August (Prairie Grooms, #1) Page 8

  “I did not say that!”

  SQUAWWWK! A crash sounded, followed by a muffled curse.

  All heads turned to the livery stable. “What was that?” August asked perplexed.

  Penelope raised her brow as her mouth curved into a smile. “I do believe, Mr. Bennett, that that was your new chicken.”

  “Our new chicken,” he corrected.

  A man came stumbling out of the livery stable, straw in his light-brown hair. His eyes, dark and fierce-looking, locked right on August. “That bird’s a menace! Get him out of my livery!”

  “He’s out?”

  “Yes, he’s out! And he keeps trying to land on my head and peck me!”

  August glanced to Penelope. “Best you wait here,” he told her before heading inside the building.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced to the others. “He’s out,” she said with eyebrows arched sarcastically.

  Mr. Van Cleet stepped to the front of them and peered at the livery stable as August and the black smith tiptoed inside. “He’s out?”

  Penelope stared at him. “You say that as if it’s a very terrible thing.”

  Mr. Van Cleet took on an innocent air. “Oh, not at all, I just ... um ...”

  SQUAWWWK! Another crash, and this time two voices cursing.

  Penelope’s eyes widened, as did her sisters. “It does eat spiders, though, right?” she heard Constance say.

  “Among other things,” Mr. Van Cleet mumbled.

  Penelope glanced his way at the odd statement, but her attention was immediately diverted by a multitude of feathers flying out the door of the livery stable – white feathers. Several hens followed, then August and the blacksmith hurried out to join the others.

  “Stupid bird!” the blacksmith yelled. “It’s a menace, I tell ya, a menace! Get that thing out of my livery, August!”

  August brushed dirt off his shirt. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

  “What happened?” Belle asked as she picked a few pieces of straw off his hat.

  “My new rooster has a ... a belligerent attitude,” August explained.

  Penelope put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. The thought of a man like August Bennett losing a fight with a chicken was beyond hilarious.

  “You find something funny with the situation, Miss Red?”

  Her head snapped up and her eyes locked with his. “Oh, no! I just didn’t expect you to be so easily bested by a lil’ ol chicken.”

  He glared at her, pushed up his sleeves, and marched back into the livery stable. The hens, still standing next to the door, peeked inside with caution.

  “Just what kind of a chicken is that?” Penelope asked.

  Mr. Van Cleet shrugged. “Some kind of fighting cock, I suspect. August is going to have his hands full with that thing.”

  Penelope had to bite her lip at this point. “As long as it eats spiders, it will surely be welcome.”

  Seven

  The wedding was set.

  Penelope couldn’t believe it. In three days she’d be married. She stole quick glances at her intended as they strolled back to the mercantile. Preacher Jo and his wife Annie had been pleasant and kind, making her feel like she’d been a part of the community for ages. But now that they’d left the church, she felt out of place again – a foreigner in a foreign land, one that should turn around and go straight home.

  But there was no going home. This was where she would live, possibly for the rest of her life, and she’d better get used to the idea.

  “Are you pleased with the arrangements?” August asked.

  “Do you still think a mail-order bride is silly?” She wasn’t prepared to let that comment go – not yet.

  He stopped, turned, and looked at her. “At first, I thought the idea was outlandish, but then it made good sense, until no one wanted to come here. After that me and a lot of the other men gave up. I was thinking of going to Oregon City or maybe even California to find a wife and start a family.”

  “Until Sadie Cooke and my cousin the Duke intervened?”

  “More or less. Now here you are, and here I am, and ... well, I don’t see why we shouldn’t get married. Unless you’re not comfortable with it? But then, isn’t that what mail-order brides do – marry men they’ve never met, no matter what?”

  “I met a few brides on the ship. They got off in New Orleans to marry.”

  “Would you have rather gotten off with them?”

  She looked into his eyes and saw a warmth in them she’d not noticed until now. “No, Mr. Bennett. I do believe I’m much happier to have come here.”

  He smiled at her. “I’m glad to hear it.” He sighed, as if trying to fill the silence between them. “Would you like to see the farm?”

  “Very much so. But what about your new ... acquisitions?”

  “Acquisitions?” he asked confused. “Oh, you mean the chickens?”

  She nodded, her lips pressed together to keep from laughing. They’d left the rampaging rooster in the livery stable (much to the dismay of Mr. Turner and the blacksmith) while they took care of their wedding arrangements. Now it was time to relieve the poor men of the beast so he could resume his day. When last they saw the blacksmith, he was sitting outside the building, a fireplace poker in his hand, mumbling something about August’s chicken being a mad bird from hell ...

  Regardless of where it was from, it was time to collect the little monster and take him to his new home.

  When they reached the livery stable, the smith was nowhere in sight, and August’s new rooster and hens were happily pecking at the ground near his former seat. They also noticed the door to the stable was shut tight. “Well, now what?” Penelope asked as they studied the animals.

  “We take them home.”

  “How? You couldn’t catch him before.” She looked at the odd bird, and noticed it was once again staring at her. She cocked her head to the side and stared back. The little thing’s eyes were mesmerizing. She took a step closer.

  August’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm. “I wouldn’t get too close if I were you,” he warned.

  “Oh, do stop – he’s adorable. It’s hard to believe he possesses such a belligerent attitude, as you say.” She bent over and made a kissing sound. She didn’t know why, it just seemed like a good way to call a chicken.

  The rooster came right to her. August put an arm around her and backed them up a few steps. The rooster cocked its head and made soft clucking noises.

  “Oh, listen, he’s talking to us,” Penelope said happily. “Isn’t that cute?”

  “Yeah, cute. About as cute as a angry bull.”

  “It’s a bloody chicken, Mr. Bennett – it’s hardly a bull.”

  “Why, Miss Red! Did you just swear?”

  She straightened, and realized he still had his arm around her, holding her close in case he needed to get her out of harm’s way. “No, I did not swear.”

  The rooster took a few steps closer, cocking his head this way and that as he stared at them.

  August backed up another step. “Nice birdie.”

  “Mr. Bennett, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were ... chicken.”

  He looked at her and rolled his eyes. “That was terrible.”

  She laughed, never once taking her eyes from the rooster. “I thought it rather clever on my part, didn’t you?”

  His shoulders shook with mirth. “All right, I’ll give you that one.”

  The rooster clucked a few times, then wandered back to the hens. “There, you see?” Penelope said. “Not so bad once you get to know him.”

  “It’s the catching him that’s bad, and I don’t look forward to doing it again.”

  “Why don’t you lure him?”

  “What?”

  “You know ... leave a trail of whatever it is the little beast eats, and then he’ll follow you home?”

  “That will never work.”

  She thought a moment. “Why not put something in the box he came in
?”

  “That will ... probably work ...” He looked at her, his eyes bright. “You’re a clever woman, Miss Red.”

  She swallowed hard. He’d not removed his arm from her, and its warmth was working through her clothes to the skin beneath. Her stomach fluttered and her knees felt weak as his eyes roamed her face. “Thank you,” she said, her voice softened.

  “No protest? I thought you didn’t like it when I called you that.”

  “We have more pressing matters at hand, Mr. Bennett.” She nodded toward the rooster, who by some miracle stood halfway inside the discarded crate the blacksmith had thrown out the stable door.

  August let loose a small squeak of delight as the rooster walked right into the crate and sat. “Don’t move.”

  “Are you addressing me? Or the chicken?”

  “Both, but especially him.” He carefully stepped to the crate, and shut the wire door. “Gotcha!”

  “Now what about the hens?” she asked.

  “Help me catch them, will you?”

  “Me? Chase chickens?” She raised an eyebrow at the absurdity

  “It’s not all that hard, Miss Red.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “What are you ... chicken?” He smiled, and then laughed. “C’mon, let’s show these birds what an English lady can do.”

  She eyed the hens, shrugged. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” she remarked in resignation, crouched and began to move slowly toward one of the birds. For the first time in her life, Penelope Sayer, daughter of nobility and raised in privilege among the peers of England, chased chickens. She caught them, too.

  Little did she know that in the process, she managed to catch so much more ...

  * * *

  August watched Miss Red laugh as she chased the last hen down, almost tripping over her own feet in the process. Her sisters also watched, their faces etched in shock as their prim and proper sibling kicked up a more than usual amount of dust and straw. It was a good thing his future bride was wearing a riding skirt, or the endeavor would have taken a lot longer.

  “Got you!” she told the white hen as it squawked in protest. “You silly little thing, did you think you could escape me? My people captured Napoleon and defeated the Armada – you never stood a chance!” She carried it to an empty crate August had taken from the livery, dropped it in and locked the crate shut. Only then did she look up at August. “Now what? You can’t be planning to carry them on horseback.”

  “No, we’ll set them in the back of the wagon. I’m not taking you to my farm alone – that would be improper. We’ll all go.”

  She smiled at his sense of propriety. She’d been so busy worrying about catching the hens, she’d not thought on the fact they’d be at his farm by themselves. But he didn’t want to give her any reason to fear him.

  “Let’s go get the others,” he told her as he took her arm and hooked it through his. He felt her shiver and fought the urge to put his arm around her again. He could tell she was still skittish when he touched her, yet enjoyed it at the same time. He wanted her to trust him, but knew he couldn’t expect it to happen overnight.

  He still wondered if she wanted to go through with the wedding. A lot could happen in three days, and he knew she might still back out and return home to England. Or would she? If he really thought about it, he had the upper hand. Mail-order brides counted on getting married, being protected and provided for by their new husbands. The Cookes would take her back in, he supposed, but ...

  “What have you two been doing?” Constance asked, yanking him from his thoughts. They had reached the front steps of the mercantile. “Mr. Dunnigan has been telling us the most wonderful stories about Colin and Belle! We have to go see His Majesty!”

  “His what?” Miss Red asked, perplexed, as they walked inside.

  “It’s a tree,” August explained.

  “A tree?”

  “A giant tree, in a beautiful meadow down at the creek the town was named for,” Constance said excitedly.

  Miss Red smiled at her younger sibling. “First, we are going to Mr. Bennett’s farm.

  Eloise came out the doors and joined them. “Farm? Oh yes, I want to see where you’re going to live!”

  August watched Miss Red flinch at the words, and his heart sank another notch. He had hoped she’d be as excited to see his farm as her sisters were. Sure, she said she wanted to, but not with the same enthusiasm.

  He waited just inside the mercantile while Belle introduced Miss Red and her sisters to several of the townsfolk, then waited another few moments as Mrs. Dunnigan and Fanny Fig (mainly Fanny) droned on about finally having new members for the ladies’ sewing circle. And yes, they could make Miss Red’s dress in the next three days and on and on and on she went ... if he didn’t get them moving, they’d be lucky to get to the farm before sunset!

  Finally, he was able to interrupt the female chatter and promise he’d bring them back to finish up the details. Why he had such a driving urge to show Miss Red his place right now, he had no idea. He just wanted it done. Maybe he needed the reassurance that he’d built it for her, and not just any mail-order bride. Or maybe he needed to know that she liked it – and would be willing to live there.

  Logan was nowhere to be found, so he helped the women into the wagon himself – making sure they had plenty of space away from the chickens, whom the blacksmith was all too happy to be rid of. He climbed up onto the driver’s seat, and they were off.

  “Is your farm very big?” Constance asked from the back of the wagon. She’d been quick to take a seat next to Belle. That left August on the wagon seat next to Miss Red, with Eloise on the other side of her. They were sitting so close together their legs were touching. It was all August could do to keep hold of the reins. He wanted to put his arm around her, hold her, kiss her ...

  “Mr. Bennett? Did you hear me?”

  Her voice snapped August out of his thoughts. “Oh, I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I said,” Constance started again, “is your farm very big?”

  “No, not so big as all that. I thought we clarified that last night at supper. I just bought a few chickens, after all, not a barn full.”

  “Is there gold on your land?” Eloise asked.

  August leaned forward to peer past Miss Red. Her younger sister looked dead serious. “I can’t say. I’ve never looked. No sign of any, though.”

  “So many men have come west to find gold. It’s all anyone on the ship talked about. Or on the stage to Colorado, for that matter.”

  “And they all got off in Colorado, I suppose?”

  “Yes,” Miss Red added. “Except us.” Her voice was solemn when she spoke.

  August leaned back, but not without looking her in the eye first. “I doubt there is any gold on my place ... but there will be.”

  She stared at him, missing the meaning of his words.

  Eloise now leaned forward and gawked at him. She too had a quizzical expression on her pretty face, and he had to laugh. “I see nothing funny about being poor,” Eloise stated.

  “What?” he asked. “I said nothing of the sort.”

  “She was referring to your gold,” Miss Red informed him.

  He chuckled. “You ladies have no idea what I just referred to.”

  “I do!” Belle called from the back of the wagon.

  “Quiet, you,” August called back. At least someone figured out he’d given Miss Red a huge compliment, comparing her to gold. But perhaps being English, they didn’t understand his idiom.

  He hauled back on the reins to slow the horses to a walk. They’d been trotting along for some time, and he wanted the women to have the full effect of seeing the farm for the first time. To do that, he couldn’t afford to round the bend too fast. The rolling prairie had some pretty good dips here, and a flower-covered hill was just ahead.

  The road wound around the hill, and his farm came into view. He smiled in anticipation of what Miss Red would think of it.

&
nbsp; A moment passed and the women were silent, until ... “Oh, my!” Miss Red breathed, adoration in her voice. “How charming.”

  The sound of her pleasure nearly sent August to the moon. She liked it! He stole a quick glance at her and his chest puffed out with pride.

  “Look, Penelope! What a lovely little house!” Eloise exclaimed.

  Constance got up on her knees and held onto the back of the wagon seat for balance as she took everything in. “Do savages come out here? Have you ever had to fight them off?”

  “Heavens, no!” Belle said. “The Indians in this part of Oregon are friendly.”

  Constance fell back into her seat. “Oh,” she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

  August chuckled as he brought the wagon to a stop. “How about the grand tour?”

  “Yes, please,” said Miss Red. “The house first, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course,” August said and jumped down. He helped the women disembark and, once everyone was out of the wagon, led them to the house. He’d built a two-story farmhouse and spared no expense, at least none he could afford, so he was justifiably proud of his achievement. It had a parlor, dining room, kitchen and three bedrooms upstairs. He’d painted it yellow, with white trim, and even spent the last of his cash on lace curtains for the windows. Miss Red stopped in front of it and stared. “It’s so ... small.”

  August was hurt. “Well, at least wait until you see the inside before you condemn it.”

  She looked at him, embarrassed. “Oh, non, Mr. Bennett, I would not dream of condemning it! On the contrary, Mr. Bennett, I find it enchanting.”

  “You do?”

  “Quite. You must understand, the houses where I lived in England are large, drafty places. This looks ... cozy.”

  He smiled in relief. “That is what I was aiming for. Shall we?” He led her up onto the front porch and opened the door. He didn’t have a lot of furniture yet, but had managed to purchase a few pieces before his bride’s arrival.

  “Oh, Mr. Bennett ...” Miss Red breathed. “You built this?”

  “With my own two hands.”

  Eloise was next to enter, “Oh, Penelope, it’s wonderful!”

  Constance pushed her way inside. “I love it!” She turned to her sister. “You’ll have us to tea every day, won’t you?”