Читать книгу Short Straw Bride - Dallas Schulze - Страница 10

“A girl with a gentle temperament—that’s what I want.” Luke narrowed his eyes against the sun. “One who won’t throw fits at a man.”

“The woman ain’t been born that won’t throw a fit.” Daniel reached into his pocket for his tobacco pouch and papers.

The brothers were riding back to the Bar-M-Bar, walking their horses in the midafternoon sun. After church they’d had lunch with Reverend Mulligan, who’d done his best to talk Luke out of his determination to find a wife.

What about love? the older man had asked, running his fingers through his thinning hair. Though he’d been loath to admit it, the question had given Luke pause. It had made him think of the bonds between his mother and father, of the way they’d seemed to complete each other. After her husband’s death Lucinda McLain had carried on, but there’d been something missing, a light that no longer shone in her eyes.

But love like that was a rare thing, he told himself. And he couldn’t afford to spend his life hoping he’d be lucky enough to find such a thing for himself. Besides, he was a little old to be chasing after dreams like that. If he hadn’t found a great love by now, he wasn’t likely to find it, especially not with the ranch demanding most of his time. Even if he wanted to go off on some wild-goose chase to find a woman he could love, he didn’t have the time for it. No, a marriage based on more practical considerations would suit him just fine.

“You see any likely-looking girls?” Daniel’s question dragged Luke’s thoughts back to the present. Daniel finished rolling his cigarette and flicked his thumbnail over a match to light it. Cupping his hands to shield it, he lit his cigarette, his eyes sliding to his brother as he shook out the match. “There were pretty girls there. If I’d known there were so many pretty churchgoing girls, I might have been more inclined to pay my respects to the Lord on a regular basis.”

“Careful. You don’t want to find yourself on the wrong end of a father’s shotgun.” Luke paused and then grinned. “Of course, if you did, there wouldn’t be any reason for me to get married.”

“I’ve got no intention of doing anything foolish,” Daniel said, dashing any hopes he might have had. “Though, from the looks of some of those girls, I’m not sure it’d be such a hardship to take one to wife. That redhead wasn’t hard on the eyes, and a little temper might make life interesting. A little fire can be a good thing.”

“In a horse, maybe, but not in a wife. My life is interesting enough.” Luke let the reins go slack as he reached for his own makings and began to roll himself a cigarette.

“What about the dark one? The widow. She was easy on the eyes.”

Luke considered Letty Sinclair briefly and then shook his head. “Sean says she lives on her own. A woman who’s been living on her own is likely to be set in her ways. I want a girl who’s willing to get set in my ways.”

“How about the one with the yellow hair?” Daniel suggested. “I can’t say I’d mind looking at that one over the breakfast table.”

“Too young.” Luke dismissed Anabel Williams out of hand. “Besides, I’d bet my last dime there’s a streak of mean in that one that’d make a man’s life mighty unpleasant. And a girl that pretty probably spends half her time in front of a looking glass, admiring her own reflection.”

Luke lit his cigarette and narrowed his eyes against the drift of smoke. “What I want is a girl who’s not so young that she’s got her head all full of romantic notions but not old enough to be set in her ways. Pleasant enough looking that it won’t be hard to go about the business of having sons with her but not so pretty that she’ll expect me to spend all my time admiring her. She’s got to be strong and willing to work.”

“That’s quite a shopping list,” Daniel said. He reached up to tilt his hat down a bit, the better to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun. “You see a girl you think might live up to it?”

“Eleanor Williams,” Luke said, drawing on the cigarette.

“Don’t remember meeting an Eleanor Williams,” Daniel said after a moment. He blew out a thin stream of smoke and frowned at the endless vista of prairie ahead of them. “She wasn’t the one with the nose like a buzzard, was she?”

“No.” Luke shot him an irritated glance, though he couldn’t have said just why it annoyed him that Daniel didn’t remember the girl.

“She was the one standing next to the girl with the yellow hair. The cousin.”

“The one wearing the god-awful hat,” Daniel said, making the proper identification.

“Her choice of headgear don’t interest me,” Luke said shortly. Privately, he promised himself that the first thing he’d do when they got married was burn that hat.

“There ain’t much to her,” Daniel said, just as he had when Luke had asked Sean Mulligan about her.

“I’m looking for a wife, not a pack mule,” Luke said irritably.

“Need some of the same qualities in both,” Daniel said. “Strong and steady, even-tempered—” He caught his brother’s annoyed look and broke off but there was nothing repentant about his grin. “Course, I’ve never seen a pack mule I wanted to share a bed with.”

“Pack mule’s got more sense than to look at the likes of you,” Luke said.

“So you think Ellen Williams is the one?”

“Eleanor,” Luke corrected automatically. “And I won’t know till I’ve had a chance to talk to her a bit more.”

“I don’t know, Luke. Marrying’s a serious business.” The laughter died out of Daniel’s eyes, which were the same clear gray as his brother’s. “Maybe this ain’t such a good idea, after all. Maybe we ought to just forget the whole idea and try another housekeeper.”

If he’d thought about it, Luke would have said that he wanted nothing more than to give up the idea of finding himself a wife. And here was Daniel, saying that he should give it up. He opened his mouth to agree that it had been a dumb idea from the start and that they should put it behind them. And found himself remembering Eleanor Williams’s big brown eyes, the shy smile in them and heard her voice saying that she’d lived in Black Dog six years, four months and twelve days.

“I said I was going to find a wife and that’s what I’m going to do,” he heard himself say stubbornly.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Daniel’s surprised look. Since he was no less surprised himself, the last thing he wanted to do was talk about his decision. He nudged the gray into a canter, effectively putting an end to the conversation. For some reason, the idea of having a wife just didn’t seem as bad as it once had.

The Wednesday after he and Daniel attended church, Luke found himself driving the buckboard into Black Dog to pick up supplies. He hadn’t expected to find himself back in town quite so soon and was irritated by the necessity. But since their last cook had decided that California’s winters would suit his old bones more than the biting prairie winds, Luke and Daniel had been sharing the duty, and it was Luke’s turn to make the trip.

He nodded to Chet Longman, who ran the livery stable and was also the sheriff, when Black Dog had need of such. He heard the tinny sound of a piano from the Gold Dust Saloon as he drove past and decided he’d stop by for a drink before making the long, dusty drive back to the ranch. It wasn’t much consolation for a wasted day but it was better than nothing.

They had to find another cook, he thought irritably. Or a wife. His eyes narrowed as his attention was caught by a particularly ugly hat—a familiar hat. The woman wearing it was walking briskly down the boardwalk, the skirts of her mint green dress swaying invitingly. As Luke watched, she pushed open the door of Webb’s General Store & Emporium, and Luke allowed himself a grin. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be such a waste of time, after all.

When her aunt Dorinda had sent her out to buy a length of linen for new towels, Eleanor had welcomed the chance to get out of the house and enjoy a walk in the spring sunshine. And going to Webb’s would give her a chance to make amends to Mr. Webb for her blatant inattention to him after church on Sunday. When Reverend Mulligan had brought the McLain brothers over to be introduced, Andrew Webb had been promptly and somewhat rudely forgotten. She couldn’t expect to draw a proposal from Mr. Webb if she ignored him just because she’d been introduced to another man. Even if that other man did happen to be the most attractive—

But that wasn’t the point, she reminded herself briskly. Even if Luke McLain was the embodiment of every girlish fantasy she’d ever had, she was no longer a girl. She was twenty now and it was time to put away childish dreams. There was no knight in shining armor to come riding out of the prairie and sweep her off to a better life. She was going to have to build that better life for herself, and Andrew Webb offered her the best hope for a new future.

So she’d put on her favorite dress, a soft green cotton that suited her coloring much better than most of Anabel’s castoffs, and she’d put on the ugly hat Mr. Webb had thought suited her. She’d wondered briefly if she could really be contemplating spending the rest of her life with a man who had such dreadful taste in millinery, but then reminded herself that there could be worse things. Like living with her aunt and uncle.

She’d spent a moment batting her eyes at her own reflection and trying to imitate Anabel’s way of looking at a man from under her lashes. But the look that was coquettish on Anabel seemed simply foolish on herself. Since Mr. Webb was looking for a mother for four small children, perhaps he’d be more impressed by common sense than coquetry. Common sense she had in abundance.

Drawing a deep breath, Eleanor pushed open the door of Webb’s. She immediately had the urge to turn and run, but the little bell over the door had already given away her presence and Andrew Webb was stepping out from behind the counter, his thin face wreathed in a smile.

“Miss Eleanor. What a pleasure to see you again so soon.”

“Mr. Webb.” Eleanor gave him her warmest smile and was pleased to see him blink and swallow hard.

“What can I help you with today?” he asked, regaining his composure.

“My aunt was hoping you’d have some good linen toweling. We’ve just finished spring cleaning and she’d like fresh towels to finish things off.”

“I have just the thing. Got it from St. Louis not two weeks ago.”

Eleanor followed him as he went to find the requested item. Looking at his scarecrow-thin figure and neatly combed sandy hair, she tried not to picture a pair of broad shoulders beneath a plain black coat and a head of deep brown hair in need of a cut.

“Best money can buy,” Andrew said proudly as he lifted a bolt of fabric onto the counter. “Your aunt won’t find any better, even if she went to Denver.”

“It looks like just what she had in mind,” Eleanor murmured. Her eyes were drawn to a bolt of royal blue grenadine. The deep, rich color would suit her coloring much better than her cousin’s castoff pastels. She reached out to finger the soft fabric, picturing it made up in a simple gown with a minimum of decoration, with perhaps just a touch of lace at the neckline and wrists to soften the severity of the cut.

“That’s much too dark a color for a young lady such as yourself, Miss Eleanor.” At Webb’s comment, she let her hand drop away from the fabric. “Something in a softer shade, perhaps. My late wife favored pinks and the softest of blues,” he said reminiscently. He seemed to suddenly realize to whom he was speaking and flushed a deep shade of red. “I hope you don’t mind me mentioning my wife.”

“Not at all. It’s only natural that you think of her.”

“Yes. But life goes on and I’ve put aside my grief and am looking to the future.”

The fervent look he gave her left no doubt that he was hoping the future he looked toward included her. Looking into his watery eyes, Eleanor felt her heart sink. Was she really contemplating spending the rest of her life with this man? At most, she felt a mild liking for Andrew Webb. Could a happy marriage be built on so little?

She was saved the necessity of having to answer either him or herself by the jangle of the bell over the door. It rang again almost immediately and the harsh tones of Cora Danvers admonishing her son about something echoed through the store. Andrew jumped and blushed again, like a boy caught smoking his father’s cigars behind the privy. He glanced over Eleanor’s head toward the front of the store.

“Are you in a hurry, Miss Eleanor?”

“Not at all. Please take care of your other customers, Mr. Webb. I’ll find plenty to occupy myself.” She was relieved when he hurried back toward the front of the store. Perhaps if she didn’t have to look at him she’d be able to bolster her determination a little.

She heard Mr. Webb greet Cora Danvers, heard Cora’s son Horace offer some whined complaint, the words indistinguishable. She reached out to finger the blue grenadine again. She had a little money, but it would be wildly foolish to spend it on a bolt of cloth when she already had four dresses hanging in her room. But wouldn’t it be wonderful to wear something that suited her, she thought wistfully. In a dress like the one she’d envisioned, she wouldn’t feel like such a little dab of a female. She’d feel elegant and almost pretty. Maybe even pretty enough to draw the eye of a man as handsome as Luke McLain.

At the sound of someone approaching, she snatched her hand back from the fabric and turned, annoyed to feel herself flushing as if she were guilty of some crime. Luke McLain stood not three feet from her, and Eleanor felt her breath catch and her cheeks blush fiery red. She pressed one hand to her bosom, as if to physically still the sudden pounding of her heart.

Luke wondered why he’d thought of her as plain. The face beneath that god-awful hat was not beautiful, by any means, but it was certainly not plain. Not with those big brown eyes that made him think of a fawn and that full mouth that seemed just about made for a man to kiss. Her flush deepened and he realized he’d been staring at her without speaking.

“Miss Williams. Reverend Mulligan introduced us at church last Sunday.”

“I remember, Mr. McLain.” As if I could forget.

“A new spring dress?” he asked, gesturing to the bolt of grenadine.

“Oh, no.” She glanced guiltily at the beautiful fabric. “I’m here to buy new toweling for my aunt. We just finished spring cleaning and she wanted fresh towels.”

“Spring cleaning.” Luke remembered his mother’s annual frenzy of cleaning when every rug had to be taken out and hung on a line to have the dirt beat from it. Then fresh straw had to be spread on the floor before the rug was tacked back into place. The memory was superseded by an image of the layers of dust and dirt that covered her once tidy home, and he winced.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. McLain.”

Eleanor started to step around him and Luke saw his opportunity to talk to her vanishing.

“I was wondering if I might ask your advice, Miss Williams.”

“My advice?” She raised her dark brows in surprise. “I can’t imagine a topic on which you could possibly need my advice, Mr. McLain.”

Neither could he, but it had been the only thing he could think to say to keep her from leaving. Now she’d actually expect him to ask her something. He shot a quick glance around, looking for inspiration. He found it, more or less, in the bolts of fabric stacked beside them. He could hardly claim to have come in to buy new toweling. The coincidence would be too great.

“Curtains,” he said abruptly, remembering the graying rags that hung at the kitchen windows in the ranch house. “I…ah…wanted to buy fabric for curtains. I was hoping you could offer some suggestions.”

“Curtains?” She looked surprised. “What kind of curtains?”

“For the kitchen,” Luke answered with a promptness that concealed the fact that the idea had just occurred to him. “To tell the truth, since our mother died, my brother and I have sort of let the place go a bit and I was just thinking it was time we put a little work into it.”

At the mention of his mother’s death, Eleanor’s face softened. It wasn’t really proper for her to talk to a stranger like this, but she knew how difficult it was to lose a parent. And the idea that he cared enough about his mother’s home to buy new curtains for it went straight to her tender heart. She didn’t think most men would even have noticed worn curtains.

“How big are the windows?” she asked briskly, deciding that propriety could be pushed aside, just this once.

Luke held out his hands to estimate the size, but Eleanor’s attention was drawn to the width of his chest. He was wearing a plain blue shirt tucked into denim pants, and the soft cotton clung to muscles no decent woman should be noticing. She blushed and dragged her eyes away from the broad strength of his body. What on earth had gotten into her? she wondered as she forced her attention to the task at hand and began looking for something suitable to make curtains.

“Do you enjoy living in town, Miss Williams?”

“It’s certainly convenient,” she said. She frowned at a bolt of blue calico before setting it aside. “But I’ve no particular fondness for it. When I was a child, I always longed to settle in one place where I could have a garden and a real home.” She stopped abruptly, embarrassed at having revealed so much of herself. But when she slid a quick glance at him, he didn’t look as if there was anything unusual in what she’d said.

“You traveled a great deal?”

“My father did, and I traveled with him. I tried to make a home wherever we stopped, but there’s not a great deal one can do with a hotel room.” Her mouth curved in a rueful little smile.

So her father had traveled a lot, Luke thought. And she’d always longed to settle in one place. Well, he could certainly offer her a home and room for the garden she’d said she wanted. From the sound of it, those might be powerful arguments, if and when he proposed.

“I think plain muslin might be best, after all,” she said, drawing Luke’s attention to a bolt of the stuff.

“I’ll have to find someone to make the curtains,” he said.

Eleanor opened her mouth to offer to do the work but closed it without speaking. She’d already been bold enough. If her aunt heard that she’d been talking with a man in Webb’s, particularly a man like Luke McLain, whom her aunt had already earmarked as a possible suitor for Anabel, she’d never hear the end of it.

“Mrs. Larkins does sewing,” she said instead. “She has the little house on the north edge of town and she does good work for a reasonable price.” It had to be her overactive imagination that made her think he looked disappointed.

Behind them, the bell over the door tinkled, announcing the departure of Cora Danvers and her obstreperous son. Though Eleanor couldn’t see past Luke McLain’s large frame, she could hear Andrew hurrying in their direction and she felt a totally irrational resentment toward him for interrupting. Not that there was really anything to interrupt, she reminded herself.

“Are you finding everything you need, Miss Eleanor?” At Webb’s question, Luke reluctantly stepped aside to allow the other man to pass him. Webb moved to stand next to Eleanor, his weak eyes darting from her to Luke with suspicion. There was a certain possessiveness in the way he stood, a look only another man would recognize.

Luke’s gaze sharpened on Eleanor’s face, but if there was reason for Webb to feel possessive, he couldn’t read anything in her expression. Something told him that any feelings of possession were strictly on Webb’s side. The thought pleased him.

“If you’ll cut some of the linen for me, Mr. Webb, I’ll be on my way,” she said, giving him a quick, impersonal smile.

“I’ll be with you in just a minute, Mr. McLain,” Webb said as he and Eleanor walked past.

“I’m in no rush.”

The storekeeper’s hand hovered a moment, almost touching the small of Eleanor’s back, and Luke was surprised by the annoyance he felt at the idea of the other man touching her. When Webb’s hand dropped away without making contact, Luke felt a satisfaction out of proportion to the moment. He followed them to the front of the store.

Eleanor was vividly aware of Luke McLain’s gray eyes watching her while Andrew cut the fabric for her aunt. She told herself that she was not so foolish as to read anything into his interest. She’d just happened to be nearby when he’d found himself needing a woman’s opinion. He’d probably have been just as happy to ask Cora Danvers, if she’d been handy. But the brisk mental lecture didn’t have any effect on her rapid heartbeat.

When the toweling had been cut and wrapped in brown paper, she gave Andrew an absent thank-you without really seeing him. Picking up the package, she turned to leave, her eyes catching Luke’s.

“I hope the new curtains are what you wanted, Mr. McLain.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice the slight breathlessness in her voice.

“Thank you for the help, Miss Williams.” He nodded and smiled at her, and Eleanor hurried out before she could make a fool of herself by collapsing at his feet.

Luke let his eyes follow her as she left, watching her walk past the big front window. It wasn’t until she’d disappeared from sight that he turned his attention to Andrew Webb. The suspicion in the other man’s eyes had deepened but Luke ignored it. Webb had had plenty of time to make his intentions known to the girl. If he hadn’t done so, then he had no one to blame but himself if someone moved faster.

Luke gave him the order for the supplies. He loaded a case of canned peaches and sacks of flour, sugar and other staples into the buckboard. It wasn’t until they were almost done that he remembered the curtains he was supposedly anxious to have made. He didn’t give a damn about curtains but, remembering Eleanor’s earnest help, he felt his conscience tug at him. Moving to the bolts of fabric, he picked up the muslin she’d indicated. He started to carry it to the front of the store and then hesitated. Obeying an impulse, he picked up the bolt of blue fabric she’d been fingering. If he married her, he could give it to her. And if he didn’t, well, then, he could give it to whomever he did marry.