Blacksmith Brides

by Amanda Barratt

  “Yet you think he’s a good man, don’t you?”

  She pondered her sister’s words as she wrung the blouse. “There’s goodness in him, yes.” Buried under a tough veneer of hard living, anger, and hurt. Could she muster the stamina to seek the goodness out?

  “Leah, you’d be asking him to dinner. That’s all.”

  She carried the basket toward the clothesline. “That’s not all. The gossips in town will talk.”

  “So? They already talk because of my affliction. Don’t let them bother you.”

  Leah sighed and plucked her blouse from the top of the basket. “It feels very forward, like I’m throwing myself at the man.” She applied the clothespins to her blouse before retrieving Mr. Allen’s Henley. Removing the right pin, she lapped the shoulder of his shirt over hers and reapplied the fastener.

  “It’s not if you invite our brother’s boss to say thank you for hiring him. That’s called being neighborly.”

  Leah pinned the second shoulder and faced Mae. “I’ll pray about it. Now, are you going to read me some of that book like you promised?”

  “Of course.” Mae cracked the cover. “Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Chapter one. ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’”

  Oh, good heavens above. She rolled her eyes.

  Mae read on, and Leah grabbed the next piece of clothing from the basket. Lord, what man would want me with my little brother and two sisters in tow?

  A strong breeze caught the two garments on the line, fluttered their hems, and released them again. As they settled, the arm of her blouse twined around the arm of Mr. Allen’s.

  Several days later

  Bo stepped out into the afternoon sun and turned toward the corral. Some fifteen minutes earlier, Red had excused himself to use the outhouse but hadn’t returned. The fact Bo had seen a couple boys skulking near the livery across the street, easily in view of the smithy door, had him wondering. Were they the pair who’d been with Red the night his window was broken?

  A quick check of the outhouse proved Red wasn’t there. After Bo had watched the street awhile, one of the kids he’d seen stumbled out of the alley beside the stable then darted into the narrow space again, laughing.

  That was where he’d find Red.

  Bo angled across the street and crept to the corner, listening.

  “… been there a week, and all he lets me do is dump more coal in the fire and pump the bellows. It’s stupid.”

  Red.

  “He’s prob’ly making you do the boring stuff so’s you can’t pay him back for that window too fast.” This voice was deeper than Red’s. “Using you for free labor.”

  “Yeah.” The third voice was high-pitched and chirpy, like from a younger kid.

  “He keeps pesterin’ me to tell him who you two are, but I ain’t gonna.” Red again.

  “You do and I’ll pound you.” This from the deep-voiced kid.

  The threatening tone irked Bo, and he rounded the corner then. Red and the smaller of the two boys—perhaps eight years old—stood nearest to him. The third—half a head taller than Red—stood a few paces beyond. The minute Bo grabbed Red and the smaller boy by their arms, the third one’s eyes bulged, and he charged down the pathway.

  Bo dragged both squirming boys out of the alley and wrestled them to the bench near the livery’s entrance.

  “Quit your caterwaulin’ and sit.” He pushed them toward the wall, and their bodies folded against the bench.

  Bo looked the little boy over. White-blond hair, small frame, maybe seven or eight. “So …” He looked toward Red. “He helped you bust my window?”

  Red’s expression turned stony. If the size of the towheaded boy’s eyes was any indication, he was scared witless. Good. Maybe he’d think twice about destroying someone else’s property again.

  “Am I to assume that boy who abandoned you in the alley was in on it too?”

  “Burl didn’t abandon us,” the blond boy growled.

  “Burl. That his name?”

  The boy’s eyes widened even more.

  “Burl and … who are you, kid?”

  “Jess.”

  The answer came from the livery’s entrance, where prospector Sean McCready stared him down. The taller boy, Burl, stood slightly behind.

  “His name’s Jess McCready, and he’s my nephew.” The elder McCready folded his arms.

  Bo inwardly grinned at the unnatural hook to the prospector’s nose, a hook he’d given McCready a year earlier when the miner walked into his smithy and demanded Bo drop everything to do a job for him.

  “You got an issue with these boys, Allen?”

  “What I got issue with is my smithy window getting broke. I caught this one running away just after it happened.” He nodded at Red. “The other two ruffians ditched him to take the punishment alone, and that ain’t right.”

  “And you’re sayin’ my nephews are those … ruffians?”

  “Red just said as much.”

  “When did this window get broke?”

  “A week ago.”

  At McCready’s beckoning, Jess darted off the bench and raced to his uncle, who bent to look each boy in the eye. “Is what he’s sayin’ true?”

  Burl—about age fifteen, judging by his size—gave an emphatic shake of his head. “No, sir.”

  Little Jess appeared less sure but also shook his head after seeing Burl’s response. “No.”

  McCready faced Bo, trying to rein in a smirk. “Figure you got the wrong kids, Allen. Easy mistake to make, but from now on, come to me with any issues you got with my kin. Do we understand each other?”

  Bo itched to wipe the sneer from McCready’s mouth, but he kept himself in check.

  “Red, you got anything to add?” he said, never breaking eye contact with the elder McCready.

  Bo thought he caught a discreet head-shake from Burl, aimed in Red’s direction.

  “Nope,” the boy muttered.

  Sean McCready’s smirk only grew. “Think we’re done here.”

  “For the time being.” Bo stepped close and dropped his voice. “But if I ever get the idea you’re sending those little boys to get back at me for breaking your nose, there’ll be trouble.”

  “When or if I choose to get back at you, you’ll know.”

  A shot of lightning coursed through Bo’s veins at the threat. “Stay away from my smithy—you and any McCready spawn.” He waved Red toward the shop. “Let’s go. Now.”

  Sighing, Red started across the street, his twelve-year-old body ramrod straight and screaming his displeasure. Once they reached the shop, the boy whirled. “Are you trying to drive away all my friends?”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Burl and Jess! They might never speak to me again after what you just did.”

  Bo arched a brow. “It surprises me that you’re still speaking to them.”

  “They’re my friends.” He enunciated each word.

  “Some friends. They let you take the blame for their actions, threaten to pound you if you tell, and make you pay to replace my window. Seems to me, you’re getting the raw end here.”

  “Am not!” Despite the rebuttal, Red deflated, his mind obviously churning.

  “Go on believin’ that, kid.” He jerked a large, sturdy crate off a low shelf and slid it across the floor. Selecting a piece of scrap metal, he walked to the anvil and beckoned to Red. “Got a project for you.”

  With a frustrated groan, Red walked to the bellows and started pumping.

  Bo split the air with a sharp whistle. “Over here.” He turned the sturdy crate upside down in front of the anvil.

  Surprised, Red approached as Bo measured and marked a spot on the piece of iron. “What’re you making?”

  “I’m not. You are. It’s about time you start doing something useful.”

  He instructed Red on heating the small metal piece, and once it was glowing, the boy g
rabbed the tongs from the wall hook and brought it to the anvil.

  “We’ll start simple and work our way to more difficult techniques. You’re gonna take this and taper the end into a point.”

  “How?” Red held the tongs out to Bo.

  “Don’t give it to me. You said I don’t let you do nothing interesting, so you’re doing this one.”

  Understanding lit the boy’s eyes. “All right. Which hammer?”

  Bo handed a small cross peen to Red, who stepped onto the crate. From behind, Bo nudged the boy’s feet wider.

  A memory flashed—of some twenty-odd years earlier when he’d begun learning blacksmithing techniques at age seven. His taskmaster had been harsh, abusive. He’d berated Bo often, struck him for even the smallest mistakes.

  “What do I do?” Red’s question snapped him back from his contemplations.

  Before he found his voice, he thought of pretty Leah Guthrie. She’d asked him to extend the firm hand she’d struggled to provide the boy. But firm and harsh were two very different things, and finding that balance was suddenly important to him.

  God, I ain’t sure how to do this. Please, if You’re listenin’ … If You care … help me get this right.

  He stepped up behind Red. “Hold the metal at an angle, like this….” Bo took Red’s hands, positioning them, his touch far gentler than his mentor’s ever was.

  Chapter 5

  The following morning

  As Mr. Allen unlocked the sliding doors, Leah halted Samson outside the smithy. Almost before she’d stopped, Ethan vaulted to the ground and hurried toward the shop.

  “Morning, Mr. Allen,” he called, his tone cheery.

  Confusion etched the blacksmith’s features as his gaze followed Ethan. Inside, the boy looped an apron around his neck and tied it at his waist.

  “What’s with him?” Mr. Allen hooked a thumb in Ethan’s direction.

  Leah set the brake. “I was going to ask you that question. He was worn out last night but woke with a smile and seemed anxious to get here. What did you have him do yesterday?”

  “It was a slow afternoon, so I let him pound some scrap metal. Showed him a few techniques.” His flummoxed expression accentuated his handsome features.

  Beside her, Mae and Hope stifled giggles, and she gave her youngest sister a discreet elbow to the ribs.

  “Ask him.” Hope employed an elbow of her own.

  “Hush!” Leah glared at the youngest girl.

  “Ask me what?” Mr. Allen looked at each in turn.

  “Oh, you already know. I’ve asked every day this week, but if I must say it again—”

  “We want you to come to supper tonight,” Mae blurted.

  “Please?” Hope stretched the word across a full two seconds.

  A flush crept up his neck. “Now that ain’t fair. You brought reinforcements.”

  She quirked a brow at him. “I did.”

  “I, uh …” He scrubbed the back of his neck. “I ain’t got clean duds for something so fancy.”

  Leah handed the reins to Hope and swung down. “Not true.” She plucked a paper-wrapped package from the wagon bed. “It’s all washed and pressed. The brown plaid would be quite appropriate for tonight. Is six too early?”

  When he motioned her toward the corner of the building, out of earshot of the others, she followed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You sure you want me to come to supper?”

  “You don’t bite, do you, Mr. Allen?”

  The man ducked. “Most everyone in this town—including me—says I do. You sure you want to give folks fodder for the gossip mill?”

  Remembering Mae’s suggestions, she smiled. “What fodder are you talking about? We’ve invited my brother’s boss to supper. Is there something untoward about such an invitation?”

  Mr. Allen loosed a sardonic laugh. “Not much wrong with it unless it’s me you’re inviting. People in this town think I’m a belligerent, stubborn cuss, ill-tempered and not suited for polite society. And they’re right.”

  “Perhaps they wouldn’t think that if you’d allow them to see the side you’ve shown me. You’re not a pure ill-tempered curmudgeon. You’ve shown me wonderful kindness, so that side of you is in there.” She again extended him the paper-wrapped package. “So … six tonight, and wear the brown plaid shirt.”

  He scowled as he received the parcel. “You don’t hear no, do you?”

  Leah lifted her chin, a coy smile on her lips. “There are some stubborn parts in me too. You’ll become accustomed to them eventually. See you at six.”

  Heart pounding, Bo knocked on the door.

  God, how in blue blazes did I get roped into supper at the Guthrie house?

  He’d turned Leah Guthrie’s invitations down all week, but she’d outsmarted him by bringing her whole family that morning and by completing his washing two days earlier than expected. The troublesome woman deflected his every attempt to scare her off.

  When no one answered the door in a reasonable time, he knocked again.

  “Just a moment.”

  The muffled voice didn’t sound like Leah’s. The next-oldest, perhaps. What was her name?

  Before he thought of it, the door cracked open, releasing the savory scents of the meal they’d prepared. Bo’s stomach growled.

  “Mr. Allen?” The middle sister squinted, as if unsure.

  He swept his Stetson off. “It’s me.”

  She grinned and shuffled around on her crutches until she could swing the door wide. “Welcome. Have a seat. The others will be out momentarily.”

  He ducked through the doorway.

  “You’re welcome to hang your hat on the peg.” The young woman nodded in the direction.

  “Thanks.” He left it where indicated and chose a seat on the far side of the room but became painfully aware of the struggle the younger Miss Guthrie had in closing the door and traversing the crowded room.

  “I’m not taking your spot if I sit here, am I?” He indicated the chair he’d chosen.

  “No, sir. I prefer this one.” She nodded to the worn chair with a milking stool nearby.

  He waited to sit until she’d situated herself, and no sooner did he settle than Leah Guthrie swept into the room. His breath caught as he rocked back to his feet.

  Her beautiful sage-colored dress, dotted with clusters of pink flowers, made her red-blond hair stand out all the more.

  “Good evening.” She dipped her chin in his direction.

  “You look right pretty.”

  Oh, blast it all. Get a hold of yourself, man. He’d meant only to say a pleasant good evening, but his brain turned to mush around her.

  The younger Miss Guthrie stifled a giggle as the elder Miss Guthrie smiled.

  “You look nice yourself.”

  Before he could fumble for more words, Red and the youngest Miss Guthrie entered.

  “Mr. Allen, you obviously know Ethan, and you’ve met Mae.”

  Mae. That was it.

  “I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced to Hope.” She drew the youngest girl forward.

  “Miss Guthrie.” He nodded to her.

  “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Allen.”

  “If you’d do us a favor,” Leah Guthrie said, “we’d be obliged if you’d call us by our given names. With three Miss Guthries in the room, it’ll be easier.”

  It would at that. “All right then. Y’all can call me Bo.”

  She nodded. “I hope you’re hungry. Supper’s ready.”

  Hope helped Mae up as Leah led him toward the kitchen. As he passed, Red fell in beside him, and Bo shook his hand.

  “Thanks for coming,” Red whispered. “It’s nice not being the only fella in the house.”

  Bo grinned at that. He already felt awkward and out of place, exactly why he’d not wanted to come.

  After a blessing, they passed the venison stew, and the conversation started. Hope chattered about sewing a wedding dress with the town’s seamstress, Mrs.
Nagle. Red filled his sisters in on the things he’d learned at the smithy that day, and Mae and Leah peppered Bo with questions about his work. By the time their bellies were full, any reservations he’d had about coming had dissolved.

  Leah caught the two youngest with a pointed look. “Ethan and Hope, please wash the dishes. Mae can dry.”

  “Me?” Red balked. “I worked all day. I’m tired.”

  Bo snapped his fingers, the sound loud in the sudden stillness. “Boy, you best rethink that attitude. What do you think your sisters did today?”

  “Women’s work. I was doing man stuff.”

  “Oh. I see.” He turned to Leah. “Just wondering … who hunted the meat for the stew?”

  “I did.” Leah twisted a strand of her hair around her finger.

  “You dressed the meat and cooked the meal, I reckon?”

  She nodded.

  He asked a litany of questions about the work she did every day. “So has Red here ever done his own laundry?”

  “No.” She released the curl, which brushed her soft cheek. His heart stuttered. How soft her skin must be….

  Blast it all. He shoved the unbidden thought aside but held her gaze intently. She stared back until he gave her the slightest quirk of a brow and a discreet glance toward Red.

  Leah smiled as understanding dawned. “But perhaps it’s time he learn. Since women’s work is so easy, right?”

  Bo winked discreetly at Leah. “A fine idea. He oughta be able to get his wash done before work tomorrow morning. Don’t you think?”

  What in thunderation was he was doing? This was her kid brother, and it wasn’t his place to suggest she implement chores. But hearing the boy shrug off Leah’s hard work rubbed him wrong. Perhaps a taste of her daily efforts would silence the boy’s complaining.

  Her smile grew. “I’ll see he does.”

  The intense sparkle of her eyes tightened his chest, and he was suddenly aware of the other girls’ attention too.

  Red folded his arms. “That ain’t fair. I’m a kid.”

  Bo laughed. “You just told us you were doing a man’s work. You can’t have it both ways, boy.” He nodded toward the sink. “Now, be the man you say you are and help your sister. And when you come to work tomorrow morning, I better hear a report that you’ve done your laundry.”