by Kristin Holt
He noted a familiar picnic hamper at W.W.’s feet. Not fifty feet away, on the street behind the park, W.W. Stuart’s carriage and team waited. He’d caught the runaway couple just in time.
“I heard about your violence,” W.W. said with exaggerated patience, “at Peerless the other day. I’ll ask you to step away from my bride.”
Rocky fought the urge to howl with laughter. Instead, “Does Felicity know of your intentions?”
Temperance’s hackles rose. “Yes. We discussed it at length. She knows precisely what I intend. Well, perhaps not precisely, but she gave me her blessing. She understands love must find a way and true love is worth any cost. I know I’m disappointing Father and probably upsetting you, but you’ll come to see, in time, this was the right decision.”
He fought the bubbling happiness, pushed it down, and struggled to appear contrite. “I have no doubt you’re right, Miss Cartwright.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Gideon.”
They two really did look well together. Both blond and refined of feature and a little on the silly side.
“Goodbye, Miss Cartwright. Mr. Stuart.” He shook W.W.’s hand. “Congratulations. I wish you both every happiness.”
“Thank you, sir. I must say, you’re certainly behaving as a gentleman.”
“We’ll open the bid for Miss Felicity Cartwright’s picnic basket. Do I hear two bits?”
When Felicity entered the basket auction, she’d somehow failed to comprehend that she would be on stage, the object of the bidding. Not the basket.
She—the spinster, illegitimate daughter of the preacher—had the attention of a crowd filling the town park and street. Dozens, no, hundreds of faces. Most of them strangers.
Miners, businessmen, ranchers. They all laughed, joked, and had a wonderful time.
She’d never felt so exposed. Her heart rate sprinted. This circus could easily make her the object of ridicule. She clutched the picnic blanket she’d brought along with her basket, twisting her fists into the fabric where onlookers couldn’t see.
Where had Temperance gone? Felicity searched the crowd, desperate to find wavy blond hair, parted in the middle, a blue bonnet…
Why hadn’t she insisted that her basket go up for sale after her sister’s? Or simultaneously?
“Two dollars.”
Every head spun toward the masculine voice Felicity would know anywhere.
Mr. Rocky Gideon, bidding on her basket. He’d ignored the opening request for two bits and inflated the price eightfold! Had he misheard?—thought Miss Temperance Cartwright’s name had been announced?
Rocky’s penetrating gaze never left Felicity’s face. Embarrassed heat flushed into her cheeks. No. He wasn’t mistaken at all.
Did he want to spoil her precious, new relationship with Temperance?
If he’d intended to spark interest in her basket, he’d gone too far. No one would challenge him for the ridiculously high water line of two dollars.
“I asked for two bits, Mr. Gideon,” the gray-haired official called through his speaking trumpet, “but I’ll take your two dollars.”
A smattering of laughter from the audience. At least they were having a good time and weren’t laughing at her.
Not yet.
“Who’ll raise to two dollars, twenty-five cents?”
A man in a brown derby lifted his hand. “Two twenty-five.”
“Do I hear two-fifty?”
Rocky climbed onto something—a chair, stump, or soap box—and now stood head and shoulders above the throng. “Five dollars.”
Must her soon-to-be brother-in-law make a spectacle?
Sounds of appreciation melded with laughter and applause. Conversation buzzed.
Before the auctioneer could ask for another bid, Rocky cupped his hands about his mouth and yelled, “I raise to seven-fifty.”
Good humor echoed in the growing enjoyment. A man she didn’t recognize hollered, “Hey, Gideon, you know which Cartwright girl you’re courting?”
Oh, no. No!
With sudden mortification, Felicity recalled her sister’s tearful hysterics. Temperance intended to accept Rocky’s proposal. She’d be so hurt, watching in horror as her beau bought her sister’s basket instead.
Humiliation and shame heated her cheeks. She should have fled the moment the bidding started. The food didn’t matter, nor did the dishes. It was all replaceable—but her precious little sister’s heart was not.
“Indeed I do.” Rocky’s focus never strayed from Felicity. “I most certainly do.”
She gasped, outraged. Rocky was most certainly not courting her.
Rocky courted Temperance. Had done so for more than a year. People knew that. They should be disappointed, shaking their heads, complaining. Not enjoying this.
Something was seriously amiss.
She glared at Rocky.
The man had the nerve to wink.
Her mouth opened in shock. What did he know that she didn’t?
“Do I hear eight?”
Mr. Brown Derby signaled.
Rocky shouted, “Fifteen.”
“Sixteen!” Derby returned.
Excitement surged through the crowd.
With her heart pounding double-time, she scanned the line of picnic hampers. Then searched a second time. Temperance’s basket wasn’t among them. Felicity had been beside the platform from the beginning. Temperance’s turn had not come and gone.
Every head swiveled, awaiting Rocky’s response. “Twenty.”
“Twenty!” the auctioneer bellowed. “Going once!”
The crowd’s murmurs swelled.
All heads swiveled toward Mr. Brown Derby who shook his head in comical defeat.
“Going twice.”
“Fifty dollars.” Rocky’s announcement brought stunned gasps, punctuated by shrill whistles and hearty applause.
Felicity’s heart lurched. Her head buzzed and vision grayed. “Fifty. Dollars.”
“Now, Mr. Gideon.” The auctioneer’s jolly chuckle made Felicity cringe. “You do realize, Mr. Gideon, in all twenty years of Mountain Home’s Founders’ Day picnic basket auctions, the most anybody spent was six dollars, fifty cents. You trying to purchase that church organ all by yourself?”
A wave of chuckles rippled through the audience.
“Yes, sir.” Rocky’s grin widened, a dashing figure in his suit of clothes. The gold watch chain at his vest buttons and pocket winked in the sunlight. “The church organ is a fine reason to open my pocketbook, though the far better reason stands at your side. An even hundred dollars.”
No, no, no!
The air seemed to vibrate with the wild applause, shouts, whistles, and claps on Rocky’s back as he pushed through the crowd toward the platform.
Dizziness stole Felicity’s balance. She might have swooned, if the announcer hadn’t taken her elbow in his hand, somehow anchoring her.
Too late.
How had this happened?
“Make way for Mr. Gideon,” the dignitary cried through his brass cone.
Rocky had already withdrawn paper currency from his wallet. He clutched the bills high over his head as the crowd parted, funneling him toward the stage. His boots thudded on the wooden steps of the platform.
He presented crisp twenty-dollar bills to the auctioneer, one at a time. The crowd counted along. “Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty,” they chanted in unison. “One hundred.”
The dignitary offered Rocky a handshake. The men grasped hands, pounded one another on the back.
The townsfolk whistled, clapped, and cheered.
The auctioneer lifted his speaking trumpet and yelled, “Sold! Miss Felicity Cartwright’s luncheon basket, sold to Mr. Rocky Gideon, for one hundred dollars!”
Felicity closed her eyes as applause thundered like a locomotive chugging past at full speed.
Gradually the noise diminished. She opened her eyes to see Rocky holding the voice trumpet aloft, signaling for quiet. “In case any here haven’t yet heard the joy
ful news, Miss Temperance Cartwright and W.W. Stuart eloped. I wish the bride and bridegroom every happiness.”
What? Felicity—married? To W.W. Stuart?
She fought the urge to swoon.
“Hear me, gentlemen: I am courting Miss Felicity Cartwright.”
Chapter Fifteen
“A proper courtship begins by presenting yourself as a suitor, with genuine intent, to win the hand of the lady you have selected. Await her acceptance of your suit. Progressing in this manner ensures your love and money are invested in one who fully intends to wed you.”
~ The Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship and Marriage
Courting her, indeed!
Jumbled emotions fought for dominance. Humiliation. Surprise. Anger. Happiness.
Too much. Far too much.
She turned the corner onto Church street and broke into a trot. Her heart pounded and her breaths quickened.
Home. She had to get home.
Rocky had called after her, followed, but she’d not acknowledged him. How could she? She didn’t know if she’d attack or throw herself into his arms. Neither would be appropriate given every eye in the county looked on.
Tears filled her eyes. She would not cry.
Had everyone in town known of her sister’s plans, everyone but her?
Perspiration trickled down her back as she refused to look up at a passing wagon, then cut across the street. She ran, her borrowed skirts tangling about her ankles. She grappled with the excess fabric, holding it up, praying she wouldn’t trip.
Gravel grated beneath the boots of someone behind her. One quick glance—Rocky, the picnic blanket thrown over his shoulder and the basket in one hand.
He’d followed her all the way home.
He couldn’t see her like this, unraveling at the seams, likely to sob has violently as Temperance had that Sunday night, two weeks before.
Flashes of memory only compounded her confusion. Temperance, woolgathering. Temperance’s face, dripping with tears.
How, exactly, had she missed the significant clue that her sister spoke of someone other than Rocky Gideon?
She suspected she knew why—she, herself, couldn’t focus on anyone else. Rocky filled her thoughts and her heart so thoroughly, she couldn’t comprehend Temperance could love anyone else.
And she detested him at the moment.
She dashed her sleeve across her eyes, cursing the unwelcome tears.
Finally at the back porch, she clomped up the stairs and turned the doorknob.
Rocky’s free hand settled at her back.
She drew a shaking breath, fought for control, and squeezed her eyes shut. The yellow roses smelled too strong, too potent.
He shifted, evidently setting the basket and blanket down on the stoop. He must have turned to her or maybe she stepped into his arms. Either way, she found herself surrounded by him, her cheek pressed against the warmth of his suit coat.
His chest rose and fell in even rhythm. Despite her own breath scouring against her ears, she fancied she heard the steady beat of his heart. She should push away, should tell him to leave and take his absurdly expensive picnic with him. But his embrace felt so good. Just to be touched by him, held like this…
She pushed away.
He let her go. “I never meant to embarrass you.”
Emotions tumbled, played tug-of-war. Frustration won. “What were you thinking?”
Regret etched his features. “I hoped you’d be happy to accept my suit. I should have asked you properly.”
Apparently the man thought the only problem was his bold pronouncement, claiming her in front of God and everyone. She waved both hands to banish that thought. No way could she focus on that yet.
“Yes, you should have, but that’s not the trouble here.”
“It’s not?”
“My sister eloped and everyone in this town knew but me?” She needed something to pin her frustration on. Confusion and concern in Rocky’s eyes diffused her anger, at least toward him. The warmth of his hand seeped through her sleeve and felt so achingly good.
His brows drew together in confusion. “She said you talked about it and she had your blessing.”
“No.” Temperance’s aggravation and tears had been about Rocky, not W.W. Stuart. She swayed, dizzy.
Rocky took her elbow and ushered her inside. He settled her in a kitchen chair, collected the picnic hamper and blanket, then shut the door against the sun’s direct rays.
He worked the pump, filled a glass, and brought it to her. “Drink.”
The water was cool and sweet.
Stuff and nonsense Temperance had said that Sunday night, two weeks back, amid sobs and tears and hysterics swam through Felicity’s memory. Out of order and surely not complete. Something about the town’s judgment if she were too happy this soon after Father’s passing. Refusal to see Rocky.
She held the glass against her temple and closed her eyes against the truth.
She’d utterly misunderstood her sister’s pleas for help. “How did I let this happen?”
“Your sister’s a grown woman.”
“But eloping?”
“It’s what she wanted.” He pulled out a chair and sat beside her.
“So you bid obscenely high on my basket, to…what?” She groped for an answer. “Get back at her? Save face in front of your friends and neighbors?”
He chuckled softly, his expression relaxed and open and happy. “Any idea how long I’ve been trying to corner Temperance, determined to inform her my courtship was over?”
That couldn’t be right. “You love Temperance. You proposed marriage. You’re smarting because she didn’t say yes.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing, the best thing. I believed redoubling my focus on her would cure my burgeoning love for you. I was wrong.”
L—love?
Tingles skipped along her nerves, raising the fine hairs on her arms. He fancied himself in love—with her? Some questions simply had to be asked. “Wrong?”
He nodded. “I was wrong to think marriage to Temperance could make me stop loving you.”
Love.
Her heart leapt into her throat and lodged there, beating far too fast. She made a noise of disbelief.
“You, my dear, understand me. My need for stability, for a woman who will stick. You and I are cut from the same bolt of cloth. Two people who need and want the same thing—a family to call our own. We value it more because of all we missed out on. We’re stronger, together, for choosing to build that solid foundation, side by side.”
He took her hand in his. “I bid on your basket with purpose. First, I was finally free to seek your company and wanted nothing more. I’ve spent two weeks trying to officially end things with your sister so I’d have a chance to win you. Second, I had to stake my claim before someone else stole you away.”
“That’s absurd.” Her head spun. “No one is interested, Mr. Gideon. I’ve never been courted.”
“Make no mistake, Miss Cartwright, I am courting you.” He leaned near and pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’re mine.”
The intensity of his claim stunned. “One hundred dollars? Why not cease at twenty?”
He chuckled. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s not about the money? I have money. I like the idea of the church finally buying an organ. I wanted every man, woman, and child to know you’re mine.”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Her world had flipped onto its side, wheels spinning ineffectually.
He took her hand between both of his, stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “I apologize for announcing myself to the whole town before speaking with you. But I’m asking now. Accept my suit. Say yes.”
“I—” Parched, she wished she’d drunk more water when she’d had the chance. “I don’t understand you.”
“That day in my office, I felt a connection. I told you things I’ve never told a soul and you understood. You know my reasons for wanting to build a marriage that wi
ll last.”
He’d spoken of Temperance then, not her.
“I adore you, Felicity Cartwright. You’re with me constantly.” He absently rubbed at his chest as if his heart ached, but quickly brought his hand back to hers as he couldn’t resist touching her. “I admire your chutzpah, the way you held your ground with Temperance’s she-wolves then stood up to me. I loved the way you kissed me back.”
She fought a grin.
He leaned in slowly, announcing his intent to kiss her. He allowed several long moments. She could have refused him, turned away from his kiss, but she wanted it. How she wanted.
“I’ve remembered our kiss a thousand times,” he whispered. “I kissed you because I couldn’t stop myself. I’ve wanted your kiss, ached for it, every day since.”
The touch of his lips to hers was magic and fireworks and a prayer. Warm, supple, sweet. He withdrew and traced a fingertip along her cheekbone. “I will convince you slowly, one day at a time, that you and I are wholly suited to matrimony.”
The affection and earnestness in his expression made her insides tingle. “I’m new to this…”
“That’s O.K. We have your father’s help. He wrote a book of advice and counsel and important considerations. Everything I know about courtship I learned from him.”
“I’ve read The Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship and Marriage.”
A wry grin tugged at his lips. “I’ll admit, his advice is usually solid, but I took him too literally a time or two and landed in hot water.”
She lowered her lashes, smiling.
“This courtship,” he vowed, “will be fairytale worthy. I’ll do things right this time.” His lips touched her neck, little thrills erupting as he brushed the tender skin. “I meant what I said, Felicity. I’m wholly focused on you. This courtship will end in the happily wedded blissful state I’ve craved my entire adult life.”
His confidence expanded, filling her with warmth and life and certainty she’d never known. It filled the voids and hollows and emptiness she’d lived with…well, forever.
He kissed her jaw then tugged gently on her earlobe. “I’ve mentioned love twice now, and you haven’t panicked. That’s good. I hope you remained calm because you already knew I’m in love. With you.”