Libby Learns Her Lesson (Swift Justice Book 3)

by Dinah McLeod

  “Your pa wouldn’t mind?”

  “Oh, he says these are my trees.” She shrugged as though having a dozen apple trees, her own miniature orchard, was nothing impressive. “I can do with them as I like.”

  “Well… if you’re sure, I reckon she’d love some fresh fruit.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “That certainly is mighty kind of you. Why don’t you help me pick some?”

  Libby wrinkled her nose. Things like touching fruits and vegetables was something she usually left to her father. Especially when there might be spiders lurking in the branches.

  “Oh, come on,” he cajoled as though she’d spoken aloud. “It’ll be fun.”

  She didn’t see how, but somehow with him right beside her, she found herself willing to try. “Alright.” After she’d plucked a few from low-hanging branches, Libby discovered a problem. “We don’t have anything to put them in.”

  “Hmm.” Wesley gave her a thoughtful look. “My sister would just put them in her apron.”

  She uttered a little laugh. “Does it look like I’m wearing an apron?”

  “I guess not.”

  “I don’t even own one.”

  “What do you wear when you cook?”

  Now it was her turn to give him a sideways look. She let the question hang and turned her attention back to the apples.

  But Wesley was persistent. “You don’t cook? Ever?”

  “Why do you sound so surprised?” She was standing on tiptoe to reach an elusive piece of fruit.

  “My ma will probably put these in a pie. I reckon she could show you how, if you were of a mind to learn.”

  Libby almost asked him why she’d want to do that when it hit her: Wesley’s wife would have to know how to cook. Or to learn. She doubted he’d be able to afford a cook, and something told her that even if he could, he would want his wife cooking for him. He probably wouldn’t marry a woman who couldn’t.

  Not that she cared. There were plenty of men who would be more than willing to take her for their wife and hire a cook. Gladly. So what did it matter to her? And yet…

  It wasn’t like she was scared to cook. Not at all. Any simpleton could do it, surely. Which meant that it would be a cinch for someone like her. Sure. She’d waltz in and impress them all with her quick ability to learn. Besides which, apple pie was her favorite.

  “Alright.”

  Wesley turned to her with a grin that caught her off guard—and the way that her heart lurched at the sight of it even more so. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll pick you up first thing tomorrow morning. Now, would you like some help with that apple you’ve been trying to snag?”

  Libby looked up at the stubborn piece of fruit. “I can get it, if I just…”

  “Not without a little help,” he chuckled. Then he shocked her plain off her feet when he picked her up and lifted her as though she was nothing more than a sack of feathers. She was so surprised that it was a moment before she remembered to grab the apple. And then, even when he set her back on the ground, she could still feel her skin tingling where he had touched it. It made her blush and stammer until she gave up talking altogether—a first, for her.

  Even when he walked her back to the house and collected a sack for his apples, she still couldn’t quite look him in the eye. She went to sleep that night with the memory of his touch still being felt against her skin. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like when he touched her, really, truly touched her, without all the barriers of cloth and petticoats between them…

  Stop it, Libby, she scolded herself. That will never happen. She tried to shake her head to clear the thoughts, but still, they lingered.

  Chapter Two

  Wesley came bright and early just as he’d promised. In fact, she’d only just gotten dressed when she heard the sound of his buggy pulling up.

  When she came running into the parlor, both of her parents looked up at her expectantly. “He’s here!” she said by way of explanation.

  Libby’s mother puckered her lips in a clear show of distaste. “I don’t remember you saying that the Swift boy would come calling two days in a row.”

  “I didn’t. And actually, I’m going to his house. We’re going to bake a pie.”

  Her thin brows arched. “A pie?”

  “Oh, come on, Carol, it’s harmless for her to—”

  “I don’t know, I happen to think it’s a bit unseemly for her to be going to his house unchaperoned.”

  “His mother will be there, and his sister and brother, too.” She turned to her father and gave him her best pleading expression. She really wanted to have this resolved before Wesley came to the door and heard that she’d forgotten to ask her parents’ permission. She had a feeling he wouldn’t like it any.

  “I think it’ll be good for her to meet the boy’s family.”

  “Hmph.” It was uttered loudly and with contempt, but as close as she could expect her mother to come to agreeing.

  She had just stepped out onto the porch with her pa when Wesley approached. She beamed a smile at him, which he returned.

  “Howdy, Mr. Park.”

  “Good day, Wesley. I hear you’re taking my daughter to your family farm?”

  “If it’s alright with you, sir.”

  “Well… I reckon I don’t see the harm. You just have Libby home before supper.”

  “Yes, sir, I sure will.”

  And just like that, they were free to go. Libby gave her father a spontaneous hug before accepting the arm Wesley offered and allowing him to walk her down the porch. She didn’t feel anything except happy to see him until he’d tucked her safely inside the buggy and they were jostling along down the road to his farm. That was when the nerves began to set in.

  What if his family didn’t like her? After recalling how she’d snubbed them time and again over the years—and she’d been downright snide to his sister—she had the sudden urge to turn back.

  “Wesley… I’m not feeling so well, all of a sudden.”

  She could feel his eyes on her, searching, but she kept her head bowed and her face hidden.

  “Really? What ails you, darlin’?”

  Libby felt her cheeks suffuse with warmth at the tender way he asked after her. It managed to make her feel a tiny bit better, but not enough to alleviate her fears. “I… I didn’t eat much this morning and I’m feeling weak. I think I need to go back home and rest a spell. Send my apologies to your ma.”

  “Hmm,” was all he said, but he didn’t stop driving the buggy, nor did he turn for her home.

  “Wesley? Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you, Libby, including what you didn’t say.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”

  “It means that I ‘spect you’ve gone and gotten yourself spooked.”

  “I most certainly have not,” she declared, jutting her chin out. “I told you that I’m unwell, and that’s exactly what I mean.”

  Wesley chuckled and reached over to pat her hand. Under normal circumstances, she would have found it nice to be touched, but he’d just laughed at her! If there was one thing Libby Park was unaccustomed to, it was other people laughing at her expense.

  “What reason would I have to be spooked, anyway?”

  “I don’t know, darlin’, I just figured that you haven’t met many potential mothers-in-law.”

  Suddenly, her mouth went as dry as a Texas summer. He understood her better than she’d thought—she hadn’t been banking on that. “I don’t,” she admitted, her put-on pride from moments earlier seeping away. “I… what’s she like? Your mother?”

  “You’ll love my mother,” he told her with certainty. “Everyone does. They just can’t help it.”

  For a moment, Libby pondered over his words and wondered what it would be like to have a mother that people couldn’t help but love. It certainly would explain why Wesley was so sure of himself. Growing up assured of being loved made you confident, she supposed. She
’d only know because her upbringing with her cold, critical mother had been quite the opposite.

  “And… your sister?” she asked at last, swallowing hard.

  “Maggie? Why would seein’ her bother you any?” He sounded truly baffled, but when she didn’t answer, she heard his gruff laugh. “That’s right, I’d nearly forgotten you two don’t get on.”

  Oh, that was putting it mildly. But she wouldn’t think about Maggie, not when she had Mrs. Swift to worry about. His brother might make an appearance too, but he didn’t matter nearly as much. The mother was the one to impress if she wanted the son. And the more time she spent with him, the more, to her surprise, she found that being the case.

  She had never seen the Swift farm before and she couldn’t help but see it through her mother’s eyes. The house was small—certainly smaller than their own, even though it housed almost double the people. It was also in sore need of painting, and one of the shingles on the roof had come off. It had been set on the porch where it leaned against the house, clearly just another chore on the to-do list.

  The fields were nearly barren, from what she could tell, which made her wonder what Wesley spent so much time doing. Then again, he’d probably ask the same question of her, and now that she thought about it, she didn’t know what she’d tell him. She was sure that her usual schedule of wandering the town shops and being berated by her mother wouldn’t be of much interest in light of the hard work he undoubtedly put in every day.

  But the moment she stepped inside the house, all her judgements and preconceived notions fled. From the second she stepped over the threshold, she was embraced by the warmth of the house. How could a place be so inviting? She wasn’t sure—all she knew was that the homemade throw rugs and the smell of coffee welcomed her in as though she was a longtime friend. She took a moment to look around, noting the handmade lace doilies on the coffee table that held a kerosene lamp. There was a quilt over the back of the rocking chair that looked like it had seen much use. Yet, she found it charming and lived in. It was clear, though she’d been here mere moments, that this house was a place of friendly chatter and laughter, and for all the fancy, modern furniture and latest gadgets that her mother insisted on in her own house, it still did not compare to the Swift home.

  She’d not gotten to do as much looking around as she would have liked when she found herself in the strong embrace of another woman. She’d barely glimpsed the blond hair, shot with threads of silver, before she was being hugged.

  This could only be Mama Swift. “Hello,” she managed, feeling as though the older woman was going to strangle the life out of her. Perhaps Wesley had been mistaken—maybe Mrs. Swift knew a way to get rid of potential wives while still maintaining a friendly façade.

  But the jaded thought flew from her head as soon as she was released. Mrs. Swift was beaming at her with a smile so big and kind that Libby could not doubt that it was genuine. She’d never seen such a smile in her life and found it impossible to look at without smiling back.

  “My, how you’ve grown, Libby!”

  She blinked in surprise, having temporarily forgotten that though they didn’t find much cause for socializing, their families had grown up alongside one another. “Yes, ma’am, I expect I have.”

  “Come in, come in, make yourself right at home! I’ve just brewed us a pot of coffee. And Wesley tells me that I have you to thank for those gorgeous apples he brought home yesterday.”

  Libby flushed under the effusive welcome. It made her wish she’d planted and tended the trees herself. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That was mighty thoughtful of you. I must admit, I love a good apple. I might have eaten one or two already. But don’t go tellin’ the boys now.” She gave Libby a wink as though they were co-conspirators. “They’ll be worried there isn’t enough left over for pie, and I can promise you, we have plenty.”

  “Well, if you ever find yourself needing any more, just send word through Wesley and we’ll see that you get as many as you like.” She found the words flowing easily from her lips, as though she made this sort of offer all the time, as though she was accustomed to the act of generosity.

  “That’s mighty kind of you, dear! Thank you. You’ve sure brought a sweet one home, Wesley,” she said, addressing her son for the first time.

  Wesley didn’t reply, only beamed at Libby, who flushed and looked away, feeling both embarrassed and pleased.

  “Maggie and Trent are in town,” Mrs. Swift continued, “which just leaves you and me to bake the pie.”

  “Oh.” Libby’s smile faltered for the first time since walking in the door. “Ah, well…”

  “Don’t you worry, I’ve done it so often I could do it in my sleep. It was Wesley’s pa’s favorite. But you should come watch and learn, just in case you need the recipe one day yourself.” She winked, then turned and left for the kitchen without watching to see what reaction her words would cause.

  Perhaps she should have felt indignant at the presumption. Her mother would have bristled at the mere implication that her daughter would one day be nothing more than a farmer’s wife. But Libby felt a profound sense of trust that Mrs. Swift would believe she could be capable of looking after her son and carrying on the family traditions. It was with that trust that she set her shoulders back, determined to meet the challenge, and followed the older woman into the kitchen.

  In her house, they had a woman who came in and did the cleaning and cooking. And on her days off, they either had took supper in town or her father fried ham and scrambled eggs. Her mother had a loathsome disdain for all things homemaking and had raised her daughter to feel the same. And while Libby couldn’t boil water, and had never thought to mind before, when she was in the presence of such a seasoned cook, she felt sorely lacking. But Mrs. Swift didn’t give her one second to think on it. She kept up a steady stream of friendly chatter while she worked, giving Libby gentle instruction without making it seem as though she were teaching her at all. Once they got the pie in the oven, much to her surprise, they began another. This time, Mrs. Swift had her help and was incredibly patient with Libby’s fumbling efforts. By the time they were through, she was sweating from the heat in the kitchen and her hands were covered in flour and bits of dough clung to her borrowed apron, but she felt deeply satisfied.

  Much to her surprise, she saw by the position of the sun in the sky that hours must have passed since they’d begun. It hadn’t felt nearly so long.

  “That’s a fine day’s work,” Mrs. Swift beamed at her. “You catch on quick, child.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “I don’t hold with that.” She clucked her tongue. “When someone gives you a compliment, accept it.”

  She flushed slightly, pleased. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. You’re the one who put the work in. We better get washed up. I don’t know about you, but I’m a bit of a mess, myself.”

  Libby laughed as she looked at her own apron. She was sure the looking glass would break at the sight of her!

  Yet, when she left the kitchen and saw that Wesley was lounging on the couch, his eyes lit at the sight of her. She’d never felt more beautiful—or more loved. It was something she could sure get used to.

  “Libby and I are going to freshen up,” his mother informed him. “I reckon that Trent and Maggie will be comin’ back any minute and we’ll sit down and have ourselves some pie.”

  Oh. Somehow, she hadn’t thought about his siblings coming back. She’d been so happy to have his mother’s attention all to herself that she hadn’t thought of having to share it. Suddenly, even after all the work they’d put in, she wasn’t hungry anymore.

  “Actually… I better get going. My mother will be expecting me back.”

  “So soon?” This was from Wesley, who sounded a tad disappointed.

  She smiled to soften it. “I’m afraid so. But I’ve truly enjoyed myself, Mrs. Swift,” she added to the older woman.

  “You’re welcom
e anytime, dear. I do hope you’ll come back soon.”

  It was funny—it wasn’t until she’d washed her hands, fixed her hair, and said her goodbyes that she realized how different it sounded when Mrs. Swift called her ‘dear’ than when her own mother did it. Nor did it escape her notice how much more of a home their ‘small farm’ (her mother’s words rang in her head) was than her own comfortable house in town.

  “You really have to go?” Wesley asked before he lifted her into the buggy.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, perhaps enjoying the regret in his brown eyes a little too much.

  “My mother likes you.”

  “Does she? Do you really think so?”

  He grinned as he gave her a decisive nod. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

  “You’re lucky. Not everyone is as kind as your mother.”

  “Don’t you worry none,” he said as he climbed in beside her. “You’ve charmed my mother—I’ll charm yours.”

  She did her best to smile even as she cast her eyes away before he could see the doubt in her face. Wesley would give it his best shot, of that she had no doubt, nor did she doubt what the outcome would be, even despite his best efforts.

  * * *

  Libby had lain awake all night reliving the wonderful time she’d had at the Swift house. His mother had been so warm and welcoming, so kind and caring… what must it have been like to grow up being loved like that? Maybe she would be a different person had she received the same kind of unconditional love. She was so insecure, truth be told, but she hid it behind a mask of hostility that scared most everyone away. She’d shown Wesley the same face, and yet, he’d chosen to stick around. She couldn’t help but be thankful that he had.

  When it was finally time to get up, she thought of what she had to do today. As an only child of a merchant, she had no chores. She had nothing to occupy her time, as she hadn’t taken to shopping with the same passion as her mother. Before she’d even climbed out of bed she’d made a decision. She would go to see Wesley and Mrs. Swift again. The thought filled her with a shot of warmth and happiness.