The 12 Brides Of Summer (Novella Collection Book 4)

by Vickie McDonough

  “Why would that be different than the farmhand that hasn’t shown up?”

  “No barn. Where do you think you’d be sleeping?”

  “There, that’s the reason to get Alma to get Katie to accept my help. If she hires someone else, no telling what might happen to her.”

  Katie’s trembling hand held the screen door closed as if it could protect her from the tobacco chewing, slovenly, smelly man on her porch. “When did my father hire you?”

  “Don’t much matter to you, missy. He’s the one I need to see.” The man spat a wad of tobacco on the porch.

  Katie tried to summon her voice to tell him to leave. She couldn’t let this man know Papa was dead. But if Papa hired him, how would she fire him? Please, God, don’t let Henry come up from the creek. He’d for sure spill the news.

  Taking a breath, she called on God to give her courage she knew she didn’t have. “What’s your name?”

  “W.D. Where’s your papa, missy?” His gaze traveled from her feet back to her face. “You’re a right pretty gal, when you look at a man.”

  Her legs quivered and her stomach roiled.

  CHAPTER 4

  Still full from dinner or rather Alma’s gooseberry pie, Pete rode down the lane to the Tuckers’ place. He’d come with Alma’s blessing and the note she’d written to Katie.

  His thoughts wandered to what a future would look like with her if he had something to offer. Lost in a world that seemed more of a fairy tale, he didn’t notice the man on the front porch until Katie’s voice broke through.

  “I said you must leave.”

  A man Pete hadn’t seen before stood close to the door, close enough that he could’ve been kissing Katie through the screen.

  He kicked Biscuit in the side, moving him on a little faster, not enough to alarm Katie but quick enough to help if needed.

  “You’re late, and Father said he wouldn’t take you, seein’ as you didn’t even let him know you weren’t coming on time.”

  Her voice shook. Was she mad or scared?

  “I don’t think your pa is even here. Why don’t you let me inside to wait for him?”

  “You, there. What’s your business here?” Pete halted Biscuit at the bottom porch step. “Miss Tucker? Are you all right?”

  “I was telling W.D. that Papa didn’t want him here.”

  Was she okay? Had she slipped into some kind of place where people don’t remember things that happened in the past? He dismounted, looped Biscuit’s reins around the spindle, and climbed the stairs. He saw Katie through the screen, her hands tight on the door handle. Her eyes were wide, beautiful, and pleading. He stood taller, much taller, than she.

  “Sir, I’m sorry you’ve come so far out of your way. Mr. Tucker hired me on last week. He couldn’t wait any longer. You understand how that could be.” He pointed to the barn. “With the fire, he needed help.”

  “Looks like you haven’t started.” The man backed away from the door.

  “The lumber hasn’t arrived. Why don’t you head back to town and ask around? Might find work at the mine.”

  “I ain’t working underground.” He shuffled closer to the steps. “Guess I ain’t wanted here. I’ll wait in town a few days.” He left the porch and mounted his horse. “You send word when that lumber comes as Mr. Tucker might need an extra hand.”

  “Papa won’t be needing help.” Katie said.

  She’d found her voice. Pete almost smiled. Her hands dropped from the handle. That small sign of trust brought a feeling he couldn’t name, but he knew he liked it.

  The man tipped his hat. “Like I said, I’ll be around.” He rode off at a slow pace.

  Pete moved toward the steps. He should go after him, make sure he understood not to come back.

  He noticed the wet lump of tobacco on the porch and almost called the man back to clean it, but he smelled like he’d been soaking in beer. No. He’d take care of the porch. No need to give the stranger time to figure out there was no Mr. Tucker.

  Katie wasn’t sure what to do about Pete standing on the porch. He’d saved her, but if she invited him inside, she’d have to talk to him, because Oma was napping. She forced a smile, pushed open the door, and stared at his boots. “Thank you. I didn’t know how to make him leave.”

  “It was smart of you not to tell him your father passed.”

  She risked a look to see if he meant it. Their eyes met. Heat rushed through her, like she’d never felt before. What did that mean? She felt safe and warm, very warm.

  “He made a mess of your porch.” He slipped a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow. “I’ll clean it.”

  “I’ll do it. You’ve done enough saving me from that man. If you hadn’t come—” She laced her fingers together and squeezed her palms. “Why are you here?”

  “Alma sent you a letter.” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. “Why don’t you sit on the swing and read it? I’m to wait for a reply.”

  She grasped the note. Her fingers froze against his; they were rough and calloused, a hard working man’s hand, Oma would say. The kind you want in a husband. She swallowed. “Can I get you lemonade?”

  “No. Go, sit. I’ll take care of this mess.”

  She puzzled at his kindness but accepted his offer. “There’s a bucket by the pump.”

  “Back by the porch. I remember.”

  Of course he’d know that. He’d been here that night. She composed herself. “That’s right. I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done for us.” She spun quickly so he wouldn’t see her nose turning red as tears swelled. “I’ll have an answer when you’re done.”

  She heard him sigh, followed by his boots thumping against the porch. Only then did she risk watching him walk away. He had fine broad shoulders. His dark hair needed a trim, but she had to admit Pete Dent was the first man she’d ever wanted to look at.

  Settled in the swing, the motion soothed her confusion. A letter from Alma was unusual, but a delight to the eyes. At the top, Alma had sketched a cardinal. As Katie read the sentences, her feet, fueled by agitation, pushed the swing back harder. Did her friends truly think it was a good idea to loan her money to rebuild the barn? And what about Pete being here every day? Bumping into him at the noon meal, maybe even dinner? The swing struck the house, taking her by surprise.

  Water splashed across the wood. “Guess the way you’re sending that swing to the moon, you aren’t liking what the Gibbons are suggesting?”

  She slowed the swing and smoothed the paper on her lap. “The Tuckers don’t accept charity.”

  “I believe it’s a loan.”

  “What if I can’t pay them back?”

  “Your crops are in. After the harvest you’ll have what you need.”

  Would she? Maybe, but there was the matter of the other loan. A bee flew up from the roses and buzzed by Katie. Screaming, she shot out of the swing and crashed into Pete.

  He caught her and held her tight. “Don’t move. It’s when you move they sting.”

  Katie held her breath, her worst fear and deepest shame bound in one little body. How she’d begged Papa to have hives, only to turn her back on the idea when a sting brought welts on her arm.

  “It’s gone.” His arms dropped to his sides.

  She stepped back. The sudden release from the sweet security of his arms felt worse than the sting would’ve. Crossing her arms over her chest, she made a decision. “Tell the Gibbons I’ll accept their kind offer.”

  “I’ll also inform them about the stranger. I think they’ll agree I need to stay here, because once he gets into town, he’ll find out about your father’s death.”

  “It has to be this way. If not, how will I protect you?” Pete held his hat and rubbed the brim with his thumb.

  “No. Absolutely not. You can’t stay here, not in the house. Oma won’t allow that, nor would I.” Katie spat the words at him. “Besides, I can shoot. I’m not in danger.”

  The screen door squeaked
. “What’s this commotion? Are you all right, Katie? Where’s Henry?” Oma’s questions shot as fast as a rapid-repeating rifle.

  “We had a man asking about work. He said Papa hired him.”

  “If your father hired him, why would you send him away? We need help.”

  “He spat on your porch, ma’am, and was talking rough to Katie. I didn’t care for him.”

  Oma squinted toward the field. “Where’s Henry?”

  “Down at the creek, catching dinner.” Katie moved closer to her grandmother and patted her shoulder. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll come back, wet and muddy, carrying a fish or two.”

  “Can’t lose another person. I won’t survive it.” Her grandmother’s face faded like a summer blossom in early fall.

  “That won’t happen. Mrs. Tucker, I’m coming to stay. I was telling Katie that because the barn is destroyed, I’ll have to sleep in the house.”

  Her head jerked up. “No. I’ll not have Katie’s reputation soiled.”

  Pete’s jaw tightened. Once again cast as a man without a stellar reputation, one he’d never deserved. Traveling city to city looking for his brother and a place to settle hadn’t done anything for how he was viewed by others.

  “What would you suggest?”

  “Get that barn done so you have a place to lay your head. Until then, you’ll ride back to the Gibbons’. Katie, take me inside. I feel another headache itching to make me miserable.”

  Katie took her grandmother’s arm. “Mr. Dent, thank you for helping me. I’ll put Papa’s rifle by the door. I won’t be unprepared next time. And please, thank Alma. We’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sure Henry will be excited to have you around.”

  Before Katie reached the door, Pete had it open. “Do you need help getting her settled?”

  She gave him a sad smile. “We’ll be fine. We’re three-cord strong around here. Just like the Bible says, it’s harder to break when there are three bound together.”

  A lump formed in his throat. He wanted too much to be one of the strands. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Pete rode back to the Gibbons’ to pack a kit, because he was staying over, no matter what Katie and her grandmother thought. He’d seen men, worked with some, like the one on Katie’s porch. They weren’t to be trusted. Protecting her from a bee was a small thing, from the stranger, much bigger, but the bee had sent her into his arms. He pushed his hat back.

  “Biscuit, the woman was more afraid of that little honeybee than the man. It doesn’t make sense.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Still trying to cool off from the weather and Mr. Dent’s assertion that she’d let him stay in her house, Katie downed a glass of lemonade. She poured another for her grandmother, who had settled in the porch rocker.

  “That was a lot of excitement this morning.” She handed her the cold glass. “Do you think we made the right decision? What if that man comes back?”

  “Then we’ll scare him off.” The rocker slowed. “You aren’t afraid, are you? If so, we can let Mr. Dent sleep in the room next to mine. Henry can fetch him whenever he gets back.”

  “No. I’m fine.” She still shook, but having Mr. Dent in the house caused more alarm than the stranger returning. “I’m going to look over Papa’s ledger. Are you all right?”

  Oma drank the last of her drink and handed Katie the empty glass. “I’m all right. I believe I’ll rest here.” She settled into the chair and closed her eyes.

  Katie gave Oma a long look. Had Papa’s death been too much for her? Not knowing what else to do, she stepped inside Papa’s office.

  She began going through the pages of numbers and what they were assigned to. Nothing seemed out of place. Grain, the mercantile, even fabric purchased for aprons was listed. Flipping the page, she ran her finger down the side, more of the same, except—

  Twelve dollars each for ten Italian queen bees. Heartsick, she knew what the loan had been for. She’d begged Papa to let her start a colony of bees, thinking they could sell the honey and wax for a nice profit. A few days later, she’d been stung on her face. The welt was so huge and painful that Oma had slapped mud from the garden on her face. She shuddered, remembering its slimy feel.

  Had the bees come and Papa started the hives? She wasn’t going searching for them, even if she did feel bad about the money spent.

  That night Katie lay awake. The full moon brightened her room with its kiss of light. What if the bees were still here, making honey? How did one get it from the hives without being stung? Giving up on sleep, she slid from bed and paced the floor. Her bare feet against the waxed wood barely made a sound. The house, built by her grandfather, was exceptional. He’d put a lot of time into making sure the yellow pine floors didn’t squeak. And the woodwork had taken several winters. Downstairs he’d carved roses into the newels, and ivy vines up the stair balusters and on the sides of the banister. Even the bedrooms, usually plain, were created with care; the rosettes in the doorframes were all made by her grandfather.

  What else had Papa bought? How could he have put them in danger of losing their home, their heritage that was to go to Henry someday? And to her. Papa had said she could live here forever if she never married.

  Had he known then, when she was fifteen, that no one would want a timid wife? One subject to tears when her nerves frayed? Papa called her his delicate rose.

  She hated it. She wasn’t delicate, and she wasn’t fancy like a rose. No, she was more like those fuzzy bees that frightened people.

  When Henry married, would she still have this room? Or would a new wife want her to move to the attic? Maybe even out of the house?

  She sat on the bed, her hand tracing the quilted line in her coverlet, while she looked through the open window at the rows of corn swaying with the touch of a slight breeze. The stalks weren’t quite knee high but it looked like they would be by the Fourth of July.

  There had to be something she could do to make sure they kept their home. She had to figure out how much money they’d need and how to get it. Her heart seized. What if it meant working in town? She fell back on the bed. “Father, please help us. I can’t go near bees. I’m too scared. And I can’t work in town.” Her whispered plea floated through the window.

  Pete adjusted his head on the bedroll. He’d rode in late and expected to be greeted at the door with a gun barrel pointed at his belly, but no one noticed his horse or him. Not even a light flickered. That was good, because he wasn’t going back to the Gibbons. Alma had argued with him, saying Katie was right, that he couldn’t stay there. Roy had stood there nodding his head in agreement. He’d gone to his room, but the more he thought about the stranger, the more determined he became. Something strong pushed him to his feet. He’d found himself riding Biscuit with a bedroll tied to the back.

  He’d sleep on the porch every night until he knew the stranger had moved on.

  “. . .work in town.” Soft words floated through the night air. Katie’s voice. Who was she talking to? He sat up and considered walking into the yard to see if there were shadows or light. She hadn’t sounded scared but would be if she looked out the window and saw him. No, better stay where he was. It wasn’t any of his business.

  He’d almost fallen asleep when he heard a sneeze, followed by two more. He perched on his elbows and looked around. He was sure it came from Katie’s room but if it hadn’t. . .that was enough for him to pull his boots on, grab his shotgun, and take a walk. The moonlight made seeing easy. Nothing seemed out of place. Relieved, he headed back to the front of the house.

  Someone stood by the door.

  And it wasn’t one of the Tuckers.

  “Miss Tucker!”

  A pounding on the door sent Katie flying from her bed. She met Henry and Oma in the hallway.

  “What time is it?” Henry rubbed his eyes.

  “Late. Stay here. I’m getting Papa’s gun—”

  “You there!”

  Katie jumped at a voice different from the first. There were two of
them. Her heart palpitated against her chest so hard she was sure there would be bruises. What could she do against two men?

  Thump. Bump. Crash. The sounds and grunts went on forever, yet she stood rooted to the landing. The men were fighting.

  Henry whipped around her and charged down the stairs.

  “Stop! Don’t go out there!”

  “I have to. I’m the man of the house.”

  Oma held out her wrapper. “Take this and go after him. That boy don’t have any sense. Get your papa’s gun. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

  Katie nodded, yanking the wrapper around her, and ran after Henry. God, this isn’t right. Why did you take Papa from us?

  She found Henry on the front porch. The fight had ended. No need for the gun. The moonlight lit their rescuer’s face. Pete held on to the man who had come earlier.

  She chewed her bottom lip, trying to understand what she was seeing. She pulled Henry close. “Mr. Dent, what are you doing?”

  “Protecting you.”

  “You lied. Said your pa didn’t need me. That ain’t true. He’s dead.” The man’s lip was bleeding. He wavered on his feet and slumped to the floor.

  Pete jerked him up. “You aren’t staying. You’re drunk. Get on your horse and ride out.”

  “Don’t got one. Lost him in a poker game. Just want the job that was promised to me. And I mean to get it.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Katie shivered. What did he mean by “he’d get the job?” She’d already told him no.

  “You won’t work here or anywhere in this town, the way you’re acting.” Pete held on to the man’s arm. “Henry, get the wagon. We’re taking him in to the sheriff.”

  “No, please. Not there. I won’t come back, at least not like this.”

  “Not like anything. Miss Tucker said you aren’t needed, so there isn’t a reason to return.”

  Katie stiffened. She should be the one giving the orders, or at least Henry. “Mr. Dent, what if you let him sober up and get clean? If he can do that and come back acting civilized, perhaps we can have him help?”