diverted the approaching storm. “Wasn’t that a most uplifting sermon this morning?” She winked at Caleb. “What did you think, Daniel?”
The man’s countenance softened further as his eyes met Martha’s. “Indeed it was. Love your neighbor as yourself.”
“That wasn’t it at all.” Annie huffed and balled her napkin. “It was the parable of the sower.”
Daniel laughed, and his belly bumped the table’s edge. “So it was, Annie. So it was.”
Martha flushed pink and worried a chicken piece on her plate. Things had definitely changed between Annie’s father and the seamstress, and Caleb wondered if Martha would be changing her name as easily as she’d changed the topic of discussion.
His gaze shifted to Annie, who stared at a spot on the white tablecloth above her plate. Her fitted green jacket set off her hair in flaming contrast, and two tortoiseshell combs held it off her face, exposing the tender skin at her temples.
“There’s plenty more,” Martha said, lifting Daniel’s empty plate.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said.
Martha heaped on creamy chicken and vegetables, then reached for Annie’s plate.
“No, thank you,” she said, returning from her reverie. “It was wonderful. Really quite good, but I dare not eat another bite.” She pressed one hand against her narrow waist as she tucked her napkin beneath her plate. “It’s so nice outdoors, I think I’ll walk through the garden while you and Daddy finish.”
Martha waved a hand. “Oh, it’s hardly a garden. Just a few rosebushes that attract more deer than honeybees.”
Annie scooted her chair back and took her plate to the sideboard.
“Believe I’ll do the same,” Caleb said, sensing a rare opportunity to talk to Annie alone. “Again, thank you, ma’am. This was a fine feast.”
Martha tilted her head modestly. Caleb noticed that her fingers had already found their way to Daniel’s free hand lying conveniently near her on the table, despite the fact that he and Annie had not left the room yet.
Caleb set his plate atop Annie’s in the dishpan and quickly followed her outside, anxious to apologize to her once again.
Chapter 9
Annie looked up from a fading rose at the cabin’s corner to see Caleb making his way toward her, a sober look on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She shook her head and turned back to the rose, plucking at the dying petals.
“It’s not your fault.” Her finger snagged on a thorn, drawing a red bead at the tip. Squeezing her finger, she commanded the tears that pricked her eyes to hold their place.
Caleb reached for her hand, unpocketed a red bandanna and held it against the wound.
Feeling foolish for such a careless act, Annie tried to pull away, but he held her fast—firmly, yet gently. His eyes roamed her brow, her cheeks, her lips, as if charting every inch of her face. A flutter caught in her throat, and she feared that she matched the rose’s once deep pink.
“I could have said bear.”
Curious, she tipped her head.
“I could have said I was hungry as a bear.”
Laughter eased the tightness in her shoulders, and she relaxed her hand in his. He continued to hold it, though she was fairly certain the bleeding had stopped.
“It’s not your fault. Daddy has wanted to be rid of Nell for a long time, but I don’t want to let her go. I love her soft breath on my face, the way she nuzzles me for the apples...”
Catching herself, Annie withdrew her hand and looked away. What was it about Caleb Hutton that made her want to trust him with such personal details? Feeling exposed, she regretted leaving her hat indoors and nervously fingered the new combs in her hair. And yet she kept talking.
“We left everything familiar back home, and when we bought the horses in Denver, it was as if our traveling family expanded. I had more to care for than just myself and my father.”
She clasped her hands at her waist. “How could I have known that she was...”
The heat of embarrassment flooded her neck.
“I’ll talk to those freighters the next time they come to the wagon yard. Spring is the time for buying a horse. They’re not making many trips out until then anyway.”
She peeked at his face. Why had she never before noticed the depth of his dark eyes?
He stuffed the bandanna back in his pocket and, offering his arm, gestured toward the narrow lane. “Care to walk?”
She hooked her fingers in his elbow and allowed him to lead her away from the rosebushes and toward the path.
They strolled up the lane, away from town, and warmth spread from his strong arm into hers. Wood smoke painted the breeze and falling leaves laid an amber carpet at their feet.
Caleb cleared his throat and threw her a sidelong glance. “Which is worse?” he asked her. “Telling your father about the coming foal before it arrives or waiting until it gets here?”
A heavy sigh slipped out. “I’ve asked myself the same thing a hundred times. I’m just afraid.”
He stopped abruptly, surprise and doubt in his scrutiny. “I find that hard to believe, you of the broom and the biscuits.”
His boldness startled a laugh where once it would have elicited a scowl. “You are taking a fearsome chance with that remark, Mr. Hutton. A fearsome chance.”
Placing his free hand atop hers on his arm, he resumed their stroll. “I can’t imagine you being afraid of anything on this earth, Annie Whitaker. I’ve seen a fire in your eyes that I’m certain lies deeply banked within your heart.”
Poetry? Annie doubted if her sister’s beaus spun words as well as this cowboy at her side.
But he wasn’t a beau. At least, he wasn’t her beau.
Befuddled, she studied the ground. Her right hand burned hotter than her left, covered as it was by his calloused fingers. Strength flowed from him—steadily, faithfully, as if he drew on some hidden source. His prayer so long ago at the mercantile suggested an intimate knowledge of God. Did he share her faith?
Each time they were together, something new came to her attenti
on—his humility, candor, humor. What was he? Saddle tramps didn’t talk like that—or pray like that. This man had a “way” with more than just horses.
What was he hiding?
“Have you been upstream?”
Caught in her puzzlement, she took a moment to reorient. “Upstream?” She cocked her head to look up at him. “As in upriver?”
Amusement stretched his mouth to one side. “Yes, upriver. Have you ridden up the river, into the canyon above town?”
“Not yet,” she said, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. Caleb was referring to the very thing she’d looked forward to in Cañon City. But as far as she could see, the Arkansas River didn’t roar any more than the lazy Mississippi, at least not near town.
“I plan to take some time off tomorrow—if we don’t get any new freighters—and ride up past the Ute encampment. Take a look at the canyon the town is named for.”
Envy danced across her mind like a Paris cancan girl. Once again, a man had the freedom to do something she wanted to do.
“Daddy says the canyon narrows down to the width of the river. At least that’s what someone told him.”
Her responsibilities at the mercantile gave her little free time before dark, and only a fool ventured out at night. But even during the day, Daddy would never let her ride unattended. Neither would he take time off from the store to ogle the scenery.
Caleb cast a questioning look her way. Evidently her hidden frustration was not so hidden.
“When you get back, you’ll have to tell me all about it.”
“I’d be happy to. Or, if it’s not too treacherous, I’ll take you up for a look. That is, if your father wouldn’t mind.”
She’d not come to Cañon City to have her head turned by a wandering cowboy with no home or livelihood, she reminded herself. But she had come to hear the mighty river roar.
Lifting her chin to a dignified angle, she skimmed every eager note from her voice and aimed for detached and demure. “How delightful, but I’d have to wait until after Nell...”
Caleb stopped and faced her. “You could ride Sally.”
The Cowboy Takes a Wife Page 9