Читать книгу Frontier Matchmaker Bride - Regina Scott - Страница 15

Chapter Four

“Are you certain this is advisable, Miss Wallin?”

Beth smiled encouragement to the woman sitting beside her in the Pastry Emporium. Honoria Jenkins was a gentle lady who had been hired to teach at the newly opened North School, starting after Easter. Her light brown hair, cornflower-blue eyes and rosy cheeks made her resemble one of the glass-eyed dolls on display at Kelloggs’.

“We are in a public place,” Beth assured her, waving at the neat little wrought-iron tables and glass display case the bakery boasted. “And I’m here as a chaperone.”

Miss Jenkins adjusted the brown velvet hat on her sleek hair. “But won’t Deputy McCormick suspect this is more than a casual meeting?”

Beth certainly hoped so. “As I mentioned, Mr. McCormick is seeking a wife. I’m merely facilitating introductions as his good friend.”

The schoolteacher eyed the door as if expecting Father Christmas to arrive with a bag of presents. “He sounds like quite a catch.”

“Oh, he is.” Beth picked up the cup of chamomile she had ordered. “Upstanding, loyal, a hard worker. He’s the law in this area.”

Miss Jenkins sighed. “How heroic.” She turned her blue gaze back to Beth. “Why aren’t you pursuing him yourself?”

Beth’s face heated. She set down her cup and selected one of the lemon drop cookies, her personal favorite, then took a bite and swallowed before answering.

“He’s like a brother to me.”

The lemon drop was like dust in Beth’s mouth. Maddie Haggerty, longtime friend and owner of the Pastry Emporium, must have had an off day. Beth took another sip of the tea to wash things down. It didn’t help.

Suddenly the couple sitting closest to the window gasped, and others began rising. Beth caught a glimpse of a dark-coated rider and a black horse pelting past, heard the shouts accompanying them. Her heart started beating faster.

Miss Jenkins pressed a hand to the ruffles at her throat. “What is it?”

“Deputy McCormick, I believe,” Beth answered, rising. “Come on.”

She hurried to the window, where the other patrons had collected, voices buzzing as they vied for the best position to watch. Beth squeezed in and pulled Miss Jenkins with her. Down the block, Hart and Arno veered against a team of horses thundering along, reins flapping. As she watched, he leaned over in the saddle, caught the reins, and pulled both Arno and the team to a halt. The elderly driver trembled while his wife buried her face in his shoulder.

“Runaway team,” someone said. “Good thing McCormick was on duty.”

“As usual,” Beth said, drawing a breath.

Miss Jenkins pulled her gaze from the street to stare at Beth as the others returned to their seats. “How can you be so calm? Someone might have been killed.”

“Possibly,” Beth allowed, taking her arm to lead her back to their table. “But you see how he rescued them. Mr. McCormick is a gentleman who can be counted upon.”

Miss Jenkins looked thoughtful.

They had no sooner settled themselves than the door opened to the ring of the shop bell. Hart stepped inside, leather duster settling against his black boots. His hard gaze bypassed the display counter with its dozens of frosted and spiced treats, and narrowed in instead on the patrons gathered at the tables. Some of the other patrons applauded. He gave them a nod.

Beth rose as he approached.

He removed his hat, the sunlight from the window gilding his short-cropped black hair. “Miss Wallin.” His look moved to her companion.

As if she was guilty of some crime, Miss Jenkins paled, and she pushed the cookies away from her.

“Good afternoon, Deputy,” Beth said determinedly. “May I introduce a new acquaintance of mine, Honoria Jenkins. Miss Jenkins, this is Deputy Hart McCormick.”

Hart inclined his head. “Ma’am.”

She dropped her gaze. “Deputy. Won’t you join us?”

With a look to Beth that held any number of misgivings, he drew up a chair.

“Cookie?” Miss Jenkins asked, offering the plate. “They’re quite good.”

“No, thanks,” he said. “Never was too partial to lemon.”

She set down the plate, wrinkling her nose. “Too tart. I quite agree.”

Odd. She’d consumed four of the things before Hart had arrived and even agreed with Beth they were one of Maddie’s best.

“That was very brave of you just now,” the schoolteacher continued, folding her gloved hands demurely on the table. “Miss Wallin told me you’re quite the hero, but now I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes.”

His gaze swung Beth’s way, and she had to stop herself from squirming. She raised her chin instead. “Everyone here saw what you did. We all know you stand between the citizens of the county and every sort of danger.”

He snorted, leaning back in his chair as if to distance himself from the very notion. “Folks in King County are pretty good about spotting danger and protecting themselves. I’m just here for when things get out of hand.”

Miss Jenkins leaned closer to him. “And do they get out of hand often?” she asked.

Hart frowned as if he could not understand her breathless interest.

“Miss Jenkins is new to our shores,” Beth explained. “I’m sure she’d appreciate your assessment of the area.”

Hart shrugged. “Things are fairly safe. Only had one cougar attack in the last month, and Sheriff Wyckoff and his dogs chased it off. Natives left on this side of the Sound are friendly for the most part. Last time anyone was murdered was a few months ago—family out Columbia way—shot in their beds. We strung up the killers.”

Miss Jenkins was turning whiter with each word.

“But everything in Seattle is fine,” Beth rushed to assure her. “Kind people, industrious...”

“Few drunken brawls on the weekend, petty theft in the mercantiles...”

“Four churches now,” Beth continued, raising her voice.

“A gang along the waterfront, beating and robbing newcomers.”

Beth gave up and glared at him. “A vicious gang, in Seattle?”

“Never underestimate man’s ability to prey on man, Miss Wallin,” he insisted, with a nod to Miss Jenkins. “Or woman.”

She rose in a flutter of brown, like a sparrow startled from its nest. “Thank you for inviting me to tea, Miss Wallin. I fear I must be going. I’ll be starting work shortly, and I won’t have time for more of these...social events. Deputy.”

Hart had risen when she did, but she scooted out the door before he could bid her farewell. With a frown, he settled himself back onto his chair. “Curious woman. Doesn’t say much.”

“Because you wouldn’t let her get a word in,” Beth accused. “What were you thinking, filling her head with dangers and drama? I’ll be surprised if she sets one foot outside her door the next two days.”

Hart reached for a cookie. “If she’s that timid, she shouldn’t have come to Seattle.”

Beth stared at him as he popped the morsel whole into his mouth. “I thought you didn’t like lemon drops.”

“They’re tolerable,” he allowed, reaching for another.

Heat flushed through her and not from embarrassment this time. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did what?” His face and voice were bland, but he didn’t fool her.

“You went out of your way to be unpleasant to Miss Jenkins. Surely you guessed I was trying to match you up with her.”

“Couldn’t think of any other reason she’d be here.”

Beth threw up her hands. “You didn’t even try to see if she was suitable.”

“We won’t suit.” He’d finished the last of the cookies and pushed the plate away. “No man wants a wife who can’t stomach to hear about his work.”

There was that. Beth sighed. “Very well. I suppose she might be too timid for a fellow like you.”

He nodded, leaning back in his chair as if satisfied. Something inside her itched to remove that smug smile.

“I should have thought to ask,” she said sweetly. “What do you prefer in your bride?”

His smile snuffed out. “I’m not looking for a bride.”

Stubborn! Like most of his kind. Beth smiled at him. “You’re quite right. I’m seeking you a bride.” She leaned forward. “You don’t have all that many choices, you know. There are still far more men than women here. And the other ladies I’ve approached have been reticent.”

He nodded. “Good. I always knew the ladies of Seattle were a smart lot.”

“But that doesn’t mean there aren’t ladies who would be willing to have you court them,” Beth insisted. “I’ll try to take your ideas into consideration, if you’d care to share.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, setting his badge to winking in the light. “Never gave it much thought.”

“Really? I know women who have the gown all picked out and are just waiting for the fellow to go on their arm.” When he frowned, she pushed on. “Let’s start with physique. Slender or ample?”

Was that a touch of color working its way into his firm cheeks? “I am not having this conversation with you.”

She smothered a laugh, keeping her tone pleasant. “Whyever not? It’s in your best interest. I certainly don’t want to waste my time on women you wouldn’t look at twice.”

“This whole thing is a waste of time,” he grumbled, shifting in his seat.

“Blonde, brunette, raven-haired, redhead?” Beth persisted.

He glanced toward the curtain covering the opening to the bakery kitchen, where the redheaded Maddie Haggerty was likely hard at work. “There’s something to be said for red hair.”

She’d wondered from time to time whether Hart had had a soft spot for the spunky Irish baker before Maddie had married her dashing husband, Michael. She must have been sitting too long, for the little chair seemed suddenly hard.

“Not too easy to find them,” she said. “What else?”

She heard his sigh. “Can’t you leave well enough alone?”

She almost gave up. His shoulders were tight, his hands braced on the table as if he wanted nothing more than to escape. She reached out, laid her hand atop one of his.

“I’m only trying to help, Hart.”

He blew out a breath. “I know. Being a matchmaker is a fine calling, for men who want a wife.”

Once more Beth smiled encouragement. “But not any wife. What’s the perfect woman for you?”

He straightened. “You want to hear what kind of woman I’d accept as a wife? Tall enough to fit under my chin, sunny hair, warm disposition, backbone to argue her side of the matter, grace to give in when she sees it’s important to me. Someone who understands what I do and respects me for it. You find me a woman like that, and I may have to rethink my decision not to wed.” He pushed back from the table and headed for the door.

Beth watched him go, too surprised to move. She’d thought it might be difficult finding him someone who met his criteria, but she knew a woman who embodied all those traits.

Her.

* * *

Hart strode down the boardwalk, the sound of his boots beating in time with his pulse. Why’d he give her a target to shoot at? Her brothers bragged that Beth was a crack shot. Once she set her sights on a lady, Hart was as good as married, even with so few women in the area.

“Hart! Deputy McCormick!”

Her breathless call pulled him up short. She hurried down the boardwalk after him, one hand clamping her dainty little hat to her head. The gray net veil fluttered behind her as if trying to escape. He knew the feeling.

“I said my piece,” he told her, widening his stance. What, was he planning to draw on her? Why did he feel as if he’d been backed into a corner by an outlaw gang bent on destruction?

“And I appreciate your candor,” she assured him as she came abreast. “But we haven’t determined our next steps.”

He started down the street for the sheriff’s office, where he’d left Arno with a feed sack. “You tried. No lady will have me. That’s the end of it.”

Her skirts flapped as she lengthened her stride to keep up with him. “I didn’t say no lady would have you, only the ones I’ve approached so far. I would never give up so easily. We have merely encountered a challenge.” She shot him a grin. “And I love challenges.”

Truth be told, he liked a challenge as well. But this was something more. “You said it yourself—there are only so many unmarried women in these parts. What can you do about a lack of ladies? The women Mercer brought back were all married within a year.”

“Except Lizzie Ordway,” she reminded him. “She chose to devote herself to teaching.”

“Wise woman.” He offered her his arm as they came to the end of the boardwalk, but she used both hands to gather her skirts out of the mud instead.

“I agree.”

She said it so firmly. Why did he doubt she believed it?

“If you and the Literary Society are so determined that every gentleman take a wife, why would you allow some ladies to avoid taking a husband?”

There was a prim set to her mouth. “Some people of either gender lack the spirit of compromise and congeniality necessary for a good marriage.”

“And what makes you think I’m not one of them?”

“Because I know you.”

So she thought, but Hart had gone out of his way to keep his past quiet, his present private. It was best not to make too many friends you’d only end up having to investigate one day.

“If you know me so well, you ought to understand this isn’t going to work,” he told her.

“Nonsense. I must insist that any number of fine, upstanding women might meet your criteria and win your heart, but for one thing.”

From what he’d seen, there were few enough women who could truly appreciate the life of a lawman on the frontier. But he found himself curious as to what might stop them from agreeing to his suit.

“What’s that?” he asked as they rounded the corner.

She met his gaze. “You.”

Hart jerked to a stop, then recovered himself. “Well, I could have told you that. And I’m not changing.”

“Not in character,” she assured him as he set out once more. “Although you might work on some traits. Patience, openness to new ideas...”

His glare only made her giggle. The happy sound could not fail but make him chuckle too.

“Very well,” she acknowledged as they neared the sheriff’s office. “You don’t want to change. Personally, I’m not sure why you would need to do much. I would have thought any lady could see from your exploits reported in the papers that you have high morals, an outstanding work ethic and a chivalrous nature.”

He wasn’t sure whether to thank her or laugh. What a paragon she thought him. He settled for a humph as they reached Arno. The gelding bobbed his head as if agreeing with everything Beth had said.

Traitor.

“If I’d make the perfect husband,” Hart said, “why is it a challenge to find me a wife?”

He’d hoped to prick her bubble of optimism, but she merely raised her chin, the breeze tugging at her platinum curls. “A woman wants more in a husband. She seeks a gentleman, a fellow who appreciates music, the arts.”

He raised a brow, and Arno snorted as if doubting Hart could ever measure up. “In Seattle?” Hart asked.

“Anywhere,” she insisted. “And I cannot believe you insensible to such refinement of spirit. You read literature.”

“Dime novels,” he reminded her. “Adventures, mysteries.”

“And what are the great novels of the past if not adventures. Dickens, Scott, Fenimore Cooper.”

He hadn’t read anything by those authors, but he’d have to ask Mr. Pumphrey about them. Or perhaps her brother John. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d borrowed books from the scholarly logger.

“No,” Beth continued, “we merely need to prove to the ladies that you are Seattle’s most eligible bachelor.”

A weight fell across his shoulders. It was not unlike the feeling that came over him before he moved in to apprehend a felon, as if he was about to meet his destiny. “What do you mean, Beth?”

She gazed up at him, eyes shining with a light that sent a chill through him. “I intend to show you to best advantage—grooming, clothing, domicile, social prominence.”

Hart’s stomach sank. “Now, wait a minute...”

She gave Arno a pat and stepped back. “No time to waste. I can see this will require all my time, all my energy. I’ll have to move into town for a while.”

“Town.” The whole idea seemed to be spinning out of control. “Your brothers won’t like that.”

She waved a hand as she was so fond of doing, as if the movement wiped away all his arguments. “They’ll survive. They have their wives to assist them now in any event. And I don’t expect it will take more than a month or two.”

Two months of this? He’d never survive.

“You can’t put up in a hotel,” he protested. He certainly couldn’t protect her there. “Too many men.”

“I’ll speak to Allegra Howard. I’m sure she’d let me stay with her and Clay.”

Very likely she would. The Howards and the Wallins were old friends. But if Beth was staying with the Howards, she’d be just across the paddock from his cabin. He could see her every morning before he left for work, every night when he returned. Likely she’d be at the table when he ate with the Howards as he sometimes did.

She beamed at him as if she had no idea she’d boxed him into a canyon and was standing guard at the entrance. “Just think, I’ll be right at hand to help whenever you need.”

That was what he feared.