by Kit Morgan
“I hear ya, Mrs. Cooke,” Ryder replied. “And don’t you worry none – Cutty here is helpin’ me get it done. Ain’tcha, Cutty?”
Cutty’s eyes darted between the women like a horsefly before finally landing on Constance. “Sure enough,” he said with an odd, mumbled twang. “Don’t worry none, I’ll ... see he gets done in time fer yer weddin’.”
Constance, for once, was beyond speech, and could only stare at them and nod.
“Now scoot, Ryder,” Sadie ordered. “As soon as you have your place done, you may begin courting Miss Sayer. And not one day sooner”
Ryder jumped at the words. “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Cooke! Right away!” He shot out the door, the man Cutty shuffling along behind him.
“My goodness, if that man gets any more excited, he’s liable to burn his house down!” Grandma Waller commented. “Ain’t he got that place way out by the tree line?”
“Yes,” Sadie said firmly. “And I will not see his bride shivering outside at night. You know how these cowboys can be.”
“He’s a cowboy?” Constance said dreamily.
Now it was Penelope’s turn to groan. Constance had talked of cowboys non-stop on the ship to America, and every sight of a man on a horse during the land portion of their journey had sent her into a paroxysm of excitement. Now that she was going to marry one, Penelope hoped her ideal of what a cowboy was supposed to be wasn’t cruelly crushed.
“Ryder is more of a horseman now,” Belle told her. “Colin tells me he plans to breed them.”
“A horseman ...” Constance said, her eyes still sparkling.
“Does mine have his house in order?” Eloise inquired.
Sadie smiled. “He’s working on it. Now we need to return to the business at hand. None of you are going to want to get married wearing nothing but a day dress. Back to work.”
The other women nodded and returned to their stitching as Constance and Eloise stared longingly at the mercantile doors, both knowing their intended grooms were out there somewhere. Penelope, however, frowned to herself as she fumbled with her stitching. What was it about that Cutty fellow that so bothered her?
Perhaps in time she would find out ...
* * *
“August! August, I talked to her!” Ryder cried happily as he caught August coming out of the saloon.
“You’ve been over to the mercantile, then?” he asked.
“Yeah, every woman in town is in there. They’s workin’ on a weddin’ dress, from the looks of it. You had yer lunch already? Cutty an’ I thought we’d eat with ya.”
August took in the sad form of Cutty the drifter, and shook his head. “Just ate. I think I’ll wander over to the mercantile and get a licorice whip to chase down Mrs. Dunnigan’s stew. Mr. Mulligan’s serving up lunch today. Be sure to ask for bread and a spoon – he’s forgetting to set things out on the table properly.”
Ryder laughed. “He’s got spoiled, having ol’ Mrs. Dunnigan cook for the saloon. With all these weddins, he’s gonna have to actually work for a change. Mrs. Dunnigan ain’t gonna have time fer it fer awhile.”
“Weddings?” Cutty asked, his voice a rasp.
“Three, to be exact,” August told him. “Mine first.”
“An’ mine’ll be second, if I have anything to say about it!” added Ryder.
“Who’s the third?” Cutty asked with a cough.
“My brother Seth. He gets the pretty li’l blonde.”
“Three sisters ...” Cutty remarked.
“Yes, sir. They came all the way from England to get husbands,” August said.
“How ... how nice,” Cutty mumbled to himself.
August eyed him in confusion before he said, “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I’ll go sneak a peek at my bride.” He tipped his hat and, with a smile, headed for the mercantile. But he felt Cutty’s eyes follow him, and wondered how the poor man was faring. He made a mental note to ask Ryder the next time he saw him – if he wasn’t able to ask Cutty himself.
He cut across the street and up the boardwalk to his destination, and took in the wagons parked outside. With every woman in town camped out in Dunnigan’s, then lunchtime checkers would be held outside the Sheriff’s office. There was no way Wilfred would be willing to play in the mercantile in the midst of a bevy of chattering females. Come to think of it though, he didn’t see Wilfred down the street setting up the board yet. Maybe he was stuck minding the store while his wife sewed.
Hmmm ... August grinned as an idea formed, and went inside.
The bell above the door rang, announcing his arrival. Miss Red’s head snapped up at his entrance, but then so did every other head bent over the dress the women were working on. Sadie Cooke spied him and glared accordingly.
He held up both hands in defense. “Just here for a licorice whip, Mrs. Cooke. I’m not going to interrupt your work.”
“See that you don’t. You’ll have time enough for speaking with Miss Sayer later tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Miss Red asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice.
August’s smile broadened at the sound of it. “I understand – you need to get finished. And I would like to see my bride in a beautiful dress,” he added with a wink. Miss Red’s subsequent blush lit up the room.
Time to put his plan into action. “Say there, Wilfred - how about a licorice whip?”
Wilfred, always the hopeless romantic, smiled as he looked between August and Miss Red. “Sure thing - coming right up!”
August tore his gaze away from his intended and sauntered up to the counter. “What’s the matter, Wilfred? I thought you’d be down at the sheriff’s office for a game right now. You certainly can’t play here, not with the sewing circle in the store.”
Wilfred’s eyes flicked to the doors. “Somebody’s gotta mind the counter while Irene helps with that dress,” he said, inclining his head in Mrs. Dunnigan’s direction. He then leaned across the counter and whispered, “though I don’t mind telling you, I’d rather be there than here. I’m winning this week, and if I don’t get down there and play today’s games, ol’ Harlan’ll win by default and put me behind.”
August took on a shocked look. “No!” he whispered back. “That’d be terrible!”
“Wouldn’t it? How am I gonna sneak away and beat that cock-eyed lawman?”
August glanced around. “Well, you know, I’m not doing anything for the next hour or so. If you like, I can mind the counter for you. If someone comes in for anything out of the ordinary and I need help, your wife can tell me what to do.”
“Really?” Wilfred asked. “You’d do that for me? Why, thank ya, August!” He tiptoed out from behind the counter, and stared at the back of his wife’s head as his foot hit a creaky board. Thankfully, she ignored the sound and continued her work, as did the others. The only one taking notice of them was Miss Red herself.
“You head on out, Wilfred. I’ll look after things here,” August reassured him in a low voice.
Wilfred beamed, nodded his thanks, and tiptoed behind the curtained doorway to exit out the back of the building, avoiding any possible questions from his wife. August stifled a chuckle, and went behind the counter. Miss Red eyed him, looking confused, but he held a finger to his lips to tell her to stay quiet. She sent him a huge smile as her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, then returned to her work, her cheeks still pink.
August smiled too. There were other ways to court one’s future bride besides the usual chaperoned suppers and outings. And he was finding that courting a woman in silence was one of the best ways of all.
Ten
All worries about the strange, ragged Cutty left Penelope the minute she spied August standing on the threshold of the mercantile. Her heart skipped a beat as she gazed on his handsome features, and she felt her entire body grow hot. What was he doing to her?!
She swallowed hard and watched as he made his way to the counter after a few words with Sadie. She never should have blurted her thoughts out loud ami
dst their conversation, but shook off her embarrassment as she watched her betrothed speak with Mr. Dunnigan in hushed tones. She wondered what they could be talking about – first Mr. Jones and that strange Cutty fellow had been acting secretively, and now this. Was it the custom for all the men in Clear Creek to whisper to each other in public places?
She saw Mr. Dunnigan smirk, then tiptoe out from behind the store’s counter and slip into the back of the store. She thought she heard the muffled sound of a door closing back there, but couldn’t be sure. What she was sure of was that August was still there, standing behind the counter and looking very proud of himself. She didn’t know why ... but then, it didn’t matter why. He was here, and she enjoyed stealing glimpses of him as he gazed at her.
Her cheeks felt hot, and she fought the urge to wipe her hands on the eyelet fabric of her wedding dress. His words kept going through her head, even though he stood silently on the other side of the mercantile: I would like to see my bride in a beautiful dress ...
And she wanted him to be able to, but sewing while he watched her was unnerving. Twice she stabbed herself in the finger as she fumbled her way over the simple stitches Sadie had instructed her in. Thank Heaven she knew how to embroider, or the section of the dress she was working on would be a complete disaster. She frowned, and concentrated as best she could on pushing the needle through the fabric and pulling it out the other side.
Of course, she also did her best to sneak more glances at August ... good Lord! Was she already calling him by his first name? At least in her thoughts, yes, she was. She certainly hoped she didn’t slip and do so out loud in front of the others. How utterly improper that would be! What would her sisters think? Her eyes flicked to Constance seated on her right. Hmmm ... they probably wouldn’t care a whit. Which was a problem in itself.
She watched August out of the corner of her eye as he sucked on a licorice whip. She could see him turning it over in his mouth with his tongue, and had to close her eyes against the memory of that same tongue pressing against her mouth, urging her to open it as he’d kissed her. She’d not allowed him to do that, but now almost wished she had.
Oh, blast it all, Penelope! Be patient – in a few days you can let him do it to your heart’s content! She shivered at the thought, her back all a tingle ... and pricked her finger again. “Ouch!”
August came around to the front of the counter. “Are you all right, Miss Red?”
Sadie did a double take. “Are you still here?”
“I ... never left.”
Mrs. Dunnigan’s head came up and she glanced around. “Where’s Wilfred?” she asked accusingly, as if August had stuffed him into the cracker barrel.
“Playing checkers with the sheriff, I suppose. I told him I’d mind the store while he was out ...”
“You told him what?!” Mrs. Dunnigan snapped. Her eyes narrowed on him and he cringed. Usually he was not foolish enough to rile Mrs. Dunnigan, just as usually he was not foolish enough to trigger a buffalo stampede – and for similar reasons. But so much of his head right now was filled with thoughts of a certain redhead that he must’ve forgotten ...
She stood, turned, and set her sewing on her seat. “We’ll just see about that!”
“Now, Mrs. Dunnigan, let the poor man try to win this time. You know Sherriff Hughes has beat him three weeks in a row,” August pleaded.
“I don’t care! He should have said somethin’ ‘stead of sneakin’ on outta here to leave me with all the work!”
“No, ma’am,” August said, holding up his hands to ward off her rage. “He, he left me with all the work ... I knew you were busy, so I volunteered ...”
Before she could retort, the door opened again. Seth Jones stepped in, took one look at Eloise and bumped into a display table stacked with books. He let out a yelp as books landed on the floor in a steady succession of thuds.
For a second time that day, Sadie put her face in hands and groaned. “You cannot see her until we get these dresses done! Is that understood, Mr. Jones?”
“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Cooke,” Seth said, scooping up the tomes and replacing them. “But I’ve come lookin’ for Sheriff Hughes. Mr. Van Cleet wants to speak with him, and I can’t find him anywhere.”
August had moved behind Penelope and knelt next to her chair. He took her finger in his hands to examine the wound. “Land sakes, Miss Red, you’re bleeding!”
Penelope found herself swaying in her seat. Do not faint, do NOT faint!
“Can’t find him?” Mrs. Dunnigan spat as she left the circle. “Isn’t he at his office playing checkers with my Wilfred?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t know where they are.”
Mrs. Dunnigan spun on August. “This is your fault, young man! Now they’ve snuck off somewhere to do Lord knows what ...” She stopped, eyes wide. “Mr. Bennett, what are you DOING?!” she bellowed.
All eyes locked on him, and he suddenly realized he was sucking on Penelope’s finger!
Penelope, for her part, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She was vaguely aware that she must look like an idiot, that Eloise had gasped and Constance was giggling. She was absolutely mortified. Oh, dash it all ... so much for setting a good example!
“Get your ... your ... your mouth off that woman, you beast!” Mrs. Dunnigan screeched.
Grandma Waller burst into hysterics, and was quickly joined by Annie and Susara. Sadie and Belle Cooke could only stare. And Fanny Fig was almost choking, though she did manage to croak “how indecent!” in the process.
August, recognizing the severity of his crime, did quickly as Mrs. Dunnigan bid. He turned to Penelope. “Is, is, is it all better? Good, good.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but stood and rapidly retreated behind the mercantile counter. “I, uh, think the bleeding has stopped,” he added from a safe distance.
Penelope was torn between being terribly embarrassed and thrilled beyond measure. She felt as though she might faint, but instead stood up, the sewing forgotten, and prepared to run from the mercantile. She might have gotten away, too. The only problem was that in all the hubbub, she had accidently sewn her wedding dress to her own skirt.
“Ohhhh!” Lucy White yelped as her section of the dress was yanked out of her hands by Penelope’s movement.
The sewing circle erupted in a new round of gasps and screams, but Penelope’s mind was still too shocked from August’s outlandish – and clearly unconscious – flirting to realize why. She ran pell-mell for the doors, her wedding dress whipping along with her.
It wasn’t until she heard Constance yell, “Penelope, stop! You’ll ruin your dress!” that she slowed enough to discover she was dragging it along with her. “Oh no!” she cried, a hand to her mouth. “I’m ... I’m so sorry!”
August stood, reached her in three steps, and pulled her into his arms. “No, no, it’s my fault,” he stammered. “I ... what I did, in front of all these people, it was totally inappropriate, I wasn’t thinking, I’m so sorry, Miss Red ...”
She looked into his eyes, and they both were lost.
“... h-how can I make it up to you?” he asked, his voice husky.
Speech failed her as her eyes darted to his lips.
Instinctively, he began to draw her closer ...
“No you don’t, August Bennett! Unhand your wife at once!” Sadie Cooke had stood and was pointing at him with a cast-iron ladle in her hand.
Violence and further scandal were averted when little Honoria Cooke suddenly let out a horrible wail. She’d been quietly sitting on a blanket at Sadie’s feet, playing with a toy, when Sadie stood, accidentally knocking her sideways.
August took full advantage of the distraction to make a step toward redeeming himself. “As you say, ma’am, she is my wife. I really should help her out of her predicament–”
“No, you should not!” Sadie said and bent to the baby. “Your foolishness got her into this predicament!”
August reached to his side and pulled a knife from a shea
th on his belt. “Allow me,” he said to Penelope as he bent to examine the sewing disaster on her skirt.
“Mind you don’t tear the fabric!” Mrs. Mulligan warned.
“I promise, I will not tear the fabric!” he replied. He sounded more confident than he felt – between the passion he was feeling for Penelope and the shame he felt at how it had made him take leave of his senses, his hands were shaking. But he managed to find the pertinent stitches and begin to saw away. He stopped, looked up, and took in Penelope’s horrified expression. “I really am sorry. I ...” He flushed, and went back to cutting.
She wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed or not anymore. His closeness was still making her head swim – and she was finding his sudden nervousness endearing. Plus, her finger was still tingling – and not because of the needle, either. And at least the situation couldn’t get any worse ...
She looked up and saw Miss Dunnigan standing behind August – and holding a hatchet! All right, so it could get worse ...
August sensed Mrs. Dunnigan, turned and went pale as death. “Whoa there!” he exclaimed and held up both hands, his knife still held in one. “I’m just trying to help!” He’d heard stories of what happened when Mrs. Dunnigan was upset, and they were downright terrifying.
“Get out of my store,” she growled, raising her weapon of choice. “Before you ruin that dress – or that young lady.”
August’s shame turned to defensiveness, and he stood up. “Well, dagnabbit! What do you expect when a man can’t get a few measly moments with his bride-to-be? Is that really too much to ask?”
“You’re gonna marry her, ain’tcha?” Mrs. Dunnigan countered.
“Yes – yes, I am!” August barked back.
“Well, then you’ll have plenty of moments with her soon enough! What’s the problem?”
He stared at her in disbelief, then looked at Penelope. She seemed to be coming out of her shock, but slowly. “I don’t intend anything ... untoward. I just want to get to know her is all. I don’t even know what her favorite color is, or if she likes ginger cookies, or if she minds if I snore.”