Robin Lee Hatcher (12 page)

“Good morning, Miss Silverton.”

She whirled around, hoping she hadn’t conjured his voice. Hawk Chandler stood not more than four feet away from her, his shirtsleeves rolled up above his elbows.

“I’ll have some of that coffee if it’s for the taking.”

“I didn’t know you would be here today.”

His gaze held her captive as his lips curved. “Coffee?”

“Of course. I . . . I’m sorry.” She lifted the pot and poured the dark brew into a cup.

His fingers touched hers as he took the cup from her grasp. She felt a spark ignite between them. Had he felt it too? No, he didn’t seem to.

He took a sip. “Not real hot, but it’s better than what I make.” He smiled briefly, then raised the cup to his lips and drank, his Adam’s apple moving with each swallow.

She tried to think of something to say, anything that would keep him with her for a while, but her mind was blank. That’s what being near him did to her all too often.

He held the empty cup toward her. “Thanks.” He glanced behind him. “I’d better get back to work.”

Don’t go. Talk to me a little longer
.

He stopped and looked at her again. “Your hair looks pretty in the morning light. You should wear it down like that more often.”

If she died right now, it would be from pure bliss.

From his vantage point atop the stack of lumber, Vince ground his teeth as he watched the brief exchange between Hawk and Bethany. Minutes before he’d heard one of the Circle Blue men mention that Miss Silverton and Miss Johnson had paid a visit to the Chandler ranch the previous day. He hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t thought it possible that her father would allow anything so foolish. But now it seemed the proof was right before his eyes.

By thunder, this wasn’t to be borne. That young woman was destined to be his bride, whether or not she knew it. He would not see her reputation sullied by association with a worthless saddle bum who didn’t know his place. If the reverend didn’t have the good sense to protect her, then Vince would have to step in and show him the error of his thinking.

Hawk turned and walked back toward the building site, but Bethany didn’t move. Even from here, Vince could tell she watched Hawk with longing, a longing no decent woman should feel, let alone reveal, except for her husband. One day he would teach her that lesson.

It was almost sunset before Hawk rode his horse into the corral at the Circle Blue. The stretch of muscles across his upper back and shoulders ached with fatigue, but it was a welcome feeling. He was ready to drop into bed and fall asleep, ready to get that green-eyed beauty out of his mind.

Several times during the day, she’d brought trays of food and drink to the laboring men. Each time she’d sought him out with her eyes, and each time he’d felt drawn to her. The feeling angered him. Her duplicity was flawless. Why didn’t she leave him alone? She’d won her bet.

Of course, he wouldn’t win his own wager if she decided she didn’t like him, so he supposed it was as it should be. He couldn’t have it both ways.

In the dying light, he unsaddled his horse and placed the saddle and blanket over the top corral rail. He scratched the gelding beneath his mane.

“Women,” he muttered.

Flame snorted and bobbed his head, as if in agreement.

“A man would be better off with just his horse, wouldn’t he, fella?” He stroked the gelding’s muzzle. “Just plain better off.”

FOURTEEN

Bethany fingered the bolt of fabric and pondered again the gown she had in mind. If she could get her mother and Ingrid to help, she knew the dress could be finished by next week.

“Good morning, Bethany.”

She looked up from the fabric. “Hello, Martha.”

“That’s lovely material. The finest in the store.” Martha Eber-lie, who worked most days in her parents’ mercantile, was a born saleswoman.

Bethany nodded. “Yes.”

“It’ll look pretty on you. Just the right shade of rose pink.” She walked around the counter to stand opposite her. “I’ll bet Mr. Chandler would like seeing you in that color too.”

“Do you think so?”

Martha frowned. “For a city girl, you’re not very smart.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t you know?” the young woman whispered. “Folks have been talking about you ever since the barn dance. You and him, letting him waltz you around like that.”

“But why shouldn’t I? I thought everyone liked Mr. Chandler.”

“Most do. But that doesn’t make him a proper beau for . . . for any of the
nice
girls in town. My pa says the reverend should keep you at home where you belong before you’re ruined, sure and for good.”

Bethany’s surprise turned to anger. “Who I dance with is no one’s business but my own. Mr. Chandler is a gentleman.” She sent an icy glare toward Martha. “And he would never stoop to gossip about others the way you gossip about him.” With that, she whirled around and walked down the aisle toward the exit, head high, hands balled into fists. Only at the last moment did she see Hawk standing in the open doorway. Had he heard the exchange?

She stopped in front of him, her way of escape blocked. His expression revealed nothing — not anger or disgust or wounded pride or anything else. He simply looked at her with that inscrutable gaze of his.

Tears sprang to her eyes. Impulsively, she touched his forearm. “It doesn’t matter what anyone says. It doesn’t.”

Then she slipped past him and hurried toward home.

“You must try to understand, Reverend. It’s your daughter’s welfare I’m concerned about.”

Nathaniel understood, all right, but he wished he didn’t. “Mr. Richards, I’m sure you mean to be helpful, but I’m afraid I do not agree with you. I find a great deal to like and admire about Mr. Chandler.”

Those weren’t idle words. They were true. Nathaniel liked Hawk Chandler. The young man wasn’t the talkative sort, but Nathaniel had managed to pry more details about his life from him as they’d worked together on the church this week. He’d learned that Hawk’s parents had been believers, something that, as a pastor, he could build upon.

“But an afternoon alone at his ranch.” Vince leaned forward on the chair. “You must see how improper — ”

“She was not alone, Mr. Richards. She was accompanied by our housekeeper as well as Miss Johnson.”

The man had the decency to look repentant. “You’re right, of course. I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply that anything inappropriate happened.” He stood and picked up his hat. “Thank you for your time.”

Nathaniel wasn’t sorry to see him go. Still, he said, “Thank you for coming.” He followed Vince from the room.

Before they reached the front door, it flew open and Bethany entered the house. Her color was high, and her eyes had a watery gleam.

“My dear, what’s wrong?” Nathaniel asked.

“Nothing.” She didn’t even glance at Vince before hurrying toward the stairway.

Nathaniel bid a hasty farewell to his visitor, his thoughts already upstairs. Should he ask Virginia to join him? No, she was resting. He didn’t want to disturb her.

When he reached his daughter’s bedroom door, he rapped on it softly. “Bethany?”

“Yes, Papa.”

He opened the door. “May I come in?”

She sat on the end of her bed, dabbing her eyes with a kerchief. “Of course.”

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Martha Eberlie is a hateful thing.” She sniffed.

“Is she?” He sat next to her. “And why is that?”

“She . . . she’s a gossip.”

“Oh?”

Bethany blew her nose. “She implied very unkind things about Mr. Chandler. They like him, but . . . but no good woman should befriend him.”

“Oh.” He understood now. Fred Eberlie’s prejudice had rubbed off on his daughter, Martha. How many others in Sweetwater thought like Eberlie and Richards? He hoped not many.

“Papa, why must people be hateful toward anyone who is different?”

“Because we live in a fallen world, my girl. I’m afraid people will continue to find reasons to hate until the day Jesus returns.”

Pleading eyes turned in his direction. “You don’t think it’s wrong of me to like Hawk, do you?”

He noticed, of course, her use of Hawk Chandler’s given name, and it told him a great deal about her feelings. Not that he hadn’t guessed as much already.

Give me wisdom, Lord
.

He took hold of her hand. “No, it isn’t wrong. I like him myself. But guard your heart, Bethany. Don’t give it away too quickly. Once given, it is hard to take back. I would rest easier if you expressed interest in a man with a strong faith in God.”

She turned to look out the window. “I know, Papa.”

And with those three words, Nathaniel knew his warning had fallen on deaf ears.

Late in the afternoon, Rand Howard sat on the edge of the sofa in the Silverton parlor, nervously sliding his hat brim through his fingers. His eyes shifted from the carpet to the rosewood claw feet of the nearby love seat, then returned to his battered hat. He heard the methodical ticking of the great mantel clock. The room seemed stuffy. His fingers came up to loosen the stiff collar that promised to choke the life from him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the reverend said as he entered the room. “I was working on Sunday’s sermon. Ingrid tells me you wish to have a word with me. Nothing wrong at the Circle Blue, I trust?”

Rand stood. “No, sir, Reverend.”

“Please, sit down, my friend.”

He obeyed.

“You seem distraught. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

Rand cleared his throat, his gaze returning to the dusty hat brim. “Well, you see, sir, I’ve got this piece of land up in the mountains a ways. I’ve been clearin’ it this past week, gettin’ it ready to build a house.” He drew a deep breath. “I mean to build a house fit for a wife and family. I’ve asked Ingrid to marry me, and she says she’s willin’, but that I’d need to ask you for her hand, you bein’ her guardian and all.”

“I see. That is news.”

“I figure it’ll take me a few more weeks to get it fit for Ingrid. It won’t be nothin’ fancy. She knows that. But I love her, and I’ll be good to her. I’ll love her like Paul says a man’s to do in Ephesians. I’d die for her if I had to. I don’t own much, but whatever I got will be hers. She won’t ever go without, Reverend Silverton. Not as long as I got a breath in me. I swear it.”