“Howdy.” A well-dressed man smoothed down a wrinkled page at the second tree and scanned the info.
“Afternoon.” Luke slowed to a stop several feet from the man, waiting for him to move on.
“You looking for land?”
He nodded. “You too?”
“Yes. I’m looking for a good place to open a hardware store.” The man’s brown eyes darkened and he shook his head. “I fully meant to arrive in time for the auction of the town lots, but my nine-year-old daughter took ill, and I didn’t want to leave her to travel out of town.”
“I hope she’s doing better.”
The man smiled. “She is, thank the good Lord. My name is Reggie Best.”
“Luke McNeil.” He shook the man’s hand. “I’m thinking of starting a livery—if I can find the right place for it on the north end of town.” He studied both notices then moved to a third tree—the last with papers attached.
Mr. Best headed to the first tree Luke had checked and tugged on one of the papers. “Well now, I do believe I’m in luck.”
“That’s good.” Luke checked the last tree and sighed. Nothing. He walked back to Mr. Best to see which ad had caught his eye. It was the expensive one with both a business and residential lot.
The man smiled and started to walk off. “I’ll be looking for men to work for me. Got a house and place of business that need to be built. Would you happen to be looking for work?”
Luke shrugged, not ready to give up on his own dream. “I’ve done some building, but I’ve mostly herded cows and horses.”
“How long did you stay at your last place of employment?”
“Over twelve years. I only left there to register for the lottery.”
Mr. Best frowned, looping his thumbs through the lapels of his brown frock coat. “That must be somewhat close to half of your life.”
“That’s not far from the truth. I was lucky to get a job with a good, responsible man that had a vision to build a ranch. I helped him do it.”
Mr. Best nodded. “I could use a good man like you, if you’re looking for employment.”
Luke glanced at the trees where the notices hung. If he bided his time, he might be able to find a lot for sale near Sarah. It wouldn’t hurt to add to his funds, because if he was successful, he’d have to build a livery, buy several wagons and buggies, as well as tack. At least he had the stock he’d need. He brushed the back of his hand along his jaw. Maybe this job was God’s providence.
Chapter 9
Jack kicked his horse into a gallop, his gaze scanning the field where he’d left his son. Two large wagons had stopped near Sarah’s buckboard, and several men stood next to them. He gritted his teeth, willing his horse to run faster—and praying he wouldn’t stumble in a hole.
He was glad he’d taken the time to load his gun this morning and yanked it free of the holster. He pointed it toward the men as he drew near, reined his horse to a sudden stop, and then dismounted. His gaze landed on each man, then shot to his son, who sat on the blanket. A heavyset woman sat on the edge of the blanket, her arm around a medium-sized dog. Cody spied him, jumped to his feet, and ran to him. Jack snagged his son in midair as the boy leaped up.
A large, bearded man in overalls walked toward him, hands in the air. “You don’t need that gun. We didn’t hurt the boy. I reckon we scared him. He was sound asleep when my dog Rascal trotted right up to him and licked him on the cheek. Shocked the sleep right out of the poor kid.”
Keeping his gun trained on the man, Jack shifted Cody higher on his hip and glanced at the younger men, all of whom looked to be related. “Who are y’all? And what are you doin’ here?”
One of the younger men helped the woman to her feet. “We’re the Peterson family, and we’re lookin’ for a Miss Sarah Worley. Is this her land?”
Jack’s gaze zipped from the woman to the younger men, none of whom looked threatening. In fact, they all seemed quite relaxed in spite of the fact he still held his gun on them.
The black-and-white dog crept toward Jack, stopping five feet away. His black eyes seemed focused on Cody. Whining, the dog eased forward, sniffing Jack’s boots, completely oblivious to the gun aimed at his master.
Hoofbeats sounded behind him, but he didn’t move. Sarah dismounted and rushed to his side, pressing his gun hand toward the ground. “Put that thing away. This is the family I hired to build my house.”
Feeling like a fool, he holstered his gun then got a better grip on his son. At six, Cody was already getting heavy. “You all right?”
Cody nodded and laid his head on Jack’s shoulder. “I got scared when I woke up and saw that dog. I thought it was a wolf and he was gonna eat me.”
Sarah walked up to Mr. and Mrs. Peterson. “Thank you for coming, but I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“We start work in the morning, so we needed to arrive today to get our camp set up. Where would you like us?”
Sarah looked at Jack as if asking for his help. He walked toward her and held out his hand to Mr. Peterson. “I’m Jack Jensen, Sarah’s brother—of sorts. Sorry for the misunderstanding. I reckon I jumped to conclusions when I heard my boy yellin’.”
Mr. Peterson shook his hand so hard he thought he’d drop Cody. “Perfectly understandable. I’d’a done the same thing.”
Mrs. Peterson moved over to her sons and waved her hand. “These here are our boys. Amos, he’s the oldest at twenty-seven.” She swatted a chubby fist at the blond man with a red beard then turned toward the two dark-haired men. “These are our twins, Zeke and Zach. They’re both twenty-five.” Her eyes narrowed as she cocked her head, smiling. “And this is my baby, Johnny.”
The youngest man scowled. “I’m twenty-one, Ma. I ain’t no baby.”
She tweaked his cheek. “You’ll always be my baby.”
Johnny sighed and rolled his eyes, while the man’s brothers chuckled.
Zeke—or was it Zach— walked over to stand next to Sarah, but his gaze rested on Jack. “How can you be her ‘sort of’ brother? Either you are or you ain’t.”
Sarah covered her mouth, hiding a snicker. “His family is my adopted family. So that makes him sort of my brother. You see?”
“I care for Sarah as much as I do my two sisters by birth.”
Cody wiggled. “Can I pet the dog?”
By now the animal had flopped on its back, practically begging to play with the boy.
“All right, but stay where you can see me. Don’t wander off.”
“Yes, Pa.” He slid to the ground then stooped down and scratched Rascal’s belly. The dog wagged its tail, hopped up, and licked Cody’s face.
The other twin sidled up beside his brother and gazed at Sarah. “So, he ain’t your beau then?”
Sarah’s cheeks darkened. “No, he isn’t.”
“That’s true,” Jack said, struggling to keep a straight expression. “But don’t forget I still have a gun.”
The twins’ eyes widened.
“C’mon and get to work, you two,” Amos shouted.
Mr. Peterson ambled over as the twins drifted away. “Have you decided where you want to put your house, Miss Worley?”
“We were out looking over the land right before you arrived, but I can’t decide. The river is that way. I don’t want to get too far from it.”
“If I was you, I’d have a well dug. That river is mighty silty.”
Sarah nodded. “That’s what Jack said.”
“He was right. What about the house then?”
Sarah turned and studied her land. For a brief moment, a shaft of jealousy speared Jack before he pushed it away. God had spoken clearly that he was to be a preacher, not a landowner, at least for now, but it wasn’t clear yet if he was supposed to go back to his old church on Gabe’s land or start a new one in Anadarko. God would tell him when the time came. Right now he planned to keep his promise to Lara and make sure Sarah had a snug house built and was safely settled before he decided what was next for him and Cody.<
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Sarah walked away with Mr. Peterson, pointing out various places to put her house, and the gazes of the man’s three youngest sons followed. All were of marrying age. Jack blew out a sigh. Luke had better hurry up and get out here before he lost Sarah.
Carson strolled through his brand-new, fresh-smelling building, feeling a surge of pride. When the townsfolk had learned he was a doctor, many halted work on their own businesses and houses to help get his place done quickly. They all knew that a doctor could mean the difference between life or death and had seemed happy to pitch in and help.
He removed his spectacles, tugged a clean handkerchief from his pocket, and after blowing a puff of breath on the lens, he cleaned the dust from them. He returned them to his face then crossed his arms, leaning against the open back door, and stared out. He hadn’t gotten land right on the edge of town but almost. Only a row of lots separated him from the open land.
The only sad thought to darken the day was that his father wasn’t here to witness Carson’s first practice—one that was his alone. He’d grown up learning medicine by his father’s side and by assisting his father in procedures. He’d furthered his education in college and had the good fortune to work for six months at the brand-new Johns Hopkins Hospital before he returned to Indian Territory to work alongside his pa. But then one horrible event shattered all his dreams.
He shook his head, scattering the disturbing thoughts. This was a day to celebrate, not dwell on things that couldn’t be changed. Hammers rang out overhead as the workers continued their attempt to finish the roof today as promised. Needing something to do, he grabbed the broom he’d purchased from one of the tent vendors and swept the floor for the third time.
The August heat made closing the windows impossible, and thus dust constantly blew through them. Maybe things would improve once all of the town’s building had been completed, but that day was a long way off.
He tugged out his pocket watch and checked the time. The train bringing many of his supplies was due to arrive at two. He’d be able to move in his furniture and equipment, unpack his supplies, and get everything organized in the next few days. Then he’d open up shop. With all the building going on, there were bound to be some mishaps, not that he wished that on anyone, but it was a fact of life, and he wanted to be ready to give the best care possible.
Grabbing the satchel that held his clothing and personal toiletries, he crossed to the back of the building and jogged up the stairs to the two rooms that made up his private quarters. He would put his bed in the rear one and set up a small parlor and kitchen at the front of the building. It wasn’t much, but it was a whole lot better than the noisy bunkhouse he’d once slept in or when he’d camped outside on the trail last year. The only thing that concerned him was whether his future wife would be happy here.
Setting the satchel in a relatively clean corner, he laughed and shook his head. “What wife?”
Carson walked downstairs, putting a buffer between him and the pounding overhead. It was a futile effort to wonder if his future wife would like his apartment when there was no such woman on the horizon. But now that he finally had a place of his own, maybe it was time to pray for God to bring him a wife.
The aroma of frying bacon drew Sarah from her tent. She should have been up an hour ago, but between attempting to sleep on the unfamiliar cot and the excitement of finally seeing her house built, she’d tossed and turned until the early hours before dawn. Standing, she stretched the kinks from her back and tugged off her nightgown. She made quick work of dressing.
Mrs. Peterson was probably a much better cook than she was. She hoped Jack and Luke would be satisfied with her cooking and not abandon her and join the Petersons. Once her house was up and the stove in place, things would be different, but she had rarely cooked over a campfire.
As she brushed her hair, she smiled at the sound of sawing. In her mind, she saw her folk Victorian–style home rising up on the prairie with its square angles and large porch. She’d ordered decorative brackets for under the eaves, scrolled porch spindles, and gingerbread gable trim from a company in Illinois. The color was another issue. She had settled on white with blue trim, but now that the house was being built, she wasn’t so sure. She pushed the pins into her hair and tried to imagine the completed house in several different shades. Yellow was her favorite color, but she was leaning toward a light green with dark green and ecru-colored trim.
“Sarah? You still in there?” Luke called.
“Coming.” She rose from the chair Jack had placed in her tent and shoved back the tent flap. “Good morning.”
“Morning. I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”
“Very funny. I imagine you’re just hungry and wanting me to get started on breakfast.”
“I was hungry for a glimpse of you.” His blue eyes blazed, revealing the truth in his statement.
Her heart fluttered and cheeks warmed. “Lu–uke. Don’t say such things.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Someone might overhear you.” She tied her tent flap shut.
“I don’t care if they do, especially those Peterson brothers. I don’t like the way some of them were eyeing you last night, like a man who’d been on the trail and got his first glimpse of a saloon.”
She shook her head, laughing softly. “You sure know how to charm a woman.”
“Glad to know my efforts are working.”
She fingered her black-eyed Susan necklace and stared at him, not knowing what to say. Even though she’d turned down his proposal, he seemed to have doubled his efforts to woo her. Why couldn’t he take no and leave it at that? She didn’t want to have to push him away or distance herself. His friendship meant too much. “How did things go in town?” she asked, more than a little curious what he’s been doing. “You got here so late last night that we didn’t get to talk much.”
He smiled, revealing his straight white teeth. He really did have an intriguing smile. “I sold my land. Got more than I’d hoped for it, too.”
“You sold your land?” Sarah stared at him, wondering what had gotten in to him. “Why in the world would you do that?”
“Because it’s farther than I want to be from you. I’ve decided to buy a lot in town and open a livery.”
She started toward the Petersons’ camp, not sure about Luke’s surprising news. It would be nice to have him closer, but then again she wanted her independence. She needed a cup of coffee. “And did you find a town lot to purchase?”
He fell into step beside her. “Not yet, but I did get a job.”
“A job?”
“Yep. Gonna work for a Mr. Best. He’s starting up a hardware store.”
She paused and searched his eyes. “Why would you want to work at a place like that?”
He shrugged. “I might as well be making some money while looking for a lot to buy.”
“But I thought you planned to work on my house.”
“I can’t work for Mr. Best until his building is up. Besides, you hired a bunch of men to help you, so I didn’t think you needed me. If you do, I can work on it in the evenings.”
She resumed walking and smiled at Mrs. Peterson, even though her excitement had dimmed. Luke had never actually told her he’d help build her house, but she’d assumed he would want to. She couldn’t fault him, though, for working. He’d need all the money he could get to start a business. Still, she’d miss seeing him during the day.
“Mornin’,” Mrs. Peterson called out. She poured a cup of coffee and held it out to her.
She gladly accepted the warm cup. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Peterson glanced up at Luke as she bent to stir a massive cast iron skillet filled with eggs. “You wanna’nother cup?”
“No, ma’am. It was mighty good though.”
“I reckon you’re wantin’ breakfast. Be ready in a few minutes.”
Sarah stared at the stack of bacon, plates of biscuits, and huge bowl of peaches. The Peterson family sure
liked to eat. “Would you please let me know when you’re finished, and I’ll start on our breakfast.”
Mrs. Peterson straightened, wrapped her hand in her apron, and then picked up the heavy skillet and carried it to the wagon’s tailgate, which had become a sideboard.
Sarah’s stomach grumbled. She’d just planned on making a stack of pancakes. She longed to run up the hill and see what the men had gotten done, but that was silly since they’d only just started on her house an hour ago.
Grabbing two plates off the stack on the tailgate, Mrs. Peterson turned and then walked toward her and Luke. She stuck out the plates. “No need for you to cook. I’ve made plenty. He’p yourself before my men get here and eat everythin’ in sight.”
“Are you sure? That’s very kind of you.” Sarah glanced at Luke and wiggled her eyebrows as she passed him a tin plate.
“I halfta cook, so there’s no sense in us both doin’ it. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to contribute to the food stocks and help a bit, though.”
“I’m happy to do so. Should I go tell your family now the food’s ready?”
“No need.” The woman waddled to the front of the wagon where she’d hung a large iron triangle and ran a rod around inside it, setting off a clamor. “They’ll be here in a jiffy. You’d better dish up.”
Luke handed his plate to Mrs. Peterson. “You go first.”
The woman blushed under her already pink cheeks. “Aren’t you the gentleman.” She accepted his offering and winked at Sarah. “You’d better lasso and hog-tie this’n before he gets away. He’s a keeper.”
Luke straightened and puffed out his chest as he grinned at Sarah. “D’you hear that? I’m a keeper.”
She teasingly nudged his side with her elbow, hoping to deflate his ego, and then she stepped in front of him and dished up her plate. “Be that as it may, I beat you to the food.”
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