The Engagement Bargain

by Sherri Shackelford

  Upon approaching the church, the crowds parted and Caleb stood there. He was wearing a suit she’d never seen before, black trousers and a close-fitting black jacket. He smiled a greeting, and her heartbeat tripped, then took up a frantic rhythm. She was drawn toward him against her better judgment, longing for just another moment more in his company.

  People stepped aside and let him pass as he approached them. “Will you sit with us?”

  She glanced at the McCoy clan and nodded. “Are you certain?”

  He frowned and tilted his head. “What’s the matter?”

  Leaning closer, she whispered, “Remember what I said before.”

  “Remember what I said before.” He spoke in an exaggerated whisper. “Follow my lead.”

  Silly, but she’d faced hordes of people armed with rotten fruit with less trepidation than this simple Sunday service. As though the congregation might suddenly discover her a fraud or declare her a heretic before the whole church.

  His stuck out his elbow, and she hesitantly looped her hand through his arm, her fears calming.

  A snuffing sounded from the bushes and she paused, certain she’d spied a glimpse of gray fur. “Did you lock the gate?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “That goat of yours is remarkably ingenious.”

  “His name is Pipsqueak,” Caleb said. “I needed something to shout when he escaped.”

  “And you’re certain he hasn’t escaped today?”

  “Positive.”

  Practically the entire town was present, which meant nothing could go wrong this morning. This might be a fake engagement, not to mention absolutely the worst-kept secret in town, but she wasn’t letting the McCoys down. They’d been kind and welcoming, and she wouldn’t embarrass them. Or Caleb. Mostly Caleb.

  He led her a few feet away and she heard the sound again.

  Whipping around, she glared at the bushes. “He’s here. I know it.”

  “I’m not saying you sound crazy—” Caleb tugged on her arm “—but others might.”

  She glanced around to ensure no one was watching them, then pointed at the dense green foliage lining the base of the church. “Stay out of Izetta’s rosebushes.”

  “Now that did sound crazy.”

  “Crazy or not, that goat has a passion for roses. And me.”

  “Something we have in common.” His face suffused with color. “The roses, of course.”

  “That’s odd,” she said, her voice teasing. “I don’t recall any roses around your house.”

  “It’s a recently discovered passion.”

  Feeling absurdly shy, she abandoned her search for the mischievous goat and let Caleb lead her up the stairs. Besides, what could possibly go wrong on such a beautiful day?

  The church was delightful. The sort of picturesque building depicted on Christmas cards with smiling cherubs and seraphim. The building wasn’t terribly large or ornate, a white clapboard frame with a modest steeple. Plain glass panes let in sunlight from both sides, and a stain-glassed window cast colorful patterns over the altar. The effect of such simplicity in design was charming.

  They filed into the sturdy, polished pews with Anna on the aisle. The first half went well. She stood when Caleb stood, she sat when Caleb sat. He held the book and pointed out the hymns, his baritone voice reverberating beside her. He had quite a lovely singing voice. She let her eyes drift closed and simply enjoyed the sound.

  When her inherent skepticism reared its head during the homily on forgiveness, lightning did not strike.

  All in all her first foray into religion had not been a disaster.

  Until she heard the noise.

  A familiar bleating sound came from the back of the church. Her stomach knotted. Heads swiveled. She kept her attention rigidly forward. The sound of hoof beats scuffling across the wood floors neared. Someone tittered. A wave of whispered voices rippled through the church. The scuffling stopped. A snout nudged her arm.

  Oh, no. That little troublemaker was not ruining her morning.

  Assuming her fiercest countenance, Anna confronted Pipsqueak and snapped her fingers. “Outside. Now.”

  Pipsqueak ducked his head and backed away.

  “I do not feel the least bit guilty. You know the rules. Outside.”

  The animal turned and wearily trudged toward the exit.

  Anna glanced up and caught the wide-eyed stare of Reverend Miller. Her heart turned to lead and dropped into her stomach. So much for making a good impression.

  Beside her, Caleb’s shoulder trembled against hers. From the corner of her eye she caught his merry grin. She elbowed him in the side. The shaking only grew worse.

  Reverend Miller smothered a grin and fisted his hand on the pulpit. His face grew red. He searched his breast pocket and dug out a handkerchief, then mopped his brow.

  A full minute went by while the reverend composed himself and began speaking once more.

  Anna clenched her teeth.

  The next twenty minutes passed in agony. If she could have followed the goat out the door, she would have. Except fleeing the church now only added more fuel. As soon as the congregation was released, she shot out of her seat and collided with Triple A.

  He grinned at her and winked. “The missus had some mighty fine embroidered aprons. Since she passed, they ain’t doing me no good. Can I bring them by your place?”

  For gracious sake what was that all about? “Of...of course.”

  He pivoted on his heel and melted into the swirl of people.

  Anna searched behind her. The aisle soon crowded with McCoys, and Mrs. McCoy planted her hands on her hips. “Land sakes. That’s more words than I’ve heard Triple A speak in a month of Sundays. I didn’t think anyone could win that man over.”

  She squeezed Anna’s shoulder as though she’d gained a great victory instead of embarrassing herself in front of the entire congregation.

  Brahm scooted past and chucked her on the shoulder. “Will you be here next week?”

  “I suppose.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “I don’t...uh...that is...”

  Maxwell gave her two thumbs up. “Can you teach me that?”

  “What?”

  “Can you teach me how to train a goat?”

  “I don’t, that is, I didn’t...”

  His father gently shoved him forward. “If you can figure out how to turn that charm on children, you let me know.”

  Jo and the marshal appeared next, little Shawn perched on her hip, Cora and Jocelyn in matching pink dresses.

  “I second that,” Jo said. “You have a way with animals.”

  The marshal only grinned.

  By the time they emerged into the late morning sunlight, Anna was swamped with people who wanted her attention. She received three invitations to supper and one offer of another goat, which she politely declined.

  Pipsqueak spent the whole time chewing on a patch of nettles near the corner of the church, seemingly unaware of the excitement he’d stirred up.

  Bemused, Anna let the conversation swirl around her. Mrs. McCoy must have realized her confusion.

  “That’s the thing about small towns,” she said, “All newcomers to a small town need a story before they’re fully accepted into the fold.”

  “A story?”

  “Yep. I remember when Triple A came to town before he even married his first wife twenty years ago. Got himself stuck up on the roof when his ladder fell over. He was too prideful to call for help. He spent the whole afternoon sitting on that roof hollering hello until my husband, Ely, came walking by. Poor Ely couldn’t figure out what kind of fool sat on his roof yelling hello. Figured the man must have gone daft. He helped him down and told him that if a man needed help, he was bett
er off asking for it than letting his vanity stand in the way. Anyway, you see how it is.”

  A small seed of pride took root in her chest. Sure, she’d gone and made a fool of herself in church, but no one seemed to mind. She’d established her place in town. She had her own story. While it wasn’t the story she might have chosen, it was a story nonetheless.

  Reverend Miller tipped his hat and grinned. “We’ll be seeing you next week.”

  Her pride increased tenfold. She’d gotten the approval of Reverend Miller. No one held any grudge for the untimely interruption in the church.

  Her steps were lighter and heart happier on the way home. Caleb walked them down the hill and around the corner toward their street.

  A carriage and two horses stood outside the house. A gentleman Anna remembered from town held their lead.

  Izetta frowned. “Who can that be?”

  As they reached the wagon, the blood drained from Anna’s face. She recognized the trunk.

  Her mother was here.

  * * *

  Caleb sensed Anna’s reaction immediately. She’d gone deathly pale, her hands gripping her reticule, her lips devoid of color.

  His stomach clenched. “What is it?”

  “My mother is here.”

  Caleb stopped his jaw from dropping in the nick of time.

  The man standing near the horses’ heads flagged Caleb over. “Give me a hand with the trunk, will you?”

  “Sure, Berny.”

  Uneasy, he kept Anna in his peripheral vision. He didn’t know what reaction he expected, but he sure hadn’t expected her obvious dread.

  As Izetta and Anna made their way into the house, Caleb and Berny followed along behind them with the trunk. The impressive piece of luggage was an almost exact replica of the one Anna possessed with the same leather straps and the same brass fittings.

  After reading about Victoria Bishop in the newspapers and hearing Anna’s anecdotes, he wanted to see the woman for himself. He needed to understand the forces shaping Anna’s life.

  They stepped into the parlor, and he struggled with the heavy trunk. Was the lady carrying another body in there? He glanced and paused, then jerked forward since Berny was still moving. An imposing-looking woman sat in the chair, one hand braced on a walking stick.

  Berny stopped in the doorway. “Where do I put this?”

  “Back in the wagon,” the woman declared sharply. “I shall be staying in town at the hotel.”

  Caleb chanced a glance at Anna. All the sparkle had left her eyes. She was a shadow of the woman he’d seen only moments before. Her mother had dimmed her spirit, and the result was visible.

  “I wasn’t expecting you, Mother,” Anna said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Not pleasant at all. The townhouse has burned to the ground.”

  “Our house?”

  Anna sat down hard on one of the sturdy dining room chairs.

  “Yes, our house. Whose house do you suppose I meant? The grocer?” She sniffed. “The houses on either side received significant damage, as well.” She patted the side of her head. “Not that the Smith place was any great loss. I never did trust that man.”

  Anna gripped the arm of her chair. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “I didn’t ask. It didn’t seem relevant.”

  Caleb’s forearms strained against the weight of the trunk. Neither he nor Berny moved.

  Anna spread her hands. “Do they know how the fire started? Were you there?”

  “Arson. The fire was deliberately set. I received word in Boston. I returned home immediately.”

  “You returned for the fire?” Anna’s voice was heartbreakingly quiet.

  “I had to see what was salvageable.” The elder Miss Bishop scowled. “You cannot trust the help to make those decisions.”

  The hurt on Anna’s face cut him to the quick. Victoria Bishop hadn’t come when her daughter had been shot. She’d been too busy, the work in Boston too important. He snorted softly. She’d found time enough when her precious belongings had been damaged.

  Victoria glanced around and gathered her skirts closer, as though worried they might be sullied. “I had hoped to stay with you until things were settled. I can see now that won’t be possible.”

  At Anna’s crestfallen expression, a cold fist tightened around Caleb’s heart.

  She held up her hands then let them drop to her sides. “There’s a hotel in town. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable there.”

  Her distress cut him to the quick.

  “I can’t imagine being comfortable anywhere this far west of the Mississippi.” Victoria flicked at a bit of lint on her sleeve. “I told Elizabeth that Kansas City was a waste of time.”

  “That’s enough, Mother.”

  With the sound of Victoria Bishop’s sharp intake of breath, he jerked his head toward Berny, who took the hint. Together they hauled the trunk back out to the wagon. Nothing about seeing Anna’s mother had changed his initial impressions of her.

  At least Anna had regained some of her fire. She needed it with that woman.

  Berny mopped his brow. “You could store that lady in an icehouse. I’ve never seen the like.” He braced his hand against the wooden slats of the wagon bed. “I don’t think she likes our town very much either. She kept sniffing and covering her face.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Caleb had the feeling Victoria Bishop didn’t like much of anything that didn’t go according to her plans. She was treating all of them as though they were somehow involved in her great inconvenience. Was that how she treated Anna? As an inconvenience? She didn’t appear the sort of woman who’d have a sense of humor about their engagement either. He doubted she had much of a sense of humor about anything.

  The door swung open, and she marched down the bricked pathway toward the wagon. Mrs. Franklin had arrived by then and offered a friendly greeting.

  Miss Victoria Bishop stared down her nose. “Pleasure,” she said, though her voice remained hard.

  Anna hovered behind her mother and motioned toward him. “This is Mr. McCoy. He saved my life in Kansas City.”

  He touched the brim of his hat. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Bishop.”

  “You are the veterinarian.” Once again she managed to coat her words in disdain.

  “I am.”

  Anna shot him an apologetic look and he returned what he hoped was a comforting smile.

  “Then I suppose thanks are in order. My daughter appears to be in fine health.”

  She didn’t wait for a reply, but rather circled around the wagon toward the passenger side.

  Berny scooted past and rolled his eyes. “Glad it’s a short way back into town. She’s a scary one.”

  Caleb didn’t doubt the assessment.

  With everyone on the opposite side of the wagon, no one saw exactly what happened next. They certainly heard what happened.

  Pipsqueak bleated. The horses startled and lunged forward, yanking on the wagon. The set brake held them at bay. Anna’s mother shrieked.

  Caleb sprang forward and snatched the horses’ lead, murmuring soothing words. Anna and Mrs. Franklin dashed around the wagon.

  Berny peeked around the corner and his eyes widened. “Well she ain’t looking so high and mighty now, I’ll say that.”

  Anna’s mother wailed. “That infernal animal has broken my ankle.”

  * * *

  An hour later Doc Johnsen stood next to the bed. “The ankle isn’t broken,” he said. “It’s a bad sprain. I recommend staying put this evening.”

  The news did not please her mother. Anna cringed.

  “Return me to the hotel this instant,” Victoria demanded.

  “We’d have to put you on a litter and carry you th
e distance. You won’t be able to put weight on that foot until tomorrow at least.”

  Anna watched as her mother weighed the options. She clearly wasn’t interested in remaining in the Stuart house along with her and Miss Franklin. The indignities of being carted down Main Street on a litter obviously held less appeal.

  After a long silence, she sniffed. “Then I shall remain here and make do. I insist you slaughter that goat and serve him to the dogs.”

  Anna started. “Your fall was an accident. You can’t blame Pipsqueak.”

  “I most certainly can.”

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Mrs. Franklin interjected.

  “Tea is better.”

  “I only have chamomile. Will that suffice?”

  “I suppose it shall have to do then, won’t it?”

  “You are a guest, Mother.” Anna heard the tremor in her voice and hated herself for the telling weakness. “I’m quite sure you’ll be happy with anything Mrs. Franklin has to offer.”

  “I am a guest because this town is teeming with barnyard animals. That is hardly my fault.”

  “Neither is it the fault of Mrs. Franklin.”

  Anna was mortified, humiliated and downright furious. From Berny to Doc Johnsen, everyone in town had been nothing but solicitous. Her mother, on the other hand, had been absolutely insufferable. The strain of the fire had obviously shortened her temper.

  Victoria Bishop glanced around the room. “I will need a sturdy side table along with my pens, papers and correspondence. Between your injury and the fire, it is time for another campaign. We must capitalize on these events before interest grows cold.”

  “What do you mean? Capitalize?” Anna hadn’t yet recovered from the idea that her mother was here. Staying. For an extended length of time. Confined to her bed.

  If Victoria Bishop loathed weakness in others, she abhorred weakness in herself. The next twenty-four hours were going to be miserable.

  “This is our chance for front-page coverage. I saw nothing about your shooting in the pages of the newspapers back East. Absolutely nothing. Since two events of violence have occurred against our family, the papers will be obligated to report the story. I shall demand they do so.”