Lisa Plumley - [Crabtree 01]

by The Matchmaker

  “It would!” Grace urged, her eyes shining. “Taking an interest in current events is the duty of every forward-thinking woman, you know.”

  “Then I’ll read it first thing after I finish breakfast.” Molly placed the newspaper beside her plate. Warmed by her family’s concern, she took another bite of bread.

  “Read it now!” her sisters shouted.

  “Grace! Sarah!” Fiona admonished. “Control yourselves.”

  More and more intrigued, Molly examined all of them. “What is going on?” she asked. “Why are you all behaving so peculiarly?”

  “Read the newspaper!” Fiona and Adam shouted.

  “Mama! Papa!”

  They flushed like guilty children. Her mama twisted her hands in her lap, her gaze fixed on the Pioneer Press. “It’s only that we believe we’ve spotted something…special for you in the newspaper today.”

  “Next to the last page,” her papa instructed gruffly.

  Bemused, Molly reached for it. The newsprint rattled as she turned pages, examining the vertical columns crowded with all manner of news, advertisements and fancy typefaces. At last, she found the portion her papa had indicated.

  Suspiciously she gazed into their impatient faces. “The personal advertisements?”

  Nods were seen all around. “Yes!” Sarah said.

  With a dawning sensation of nervousness, Molly smoothed out the newspaper. A part of her did not want to read this, whatever it was, at all. A part of her most desperately did.

  “Is there some kind of problem with the advertisements sent to the matchmaker?” she inquired, still skimming. “I knew those would only stir up trouble. Some people in this family might not agree, but—oh, my.”

  Molly stopped. The newsprint shook in her grasp. Forcing herself to draw in a steadying breath, she located the item she’d just passed over.

  Personal: Would the beautiful lady—whose affections I held so close until recently—please meet this sorrowful gentleman at the steps of M.C.’s bakery? I was grievously wrong, and must make amends. I will wear a forget-me-not, today and on every other day until I see you again. Please come.

  With a gasp, Molly read it again. It had to be Marcus! Who else could possibly want to meet her at “the steps of M.C.’s bakery,” her bakery?

  Stunned, she touched her fingers to the type.

  A forget-me-not. So appropriate. She had not, for an instant, begun to forget him.

  This sorrowful gentleman. Molly sighed.

  He was sorry.

  So was she. But she’d never have expected Marcus to come forward like this, to be the first to make amends. Grace had had the right of it—men were proud, and Marcus among the proudest of them all. But this…well, it was a start. A new start, for them both.

  This time, she could not be too stubborn to seize it. For once in her life, Molly vowed, she would believe the best of the people around her, and of herself. Why hadn’t she done so before? This would be perfect!

  Glancing upward, she could not prevent a silly smile from coming to her lips. Bedazzled, she gazed at the advertisement again.

  “It is from Marcus,” she said, hearing the excitement in her own voice as she tossed down the newspaper. “He wants to meet me.”

  His bed was spinning.

  Marcus awoke to that disturbing realization, along with a pounding on his front door. Groggily he raised his head.

  Immediately he lowered it again, putting a careful hand to his throbbing forehead. Even his hair seemed to complain at the movement. Damnation. What had possessed him to drink so much last night? It was not as though he might find Molly at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

  The pounding continued. Suddenly reminded of the time Molly had visited him here for his first lesson, awakening him in much the same way, Marcus found the stamina to rise. He discovered himself wearing the same clothes from last night, down to his boots. His mouth tasted as though he’d swished afore bed with his hair pomade.

  Ugh. He made his way downstairs, hoping against hope that when he’d navigated to the front door, Molly would be there as she used to be—a basket over her arm, a smile for him on her face, a loving look in her eyes. He missed her.

  Holding his breath, he opened his door. The burst of sunlight streaming through it sent him staggering backward. Squinting, Marcus leaned against the doorjamb for support.

  Clearly he was a mess without Molly.

  Just as clearly, she was not now standing on his threshold. Molly did not possess britches, bristly hair or an unshaven beard. Moreover, there was only one of the woman he loved—and there were two of the invaders on his steps.

  Unless he was seeing double. He blinked. No such luck.

  “It’s gotten worse,” Jack Murphy said, shouldering his way inside. He hurled a newspaper at Marcus’s chest.

  “Dangerously worse,” Daniel McCabe growled. Likewise, he entered the house, shoving a newspaper toward Marcus.

  Mystified, Marcus held the identical issues of the Pioneer Press against his chest. He yawned. He watched as both men trudged around the room, looking aggravated.

  “What are you going to do about that?” McCabe asked, his nod indicating the newspapers. “’Cause you’ve gotta do something.”

  Murphy nodded. “It’s true. If you knuckle under to that blasted advertisement, the matchmaker will think she can ride roughshod over all of us.”

  They both stared at him expectantly. Marcus blinked once more, trying to clear his head. The last thing he remembered was coming home last night, then staring distractedly at his ledgers while thoughts of Molly ran through his mind. Rummaging through his pantry, while a fierce cinnamon-bun craving took hold of him. Falling into bed with a whiskey bottle for company, just in case he woke up thirsty, and…wait a minute.

  He recalled seeing Grace and Sarah Crabtree in the saloon’s upstairs window. More than anyone else, Marcus understood that two Crabtree women—especially two Crabtree women in cahoots with each other—boded no good. With dawning suspicion, he grabbed one of the newspapers. The other he threw onto a nearby chair.

  He paced, reading, turning newsprint pages. It wasn’t long before Marcus spotted it: the matchmaker’s advertisement he should have expected but had not.

  Personal: Would M.C., the wondrous gentleman—whose heartfelt aid I so unfortunately spurned—please meet this sorrowful lady at the steps of M.C.’s bakery? I was grievously wrong, and must make amends. I will wear a forget-me-not, today and on every other day until I see you again. Please come.

  Slowly Marcus traced his fingers over the advertisement’s expert typeface. Mixed emotions jumbled together inside him, coming so quickly he could not keep up.

  “He’s smiling!” Murphy observed, plainly disgruntled.

  “Aww, hell,” McCabe complained. “We’re too damned late.”

  It was Molly, Marcus realized, feeling his grin broaden. Molly had done this. Not her sisters. Molly had struck upon a way to reach out to him, by placing a notice through the matchmaker. Who else could want to meet him at “the steps of M.C.’s bakery,” Molly’s bakery?

  Stunned, he read the advertisement again.

  A forget-me-not. A perfect flower, he acknowledged. Marcus didn’t know much of fripperies, wasn’t versed in the language of flowers, but he did know one thing. He had not, for an instant, begun to forget Molly.

  This sorrowful lady. Marcus sighed.

  She was sorry.

  So was he. But he’d never have expected Molly to come forward like this, to be the first to make amends. He’d had the right of it last night. Grace was not the only stubborn Crabtree woman. Molly was perhaps the most bullheaded of them all. But this…well, it was a start. A new start, for them both.

  This time, he could not stumble over what he meant to tell her. This time, he would make himself understood.

  “Copeland? Copeland!” Murphy waved a hand in front of Marcus’s face. Disgustedly he let it fall. “He’s a goner.”

  McCabe agreed. “We’re on
our own.”

  “It is from Molly Crabtree,” Marcus told them, hearing the excitement in his own voice as he hurled the newspaper back to Jack. “She wants to meet me.”

  Both men scoffed. “Lord help us.”

  “Look. He’s considering it. Why, why, why?”

  McCabe looked fit to tear into the Pioneer Press with his teeth. Stepping nearer to him, Marcus looked the blacksmith up and down. Then, he broadened his perusal to Murphy.

  “Damn right, I’m considering it. I’m doing more than that. I’m going. But first, there’s something I’ve got to know.”

  Suspiciously they glared at him. Marcus took their combined grunts for agreement.

  “Exactly what,” he asked with a grin, “were the two of you doing reading the matchmaker’s personal advertisements in the first place?”

  They remained silent. Marcus, feeling immensely better, slapped them both jovially on the back. “Time to head out, you two. I’ve got myself an appointment to keep.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The sun had just barely cleared the rooftops of the buildings in the heart of Morrow Creek when Marcus made his way to Molly’s bakeshop. Freshly shaved, washed and dressed, he strode down the street in the same shirt and britches he’d been wearing during his first baking lesson with her. Truth be told, plain clothes like these took less time to jump into than a highfalutin suit did.

  With every step Marcus took, his heart lightened. Soon he would see Molly. He pictured her on the steps of her shop, wearing one of her brightly colored dresses and a smile made just for him. He would take her in his arms, and everything would be right between them again.

  He rounded the corner of the millinery shop, then passed the book and news depot. Molly’s bakery came into view, outfitted with its fancy siding and gingerbread trim. His heartbeat quickening, Marcus squinted toward the steps.

  No one waited there.

  For an instant, he faltered. Then, reasoning that Molly must have decided to wait inside, safe from the autumn chill in the air, he hastened onward. The picture in his head shifted, becoming a vision of the two of them amid her fancy wirework chairs and pastel-painted wainscoting. He’d pull Molly into his arms, and then—

  The front door was locked. All was quiet. Feeling the barest nudge of consternation, Marcus cupped his hands around his temples and peered through the window. Empty.

  Nonplussed, he scratched his head. Surely she should be there. The Pioneer Press printed its morning edition at dawn. By now, Molly must have known he’d have read her advertisement.

  Marcus waited. Nervousness and anticipation thrummed through him. He couldn’t help but pace across the front porch, his boots ringing out in the stillness. What if he’d misread the matchmaker’s advertisement somehow? What if he’d mistaken Molly’s plans?

  What if she did not intend to meet him at all?

  By the time a few minutes had passed, Marcus was as wound up as could be. He continued to pace, stopping now and then to straighten his clothes and finger-comb his hair. He wanted to look fine for Molly, wanted to please her in any way he could. If only she would—

  He turned around, and there she was, rounding the corner to the bakeshop dressed all in blue.

  At her first glimpse of Marcus, waiting there at her bakeshop’s threshold, Molly knew she had been without him for too long. She wanted to run to him, to throw her arms around him and whoop with gladness that he’d made this meeting possible between them…without the awkwardness that might have ensued, save his deft use of the matchmaker’s tactics. But, wanting to make a fine impression on the man she meant to spend her life with, Molly forced herself to walk calmly.

  She fixed her gaze on his face. A trembling smile came to her lips, pushed there by a mixture of happiness and nervousness she could hardly deny. Her heart felt truly in her throat. Inhaling deeply for courage, she ascended the two short steps to her bakery. There, she pulled the personal advertisement from her reticule, and held it toward Marcus with quivering fingers.

  “Does this mean,” she asked, “that you want to put things right between us?”

  Marcus accepted the scrap of newsprint. He frowned, seeming surprised at the message appearing there. Molly would have sworn—oddly enough—that she saw his lips move as he read “grievously wrong.” Next, Marcus paused. He shook his head as though to clear it, glanced up at her and continued on.

  All but wringing her hands with sudden apprehension, Molly watched him. Had she somehow misread the matchmaker’s advertisement? she wondered. Had she mistaken Marcus’s plans? Dismay rolled through her as another thought struck her.

  Had he not intended to meet with her at all?

  It was possible, Molly realized in a dither, that Marcus had merely chosen today to complete his repairs on her bakeshop. That he hadn’t missed her, hadn’t needed to be with her, hadn’t loved her the same way that she did him. And yet here he was, just as the advertisement had foretold, wearing a forget-me-not and—

  Molly glanced at his shirtfront. No telltale flower adorned the fabric. Crestfallen, she looked up at him.

  At the very same moment, Marcus lifted his gaze from her dress bodice. His expression, Molly saw, appeared very much as she imagined hers did—disappointed.

  “I—I’m very sorry. I’ve made a mistake.” Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she reached for the advertisement.

  Marcus held it away. “No. This does mean everything will be right between us again,” he said urgently. His dark-eyed gaze pulled her closer as he spoke. He reached out a hand for her, too. “It will…if we let it. Oh, Molly. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you, too!” Relief burbled inside her. Molly felt like laughing aloud with the happiness she’d held inside. “Oh, Marcus. These past days without you…I never want anything like them to happen again.”

  “I was wrong,” he said. “Wrong to meddle in your business, wrong to deceive you. Most of all, I was wrong to let you get away. Please, Molly. Say you’ll forgive me.”

  “Forgive you?” Joyful tears prickled her eyes. Molly sniffled. “Only if you can forgive me, for being so bullheaded, so stupidly stubborn. I learned so much from you, Marcus! My cinnamon buns aren’t like rocks anymore. My pies won’t work as doorstops, and my cookies are more suited for eating than for shingling a roof with. I owe it all to you.”

  He shook his head, disagreeing. “You did that on your own. You have a talent, Molly. And it’s a talent for more than simply baking. It’s a talent for bringing people to life. Before you, I was only half a man.”

  “A charming half,” she teased, letting him draw her into his arms. There, she felt warm and beloved and protected. As protected as she always would be, with Marcus, so long as she trusted enough to allow it. “A half that might combine with me, and make a brand-new whole.”

  Seriously Marcus gazed at her. He caressed her cheek with his fingertips, as though assuring himself she was really there, with him, at last. Molly understood. After the days they’d spent apart, she felt much the same.

  “Marry me, Molly,” he said, his gaze never swerving from hers. “Marry me, as we’d planned, and make us both whole like this forever. I love you more than I can say, more than I can even understand. But I know now that the need for you will never leave me.”

  “Oh, Marcus…” Blinking back her tears, Molly smiled at him. “Yes. Yes, I will!”

  “You might not think you need me,” he said, tilting her face upward to his, “but by God, I swear I need you. I thought I needed to do for you, too. But it turns out, all I need is for you to let me love you.”

  “That turns out fine.” How could she be smiling, even through the tears that had turned her whole world sparkly and wet? Never mind, Molly decided. She was, and that was that. “Because all I really need is to love you in return.”

  Finally smiling back, Marcus gazed at her for a long moment. Happiness stretched between them, a little hard-won, and all the more precious for it. Together, they had ch
anged just enough to make a perfect match, Molly realized. Between the two of them, there was nothing they could not do.

  “Molly,” Marcus breathed. “I love you.”

  “And I love you,” she said.

  He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss they shared next was more tender, more certain, more wonderful than any they had experienced so far. Molly felt her heart fill with joy. She spread her palms over Marcus’s shirtfront, sensing the steady beat of his heart. Fittingly enough, it seemed to match hers perfectly.

  When their kiss ended, Marcus grinned again. He pulled something from his pocket—a scrap of newsprint, Molly saw—and crumpled it in his fist. He made to toss it away.

  “Even without forget-me-nots,” he said, “we did right fine, I’d say.”

  “Forget-me-nots?” Puzzled, Molly stayed his hand. “You were supposed to be wearing a forget-me-not, but I—”

  “You were supposed to be wearing one, too.”

  Suddenly comprehension dawned. “May I see that?”

  Marcus complied. Rapidly Molly skimmed the personal advertisement he’d brought, torn from the pages of the Pioneer Press. She nodded, her suspicions confirmed. She recognized those signature matchmaker touches as well as anyone…perhaps even better.

  “Humph. We have been matched,” she announced.

  “You did not place that advertisement?” Obviously bemused, Marcus glanced around them, as though looking for the culprit.

  Molly did, as well. “I did not. But I think I know who did.”

  “Right you are, daughter!” came a voice from around the corner of the bakeshop. “Right you are.”

  Marcus was stunned. He’d never expected—

  “I must be getting slow in my old age, though,” Adam Crabtree said. “I nearly forgot to bring you these from Fiona’s greenhouse.”

  Wearing a proud smile, the Crabtree patriarch offered Marcus and Molly each a stem of pale blue flowers with brilliant yellow centers. Forget-me-nots, Marcus assumed. He reached for his, only to stop as Molly gasped.

  “Papa! You mustn’t be seen here like this!” Fumbling with her key, she finally opened the door to her shop and hustled them all inside. She flattened her hand over her heart. “And after all the care we’ve taken to guard your secret, too. Do you want the whole town to know what you’re up to?”