by Tess LeSue
“Why, Matthew Slater,” Amelia sang, too focused on Matt to notice the throng by the barn. “I barely recognized you!”
“Really?” Matt said in a bored tone. “I can’t imagine why.” He didn’t know how Luke put up with these women. Their chatter was making his ears ring.
“You’ve lost your beard, silly,” Amelia giggled, none-too-gently pushing Cathy Loughlin and Johanna Sprat out of the way.
“Time for the service, folks,” Harding bellowed from the mouth of the barn.
“Oh, wonderful,” Amelia said, threading a proprietary arm through Matt’s. “Won’t it be lovely to hear a real preacher again?”
Matt grimaced as he realized he was expected to escort her into the barn. How had that happened? Meanwhile, across the yard he could see Tom taking Alex’s arm. Lucky bastard.
Luke couldn’t believe it. Not only did he have to watch Tom pawing Alex, but now Matt had gone and sweet-talked Amelia. Well, he’d be damned if he’d let them see him standing alone at the back of the barn. “Miss Sparrow?” He turned to Victoria, pasting a warm smile on his face. But Victoria was oblivious to him, her arm already neatly entwined with Ned’s. Luke clenched his jaw. Fine. Who needed women anyway? They were nothing but a mess of trouble.
He followed the group into the barn, where everyone gathered in a semicircle around a nervous Stephen Sparrow.
“This here’s our new preacher, everyone,” Harding was announcing, “and I hope you’ll all go out of your way to make him welcome. He comes to us from Mississippi, and with him are his brother and sisters. Perhaps they’d care to step forward so we can all get to know them?” Blushing, Alex and Victoria stepped forward, followed by a very shy Adam, who kept his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “This is Miss Alexandra, Miss Victoria and Adam. You can find them at the Slater place this winter, until they get a house built.”
Every male head swiveled to look at Luke. He struggled to keep his expression neutral. “Do she and Tom have an understanding yet?” Dell Pritchard whispered, keeping a close watch on how Tom hovered over the beautiful blonde.
Luke scowled. “Not as far as I know.”
“You mind if I come around sometime?”
He had to resist the urge to belt the man. “I thought you had an understanding with Amelia,” he said instead.
Dell snorted. “We all know she’ll marry you eventually. Although, it looks like your brother might be giving you some stiff competition.”
The man had no idea how close he was to a broken nose.
“Just before I pass the floor over to the pastor,” Harding said, “I want to announce that we’ve set a date for the winter dance. We’ll be holding it on the first weekend of December. Rich and Bea have kindly offered their general store for the venue and my lovely daughter, Amelia, will be heading up the decoration and refreshment committee. If anyone is interested in helping out, you can speak to her after today’s service.” Amelia gave a giggle and a wave.
So that was Adele Hardnose, Alex thought numbly. She really was very pretty. And nothing at all like Alex. She had a pointy little chin, a snub nose and glossy dark hair. She was as slight as Victoria, with the coy girlishness of many petite women. And she was so stylish. Her gown was made of rustling blue-and-green-plaid taffeta, with round little puff sleeves and ruffles around the hem. Alex fiddled self-consciously with the buttons on Luke’s shirt. She wished the damn mule hadn’t torn her pink dress.
Luke pulled at his collar. It was so stuffy in here, he could hardly breathe he was so hot. His eyes were riveted to Alex’s fingers. Any minute he expected one of those flimsy buttons to pop right off, the way she was tugging and pulling at them. Hell. Wasn’t it torture enough that she was wearing his damn shirt? Was she trying to put him in an early grave?
Luke heard Dell Pritchard’s breath catch and turned to see the man’s eyes similarly riveted on Alex’s fingers. And next to him, Clay Sprat was openmouthed, mesmerized by the way her hand had settled at the button directly between her breasts. Luke cleared his throat and when they looked up at him he glared at them. They both flushed and turned their attention back to the preacher.
He’d be damned if he’d let her leave the house in that shirt again.
“You’ll join the committee, won’t you, Matt?” Amelia demanded once the last hymn had been sung. She was refusing to release his arm, even though he was trying to pull away. “We need a big strong man to cut boughs for us.”
“How about Tom?” Matt said a little desperately, grabbing his brother as he walked past.
“How about me for what?” Tom gave Matt a sly grin as he tugged Alex’s arm a little more firmly through his own.
“The decoration committee, silly,” Amelia said with an overly breathless laugh. She was busy sizing up the new girl, Matt saw. He guessed it didn’t take her more than a second to realize that Alex put her in the shade. Matt could feel her talons digging into him. “And of course we’d love you to join us, Miss Sparrow, was it?” Amelia’s voice dripped with syrup.
“Barratt,” Alex corrected, equally sweetly, “and that’s very kind of you, Miss Hardway.”
“Harding,” Amelia said through a tight smile, “but please, do call me Amelia.” She feigned a slight frown. “Barratt, did you say? So, we should be calling you Mrs. Barratt, then?”
“Miss,” Alex assured her.
“But, I thought . . . We were led to believe that the pastor was your brother?”
“Stephen’s parents took me in.”
“How kind. But aren’t you concerned what people will say—living with a man who isn’t a blood relation?”
“I believe she’s living with several men who aren’t blood relations,” Matt said dryly, “but fortunately for the reputations of all concerned, there are other females about too.”
“Your house must be bursting at the seams,” Amelia remarked.
“It’s a big house,” Matt said sharply. She colored. It was common knowledge that Luke had built it for her.
“Where is your brother?” Amelia asked suddenly. She hadn’t seen him all day. “He usually joins us for dinner after the service.”
“Not today,” Tom observed, nodding toward the gate, where Luke was kicking Delilah into a trot as he fell in behind a departing wagon. “Looks like Maggie McCauley collared him today.”
“And who is Maggie McCauley?” Alex asked waspishly, when they finally broke free from Amelia.
Tom sighed. He really didn’t stand a chance. He turned Alex toward him. “Maggie McCauley is no one you need to worry about, darling. She’s all of four-foot nothing and as round as a prize pig, but she’s a very sweet girl. Her parents run the store, so he’s probably gone to buy some goods.”
Alex blinked. Tom was giving her a knowing smile.
“You may not have noticed, but Luke hasn’t so much as looked at another woman since you arrived.”
Alex turned crimson.
“And if you want my opinion, you’d be a fool to wait for him to come to his senses. He’s a stubborn man, it might take years. If I were you, I’d do the wooing myself.”
She was mortified. Was she so obvious? Did everyone know how she felt about him?
“And, Alex,” Tom said softly, “if he’s more of an idiot than I suspect, and he never comes to his senses, just remember that there are plenty of us who would treat you like a princess.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and left her to her whirling thoughts.
She was turned upside down inside. The cloth rose under his pillow . . . Tom telling her to woo him . . . She would be glad to lock herself away in her peaceful corner room, where she could privately sift through her thoughts.
But when she got home and opened the door to her room she found anything but peace of mind. Piled on her bed were two stacks of cloth. There was bolt after bolt in dozens of colors and patterns: lawn, muslin, linen and cotton; taffet
a, silk and finely woven wool. There was even a neat little pile of lace and a bundle of satin ribbons.
“There’s no yellow,” a low voice said softly behind her.
She turned to find herself captured by Luke’s intense black gaze.
“The McCauleys were sold out,” he said. He moved closer and she could feel the heat radiating from him. His liquid eyes were serious and unreadable. “I bought everything else they had,” he said softly, his fingers resting lightly against the button between her breasts—she could feel his touch burn through the cloth, right through to her skin.
“Why?” she asked witlessly.
“Because,” he growled, releasing her button, “I don’t want you wearing my shirt anymore.”
40
IT WAS PERFECT. Alex examined herself in the mirror and couldn’t resist laughing, already relishing her triumph. The man would have to be dead to resist her tonight.
Luke had been studiously avoiding her for almost three weeks. He didn’t even seem to notice her new clothes. She’d had such high hopes the morning she’d worn the first dress, which she’d stayed up all night sewing. It was the exact same green as the dress she’d worn to the dance in Independence. She’d primped in front of the mirror for almost an hour before she went down to breakfast, carefully pinning up each wayward curl, and pinching her cheeks until they glowed. But he didn’t so much as bat an eye. He growled his usual “good morning” and headed out to his wretched horses.
But not tonight, she thought giddily, swiveling to examine the back of her beautiful new gown. Tonight was the winter dance, and she’d been working on this dress for more than a week. It was made of deep cranberry-colored satin—a color that brought out the vivid hue of her lips, and made her eyes shine. She’d deliberately cut the neckline daringly low, almost as low as the dress Dolly had laced her into, and her breasts swelled above the ripe-red satin, pale and full, rising and falling with every breath she took. Just see if he could ignore that.
She heard a breathy laugh and peeked between the curtains. Below, she could see Ned handing Victoria up into his wagon. Her wheat-colored silk skirts peeked beneath her new wool coat. The girls, all in white organza, were huddled beneath the canvas hoop, blankets and furs piled high around them. Even from here Alex could see the way her sister’s face glowed with joy.
There, Alex thought with a stab of excitement, went her last argument for staying away from Luke Slater. The morning after Luke had given Alex the bolts of material, Vicky had crept into her room. “What’s all this?” her sister had gasped, tripping over a stack of sprigged muslin.
Alex had swallowed, worried about how Victoria would react. “Luke gave them to me.”
“I guess he didn’t like you stealing his shirt,” Victoria remarked, sitting on the bed beside Alex.
“I guess not.”
Victoria reached over and took her hand. “There’s something I need to tell you,” she announced, almost wriggling in her excitement.
“What?”
“Ned means to ask Stephen for my hand.”
Alex wasn’t surprised.
“And I mean to say yes!”
Now she was. “But I thought . . . I thought you had feelings for Luke.”
“Oh, that,” Victoria said with a sigh. “I thought I did. But every woman has feelings for Luke, don’t you think? Just look at all of those ninnies at the service yesterday.”
“They seemed more interested in Matt than Luke,” Alex observed.
“Not for long. You should have heard them talking afterward. You’d think he was some kind of god the way they go on about him.”
Alex scowled. “Why? What were they saying?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Vicky insisted. “What matters is that I was wrong. I thought he felt the same way about me, but it’s plain that he doesn’t.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not sure Luke feels that way about any woman.”
Alex was scowling again.
“I’m sorry,” Victoria said sympathetically, giving her hand a squeeze, “I know you had feelings for him too. But I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I don’t want to see you hurt either,” Alex replied. “Are you really sure you want to marry Ned?”
“Oh, yes,” Victoria exclaimed, throwing herself back on the bed with a sigh. “Have you seen the way he looks at me? He says I glow like a second sun.”
Alex giggled. “More Milton?”
“No, not even Byron. It’s all his own idea,” Victoria said, marveling that anyone could think such a thing about her—plain old Victoria Sparrow.
“I’m happy for you,” Alex assured her, giving her a hard hug.
“I’m going to have a June wedding,” Victoria said dreamily. “And I’m going to wear French lace—”
“Will it be yellow?” Alex interrupted with a laugh.
“No, of course not. Although I might carry yellow flowers,” she admitted, her eyes sparkling. “And maybe the girls can wear yellow. And you, of course. What shade do you think you’ll suit?”
“Me?” Alex said, flooding with warmth at the thought.
“Of course you, you ninny. You’re my sister.”
“Victoria?” Alex called after her when she was leaving.
“Hmm?”
Alex’s stomach was a ball of knots. “If you don’t have feelings for Luke anymore . . .” She plucked at the quilt, unable to look her sister in the eye. “You wouldn’t mind if I . . . ?”
“No, Alex,” Victoria said in a compassionate voice, “I wouldn’t mind at all. But be careful. Don’t go getting your heart broken.”
Now, on the night of the dance, as the first winter snow began falling in glittering swirls, Victoria looked up at Alex’s window. Ned flicked the reins and the wagon jolted forward. She raised her hand in a good-luck wave.
Alex waved back.
When she stepped away from the window her heart was pounding. Dell Pritchard was due to pick her up at any minute. She grinned as she imagined the look on Luke’s face when she descended the stairs. Should she wait until Dell arrived before she went down? Maybe if she went down earlier, Luke would be overcome enough to take her into his arms . . .
No, that wouldn’t do. They might never make it to the dance, and she did so want to get there. After all, she’d worked hard this morning to help decorate the McCauleys’ store. They’d hung wreaths and boughs, cut snowflakes out of crisp white paper and dangled them from the ceiling on wisps of string and scattered the room with candles. She knew it would be beautiful by candlelight.
She smiled dreamily, imagining how the night would play out. In her mind it was so like the dance in Independence: Luke would spend every moment with her; he would bribe the band to play slow songs; he would stare down into her eyes as though she were the only woman in the world.
And it would be made sweeter by the fact that Aurelia Hardwig would be there watching.
She knew it was mean-spirited, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. In every version of the fantasy, Arnelle was standing in the corner, alone (sometimes looking lank-haired and pimply even), and Luke didn’t even notice she was there.
Maybe that was too harsh . . . She adjusted the fantasy so Aurelia could dance with Matt. Or Dell. Ah hell, Alex thought, feeling suddenly magnanimous, she could dance with any man she liked, so long as it wasn’t Luke.
“We’re leaving now, Alex,” Matt bellowed up the stairs. “We’ll see you there!”
Her heart lodged in her throat. What did he mean they were leaving? Luke couldn’t leave yet—he hadn’t seen her!
As she flew from her room she heard the click of the front door. She was halfway down the stairs before she noticed him.
Luke stopped dead, frozen with his fingers at the button of his stiff collar. Hell and damnation. The woman was practically naked. Look at the w
ay she came spilling out of that dress with every breath.
It worked, Alex thought breathlessly, noticing the heat in his black eyes as they explored every last inch of her. She felt that wonderfully familiar pulse begin to beat deep inside.
“You’re not leaving the house in that,” he said through gritted teeth.
She frowned.
“Get right back up there and change into something respectable. That green one you wore the other day will do just fine.”
She drew an indignant breath. This wasn’t going the way she’d imagined.
“And stop breathing,” he bellowed, alarmed by the way she swelled over the low neckline of the gown.
“I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly, her excitement turning to ashes, “but this dress is perfectly respectable.” Well, maybe not perfectly, she amended silently, but it was respectable enough. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get my coat. My escort should be here any minute.” If the gown didn’t work, maybe the threat of competition would.
He’d be damned if he’d let Dell Pritchard see her in that.
Alex watched in astonishment as he spun on his heel and left. She stomped her foot. What was wrong with the idiot man? Didn’t he realize that he was supposed to be enchanted? Besotted? Or, at the very least, appreciative? Maybe he wasn’t attracted to her anymore, she thought sickly. She heard footsteps and looked up. Her eyes flew wide and she gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”
He was coming for her, a stubborn gleam in his dark eyes. In his hands he held two coiled ropes. “You are not going out in that. Either you change, or you stay.”
She screamed and bolted for her room. She’d barely scaled the stairs before she felt his iron grip. She struggled like a woman possessed.
Grimly, Luke hoisted her over his shoulder. He could feel her fists pounding his back, and her flailing feet were coming dangerously close to his groin. He kicked open the door to her room and tossed her down on the bed. “Last chance, sweetheart,” he warned.