August (Prairie Grooms, #1) Page 7

  “You don’t do so bad, Miss Red,” August commented as she rode up alongside him.

  He slowed his horse to a walk, as did she. “I told you I could ride.”

  “How come your sister said you were afraid of horses, then?”

  She took a deep breath. “Because, Mr. Bennett, I am.”

  He looked at her. “Why?”

  “I suffered a riding accident when I was a little girl. It broke my leg.”

  He stared at her open-mouthed. “You did? That must’ve hurt something awful.”

  “Indeed,” she said flatly. “More than you know.”

  “I broke my arm once,” he offered.

  Now it was her turn to look at him. “How?”

  “Got bucked off. I took a job breaking horses back in Texas. I truly didn’t know what I was doing, and everyone but me knew it. Those boys let me take a licking and get all banged up just to prove it.”

  “That’s horrible!” she gasped. “Who would do such a thing to another person? Did you quit after that?”

  “Of course not! I had to prove I was as tough as the rest of them.”

  “But your injury, how did you work around that?”

  “Practice. Soon I could ride just as well with one arm as I could with two.”

  She faced front, her mouth open, but snapped it shut as a big bug of some sort flew past them. Juliet flicked her ears in response.

  “I still can,” he said. “It comes in handy once in a while.”

  “You can ride with one arm?” she asked without looking at him.

  “Yes, ma’am. Would you like to see?”

  She gave him her attention. He grinned ear to ear, stuck one hand behind his back, and then whistled. His horse took off like a shot.

  Penelope had to bring Juliet to a stop to keep her from taking off after him. Now she was scared, scared that her horse would run off ... but she soon realized August was galloping and turning so fast she could barely see him through the dust. Still, she had to admit that as frightening as it was to watch, his riding finesse was impressive.

  The wagon caught up with her. “Show-off,” she heard Logan Kincaid mutter under his breath as he pulled the team to a stop.

  All of them watched August run his horse through a series of figure eights, around sagebrush, and even jumping over a log before he spurred it toward them at frightening speed. He came skidding to a stop before Penelope, his horse kicking up dust and dirt. She covered her eyes against the flying particles and coughed a time or two. She also making quite a show of fanning the air about her with her other hand, if for no other reason than to hide the fact his recent display had her starry-eyed. Not to mention utterly infatuated ... at least for the moment.

  Six

  “See? I told you I could ride one-handed.” With those words he was off again.

  Well, Penelope had no doubt he could easily outride her. She didn’t follow, but instead kept pace with the wagon and her sisters. “I dare say, but is it always this dusty?” she asked Logan.

  “No, ma’am. It gets dustier, the further along into summer we get.”

  “Lovely,” she commented.

  “Let’s go to the mercantile first, Logan,” Edith called from the back of the wagon. And so they did.

  Penelope hadn’t paid too much attention to the little town when she and her sisters first arrived. For one, they’d been sleeping when the stagecoach rolled in, and didn’t realize they had reached their final destination. And when they did realize it, they didn’t want it as their final destination if it could be helped. At the time, they were so shocked at the lack of any actual town, they just wanted to hightail it out of there. Penelope smiled as she realized she’d just used a Western colloquialism in her own thoughts.

  The town did have a few amenities. There was the mercantile, of course – a rather large one for a town so small. It also had a saloon, which, to hear the Cookes tell it, was a social gathering place where people ate and did a little drinking, but not a lot – more like an English public house than the usual conception of a Wild West barroom. There was a livery stable, a feed store which was new, a barber shop (also new), a bank, and the crown jewel – the hotel.

  Penelope’s eyes widened along with her sisters’ at the sight of the beautiful blue building with white and red trim. “Oh,” she breathed. It was so beautiful it looked out of place in the tiny town, and she wondered why on God’s green Earth Cyrus Van Cleet had chosen to build his gleaming hotel out in the middle of nowhere. “Are there even any guests?” she asked no one in particular.

  “Nope,” Belle said from the back of the wagon. “Not at the moment. But there will be ... one day.”

  Penelope looked at her. The woman sat staring at the place like it was holy ground, as did all the others save her sisters.

  Which didn’t mean they weren’t interested. “Can we look inside?” asked Constance.

  “Sure, just don’t spend all day in there,” said Edith. “I’ll introduce you to my sisters.”

  Logan brought the team to a stop in front of the mercantile and helped the women down as Penelope found a suitable spot to dismount. She tied Juliet to a hitching post and stared at the sign overhead. “DUNNIGAN’S” was painted in big, fancy letters on the building itself, with “MERCANTILE” on a sign underneath.

  “Hotel or mercantile first?” asked Logan.

  “Let’s mosey down to the hotel first; that way we’ll have an excuse to leave,” Edith said. She leaned toward Penelope and her sisters in a conspiratorial fashion. “My sister Sally is a talker – if she gets going, we may never get out of there.”

  Eloise giggled, took Constance by the hand, and followed Edith down the street. Penelope lagged behind a moment and watched for August to come riding around a building, but there was no sign of him. Hmmm, that’s rather rude, she thought. He invites me to ride to town with him, then disappears?

  She walked a few yards behind the others and took in the buildings and what few people were out that morning. “Well, hello!” a voice called from across the street. Penelope turned. An elderly woman with a basket on her arm stood in front of the bank with a wiry little man, waving at them.

  The man turned, saw them, and also waved. “Welcome to Clear Creek! You heading to the hotel?”

  “Sure are, Cyrus,” Edith called to him. “You want to give our guests the grand tour?”

  He crossed the street, the woman right behind him. “Sure, be happy to. Which one of you is the bride?”

  “All three, from what I hear,” said the old woman.

  “Grandma,” Belle began. “I’d like to introduce you to Colin and Harrison’s cousins.”

  “Just Colin and Harrison’s? Did Duncan disown them?” the old woman chuckled.

  “No,” Belle laughed. “This is Penelope, Constance, and Eloise. As you know, they’ve come to Clear Creek to marry.

  “We don’t stand on ceremony here,” the old woman said and pulled Constance into a fierce hug. “Welcome! And you call me Grandma – everyone around here does.” She grabbed Eloise next, released her, and turned to Penelope.

  “Oh, a handshake will suffi–” she managed to get out before she was pulled into the woman’s arms.

  “Nonsense! Around here we hug,” Grandma told her.

  “Why?” asked Constance.

  Grandma looked at her, her face serious. “’Cause out here ya never know if it’s the last time you’ll get to.” She turned to the man called Cyrus. “Go show these younguns your hotel.”

  “Happy to! Ladies, nice to meet you – I’m Mr. Van Cleet. Follow me.” They did so as Grandma turned on her heel and headed for the mercantile.

  “You’ll get used to Grandma Waller,” Belle told them. “We all love her, and her husband is Doc Waller. He’s one of two doctors in town – the other is Doc Drake.”

  “Why does a town this small need two doctors?” Penelope asked, worry in her voice.

  “On account Doc Waller is going to give it up one day. He wanted an
other doctor in place before he does so he can teach him how he likes things done.”

  Penelope didn’t know she’d been holding her breath until she let it out. It was a logical explanation – at least Belle didn’t tell her it was because so many people came close to dying out here. Or did they? And where was August?

  No sooner had she asked herself that the man in question came out of the livery stable holding a crate with a chicken in it. “Looks like I’ve got myself a new rooster,” he told Logan and Mr. Van Cleet.

  Logan peered at the bird. “That’s a chicken?”

  “Of course it’s a chicken – it doesn’t look like a moose, does it? Mr. Turner just sold him to me. I rode out to his place yesterday after having supper with the Cookes to see about buying him and a few hens.”

  Mr. Turner came out of the livery, with a youth right behind him. The boy looked to be about fifteen, and had to be the man’s son if looks were an indicator. He gazed nervously at the chicken in the wire-covered crate, then at August, gulped audibly and slowly backed into the stable.

  Penelope eyed the chicken. He was oddly marked, and didn’t have the usual things a chicken ... well, should have. She wasn’t an expert, but she found herself asking the same question. “That’s a chicken?”

  August sighed. “Yes, a special chicken.”

  “What’s special about it?” asked Mr. Van Cleet.

  “It’s ... ah ... well, it’s a different breed o’ chicken,” Mr. Turner replied.

  “I can certainly see that,” Penelope commented as she studied the creature. It did have beautiful markings, and she was intrigued by its unique color, as if someone had taken the colors of a pheasant and thrown in a few greens and blues. But there was no comb on its head, and the feathers of its tail were so black they looked blue. Its eyes were also unusual for a chicken, a deep amber color. Penelope at least knew a little about chickens, and this was like none she’d ever seen – not even in an illustration.

  “Best of all,” August said, “it eats spiders.”

  Penelope almost felt like throwing her arms around him for saying it. Almost. On the one hand, she was still quite embarrassed over her fainting because of an insect. On the other hand, she wanted no more such encounters to occur. The chicken, strange though it might be, was now her ally on that score. “Thank goodness,” she muttered.

  “What was that, Miss Sayer?” August asked as he leaned toward her, a hand to his ear.

  Her mouth pressed into a firm line as she eyed him. Was he teasing her? By Jove, he must be! She’d never had a man banter with her like this before. “I said, thank goodness. My knight in shining armor has arrived.”

  He stood straight and laughed. Mr. Turner laughed with him, though not as heartily, and glanced nervously at the chicken.

  “Would you be so kind as to settle with me, Mr. Turner? Miss Sayer and I have to pay a visit to Preacher Jo.”

  “Oh, yes. Let’s see, three hens and ... well ... tell you what? Just pay me for the hens, you can have the rooster for free.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that,” August argued. “He’s such a fine bird. Surely you want something for him.”

  Mr. Turner held up both hands. “No, I insist. He’s all yours.”

  Penelope looked at the chicken. He was looking right back. She quickly looked to Mr. Turner who took the crate from August and was backing toward the stable door. “I’ll just put him in here and have the blacksmith keep an eye on him while you go do what you need for your weddin’. Wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of that. I’ll get those hens ready too.

  “Much obliged, Mr. Turner,” August told him. He held his arm out to Penelope who stared blankly at it. “Shall we?”

  She looked at him, then back to his arm. She should take it, but something held her back. Blast it all, what was wrong with her?

  The chicken made up her mind for her as it let out an unholy screech that sent her straight into August’s arms. He stepped back from the impact to balance himself and looked into her eyes. “I think I’m gonna like that chicken.”

  * * *

  The Van Cleet Hotel was magnificent. There was no other way to describe it. Penelope and her sisters oohed and ahhed over the details and craftsmanship that had gone into everything. From the intricately carved stair rails to the crystal chandeliers, everything looked almost magical, as if a European castle’s interior had been magically transported to the New World. “This is beautiful,” Penelope breathed as they descended the stairs back to the lobby.

  The tour over, Mr. Van Cleet smiled with pride. “I’m so glad you like it, Miss Sayer. Might I make a suggestion then?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “I don’t know how you feel about this, August, but I’m sure Miss Sayer will agree that the hotel would be a fine place to hold your wedding supper.”

  Penelope’s eye brightened with delight. The Van Cleet Hotel was the first speck of true civilization she’d seen since climbing onto the stage in St. Louis, and she wasn’t about to pass up his offer. She looked at August, hope in her eyes.

  He looked into them, and smiled. “Cyrus, we’d love to.”

  She brought a hand to her chest, and fought the tears that threatened. Why on Earth did she want to cry? Perhaps it was because she and her sisters had gone without for so long that it made a simple thing seem like so much. “Thank you,” she breathed and fanned her face with a hand before turning away.

  “Here now, what’s this?” August asked as he tucked a finger under her chin and brought her around to face him. “I hope those are happy tears.”

  She smiled as a few escaped. “Yes. You have no idea ... thank you.”

  He let go her chin and nodded. “We’d best go pay a visit to Preacher Jo while your sisters get acquainted with the Dunnigans down at the mercantile. If we’re to hold the wedding supper here, I suspect there’s going to be war.”

  Penelope shook herself. Had she heard him right?

  “War?” Constance asked.

  She had heard him right, as did Constance and Eloise. The three of them gaped at him as he put his hands on his hips, then looked this way and that.

  Mr. Van Cleet realized he had better explain. “War between Sally Upton and Mrs. Dunnigan, that is. You see, they’re both excellent cooks, and they have a rivalry going on as to who is the best. The hotel is Mrs. Upton’s territory, which means she’ll expect to do all the cooking for the wedding celebration.”

  Penelope and her sisters stared at him. They’d never heard of such a thing. Penelope puckered her brow. “And the woman who owns the mercantile is in ... competition with the hotel’s cook?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am – that’s the size of it,” August replied, then hunched over and whispered. “But Mrs. Upton is by far the better one at wedding cakes. I’ve seen them myself.”

  “Are they good?” Constance asked.

  “Very,” said August. Then he noticed that Eloise was staring at something behind him.

  Penelope also noticed and turned to see what had caught her sister’s eye. A well-dressed young man who hadn’t been there when they started their tour now stood behind the front counter. Eloise was looking at him in utter fascination, and he at her. Constance, too, was glued to the sight of him.

  For his part, he took all three of them in at once. He then took a deep breath, swallowed, and sat down hard on a chair behind the counter.

  “Mr. Jones,” Mr. Van Cleet called. “Come here – say hello to our guests.”

  “Guests? Hotel guests?” he squeaked.

  “Not exactly. This here is August’s intended,” Mr. Van Cleet pointed to Penelope.

  Mr. Jones looked like he might swoon, and Penelope almost giggled at the action. “I ... oh dear ... then is that ... are they ...?”

  “Land sakes, boy,” Mr. Van Cleet grumbled. “Get a hold of yourself, or at least your tongue. What is it you’re trying to say?”

  “W-w-wives?” Mr. Jones asked, his voice coming out a chirp.

/>   Mr. Van Cleet looked at the sisters, then back to Mr. Jones. “One of them, anyway.”

  “August ...” Mr. Jones whispered, his voice a rasp.

  August nodded, took Penelope’s arm, and began to usher her toward the lobby doors. “Later, Mr. Jones. You’ll meet them later. One wife at a time – Sadie’s instructions.”

  “Later ...” he mumbled, never taking his eyes from Constance and Eloise.

  The sisters, in turn, began to put two and two together. “Oh!” Constance exclaimed. “Is he ... Mr. Jones! Isn’t my husband’s name Mr. Jones?”

  “And mine!” Eloise squeaked. “Which one are you?”

  Belle spoke up for the first time. “Ladies, Mr. Jones is working – we mustn’t bother him. We have to get started on your wedding dresses. Don’t worry, we’ll have Mr. Jones and ... er ... the other Mr. Jones to supper this week. You’ll meet them both then.”

  The women – reluctantly – started to follow August and Penelope to the doors.

  “Why didn’t we meet all of you at once?” Penelope asked. “Why I am the only one to meet my intended?”

  “The Cooke women have this all organized,” August said in a low voice. He looked behind them at Belle, who brought up the rear of their little group. “They want us to be able to have a little time to get to know each other if we want, and they can’t chaperone three couples at once, so I’m told.”

  “Ah. Well, that makes perfect sense ...”

  “Look, this whole mail-order bride business is ...”

  “Is what?” she asked as they stepped outside.

  “Never mind.”

  She stopped and faced him. “Mr. Bennett, what were you going to say?”

  He looked down at her. “If you must know, I was going to say it was silly.”

  “Silly? Then what are we doing here?”

  “Let me finish, Miss Red ...”

  “Kindly stop calling me that!”

  “But I like it. It suits you.”

  “But marriage to me doesn’t?”