The Rails to Love Romance Collection

by Brandmeyer, Diana Lesire; Cabot, Amanda; Carter, Lisa

  He laughed and stepped away from the horse. “I’ll see what I can do. Have a good day, and tell Abe he’s invited to our place for dinner tomorrow after church.”

  Would the man lose his taciturn ways in the presence of the affable Voths? She would like to witness such a change. She flicked the reins, and Pet obediently lunged forward. She glanced skyward. Still gray, cloudless, with pink blooming in the east. The doctor’s prediction of rain seemed unlikely, but storms would brew inside the house if she wasn’t there when Lucy awakened.

  She called, “Hurry now, Pet.”

  Something tapped Abe’s shoulder. He snuffled and brushed at his arm. The tap-tap came again, more insistent this time. With a low growl of annoyance, Abe forced his bleary eyes open. Then he sat up so abruptly his sheet slipped off the edge of the bed. He scrambled to retrieve it. “You?”

  The little girl stood close, big blue eyes unblinking. In the dim light sneaking through the window, her hair stood out like the snarled strings of a mop. She puckered her lips. Was she going to cry?

  “What you want?”

  She danced in place.

  “Then go on out.”

  She shook her head, making her tangled hair bounce. “I scared.”

  Abe glanced at the window. Dawn was breaking, but things were a mite gray out there. If he was no bigger than a nubbin, he’d be scared, too. He groaned. “All right, all right.” He swung his legs out of bed and stood.

  The child angled her head back to peer up at him. He expected her to recoil in fear at the up close look at his taller-than-any-other-man-in-town frame. But instead she lifted her arms.

  Abe grimaced. “Just come on, you.” He put his fingers on the back of her head and turned her toward the door. He scuffed across the floor on his bare feet with the child scampering ahead of him. The morning air, moist and cool, greeted him when he opened the back door. He started to step outside, but the child froze on the doorjamb, once more holding her arms to him.

  “Me up, please?”

  Abe chewed his lower lip. The little girl was barefooted, like him. He didn’t mind trooping across the dewy grass with no shoes on, but her feet were more tender than his. What if she found a cocklebur? Those blasted weeds popped up no matter how hard he fought against them. He started for her room. “We’ll get your shoes on.”

  Panic widened her eyes. She wriggled, her arms quivering.

  Apparently she couldn’t wait. Quick, before he could change his mind, Abe hooked his hands under her arms and lifted. Holding her in front of him the way someone might carry a skunk-sprayed critter, he hustled her across the yard to the outhouse. He set her inside and stepped back. “There. Do what… needs doin’.”

  To his great relief, she took care of herself without asking for help. By the time she emerged, the sun had peeked his head over the horizon, and the entire sky was robin’s-egg blue, a shade lighter than the child’s eyes. She smiled at him, and something warm bloomed inside Abe’s chest. This time when she lifted her arms to him, he settled her on his hip the way he’d seen Miss Emmett do. Surprisingly, she fit well there, and his lips twitched into a small smile.

  The rattle of wagon wheels on gravel intruded.

  “Miss Meela!” the child crowed.

  Abe whirled to look. Sure enough, Miss Emmett was bringing his wagon to a stop on the patch of ground between the house and barn. And there Abe stood in the morning sunlight, wearing nothing but his union suit. He took off at a gallop for the house with the little girl squealing in his ears. He plopped the child on her straw mattress then darted into his bedroom and slammed the door. Faster than he’d ever dressed before, he scrambled into a shirt, britches, socks, and boots.

  The light patter of footsteps crossed the porch and knuckles rapped the front door. He smacked a comb through his hair then tossed it onto his bureau top before racing through the living room to the door. He swung it open and forced a raspy greeting. “Mornin’, Miss Emmett.”

  The red flush on her cheeks let him know she’d seen his mad dash across the yard.

  His face went hot. He shuffled aside so she could enter and muttered, “I gotta shave.” He closed himself in his room again. He decided to shave slow, give him—and her—time to recover from the awkward start to the day.

  Familiar sounds—the woman stoking the stove, cracking eggs in a bowl, talking soft to the child—crept under the door while he carved away the prickly whiskers shadowing his jaw. He gave himself extra swipes, hoping to remove all traces of embarrassment along with the stubble. But the razor blade did nothing to remove the pink stain from his face. He finished, then paced the floor, considering sneaking out the window. But he’d have to face her sometime. So he sent up a silent prayer that God would erase her memory of him standing in the yard in his underwear and stepped into the main room.

  She turned from placing tin plates on the table. Her gaze met his. Fresh red flooded her already pink cheeks. “Mr. Early… This morning, when I arrived…”

  He gulped. Fire blazed in his face. Didn’t the Lord listen to anything he said? She remembered, and she was still mortified. Who could blame her? He should’ve gone out the window. “Yeah?”

  Tears glistened in her eyes. “You were holding Lucy.”

  He frowned, confused. “Y–yeah.”

  “It was a beautiful sight.”

  She remembered all right, but not his union suit. He couldn’t decide if he was happy or sad about what her memory held. Then he thought about the comfortable weight of the child in his arms, and something inside of him melted. He took an uncertain forward step. “You… you think so?”

  A shy smile curved her lips. “Yes, Mr. Early. I do.”

  “She needed the outhouse.” He shrugged. “Needed it bad. So I took her.” Would that satisfy her curiosity about why he hadn’t been dressed?

  The woman nodded, and slowly her face faded to its normal color. “I’m sorry I didn’t arrive in time to take her. She woke earlier today than usual.”

  Abe grimaced. He toed the floor. “That’s probably my fault. I gave her an extra cup of milk after you put her to bed last night.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You did?”

  “Yeah. She couldn’t sleep, said she was thirsty. So… I gave her a drink. So she’d hush an’ drift off to sleep.” Why was he blathering this way? They both had work to do. He hurried to the stove and reached for the coffee pot. “I won’t do it again.”

  The woman’s smile changed to a frown.

  He angled a glance at her. Her shoulders sagged, her head drooping low. He scowled. “Somethin’ wrong?”

  She looked at him. The disappointment in her expression made his stomach roll over in a funny way. “Mr. Early, I hope you didn’t mean that.”

  He drew back. “Mean what?”

  “That you won’t give Lucy a drink the next time she asks for one.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Because an important part of parenting is meeting a child’s need as it arises. If she was thirsty, then giving her a drink was the appropriate thing to do. I sincerely hope you won’t ignore future requests.”

  Only at bedtime, since that extra liquid made her wake up earlier than usual and let him get caught standing outside in his under drawers for Miss Emmett to see. But then again, neither the woman nor the child would be around forever. They were two weeks closer to the circuit judge coming and reversing the adoption. How likely was it that he’d have to take the little girl to the outhouse at the break of dawn again? Maybe he’d sleep in his britches until the circuit judge came, just in case.

  “You got breakfast ready, miss? I need to get into the fields.”

  His answer must have disappointed her, because her frown deepened, and much as he hated to admit it, her disappointment stung. But no matter how it’d felt to carry the little girl on his hip that morning, no matter how warmed up his insides got when the little girl smiled at him, it was only desperation that bade him to offer help. He wasn’t fit for parenting.


  God, let Miss Emmett see the truth.

  He sure hoped God was listening to that prayer.

  Chapter Seven

  A be had enjoyed Sunday dinners with the Voths more times than he could count, and he’d never been uncomfortable around Preacher Henry or his always-smiling, always-friendly wife. But on this Sunday, he was as uneasy as a raccoon treed by a pack of hounds. The tender pot roast stuck in his throat. The gravy turned into sawdust in his mouth. Even the cold, frothy milk tried to choke him. What was the matter with him, anyway?

  Foolish question. He knew the answer. It bothered him to be at odds with the woman. He wouldn’t call her a friend. He couldn’t even call her his housekeeper since her time on his farm would be so temporary. There was no relationship between them at all. So it shouldn’t matter a bit if she was unhappy with him. Yet it did matter. It mattered a lot.

  “Mr. Early, how is your planting comin’?” Mrs. Voth spooned more peas onto Abe’s plate. “I reckon it’s very different, workin’ alone. Will you plant both yours and your brother’s fields this year?”

  Abe put down his fork, the remainder of his appetite fleeing. He sensed Miss Emmett sending him a sympathetic look from across the table, but he kept his gaze on the preacher’s wife instead. He didn’t want to see pity in anybody’s eyes. “I want to get both fields planted.” He hated looking at that empty stretch of ground, proof that Ed wasn’t with him anymore. “But it’s takin’ a lot longer’n I expected. I guess I never realized how much work Ed put in.”

  “I don’t rightly see how you’ll manage without help.” Mrs. Voth shook her head, her eyes sad. “If only you were married already. Then you’d have a helpmate, the same way Ed did.”

  Abe’s flippant comment about the city woman marrying up with him haunted him. Did she ever think about it, too? He glanced at her. Her face filled with pink, and she looked down at her plate. Yep. She was thinking about it now.

  “But I s’pose,” Mrs. Voth went on, “that’s somethin’ best left to the good Lord’s doin’.”

  “Indeed,” Preacher Henry said firmly. He rested his elbows on the edge of the table.

  “Maybe you should hire a farmhand. After all, havin’ Miss Emmett doin’ the housework has surely eased a burden for you. Wouldn’t an extra pair of hands in the fields make things easier?”

  Abe forced a chuckle. “Well, it ain’t exactly the same thing, Preacher. Miss Emmett isn’t costin’ me anything except the food she eats.” The woman ate like a bird—she hardly put a dent in his food stores. “But I’d have to pay a hired hand outright, an’ my bank account is pretty limited until my crop comes in.”

  “Will you sell Ed’s land then?”

  How could he sell his brother’s land? How could he watch somebody else till the soil, plant the seeds, harvest the grain? Whoever bought it would have to traipse across his acres to reach Ed’s place. He didn’t like the idea of somebody other than his brother using his land as a thoroughfare. Besides all that, if Lucy was Ed’s child in the eyes of the law, that land rightly belonged to her now. He couldn’t do anything until the judge reversed the adoption. Abe swallowed the lump in his throat. “Not unless I have to.”

  The minister sat back in his chair, pinning Abe with a serious look. “The church has a fair amount in its benevolent fund. If you’ll recall, I offered some to you to help with Ed and Ruby’s burial. You refused it, but maybe you’d take some to pay a hired hand.”

  Mrs. Voth chimed in again. “’Specially now that you’ve got a young’un, you can’t be out in the field every wakin’ hour of the day. That little girl needs attention, too, an’—”

  Abe stood and dropped his napkin on the table. “I appreciate the good dinner, ma’am, an’ your offer of help, Preacher, but I’m doin’ all right on my own.” He eased backward toward the hall tree where his church hat waited, still talking. “Soon as the child gets settled in someplace else an’ Miss Emmett is free to move on, I’ll be able to put more hours into my farm an’ everything’ll be just fine. Yes, sir, things’ll return to the way it was before.”

  Preacher Henry rose. “It’ll never be like it was before, Abe. ’Cause Ed an’ Ruby’ll never be with you again.”

  Abe’s limbs turned to stone. He stood still as a statue beside the door, his chest hurting worse than the toothache he got when he was ten and ate a whole bag of taffy.

  “You can’t get back the family you lost.” Preacher Henry spoke low, soft, kind as kind could be. Funny how even such kindly stated words stung. “But you can make yourself a new family by keeping Ed and Ruby’s little girl.”

  Abe found the ability to move. “’Bye, Preacher.” He stormed out the door.

  Amelia sighed. “I told you it wasn’t any use.”

  Preacher Henry and Mrs. Voth exchanged sorrowful looks.

  Amelia used her napkin to clean the gravy from Lucy’s chin then lifted the little girl from the chair. “Let me tuck her into my bed for a nap. Then we can talk.”

  Lucy lay down without a fuss, and Amelia returned to the dining room, where the Voths remained in their chairs at either end of the long table, sipping coffee in companionable silence. She slid into her seat and picked up the conversation as if there’d been no interruption. “I admit I was hopeful when I saw him carrying her across the yard yesterday morning, but then he spent the rest of the day ignoring her. Just like he did here at your dinner table. I think it’s hopeless. I’m probably wasting my time waiting for an edict from the circuit judge. That man is not interested in becoming Lucy’s papa.”

  Mrs. Voth tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Not to be contrary, but I think you’re wrong, Amelia. It isn’t a lack of interest that holds him aloof from little Lucy.”

  Amelia arched her brows in silent disagreement.

  The woman laughed. “Don’t give me that sour look. I happened to notice the way he watched Lucy during the service this mornin’ when she got wiggly and began whisperin’ at you. Some folks frowned, but he was fightin’ a grin. Even here at my table, every time he looked at you wipin’ her mouth or holdin’ her cup for her, his eyes took on a warm glow. I could almost hear him wishin’ he was the one helpin’ that way.”

  Amelia huffed and threw her hands wide. “Then why does he tiptoe around her as if he feared she carried the plague?” He did the same to her, which also stung. He was very polite, thanking her for preparing his meals, washing his clothes, or straightening his house. But he did so from a distance. Always stiff and formal. “The man has erected barriers around himself, and I doubt anyone will be able to penetrate them.”

  Preacher Henry cleared his throat and set his coffee cup aside. “Miss Emmett, I’ve known Abe Early since he was a boy of fifteen. Even back then, he was taller than most grown men. You’ve heard of boys goin’ through a gangly stage during the years between boyhood and manhood? Abe Early was gangly an’ then some. Probably ’cause he shot up so fast. He had a hard time findin’ his footing, so to speak.”

  Amelia tried to imagine Mr. Early as a smooth-faced youth, clumsy and awkward. Images of his chiseled features, broad shoulders, and determined stride intruded.

  The preacher continued. “If someone was gonna knock over a cup of milk at a church potluck, it would be Abe. If someone was gonna send a basket of fruit sailing over the edge of a counter, it would be Abe. If someone was gonna step on a cat’s tail and send it yowlin’—”

  The two Voths chorused, “It would be Abe.”

  The preacher chuckled. “Poor fella just couldn’t seem to help it—his limbs flew out farther than he expected them to, I reckon.”

  Mrs. Voth shook her head. “He took a fair amount of ribbin’ from the local youths because of his long shadow an’ the way he stumbled over his own feet. I can’t tell you how many times I heard his brother tease that if Abe ever married he better find himself a buxom girl who could hold up to bumps an’ bruises ’cause she’d probably get knocked down every time he went to hug her.”

  “His own brother said
such things?” Indignation stirred through Amelia’s chest. “Why was everyone so unkind to him?”

  “Oh, now, honey.” The preacher’s wife squeezed Amelia’s hand. “I don’t think any of it was done in meanness. Folks tend to josh other folks. But I suppose, over time, some of the teasin’ started to feel like truth to Abe. An’ now he’s fearful of gettin’ close to somebody. Most especially a little somebody like Lucy. Or you.”

  Heat attacked Amelia’s face. She clapped her palms to her cheeks. “Me?”

  “Why, of course you.” A knowing grin climbed the woman’s cheek. “I’ve lived long enough to recognize when someone’s smitten. And you, Miss Amelia Emmett, are smitten with our Abe Early.”

  How had she been so transparent? She’d tried mightily to hide her fascination with the tall farmer, a fascination that bloomed the moment she saw him kneeling at his brother’s graveside. And how could she reverse her feelings? Obviously they weren’t reciprocated, and she was only setting herself up for heartache if she couldn’t squelch her growing affection.

  “Lizzie, you’re embarrassing Miss Emmett.” The preacher patted Amelia’s shoulder. “Never mind Lizzie’s speculations. She fancies herself a matchmaker and just can’t seem to help herself.”

  Amelia sighed. “Unfortunately, Preacher Henry, her speculation about me is correct. I am smitten with Mr. Early.”

  “I knew it!” Mrs. Voth clapped her palms together and beamed.

  “But it’s pointless. He isn’t interested in caring for Lucy, and he isn’t interested in me.” Tears pricked her eyes. “If I had any sense at all, I would send a telegram to Miss Agnes and inform her that Lucy’s placement failed and return to New York as quickly as possible.”

  Preacher Henry frowned. “But you said you’d cut your ties with the orphan’s home.”

  How could she have forgotten? The orphanage was crowded enough with hapless children. Miss Agnes wouldn’t be able to take in an adult even if she had nowhere else to go. Amelia groaned and buried her face in her hands.