A Hopeful Heart (21 page)

Gratitude flashed through Aunt Hattie’s eyes before she turned a grim look on Brewster. “Are you gonna take a stick to that boy, or am I gonna hafta do it?”

Abel added, “Gage took off after Luella. She went runnin’ in the direction of the woodshed.”

“That seems fittin’.”

Tressa nearly giggled at Aunt Hattie’s wry statement.

Brewster heaved a sigh. Fiddle music floated around the corner, followed by the thud of feet on wood. “I’ll handle it. Harriet, you best get back to your party before folks start to wonder what’s goin’ on.”

“Abel,” Aunt Hattie said, “you take Miss Tressa on out an’ get her dancin’.” She brushed Tressa’s cheek with her rough fingertips, her smile sad. “Nothin’ like a dance with a handsome man to brighten a girl’s spirits.” She flashed a stern look in Brewster’s direction. “I’m goin’ with you so I can round up Luella an’ see what needs fixin’ there.”

Before Tressa could offer a protest, Abel replaced his hat and slipped her hand into the bend of his elbow. “All right, Aunt Hattie, I’ll see she’s cared for. C’mon, Miss Tressa. Let’s join the party.”

21

Not until Abel led Tressa to the edge of the wooden dance floor did he consider what others might think, seeing the two of them coming arm-in-arm from behind the house. His neck went hot. But it was too late now.

He gestured to the dancers. “You want to join ’em midstep or wait for the next song to start?”

A single strand of hair, pulled loose from the bun at the back of her head, framed her cheek. She guided the wavy lock behind her ear with trembling fingers before answering. “Let’s wait for the next song. Aunt Hattie showed us all some dance steps, but I’m not familiar enough to join in the middle of the set.”

Abel nodded, and they stood silently beneath the sun and watched the others. Several couples from town were making use of the dance floor, and the three lucky ranchers who’d claimed one of Miss Hattie’s girls were beaming from ear to ear as they swung their partners in the circle. Other ranchers surrounded the platform, tapping their toes and patting their legs in time with the music. There’d be a stampede the minute the song ended as single men vied to grab the next dance with one of Hattie’s girls.

Abel didn’t tap his toe, but his soles vibrated with the pound of boots, making him itch to join the fun. He pondered the odd sense of anticipation. He hadn’t danced in over two years—not since he’d danced with Amanda at her welcome-to-Barnett party. Oddly, the thought did nothing to dampen his eagerness to take a turn around the dance floor with Tressa.

Ethan sidled up on Tressa’s other side, a shy smile on his face.

“Hey, Miss Tressa. You fixin’ to dance, too?” “Yes. As soon as the next song begins.”

“Well . . . could I maybe have the dance right after that?” His gaze bounced to Abel and then back to Tressa. “After you’ve danced with Abel, of course.”

Tressa lifted her face to Abel, as if seeking his approval. He gulped, realizing he wanted to say no. But he had no claim on her, and it might quiet speculation if he handed her off to Ethan. He forced a reply past his tight throat. “Sure. Why don’tcha just go ahead an’ dance the next one with Ethan? I’ll go . . . have another piece of that chocolate cake.”

Tressa’s hand slipped free of his elbow, and Abel tromped to the dessert table. The blazing sun had melted the icing into a gooey mess, but he whacked off a piece of cake and forked a bite to his mouth anyway. He might as well have been eating sawdust for all the pleasure he took in it. Leaning his hip against the table, he stared toward the dance floor. The next song started, and Ethan whirled around the floor with Tressa. The cowboy held her at arm’s length—proper and acceptable—but the sight churned something in Abel’s stomach.

He jabbed another bite of cake and chewed it with a vengeance while Ethan and Tressa wove between the other couples on the floor. The same feelings that had washed over him when Tressa hurt her arm on the wire now wrapped around him. He wanted to keep her safe from harm—harm from the dangers of the world, harm from Gage Hammond, harm from any other man who might not have her best interest at heart. He
cared
about that girl.

Why he cared, he couldn’t explain. He had sworn off attaching himself to another woman—especially an eastern woman—but he now found himself mysteriously drawn to a high-falutin’, fine-bred woman from the East. And even though he’d made up his mind that now was the worst time to pursue a wife, his heart refused to agree.

The song slowed, nearing its end, and Abel slapped the plate onto the table. His feet broke into a trot, and he came to a halt at the edge of the dance floor just as the fiddler’s final note faded away. Men strained toward the girls, raising their hands for a chance at the next dance. Abel’s hand flew into the air with the others. Tressa glanced across the eager faces, and her gaze met his. A smile of relief broke across her face, and she offered a quick nod.

He bounded onto the floor, his boots skidding on the sawdust. He caught his balance and reached her in two wide strides. A trio of notes started the next tune, and Abel held out his arms. She placed one hand on his shoulder and the other against his waiting palm. After a moment’s hesitation, he rested his free hand lightly on her waist.

They moved in rhythm with the music, their steps as sure as if they’d practiced beforehand. He examined the top of her head, her brown hair shining like rich molasses in the sun. If he drew her near, she’d surely fit neatly beneath his chin. He kept his arms stiff, resisting the urge to test his speculation. At first she angled her face down, as if watching to make sure he didn’t step on her toes, but as the song lengthened she raised her head. Their gazes collided, and a shy smile lit her face.

Abel’s heart caught in his throat. Gage’s comment—“
Of all the gals Aunt Hattie brought to town, she’s the purtiest”
—ran through his mind. Gage was right. She was fine-boned with a heart-shaped face and beautiful eyes. Staring across a breakfast table at her would be pure pleasure. He knew she could cook a meal that satisfied a man’s taste buds and filled his belly, too. Abel’s feet shifted—one step, two step, twirl—as he stared into Tressa’s sweet face and considered how much richer his life might be if he were to open himself to this woman.

Vince had advised him against seeking a wife until the problem with the rustlers was settled. Why bring a woman into that conflict? As much as Abel respected the old cowboy’s opinion, he wanted to cast aside the advice and go ask Aunt Hattie for permission to court Tressa.

A short guffaw blasted from somewhere nearby, followed by several snickers. Tressa ducked her head, stepping out of Abel’s arms. He suddenly realized the music had stopped, but he’d kept dancing. Fire attacked his face, and he stumbled backward. His boot heel slipped off the edge of the dance floor. Arms flailing, down he went, smack on his backside in the dirt.

The snickers turned to full-blown guffaws as men pointed, slapped their knees, and hollered mocking comments. Tressa darted to the edge of the floor. She stared at him with her steepled fingers covering her lips. He ignored her sympathetic expression and pushed to his feet, dusting off the seat of his pants. Anger quickly replaced the tender feelings of moment’s ago. Once again, he was a laughingstock . . . all on account of his attention to a woman.

He spun and charged toward his wagon. “Cole! Ethan! Let’s go!” The two cowboys pounded to his side while laughter continued to roll. The fiddle broke into a merry tune, drowning out the sounds of mirth. Abel climbed into the wagon seat and, after glancing in the back to be sure Cole and Ethan were seated, whacked the reins down on the horses’ backs. They jolted forward, and he encouraged them to set a good pace as they pulled the wagon through the gate and down the lane.

“Don’t know why
we
couldn’t stay,” Cole groused from the back. “I was up to dance with Miss Sallie on the next song.”

Abel jerked back on the reins so hard the horses neighed in protest. He whirled around in the seat. “You wanna keep dancin’? Hop on out, then. But you can plan on walkin’ to the ranch when the party’s over. I won’t come back an’ get ya.”

Ethan and Cole looked at each other with their mouths hanging open. Then Cole swung an eager expression on Abel. “You mean it, boss?”

“It’s a lengthy walk, but if you think another dance is worth it, I won’t stop you.”

“Yeehaw!” Cole leaped over the edge of the wagon. “You comin, Ethan?”

Ethan shot a nervous glance at Abel. “Yep. I reckon.” He climbed out. “You sure you don’t mind, Abel?”

Abel forced a reply through gritted teeth. “Go on. Be home by sundown.”

Hattie herded Luella toward the yard, where fiddle music and laughter filled the air. The girl’s cheeks were red and blotchy from the crying she’d done. But the men would surmise the color came from the blazing sun, so Hattie didn’t feel too bad about making Luella join the party.

Luella stumbled along beside Hattie, her usual brassiness absent. As much as it pained Hattie to see the girl so defeated, she couldn’t help but think this comedown might prove beneficial. Luella had wasted herself on a man who’d used her and tossed her aside. Maybe Gage’s rejection would make her think about consequences before acting. At least, Hattie prayed so. She hated to see a good lesson squandered.

As they neared the dance floor, several men glanced over their shoulders. Immediately they bumped one another with their elbows, grinning and pointing. Luella’s steps slowed, but Hattie planted her hand in the middle of the girl’s back and gave a gentle push.

“Go on now. There’s
good
men waitin’, an’ nothin’ heals a broken heart better’n a dance in the sunshine.”

With a persecuted sigh, Luella lifted her chin and glided forward. Hattie stood back, arms crossed over her chest, and watched as Len Meyer and Fred Pennington scrambled for the chance to take Luella onto the dance floor. After a few moments of good-natured argument between the men, Luella’s shoulders shook with merriment, and Hattie grinned. Looked like the girl was already healing. And either Len or Fred would be a good match for the headstrong girl.

Hattie sat on the porch step, her chin in her hands, and watched the dancers. What a joy to see the frivolity playing out in front of her eyes. When she’d envisioned this school, her imagination hadn’t been active enough to create the picture of eager men, laughing girls, and joyful music. The seed God had planted in her heart was blossoming in better ways than she’d hoped, and her heart swelled with thankfulness. Despite the trouble between Gage and Luella, it appeared much good would result from this venture of hers.

A shadow fell across her knees, and she looked up to find Brewster Hammond standing beside the steps. She tipped sideways to peek past him. “Where’s Gage?”

“Sent him back to the ranch an’ told him to stay put till I get home.” Brewster hitched up his pant legs and sat on the opposite end of the step. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared toward the dancers. The fiddle music nearly covered his voice as he said in a serious tone, “Harriet, I knew my son could be pranksome, but I’m speakin’ the truth. I had no idea he was capable of such low-handed behavior. I apologize to you, an’ I’ll apologize to both Luella an’ Tressa before I go home tonight.”

His sagging features stirred Hattie’s sympathy; however, Brewster needed to assume his part in Gage’s misconduct. “Never had young’uns of my own, but I do remember my mama keepin’ a firm hand on me— said foolishness was bound up in a child’s heart an’ it was her beholden duty to drive it from me.” She chuckled. “She had a way of drivin’ it that kept it from comin’ back if I took a notion to sample it.”

Brewster cleared his throat, smoothing down his steel-gray mustache. “I s’pose I didn’t do my duty by Gage in that regard. But after Amy died, I . . .” He heaved a sigh. “I spoiled him, Harriet. An’ look what he’s become. A selfish man seekin’ only to please himself.”

She gave his knee a brisk pat. “Not too late to change it, Brewster. Gage still has some growin’ in him. I’ll be prayin’ you find a way to turn him around.”

Brewster angled his head and looked directly into her eyes. “Thank you, Harriet.”

She gave a nod, and they sat in silence for several minutes while the fiddler played and the dancers whirled on the wooden dance floor. Hattie relaxed, nodding in beat with the music and bouncing her toes against the ground.

Suddenly Brewster sat bolt upright. “Harriet, would you like to dance?”

“Me?” She pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart pounded beneath her palm.

Brewster searched the area, a teasing glint in his eye. “Don’t see nobody else named Harriet hidin’ in the bushes, do you?”

The unexpected humor took Hattie by surprise, and she laughed. But then she quickly sobered. Not since she was seventeen years old had she stepped onto a dance floor with anyone but Jed. After all these years, could she allow another man to lead her in a dance?

Brewster sat waiting, his face expectant and his hand extended. Oh, what was a dance? Might be fun. With a self-conscious chortle, Hattie placed her hand in his. She tossed her apron aside as they stepped onto the dance floor and joined the others mid-dance. To her surprise, her feet managed to follow Brewster’s—not as smoothly as she’d followed Jed’s lead, but she and Jed’d had years of practice. When the song ended, she discovered a sense of disappointment. She’d enjoyed being swung around the circle on Brewster’s arm.

He bowed, his smile wide. When the next song started, he raised his eyebrows in silent query, and Hattie reached for him again. After three more dances, she was huffing and puffing, and she noticed the girls looked wilted, too. Although suppertime was still a good hour away, she decided it was time to bring the party to a close. Those poor girls looked purely tuckered.

The Hammonds’ cook raised the fiddle to start another tune, but Hattie shook her head at him. “Thanks, Cookie, but we’re gonna give you a rest.”

“Aw, Aunt Hattie!” The protests rose, but she waved her hands at the blustering men.

“Now, fellas, I’m glad y’all had a good time, but these poor girls have just about danced the soles off their shoes. They’ve danced ever’ dance, an’ y’all have had breaks in between. It’s time to call it quits.”