Read Matthew: The Circle Eight Online

Authors: Emma Lang

Matthew: The Circle Eight (3 page)

BOOK: Matthew: The Circle Eight
9.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
Matt wanted to slap his forehead. He didn’t have a huge amount of experience with women, but he had some. Enough to know he had just acted like a bigger jackass than Caleb.
Frank, the mercantile owner with eyebrows that had a life of their own, eyeballed him with a frown. “What did you say to Hannah to make her run like that?”
A second jolt of lightning smashed into him. “Did you say her name was Hannah?”
“Yes, you young fool. Hannah Foley is one of my best customers. Doesn’t usually come in on Saturday and you done run her off.” Frank wagged his finger at Matt. “You had no call to be rude to her.”
“I wasn’t rude. Jesus, did you say her name was Hannah?” He surely sounded like a young fool.
“Are you deaf, boy? I done told you that already.” Frank leaned forward. “Are you teched in the head or somethin’?”
Matt shook his head. “No, just a huge fool. Is she new in town?”
“She’s lived here all her life at the boardinghouse with her granny. You and your kin are the new ones in town.” Frank humphed.
“I really didn’t mean to scare her. I was just trying to apologize.” Matt knew he might have just made another big mistake by letting Hannah leave the store. Not only did she have the right name, but there was a bizarre connection between them.
He turned and glared at Caleb, who was back to staring at the rifles. “I ought to kick your ass six ways to Sunday.”
Caleb’s eyes widened at the ferocity in Matt’s tone. “What did I do?”
“You just insulted my future wife.”
C
HAPTER
T
HREE
 
H
annah walked as fast as she could with the sack of turnips clutched in her hands. Something had happened at the mercantile and she had no idea what. There was a man there and
something had happened.
Her stomach jumped as if a dozen frogs had taken up residence in it. If she wasn’t walking so fast, her knees would be knocking. Her experience with handsome men could fit into a thimble, and she had just met the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
Nothing about him was ordinary, including his incredible blue-green eyes, strong jaw, and wide shoulders. She’d never forget his hands. When he’d touched her wrist, it was as if something had traveled between them, making every small hair on her body stand up. She was sure he’d felt it, too.
It was extraordinary.
Hannah refused to let her imagination loose, but it was damn hard. For the first time in her life, something romantic had happened to her. Muddy, disheveled, and so very plain, she had caught his attention. What did it mean? She should talk to Granny about it, but first she wanted to relive every moment as she cut up the turnips.
This time, her fantasy wasn’t something she made up. Hannah had a real man to daydream about. Hannah wanted to chide herself for dwelling on the handsome blue-eyed man. Perhaps if there hadn’t been an instant spark between them it would have been easy to dismiss him, but there had been and so she couldn’t.
“Hannah, what are you doing?” Granny’s voice yanked her out of her reverie like a bucket of cold water.
“What?” She looked down and realized she was standing in the kitchen clutching the potato sack while the stew bubbled merrily on the stove.
“It looks like you’re touched in the head, child.” Granny’s cane thumped on the wooden floor as she walked toward the small table and chairs. “I’ve been calling you the last five minutes.”
Hannah’s cheeks heated. “I’m sorry. I had to go buy turnips at the general store and I, uh, was wool-gathering a bit.”
With more fervor than necessary, she got busy washing more turnips for the stew. She cut them into smaller pieces since they should have been in the pot thirty minutes ago. Granny sat there, staring a hole in Hannah’s back until she was about ready to scream.
“Why are you staring at me?” she finally asked, keeping her voice as steady as she could.
“I’m trying to puzzle out what is wrong with you.” Granny was too observant.
“There’s nothing wrong with
me.
But lots of other things have gone wrong today.” Just then the knife slipped and she sliced open her thumb. “Dammit to hell.”
“Hannah Josephine Foley! Who taught you how to cuss?” Granny had shot to her feet, her face flushed, her jowels swinging with each word, her finger wagging. “I ought to wash your mouth out with soap.”
“I’m not a little girl. I can cuss if I want to.” Hannah was embarrassed to have cursed in front of her grandmother, but her thumb pulsed with pain. She wrapped a towel around it and held her arm up. For a time about five years ago, the town doctor had lived at the boardinghouse and he taught Hannah a lot about taking care of wounds and sickness. She’d had dreams of marrying him, but he was thirty and a widower. Within six months there were more young women buzzing around the boardinghouse than flies. He’d been married by the end of the year, leaving Hannah with nothing but some medical knowledge. It did prove useful though. She knew the bleeding would stop faster if she applied pressure to the cut.
“Not in this house you won’t.” Granny had moved on to true anger.
Hannah moved right along with her. “Then maybe I won’t live here anymore.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Granny thumped her cane hard this time. “You have a beau I don’t know about?”
Granny was too close to the mark for Hannah’s comfort. She had met a man, or sort of met a man, this morning, and perhaps he was the beau she had been dreaming of. Granny’s tone assured her the older woman was being as sarcastic as she could be.
“Now you’re just being mean, Granny. I don’t need a feeble old widow like you cutting me down.” With that, she stomped out the back door.
The air outside felt good on her skin, which was sweaty from the heat of the stew and her own emotions. She plopped down on an upended log and tried to calm herself. Her heart raced with the events of the day, culminating in yelling at her grandmother. The woman who’d raised her and loved her. The woman who was probably too hurt to follow Hannah out the door to demand an apology.
They had both been unkind to each other, but Hannah was definitely meaner. She had actually called her granny old and feeble. Completely true, but remarks more fitting to a harridan than a granddaughter. Hannah sighed and pressed her forehead against her arm. What a mess she’d made of things.
“I’m sorry, child.” Granny appeared on the steps. “I didn’t know.”
Hannah stared at the ground. “Know what?”
“That you had met a beau. I didn’t mean nothing by what I said. Just an old woman mouthing off like an old fool.” She shook her head, one gray curl bouncing in the breeze.
Hannah’s laugh was more like a strangled chuckle. “I didn’t meet a beau. I met a man who made me act like a fool. I could hardly speak to the fellow.” She finally met her grandmother’s gaze, and saw understanding clearly shining in her wise eyes.
“That’s what we do. Act like fools around them until they get up the nerve to come courting.” Granny waved at her. “Come on back in and let’s take a look at your thumb. And we can talk about your young man.”
“He’s not my young man.” Hannah got to her feet and almost dragged herself toward the back door. Granny would ask so many questions she didn’t want to answer, or perhaps couldn’t answer. It would be awkward, but it was also exactly what she’d been hoping for. Someone to talk to who would understand and maybe give her the advice she needed.
One thing she did know. Something had happened and she owed it to herself to find out what.
After wrapping her thumb in a strip of cloth, she got all the turnips in the stew. Within twenty minutes, she’d started the gravy with some fat from the meat. The work gave her time to stop thinking about everything. Granny hummed as she snapped peas from her perch at the table. Things felt normal again.
Matthew had paced outside the boardinghouse for a good thirty minutes before Olivia found him. She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her gaze. The afternoon sun cast a shadow beneath the rim of her bonnet so he couldn’t see just how annoyed she was. Good thing, too.
“What are you doing? We’ve been looking for you.” She tapped her foot, raising a cloud of dust with each movement of her boot.
The last thing he needed was Livy sticking her nose into his business again. She needed to let him be head of the household without following him around like an angry hen. He wanted to talk to this Hannah Foley.
And he needed to do it on his own or not at all.
“Go back and make sure the young’uns are all doing what they’re supposed to.”
“You cannot talk to me like that, Matthew Bodine Graham.” She pinched her lips together so tight, they were nearly bloodless.
“Yes, I can, Olivia Mae Graham. I run this family and make the decisions that best suit everyone.” He gave her a hard stare. “Now go back to the store and make sure everyone does what they’re told.”
“But—“
“No, I’m done talking, Livy. This is important.” He pointed. “Go.”
She glared at him, letting him know he would hear all about how unhappy she was later. She was strong like Mama, but unlike their mother, Livy did not want to listen to what anyone else had to say. After she turned and stomped away, he turned and strode up the steps of the boardinghouse.
The paint on the door was peeling, but the porch was well-swept and tidy with four rocking chairs, which were also showing wear. He swallowed and knocked on the door.
Voices sounded from within, two females if he wasn’t mistaken, and they were getting louder by the second. The door was flung open and Hannah stood there with a surprised expression.
And a big glob of gravy on her cheek.
“Good morning, Miss Foley, my name is Matthew Graham. I, uh, hope you don’t mind me dropping by like this.” He tried not to sound like a stuttering fool, but his tongue had other ideas. “I, uh, did I interrupt something, Miss Foley?”
“No. I was making—oh never mind.” She flapped her hand, which reminded him of a small bird. “Why are you here?” Her cheeks colored and she slapped her hand across her mouth. When her fingers came in contact with the gravy, she pulled her hand away to look. Her eyes widened.
“Oh shit.”
With that, she disappeared into the house and slammed the door behind her.
He stared at the door, blinking and trying to figure out what had just happened. When he heard a wail from inside, he knew he needed to follow her in. This was a boardinghouse so it wasn’t as if he was walking into someone’s private home. Strangers walked in all the time. Besides he had introduced himself so he wasn’t a stranger anymore.
“Miss Foley?” He opened the door and poked his head in. Voices echoed from deeper in the house, but no one answered him. Matt stepped in and left the door open behind him.
The house was neat as a pin, but everything he could see was very worn. The upholstery on the chairs was a bit tattered, the wood floors dull and scuffed by years of use. However it was the smell of cooking food that hit him the hardest. It was the most heavenly scent he’d smelled for quite some time. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was stew or pot roast.
“Miss Foley?”
He walked deeper into the house, following a hallway toward the voices. And the smell.
“I can’t believe that just happened, Granny. Not only am I perspiring, but I have grease, flour, and gravy on me. On my face!” It was Miss Foley, talking to her grandmother obviously. “Never in my life have I been so embarrassed.”
“Ain’t no never mind, Hannah. Done is done.” The older woman’s voice was gravelly and rough.
“Yes, I know. Done.” Miss Foley sounded so defeated, it pinched at his conscience. After all, he’d been the one to show up on her doorstep without being invited. He owed her an apology.
Matt cleared his throat and shuffled his feet as he approached the open door to what he assumed was the kitchen. “Miss Foley?” Complete silence met his words. When he finally stepped into the kitchen, both women were staring at him.
Miss Foley’s face was even redder and the older woman, a gray-haired version of her granddaughter, chuckled when she saw him.
“Well, ain’t that a hoot.” She slapped her knee, spilling a bowl of snap peas across the table.
“Granny!” Miss Foley exclaimed, but kept her gaze on him. He realized in the bright sunlight of the kitchen that her brown eyes weren’t a singular color. They had shades of amber and whiskey in them.
He shook himself mentally to stop forgetting why he was there. Miss Foley didn’t have to be pretty or smart or a good cook, she just had to be willing to marry him. If she happened to be any of those things, too, well, so much the better.
Matt took off his hat and nodded at the older woman. “Ma’am my name is Matthew Graham. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Just call me Granny Foley, Matthew. Everybody does.” She snorted another laugh, while her granddaughter shot her daggers from her eyes.
“Why are you in my kitchen? I mean, I’m sorry, Mr. Graham. I don’t understand why you’re here, and I really don’t know why you came into the house.” Her voice sounded all breathy and even huskier than before. It sent a line of chill bumps down his back.
“If we can sit down, I will explain.” Of course, he didn’t know how he would explain what he was doing. It was a fool’s errand but he was fast running out of time.
“Sit down, child.” Granny pulled out one of the mismatched chairs. “Let the man speak.” She gestured to the other chair and winked at him.
Winked!
Oh boy, now he really had to contend with something. Granny Foley obviously thought he was there as a beau. This situation just kept getting stickier.
After they all sat, Matt realized just how difficult it would be to explain his proposal.
“I don’t know if you knew my parents, Granny, but we own a ranch about an hour outside town. Stuart and Meredith Graham?”
Granny nodded. “I remember them a bit. Nice folks, lots of young’uns.”
“Yes, ma’am, there are eight of us.”
She leaned forward and peered at him, and the sharpness of her gaze was not lost on him. “Something bad happened back a piece, didn’t it?”
This time he had to swallow the lump in his throat. Twice. “My parents were murdered and my youngest brother, Benjamin, disappeared.”
“Cryin’ shame that is. Why would anyone kill good folks like that? And steal a boy? Sounds like Injuns to me.” Granny shook her head. “You young’uns are running the ranch then?”
BOOK: Matthew: The Circle Eight
9.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Riding the Rap by Elmore Leonard
One Way Ticket by Evie Evans
Gold Coast by Elmore Leonard
FanGirl by Lawson, Angel
Monty Python and Philosophy by Gary L. Hardcastle