“And what will I return to?” she asked, desperation making her voice tight.
The front door opened and Father glanced up at the house. Sarah looked toward the porch, where everyone had gathered. Luke stood at the front of the crowd.
Mr. and Mrs. Greenfield left the others and joined Sarah and her father in the yard. “Welcome to Belle Prairie, Mr. Ellis.” Mr. Greenfield extended his hand.
For a moment, Sarah feared Father wouldn’t shake his hand, but then he did.
“I’m Silas Greenfield, and this is my wife, Agnes. We’re the directors of the Belle Prairie Mission. Would you like to come inside to refresh yourself?”
Father removed his riding gloves. “I’ll come inside and wait while Sarah gathers her things, and then we’ll be on our way.”
The Greenfields led Father to the house with Sarah close behind.
Hazel, Mary, and Genevieve stood off to the side.
Mary offered a reassuring smile as Sarah passed by. No matter what happened, at least Mary would stay a true friend. Hazel’s eyes revealed her disapproval, while Genevieve’s face remained unreadable.
The Greenfields showed Father into the parlor.
If he thought the placement of the chairs strange, he didn’t say a word.
Luke entered the room behind Sarah, but all the others stayed outside.
“What are you doing?” Father asked Sarah. “I want you to gather your things.”
“I’d like to speak to you, Father.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. We’re leaving here as soon as possible.”
“I would like to introduce you to someone.” She looked at Luke, and his presence gave her the strength to continue. “This is Mr. Luke Longley.”
Father had the social grace to shake hands with Luke, but his eyes soon returned to Sarah.
“Mr. Longley has asked me to be his bride.”
“His bride?” Father turned his startled eyes back to Luke.
“I apologize about the way you’ve had to learn the news,” Luke said. “We wanted to wait until we had your blessing.”
“I suppose you’re a missionary, too.” Father crossed his arms as he examined Luke.
“I am. I serve at the Red Lake Mission, a hundred and fifty miles north of here.”
Father looked to Sarah, and she saw something in the depths of his eyes that she’d never seen before. It was a mixture of tenderness… and love. The sudden shift in his emotions must have surprised him, too, because he cleared his throat. “Do you love him, Sarah?”
Sarah’s gaze rested on Luke, and he offered her the faintest smile. “I do love him.”
Father looked at the Greenfields, his face intense. “Is he a good man?”
Mr. Greenfield nodded. “The very best.”
Father sighed, and his shoulders loosened. “Then I suppose I can’t say no.”
Sarah’s mouth fell open. “Just like that?”
“What?” Father lifted his hands. “Do you want me to put up a fight? I knew this day would come sooner or later.”
“But—you’ve come all this way.”
He took off his hat and smoothed down his graying hair, trying to hide his feelings. “The trip isn’t wasted. Now I can witness your marriage vows.”
Sarah’s frown etched into her forehead as she stared at him.
He lifted his gaze, and his eyes looked vulnerable—almost scared. “I came to take you home because the frontier is no place for an unmarried woman.” He reached out and lightly knuckled her chin. “I didn’t come to take you away from your calling, Sarah.”
Tears pricked the back of her eyes. “Truly?”
His own eyes grew a bit glossy, and he cleared his throat again. “When I heard you came west, I finally opened the Bible to see what could entice you away from your comfortable life back east.” He looked at her as if he still didn’t quite understand, but he was trying. “I read all about the life of a man named Paul, and what he sacrificed to spread the message of Christ. For the first time, I started to comprehend your passion.”
Sarah crossed the distance and wrapped her arms around him, not caring what he thought.
He hugged her back but quickly pulled away, his voice a bit gruff. “Don’t you have a wedding to attend?”
Sarah wiped at her cheeks and laughed.
Luke stood a few feet away, a smile on his face.
“Shall we call the others in for the ceremony?” Mr. Greenfield asked.
“It all depends.” Luke stepped closer to Sarah and took her hand in his. “Miss Ellis hasn’t agreed to marry me yet.”
Sarah grinned, unable to contain the joy in her heart. “I would be honored.”
Luke lifted her hand to his lips and winked at her. “I knew everything would turn out just fine.”
“Always the optimist,” she teased.
“Maybe not always, but I’m learning.”
The ceremony was a short affair, with Mary and Mr. Beaumont standing as witnesses, though the pair spent more time looking at each other than they did the bride and groom.
After the vows were exchanged, Mr. Greenfield closed his Bible, a knowing smile on his face. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Luke took Sarah into his arms and placed a tender kiss on her lips. When he pulled back and gazed upon her, it was as if they were alone in the room. “I love you, Sarah Longley, and I’m committed to loving you every day, for the rest of my life.”
Tears of happiness gathered in her eyes.
A week ago, she had dreaded the idea of becoming Luke’s bride. Now, as she stood hand in hand with her new husband, she couldn’t imagine life without him.
Gabrielle Meyer lives in central Minnesota on the banks of the Mississippi River with her husband and four young children. As an employee of the Minnesota Historical Society, she fell in love with the rich history of her state and enjoys writing fictional stories inspired by real people and events. Gabrielle can be found at www.gabriellemeyer.com where she writes about her passion for history, Minnesota, and her faith.
The Most Ineligible Bachelor in Town
by Connie Stevens
Dedication
To John
My quiet hero. I’m so blessed to be loved by a godly man.
Chapter 1
Whitley, Kansas
1885
Micah North stared at his reflection in the stage depot’s window glass. He forced a smile and cleared his throat. “Good morning, Gabrielle. You’re looking especially lovely today.” No, it was all wrong. The feigned confidence in his voice sounded brittle, even to him.
The corners of his mouth drooped. Would she be offended if he called her Gabrielle? Most everyone in town called her Gabby, but Micah had always felt her given name too beautiful to shorten.
He shook his head. If only speaking directly to Gabrielle were as easy as talking to his reflection. Every shred of composure he possessed fled when Gabrielle Lockridge stood before him.
He heaved a sigh. The outgoing mailbag still waited on the desk, and he had two telegrams to deliver. Yet here he stood, talking to himself and pretending he could maintain some semblance of dignity in Gabrielle’s presence. He glanced at the clock. The ten o’clock stage was already nearly a half hour late. But his postmaster/telegrapher duties could wait for one more minute. Despite the fact he had known her since childhood, perhaps he should try being more formal, since she was the preacher’s daughter and all. He straightened his tie and assumed a courtly pose.
“Good morning, Miss Lockridge.”
“Good morning, Micah.”
Micah choked and spun toward the door. Gabrielle Lockridge stood at the counter. His eyes widened and heat flooded his face.
Sun streamed in the doorway, bathing her in its glow. Her honey-brown eyes softened into a smile that weakened his knees. Did she have any idea how her presence robbed him of his good sense? She held up an envelope. “Papa asked me to mail this. Is it too late to get it into today’s mai
l?”
His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, but he couldn’t back down now. All he had to do was force those same words he’d been rehearsing past his lips. He swallowed around the knot in his throat. “N–no.” Don’t stammer! And stop sweating. “M–Miss Lockridge, you—you’re, uh, not too late….” He ducked his head as the muttered words stumbled over his teeth.
She cocked her head. “Micah, we’ve known each other since the fourth grade. I don’t think it improper to call me Gabby.”
The heat rising up his neck intensified, and his mouth opened and closed like a guppy. The invitation to address her in a more familiar way should please him. Instead, he was struck dumb.
Say something, you fool. She’s going to think you’re… He didn’t want to hazard a guess at what she thought. He crossed to the counter, stubbed his toe on the stool, and knocked the outgoing mail pouch off the desk. As he bent to retrieve the bag, pounding hoofbeats and jingling harnesses announced the late arrival of the stage.
Gabrielle turned toward the door. “Oh, good. The stage is late again.” She laughed—music to put songbirds to shame. “I suppose that’s a rather silly thing to say. But Papa will be happy his letter—”
Micah sucked in a breath. “Uh, uhh… right.” His hand snaked out and snatched the envelope from Gabrielle’s grasp. “Outgoing—not too late… oh, the mail.” He grabbed the mailbag, stuffed Reverend Lockridge’s letter inside, and rushed out the door. The stage halted in a cloud of dust.
Micah tossed the bag of outgoing mail to the driver. “Mornin’, Hank. You’re late again.”
Hank deftly caught the pouch. “Hiya, Micah.”
Micah caught a glimpse of Gabrielle from the corner of his eye as she exited the depot and stood, studying him with a perplexed expression. He should apologize for his rudeness, for his inability to string coherent words into a sentence in her presence.
Hank jerked his thumb toward the stage. “Got a passenger for ya today. This here feller says he knows you.”
The coach door opened. “Micah! Hello, Cousin.”
The vaguely familiar voice pulled Micah’s attention away from Gabrielle. When he connected with the ice-blue eyes and smirking grin, his eyebrows rose. “Rod? Well, I vow and declare, how long has it been?” He reached to clasp his cousin’s hand.
Rod gripped Micah’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder. “At least nine or ten years. You were still in knee pants.” He laughed. “You followed me around like my shadow. Thought I’d never get shed of you.”
Micah chuckled. “I had a bad case of hero worship back then. What brings you to these parts?”
Rod hitch-stepped to the boardwalk and halted. “Doc says I need to rest this leg. So I thought what better time to visit my long-lost cousin.”
“Hey, I haven’t been the lost one.” Micah grinned. “Where have you been all these years?”
“Well, now that’s a story.” Rod glanced around and stopped short when he faced Gabrielle. A suave smile slid easily onto his countenance, and he tipped his hat.
Gabrielle still stood, as if wondering if she should stay or go. Was she waiting for him to introduce her to his cousin? He should, just to be polite, but—
Thwak!
Leather connected with a solid thump on the side of Micah’s head.
“Sorry, Micah.”
The pouch containing the day’s incoming mail lay at his feet. Micah glanced up. The ends of Hank’s shaggy mustache twitched in chagrin.
Rod tilted his head back and guffawed. “You always were the clumsy one of the bunch. Still the same, I see.”
Micah’s face flamed, and he cast a quick glance in Gabrielle’s direction. She pressed her lips together and dipped her head. Was she laughing at him?
Gabby’s heart cringed when the stranger—did he call Micah his cousin?—laughed. The man needed to learn some manners. She spun on her heel and marched down the boardwalk. She’d intended to tell Micah she left two cents on the counter for the postage, but the way he snatched Papa’s letter and ran out the door puzzled her. Annoyance wiggled through her at seeing Micah embarrassed by his cousin, but frustration also nipped at her. Micah’s demeanor shifted the moment she stepped in the doorway and greeted him. Engaging Micah in conversation was like pulling hen’s teeth, and most of the time he acted as if being near her grated on his nerves. For the life of her, Gabby couldn’t figure out why she felt drawn to Micah North. She simply couldn’t coax her heart to forget about him. Even when they were children, she secretly liked the shy boy who sat behind her in school. Except for the stretch of time when Cullen Poole had come to town more than three years ago and charmed her into believing he loved her, Micah North had always been special to her.
She glanced through the window of Brown’s Apothecary. Millicent Brown, working behind the counter, looked up and waved to Gabby. Millicent and her friends would think Gabby had lost her senses if they knew she was sweet on Micah. Most of the girls in town never gave him a second thought. So why did her heart flutter every time he was near?
For goodness’ sake, hadn’t she learned a thing after Cullen left? True, she’d been young—just seventeen—and love struck when Cullen wooed her. Having her heart broken once made her determined to never let it happen again. But Micah was so kindhearted and generous. He would never break her heart, especially since she couldn’t get him to even look at her.
She straightened her shoulders and proceeded toward Murdock’s Mercantile with her mother’s list. Micah’s cousin was certainly handsome, and his voice had a resonating ring. No doubt Papa, as the pastor of the community church, would extend a warm welcome to the newcomer and expect her to do the same. Getting acquainted with Micah’s cousin might change her first impression—there could be a caring, tenderhearted person behind those blue eyes.
A check in her spirit brought her to a halt just outside the mercantile doors. She glanced over her shoulder. An uncanny sensation that someone had just called her name permeated her mind for a brief moment. Growing up as a preacher’s daughter, learning about the Lord from an early age, it only took a moment to recognize the whisper of God. But what was He trying to tell her?
One glance at the pendant watch hanging around her neck prompted her to put aside her uncertainty and hurry. Mama would be waiting for her. Intending to spend time in prayer soon, listening for God’s direction, she pushed open the door. “Hello, Mr. Murdock.”
The jovial, gray-haired man waved a beefy hand. “Mornin’, Miss Gabby. What can I do for you today?”
She handed over Mama’s list. “My mother needs a few things, and of course, she is getting ready to do her canning.”
Mr. Murdock’s grin stretched across his face and he licked his lips. “Is she puttin’ up them plum preserves again this year?”
Gabby stifled a giggle. “Yes sir.” Mama’s plum preserves were legendary in the town of Whitley. She probably could have sold them for twenty-five cents a jar, but she simply gave them away to everyone. “I’ll be sure to put a jar aside for you.”
The merchant’s eyes twinkled in anticipated pleasure. “Thanks, Miss Gabby.”
“Have the new yard goods come in yet?”
“Couple of days ago.” His jowls quivered when he tipped his head toward the rear shelving.
As Gabby perused the bolts of yard goods, one in particular caught her eye—a soft ivory with a muted paisley pattern. She rolled off a length and held it up to her.
“That one would look right smart on you, Miss Gabby.”
She smiled. “Mama says I handle a needle and thread like a crowbar.” She studied the fabric again. The vision of a new dress for the upcoming church picnic made her smile, and Mama would help her. Her face warmed with conviction. Vanity was unbecoming, Mama always said. But could a new dress—one that enhanced the color of her eyes—capture Micah’s attention? “I’ll take a dress length, Mr. Murdock.”
The tinkling of the door’s brass bell welcomed three girls, arms linked, scurrying inside.
Daphne, Trudy, and Clara—best friends since grade school—sought Gabby out.
“Here you are. Millicent said she saw you pass by the apothecary awhile ago.” Daphne seized Gabby’s hand while Trudy fairly danced in place. Clara, the quiet one, chewed on her thumbnail.
“Did you see him?” Daphne’s dramatic tone made Trudy giggle like a ten-year-old.
Gabby arched her eyebrows. “Did I see who?”
“Who?” It was more of a demand than a question. Daphne spread her arms wide. “The man who just got off the stage. He’s so handsome.”
Trudy tugged on Gabby’s sleeve. “Millicent said you were there, so you must have seen him. I think he’s friends with… what’s his name—the guy at the depot.”
The guy at the depot? Couldn’t Trudy even remember Micah’s name? But Micah wasn’t the object of the trio’s excitement. “Yes, I saw him. His name is Rod, and he’s Micah North’s cousin.”
Chapter 2
Micah looked up from his desk when the depot door opened. Heavy boots thumped the floorboards. Since the building housed not only the stage depot but also the post office and telegraph office, his duties varied every time someone entered. This time, however, the noisy footsteps belonged to Jed Franklin, his relief man.
Jed hung his hat on a peg. “I ain’t late, am I?”
Micah suppressed a smile. Jed was fifteen minutes late every day. “Jed, if you got here any earlier, I wouldn’t know what to do.”
An indignant snort flapped Jed’s lips. “You sound like my ol’ sergeant, and I ain’t even in the army no more.” He nudged Micah out of the chair, plopped down beside the telegraph key, and crossed his arms. “Heard your cousin come to visit. He was down at the café awhile ago keepin’ folks entertained with his stories.”
Micah glanced at the old soldier. “That right? What kind of stories?”
A toothy grin split Jed’s face. “Reckon you’ve already heard most of ’em—’bout his adventures with the Pinkertons and all.”
The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons Page 33