Vows (8 page)

 
"It was for sale."

 
"So were twenty others on the outskirts of town where we wouldn't have to look at you!"

 
"This's prime land. Close to the business section. It's a much better buy than the ones out there."

 
He reached the far edge of his site and brought the team about, heading back toward Emily.

 
"What'd you pay for it?" she shouted.

 
"Now who's sticking their nose into other people's business, Miss Walcott?" While he spoke he concentrated on adjusting the two huge metal wheels. His muscles stood out in ridges as the cables groaned and the blade tilted to the proper angle. When he drove past Emily the blade sent a furl of soil cascading across her ankles.

 
She jumped over it and roared, "How much!"

 
"Three dollars and fifty cents for the first lot and fifty cents each for the other three."

 
"Other three! You mean you bought four?"

 
"Two for my business. Two for my home. Good price." He grinned down at her while she stalked along beside him, shouting above the screech of steel on stone.

 
"I'll buy them all from you for double what you paid."

 
"Oh, I'd have to get more than double. After all, this one's already been improved."

 
"Jeffcoat, stop that blasted team this minute so I can talk to you!"

 
"Whoa!" The team halted and into the sudden silence he said, "Yes, Miss Walcott," flipped the reins around a flywheel, and bounced down beside her. "At your service, Miss Walcott."

 
His choice of words, drawled through his insufferable grin, made her agonizingly aware that she was dressed in her brother's gnawed-up cap and britches. She scowled menacingly. "This town is only big enough for one livery stable and you know it!"

 
"I'm sorry, Miss Walcott, but I disagree. It's spreading faster than gossip." He wiped his brow on a forearm, tugged off a pair of dirty leather gloves, and flapped them toward the north end of Main Street. "Just look at the building going on. Yesterday when I rode through I counted four houses and two businesses under construction, and by my count the town's got two harnessmakers. If there's business enough for two harnessmakers, there's business enough for two stables. And a school already up, and I hear tell the next thing's going to be a church. That sounds like a town with a future to me. I'm sorry if I have to run your father a little competition, but I'm not out to ruin him, I assure you."

 
"And what about Charles? You've already talked to Charles!"

 
"Charles?"

 
"Charles Bliss.
You intend to hire him to help you put up your buildings!"

 
"You have some objection to that, too?"

 
She objected to everything this man had precipitated in the last twenty-four hours. She objected to his brazenness. To his choice of lots. To his grin and his sweaty smell and his tight trousers, and his cocky good looks, and his stupid unnecessary suspenders and the way he set Tarsy in a dither, and the fact that he tore the sleeves off his shirts, and the more distressing fact that both she and her father would have to look at his damned livery stable out the office window of their own for the rest of their lives!

 
She decided to tell him so.

 
"I object, Mr. Jeffcoat, to everything you do and are!" She thrust her nose so close to his that she could see herself reflected in his black pupils. "And particularly to your putting Charles into a position where he must choose loyalties. He's been a friend of our family since we were both knee high."

 
For the first time she saw the spark of anger in Jeffcoat's cobalt blue eyes. His jaw took on the same tense bulge as his biceps, and his voice had a hard edge. "I've traveled over a thousand miles, left my family and everyone I hold dear, ridden into this backwoods cow town with honorable intentions, honest money, and a strong back. I've bought land and hired a carpenter and I plan to take up my trade in peaceable fashion and become a permanent, law-abiding citizen of Sheridan. So, what do they send me as a welcoming committee but a sassy-mouthed young whelp who needs to have her mouth washed out with soap and be shown what a petticoat is! Understand this. Miss Britches…" Nose to nose, he backed her up as he spoke. "I'm getting mighty damned tired of you raising objections to my every move! I'm not only tired of your orneriness, I'm in a hurry to get my place raised, and I don't intend to take any more sass from an impertinent young tomboy like you. Now, I'll thank you, Miss Walcott, to get off my property!"

 
He pulled on his gloves and swung away, leaving her red-faced and speechless. With a deft leap he mounted the railed platform of the grader, took the reins, and shouted, "Hey, giddap, there!"

 
And with that their enmity was sealed.

* * *

The following day was Sunday. Church services were held in Coffeen Hall, the only building in town with enough adult-sized chairs to accommodate the worshipers from mixed denominations who congregated and were led in prayer by Reverend Vasseler, who'd recently arrived from New York to organize an Episcopal congregation. His voice was mellifluous, his message inspired; thus he'd already attracted an impressive number of families to his fold. The hall was crowded when Reverend Vasseler began the service by leading the gathering with the hymn, "All Praise, All Glory Now We Sing." Standing between Charles and her father, Emily sang in a doubtful soprano. Halfway through the song she felt eyes probing and turned to find Tom Jeffcoat in an aisle seat at the rear, singing and watching her. She snapped her mouth shut and stared at him for a full ten seconds.

 
"
…worship now our heav'nly king…
"

 
He sang without benefit of a hymnal, belting out the notes robustly, startling her. She had been prepared to see him as the Devil incarnate, but finding him singing hymns at her own church service cast him in quite the opposite light. She snapped her attention to the front and vowed not to give him so much as another glance.

 
The hymn ended and they sat. Reverend Vasseler gave a short sermon on the Good Samaritan, then announced that J. D. Loucks had donated a lot on East Loucks Street for the building of a real church. Smiles and murmurs accompanied a general scanning of the room as members of the congregation picked out Loucks and beamed approval. The minister appealed to all the men to do their fair share. He outlined a building plan by which the structure would be up and roofed by midsummer, and totally completed by autumn. Joseph Zollinski had volunteered to organize the volunteer building crew, and Charles Bliss to oversee the work, and all the men present were to see either one of them after the service to volunteer at least a day of their time.

 
When the service ended Charles stayed to organize volunteers while Emily left the hall on her father's arm. Halfway to the door, Emily was caught by Tarsy, who grabbed her arm and whispered breathlessly, "He's here!"

 
"I know."

 
"Introduce us."

 
"
I will not!
"

 
"Oh, Emily … pleeeeze!"

 
"If you want to meet him go introduce yourself, but don't expect me to. Not after yesterday!"

 
"But, Emily, he's absolutely the most luscious creature I've—"

 
"Well, good morning, Tarsy," Edwin interrupted.

 
"Oh, good morning, Mr. Walcott. I was just saying to Emily that the neighbourly thing to do is to welcome newcomers to the town, wouldn't you say?"

 
Edwin smiled. "I would."

 
"So would you mind introducing me to Mr. Jeffcoat?"

 
Edwin was familiar with Tarsy's flighty ways and thought little of her suggestion. He was too congenial a person to snub anybody—even his competitor. Outside in the sunlight of the fair June morning Edwin guided Tarsy to Jeffcoat while Emily hung back, pretending disinterest in the entire episode, excusing herself by saying she'd wait near the door for Charles.

 
But she kept one eye on the introductions.

 
"Mr. Jeffcoat, hold up there!" called Edwin.

 
Jeffcoat turned in mid-stride and smiled congenially. "Ah, good morning, Edwin."

 
"You look like a man in a hurry."

 
"I've got a building to put up. I'm afraid I can't waste a day like this, whether it's the Lord's day or not." He cocked his head at the faultless blue sky.

 
Edwin did likewise. "Can't say I blame you. It is a fine day."

 
"Yessir, it is."

 
"I'd like you to meet my daughter's friend. Miss Tarsy Fields."

 
Jeffcoat transferred his attention to the pretty blonde. "Miss Fields."

 
"Mr. Jeffcoat." She bobbed and flashed her most dazzling smile. "I'm positively delighted to meet you."

 
Jeffcoat had been around enough women to recognize eager interest when it stood pent up before him. She was curvier, prettier, and more polite than Emily Walcott, who stood by the door, feigning indifference. He extended his hand and, when Miss Fields's was in it, gave her face the lingering attention such beauty deserved, and her fingers enough pressure to suggest reciprocal interest.

 
"I must confess," Tarsy admitted, "I asked Mr. Walcott to introduce us."

 
Jeffcoat laughed and held her hand longer than strictly polite. "I'm glad you did. I believe we passed each other in front of the hotel yesterday, didn't we? You were wearing a peach-colored dress."

 
Tarsy's pleasure doubled. She touched her collarbone and opened her lips in the beguiling way she often practiced in the mirror.

 
Jeffcoat smiled down into her stunning brown eyes with stunners of his own and refrained from allowing them to pass lower. But he was fully aware of her flattering rose frock and how it endowed each of her estimable assets.

 
"And you, I believe, were wearing a shirt without sleeves."

 
He laughed with a flash of straight, white teeth. "I find it's cooler that way."

 
In the silence that followed, while they allowed their eyes to tarry and tally, Jeffcoat recognized her for exactly what she was: a flirt looking for a husband. Well, he was willing to oblige with the flirting. But when it came to matrimony, he was admittedly aisle-shy, and with good reason.

 
"I hear you're a liveryman, Mr. Jeffcoat," Tarsy ventured.

 
"Yes, I am." His gaze drifted to Walcott, still at Tarsy's elbow, and on to Emily. He caught her watching, but immediately she snapped her attention away.

 
"And a blacksmith," Edwin added.

 
"My goodness, a blacksmith, too. How enterprising of you. But you must promise not to interfere with Mr. Walcott's business." Tarsy took Edwin's arm and smiled up at him, wrinkling her nose attractively. "After all, he was here first." Again she shifted her smile to the younger man. "My father is the local barber, so I'm sure you'll meet him soon. Until you do, I thought it only neighborly to extend a welcome on behalf of our family, and let you know that if there's anything we can do to help you get settled, we'd be delighted."

 
"That's most gracious of you."

 
"You must stop by the barbershop and introduce yourself. Papa knows everything about this town. Anything you need to know, just ask him."

 
"I'll do that."

 
"Well, I'm sure we'll meet again soon." She extended her gloved hand.

 
"I hope so," he said charmingly, accepting it with another lingering squeeze.

 
She sent him a parting smile warm enough to sprout daisies in the dead of winter and he responded with a flirtatious grin while speaking to Edwin.

 
"Thank you for stopping me, Edwin. You've definitely made it a memorable morning."

 
As they parted, Jeffcoat again found Emily Walcott watching. Perversely, he gave her a nod and tipped his hat. She offered not so much as a blink, but stared at him as if he were made of window glass. She was wearing a dress this morning, but nothing so pretty or colorful as Tarsy Fields's; a hat, too—a flat little specimen nearly as unattractive as the boy's wool cap had been. She had hair as black as his own, but it was hitched up into some sort of utilitarian twist that said very clearly she hadn't time for female fussing. She was long-waisted, slim, and, as always, sour-faced.

 
To Jeffcoat's surprise, she suddenly smiled. Not at him but at Charles Bliss, who stepped out of Coffeen Hall and took her hand—not her elbow, her hand—winning a full-fledged smile that Jeffcoat would have sworn her incapable of giving. Even a stranger could see it was unpracticed and unaffected. No batting lashes, no syrupy posturing such as Tarsy Fields put on. Jeffcoat observed the interchange with interest.