How Miss West Was Won

by Diane Darcy

  Breathing in slowly he untied the rope, shoved off, and jumped inside. Balancing the boat, he sat on one bench and took the paddle from the bottom of the boat. He rowed them to the middle of the pond and let the canoe glide to a stop. “You’re here at a good time of year. All the trees are blooming. The ducks and swans are hatching their babies. There’s a lot to see.”

  “It is pretty.”

  “Yesterday you said you loved stories. There’s a legend about this lake. I learned it as a boy.

  “Really?” Her brilliant eyes sparkled. “Yes, I do love stories.”

  “There was a beautiful woman, lovely and attractive, with long flowing black hair, sort of the color of yours. Or at least it used to be.”

  Her shimmering gaze locked on him, Grace touched her hair. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch the escaping strands, too. “What happened?”

  “She always wore a white dress. Sort of like the one you’re wearing.”

  She ran a hand across her skirt. “This is a gray floral print.”

  “Close enough. Do you want to hear the story or not?”

  “I do.”

  “All right. It’s said she wanders the rivers, creeks, and lakes, searching for her lost children. She drowned them, of course. And now she wishes to drown other children.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “Why would she do that? Her own children weren’t enough? She has to drown others?”

  He shrugged. “It’s said that before her marriage, her beauty captured the interest of all the men in the area. She danced for them at the local cantina, enjoying the attention and adulation.”

  “Where was her husband in all this?

  “She married the wealthiest man in town and he lavished gifts upon her. However, after she bore two children, he began to lose interest and returned to a life of womanizing and alcohol. Since he didn’t care for her anymore, resentment built toward her children, and she drowned them so she could be free once more.”

  “Horrible! And she resides at this lake?”

  “Yes. After she drowned them, she regretted her actions—”

  “I should say so!”

  “—but it was too late. Feeling terrible grief, she lost her mind and searched for them by the water’s edge, starving herself until her hair turned white and she looked like a skeleton. And then she died.”

  “If she felt terrible grief, why does she go around trying to drown other children?”

  He shrugged. “Who can say why spirits do what they do? Children are warned not to go out after dark, in case she snatches them and throws them into the water.”

  Grace snorted. “I suspect that’s what the tale is really all about. A story made up to warn children not to go out after dark. Did it work on you?”

  It was his turn to snort. “You must be teasing. Rather, it made me and my friends prowl the lake’s edge long into the night trying to see the ghost.”

  “Did you ever see her?”

  “We thought we heard her wailing one time. We hightailed it out of there before we could see anything. Gabe swears to this day that a cold, wet hand touched his neck as he ran.”

  “Was he last in line?”

  “Yes. He’s always been the slowest.”

  “You know what they say. When in danger, you only need to run faster than your friends.”

  He laughed.

  She grinned and shook her head. “I don’t even know you very well and I can see you staying out after dark, hunting for a ghost.”

  He chuckled.

  “I happen to like ghost stories quite a bit. Have you heard of a collection of essays called The Sketch Book by Washington Irving?”

  He shook his head.

  “Within the pages is a story called The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”

  “And?”

  “There’s a ghost. They call him the Headless Horseman. He travels the countryside ever searching for his missing head.”

  He slowly rowed the boat. “Tell me more.”

  “In the glen of Sleepy Hollow, the local schoolmaster, Ichabod Crane, wanted to marry the pretty daughter of the richest man in town.”

  “Of course he did.”

  “But there was competition for her hand.”

  “Of course there was.”

  “A party was held at the lady’s house, and stories were told of the Headless Horseman, the ghost of a man from the Revolutionary War who haunted the local glen. Later that night as Ichabod rode through a purportedly haunted area, he remembered the stories and was overcome with nerves.”

  “I can see where this is going.”

  “He passed a cloaked rider and discovered the rider had no head! Ichobod rushed to the spot purported to be the place the apparition would vanish, but when he reached it, rather than vanishing, the ghost threw his severed head at Ichabod! Ichabod disappeared for all time, only to become a ghostly legend himself.”

  “If he disappeared, how did he tell anyone what happened?”

  “Good point.”

  “Surely the other suitor set the entire thing up.”

  She dropped her gaze. “It may have been implied. And there may have been a pumpkin head involved.”

  They both laughed. It was about an hour later that he took her back to the shop.

  “Thank you for taking me. I had a wonderful time.”

  “You bet. I guess we both ought to get back to work.”

  They stared at each other for a moment. He really wanted to kiss her. He settled for leaning down and kissing her cheek, breathing her in. She smelled incredible. His chest clenched around a deep stab of yearning. It was all he could do to resist pulling her into his arms and taking her lips with his. “Thanks for going with me.”

  “Thank you for inviting me. It was fun.”

  “We should do it again sometime.”

  “We should.” After a long appraisal, she headed inside.

  Luke grinned as he remembered the animated way she’d told the ghost story. She was something special. She just might have the ability to touch his heart—something he’d thought long dead.

  He stilled. What was he thinking? He backed away from the pie shop, placed his hat on his head, spun on his heel, and walked away.

  That couldn’t be it. Not at all. It was just that he enjoyed irritating the widow. What else could it be? He’d learned his lesson when his wife died, taking her unborn child with her. He wasn’t good at marriage. Spending time with Grace would annoy the widow and he didn’t want to give up that enjoyment anytime soon. And as Grace didn’t bore him, that was only another positive. As long as they remained friendly, he probably wouldn’t even care if Gabe courted her, as well.

  He scowled. That didn’t set well with him. He might not want Grace for himself, but one thing was for sure—if Gabe asked if he could court Grace, Luke’s answer would still be a definitive no.

  For now, if only for a while, Grace was his.

  A few days later, Grace walked into the church and surreptitiously glanced around to find Luke sitting on a bench on the left side, third row, chatting with an elderly gentleman. Just seeing his profile brought a shiver of pleasure.

  Mrs. Braxton marched up the aisle and pointedly turned her head. She sat on a bench on the opposite side, ignoring Luke completely. Grace sank onto the pew beside her.

  From her position, she only had to turn her head slightly to see Luke. When Mrs. Braxton twisted to speak to a friend, Grace did just that.

  As the church filled with parishioners, he grinned, his vivid brown eyes warm and welcoming, his thick dark hair tumbling over his forehead.

  When Mrs. Braxton finished her conversation, Grace faced forward once more.

  The widow patted Grace’s knee as the Reverend Dutton began a sermon on obeying your elders, and on the evils of gambling.

  Grace bit her bottom lip. She could almost feel Luke studying her and knew they both understood the topic was directed his way.

  Occasionally, she glanced over, but every time she did, he gazed at
her, making her lips twitch in response and causing heat to bloom in her cheeks.

  When the sermon finally ended, Mrs. Braxton ushered her around, introducing her to her friends. When Grace could, she glanced around at the others who lingered, only to find that Luke was gone. She couldn’t help but feel abandoned, which was ridiculous. She’d only known the man a short while.

  “My dear,” Mrs. Braxton said to her. “Would you mind walking home alone? I need to stay behind and speak with the reverend.”

  The reverend appeared a little sickly at the idea of a private conversation, but didn’t have much of an option.

  Grace assured her hostess that it wouldn’t be any problem at all, and left the building. When she rounded the corner to find Luke waiting, she stopped short, balancing on her toes. “Oh. Hello.”

  “Hello yourself, Miss Grace. I was hoping you’d come by.” He wore a brash grin, sounding as if he’d just won a prize. “I’d be glad to walk you home, unless there’s somewhere else you’d like to go? I’m at your disposal.”

  “I should probably go straight home,” Grace said, though she didn’t want to. “Mrs. Braxton might worry if I’m not there when she returns.”

  “When she and her cronies get to talking they don’t stop. But if home is where you really want to go, I’ll get you there, sure as certain.”

  She studied the curve of his lips. Curse his soul. He knew good and well she wanted to walk with him.

  He offered his arm and she took it. He immediately guided her in the wrong direction and she raised a brow. “Mr. Carrington, the widow’s place is the other way.”

  “Are you certain?”

  She hid her amusement with limited success. “Fairly so.”

  “I thought we’d take the long way so I could show you some points of interest about the town. If I’m presuming too much, please say so. And please, call me Luke.”

  The slanted look he gave her was enticing and exciting, his dark eyes full of promises. She had to admit she liked the way he gazed at her. She was used to being invisible in the city, or ogled lasciviously by men with less-than-honorable intentions. In New York, her situation as governess positioned her slightly above the other servants, but far below her charges, so fading into the background was what she did best. Capturing the attention of the most handsome man she’d ever met wasn’t the usual for her to say the least, so she forgave herself the giddiness and decided to follow his lead. “This is your town, not mine. I’ll trust your judgment.”

  He slowly smiled and her heart sped. She swallowed and glanced away. The man was a menace.

  They soon walked past a large house surrounded by a matching picket fence and he paused. “This house was built by Mr. John Peterson. There was originally an adobe home on the site. After his wife left him, Peterson built this, hoping to entice her to return. By the time he completed it, she’d already divorced him and remarried, taking their two children with her—and leaving him a very bitter man.”

  “Oh,” Grace frowned. “That’s so sad.”

  Luke shrugged. “He should’ve built the house sooner. He had the money, but was quite the miser. There are rumors that gold is buried within the walls, but no one really believes it.”

  “Why not?”

  Luke grinned down at her. “The man was so stingy, he would’ve found a way to take it with him when he died.”

  She laughed. They walked past several more homes and stopped in front of a pretty blue two-story, cottage-style home; a type that seemed popular in the town. “Oh, this is lovely.”

  “Do you think so?” His tone was skeptical.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “I suppose, if you don’t mind sharing it with a ghost,” he replied casually.

  “Another ghost?” She looked up to see if he was kidding, and shook her head. If he wanted her to believe him, he shouldn’t be smiling.

  “This was before my time, you understand. Old man Johnson had a daughter, Amelia, who fell in love with the most handsome man in town. A rascal who didn’t return her affection. The man was vain, and his disinterest didn’t stop him from playing with her affections. When he finally chose a girl to marry, it wasn’t Amelia. She hung herself from the banister of the staircase.”

  Grace covered her mouth. “That’s truly horrible. And her ghost still haunts the place?”

  He shrugged. “As to that, I can’t say for sure. My friends and I spent many a night peering through the windows, and never saw anything but the Johnson family going about their business. But there are others in town, most notably Billie Harkin, who claim to have seen and heard her moaning and moping about, looking for her lost love.”

  “Hmm. This story seems a bit suspect. Does this Billy Harkin perchance imbibe in alcoholic beverages?”

  He chuckled. “Billy does like his liquor.”

  “As I suspected. Does your town have an abundant supply of real ghosts, or only ones induced by alcoholic hallucinations?”

  “I wouldn’t say we have an abundant supply.” He grinned at her and his boyish expression tugged at her heart. “But the few we have are put to good use. We employ them to scare pretty ladies into jumping into our arms.”

  She laughed, and tightened her grip on his arm. She liked his teasing and flirting. She liked him. It was refreshing to walk with a gentleman who viewed her as his equal and treated her as though she had value. As they walked along he told a few more stories, greeted a few people, introduced Grace, and eyed her as if she was his favorite flavor of taffy.

  As entertaining as he was, she knew this … whatever it was … wouldn’t go anywhere. She’d return to New York eventually, and this would just be a memory. She lifted her face to the sky. So what? As that was the truth, she might as well enjoy their interactions, and actually have something to remember. For once in her life, why not just enjoy the moment?

  They climbed the boardwalk and Luke stopped in front of a door. “This is my office. Would you like to see inside?”

  Her breath left in a rush. She hadn’t realized her resolve would be tested so soon. She glanced around. It wouldn’t be proper, but no one seemed to pay them any attention. Finally, she nodded. She was making memories, right? “That would be nice.”

  Luke unlocked the door and gestured her inside. He shut the door and, as light streamed in the large window, she took in the masculine desk, chair, and bookcases. A beautiful rural painting hung on one wall and stairs led upward. The closed space made her feel somewhat jittery. Perhaps even overheated. She tried to ignore the fact that Luke stood behind her, but he seemed to take up the entire space. Was it the heat from his body that warmed her own?

  “This is very nice. I … I suppose we should be leaving now,” she said.

  “I suppose we should.”

  It is improper. She’d drilled appropriate behavior into Penny and her sister Jane enough times to recognize the strict voice in her head belonged to herself. Being alone with a man is never a good idea. Unfortunately there was no one else to tell Grace what to do and it was easy enough to ignore her own preaching. Her heart pounded and she slowly turned to look at him.

  Luke shifted closer as he gazed at her mouth. He took her hand, causing sparks of excitement to dance up her skin.

  Was he going to kiss her? She should leave now. She truly should. But … she’d never been kissed. If he was going to, did she really want to miss out?

  Grace moistened her lips.

  With a step, he closed the space between them.

  Her heart thundered. She should tell him to stop. Should push him away. “Mayor Carrington—”

  “Call me Luke, remember?” He pressed her hand to his chest, dragged it up and pressed her hand to his stubbled jaw. She shivered at the prickling sensation against the soft skin of her palm, and was suddenly nervous. “I … L… Luke.”

  Staring into her eyes the entire time, he turned his head and kissed her palm. She tensed as sensations rushed through her, electric, setting the center of her hand afire.

 
; A man opened the door. “Luke, you in here?”

  With a gasp, Grace pulled away. She couldn’t bear to look at the stranger, so she didn’t know if he gaped in horror as she imagined.

  “Yes?” Luke acted as if nothing was amiss.

  “We need to—”

  “Excuse me.” On unsteady legs she darted past the two men, through the open doorway, and headed toward the widow’s place. She couldn’t believe what she’d just let happen!

  What had she been thinking?

  What must he be thinking of her?

  And why, oh why, was she wishing he’d kissed her before they’d been interrupted?

  Chapter 6

  The next day, Luke gave an easy nod to a couple of passing cowboys as he headed in to see the sheriff. He couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. He kept thinking about Grace, trying to determine what he liked best about her. There was a lot to consider. Her laugh. Her humor. Her lips, beautiful eyes, figure. He hadn’t felt this way about a woman in a long while and enjoyed the sensation.

  When he arrived at the sheriff’s office, he found Gabe glowering at a man sitting across the desk from him. There was a peculiar tension in the room. He glanced back and forth between them. “Hello, gentlemen. What’s going on here?”

  The man across from Gabe whirled in his chair. Walter Dawkins, his grizzled face etched with panic, said frantically, “Mayor. I’m so glad to see you. You have to help me. You’ve got to get me out of here. I didn’t do nothin’.”

  Luke’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s going on, Gabe?”

  Gabe’s chin jutted. “There’s nothing here you need to know about. Carry on, Dawkins.”

  “Mayor! He’s forcing me to reveal all my gambling secrets, and I don’t want to give them away.” Both men glowered at each other while Luke considered the idea that Dawkins could know much of anything about gambling. Doubtful, but still.