Boone hoped the Lillingston boy was well—hoped the creek water in his lungs hadn’t damaged him permanently. He was just glad he’d been riding out to check on a line of fence he’d repaired the day before, heard the hollering, and been able to assist in getting the boy out of the water. He didn’t want to imagine the pain the Lillingstons would’ve been enduring had their son been lost over the falls. Not that he couldn’t imagine the pain; in truth, he could. He just didn’t want to.
As Boone stepped up on the boardwalk, Clarence Farley passed him, nodded, and said, “Evening, Boone.”
“Evening,” Boone managed in response. He frowned, wondering why folks were still milling around outside at such an hour. Yet it was a warm summer night, so no doubt more folks than usual felt like socializing.
Boone lifted his right arm a bit to stretch out his sore shoulder. Grabbing hold of the Lillingston boy and swimming to shore had aggravated it a bit. He was well aware of the stitches Doc Havasham had put in the laceration on his back the day before as well. No doubt the goings-on down at the creek and pond had irritated the stitches at his back a bit too. But he figured they’d hang on as long as they needed to. Truth was, Boone was annoyed that he’d even had to have Doc sew up the wound in the first place. But try has he might, he’d known as soon as the ax had fallen off the barn wall and cut him that there was no way he could reach around to sew the laceration up himself the way he usually did when he was cut. So he’d gone to Doc Havasham and had him do it.
Boone shook his head—unable to remember another time in his entire life that he’d been to see a doctor two days in a row. Of course, this time it wasn’t for any care for himself—just to inquire after the Lillingston boy.
He heard voices as he approached the doc’s house—saw that the side door leading to the doc’s workplace stood open, allowing the orange glow of an evening lamplight to cast shadows on the boardwalk. Feeling less like being social than he had even a moment before, Boone stepped off the boardwalk and around to sit on a bench that had been placed just alongside one wall of the house.
Taking a seat in order to wait until Doc Havasham was finished with his current patient, Boone realized that the calm of the night allowed him to hear the conversation passing between Doc Havasham and the man he was speaking to. As he listened to what was being said, Boone figured it wasn’t his fault he could hear them. What was he supposed to do, shove a finger in each ear to keep from eavesdropping? Yet even as he silently scolded himself for listening so intently to the conversation between the two men, Boone’s ears perked up when he realized that the man Doc was talking with was Doolin Adams.
Doolin Adams was most likely the best man in Mourning Dove Creek—and also the oldest. He was a man to be admired—hard-working, honest, and kind. Yet he didn’t put up with any guff—none—especially when it came to his granddaughter, Jilly. In fact, in that moment, Boone wondered why in the world a man like Doolin was allowing his granddaughter to keep company with the likes of Jack Taylor. Jack was good-looking enough to have all the female hearts in Mourning Dove Creek fluttering like hummingbird wings, but he was a real tomcat, and Boone thought that maybe Doolin’s near eighty-year-old mind might not be as sharp as it once was when it came to looking out for his granddaughter.
And then Boone wondered for a moment if he owned some sort of mysterious powers of the mind—for the very next words out of Doolin Adams’s mouth were, “I don’t know, Joe. That damn Taylor boy seems to have his hooks dug deep into my Jilly. If I make it long enough, I know I can wrangle her away from him, help her see what he’s really made of. But now that you’re tellin’ me my lungs and heart are so much worse…what if I head onto the roundup in heaven before she’s settled with a good man?”
“If you want my advice as not only a doctor but also a father…don’t wait on it, Doolin,” Doc Havasham counseled. “Jack Taylor has his eye on Jilly…today. But he’ll move on soon enough. My Dina learned that the hard way, so don’t let your Jilly fall victim to his ways. If I were you, I’d see she was settled in with a good man before…well, before you go.” Doc Havasham paused and then added, “If it helps at all, I happen to know that Clarence Farley is sweeter than sugar on Jilly. Why not see if you can drive her toward Clarence and away from Jack? Clarence…he’s a good young man.”
“Nope,” Doolin sighed, however. “He’s got some…some habits Jilly finds…well, downright unacceptable. Nope, if I had my druthers and was able to choose for Jilly myself, it would be…well…it wouldn’t be Jack Taylor, that’s for sure.”
“Well, I don’t mean to be bringin’ your spirits down, Doolin,” Doc Havasham began. “But you best see to gettin’ things in order…especially where Effie and Jilly are concerned. All right?”
“I hear ya,” Doolin sighed. “Well, you have a good evenin’, Joe. Say hello to Verna for me.”
“I will, Doolin. Same to Effie,” Doc Havasham called as Doolin Adams stepped out onto the boardwalk and headed home.
Boone watched the old man walk away into the warm dark of a summer’s night. The elderly man had quite a quick step for his age. Yet the conversation Boone overheard between Doolin and Doc Havasham left Boone wiser than he had been a few moments before. Doolin Adams was wearing out. Furthermore, Boone understood Doolin’s concern about his granddaughter and her choice of beau.
Still, it wasn’t any of his nevermind. So he stood from his place on the bench and hurried to Doc Havasham’s still-open door.
“Hey there, Doc,” Boone greeted. He could tell that Doc Havasham had been watching Doolin Adams saunter away into the night as well, and his expression of concern and defeat told him that Doolin didn’t have many more sauntering days left.
“Oh, hey there, Boone,” the doctor greeted, forcing a welcoming smile.
“Sorry to bother you so late, Doc,” Boone began, “but I wanted to see if you’d had a chance to look over the Lillingston boy today…assumin’ you heard what happened to him and all.”
Doc Havasham nodded. “I did indeed, Boone,” he answered. “And I thank you for encouragin’ Abe and Elly to bring him in. We do need to be watchin’ over him, bein’ that old pond water got into him the way it did.”
“But you think he’ll be fine and all?” Boone asked, still concerned.
Doc nodded again. “I do. He seems right as rain to me. Thanks to you.”
Boone shook his head. “No. I just happened to be there,” Boone mumbled.
“The way you always do, hmmm?” Doc asked, grinning with understanding. He frowned a moment then, asking, “And how’s that nasty gash on your shoulder doin’ today?”
Boone shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose. I haven’t thought much of it.”
But as Doc Havasham drew in a discouraged breath when he leaned around and looked at the back of Boone’s shirt, Boone figured he was in for more stitching.
“Yep. From the dried blood back here, I figure you tore some of those stitches helpin’ that boy out today,” Doc said. “You best come in and let me wash that thing out and put a couple more stitches in you.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine, Doc,” Boone kindly argued. “I don’t want to be any more bother than I have been already.”
“Come on in, Boone,” Doc ordered, however. “Let’s just make sure you don’t have an infection brewin’, all right?”
Reluctantly Boone stepped into the doc’s office. He just wanted to get on home. He’d only come to check up on the Lillingston boy, and now he was preparing to get restitched—not to mention the fact that his mind was lingering on poor Doolin Adams and his quandary over his granddaughter.
Boone thought of Jack Taylor and frowned. Somebody ought to take that flirting tomcat down, knock some sense into him where women were concerned—especially the Adams girl. The fact was, Jilly Adams owned a special place in Boone’s heart—and not just because they had both been orphaned along life’s path. Jilly Adams had done Boone a great service many years before, when she was just a girl. He doubted she
even remembered what she’d done, but it didn’t matter—because Boone did remember. And because he remembered, he’d always felt a bit more protective of Jilly Adams than was most likely normal. He found that now that he knew Doolin Adams’s days were numbered, that sense of wanting to protect Jilly Adams was multiplying faster than the creek had swept the Lillingston boy away earlier in the day.
But what could he do? How could he help protect Doolin’s girl when she was so kitten-eyed over the likes of Jack Taylor?
Boone flinched just a little as Doc Havasham began to add more stitches to the ones he’d put in Boone’s back the day before.
“Well, it won’t be a pretty scar, Boone, that’s for sure,” Doc said. “You sure tore this mess up savin’ that Lillingston boy today.”
Boone just shrugged. What was a little discomfort and another scar when compared with a boy’s life? Anyway, his mind was onto other concerns. And as an idea began to form in his brain, Boone wondered if, instead of having mysterious powers of the mind the way he’d thought when he’d come upon Doc and Doolin talking the way he had, maybe he wasn’t just plum going insane.
*
Jilly was happy—happier than she’d been in days. For one thing, she’d just seen Dina Havasham over at the general store, and Dina had assured Jilly that her father was certain Georgie Lillingston was right as rain. Knowing that Georgie wouldn’t suffer any residual harm from his near drowning, coupled with the fact that Jack Taylor had just kissed her good-bye out by the Farleys’ old barn before they’d parted ways, had Jilly feeling untroubled and near giddy.
As she approached the front porch of her home, however, Jilly paused—felt her smile fade and her brows wrinkle with curiosity.
Her grandpa was standing just inside the open front door, shaking hands with none other than Boone Ramsey, who stood just outside the front door. Jilly was still too far away to hear what her grandpa and Mr. Ramsey were saying to one another, but from the expressions on both their faces, it seemed their subject was not a mirthful one.
She watched as her grandpa said something, patting Boone on one shoulder with seeming encouragement. Boone nodded, and Jilly’s grandpa closed the door. Boone Ramsey inhaled a deep breath before turning to leave, exhaling it soundly as he strode down the front porch steps.
Of course, being that Boone was now straight in her path, Jilly knew there would be no avoiding him. Therefore, she just started walking toward him and the front porch beyond.
But when Boone Ramsey looked up and caught sight of her, not only did Jilly’s breath catch in her throat, but her feet quit moving as well—for in many ways, Boone Ramsey was simply a terrifying presence.
By far the handsomest man in town—tall, broad-shouldered, with thick brown hair that hung near to his shoulders and a week’s worth of beard stubble serving to accent his perfectly straight nose and high, prominent cheekbones—it was the light-green color of Boone Ramsey’s eyes seeming to bore a hole right through her that unsettled her most.
“Afternoon, Miss Adams,” Boone said, nodding a bit and touching the brim of his hat as he stared at her.
“Afternoon, Mr. Ramsey,” Jilly managed to respond as the intimidation the man unwittingly poured over her began to cause her insides to tremble.
“You have a good evenin’,” he said as he continued to look at her—as his stride drew him nearer and nearer.
“You too,” she gulped as he brushed past her then. She could’ve sworn her grandma’s bright red geraniums were wilting with intimidation as well. But once Boone Ramsey was beyond her and at her back, Jilly found her feet and breath again and hurried up the front porch steps and into the house.
“Oh, that man scares the life out of me for some reason!” she exclaimed, closing the door behind her. “I don’t remember him bein’ so frightening before he left school.”
“Who?” her grandma asked from her place in the parlor.
Striding into the parlor, Jilly answered, “Boone Ramsey.” Shaking her head, she looked to her grandpa as he took a seat in his chair opposite her grandma’s rocker. “And whatever was he doin’ over here anyway, Grandpa? Have you got business with him that I don’t know about or somethin’?”
Jilly was again unsettled when her grandpa didn’t smile and say something amusing. Rather, he frowned and answered, “As a matter of fact, yes, Jilly…I do.”
Jilly gulped as she noticed the moisture gathering in her grandmother’s eyes. Moreover, her grandpa looked overly fatigued and suddenly so much older than he’d seemed that morning.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as trepidation began to grow inside her.
“I’ve always found it’s best just to say things plain and simple, Jilly,” Doolin began. “And that’s what I plan on doin’ here. Fact is, Boone Ramsey come by today to ask my permission to marry you, Jilly…and I gave it to him.”
“What?” Jilly gasped. “What? You’re…you’re just foolin’ with me, Grandpa. I know you are. I don’t know Boone Ramsey from a hole in the ground! And…and anyway, I’m in love with Jack! I plan on marryin’ Jack Taylor! So how can you possibly be sittin’ here tellin’ me that you gave Boone Ramsey permission to marry me?”
“It’s best, dear,” Effie said. “Boone is a good man, the best of men…especially in this town. He’s got a successful farm and ranch, already has a house built. He’ll take care of you, Jilly honey. And your grandpa and me…we can rest well knowin’ you’ll be well cared for and protected when we’re gone.”
“Grandpa!” Jilly cried as tears began to stream over her cheeks. “You can’t mean this! You know I love Jack Taylor! You know that Boone Ramsey scares the life out of me! How could you tell him that—”
“Jack Taylor is a scoundrel, Jilly,” her grandpa interrupted firmly. “He’ll toy with you like a kitten does a ball of yarn and then turn around and find another girl’s heart to break. Your grandma and me, we ain’t gettin’ any younger, honey. We have to think ahead. And I’ll tell you straight right here and now…that if I could choose any man I’ve ever known to be your husband, it would be Boone Ramsey. God is watchin’ over you, Jilly, because Boone come to me today, just after I spent the night prayin’ about what to do where you’re concerned. Boone just walked up the front porch and into the parlor and asked me for your hand, and I gave it to him…without one worry in my soul or heart, Jilly.”
“I can’t marry a stranger, Grandpa!” Jilly sobbed, however. “I can’t!”
“Boone ain’t no stranger to you, Jilly, and you know it,” Doolin argued. “You’ve known that man since you came to Mourning Dove Creek to be with us, honey. He’s not a stranger to you.”
“He scares me, Grandpa,” Jilly whispered through her tears.
Doolin nodded. “I know. I know. And I suspect there’s a reason for that…which you’ll come to discover over time.”
But Jilly shook her head. “I won’t do it, Grandpa. I won’t. I won’t marry that awful, broodin’, unhappy man. I’m gonna marry Jack Taylor. I am.”
Doolin Adams inhaled a deep breath—and it pained his lungs. He had to remain calm and let Jilly spill out her frustrations and fears. But in the end, he knew just how obedient she was—knew that she trusted him and Effie with her life and would do whatever they counseled her to do. It might take her awhile. She might cry and fuss and even hate him for a time. But in the end, she would do what he asked; he knew she would. And so he inhaled again—remained as calm as he could while he listened to her rant on and on about how wonderful Jack Taylor was and how much he loved her.
Jack Taylor was a fool, however, and Doolin knew it. He also agreed with what Boone Ramsey had only just told him minutes before—that Jack Taylor was nothing but a dirty old tomcat and ought to be beaten within an inch of his life for messing around with the hearts of the girls in Mourning Dove Creek.
So Doolin allowed Jilly her ranting—her pleading and her promises that she would never marry Boone Ramsey.
And then, when at last she paused a moment to w
ipe her tears, Doolin inhaled another painful breath and said, “I’ll give you one chance, Jilly. Well…I guess the truth is I’ll give Jack Taylor one chance. You go over to the Taylors’ place right now, and you tell Jack what I’ve done…that I’ve agreed to let Boone Ramsey marry you. You tell Jack that, and tell him that if he wants to come over and talk me out of it…then I’ll reconsider.”
“Do you mean it, Grandpa?” Jilly asked, the fear and desperation in her eyes heartbreaking to Doolin for a moment.
“I do mean it,” Doolin answered.
“Doolin!” Effie began to argue. “You already promised Boone.”
But Doolin nodded and said, “I know. I know.” He looked up to Jilly then. “You go tell Jack Taylor what’s happened today, Jilly, and though I know what he’s gonna say already…I think you need to hear it for yourself.”
“But if I’m right,” Jilly began, “if I’m right, Grandpa…you’ll let me marry Jack and never mention Boone Ramsey’s name to me again.”
Doolin nodded. “Agreed. Agreed. Now you run on over to the Taylor place, Jilly. And when Jack Taylor proves to be the disappointment of a young lifetime, you come back home, and I’ll tell you why I gave Boone my permission to have you.”
“Boone Ramsey won’t have me, Grandpa,” Jilly cried with defiance. “Jack Taylor will. You wait and see.”
“Go on now,” Doolin said, gesturing toward the door. “You go on and see if I ain’t right about Jack Taylor.”
Jilly was certain she was having a nightmare! How could she possibly be awake when the circumstances were so horrid? So frightening and painful?
She thought of one last thing then. Looking to her grandma, she asked, “Do you agree with him, Grandma? Do you think Grandpa choosin’ a husband for me—choosin’ Boone Ramsey, of all men—do you think he’s done right? Because if you don’t, I know he’ll listen to you in all this. Do you think I should be made to marry Boone Ramsey?”
A Bargained-For Bride Page 3