The Promise Bride

by Gina Welborn

  “Isaak,” Miss Palmer said, “why do I even come in here on the days you’re working?”

  “When am I not working for you to come in and not see me?” Mr. Gunderson stared at Miss Palmer, his face devoid of any emotion. When Miss Palmer didn’t answer, he added, “Nothing says love like a good set of cutlery.”

  Miss Palmer drew in a breath and released it loudly. “Silverware says I love you both and wish you well on your nuptials. Matching daggers say rethink this marriage. I need the perfect wedding gift . . . and under five dollars. I’m not made of gold.”

  Mr. Gunderson looked around. He strode around a stack of trunks, then said, “Here’s something perfect.” His muscles bulging in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, he lifted an intricate metal headboard as if it weighed nothing. “Italian cast iron with mother-of-pearl inlaid. The footboard matches.”

  Emilia moved around a cupboard for a better view of the pair.

  Miss Palmer studied the frame. Then she looked up—not so much as Emilia had to—at Mr. Gunderson and gave him the most quizzical look. “This is a twin bed,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

  “For Luanne and Roy?”

  “That would be ridiculous, to say the least,” he said with a frown. “Unless their home in Denver is the size of a boxcar, they will need beds for the multiple rooms they have. While a bed frame is not the most romantic gift, it is practical. And considerate. If not now, eventually they will appreciate your foresight. Children need beds, too.”

  Miss Palmer just looked at him.

  He stared back, unflinching under her intense gaze.

  Emilia nodded even though neither were looking her way. His point had merit. What Isaak Gunderson lacked in charm, he excelled in confidence, not that Miss Palmer found that as attractive as Emilia did. She should probably mind her own business and stay out of matchmaking. At least until Mr. Gunderson was no longer her employer.

  With a sigh, she resumed dusting.

  “Oh, this is new.” Miss Palmer picked up a peacock-shaped lamp, the satin shade swinging. “Luanne likes fringe.” She checked the price tag as Mr. Gunderson rested the headboard against the footboard. “Only four dollars! I’ll take it.”

  “Because every bride wants a wedding gift that says males are prettier than females,” he muttered.

  “Your cynicism is not appreciated.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “And yet I am right.”

  Emilia blinked, her mouth agape. Mr. Gunderson was smiling. An honest-to-goodness smile. What else had she presumed wrong about him?

  Miss Palmer laughed and handed him the lamp. “Oh, Isaak, I’m not the flibbertigibbet you think I am,” she said, following him to the counter. “Is this why you refuse to court Miss Rigney despite her overt interest? You’re prettier than she is.”

  He grimaced. “I do nothing to encourage her interest because Deputy Alderson favors her.”

  “Good. I want you to be the first one to ask me to dance at Luanne’s wedding, and then you will flirt with me.”

  He gave her a dubious look. “Why?”

  “To make Hale jealous. Why else?” she asked as if the answer was obvious.

  Emilia froze mid-swipe. Hale? As in Hale Adams, Finn’s lawyer?

  Miss Palmer suddenly gasped aloud, eyes wide, backing up from the counter, grimacing. “Isaak David Gunderson, you don’t think I want . . . you . . . us?” She looked like she was about to lose her lunch.

  “I had to be sure.” His gaze shifted to Emilia, and she immediately resumed dusting. He turned back to Miss Palmer. “Why don’t you ask Jakob?”

  “I love Jakob, love him dearly. He—” She exhaled. “He is the dearest friend a girl can have, you know?”

  “No, I don’t, but go on.”

  “It’s just . . .” She shook her head. “I loathe complimenting you.”

  He nodded. “I don’t take it personally.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she admitted. “It’s not in your character. For all that I adore about Jakob, you are the twin Hale most admires. That’s why he suggested you run for mayor. You know everyone in town. People respect you because your word is your bond. You’re an honest man, just like Hale.”

  “Jakob is honest, too,” he said absently.

  “True. Please, Isaak,” Miss Palmer begged. “Two dances, that’s all I ask. No, let’s do three for good measure.”

  Emilia inched around the table to get a better look at Mr. Gunderson’s face. His brow furrowed, his mouth in a straight line as he eyed Miss Palmer.

  “I’ll dance with you,” he finally said. “But I will not flirt.”

  Miss Palmer beamed. “You’ve made my day. Twice.”

  He rang up her purchase. “Would you like this boxed up and delivered?”

  “That would be helpful.” Miss Palmer opened her beaded reticule. “Mother gave me a list of items to pick up at Cannon’s.” She withdrew four dollars and gave them to Mr. Gunderson. “Because you were wondering . . . this Saturday we’re having morning tea in honor of the bride.”

  “Yancey, I have yet to wonder about anything you do. Thank you for your business.” He handed her the receipt. “Mrs. Collins?”

  Emilia hurried over. “Yes, sir?”

  “Record Yancey’s purchase in the sales log. I’ll box the lamp.” He grabbed the lamp and headed to the workroom in the back of the shop, calling out, “Yancey, I’ll do my best not to be here the next time you pay a visit.”

  She yelled back, “Much appreciated.”

  Emilia withdrew the heavy leather book from beneath the bar-height counter. She plopped it down, then stepped on the wooden stool Mr. Gunderson had found for her so she would be able to reach the cash register. Yancey stood there as she recorded the purchase.

  “Mrs. Collins?”

  Emilia paused writing and looked up. “Yes?”

  “Mother and Luanne requested I invite you to the tea.” She laid her hand over Emilia’s and gave it a little squeeze. “Please come. Most of the ladies there will be ones from church. We’ll be taking turns sewing pearls on Luanne’s veil. You don’t have to bring anything.”

  To attend the bride’s tea would mean losing an hour and a half in travel to and from Helena. She liked the Palmer family. Miss Palmer’s older sister, Luanne, had been in the shop numerous times to look at books. She’d even recommended several, including The Angora Goat: Its Culture, Origins, and Products, which Mr. Gunderson had graciously allowed Emilia to read on her lunch breaks. She’d planned on spending Saturday attempting once again to make goat cheese.

  “Please,” Yancey begged. “You’re welcome to bring your sister. Mrs. Truett will be there with her daughter, Melrose.”

  Emilia nipped her lower lip. Since Sunday, Luci had been begging to spend a day with her new friend, Melrose. With the ranch being so far from town, she couldn’t in good conscience have the Truetts bring their daughter out for a visit. The bride’s tea was a reasonable compromise. Besides, Yancey had graciously stood in as Emilia’s proxy, so attending the party upon her request would mean they were even.

  “Yes,” she said with as much contrived delight as she could muster, “we would be honored to attend.”

  Miss Palmer grinned. “It begins at ten. Mother and parties—I suggest coming with an empty stomach.”

  Before Miss Palmer even stepped outside, Emilia returned to dusting, a seemingly unending task. Three customers came by. Two made purchases. One examined everything he touched. Yet when she asked him if she could help him find anything, he shook his head and muttered that he was just looking.

  Emilia continued dusting. Every so often, she’d look up and catch the man looking at her.

  “Mrs. Collins?”

  She turned to the familiar voice.

  Mr. Gunderson walked out of his office. “Would you mind bringing me the—” His gaze shifted from her to the perusing customer. “Afternoon, Ulman. Can I help you find something?”

  “Just looking
.”

  “For anything in particular?” When Mr. Ulman didn’t respond, Mr. Gunderson strolled past Emilia to the counter. He withdrew the sales log, then looked to Emilia, then back to Mr. Ulman. After tucking the log book under his arm, he walked up to Mr. Ulman. He draped an arm around the man’s lean shoulders and turned him away from the table of oil lamps. Together, they walked to the door. Whatever Mr. Gunderson spoke was too soft for Emilia to hear.

  Mr. Ulman left the shop without a backward glance.

  Mr. Gunderson returned to his office without saying a word.

  Emilia stopped dusting in order to pet the cat sleeping in its favorite cupboard. What she’d give to have a day when she had nothing to do but sleep. “Your favorite twin stopped that man from inviting me to supper.”

  The cat’s tail flicked back and forth. It stretched its neck to give her better access.

  Emilia sighed. “I’d be honored, if I didn’t suspect that every man asking to pay suit was interested more in my land than in me.”

  The cat continued to flick its tail.

  And so Emilia resumed dusting. As the minutes passed, she finished the last of the bookshelves on the second floor. She glanced at the nearest grandfather clock down below. Almost closing time.

  “Emme!” Luci dashed through the propped-open front door. Two steps behind her was Sheriff McCall, wearing a modish black suit. Emilia’s breath caught. Good heavens, the man was more handsome than she’d remembered. He immediately removed his Stetson, his dark hair longer, shaggier, yet neat. His gaze shifted around the shop and looked to the stairs, to where she was descending.

  Her heart increased its beat.

  He smiled. At her. As if he was happy to see her again. As if he missed her. As if he knew she’d thought of him at least once a day since she’d left him in his office because he’d thought of her as much. What? Why would she think that? She didn’t like him. She was, though, obviously drawn to him. Which was foolish. She didn’t need to feel anything for him. She was a widow. Not so much a widow, but still the widow of his closest friend. Besides, he didn’t like her.

  Maybe he liked her.

  But he didn’t like her. Not that she wanted him to.

  Unless he did.

  She couldn’t exactly forbid him from liking her. And even if she did forbid him, he would like whoever he wanted to like, which could be her. Unless it wasn’t her.

  She stumbled on the bottom step.

  “Emme, are you all right?” Luci asked. “You look a bit flushed.”

  “No,” she croaked. “Um, no,” she said in a normal voice, “I’m fine. It was hot up . . .” She motioned at nothing in particular.

  Feeling her cheeks warm, Emilia brushed the front of her apron for no logical reason except to give herself a moment to catch her breath. Then she smiled and walked to where her sister stood next to the red cupboard, close enough to pet the cat if she wanted, but not close enough to dart out of the way should the cat lunge.

  “How was school?” she asked.

  Luci shrugged. “It was fun. Guess who’s back?”

  Emilia did her best to block out Sheriff McCall, but how could she? Instead of wandering the store as she’d hoped, he stood next to her. Right next to her. He smelled of bergamot and cedar, a scent similar to one of the eaux de cologne the shop sold. Her skin tingled. She gave her head a little shake, but it did nothing to deaden the pounding of her pulse. It’d been a long day. She’d sniffed too many perfumes earlier, that was all.

  She forced a smile, then looked up at him and said, “Sheriff McCall, it’s good to see you again.” Not a lie, but neither the complete truth.

  “Good to see you, too, Mrs. Collins.” He gripped his hat with both hands. “Luci said you found something in the barn?”

  Emilia nodded.

  He cocked his head to the side.

  How strange. And fascinating. She’d never noticed his brown eyes had flecks of gold, almost the exact color as the fur of their goats. Quite lovely actually.

  He gave her a curious look. “Something wrong?”

  Emilia released a nervous chuckle. “No, I was just, um, thinking how much I enjoy”—looking at you. “Um, I was thinking about our goats. I’ve not been successful yet at making cheese. I thought the problem was vinegar.” Oh dear, now she was rambling. “Never mind. What brings you by?”

  “The barn,” he answered with a hint of exasperation in his tone.

  She looked to Luci for answers.

  “That funny thing we found on Saturday,” Luci returned, along with a what-has-gotten-into-you look.

  “Oh, that! Wait here.”

  Emilia hurried to the back office. After explaining the situation to Mr. Gunderson, she found the odd thingamajig inside her haversack. She stepped into the hall where Mr. Gunderson couldn’t see her and held her hand over her heart as she breathed slowly. By the eighth breath, the frantic pounding in her chest abated into a normal rhythm.

  “Lord, help me,” she whispered.

  Her heartbeat steady, she returned to the store.

  She stepped around a stack of trunks, then stopped at the sudden laughter. Luci and Sheriff McCall were examining a croquet set. Whatever Luci had said had made the sheriff laugh. Too often, Emilia had returned home from work to find Luci and Da laughing. She hadn’t been jealous. When had she had time to curl up on the sofa with Da and listen to him read a book? She never had time after Mama died. Someone had to ensure they had food. Had to pay the bills on time. Had to see that Da visited the doctor. He couldn’t care for his health if he was caring for the three of them.

  With work and her duties at home, her school friendships had fallen by the wayside. She had too many responsibilities to play games. Or to be silly, like Luci was being with the sheriff. Or to learn to ride a horse for the sheer fun of it.

  It didn’t matter anyway. What was more important was Luci finding someone to fill the void caused by Da’s absence. Once Da arrived, everything would return to normal. And Sheriff McCall would no longer feel the need—obligation—to protect them. He could find a girl to court. Emilia could find a suitor. They could go their separate ways.

  Not him with her. It would never be him.

  Because she’d married his friend first.

  Ignoring the strange ache in her heart, Emilia started forward. “I went by your office on Monday during my lunch break. Your deputies didn’t know when you’d be back,” she said and stopped in front of them, “so I thought I’d wait until I’d heard you’d returned.” She handed him the scratched metal oval with a long screw in its center. “I found this when we were cleaning the side of the barn with only two stalls. It was buried under some hay. It’s not the same type of metal as anything else on the ranch. Jakob says it was probably left by the people from whom Finn bought the ranch. Six and a half years is a long time for it to be in a barn and not be rusted, don’t you think?”

  “What do you think it is, huh, Mac?” Luci asked, leaning against his arm to study it, too.

  Mac? Her sister’s use of his first—wait, Mac wasn’t his first name. He’d signed the agreements with the creditors as L. McCall. Mac was his nickname per se.

  “Miss Luci, that’s a good question.” He looked to Emilia. “Mind if I take this?”

  She shook her head. “I have no use for it. You could come out to the ranch this evening, and I’ll show you where we found it.”

  “How about Saturday morning?” Something in her expression must have prompted him to add, “Better daylight.”

  “I won’t be there,” she said as he slid the thingamajig into the inner pocket of his frocked coat. He looked up sharply, a question of Where will you be? clear in his eyes. So she explained, “The Palmers invited me and Luci to a bride’s tea, and I thought it would be polite—”

  A stylish and oddly familiar brunette wearing a feathered hat entered the shop, a covered basket looped over her arm. Oh! She was the woman who sat with her family on the left-side middle pew at church.

>   Her bright blue eyes settled on Emilia. “Mrs. Collins! I hurried over, praying I’d make it here before the shop closed. I made it with a minute to spare.”

  Emilia stepped around Sheriff McCall and met the woman at the counter. She stepped up on the stool. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  The woman held out a gloved hand, the white kidskin with exquisite floral embroidery. “Mrs. Kate Watson. My husband is the chairman of the board of trustees for the Helena Public Schools.”

  Emilia shook her hand, hoping her dirty hand hadn’t soiled Mrs. Watson’s expensive glove. “It’s nice to meet you. Is there something in particular you’re looking for? Mr. Pawlikowski sent a shipment of silk parasols, shawls, and fans from San Francisco.”

  For a second, Mrs. Watson looked mortified, and then her smile returned. “I’m not here to shop. I’m here to see you.” Her gaze shifted to something behind Emilia. “Hello, Sheriff.”

  “Mrs. Watson” was all he said.

  She set the basket on the counter. “My dear Mrs. Collins, please accept my apology for not paying a call sooner. Our youngest has had the croup.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “He is much improved.” She waved at nothing in particular. “But enough about me. I have heard such wonderful praise of you for how you are managing the unexpected debts your husband left behind. Other women of lesser character would have succumbed to—to a less strenuous means of financial security. The Good Lord always blesses the wise choices we make.”

  “Thank you” was all Emilia could think of to say in response to words that sounded like a compliment but felt like an insult.

  Mrs. Watson motioned for Emilia to walk around the counter. Once she did, the woman, who looked to be someone in her thirties, took both of her hands in hers. Was it intentional that two cupboards blocked Luci and Sheriff McCall’s view?

  Mrs. Watson spoke softly enough that Emilia doubted anyone could hear but her. “I imagine there are nights you don’t feel so blessed. Ranch living can break more than our backs. It can break our spirits.” Her eyes grew teary. “I know because I watched that happen to my mother. Please know if the ranch and these debts you should never have had to inherit ever become a burden too heavy to bear, the amount my husband would pay for your land would enable you to buy a nice home here in Helena. You could marry again. Start a family.”