“Thank you,” she said as she took the cup and sat down.
Jack guided Gus into the chair beside her with a well-practiced maneuver. The care he exhibited toward his grandfather warmed her more than the cup of coffee or the stove.
He leaned back against the counter and ran his hand down his left thigh. When he noticed her watching him, he hastily folded his arms across his chest but didn’t look away. His gaze remained on her. So, did his grandfather’s.
Both men ignored the elephant in the room. An awkward moment passed. A perplexing one too. She found her gaze flitting more to Jack than her fabrics and dresses behind him.
“Mr. Peregrine…” She drifted off, unsure what she wanted to say.
“Yes?” Both men said at once.
Jack laughed a deep alluring rumble. “It might be simpler if you use our given names.”
Gus shook his head vigorously. “You can call him whatever you want, but I won’t be happy unless you call me Grandpa. Yer part of the family now.”
Family. She couldn’t lie to herself anymore. That enticement—as much as the need to elude the Braverys—had brought her to Noelle and the Peregrines. But she was a long way from being part of this family. Vows had yet to be said or even mentioned.
Jack’s frown returned when she remained silent.
“You are very kind. Jack. Grandpa.” She nodded to each man in turn.
Gus grin grew a mile wide as he winked at his grandson.
Seeing him so happy delighted her as well. “I hope you’ll call me Birdie,” she added.
“That’s a pretty name.” Jack said quickly as if trying to avoid another silence in their conversation. “Is it short for something?”
The familiar question shouldn’t have made her heart race, but it did. She summoned an equally familiar reply along with the silent mantra: answer, avoid, ask another question. “It is, but I’ve been called Birdie for so I long it’s the only name I recognize. Did the canvas bags holding my belongings rupture?”
Jack stiffened. “No, but it’s still my fault. I—”
“He slept in,” Gus interrupted, “and I took action.”
“How can you find anything with your office in this…condition?”
Jack released a weary sigh. “I can’t.”
“Je suis désolée.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
“The matchmaker, Mrs. Walters, wrote that you were French.” Jack cocked his head and studied her curiously. “But I only hear the hint of an accent. Are you—?”
“I’m apologizing,” she said quickly. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about where she’d learned to speak her native language. “My arrival has caused you an inconvenience.”
He shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s only temporary.”
His choice of words pricked her nerves. Was she also temporary? The Peregrines had been exceedingly courteous to her so far. Was Jack searching for a kind way to say he no longer wished to marry her? But the town still needed married men and the state of the Peregrines’ office told her they needed her as well.
“When my grandson learned from yer letters that you were bringing the tools of yer trade, he built that for you.” Gus gestured to a wooden shelf with many cubbyholes—all empty.
Her heart skipped a beat. “You built something for me?”
Jack frowned at his creation. “I should’ve known to make it bigger, and I haven’t had time to add any drawers. It can be improved.”
Eager to take a closer look, she left her chair and strode to the gap in the counter. And abruptly halted. They’d progressed to first names and less stilted conversations, but she was still a stranger here.
She turned to Jack who now stood gazing down at her with both a hungry and mystified look.
“May I enter your office?” she inquired.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You may go wherever you please. This is your home now.”
Home. Could it really be within her grasp after all this time?
Her mouth went dry, so she murmured a quick thank you, set her cup on the counter and went to the shelf. Beneath her palms the wood had been sanded to an exquisite smoothness by Jack’s strong but careful touch. “It’s magnificent.” She slid her arms into the cubbyholes, measuring. “My fabric bolts will fit perfectly. This is tailor-made. How did you know the dimensions?”
“I wrote to Mrs. Walters for advice.”
Gus puffed out his chest. “Jack’s creations are always useful ’n unique. He gets that from me.”
“You’ve both been blessed with a great talent. Is this”—she swallowed hard—“a wedding gift?”
“It’s a Christmas present.” Gus pointed to the wall opposite her shelf. “Jack made this tool rack for me ’n keeps adding to it every year. He got tired of my tools being scattered everywhere ’n now I can do my leather tooling while I watch the postal counter.”
The talk of gift making and giving had her scanning her inventory strewn about the office. Somewhere in the chaos were the scarves she’d made for Jack and one other. When he’d written that he had a family business, she’d decided to plan ahead and create a second matching gift for a potential relative. Since she hadn’t known anyone’s measurements, she’d chosen to make scarves. But she’d also chosen her softest, warmest, and most treasured red flannel.
When she glanced at Jack, she found him frowning at his office again.
“Where are your carpentry tools?” she asked, wishing to distract him.
“I have a separate room in the back.”
She glanced in the direction he’d indicated. “Do you work there every day?”
“I try to, but lately my time has been needed elsewhere.”
“A lot of folks left Noelle,” Gus said. “They needed our help transporting their belongings. My younger grandson, Max, saw a business opportunity ’n opened a Peregrines’ Post and Freight in Denver.”
“We have plenty of work here.” Jack pressed his lips tight and stared at the ceiling.
“We’re still a family business,” Gus said firmly. “A little distance won’t change that. Max needed to spread his wings. He hasn’t left us.”
Jack’s gaze went everywhere but toward his grandfather and her.
The thought of leaving these two men suddenly made her heart hurt. Whatever happened tomorrow, she would embrace today. “What is a freight office’s usual routine?”
“People give us their orders and I compile a list for Woody Burnside to take to Denver. He uses my mules to bring back the goods.”
“How often do you make the supply run?”
“Me? Never.”
Jack’s vehement tone made her eyes widen.
“I pay Woody to do all the work associated with the mules. He’s the best man for the job.”
“You oughta forgive them beasts,” Gus muttered.
“I don’t understand. Why do you say—?”
“Despite my profession, I’m not fond of mules. Haven’t been since the war. I do my part though by checking incoming items for inconsistencies or damages, reordering if necessary, and recording everything. Above all”—Jack’s voice, which had grown lighter with recounting what he did do, suddenly turned strained again—“I strive to place every item in the hands of its owner as soon as possible.”
Gus snorted. “He’s a stickler for details ’n organization.”
“Customers appreciate those qualities.”
“You never stop working.”
“It’s how I keep our family together.”
The Peregrines’ rapid-fire exchange made head spin and her stomach drop. “My arrival has interrupted your schedule and your lives.”
Both men’s gazes shot to her and their expressions turned guilty.
“Yer arrival takes precedence,” Gus stated. “My grandson will escort you to Nacho’s Diner for a meal while I handle the office.”
“Nacho’s isn’t open this early, and you’ve been up all night handling things,” Jack muttered a
nd then said just as firmly as his grandfather, “Now it’s my turn. Miss Bell, will you—”
“We agreed to call each other by first names.” Her words came out before she had time to consider them. Suddenly she didn’t care. She may be an interruption but she refused to be handled. She crossed her arms and braced for a fight.
Jack’s expression remained stubborn. “Yes, we did. You also agreed to something else. Birdie, may I walk you to your accommodations and call on you when we’ve all had a chance to get settled and”—he waved his hand in the air as if searching for the right word to persuade her—“rested?”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Do I look tired?”
He scrubbed his fingers across his brow. “I just thought that with the early hour and—”
“Perhaps you should take a closer look.”
Finally, he did. She expected him to scan her entire frame but his gaze stayed on her face.
“You look hale and hearty.” His shoulders relaxed as if relieved by his discovery. He nodded and added. “And determined.”
She cleared her throat uneasily. “And how do you feel about that trait?”
“I admire it greatly.”
His compliment made her cheeks burn. “So why don’t I stay and help get your routine and your office back to normal?” She leaned closer to him and whispered, “While your grandfather rests.”
A breathtaking smile curled his lips. Even better, he reached out his hand. “Shall I hang up your coat so we can get to work?”
She held her breath, hoping for another compliment as she removed her coat and gave it to him. He took it without a word and placed it on a peg by the door.
She smoothed her palms down the dress she’d specially made for this moment, for impressing her groom with her handiwork. Her sapphire silk dress was covered in tiny silver birds. The closest thing she could find to a peregrine.
She waited for him to notice.
“That’s an interesting contraption ’round yer waist,” Gus said. “What is it?”
“My sewing chatelaine.” Her hand went to her mother’s scissors first, then the sketchpad and pencil—each secured by a woven ribbon triple-stitched to a brocade sash. When she reached her sewing case, she unrolled the foot-long band of velvet and showed him the contents. “Pins, needles, thread, a thimble. I carry the essentials for a quick mend.”
“Yer a gem,” Gus proclaimed as he slapped his knee. “You’ve made yer own tool belt.”
She couldn’t help but smile. In the absence of Jack’s praise, his grandfather’s was most welcome. “I never wish to meet the world unprepared.”
“We should all be so wise.” Gus left his seat by the stove and went to his own tools hanging on the wall opposite her shelf.
Jack followed and maneuvered Gus onto stool behind the post office end of the counter. When he observed her watching him, he crossed to her side and once again bent to whisper close to her ear. “Don’t worry about making noise. Once he drifts off he’s hard to wake. Shall we make the most of our time together?”
CHAPTER 6
Many hours later, around midday, Gus was sleeping with his head and arms on the postal counter, and she and Jack had filled every inch of the shelves he’d made for her. The fabric that hadn’t fit had been arranged atop the nearest stacks of freight, neatly and by color. She’d found the Christmas gifts she’d made for Jack and now Gus, but a sudden surge of anxiety made her hide them in a corner of the bottom shelf.
Jack hadn’t mentioned the dress she wore. What if he didn’t like it? What if he didn’t like the gift she’d made for him as well? The joy of giving shouldn’t be this nerve-wracking. She’d do well to wait a while and see what came next before offering her gifts.
Jack’s silence concerned her, but luckily not as much as it first had.
She’d enjoyed her time working beside him and the fact that whenever she glanced at him, she found his gaze on her more often than not. Suddenly that felt better than words.
She watched him string a line of cord from the ceiling and hang her partially made dresses on it. They formed a colorful but orderly backdrop. When he adjusted the line, so she could reach it, her heart melted and then she laughed.
“Oh, Jack. What’s happened to your hair?”
He frowned and glanced up. “How bad is it?”
“It’s gotten even wilder since I arrived.” She reached up but stopped short of touching him. “I could help here as well.”
He leaned down until her fingertips brushed his hair.
Her fingers eagerly slid into his hair and didn’t stop their combing. “You’ve been very neglectful in keeping this lovely mane in order.”
He cocked one brow and a faint smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Lovely?”
“That’s what I said.”
He leaned closer until his breath heated her cheek. “Shall I tell you what I think is lovely?”
“A tidy office,” she teased. Her voice sounded breathless to her ears.
“You—standing so close to me.”
The screech of the front door opening jolted them apart. A gust of frigid air rolled in along with a peacock of a man dressed in a striped suit. Maybelle Anderson, the bride who’d tried to make herself the center of attention yesterday during the women’s arrival, strutted by his side. On the journey up the mountain and last night in La Maison, she’d bragged about everything in her life, including the fact that she was marrying the best man in town—a forward-thinking scholar, a king of words, a newspaperman named Horatio P. Smythe.
“I knew this day would come.” The man pressed his palm to his chest just below his silk cravat and struck a pose like a dime novel hero braced to fight a great calamity.
The certainty that Birdie now faced the newspaperman raised her hackles. Men like him had helped lure her brothers to their doom. A reporter looking for a story had promised fame if they captured and detained the legendary fugitive tracker, Jellon Jerome. The deed had only led to her brothers’ surefire arrest by the man’s up-and-coming protégé, Lachlan Bravery.
“You have finally been derelict in your duties,” Mr. Smythe proclaimed.
“We’re no longer in the army.” Gus sat upright behind the counter. He arched one brow mockingly. “Oh, wait, you never were, Horatio. Now there’s a dereliction of duty.”
“Why don’t you sit by the stove, Mr. Smythe,” Jack said in a stilted but still civil tone, “while I find—”
“My duty has always been to stand above the masses as a shining star of virtue.” Horatio thrust out his chest. “That, of course, is something that a senile old coot and a less than whole man shall never understand.”
Jack surged toward Horatio with a growl that mirrored her outrage.
She caught his arm. “I’m certain,” she said in a soothing tone, “that the most honorable men in the room are the owners of the establishment.”
Everyone gaped at her, including Jack. She followed his gaze straight to her hand on his arm. Beneath her palm and a layer of warm flannel, his muscles bunched and grew even harder. When she released him, he flinched.
Horatio’s waxed mustache did little to conceal his condescending smile. “The top men know how to take charge. Give orders and such to their underlings.”
“This is a family business,” Jack replied as he rummaged around the stacks nearest the postal counter. “I remind you of that every time you visit. We’re all equals here.”
“Hardly. Your brother always deferred to you.” Horatio gestured to her shelf. “And now I see you’ve installed a woman in his place.”
Birdie sealed her lips against inquiring what he meant. It would only give the windbag more fuel for criticism.
Maybelle’s strutting steps approached her side of the office. When the woman leaned over the counter separating them, her strong perfume made Birdie sway in the opposite direction—as far from the woman as she possibly could without appearing rude.
“How can you stand it?” Maybelle asked i
n a voice dripping with pity. “This room is so austere but also crammed full. Like being smothered in a prison.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong.” The chief cause of her suffocation was Maybelle’s heavy-handed application of fragrance. She kept her gaze fixed on Jack. “If you looked closely, you’d see—”
Jack muttered a curse and swung to face Gus. “Have you seen yesterday’s shipment?”
“What odd windows.” Maybelle’s unwelcome words came closer to her ear. “Their height restricts the view.”
Birdie couldn’t argue that point but she could ignore Maybelle in favor of focusing on the events unfolding across the room.
“I thought the wagon driver brought it in yesterday with…” A puzzled frown furrowed Gus’ brow. “With Miss Bell’s items.”
“He did.” Jack turned in a circle. “Any ideas about where the shipment could be today?”
“This situation is unbearable,” Horatio proclaimed.
Maybelle seized Birdie’s wrist and released a dramatic shudder. “These windows must be unbearable for someone of your reduced stature.”
“You’re wrong again, Maybelle. It didn’t take me long to feel comfortable here. Then your groom arrived and—”
“This is a travesty,” Horatio’s booming declaration cut her off.
“It’s a delay,” Jack shot back. “They happen but not very often in Peregrines’ Post.”
“It should never happen to me. I am an important man. I need to pick up my last shipment before I can—” Horatio’s words halted as abruptly as Maybelle’s posturing. The pair stared at each other for an uncomfortably long moment.
“What’s yer rush?” Gus demanded.
“Never mind,” Horatio said. “Just find my box.”
Gus folded his arms. “Not until you remember that you agreed, same as my grandson, to get hitched and be one of the twelve couples presented to the railroad inspector by January sixth. That’s the deal.”
Birdie barely suppressed her gasp. She hadn’t been informed of a deadline. Did Mrs. Walters know?
Gus glared at Horatio. “You promised you’d save Noelle.”
“I have saved this town a thousand times with my reporting. Tomorrow’s paper should recommend that you be court-martialed for this blunder. If my box is lost—”
The Calling Birds_The Fourth Day Page 4