Wolf Creek Father (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 3)

by Penny Richards

  “I’m glad you’re so pleased,” Libby said. She clasped her hands together. “Now, about Cilla. Do you think she can come over so we can get some measurements?”

  “I can go after her right now if you like, but I’m not asking you to make the dresses. I can do that. I just need some guidance on what young girls are wearing in Boston, though we have to keep in mind that this is a country town, and they should be appropriate for the area and the events she’ll be attending.”

  “We know just what you mean,” Blythe said with a little laugh. “Mama and I were saying just last night that we feel overdressed with our bustles and such. We’re going to need to make some plain skirts and things so we won’t stick out like sore thumbs.”

  “You’re staying, too, then?” Allison asked. There had been a lot of discussion as to whether Caleb and Gabe’s half sister would make the move with her mother or return to Boston when her brother left.

  “Only until Win goes back. I don’t see me here.”

  Libby cupped a hand around her mouth and whispered loudly, “The truth is that there’s a young man back in Boston who seems quite taken with her.”

  “Mama!” Blythe cried, her face turning red. She rose from her chair and said, “I forgot to bring the magazines and catalogs down. I’ll run and fetch them.”

  Allison laughed with Libby, thinking what a nice woman she was and wondering how she would like living in Wolf Creek after spending so many years in a big city. Of course, her situation would be much different this time.

  When Blythe returned with the periodicals, they pored over them and discussed fabric and styles for a good thirty minutes. They decided not to make any decisions before consulting with Cilla.

  Allison was just about to leave to get Cilla when Libby said, “What about you, Allison? As we were looking through the book, I saw a dress I think would be lovely on you.” She proceeded to flip through the pages until she found the one she was talking about and pointed it out to Allison.

  She stared down at the drawing. The dress was like nothing she’d ever worn before. The bodice was simple. Fitted. Unadorned. “It’s awfully...plain, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, no!” Blythe said, peeking over Allison’s shoulder. “The simplicity is what makes it so perfect for you.”

  Frowning, Allison turned to look at her. “You don’t think it’s too...close-fitting? I’m a little, um...plump and Ellie says I’m, uh, busty.”

  “In Paris they would call it ‘voluptuous,’” Blythe said with a daring twinkle in her eyes.

  “Don’t tease, Blythe!” Libby said.

  Blushing, Allison said, “I’ve always tried to wear dresses that hide my flaws.” She grimaced. “Ellie keeps telling me that those styles are what make me look so overweight.”

  Libby slid an arm around Allison’s shoulders. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, my dear, but your sister is right. All that extra fabric just adds extra pounds.”

  She looked from one tastefully dressed woman to the other. “Do you think so?”

  They both nodded in agreement. “All right, then,” Allison said, nodding in acquiescence. “I’ll try it. Maybe I can have them both finished by next Saturday.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Blythe said. “You concentrate on Cilla’s dress, and I’ll do yours. I love clothing design. That’s one reason I went to Paris. I’m thinking of opening my own boutique.”

  “That’s wonderful, Blythe! I believe you’ll be excellent at it.” She considered the offer for a moment then said, “All right. I accept. Do you think we can find some suitable material at Gabe’s?”

  “If not, I brought along a couple of lengths that might work,” Libby offered. She hugged Allison, wrapping her in a lilac scent. “This is so exciting! I predict that you and Cilla Garrett will be the most sought-after girls at the ice-cream social.”

  * * *

  The following Saturday dawned hot and humid. After a week of hard work on their new hobbies, Brady and Cilla could hardly wait for evening and a chance to have some fun with their friends. Colt was less enthusiastic. He’d planned on surprising Allison with everything necessary for her to make the peach ice cream, but the kiss had changed everything. He was confused and grouchy. And Cilla was really getting on his nerves with her wheedling.

  He tried—without success—to blank out his mind as he cooked breakfast. It seemed he’d done little else but ponder on the question of what to do with the knowledge that he’d fallen in love with the last person in town he’d ever expected to. And he needed to try to figure out where their friendship stood in light of this new development.

  “Please, Pa, please!” Cilla cried again as she set the plates on the table.

  Colt, who wore a large flour sack dish towel tied around his middle in lieu of an apron, gritted his teeth to keep from saying something he shouldn’t before taking three thick slices of ham from the skillet.

  “Why the sudden insistence that I go to church?” he asked, breaking some eggs into the hot fat that sputtered and popped in protest. Muttering, he dragged the skillet to a cooler spot on the stove and began to baste the eggs with the grease.

  “We really like it, and you’ll learn a lot about the Bible,” Brady explained. His sister had coached him about Miss Grainger’s requirements for a husband and thus the importance of their father attending church. “And a lot of your friends will be there,” he added, using the same argument that had been used on him and his sister.

  Frowning, Colt turned and looked from one child to the other. They were the picture of innocence, but even though their behavior had been exceptional of late—doing their chores without complaining, being respectful to others and working hard for Gabe at the mercantile—he couldn’t help being wary.

  “Ben’s and Danny’s dads both go. So do most of the other kids’ fathers. It’s real nice to see them all sitting together as a family,” Cilla told him.

  The little rascals were really pouring it on. And thick. They were doing their best to make him feel guilty. He’d already heard from Cilla about Miss Grainger showing her how to bake cookies and offering to teach Cilla to sew and consulting with the Granville ladies about a new dress or two in some fashionable, updated style.

  Cilla had even acted as a go-between between him and Allison in charging some sewing items to his account at the mercantile. It had chafed that she wouldn’t meet him face-to-face, but the truth was, he hadn’t found the courage to face her, either. Something had to give—and soon. Time was passing, and if they hoped to make any real progress with Brady before school started, they needed to get a shake on it. Besides, he missed her.

  In truth, it seemed that the kids were doing just fine without him and Allie spending time together. In fact, he was still marveling how she had gone from ogre to angel in such a short span of time. Colt realized that the time his kids were spending with her had triggered the inherent need of every human: a family and all it represented.

  A twinge of guilt pricked him. It shouldn’t have taken a virtual stranger to point out that Cilla was growing up and that she would want and need some new things. He tried to convince himself that it was because he was a man, and for the most part, men were blind to that sort of thing. Which just went to prove he needed a wife. The sooner the better. The question was, would that wife be Allie?

  All his reasons for not giving serious consideration to courting her were falling by the wayside one by one. Even though he maintained that she was not his type, he couldn’t find any real fault with her. Despite her flame-red hair, which was breathtaking when it hung loose and free, her frumpy dresses and a few extra pounds, there was no denying that she was still a pretty woman. More important, she was pretty on the inside, as his mama would have said.

  He’d always maintained that he could not marry a woman he felt no attraction toward, but the kiss the week before h
ad proved beyond a doubt that there was plenty of attraction there—on both sides, if her reaction was anything to go by.

  “Well? Will you come with us tomorrow?”

  “Did Miss Grainger put you up to this?” he asked, scooping up the last egg and putting it onto a platter next to the ham.

  The horror on Cilla’s face was real. “Of course not! She’d be furious if she thought we were pushing you to go. She says it has to be something you feel in your heart.”

  Ah, the saintly Miss Grainger, Colt thought with a wry twist of his lips. Saintly. He worried the word around in his mind. Was that the real problem? That he felt inferior to her in so many ways?

  “Do you think Miss Grainger is pretty?”

  Irritated by their obsession with Allie, he put his hands on his hips and stared across the room. How to answer that?

  “Pa?” Cilla persisted. “Do you?”

  “Yes, I think she’s pretty,” he told his daughter in a reluctant growl. “Can we have breakfast now?”

  “Sure,” Cilla said. They pulled out their chairs and sat. Colt reached for his fork and she said, “Brady, will you ask the blessing, please?”

  He nodded eagerly.

  While Colt bowed his head, Brady said a brief but heartfelt prayer thanking God for their food. Touched, Colt felt the sting of tears beneath his closed eyelids.

  The “Amen” said, Brady picked up the conversation where they’d left it. “She’s real smart, too.”

  Allie again, Colt thought. His kids had made a complete turnaround in the way they felt about her, and there was no doubt that her concern and influence was having a marked influence on every aspect of their lives.

  “Yes,” he agreed as he cut a bite of ham. “She certainly is.”

  Unlike him, who had gone no further than his second year in high school, Allie was smart and educated, and even though she’d kissed him back with more than a little enthusiasm, he was skeptical of her being agreeable to a prospective husband with a lesser education.

  “I think she likes you,” Brady offered.

  Really? Colt thought with a start. Brady thought Allie liked him? “I like her, too.” And he did, despite their on-again, off-again sparring the past year.

  “Are you taking her some ice for her ice cream?” Cilla asked.

  “I don’t know. It depends.” On the one hand, after not seeing her all week, he was anxious to see her; on the other, he wasn’t certain what he would say or do when he did.

  “On what?”

  “A lot of things.”

  “But we will see her at the ice-cream social, won’t we?”

  Fed up with the game of Twenty Questions, Colt, fork in one hand, knife in the other, rested his forearms on the edge of the table and looked from one of his children to the other. The innocence on their faces didn’t fool him for a minute. What was this all about, anyway?

  The answer came out of nowhere, slamming into him with the force of Ed Rawlings’s angry bull when he’d pinned Colt against a fence. He knew exactly what was up.

  “The two of you wouldn’t be trying to push me and Allison into spending more time together, would you?”

  Brady looked at Cilla, the expression in his eyes begging her to spit it out. “Well, actually,” she said, “Brady and I have talked about it, and we think it would be swell if you started courting her.”

  Glowering at his sister, and swinging that frowning gaze to Colt, Brady said, “What she really means is that since we have to have a stepmother, we’d like her.”

  “What did you say?” Colt asked, uncertain that he’d heard correctly.

  “Cilla and I want Miss Grainger to be our ma.”

  Chapter Ten

  Colt wondered if he looked as stunned as he felt. The kids had bypassed the courting stage and propelled him and Allison straight to the altar. Very carefully, he put down his fork and knife.

  “Is that true, Cilla?”

  At least she had the grace to blush, though the expression in her eyes was determined. “Yes, it is.” She raised her chin to a stubborn angle. “We started thinking about what you said about marrying again one day, and we thought it would be a good thing if we helped you pick out a wife, since we’ll be stuck with her, too. We like Miss Grainger a whole lot more than the other ladies you’ve squired around.”

  Colt rubbed at the sudden throbbing in his temples. “That isn’t the way it works, Cilla.”

  “Why not?”

  “I may not like the same person you and Brady do.”

  “But you already said you like Miss Grainger,” Brady reminded him. “And you think she’s pretty.”

  “Yes, but those things aren’t all it takes to make a good match. There’s a lot to consider when the lives of so many people will be affected.”

  “Well, I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t be a good match,” Cilla said in an exasperated tone, “since you already like her and everything. Brady and I think she has a lot of good qualities.” She recounted all the reasons for believing Allison was a prime candidate for marriage and motherhood.

  Colt couldn’t help being impressed with her thought process. Or agreeing with her.

  “And,” Brady said, ticking off his own observations on his fingers, “Cilla and I think she’s nice, and she was a lot of fun when we played croquet. She isn’t silly like Miss Cole, and she’s smart, so she could help me with my studies and you wouldn’t have to do it.” He offered an impish grin. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Pa? And she makes really good pie,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

  It was hard to argue with that kind of logic, Colt thought with a derisive smile. Simple. Straightforward. No-nonsense.

  If only it were that easy.

  “Well, there’s the small problem that Miss Grainger may not want me for a husband. Did the two of you stop to think about that?”

  Brady and Cilla looked at each other. “That’s why we want you to go to church,” Brady said. “That’s important to her.”

  Ah. So that was what was behind their insistence that he go to church with them. He looked from one to the other. “I appreciate your concern for me and Allison, and it’s nice to know you approve of her, but you two need to mind your own business and leave the grown-up stuff to me. Whether or not it’s Allie or someone else, I’ll find my own wife in my own good time.”

  He pointed a finger at them. “And don’t go telling her what you told me. She’s likely to run all the way back to Springfield. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” they said, but they looked decidedly crestfallen.

  Colt picked up his fork. “Now let’s finish our breakfast and go on about our day. We’ll see Allison this evening, and I imagine we’ll all have a good time.”

  * * *

  By evening, the late July day had cooled off enough, at least in the shade, that it was bearable—just. Bingo, checkers and other game tables had been set up under the trees. Some of the older boys had created a rough diamond in the adjacent field and a rousing game of baseball was in progress.

  Wagons were backed along the edge of the tree line. Ice-cream paddles had been removed, freezers re-salted and repacked with ice, and covered with several layers of burlap or old quilts to harden.

  It was customary to have a cakewalk before dishing up the ice cream. Besides a tempting array of cakes, pies and cobblers were also up for grabs. When all the goodies had been claimed, the desserts would be sliced or scooped and topped with frozen deliciousness that cost five cents a bowl. Then the eating would begin.

  Colt scanned the area, waving at friends, trying not to be too obvious that he was on the lookout for Allison. After realizing the day before that he loved her and hearing the kids’ stunning proclamation about wanting her for a mother, he hadn’t been able to muster up the courage to seek h
er out, confident he would see her tonight. He knew he should have been pleased by their announcement, but it only added to the anxiety already coiled in his gut.

  He saw Ellie talking to Rachel and Abby Gentry and noted the surprise on her face and her wide smile at something Rachel said. While he watched, Caleb and Gabe joined the ladies, accompanied by Win, who stood across from Ellie, with his hands plunged in the pockets of his tailored pin-striped trousers, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His concession to the casual event was to leave his jacket at home. Colt noticed that even though the elder Granville didn’t appear to have any special interest in Ellie, he didn’t miss a move she made.

  Interesting. The Boston native’s apparent disinterest was an excellent smoke screen for his attraction to the woman who’d rebuffed the attentions of every eligible man in Wolf Creek. Maybe it was time to swallow his pride and ask the smooth city boy for some tips, since he was far more adept at the game of love than Colt ever hoped to be.

  His not-really-a-plan plan was to see what Allison’s reaction was to him after more than a week to put things into perspective. He’d also keep quiet for a while about the change in his feelings, and see what else happened.

  His gaze scanned the crowd again, sweeping past a red-haired woman making room for a golden-brown creation among the other baked goodies. He whipped his head back to her so fast he heard his neck crack.

  Was that stylish-looking woman Allie? Her habitual ruffles and flounces were gone. She was wearing a dress of sage-green, trimmed in flat matching braid around the white cuffs and stand-up collar. Unlike the usual loose style she wore, the bodice was fitted to her with exquisite care. The skirt was not gathered, or bustled or pleated. Instead, it was the same style she’d worn the evening they played croquet, fitting smoothly over her hips with a gentle flaring toward the ground. A section of the front was pleated from the knees down.

  She no longer looked overweight and frumpy. If she were a tiny bit plump—and that was debatable—he found no fault with it. She was all womanly curves and shapeliness, exuding style and understated femininity. Her hair was pulled to the nape of her neck in a loose coil.