He shook his head. “Don’t know what I’ll do with so many.”
“Wear them, I guess. Although the woman you marry may not care for you to be donning the ones the other ladies made.”
Luke quirked a brow. Rachel wanted nothing more than to tuck tail and run back home, but she forced herself to stand still. “Could we go inside? Or would you prefer staying out here?”
Luke stepped back and allowed her to enter in front of him. Rachel hesitated then walked into the jail with him following. She set her basket on the table, pulled out her supplies, and motioned for Luke to turn around.
“Hold out your right arm.” Luke did as told, and she held the measuring tape against his shoulder, stretching it out to his wrist. The heat of his body burned her fingertips, and she longed to caress his arm. She forced her hand away and wrote down the length, then determined the width of his shoulders and the span from his collar to his hips. She ducked under his arm and stood in front of him. How many times in the past had she been this close to him? Had the right to touch his face or to hug him without giving it a second thought? Now her hand quivered, and she tried to finish her task without touching him again. She swallowed hard and dared to look up. Luke’s brown eyes watched her, almost with—dare she hope?—longing.
“I ... uh ... need your help for this last measurement.”
He nodded, and she handed him one end of the measurer. “Hold that against you chest, please.”
She slipped behind him, wrapped the length around his chest, and pulled it tight, stopping again in front of him. Her breath caught in her throat. Luke smelled of leather and fresh soap and a scent all his own. If she didn’t finish this task soon, she might swoon at his feet.
How bittersweet. If things had been different, she might well be preparing to sew a shirt for Luke herself, as his wife. Through stinging eyes, she noted the number and tugged on the tape, but when it didn’t fall free, she looked up. Her gaze collided with Luke’s.
He stared at her with an intensity she hadn’t seen in years. His breath tickled her forehead.
“Rachel...”
For a fraction of a second, she thought he might kiss her. His gaze roved her face like a starving man eyeing a Sunday potluck picnic. Suddenly, he blinked, his expression hardened, and he stepped back.
Rachel caught her measuring tape as it fell free and snatched up her notes. “Um ... thank you. I’m sure the brides will find this most helpful.”
She spun around and hurried out the door.
“Rach—”
The jangling of a wagon passing on the road drowned out whatever Luke had said. Rachel’s heart plummeted so low she thought certain she would trip on it. Those brides had no idea how much this little deed had cost her.
***
Carly handed the mayor her entry. The tan shirt with dark brown stitching hadn’t been her first choice, but the blue one was gone from the drawer.
“Why, that’s lovely stitchery, Miss Blackstone. I wouldn’t be surprised if the marshal picks your shirt as the winner.”
She straightened tall at the mayor’s compliment, pretending his words pleasured her, but in truth, they meant little. She hadn’t done the sewing, had instead stolen the shirt that had belonged to James Hamilton from Rachel’s bottom dresser drawer—and filching from the kind woman had left a bad taste in her mouth. But she’d never be able to sew a shirt as nice as the ones Rachel Hamilton had made.
If only Mrs. Hamilton hadn’t been so nice to her, then she wouldn’t be feeling this regret. But a person did what she had to do. She needed Luke to pick her. Since her plan to find the payroll information hadn’t worked, she needed some way to survive, and marryin’ seemed better than stealing from decent folk. Besides, the marshal was a comely man, and being his wife wouldn’t be so bad.
She stepped outside the jail and surveyed the table that had once again been set up for the contest. Four new signs indicated where the entries would be laid. She curled her lip and surveyed the growing crowd. Would there be a fourth entry today? Who could be the mystery bride?
Carly walked to the railing and stared down Main Street. She hadn’t expected as large a group this Saturday since there was no food to be judged, but there looked to be about the same number of folks. Most likely, everyone was just curious as to who the marshal would pick for his bride.
A shuffling sounded behind her, and she spun around. Her hand reached for her gun, but she lowered it, remembering she was unarmed—that she was dressed as a lady and not an outlaw. She blinked and stared at the table. Somehow while her back was turned, somebody had placed a blue shirt on the table behind the Anonymous Bride sign.
Carly stepped closer to inspect her competition. She bent down and looked more closely at the anonymous entry. It looked just like the cornflower blue one Rachel Hamilton had shown her that day she’d asked her for help. But it couldn’t be. Mrs. Hamilton hadn’t even attended the first competition. Carly spun around and studied the crowd. She wasn’t here today, either. Pivoting, Carly looked at the blue shirt again. That one had to be Rachel’s. It had been missing when she’d sneaked in to steal it.
She thought about the times she’d seen Mrs. Hamilton and the marshal together, talking or arguing—watching each other. Now all those covert looks Rachel had sent the marshal’s way made sense. She was in love with him, and he had no idea that was the case.
That meant Rachel Hamilton was the anonymous bride—and she was out to win this contest.
CHAPTER 25
Jack’s heart still pounded as she thought about how she’d walked right behind Miss Blackstone and dropped her ma’s shirt on the table. She’d spun into the marshal’s office, past the mayor and his wife, and slipped into the cell where Max was hiding under the cot. Her heart pounded like a Comanche’s war drum, and she sat on her hands to keep them from shaking.
Why was she so nervous? She hadn’t done anything wrong, unless it was taking one of her pa’s old shirts that nobody ever used. Just because her ma didn’t want to enter the contest didn’t mean Jack couldn’t enter for her.
Max crept out of his hiding place and sat up, dropping his head on her leg. She scratched him behind the ear, enjoying how he lifted his head and looked as if he were smiling. She was half surprised the dog wasn’t with Luke. He must be out on rounds, because she hadn’t seen him since dropping off Max’s food this morning. Either that or he was hiding from the brides. That thought brought a grin to her face.
Miss Bennett and Miss O’Neil both came in and handed their entries to the mayor, but she couldn’t see them from so far away.
“Are you going to allow that mystery bride to enter again?” Miss Bennett lifted her chin. “It’s highly irregular.”
“I don’t guess it matters since she hasn’t submitted an entry.” Mayor Burke scratched his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. He glanced at his watch. “And the time limit to do so just expired.”
“Saints preserve us.” Miss O’Neil held her handbag below her chin as if she were praying.
“What’s the matter?” asked Mrs. Burke.
“There’s already an entry on the table.”
The mayor and his wife exchanged a look and hurried outside, followed by the two brides. Jack jumped up and ran to the door.
“Oh, my, that’s very fine work.” Mrs. Burke fingered the collar of the medium blue shirt then slid her hand down the buttons, admiring it.
Jack’s hopes shot upward like a firecracker.
Mayor Burke cleared his voice. “Did anyone notice who submitted this entry?”
Jack moved past him so she could see, but relief washed through her when the townsfolk stared back with blank looks.
“Surely, you ain’t gonna allow that fourth shirt in the contest? Ain’t it supposed to be between us three?” Miss Blackstone wagged her finger between her and the other brides.
“We allowed it last time, so I don’t see how we can exclude it now.” Mayor Burke handed the shirts the brides had made to his wife.
“Please distribute those, and we’ll commence this competition.”
His wife accepted the entries and laid each one behind a numbered bride sign. “How can we start without the marshal?”
“He’s probably hidin’ out somewhere so’s he don’t hafta get hitched to one of them brides.” The comment from a bearded man standing in the street brought hoots of laughter from the crowd.
Jack smiled, but her eyes were drawn to the second shirt. She slipped around the mayor’s wife to get a closer look and nearly gasped out loud. On the table lay a tan shirt with brown stitching—the very shirt her ma had made for her pa. She glared at the brides.
One of them was a thief and a cheat.
***
Luke rode back into town after spending several hours in prayer down at the river. For the past few days, he’d thought about the brides, stewing over them and praying about which one to marry, but so far, God wasn’t answering.
Even before he reached Lookout, he encountered dozens of buggies, wagons, and saddled horses lining the outskirts of town. Some folks had set up tents and made campfire circles, probably planning on overnighting and attending church tomorrow.
He wove his way through the mess, half dreading the shirt contest. No matter what, several of the brides would end up disappointed. He shook his head and rode into town.
People lined the streets like a cattle drive, in spite of the warm day. The sky had still been dark when he’d first ridden out this morning, but now the sun glimmered bright above the horizon with the promise of a perfect day—a complete contrast to the nervousness sending his belly in a tizzy and causing pain between his eyes.
He rubbed his fingertips in small circles on his forehead. Last week’s measuring session had nearly driven him loco, with Rachel moving around him, leaving her scent, touching him like a wisp of wind. Was it possible that he still had feelings for her?
He reined Alamo to a stop. What was he going to do?
If only he hadn’t given his word to marry.
His prayers seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, even though he knew that wasn’t true. He’d pleaded with God to show him which bride to choose, yet here he rode back toward town, with no leading one way or the other and thoughts of Rachel filling his mind. All he knew to do was to pray more and wait until God revealed His will to him.
If only the mayor wasn’t pressing him for a decision. And that newspaper lady. He halfway wondered if she wasn’t the anonymous bride. Maybe she added the mystery entry just to beef up interest in the contest and to help sell her papers. Maybe there wouldn’t be a fourth entry today.
“Hey, there’s the marshal,” a man from the crowd hollered.
All eyes turned toward Luke, and for the briefest of moments, the town was silent except for a baby’s wail. Suddenly, the crowd erupted in cheers. Alamo jerked up his head at the roar and pranced beneath Luke. There was no getting out of this contest, so he’d best just get it over with.
He looped Alamo’s reins around the hitching post outside the livery where three other horses had been tied and made his way toward his office.
“Who ya gonna pick?”
“I like that Irish gal. Don’t choose her.”
“You getting married today?”
The questions fired from all sides. Luke shook his head and pushed his way toward the mayor.
Jack stood behind the man and raced forward when she saw him. “Luke, I gotta tell you somethin’.”
Mayor Burke shoved his way in front of her. “Not now, kid. We’ve got to get this judging started.”
“But—” Jack reached for Luke as the mayor pushed her back.
Luke scowled, not liking how the mayor was treating the girl, but the man was right. Whatever she wanted to say could wait.
The boardinghouse brides huddled together at the far end of the table, each one looking as if she’d worn her Sunday best. Even Miss Blackstone’s hair had been pulled up and pinned on top of her head. Just then, the woman scowled and reached up to scratch her head with her index finger. Luke smiled. For some reason, she didn’t seem comfortable all gussied up.
Miss Bennett batted her lashes at Luke and smiled at him with her head cocked sideways. Miss O’Neil looked everywhere but at him. He bet if he were to pick her she’d faint dead away.
Garrett walked out of Luke’s office with Mark on his heels. “’Bout time you got here.”
“Yeah,” Mark said, “we were just about to round up a posse to go hunt you down.”
“Well, I’m here.”
The mayor nodded and turned toward the crowd, beefy hands lifted. “All right, now that Marshal Davis is here, we’ll get things started. I imagine Luke will want to try on each shirt before deciding on the winner.” Mayor Burke gave Luke a shrewd glance that set his nerve endings tingling, then faced the crowd again. “And if he’s ready to make an announcement, could be we’ll have a wedding today.”
Cheers erupted. Luke frowned and bit back a growl. He was getting tired of being manipulated.
“Gather ’round the table, Luke. Look at all these fine shirts.” The mayor shook his head. “Don’t know how you’re going to pick just one as winner.”
Luke gazed at the table, his heart dipping into his boots. There were four entries.
People crowded the tables, pushing and shoving. “I cain’t see,” an old cowboy yelled.
The brides were crowded from behind and moved toward Luke as if part of the herd.
“Hold on, hold on!” Mayor Burke held up his hands. “Y’all just back up right now ’fore I have the marshal get his rifle.”
Mumbles and murmurs surrounded them, but the swarm slowly backed up.
“Now, the marshal will stand here and try on each shirt.” The mayor waved him toward the railing.
Luke shook his head. “I’m not shedding my shirt in front of all these folks.”
“Aw, don’t be shy, cuz.” Garrett nudged Luke in the back.
Enough was enough. Luke spun around and glared down at Garrett. After a few seconds, Garrett held up his hands. “Sorry.”
“Maybe you should try the shirts on in the jail?” Mark offered loudly, over the buzz of conversation.
Luke nodded, snatched up the four shirts, and strode into his office. The crowd voiced their objections while the mayor tried to pacify them as if it was his idea to use the jail. “Now it isn’t proper for a man to undress in front of all you pretty ladies.”
Jack squeezed in between Garrett and Mark. “I gotta tell you somethin’.”
Luke tossed the shirts onto his desk. “Make it fast.”
She nodded her head up and down. “One of them brides is a cheat. That brown shirt belonged to my pa. Ma’s the one who sewed it.”
Garrett and Mark stood behind her. Both sets of eyebrows shot up at Jack’s declaration.
Luke frowned and tugged out the tan shirt. “This one?”
“Yeah.”
“How can you be sure?” Garrett asked.
“It was in Ma’s bottom dresser drawer a few days ago. I know it by that dark stitching.”
“It’s possible someone else just happened to sew a similar one.” Mark rubbed the back of his neck.
Jack shook her head. “I know it’s my ma’s.”
“What’s going on in here?” Mayor Burke squeezed in the crowded office and looked around. “Get along, Luke. We’ve got a whole town of folks waiting.”
Luke bent down and looked at Jack. “Keep this to yourself for now. I’ll check into it though.”
Jack stared at him with her big eyes and finally nodded.
“All right, half bit. Scoot outside with the rest of the ladies.”
“I ain’t no lady,” she called over her shoulder as she left and closed the door.
“That’s the honest truth. That kid is as wild as them come.” Mayor Burke shook his head. “How did Rachel end up with such a hooligan child?”
Luke narrowed his eyes, halfway ready to knock the mayor on his backside. He oughten to talk
about Jack like that. She was just a little girl who needed a firm hand.
“So, which shirt do you like best?” Garrett laid each one out across the top of Luke’s desk.
“Pick a shirt; pick a wife.” Mark chuckled.
“This is just plain loco. How am I supposed to pick a wife by choosing the best shirt?” He shook his head. “You and your crazy schemes. I don’t know how I got caught up in this one.”
Garrett ignored him and sorted through the entries. “Which one you want to try on first?” He held up the blue shirt and fingered the collar. “This one’s nice.”
Luke shrugged and crossed his arms, wishing he was anywhere else.
“You know you’ve gotta do it, so get going.” Garrett shoved the shirt toward Luke. “Put it on.”
He heaved another sigh but shucked his shirt and pulled on the cornflower blue one. It fit like a gun sliding into a perfectly made holster. He adjusted the shoulders and buttoned it up. Holding out his arm, he eyed the sleeve. “Fits well enough, but the sleeves could be a tad longer. I do like this color.”
Garrett held up the dark blue shirt and waggled his brow.
Luke removed the medium blue shirt and tried on the indigo one. It, too, fit well, and the sleeves were longer, but the seams under his arms were too small and restricted his movement.
“This one’s got a little stain on it. Maybe one of them brides poked her finger while stitching it—or maybe the kid was right.” Garrett rubbed at the spot and unfolded the tan shirt. “I like how it has this brown stitching on it. That’s different.”
“That’s the one Jack claimed was stolen.” Luke looked it over, but the tan garment revealed no clues as to who had made it. He tried it on, trying to imagine Rachel’s hand sewing it. But if she had, she’d been making it for James, not him. He shucked it off and tossed it on the desk. Garrett held up the final entry. Luke resisted rolling his eyes. What sane man tried on four shirts in a single day?
He shoved his arm in the white shirt, but when he tried to get his second arm in, he couldn’t. The shoulders were too narrow. A rip sounded, and one of the sleeves tore off.
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