by Regina Scott
He drew back to gaze down at her. “Why did you kiss me?”
Oh, such a difficult question to answer! Dottie took a step away, for all she longed to draw closer. “You seemed to need it.”
He laughed. “I’d imagine you could say that about every bachelor in Seattle.”
She blushed. “Well, I don’t intend to kiss every one of them.”
He slipped his hand over hers. “Nor would I want you to. I’m having a hard time just seeing you with Harry.”
Something was changing. She could feel it, and she was fairly sure he felt it, too. “Harry will never be more than a friend, and I doubt he’ll even want to be that when I explain the matter to him. You have consistently called yourself my friend. Do you want to be more, John?”
He drew in a breath. That appeared to be an equally hard question to answer by the way he examined her fingers laced with his. “What I want isn’t important. What’s important is you and Peter.”
Such a kind thing to say, heroic even. But oh, so unsatisfactory. “And what if I should tell you that I think Peter and I could be very happy with you?”
He raised his head to regard her. “I’d say you need to be very, very sure about that.”
A cold wind raced across the lake, making whitecaps on the water. Even in John’s coat, Dottie shivered. It was a huge decision, one she very well knew could change her life forever. She’d been willing to marry a stranger. Why was she so hesitant to marry a man she was coming to admire?
Something wet struck her cheek, and for a moment she thought she was crying again. Then John looked up, blinking, and she realized it was raining. Hand on hers, he pulled her back toward the main house.
He stayed near her side for the rest of the afternoon as they visited with his family. While Catherine played with Peter, Dottie helped John and Beth cook dinner. Then they all ate together.
Still, she longed for a moment alone with him, a moment to talk about what was happening between them. She thought surely he would escort her and Peter home, but Harry shoved next to her as she was preparing to leave.
“I’ll walk you home, Dottie,” he said.
Dottie glanced to John, but he nodded as if encouraging her to take the logger’s arm. What was he doing? By the frowns on Catherine’s, Beth’s and Nora’s faces, they wondered the same thing.
“Very well,” Dottie said.
Head high, he led her out the door.
“Mighty fine day,” he said as they crossed the clearing for the trees.
The rain had stopped, but the skies were still leaden, and she was fairly sure there would be more showers before the night set in. “I suppose we need the rain,” she said, glancing to the fields before the trees closed around them.
“I meant, any day is a fine day when a man has a lovely lady beside him,” Harry said.
Dottie nodded, but she found herself wishing it was John walking beside her. They would have found something more interesting to discuss than the weather.
And perhaps that was why John had let Harry walk her home.
“You’ve been very kind to us, Harry,” Dottie said as they passed James’s cabin. “I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”
Harry stopped, the shadows of the trees crossing his face. “You can show your appreciation anytime you like.” He turned his head and pointed to his cheek.
Was he angling for a kiss? Dottie kept walking. “I thought I had. But if you’d rather I paid you, I have a few coins saved up from my sewing.”
Harry lengthened his stride to catch up to her. “I didn’t help you for money!”
“Good,” she said as they came out onto the field in front of John’s house. “Because I was under the impression we were friends.”
Harry caught her arm. “If I’ve given you the impression I want nothing more than a friendship, I’ve been doing it wrong.” He bent his head toward hers.
Dottie pulled back, though there was only so far she could go with his hand holding her. “And if I’ve given you the impression I want anything more than a friendship, I’ve been doing it equally wrong.”
His face reddened. “You really prefer that mealworm to a real man.”
Heat flushed up her, and she shook him off. “I prefer a gentleman who appreciates me and my son.”
He started laughing, and there was nothing kind in the tone. “You just want a man you can coddle like your son. Well, that’s not me. Good day, Mrs. Tyrrell.” He turned on his heel and strode back toward the trees.
Well! Dottie was trembling, and she clutched Peter closer to keep from dropping him.
“I’m quite glad I didn’t decide to pursue him,” Dottie said aloud.
Peter patted her on the shoulder in agreement.
She started for the house. “Though, I do wonder sometimes whether I can attract no one but scoundrels,” she told her son.
Peter scowled at her.
“Present company excepted, of course,” she assured him with a smile.
And certainly John’s company was excepted as well. He would never have spoken to her like that, all but demanding a kiss. And she didn’t coddle him or Peter.
Still, he was hesitant to further their friendship. She couldn’t believe Harry’s statement that John was a coward. She couldn’t be so terrifying as to prevent John from proposing if he truly thought they’d suit.
She let herself in to find Brian waiting at the foot of the stairs. He came over and twined himself around her skirts.
“A shame you can’t talk,” she told the cat. “I imagine you could tell me all kinds of stories about your master.”
Brian glanced up at her with a grin that showed his teeth.
She thought John might come in after he’d done the afternoon milking, but he must have taken the pail to one of his brothers, for she caught no sign of him. Neither did she see him Monday morning, though she was up early and had bacon frying in hopes of sitting down to breakfast with him.
“Did I scare him away?” she asked Brian, who was sitting by the milk can, tail twitching, as if he, too, expected John.
Peter waved his wooden spoon, ready to defend her. Too bad it wasn’t that easy.
She was just cleaning up after breakfast when she heard a knock at the door. Her hands flew to her hair, and she immediately scolded herself. It couldn’t be John. He’d walk right in. And besides, he didn’t care what she looked like. She didn’t need to primp for him.
She gathered Peter in her arms and went to answer.
She found Nora, Catherine and Beth on the porch. They had dressed in their everyday cotton gowns, but that didn’t stop them from looking positively determined.
“We came to help,” Nora announced.
“Drastic measures are clearly needed,” Catherine agreed.
“In other words, my brother is being bullheaded,” Beth said, “and we’re here to see what can be done about it.”
Had he told them about his and Dottie’s discussion yesterday? Her stomach dipped. “There’s no need to intervene, ladies,” she told them.
Beth marched past her into the house, with Catherine a step behind. Nora entered more slowly with a supportive smile to Dottie.
“He’s being perfectly unreasonable,” Beth said, throwing herself onto the chair nearest the hearth in the parlor. “What does he mean, giving Harry an opportunity like that?”
“Simon would never have done that,” Nora agreed, going to perch on the bench.
“Drew might have,” Catherine admitted, joining her. “Men can be obtuse sometimes.”
“I think John may have been more canny than obtuse,” Dottie explained, taking the seat across from Beth and adjusting Peter on her lap. Her son was gazing about at the ladies, foot twitching with his interest. “He may have been giving me time to let Har
ry know I could not favor his suit.”
Beth giggled. “And you must have done that, for Harry was in a fiery mood this morning. He yelled at Tom for taking the last piece of bacon.”
Dottie grimaced. “I’m sorry for Mr. Convers, but I had to explain to Harry. I didn’t want him thinking there was a future in courting me.”
Catherine leaned forward. “And what of John? Do you see a future in having him court you?”
Dottie sighed. “I wish I knew.” Peter wiggled on her lap as if determined to get closer to their visitors, and she moved her leg up and down to distract him.
Brian wandered in just then and began strolling from lady to lady, rubbing against their skirts and uttering plaintive meows until they reached down and petted his back.
Beth shook her head. “If you wonder at my brother’s character, you have only to look at Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert here. He should be sleek from mousing, but a more pampered cat you will never find.”
So much for the theory that Beth had done the pampering.
“Perhaps Brian is company in the evenings,” Nora said, giving the feline a good stroke. “I feel that way about Fleet.” Brian circled for another pass.
“Very likely John agrees,” Catherine said, “but I’d like to see him with a wife as well.”
Beth clapped her hands down on the chair arms. “He nearly had one. Oh, but I could give Caroline Crawford a piece of my mind! What was she thinking, refusing him like that?”
Dottie had been about to protest on John’s behalf. Now she didn’t dare speak. Caroline Crawford? Had John courted before?
“So he did propose,” Catherine said, ignoring Brian’s attempts to get her attention.
“And Miss Crawford refused,” Nora said.
“And none too kindly, if I were to guess,” Beth told them. “He moped for weeks, and I don’t think he’s been the same since.”
Dottie shifted Peter closer. “Then he was in love with her.”
“Surely not,” Nora said with a look to Dottie.
Beth sighed. “Surely so. I know my brother. He’s devoured the books Pa left us. You read The Last of the Mohicans and Ivanhoe too many times, and you’ll hold a very high ideal for love.”
Was that why he didn’t propose? Was he still mourning Miss Crawford’s defection? Dottie could certainly understand the desire to protect his heart. She’d been doing that since the moment she’d learned about Frank’s other life.
Or was there more to it than that? Maybe Dottie didn’t meet his ideal for love. Maybe she really did only attract scoundrels. An ache grew inside her, like an abscessed tooth.
“I could see why he might be attracted to Miss Crawford,” Catherine said. “She has had more than her share of suitors. We simply must convince John to look elsewhere.”
Nora smiled at Dottie. “At our new friend.”
“Perhaps,” Dottie made herself say, “John isn’t ready to look elsewhere.”
Beth waved a hand, as if it was that easy to eliminate heartache. “He’s ready. He just doesn’t realize it yet.”
“Which is why we’re here,” Catherine told Dottie.
Beth rose. “We think you should be bold,” she said, hand slicing the air as if she held a sword of righteousness. “Since he won’t come to you, you must go to him. That’s what Nora did.”
Dottie darted a look to the quiet seamstress. Nora nodded, broad cheeks pinkening. “I asked Simon to marry me.”
Could Dottie be that bold? What would she do if John said no? Just the thought made her chest hurt.
And, oh, what would she do if he said yes?
“I don’t know if I could,” Dottie confessed. “I came here to marry John Wallin, but he’s not as I pictured him. I don’t want to hurt him.”
Beth’s face melted. “Oh, Dottie, you couldn’t.”
She could. If John had already lost one woman he thought he loved, she didn’t want to add to that pain.
“I’m certain you’re exactly what he needs,” Catherine assured her. She turned to her sister-in-law. “Nora, how soon could you make a new dress for Dottie?”
Nora eyed Dottie as if calculating inches. “Four days, if I had the fabric.”
“John’s heading into town today,” Beth told her. “I’ll tell him to pick some up. There’s the loveliest lavender wool at Kelloggs’. It will match your eyes, Dottie.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—” Dottie began.
“Nonsense,” Catherine insisted. “You’ll need a new hat, too.”
“I can make it,” Beth promised. “I have ribbon and a frame saved.”
“Ladies, please,” Dottie said. “I don’t want to put you out.”
“It is no trouble,” Catherine assured her. “It is a privilege to help a friend.”
Nora nodded. “You’ll want to look your best for the May Day picnic on Friday.”
“For John and for the other eligible bachelors in attendance,” Catherine agreed.
“We’re just gilding the lily,” Beth told her. “All you have to do is be yourself, Dottie, and the gentlemen will come running to meet you, even John.”
* * *
John clucked to the horses, more than glad to accept Beth’s commission on his trip to Seattle that morning. Truth be told, he was avoiding Dottie, but for a reason. He wanted to give her time to think about their exchange by the lake yesterday, to be sure he was the right man for her. She deserved that.
And he hadn’t been ready to face another rejection.
He sighed as he drove the team into town. He preferred to discuss differences, settle arguments peacefully. Did that make him less than a man? His brothers didn’t seem to think so, but they were kin, after all. Should he have challenged the logger to a duel instead of letting Dottie decide whether she favored him or Harry?
Harry was definitely willing. He’d lobbed sarcastic comments at John through breakfast, had even gone so far as to try to trip him as John climbed off the bench. John had avoided Harry’s foot, but the way the logger had raised his fists, John could tell he was spoiling for a fight.
John wasn’t willing to give it to him, because he was feeling too good. Harry’s increased antagonism could only mean one thing.
Dottie preferred John.
He caught himself whistling as he guided the horses onto Second Avenue. Dottie preferred him. He wanted to preen, do a handstand on the boardwalk, run through town shouting it to the sky. But not yet, not until she told him. He had to be sure. And so did she.
He tied the horses to the hitching rail outside Kelloggs’ and went inside. He needed more paint for the church, and he wanted to see if the seeds Nora had ordered had come in. Besides, Beth had given him a special commission for fabric, and he knew how particular his sister could be in that area.
He went to the counter and placed his order with Weinclef, who’d been the clerk at the general store for more than ten years. Short and whip-thin, he tended to lean forward slightly, as if he was pointing his long nose at his customer.
“We are expecting the seeds from San Francisco any day,” he informed John, hefting the pail of paint onto the counter. “But be advised we will not be open this Friday.”
Checking the label on the can, John looked up with a frown. “Why? You’re generally open every day now.”
“We are building a railway,” Weinclef informed him, as if anyone could have missed the posters all over town or the accounts in the last year of newspapers. “It is a civic duty.” He shook his finger at John. “Seattle will not be left behind, sir.”
“And rightly so.” Another man stepped up to the counter. He was tall and slender, with a shock of curly black hair and a trim mustache. “I moved up from San Francisco in part because Seattle is expected to grow.”
John shook his head. “We will grow, b
ut I don’t think this railway is going to have much to do with it.”
Weinclef’s lean face scrunched up, but the stranger laughed.
“Where’s your sense of civic spirit? Any time this many people can agree on anything, I call it a good day.” He tugged down on his striped waistcoat. He was too well dressed for the town, though John thought James and Nora would approve of the tailored coat and pressed trousers.
“That’s true enough,” John agreed. He stuck out his hand. “John Wallin. My family settled the northern end of Lake Union.”
“Frank Reynolds,” he said, giving John’s hand a hearty shake. “I don’t suppose you know of any jobs out your way. I was a salesman before I headed west.”
Weinclef immediately busied himself looking for Beth’s fabric among the crowded shelves.
“No sales jobs out at Wallin Landing, I’m afraid,” John told him.
Reynolds’s face fell. “There must be some way for an enterprising fellow to make a living here.”
“Coal,” Weinclef advised, returning. “Most of the single men head for the fields at Newcastle beyond Lake Washington.” He thumped the bolt of fabric down on the counter.
John could see why Beth favored it. The wool looked warm and soft, and it was a delicate shade of bluish purple that reminded him of Dottie’s eyes. But then, lots of things reminded him of Dottie these days.
“Too far from civilization for me,” Reynolds told the clerk. “I like the ladies, if you know what I mean.”
Weinclef wrinkled his nose, and John felt a similar distaste. The way Reynolds said the word ladies smacked of property. But maybe John was still frustrated about Harry’s attitude. He had no reason to think Reynolds was less than the gentleman he appeared.
“Besides,” Reynolds said, leaning on the counter, “I prefer not to dirty my hands in manual labor.”
Perhaps too much the gentleman? “A shame,” John said, pulling the money for his purchases from his pocket. “There’s plenty of work to be done for a man willing to farm or log. I wish you good fortune, Mr. Reynolds.” John picked up the pail and bundled the fabric under one arm.