Hays deliberately pounded the last tack in place. “I’m looking for a wife, and anyone can apply, whether they’ve lived here all their life, or”—he winked—“they’re new in town.”
Her long lashes fluttered against her high cheekbones. “I can’t allow you to post that here.”
“I think that should be up to the pastor—and besides, this is a community board. It’s been used for years to advertise anything and everything.”
She straightened her back and looked every inch the schoolteacher. “As the pastor’s daughter, I believe I can speak on his behalf. I know he’ll insist you take it down.”
“Well.” Hays tossed the rock onto the ground. “Until he does, here it will stay.” Something about the pure exasperation in her stance made Hays want to stay and tease her a bit more, but he had chores waiting for him back at the ranch, and there were still several dozen posters to hang. “Good day, Miss Longley.” He wiped his hands on his trousers. “I do hope to see you again soon.”
One of her hands slipped up to rest on her hip while the other pointed at the board. “Mr. Hart, I demand you remove that poster, or…”
“Or?” He waited, loving how the rosy tint in her cheeks made her eyes look even greener. So much about this woman intrigued him.
“Or I–I’ll remove it myself—and any other poster you hang in town. It’s unseemly!”
He lifted the stack off Gage’s arm. “Don’t worry. There are more where these came from.”
She let out a frustrated breath, but he didn’t stop to acknowledge it.
“That could have gone better,” Gage said with a nervous laugh.
“Maybe.” Hays glanced behind him and chuckled when he saw her taking down his poster. “Maybe not.” He had never met a woman who responded to him the way Miss Longley had. It was a refreshing change.
He turned his attention back to the blacksmith’s, already looking forward to the next time he’d encounter the new schoolteacher.
Emma Longley clutched the WANTED poster as she watched Hays Hart cross the street. Of all the nerve! Who would advertise for a bride in such a distasteful manner? Was he serious?
“I see you’ve met my favorite Hart.”
Emma turned at the sweet sound of her new friend, Constance Prescott. Connie stood in a black mourning gown and bonnet, a small Bible in her gloved hand. Her black eyes revealed the recent pain of losing her mother, yet her gentle smile showed her resilience. She came to the church every morning to pray, and the unexpected friendship was the one bright spot in Emma’s short time in Hartville.
“If he’s your favorite,” Emma said, “I can’t imagine what the others are like.”
The edges of Connie’s eyes crinkled as her smile widened. “They’re all wonderful, but Hays and I went to school together, and we’ve been good friends for years. He may be a little unpredictable, but he’s one of the nicest men in town.”
“Nice?” Emma crumpled the poster. “He’s arrogant and stubborn—not to mention improper. He’s advertising for a bride.”
Connie brought the worn Bible up to her lips as she giggled. “Oh, Hays.”
“You’re not shocked?”
“When it comes to Hays, nothing could shock me.” Connie lifted the hem of her gown and walked up the steps to join Emma. “He’s the youngest of the Hart sons and doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of them. They all tend to be serious—but Hays is different. I know you’ll come to like him.”
Emma stole a glimpse across the road, unable to keep her gaze off the handsome man. “I don’t see how.”
Connie smiled at Emma and then opened the front door. “Are you getting settled in the school?”
Emma followed Connie inside the building, happy to change the subject. “It hasn’t been easy.” The church also served as the schoolhouse for the children of Hartville. The winter term would begin in four days, but it was almost impossible to prepare with everyone coming and going. Papa dropped in regularly to prepare for his first service on Sunday, and several people had stopped by to meet the new pastor.
“What this town needs is a separate schoolhouse.” Emma went to the front of the room, where her desk was pushed back against the wall.
Connie walked to the front pew, which also served as a desk, and took a seat. She removed her gloves and set them on the desk next to her Bible. “There’s no money to build one. Some former teachers have made the same request, but they’re often met with resistance from the citizens of Hartville, so they don’t pursue the idea.”
“Resistance?” Emma gathered several Texas history books she had been studying and took her reticule from the top drawer. Just like all the other times people came to pray, Emma felt it best to leave. It caused a great deal of interruption in her daily routine, but the building was first and foremost a church.
“Yes. People in Hartville have a hard time changing, or giving up their hard-earned money when they already have a perfectly good building for the school.”
“But don’t they understand how inconvenient it is for everyone?”
Connie lifted her delicate shoulder. “I can’t say.”
Emma hugged the heavy stack of books in her arms. “I plan to speak to the superintendent of the school and see what can be done.”
“I thought you were planning to go back to Minnesota in March.”
“I am, but I can do something for the children before I leave.” Emma’s parents had hoped she’d stay in Texas, but already she was homesick for her work with the Ojibwe Indians. She would fulfill her teaching contract in Hartville and go home at the end of the winter term. “Surely I can make a difference in that amount of time.”
Connie offered an encouraging smile and then lifted her Bible.
“I’ll leave you to your prayers.” Emma walked to the back of the church and let herself out quietly.
Hartville teemed with activity on this second morning of 1874. The dusty streets and dry land around the town were nothing like the countryside of her beloved Minnesota. Back home, the lakes and rivers would be frozen over, the land would be covered under a blanket of snow, and the branches of large elm, oak, and maple would be bare against the pale winter sky. Ice-skating, sledding, cross-country skiing, and hot cocoa around a fireplace were but some of the things she missed.
Emma walked across the road toward the blacksmith’s shop, where Mr. Cochrane, the school superintendent, had entered every day at this time.
The history books were a bit cumbersome in her arms, but she didn’t want to take the time to carry them to the parsonage, which sat just behind the church. Instead, she walked through the open doors of the smithy and inspected the interior.
The ringing of hammer against anvil met her ears, and she was surprised to find several men in the building. It appeared to be a popular meeting place. Many of them doffed their caps at her and she nodded a cordial greeting.
Mr. Cochrane turned and smiled, his large mustache touching the bottom of his nose. “Miss Longley, it’s nice to see you again. Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
“Yes, I just came from the church—school.” She stood awkwardly. “I actually came to speak to you about the school.”
“Oh? Can’t it wait until the school board meetin’ next month?”
“I’m afraid not.” She had very little time in Hartville, so she must make the most of every moment.
Mr. Cochrane glanced at his fellow companions. Many of them gave him good-natured grins. “I’m about to start a game of cribbage with these men. Make it quick.”
She cleared her throat. The heat and smoke from the blacksmith’s fire made her eyes water. “I’d like to discuss building a new schoolhouse.”
“A what?” Mr. Cochrane’s bushy eyebrows came together in a V.
“A schoolhouse—one separate from the church. It’s extremely inconvenient to share the school with the church.”
“You haven’t even started teaching yet, and you’re inconvenienced?” Mr. Cochrane looked to his c
ompanions, who nodded agreement. “The church has served us quite well until now.”
“I haven’t taught—yet—but I’ve been there every day this week, and I can already surmise the complications that will ensue.”
“Big words for such a purdy lady,” a man with white whiskers said. He turned his head and a stream of brown tobacco juice flew from his mouth into a spittoon.
Emma tried not to gag.
“We have one of them highfalutin women on our hands again, Jake,” said another who was tall and spindly. “Nothing’s good enough for them.”
“That’s not true,” Emma said quickly, her cheeks warming at the accusation. “I simply want what’s best for—”
“Miss Longley, this is a modest town,” Mr. Cochrane said with a deep drawl. “We don’t take much, and we don’t ask for much. We make do with what we have.”
“But a schoolhouse is necessary for the advancement of civilization.”
“There she goes again, talkin’ all fancy-like,” the man with white whiskers said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
“A schoolhouse would cost a lot of money to build,” Mr. Cochrane added. “Money we don’t have.”
“The only people in town with money are the Harts,” said a younger cowboy who leaned against a dirty worktable. “Why don’t you go ask GW?”
“Mr. Hart?” If he was anything like his son, she’d rather not make his acquaintance—besides, the town needed to raise their own money and take ownership of the school. It was everyone’s responsibility. “I’d prefer not ask him.”
“I can’t help you,” Mr. Cochrane said. “There’s not enough money for a new school building.”
“What if I raise the money myself?”
The white-whiskered man whistled under his breath. “Fancy and rich? Where were you when I was younger?”
“Hush up, Willie.” Mr. Cochrane turned back to Emma. “You’re telling me you’ve got enough money to spare?”
“No. I thought we could hold a fund-raiser.”
Mr. Cochrane snorted. “If you think you can raise enough money for a school in this town, be my guest.”
The other men laughed.
Emma repositioned the books. “Then I have your permission?”
Mr. Cochrane spread out his arms. “Permission granted.”
“You’d save yourself some time if you just ask GW,” the young man said.
Emma glanced at the men, frustration strengthening her determination. She would raise enough money for a school, and she wouldn’t need to ask Mr. Hart.
“Good day, gentlemen.” She left the building—but paused when she saw the WANTED poster Hays had tacked up near the entrance to the blacksmith’s shop. With a sigh, she maneuvered the books to one hand and removed Hays’s poster from the wall.
Her books toppled out of her grasp, and she clumsily tried to save them. “Oh, dear.” They fell into a misshapen pile in the dirt.
She bent to retrieve them just as a shadow loomed overhead.
Emma looked up and stared into the laughing eyes of Hays Hart.
Thankfully she was already near the ground, since his charming grin threatened to make her knees weak.
Chapter Two
Hays squatted and lifted the first book within reach, A Comprehensive Survey of Texas History. The tome was surprisingly heavy, and it was only one of several Miss Longley had been carrying.
“Looks like you dropped something,” he said.
Without looking at him, she took the book and then proceeded to stack the rest in an organized pile, largest to smallest.
His torn poster was on the dirt next to her. Without another word, Hays stood and removed an extra poster from his back pocket. He unfolded it and tacked it in place. “Good thing I had one left over.”
Miss Longley sent a frustrated look in his direction and then finished arranging the books.
“Here.” He scooped up the stack in an effortless sweep of his hands. “I’ll be happy to carry these for you.”
“That won’t be necessary.” She stood and tried to take them, but he stepped out of her reach.
“Are you heading back to the church?” he asked.
Her hat was askew and a dark tendril of hair hung over her eye. She blew at it, but it refused to leave her pretty forehead alone. “I am going to the parsonage—and I can carry my own books.”
“I’m sure you can, but a gentleman always helps a lady in distress.”
“I am not in distress.” She rearranged her hat. “And you, sir, are no gentleman.”
Hays laughed; he couldn’t help it. He’d flustered her well and good. “Don’t bother leading the way. I know where the parsonage is.” He began to walk toward the south end of town.
Miss Longley set her shoulders, the daintiest scowl present on her forehead, and followed.
“Hays!” A woman’s voice called to him from across the road near the church. “Hays Hart!”
Evelyn Palmer stood in a stunning gown, with lace and ruffles in all the right places. Her tiny waist was made tinier by the large bustle at the back, and her stylish hat was tilted at a jaunty slant on her blond curls. Next to her was Miss Spanner, the new seamstress in Hartville.
Hays halted, torn between ignoring the notorious flirts—and introducing them to the new schoolteacher.
Evelyn rushed across the road, Miss Spanner on her heels.
It looked like he would have no choice.
Evelyn pointed to the new poster he’d hung at the church after Miss Longley had left. “Hays, darling, are you seriously looking for a bride?”
Miss Longley’s gaze followed Evelyn’s pointed finger, and her mouth parted in surprise—or anger, he couldn’t tell.
“Yes.” He nodded, wishing now he had ignored Evelyn.
“You silly man.” Evelyn took a step closer, and he could smell the expensive perfume she wore. “You don’t have to advertise for a bride. You know how I’ve always felt.”
Hays swallowed and Miss Longley’s cheeks blossomed with color. “Miss Palmer and Miss Spanner, I’d like to introduce you to our new schoolteacher, Miss Longley.”
Evelyn Palmer and Clarice Spanner inspected Miss Longley, their friendly smiles growing stiff.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Miss Longley said in a pleasant tone.
“Miss Spanner is the seamstress in town,” Hays said.
Clarice extended her gloved hand to the teacher. “I prefer to be called a modiste.“
Hays tried not to roll his eyes. “And Miss Palmer is—”
“My father is the president of the First National Bank,” Evelyn said. “As well as the head elder of the church.”
“How nice.” Miss Longley smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting you, but I must be going.” She held out her hands toward Hays. “If you’ll give me the books, I can manage the rest of the way on my own.”
“No need.” Hays gripped the books tighter and looked at Evelyn and Clarice. “It was a pleasure seeing both of you, but I must help Miss Longley take these to her home.”
“I’ll pay a call to El Regalo soon,” Evelyn purred. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen the ranch.”
Miss Longley squinted and looked as if she was devising a way to grab the stack of books.
“I look forward to it,” Hays said, dipping his hat at the ladies.
He directed Miss Longley toward the parsonage with his hand on the small of her back.
A white picket fence enclosed the tiny yard. Overgrown lilac bushes crowded a front porch, and a two-person swing blew gently in the breeze. Gabled eaves, oriel windows, and thick vines graced the white house. It wasn’t large, but it was quaint and had been a place of warmth to Hays his whole life. “Your father replaced a very kind man,” Hays said. “Pastor Darby was loved by the whole town.”
“We’ve heard good things about him.”
“He used to come to El Regalo for dinner on Sunday afternoons.” It was Hays’s favorite day of the week, when most of his brothers gath
ered around his father’s dining room table.
They stepped onto the porch and she reached for the doorknob.
“Look.” Hays put his hand on her wrist.
Her startled eyes met his.
He pulled his hand back and grew serious for the first time since meeting her. He sensed she was a nice woman, somewhere under all the manners and quiet hostility, and he wanted more than anything to set things right. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”
Before she could answer, the front door opened and a middle-aged man stepped out. He stopped short when he saw them standing there. He had kind blue eyes and dark brown hair streaked with a bit of silver at the temples. Surprise lit his face. “Hello.”
Hays took off his Stetson with his free hand. “Howdy, sir.”
“Mr. Hart, this is my father, Reverend Longley.”
Hays extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Reverend. I’m Hays Hart.”
“Ahh.” Reverend Longley opened the door a bit wider. “Emma didn’t tell me she had met one of the Harts.”
Emma. It suited her.
“Are you GW Hart’s son?”
Hays nodded. “One of them.”
“I’ve been meaning to get out to the 7 Heart Ranch and introduce myself. I’m afraid I’ve been a bit busy since we arrived.”
“My pa is eager to meet you.” A new idea began to form. “In fact, we’d love for your family to join us for dinner after church on Sunday.” Surely Pa wouldn’t mind if Hays extended an invite.
“We’d be happy to—”
“Papa,” Emma interrupted. “It’s your first Sunday preaching, and you might be—”
“Nonsense,” Reverend Longley said. “Tell your father we’ll be there.”
Hays couldn’t hide the pleasure from his voice. “I will.”
Emma turned to Hays and extended her hands. “Thank you for carrying my books.”
Hays handed them over and she bent slightly from the weight.
“It was my pleasure. I’ll see you Sunday, Miss Longley.”
She barely acknowledged him before she stepped over the threshold and past her father.
Reverend Longley watched his daughter for a moment, curiosity in his steady gaze. “Thank you for seeing her home.”
Seven Brides for Seven Texans Romance Collection Page 2