by Patty Devlin
“A single man like you could have his pick, Abel. I don’t know why you haven’t settled down yet. It’s been nearly ten years.”
Looking at the new girl, he was wondering the same thing, but it didn’t take him long to remind himself that a giggly girl barely out of the schoolroom was hardly the right mate for man of his age. He needed a widow, maybe. It wasn’t as exciting as having a young woman, of course.
The game broke up, and a few of the women went off arm-in-arm to get lemonade and shyly flirt with the young men. Young men with whom Abel could no longer compete. He was successful, which few young men could say, but there was no denying that he was in his middle years. Abel could carry on in his smithing business for a good many years to come; why, his father had been smithing when he was seventy, though his heavier projects had long-since been transferred to Abel. And Abel was fit. He hadn’t run to fat. He was, he was certain, perfectly capable still of siring babies. At least, all the machinery worked. He’d never had children, so he wasn’t one hundred percent positive he was potent that way.
He grew warm thinking about that new girl spread upon a marriage bed, waiting for her bridegroom. Abel would like to be that lucky man. But maybe not so lucky if she was a ninny like so many girls of her age.
Bruce waved a hand in front of Abel’s face, startling him back to the here and now. “You’re starin’.”
Abel shook his head. “I guess I was. Do you know who that new young lady is?”
“Hmm. Met her mother a few minutes ago when I was standin’ next to my missus. The mother is Lila Winslow, late of Kansas City. I guess she and the daughter have moved in with the Taggarts, the mother’s sister. The father died in an accident recently. I don’t know the particulars.”
“Ah. I heard from someone that Elizabeth Taggart’s sisters had both married into money. If that’s the case, what’s she doin’ in Carrollton?”
“Can’t help you there, Abel. The daughter is Sunny Winslow. I remember her name now.”
It was an apt name. The girl was still smiling as she and Danielle and Nan Taggart made their way to the punch bowl. Her hair was slightly mussed from the blindfold, but it only added to her charm. Abel had to meet her, if only to satisfy his rather gloomy expectation that she was as flighty as the other girls.
He drank all the lemonade in his cup and went to the punchbowl where the three cousins were milling about. “Ladies,” he said, tipping his hat.
“Hello, Mr. Armstrong,” said Danielle Taggart, the eldest of the Taggart daughters. “It’s nice to see you here. And isn’t it a lovely day?”
Smiling, he dipped himself some lemonade. “It is a beautiful day, made lovelier with your presence, my dears.”
“Oh, Mr. Armstrong,” said Nan Taggart, her cheeks getting pink.
The object of his interest smiled prettily at him. “And who might this young lady be?” he asked Danielle, nodding toward the newcomer.
“Oh, I’m sorry. How silly of me. Mr. Armstrong, this is Sunny Winslow, my cousin from Kansas City.”
Sunny offered her hand, and Abel raised it and gave it a squeeze as he nodded his appreciation. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Winslow.” He was staring and he knew it, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She was like an angel, brightening up the same old church social and making it new and shiny again.
“Thank you, Mr. Armstrong. It is my pleasure.” Her eyes glittered with mischief. There was more to this girl than a pretty face. Realizing he was still holding her hand, he released it.
“You’ll have to forgive my manners, Miss Winslow. I’m out of practice where ladies of your refinement are concerned. Your cousins put up with me because they’re gracious.”
Both the Taggart girls giggled. “Nonsense, Mr. Armstrong,” Danielle said with a grin. “You are as courtly as a knight from days of old.”
He laughed. “I suppose I could make a suit of armor, but I’d have trouble fittin’ myself in.”
“You are a metal worker, Mr. Armstrong?” Sunny asked.
“I am a blacksmith, Miss Winslow.”
“I might have known by the breadth of your shoulders, sir.”
The Taggart girls’ eyes got round. It was extremely forward of Sunny to mention his body parts. But her pertness interested him, not to mention the fact that she noticed that he was a strong man.
“I give myself away, I’m afraid. No secrets from observant young women like yourself.”
“I read a book about a blacksmith once, Mr. Armstrong. I feel as if I understand your profession, though, of course, books bear little resemblance to reality. I’m sure your daily chores are far more involved.”
“Do you like to read, Miss Winslow?”
“I confess I am a bookworm. When we came to Carrollton, I brought all my favorites with me. Mother was quite put out.”
“We have a small lendin’ library here in town,” he told her. “Perhaps you’ll find somethin’ to interest you there.”
“Do you go there, Mr. Armstrong?”
Abel laughed. “I do. I am rather fond of the classics. But my work doesn’t allow me much free time.”
“Surely your wife must miss you if you are constantly at your forge.”
He arched an eyebrow. She really was flirting boldly. “I am not married, Miss Winslow.”
“And neither am I,” she said softly. If Abel hadn’t been so focused on her mouth, he might not have known she spoke.
Danielle Taggart started to say something but snapped her mouth shut when an older woman approached.
“Girls,” said the woman, her voice clipped and prissy, “are you succumbing to a sweet tooth, standing here by the lemonade?”
Danielle and her sister laughed politely. “No, Aunt Lila. We were just talkin’ to Mr. Armstrong. Have you met him?”
The woman, a petite matron who looked well-kempt but had the beginning of wrinkles that come with middle age, responded with a polite smile. “No, we have not met.”
“Mother,” Sunny said, her tinkling voice now subdued and serious. “This is Mr. Armstrong. He is Carrollton’s smith.”
“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he said, though from the sour look on the woman’s face, it was his pleasure alone. But she offered her hand and Abel took it, giving it proper attention but not too much.
“My pleasure, I’m sure.” She hardly paused. “Sunny, girls, we should help serve the pot luck dishes now. Hurry along to the tables, please.”
Each of the Taggart girls gave him a brief curtsy and turned to leave. Sunny’s curtsey, however, was slower, a bit of a tease as her eyes fixed on his face and she smiled.
Abel’s urges went into a full-out gallop.
“Sunny,” Lila said, “do not dawdle.”
“Yes, Mother.” With a tiny backward glance where her mother couldn’t see her, Sunny left Abel, who was staring, flummoxed.
“Please pardon my daughter. Her manners are usually better.”
“No pardon necessary. I wonder if you’d allow me to call upon her—I mean the two of you—sometime soon.”
Lila’s eyes narrowed. “That is out of the question, Mr. Armstrong. We come from a long line of bankers and businessmen. I’m afraid we’d have little to discuss with a tradesman.”
He kept the smile on his face, but inside his temper flared. She was calling him beneath her station. Well, maybe he was, but here in Texas, things weren’t the same as Kansas City. A new town like Carrollton was far less divided into class structure and considerably more egalitarian. “As you wish, Madame. You’ll excuse me, please?”
“I must be off to help with the meal anyway, Mr. Armstrong.”
“Good day to you, ma’am.” He tipped his hat, turned on his heel and went over to where the men had gathered, plates in hand. Maybe a conversation about bass fishing would take his mind off Sunny Winslow and her snob of a mother.
* * *
He reminded her a little of her father, but not really. More like…Well, she didn’t know what l
ike. He was himself. Mr. Armstrong was as handsome as sin and charming. Plus, he liked books.
As Sunny doled out German potato salad and apple pie with cheese, she wondered what it would be like to have those strong, heavily-muscled arms around her. The thought heated her cheeks. It was inappropriate to be thinking about those things. As the preacher had said that very morning, she had to beware of licentious thoughts.
But Mr. Armstrong made her toes tingle and her breath hitch. She’d never been kissed. How would it feel to be kissed by Mr. Armstrong? She wondered what his first name was. She’d have to listen for clues or ask Danielle or Nan. Of course, asking would make it abundantly clear that she was interested in the man for more than just a two-minute flirtation. Danielle and Nan were shocked enough. And, in fact, Sunny had rather shocked herself by flirting with him so boldly. Although she was no shrinking violet, Sunny was usually aware of decorum more than she had been with Mr. Armstrong. Oh, what was his first name?! Was it Michael? Rudolph? No, he didn’t seem like a Rudolph. Maybe it was something unappealing, like Percival. Although Percival had been a knight of the round table, hadn’t he? That would suit Mr. Armstrong. He looked like a burly knight, with his broad shoulders and big hands. His dark hair was slightly too long, a bit shaggy. That was undoubtedly because he didn’t have a wife to trim it for him. But he looked so perfect in his Sunday best, wool suit and patterned waistcoat, his shoes shined and neck tie properly knotted despite the hot Texas sun.
Sunny tried to shake herself out of those thoughts. Her mother would never accept a tradesman as a suitor for her. Mother would have been dismayed to think that Sunny would. But Mr. Armstrong, with his friendly brown eyes with the tantalizing green flecks, and his confident way of handling himself, was too appealing. Far more appealing than the younger, callow men she’d met in Carrollton thus far.
Sunny didn’t know what to do about it. Probably there was no answer for it. And, after all, Mr. Armstrong hadn’t actually said he’d want to pursue her. He’d flirted, yes, but that had been mild and non-committal. Maybe he’d ask Uncle Raymond, since Raymond was the man in the household where she was currently living. If he didn’t ask Mother, there was a chance… If he asked. If he wanted to pursue something more than their casual flirtation. Sunny would be embarrassed and frustrated if he didn’t. She’d made it clear she was interested, which put her out on a limb in terms of acceptable behavior for a young woman. It probably would make him think she was loose. Oh, no, that would be about the worst thing!
Fretting over it, Sunny barely realized when she gave out the last of the apple pie. Someone made a disappointed noise and brought her out of her reverie. It was time to put her own lunch together and go off with the other girls. Her appetite had fled, however. She got a biscuit to nibble and a cup of lemonade and wandered away from the throng, deciding to sit under an oak tree and mope a bit over what was probably a hopeless situation.
Mr. Armstrong wasn’t too far away, eating his lunch with a group of men and arguing good-naturedly about something. He smiled at a joke, and Sunny’s heart melted. She must have been staring because he glanced over at her.
At first, she thought he’d look away again, disinterested. But he winked. Of all things, winked at her! What did that mean? She smiled back—her best come-hither smile, she hoped. Not that she’d ever used a come-hither smile before. She hadn’t actually ever wanted a man to come after her.
He gave her a slight nod and a smile and went back to his conversation.
Heart pitter-pattering, Sunny ate her biscuit and wondered whether she could ask her mother about Mr. Armstrong and possible courtship. Maybe Mother would be easier to deal with in this new town and situation. Maybe.
Chapter 2
Lying
Danielle and Nan were fussing over a bolt of calico, needed for everyday dresses, while Sunny daydreamed, looking out the mercantile window. People passed by on the street, each on his or her own errand. The ladies sometimes had eyelet or ruffled parasols to protect them from the bright sun. As she stood there, a bell tinkled and a new customer came in. Sunny took the opportunity to slip out the door, intending to stand on the covered boardwalk in the shade for a few moments, taking in a bit of fresh air. Things in Carrollton were pretty dull, despite being surrounded by family. She met a few new people every week, but her mind kept wandering back to her encounter with Mr. Armstrong. It was exhilarating but also a bit depressing. He hadn’t come to call, and every time a gentleman caller came by to visit Danielle or Nan, Sunny was jealous and unhappy. She didn’t like that part of herself, but at the same time, she couldn’t help her feelings. If only Mr. Armstrong would come to call.
His forge wasn’t far from the mercantile, and the thought crossed Sunny’s mind that she might simply saunter into his shop and ask about his interest directly. It would be bold, never heard of from a genteel woman, totally outrageous, in fact. But oh my, it was tempting.
She was turning to re-enter the mercantile when the person she’d been daydreaming about came strolling down the boardwalk as though conjured from her imagination. She had to blink twice to make sure it really was Mr. Armstrong.
Was her dress wrinkled? Was her bustle askew? The cream with green sprigs of her cotton dress tended to make her blue eyes look brighter. She almost reached to adjust her poke bonnet but decided it would make her look nervous, so kept her hands down, fiddling with her reticule instead. Giving him a warm smile, Sunny waited for him to come within speaking distance. “Good morning, Mr. Armstrong.”
He tipped his hat. He looked like he’d been working, the sleeves of his work shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing his thick forearms. His face and hands looked newly washed, his hair damp as though he’d rinsed it before coming into company, and his clothes were a bit rough. They were clean, but had a few patches. He looked so much more burly and dynamic in his work clothes, so much more…daring. Except his smile was genuine and made Sunny’s heart flutter.
“Miss Winslow.”
“How have you been? It has been almost two weeks since we last met. You missed church last Sunday.”
“I’m well. Thank you for askin’. Yes, I had a project I needed to finish so had to miss services. I’m surprised you noticed.”
Oops. Too much interest. She’d be scaring him off if she wasn’t careful. “You shouldn’t work on the Sabbath, Mr. Armstrong. Shame on you.”
He laughed. The sound was low, throaty, so unaffected. “Duly chastised, Miss.” There was a pause while Sunny scrambled for some topic she could bring forward to keep him near her longer. He spoke up first. “Are you shoppin’ in the mercantile today? Or out for a stroll?”
“Oh, Danielle and Nan are buying fabric. I thought a little fresh air would be nice, so I came outside. And, lucky me, I ran into you.” Was she being too bold again?
“Lucky for both of us, I reckon.” His eyes twinkled and a smile lingered on his lips. He was unshaven and several days’ growth of dark beard peppered his cheeks above his full beard. It had a hint of gray around the chin, but it was a very appealing pattern that flattered his handsome face, in a sort of a piratical, dangerous way.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Mr. Armstrong. Thank you.”
He tipped his hat again. “My pleasure.”
“Is it?”
“I’m sorry?”
She hadn’t really meant to ask that aloud, but now she was in the soup; best to swim rather than sink. “Is it truly your pleasure to see me today, sir?”
If he was taken aback, he didn’t show it. “Yes, in fact it is. I would enjoy seein’ more of you, but alas, your mother doesn’t approve.”
Mother! Of course she’d have prevented his calling. Sunny’s temper flared, but she didn’t want to take it out on Mr. Armstrong. Still, what to do? “Oh…well…she changed her mind.”
His gaze searched her face. Could he tell she was lying? Sunny felt her cheeks heat, but she tried to look steadily at him. “She did, hm? When did she do that?”
&nb
sp; “Oh, a few days ago. She mentioned that she felt bad for…um… Well, she felt bad. You don’t have to avoid me, Mr. Armstrong.”
“That’s pleasant news. Perhaps you’d like to go for a drive in the countryside on Saturday, Miss Winslow. Chaperoned, of course. Bring your mother, perhaps.”
Her mother was the last person she’d consider bringing. But maybe Danielle could be coaxed into it. She was two years older than Sunny, and at twenty-one she was old enough to behave as chaperone. “I’m sure something can be arranged,” she answered.
“I’ll pick you up at the Taggarts’ at, say, eleven in the mornin’. Perhaps we’ll picnic.”
“Um…a picnic would be pleasant. But I think it best if we meet you here in town. Right here at the mercantile would suit.”
One of his dark brows arched. “Here?”
“Yes. If it pleases you.” Please, please, Mr. Armstrong, don’t argue.
“Alright.”
She smiled sincerely. Saturday was only two days away! “I look forward to it.”
“As do I, darlin’.”
Although she was reluctant to leave him, Sunny knew that Danielle and Nan would be wondering where she’d gotten to. “I should go back inside.”
“Of course. Enjoy your shoppin’.” Once again, that smile held her spellbound.
“Th-thank you, Mr. Armstrong. Until Saturday.”
She tried not to hesitate about turning away, but she felt as though her feet were stuck to the boardwalk, they moved so slowly to obey her. Nonetheless, she turned and went back inside the store. Sunny could feel Mr. Armstrong’s eyes on her as she walked away. He’d called her ‘darlin’’; that had to mean something.
* * *
Danielle was being difficult, but Sunny was doing her best to persuade her to cooperate. It was late Friday night and Sunny was getting desperate to find a chaperone.
“I don’t approve, Sunny,” Danielle said, in her I’m-older-than-you-so-I-know-better voice.
“Please, Dani! I know it’s asking a lot, but I really, really want to meet this fellow.” Sunny had carefully left off who they were to meet, which was, undoubtedly, one of the main reasons Dani would not agree.