“Hey, Jed.”
“You hear the news?”
He’d heard lots of news that day, and most of it, he wished he hadn’t. He responded with nothing more than a grunt, but Jed must have interpreted the sound to mean, No, what news is that?
“You ‘member that feller what was courtin’ the preacher’s daughter here awhile back?”
Micah groaned within his spirit. At this point he’d rather hear there was a cholera epidemic than listen to one more person speculate about Gabrielle’s former beau.
“Jed, I’m real tired, and I haven’t eaten all day. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just head on home.” True, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to swallow anything more than coffee, and he wasn’t hungry now, but he needn’t admit that to Jed.
“Oh, well sure. You go on and get yourself some vittles. My news will keep till tomorrow.” The old soldier chortled. “Might even get a little juicier by then.” He cackled at his own joke. “See ya in the mornin’.”
Micah bid Jed good evening and turned down the worn path toward his house. But before he reached the door, someone called his name. He turned to find Rod trotting up the path with barely a sign of a limp.
“Micah, do you know anything about some fellow by the name of Cullen Poole?”
No, not again! Micah sucked in a weary breath and blew it out. “I know of him.”
“There’s talk around town that—”
“I’ve heard the talk.” Micah refused to believe it was anything more than gossip.
Rod crossed his arms. “Is it true? Is Gabby Lockridge betrothed to this Poole fellow? You told me she wasn’t seeing anyone. I’ve made a fool of myself going out of my way to charm her because you told me she was available.”
As far as Micah was concerned, making a fool of himself was Rod’s own doing. He wished with everything in him he could inform Rod and Cullen and anyone else who was interested that Gabrielle was his girl. If that ever came to pass, however, it would be a miracle of Red Sea proportion.
“Rod, I cannot speak for Miss Lockridge, and I won’t engage in gossip over the lady. She does, after all, have a right to keep her private affairs private.”
Rod’s lip curled. “That sounds like you know something that you’re keeping to yourself.” His brow dipped into a scowl, and he planted his hands on his hips. “Could be you’re interested in her yourself. Is that it?” He snorted. “Remember when you used to tag along behind me when you were a kid? Well, you’re still tagging behind. That picnic is in a few days, and I intend to be her escort.”
His cousin pushed past Micah and made his way to the house. The day had rendered Micah weary and heart sore. But a smile found its way to his lips, because in spite of everything, he had one thing to which he could cling. “You are Mine.”
Chapter 8
The morning of the church picnic dawned bright, renewing Micah’s hope that the events of the day might match the sunny skies. He and Jed had adjusted their hours so Micah could fulfill his duties, assisting with the children’s games. Dozing in the office chair with his feet propped on the desk beside the telegraph key wasn’t the most comfortable position, and Micah wondered how Jed managed to log any sleep night after night. But the old soldier claimed if he could sleep in a water-filled trench during the War Between the States, he could sleep anywhere.
Micah yawned and reached for the coffeepot atop the small stove. Jed pushed the door open and tossed his hat on a peg.
“Mornin’, Micah.” He shuffled to the desk. “Shore do seem odd to be comin’ in here in the mornin’ ‘stead of evenin’.” He shook his finger in Micah’s face. “I don’t mind workin’ so you can go to the picnic, but you gotta promise not to eat all the fried chicken. Last year there weren’t nothin’ left by the time I got there.”
Micah chuckled. “I promise I’ll put some aside for you.” He tossed Jed a sly grin. “Which one of those young ladies are you hoping to ask for a dance later on?”
Jed snorted. “None o’ them fillies wanna two-step with a dusty old codger like me. I was hopin’ the widow Greeley might partner with me, though. What time does the square dance commence?”
“Around five.” He couldn’t resist needling Jed. “Of course, I may forget about you sitting here all by yourself and dance with Widow Greeley myself.” He waggled his eyebrows, but Jed didn’t take the bait.
“Pfft. There ain’t but one lady you want to dance with, and it ain’t the widow.” Jed plunked down into the desk chair. “Reckon the preacher’s girl will dance with you this year? Y’know, that old beau of hers might show up, and then you’ll have to fight both him and your cousin to get a dance with Miss Gabby.”
Heat rose up Micah’s neck and burned his ears. This was not a discussion he wished to have with Jed, or anyone else for that matter. “I’ll be back to relieve you by five.” Jed’s cackle followed him out the door.
Micah strode toward the cabin, grateful for the breeze cooling his fiery face. He opened the door to find Rod leaning against the kitchen table, finishing off a cup of coffee.
Micah noted his cousin’s stylish trousers and fancy tweed vest with a silk handkerchief poking out of the pocket. “You look mighty dapper.”
Rod sniffed and blotted his mouth with a dish towel. “A man should always look his best, even at a picnic, Cousin. You never know whose eye you might catch.” A crafty wink punctuated his statement.
Rod hadn’t revealed whether or not Gabrielle had accepted his request to escort her to the day’s events. According to the announcement made in church, she was in charge of organizing the activities for the children. He doubted Rod realized she would likely be too busy to pay him much attention. She and her parents always arrived early and were usually the last to leave. As her assistant, Micah at least looked forward to working beside her, helping with the children. And this year, he would ask her for a dance.
He picked up a leftover biscuit, broke it open, and stuffed a piece of ham inside. The cold breakfast wouldn’t go far to fill him up, but the thought of all the foodstuffs the women would bring to the picnic today made his mouth water. He crossed to the wardrobe in the corner and pulled out a fresh shirt.
Rod straightened his tie and smirked at Micah’s plaid shirt. “One of these days I’ll teach you how to dress to impress the ladies.”
Annoyance climbed up Micah’s throat, but he swallowed back the retort that rose with it. He calmly buttoned his shirt. “I’m not trying to impress anyone.”
Rod sneered. “Good thing.”
Refusing to allow his cousin to goad him, Micah turned and tucked in his shirttail. “I volunteered to help with the children’s games today.”
Rod stepped around him and peered in the mirror, running his hand over his hair. “You go ahead and play with the children if you like. I have other games planned.”
Gabby scanned the churchyard. The ladies appeared to have things well in hand setting up for the picnic. Long tables had been erected close to the building and would soon be groaning under the weight of food. In between spreading the tables with cloths and making certain all the supplies were in readiness for the games, no less than four of the ladies had asked her about Cullen. “When is he arriving? Have you picked a date yet? Will you stay in Whitley?” For goodness’ sake, they all had her married off, and in truth, she didn’t even know why Cullen was coming. Couldn’t they find something else to occupy their thoughts?
She shaded her eyes, looking for her father. She caught sight of him, bending to pick up one end of a bench. Before he could grasp it, however, Micah trotted over, shaking his head. Gabby couldn’t hear his words, but he hoisted the bench and placed it where Papa pointed. She heaved a grateful sigh for Micah’s aid to her father. Micah returned to the church and dragged out another bench. She hurried to catch up with him.
“Micah.” She smoothed her hand down her new dress and approached him with a shy smile. When he turned, her heart danced against her ribs. “Thank you. I’m grateful to you for
helping Papa.”
Micah’s face flushed red, but his eyes lingered on her for an extra moment before he glanced away. She wished she could read his thoughts. His lips parted, as if in reply, but then he simply tugged on the brim of his hat and lugged the bench to a shady spot under the trees.
She huffed and stamped her foot. She should have worn a feed sack. Why couldn’t he talk to her the way he did a week ago on the porch? For a brief moment that day, she’d dared to believe he might care for her. Learning Micah had volunteered to help with the children pleased her, and she’d even hoped it was because he wanted to be near her. Perhaps she was being foolish.
A wagon rattled into the yard, and Gabby turned. Micah had left his chore and hurried to help Robert Newberry down from the seat. “How’s the leg, Robert?”
“Improvin’. I can get around better with this cane.” Gabby paused to watch and listen as he held up the piece for Micah to see. “I carved it, and when Calvin Murdock saw it, he asked if I could carve a few for him to sell in the mercantile.”
“Is that right?” Micah acted as though he didn’t know a thing about Robert’s carving skills.
“And that’s not all. Sheriff Trask wants me to carve a chess set for him, and Harold Linquist has ordered a spandrel for the doorway of his office at the bank.” Robert paused and ran his fingers over the unique carving on his cane. “Makes me feel like a man again, earnin’ money and supportin’ my family.”
A knot caught in Gabby’s throat as she watched the two men make their way across the yard together. She stepped over to take one of the baskets from Robert’s wife, lifting the checkered napkin and peeking underneath.
“Is this one of your famous apple cakes? That’s Papa’s favorite.”
Lucille smiled. “If it wasn’t for your father and the rest of the church people, I wouldn’t have had the makings for the cake, or the baked beans, or the sweet potato pies.”
Gabby sent Lucille a quizzical look. “I don’t understand.”
The woman lifted her shoulders. “All the groceries in those two big sacks that were left on our doorstep—flour, sugar, beans, cornmeal, saleratus, bacon, molasses, sweet potatoes, apples, coffee. It was like Christmas morning going through those sacks. Even some penny candy for the boys.” Moisture glinted in her eyes. “We’re grateful. It helped tide us over until Robert started making some money with his wood carving.”
Gabby shook her head. “The church didn’t—” A tug at her memory brought awareness. Lucille’s list of grocery items sounded awfully familiar, especially the candy. She realized she’d been standing just a few yards away when those items had been purchased.
Micah. He must have left the groceries on the Newberry’s porch and slipped away before they opened the door. He truly was an incredible man. Was she the only person in town who knew what he’d done?
Gabby had no time to contemplate the question. Folks were arriving, and she had responsibilities. A flurry of skirts and giggles drew her attention. Predictably, Micah’s cousin stood in the center of a flock of young women, each presenting him a plate loaded with their home-cooked specialties.
Such foolishness. She had better things to occupy her time.
“Children, gather over here by the steps for the three-legged race.” She called out over the chatter and waved her hand to round up the youngsters.
“Miss Lockridge.”
Gabby spun and faced Rod Walker. A smooth smile slid across his handsome face, and he winked. “That’s a mighty comely dress you’re wearing. Did you wear it for me?” His overt flirting raised her wariness, and Micah’s gently spoken warning stole through her mind. She refused to dignify Mr. Walker’s probing question with a reply.
“Mr. Walker.”
He bowed, took her hand, and kissed her fingertips. “I understand there is to be a dance later. I hope you will do me the honor of saving me a waltz.”
He certainly was charming, but she bit her lip. “I will be busy with the children all afternoon, so I really cannot say if I’ll be able to take myself away from overseeing their activities. But thank you for the kind invitation.”
The way he narrowed his eyes in response reflected anything but kindness. “I thought my cousin was supposed to be playing with the children all day. Once again, he neglected to tell me the whole truth. I now see his ulterior motives.” He cleared his throat and cast a glare in Micah’s direction. “I’ll check back with you later, that is, if I’m available. The other ladies have been begging me to promise them a dance.” He touched the brim of his hat and moved away.
The children crowded around Gabby, clamoring for her attention. She cast a glance over her shoulder toward the retreating form of Micah’s cousin as she let the children lead her away.
Micah knelt at the starting line, fastening a band around the legs of the Newberry brothers. He looked up at her when she approached and then glanced beyond her toward his cousin, a perturbed expression pinching his brow. Had the two men argued? With youngsters tugging at her arms, this wasn’t the time for daydreams. Rod’s remark about Micah being less than truthful puzzled her and might merit contemplation later.
Gabby busied herself pairing off the girls, and for the next couple of hours, concentrated on ensuring the children’s fun. After a three-legged race, hoop-rolling, a sack race, jumping rope, and a tug-of-war, the young ones flopped on the ground beside their parents, tired and happy. Gabby wished she could do the same but began picking up and storing the game supplies in crates for next year, dodging questions about Cullen’s letter as she did so.
The descending sun signaled the musicians to tune up in preparation for the dance. After working side by side with Micah all afternoon, and hoping he noticed the discreet smiles she sent him, Gabby glanced around and caught sight of him heading down the street. He apparently thought to make his escape before the dancing started. Disappointment sagged her shoulders. She poured two cups of lemonade and trudged to join her mother in the shade.
Ten minutes later, Jed Franklin came striding toward the church with a wide grin. Realization dawned. Even though she’d hoped for a dance with Micah, Gabby’s heart warmed with understanding. Micah’s unselfish nature had prompted him to relieve Jed at the telegraph office so his helper could attend the picnic. Her gaze followed old Jed across the yard, and she watched as he bowed in front of Widow Greeley. The fiddles and guitar began a waltz, and the older couple moved—albeit a bit stiffly—in rhythm with the melody. What a sweet picture they made.
Other couples glided by, and Rod smirked at her as he passed with Millicent in his arms. Even through her exhaustion, the difference between the two cousins was abundantly clear, and in that moment Gabby knew—she was in love with Micah North.
Chapter 9
Micah smiled to himself as he sorted mail into the appropriate slots. Rod’s grumpiness two days prior still gave him cause for amusement. A check in his spirit chided him. He supposed he shouldn’t be gleeful over his cousin’s failure to secure a dance with Gabrielle.
A frown replaced his smile. Along with Rod’s disgruntlement over the preacher’s daughter being too busy to dance with him, he’d vowed to “try a little harder” to win Gabrielle’s regard. If his cousin’s efforts to woo every female in town to this point were any indication, he’d add Gabrielle to his list of conquests in short order.
Micah shook himself. Gabrielle was too astute to fall for Rod’s charm.
Wasn’t she?
The telegraph key began to tap and he slid into the chair and grabbed his pencil, translating the short and long tones into letters and words. The incoming telegram was for Sheriff Trask from the sheriff at Osage City, some thirty-five miles to the east. He scribbled out the words, blowing a low whistle through his teeth at the impact of the message. At the end, he tapped back his received code.
He glanced at the clock. The morning stage wasn’t due for another half hour, and the sheriff’s office was but a couple of hundred yards down the street. No doubt Sheriff Trask wou
ld want to know immediately that the Slater brothers had escaped jail in Osage City. Two were shot in the jailbreak, but the remaining two were last seen heading west, in the direction of Whitley.
Micah folded the paper and tucked it into his vest pocket. He grabbed his hat on his way out the door and hurried down the boardwalk to deliver the telegram. He found the sheriff pouring himself a cup of coffee. Micah waited a moment while the lawman read the message to see if he wanted to send a reply.
“Do you know if this message went out to any other towns hereabouts?”
“No sir. The Osage City sheriff didn’t indicate who all he was contacting.”
Trask rubbed the several-days-old growth on his chin. “Hmph. All right. No reply, at least not yet.” He tucked the telegram under his desk blotter. “Thanks, Micah.”
Micah gave a nod and started for the door.
“Is your cousin still in town?”
Micah halted at the threshold. “Yes sir.”
The sheriff took a noisy slurp of coffee. “I might want to talk to him if he’ll be around.”
Micah pursed his lips. Should he share his suspicions with Trask? He had no proof Rod had fabricated his stories—it was just a gut feeling. The gunshot wound in Rod’s leg—though healing nicely—was very real. Perhaps feelings of jealousy created Micah’s skepticism. He couldn’t deny Rod’s stories, and the attention they garnered made him feel insignificant, but petulance was a poor substitute for fact. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“He hasn’t mentioned when he’s leaving, so I reckon he’ll be available.” He studied the scowl between the sheriff’s thick brows. “Do you think the Slaters will come here?”
Trask leaned back in his chair. “Not likely, but possible. Don’t mention this to anyone, Micah. Not even your cousin yet. No point in starting a panic.”
His job as telegrapher required Micah to maintain the privacy of the sender and recipient of each message. He shook his head. “I won’t.” The sheriff just wanted his assurance.
The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons Page 37