Love by the Letter (11 page)

“No.” He’d not advise his worst enemy to work for Ned Parker.

Ned rapped on the counter bell. “What do I got to do to get some service?”

“What do you think about this one, Miss Lockwood?”

Julia fingered the fine pink-sprigged lawn, silky and untextured. “Combed yarns. Very nice feel to it. I think it would make you a fine dress, Miss Lenowitz.”

“Wish I could have something as fancy as yours with those ruffles all the way to the top. Maybe you could help me with my sleeves?” The young lady looked as if she were debating on fabric for her first ball gown, not a light summer dress. Was the girl old enough for a debut? Did they even do that in Kansas?

Julia swallowed hard. Even if they did, she couldn’t help this girl—she had no idea how to sew. Looking around at the men and women surrounding her in homespuns and dyed calicos, she knew that her dress probably cost the equivalent of their entire closets. Every dress. She had nothing like what they were wearing—and all their work dresses and shirtwaists showed signs of wear. Her silks and sheer lawns most likely wouldn’t last a month out here. Should she even be encouraging this woman to buy this? It was the most expensive bolt of fabric on the table. “I’m afraid I’m not good at sewing something this intricate. Perhaps I could lend it to you for a pattern.”

The girl’s eyes flashed and several of the ladies sucked in air and started murmuring. But Miss Lenowitz shook her head. “I couldn’t ask you to part with a dress for so very long. We don’t come into town but once a month, and I live in the opposite direction from Mrs. Stanton.”

What Julia really needed was to give Miss Lenowitz this dress in exchange for one of hers. But she wouldn’t dare bring up such a thing and embarrass the girl in front of this crowd. Nor had she the courage to admit she’d come west with not one work dress. But she’d need several if she was staying, wouldn’t she?

If she were staying . . .

Julia absently played with a bit of lawn. Everett hadn’t looked her way since he’d walked in.

At the counter, Everett strode away from the man who’d leered at her since she’d entered the store, grabbed some candy, and walked toward a stand of hats. “Put two molasses chews on the tab, Carl,” he called over his shoulder.

“Miss?” A man with a ragged beard and huge eyes swiped off his hat.

She pulled her attention from Everett and tried to keep from wrinkling her nose at the farmer’s stench.

“I’m here to buy my wife enough fabric for a shirtwaist, and I don’t have a good eye. Would you mind picking one? These women seem to think you have a knack for it. She’s got green eyes with specks of gold in them and red hair, well more orange-like, but she don’t like me saying so.”

“Hmm, I’m sure a deep green or blue—”

“And I can’t spend too much on it.”

She nodded and fished out a teal calico with white sprigged daisies. “This ought to bring out her eyes and compliment her auburn tresses.”

“A fine choice, Lincoln.” The store’s proprietor grabbed the fabric and escorted the farmer to the counter, where the leering, impatient man threatened to ring the bell a second time.

“I don’t believe the Hampdens have sold this much fabric in a week,” Rachel whispered. “Watch out or Mr. Hampden will be offering you a job.”

Julia smoothed a creased corner of gingham. A job in the mercantile? Now, that she could do. But not in Salt Flatts.

From this distance, Everett did indeed look a lot like Theodore, except he didn’t have the same arrogant, self-assured posture—more like stiff and agitated. He chewed candy and stared out the window as if he had all day to watch the clouds go by. Or was that just his way of reacting to how she’d treated him at the depot? She’d never been so rude to someone in all her life. Had she ruined all chances with him? If her mother had been alive, she’d be mortified.

“I can get his attention.” Rachel slipped a bolt of mauve fabric out from the bottom of the pile.

Whose attention? Oh! “I don’t think we need to—”

———

“Everett!” Rachel’s call snapped him away from staring at his reflection.

With everyone looking at him, he left his sad image behind and kept his focus on Rachel as he snaked through the crowd. “Yes?”

“We were discussing whether or not Julia should buy this rose-colored calico. I think she should since it brings out the color in her cheeks.”

His mouth dried into crumbles as the crowd turned to stare at him. His quick peek at Julia showed that her cheeks were indeed blooming with color.

Rachel grabbed the fabric and placed it next to Julia’s jawline. “It’ll be gorgeous on her, don’t you think?”

Julia’s gaze dropped to the floor. Whispers sounded behind him. . . . “Another one?” . . . “Can’t be that lucky” . . . “Surely she didn’t come out here for him.”

They were right. He couldn’t be this lucky, being that he’d never had any luck at all.

Julia’s dark brown eyes met his with a halfhearted smile.

Did she actually smile at him? “Yes,” Everett’s voice squeaked, “looks just fine.” He cleared his throat. “I think you ladies have a better opinion of what one should or shouldn’t wear.” He looked toward the back of the store. “My stuff is gathered. If you don’t mind.” He strode toward the pile Carl had stacked on the counter and grabbed his first crate.

Of course she’d look gorgeous in the dark pink fabric. She’d look gorgeous in a feed sack. That image caused heat to rush from his head to his toes, so he pushed it away.

“Carl, would you mind helping me with these? I have to get over to the mill.” He was very afraid he’d prove the town right. If he followed her around like a goose, and she chose one of the men in the store making moony eyes at her, he might as well abandon his farm and move farther west—so far west no mail-order bride would answer his advertisement if he were daft enough to write another.

———

Julia paid a few dollars for the rose calico and hugged the soft package as she walked outside with Rachel.

Dex and his boys loaded the Stantons’ goods around her trunks. He played with his sons as they threw things into the back of the wagon, and Rachel absentmindedly covered Emma’s head in kisses as she barked orders for packing the supplies so nothing would break. A lump throbbed in Julia’s throat. The Stantons seemed wonderful, too good to be true.

But these were not the people she’d be living with forever. As nice as they were, the brooding Everett held her fate in his hands. She didn’t want the man physically interested in her, so why did she care that he stayed as far away from her as possible? Because he had to
need her. At least for work; otherwise she’d have to go with another plan to support herself. And she had no other plan.

She chewed on her lower lip and looked around the small, dusty town. She didn’t see him. Where was he? Had he left? Maybe that would be best. Marrying a stranger wasn’t a good idea at all. At the Stantons’ place, she would have time to think of another option.

Everett exited the sawmill’s large front doors at the end of the road, his hands tucked in his pockets as he strode her way. Besides the roguish shock of dirty-blond hair falling across his forehead, he seemed to grow less and less like Theodore with every minute. Had her imagination grasped at straws earlier in an effort to sway her from saying vows to a stranger? If her mind was that desperate for an escape, perhaps she would be wise to reconsider.

She staggered down the stairs. What wagon should she head toward? Although Rachel’s company thrilled her, Everett was her opportunity to make a life here. She’d not given him any time to prove himself, and she wouldn’t let fear rule her, no matter how hard it tried. With her heart pounding, she intercepted him.

“Mr. Cline?”

He stopped short, his eyebrows held in question. The muscles filling his shirt and the scruff along his jaw gave him a rugged, handsome look that caught her breath.

She cleared her throat. She should have thought of something to say
before
she stopped him. “I bought the rose calico.”

He gave a slight nod, and she rambled on. “I think it would make a good work dress. Something more . . . more suitable than this one.” She picked at the lace at her collar. “Do I ride with you?”

His eyebrows shot higher, but then descended, smashing his eyes into slits. “Uh, I didn’t think to ask what we’re doing this evening. They’re the ones making the plans.” He strode away without even offering his arm.

“Everett’s coming for dinner, right?” Dex hollered to his wife.

Rachel held Emma’s hand as the little girl jumped down each stair. “Of course.”

Everett kept his stiff back toward her. “She wants to know if she’s riding with you or me.”

Did he not want her to ride with him? A young couple walking along the boardwalk looked toward the three of them hollering and then at her. Did Everett have to speak so loud?

Rachel cocked her eyebrow. “Well, of course, it’d be best if she rode with you. Wouldn’t be ladylike to throw her in the back of our wagon with the supplies and trunks and all.”

Everett pivoted and returned to her, his eyes bland. “You’re with me.”

As if she hadn’t just heard that much. Everyone on Main Street knew she was with him—and that he’d had to be browbeaten to take her. Had she misunderstood the proposal he’d had Rachel send? Maybe there was no hope he’d marry her, even if only for a farmhand. Granted, she wasn’t built like most of the ladies she’d seen in the hour she’d been in Salt Flatts. But size shouldn’t matter. She bit her lip.

Dex cleared his throat and glared at Everett.

Everett pulled his hat off and offered her his arm, a slight redness creeping up his neck. “I’m this way.” Maybe he was just nervous. She could sympathize, since she’d been trembling since she woke up that morning.

She tightened the hold on her package and slipped her free arm into his. The man radiated tension, from the flexed muscles in his forearm to the set of his jaw. If something in her letters to Rachel had been disagreeable, he wouldn’t have asked her there, right? Maybe she’d found a man who didn’t find her attractive. She took in a steadying breath. That would be a good thing.

He tossed her package in the back and handed her up onto the wooden plank seat, his hands tarrying at her waist for less than a second.

John yelled at her from the back of his wagon. “See you at home!”

She waved at him as Everett slid onto the bench, keeping a large gap between them. Farther than decorum dictated.

The wagon jerked forward, and she nearly slid off the seat. She righted herself and clenched the rough wooden plank beneath her. She’d never ridden on a farm wagon before. How was she to keep her seat in a ladylike fashion? As the Stantons’ wagon passed them, she dared to wave at Emma, who peeked over her mother’s shoulder. Their wagon left a cloud of dust, the children’s gay laughter mixed in with the powdery earth.

Glancing behind her, Julia caught several men staring at her from the boardwalks, a few pointing and laughing. She smoothed her bunched skirts with only one hand while glancing at Everett’s stony
face. Why was the man she’d come to wed the only person who refused to look in her direction?

They hit a rut, and she grabbed for her hat as she bounced off the seat. Everett’s arm shot around her side and pulled her back beside him. His touch left an icy hot imprint about her waist. She slid to the opposite side of the bench seat. She didn’t want to feel anything like that again.

“Yah!” he shouted at the oxen without giving her the slightest glance. He kept his gaze trained forward. She waited for him to talk first, but his jaw stayed rigid. Maybe he’d talk after they’d gone a distance. She tried to calm herself by watching the tall green grasses wave in the forceful wind, rippling this way and that, chasing each other to the lines of trees scattered in the distance. The tremors in her chest settled with the swaying of the seat as she picked imaginary lint from her skirt. More prairie disappeared behind them.

She couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “So, Mr. Cline. Where’s your property?”

He pointed ahead of them at a line of trees. “My land is adjacent to the Stantons, about an hour and a half southwest of Salt Flatts. The Stantons live to my east and the Parkers just to the south.”

When he didn’t elaborate further, she examined his face. His lips, though hard-pressed, kept moving around, like words wanted to come out but wouldn’t. Silent tension, hard as a block of ice and about as movable as the man beside her, filled more time than she could bear. She didn’t want to start rattling off about herself since he didn’t seem at all interested.

She watched the oxen and Everett’s movements, waiting in vain for him to talk again. More quiet minutes ticked by. She had to make him talk. She didn’t know how long the Stantons’ hospitality would last, but she couldn’t waste several days in silence with the man. In fact, she wasn’t sure she could handle another hour of it now. “What do you use your land for?”

“I’ve several acres of grain and corn. Looking to get more cattle once I get more hedgerow readied. Have a dairy cow and her heifer at the moment.” After another period of silence, he said, “I do a lot of hunting on the property.”