Love in Independence (Holiday Mail Order Brides) (8 page)

He stood and leaned against the desk. “Are you hungry?”

Winnie took a deep breath. She could feel his gaze again, and sensed he was asking something more. “Yes; is it lunch time already?”

He stared at her a moment before answering. “Yes. There’s a café in town. It’s not much, but they have a nice lunch. They even have ice cream.”

“Ice cream? Oh, I do so love ice cream!”

“Then shall we?” he came around the desk and held his arm out to her. She stared at it, long
and hard. Why hesitate? Didn’t she come here as his mail-order bride? But that’s not what she was now. Now she had to rely on good old-fashioned attraction to get the job done. But did she have the confidence that that would be enough?

“Miss Longfellow?”

“Oh, I’m sorry … I … I was thinking.”

“About what?”

She looked up at him and, realizing she still sat, stood. “How I came to be here.”

Winnie put a hand to her chest at the statement. She’d opened herself up to questions
;
ones she wasn’t sure
she could answer.

“I’m glad you are.” He
waved his elbow at her, reminding her to take it.

She did, and smiled at him again.
Thank heavens!
He’s not going to ask me anything more for the time being!
And she was right. He didn’t ask her anything more, at least not until they got to the café.

They strolled through town at a slow pace. He kept her on his arm until they reached the road,
and then released it to grab a cat being chased by a child. Once he’d handed the animal over, he stuck his hands in his pockets and walked on, whistling as he did.

She was disappointed
that he’d let go of her arm, but not that she was walking with him to lunch. After all, they weren’t courting, and what would people think if they saw her on his arm going down the street?  Of course, if she had still been his mail-order bride, people wouldn’t think anything of it; many couples, especially when engaged, walked arm-in-arm. But she and Pastor Luke were anything but engaged.

They reached the café, went inside, sat, and ordered. Their conversation was minimal until the food came, mostly because people at the surrounding tables engaged him in
conversation. At last their meals came, and their fellow patrons left him alone. “How’s your sandwich?” he asked then took a sip of tea.

“Oh, fine. Yours?”

“I can never go wrong with the chicken.”

She blushed. Why, she had no idea.
Maybe it was the twinkle in his eye when he’d said it. He was staring at her, his face somewhere between delight and curiosity, when the bell over the door rang, and in rushed Mercy Vander. “There you are, Winnie! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Winnie turned to her. “What did you need?”

“Martha, Maude, and I thought you’d like to help with the pie contest. We’re trying to get a list of women together. Can I count you in?”

She glanced at Pastor Luke. “What do I have to do?”

“Bake pies for the contest,” said Mercy.

She tried to give her attention back to the woman, but couldn’t tear her gaze away from Luke. Good grief! He might not be attracted to her yet, but she certainly was to him! “Will I have time?”

“I think so,” he said, his eyes locked on hers.

Mercy grabbed a nearby chair, pulled it to their table
, and sat. “We’ll have to start baking two days beforehand, to make sure we have enough pies. We’ll use my kitchen;
it’s the biggest, and Betsy will help.”

“Sounds fine, Mrs. Vander,” said Pastor Luke.

Mercy glanced from one face to the other as she noticed their expressions and gazes. “Oh,
that’s good. Uh, I think I’ll go see if Mrs. Stanley can help.” She gave them one last look, smiled, and made to get up from the table. “I’m going now.”

Neither
of them looked at her.

“Miss Longfellow?”

No answer.

“Winnie?” Winnie tried to pull her gaze away, but to no avail. She heard Mercy giggle as she stood. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you later this evening at Maude’s. We have plans to make.”

Winnie nodded. Pastor Luke still held her gaze, a satisfied smile on his face. Why, she didn’t know, and wasn’t sure if she should ask.

Mercy giggled again, and left the café.

“What?” Winnie asked. “You look like you know something no one else does.”

“I do.”

“Tell me.”

“Oh
, but I can’t. It’s a secret.”

“You keep secrets?”

“Of course; don’t you?”

She felt her stomach knot. She should tell him, tell him everything.
“I … well I …”

He leaned forward. “Ice cream?”

“What?” she asked, as she shook herself.

“Are you ready for ice cream?”

“Oh, yes. Please.”

He motioned to a man behind a counter. “Two
, please.”

“Your usual, Pastor Luke?” the man asked.

“Yes,” he told him then leaned toward Winnie again. “Do you feel daring?”

Winnie looked around the café
; no one paid them any mind. “To do what?” she whispered across the table.

He sm
iled. “Make those with strawberries!”

Winnie giggled.

“Now, Miss Longfellow; while we’re waiting for our ice cream, tell me all about yourself.”

Eight

Winnie blanched. What should she say? How much should she tell him? “I don’t know where to begin.”

“How about at the beginning
. Were you born in North Carolina?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes dartin
g to the door. For some reason, she felt trapped, but couldn’t figure out why
. Oh, the tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive… 
She swallowed and forced a smile.
Ah yes, that’s why …

“Have you family there?”

She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. “No, my mother was all that was left. I’ve an aunt in New Orleans, but that’s it.”

“
All
your family is gone?”

She nodded, as the hot sting of tears struck.

Pastor Luke sat back in his chair. “So, you’re all alone in the world …”

She looked at him. “There are worse things.”

“I suppose, but having no family … what made you decide to come all the way out here? Why not start a new life with your aunt in New Orleans?”

She shook her head. “New Orleans is not for me. I don’t care for big cities. I prefer a small town.”

“Me, too. Chicago grew too big for me and, like you, I wanted a smaller community to live and serve in.”

She smiled. “I believe you’ve accomplished your goal, Pastor. Independence is as small as you can get.”

He leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Please, call me Luke.”

She stopped breathing.

“Miss Longfellow?”

She sucked in a breath, just to be safe. “You can call me Winnie
; everyone does.” She let out her breath and slumped in her chair.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine!” she said with a smile, her heart racing. If he was advancing them to a first-name basis already, there was hope. Maybe he
was
interested in her as more than an assistant.

A man brought their
ice cream and set them on the table. “You’re lucky I had some left. Goes as quickly as we make it!”

Luke smiled and nodde
d. “Don’t I know it!”

The man laughed, and then turned and left. Winnie watched him go behind the counter, and then looked at the dish in front of her. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Like what you see?”

She looked at him. His eyes were intent upon her, his expression mischievous. “Yes,” she whispered. It was all she could manage with him staring at her like that.

He picked up his spoon and scooped up a bite.
“I love this; don’t you?”

She licked her lips, and looked at her ice cream. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. Good grief! What was happening to her? The man could render her speechless with a look!

He put his spoon in his mouth, savoring the treat, and smiled again. He suddenly reminded her of a little boy who had just gotten away with stealing a cookie or candy. The thought made her giggle.

“What’s so funny?

“Nothing; it’s just that, well, the look on your face …”

“Oh, that. I’m afraid I wear my emotions for all the world to see.”

“And what would you call the look you just wore?”

He gave her a devilish smile. “Satisfaction.”

  Winnie laughed, and realized she was becoming more comfortable with him. He had an easy-going nature and, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was flirting. But would he do such a thing? Wasn’t it too early for that? Mail-order brides married immediately; there wasn’t time for flirting, or tiny gestures of interest. But … he didn’t know that’s what she was, and she didn’t know anything about courtship … oh, dear.

The
y finished their ice cream and Winnie was relieved when he didn’t delve any further into why she’d come to Independence. The information she gave him must have been enough to satisfy his curiosity. She, however, found her own curiosity peaked. She wanted to know more about him, like how long he’d been a widower. Did he have any family back in Chicago? If not, where were they? What were his goals? Did he always want to work in the church?

But she couldn’t bring herself to ask
him; the companionable silence they now shared was too delightful. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as she expected, considering they were just getting to know one another. On the contrary, she found herself becoming quite relaxed the more time she spent with him.

He paid for their lunch, and they left, strolling down the boardwalk until they came to a small bookstore. “Would you like to go inside?”

Winnie felt her stomach do a little flip. “Yes.” She loved books.

He smiled and opened the door for her. She preceded him into the little shop, and breathed in the scent of leather, paper, and ink. The bookshop owner sat behind a desk, writing. He looked up. “Hello Pastor Luke! How goes your day?”

“Hello, Professor. Fine, and yours?”

“Couldn’t be better.” He glanced at Winnie. “Who’s your friend?”

“Miss Winnie Longfellow. She’s my new assistant.”
“Assistant, you say? Since when do you need an assistant?”

“Since now. I’ve got too much to do between heading the Fourth of July celebration and my regular duties. Apparently it showed. This young lady came to help the
Smythes, but is also helping me.”

The
Professor studied Winnie. “I heard the Smythes needed help. Er, you aren’t here to help Mr. Smythe, are you?”

“No,” Winnie said with a shake of her head.

The Professor grinned. “Glad to hear it. I can’t picture a pretty young woman like you handling cadavers. Most unusual, but I’ve heard it’s been done.”

Winnie grimaced. “I can’t picture it
, either.”

“What’s new in the shop?” asked Luke, changing the subject.

“I got something from that Twain fellow you asked about.”

“Really? What is it?”

“A book called, ‘The Innocents Abroad’. You interested?”

“You know I am, you old codger! Hand it over.” The
Professor, a tall man with greying hair and twinkling blue eyes, stood and went over to a shelf next to his desk. Luke grinned as the man turned and handed him the book. “I love Mark Twain’s stories,” he told Winnie.

“I’ve heard of him, but have never read any of them.”

He looked at her, aghast. “Never?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

He stared at the professor in shock. “We must remedy this, immediately!”

The
Professor shook his head and sat. “That’s my only copy.”

“I’ll take it,” Luke said, and handed her the book.

“But, Pastor Luke …”

“Just Luke, and you can read it first. I’m loaning it to you.”

“When is she going to have time?” asked the Professor. “Sounds like you’re going to be busy.”

“I’ll give her a brea
k now and again.” He looked at her. “What do you say? Would you like to read it first?”

She took the book and examined the cover, then
opened it and leafed through the pages. “That would be lovely, thank you.” He gave her a warm smile. It caught the interest of the Professor, who studied Luke with a puckered expression that made Winnie giggle.

“What?” Luke asked as his eyes flicked between the two.

“Nothing,” said the Professor. “But since she’s going to read it first, maybe you’d like something to read in the meantime?”

“Sure
, what did you have in mind?”

The
Professor grinned. “I have just the thing. Wait right here.” He got up again, and disappeared into the back of the store.

“What a nice shop
, I had no idea it was here,” Winnie said. “I love to read.”
“I spend a lot of time in here, and Professor Hamilton is excellent at suggesting what I should read next.  No doubt he sent for that book, just for me. He knows what I like.”

“Why do you call him Professor? Was he a teacher?”

“Yes, in New York. Came out west five years ago and opened this little shop. Like us, he got tired of things back east and wanted a simpler life. So, here he is.”

“What was he a professor of?”

  Luke laughed. “Literature; what else?”

A deli
cious chill went up her spine at his mirth, and she found herself gazing at him in an appreciative manner. He was handsome, he was fun, and he loved to read.  It was all Winnie could do to keep from sighing.

“Here we are,” said the
Professor as he came back, a small book in his hand. He offered it to Luke with a wide grin.

“What is it?” Luke asked as he took it. The
Professor rocked toe to heel a few times, his grin still plastered on his face, and said nothing. Luke read the title. “Elizabeth Barrett Browning? But this is a book of love poems …”

The
Professor’s grin broadened. “You’ll like them, I’m sure.” He returned to his chair behind the desk. “No charge.”

Luke eyed him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Luke sighed, put a hand on
Winnie’s back, and steered her toward the door. “Good afternoon, Professor. It’s always a pleasure.”

The
Professor chuckled at their departure, but nothing more. Winnie shivered at the feel of Luke’s warm hand at the small of her back, and let him escort her from the shop. Once outside, he looked at the book of poetry, and rolled his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“The Professor is a hopeless romantic.”

She looked at the book, then at him. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Romance. When do I have time for romance?”

Her heart sank at his words. “I should think a man intent on winning the affections of a woman would make time.”

He stared at her. “Well said.” He motioned to the street that led back to the church. “Shall we?”

She squared her shoulders and
, with her chin up, preceded him without looking back.

* * *

  Luke watched Winnie walk a few paces in front of him, her back stiff. What did he say? He could tell she was mad about something. She couldn’t possibly be upset about his last remark, could she? But then again, women were funny when it came to affairs of the heart. They wanted to be romanced, wooed, pursued, and captured. Heck, he’d preached on it enough back in Chicago to know. He’d served two years at a church in the Chicago slums, and often saw children born out of wedlock, the parents abandoning the children to orphanages or the streets themselves. Where was the romance in that? Had his last two years in the city jaded him? Did he think romance non-existent?

He stared at Winnie’s pretty backside as she walked on, and wondered what made the heart of a woman, such as his new assistant’s, go agog with … hmm … with what? Love? Good Lord
; when had he become so daft?

“Winnie …”

She stopped up short and waited for him to catch up. He did, and looked at her. “I …”
Oh, for crying out loud; now what?
“I totally agree.”

She opened her mouth,
shut it, and eyed him.

“With what you said earlier. A man would make time.”

“Oh, that. Yes, seems logical, doesn’t it?”

He nodded and
, again putting his hand on her back, urged her forward again. They spent the rest of the afternoon organizing the church office, and the next day, too (after the Fourth of July planning meeting), until it was time for him to make his rounds of visits to the community. “Are you needed at the Smythes’ this afternoon?” he asked as he got up from his desk and stretched.

“No
, not that I know of. Why?”

“Would you like t
o accompany me to the Edmonson farm? They have a new baby, and Mrs. Edmonson is worn to a frazzle. Two of the children are sick.”

“What? Why
, that’s terrible. Of course I’ll go.”

“Good
, I could use the help.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Mr. Edmonson doesn’t come in from the fields until late, and with the sick children, Mrs. Edmonson has her hands full. The first time I went out to their place, she was under the weather and almost due, so I made supper for them. She told me to come back anytime.”

“You … cooked?”

“I’ll have you know, I make a very good pot of beans and a half-decent stew. Don’t ask for anything else, though.”

She laughed. “Of course I’ll help. And I excel at soup.”

“That gives Mrs. Edmondson three delicacies to choose from. This is her lucky day!”