Short Straw Bride

“Oh, no.” She glanced guiltily at the beautiful fabric. “I’m here to buy new toweling for my aunt. We just finished spring cleaning and she wanted fresh towels.”

“Spring cleaning.” Luke remembered his mother’s annual frenzy of cleaning when every rug had to be taken out and hung on a line to have the dirt beat from it. Then fresh straw had to be spread on the floor before the rug was tacked back into place. The memory was superseded by an image of the layers of dust and dirt that covered her once tidy home, and he winced.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. McLain.”

Eleanor started to step around him and Luke saw his opportunity to talk to her vanishing.

“I was wondering if I might ask your advice, Miss Williams.”

“My advice?” She raised her dark brows in surprise. “I can’t imagine a topic on which you could possibly need my advice, Mr. McLain.”

Neither could he, but it had been the only thing he could think to say to keep her from leaving. Now she’d actually expect him to ask her something. He shot a quick glance around, looking for inspiration. He found it, more or less, in the bolts of fabric stacked beside them. He could hardly claim to have come in to buy new toweling. The coincidence would be too great.

“Curtains,” he said abruptly, remembering the graying rags that hung at the kitchen windows in the ranch house. “I…ah…wanted to buy fabric for curtains. I was hoping you could offer some suggestions.”

“Curtains?” She looked surprised. “What kind of curtains?”

“For the kitchen,” Luke answered with a promptness that concealed the fact that the idea had just occurred to him. “To tell the truth, since our mother died, my brother and I have sort of let the place go a bit and I was just thinking it was time we put a little work into it.”

At the mention of his mother’s death, Eleanor’s face softened. It wasn’t really proper for her to talk to a stranger like this, but she knew how difficult it was to lose a parent. And the idea that he cared enough about his mother’s home to buy new curtains for it went straight to her tender heart. She didn’t think most men would even have noticed worn curtains.

“How big are the windows?” she asked briskly, deciding that propriety could be pushed aside, just this once.

Luke held out his hands to estimate the size, but Eleanor’s attention was drawn to the width of his chest. He was wearing a plain blue shirt tucked into denim pants, and the soft cotton clung to muscles no decent woman should be noticing. She blushed and dragged her eyes away from the broad strength of his body. What on earth had gotten into her? she wondered as she forced her attention to the task at hand and began looking for something suitable to make curtains.

“Do you enjoy living in town, Miss Williams?”

“It’s certainly convenient,” she said. She frowned at a bolt of blue calico before setting it aside. “But I’ve no particular fondness for it. When I was a child, I always longed to settle in one place where I could have a garden and a real home.” She stopped abruptly, embarrassed at having revealed so much of herself. But when she slid a quick glance at him, he didn’t look as if there was anything unusual in what she’d said.

“You traveled a great deal?”

“My father did, and I traveled with him. I tried to make a home wherever we stopped, but there’s not a great deal one can do with a hotel room.” Her mouth curved in a rueful little smile.

So her father had traveled a lot, Luke thought. And she’d always longed to settle in one place. Well, he could certainly offer her a home and room for the garden she’d said she wanted. From the sound of it, those might be powerful arguments, if and when he proposed.

“I think plain muslin might be best, after all,” she said, drawing Luke’s attention to a bolt of the stuff.

“I’ll have to find someone to make the curtains,” he said.

Eleanor opened her mouth to offer to do the work but closed it without speaking. She’d already been bold enough. If her aunt heard that she’d been talking with a man in Webb’s, particularly a man like Luke McLain, whom her aunt had already earmarked as a possible suitor for Anabel, she’d never hear the end of it.

“Mrs. Larkins does sewing,” she said instead. “She has the little house on the north edge of town and she does good work for a reasonable price.” It had to be her overactive imagination that made her think he looked disappointed.

Behind them, the bell over the door tinkled, announcing the departure of Cora Danvers and her obstreperous son. Though Eleanor couldn’t see past Luke McLain’s large frame, she could hear Andrew hurrying in their direction and she felt a totally irrational resentment toward him for interrupting. Not that there was really anything to interrupt, she reminded herself.

“Are you finding everything you need, Miss Eleanor?” At Webb’s question, Luke reluctantly stepped aside to allow the other man to pass him. Webb moved to stand next to Eleanor, his weak eyes darting from her to Luke with suspicion. There was a certain possessiveness in the way he stood, a look only another man would recognize.

Luke’s gaze sharpened on Eleanor’s face, but if there was reason for Webb to feel possessive, he couldn’t read anything in her expression. Something told him that any feelings of possession were strictly on Webb’s side. The thought pleased him.

“If you’ll cut some of the linen for me, Mr. Webb, I’ll be on my way,” she said, giving him a quick, impersonal smile.

“I’ll be with you in just a minute, Mr. McLain,” Webb said as he and Eleanor walked past.

“I’m in no rush.”

The storekeeper’s hand hovered a moment, almost touching the small of Eleanor’s back, and Luke was surprised by the annoyance he felt at the idea of the other man touching her. When Webb’s hand dropped away without making contact, Luke felt a satisfaction out of proportion to the moment. He followed them to the front of the store.

Eleanor was vividly aware of Luke McLain’s gray eyes watching her while Andrew cut the fabric for her aunt. She told herself that she was not so foolish as to read anything into his interest. She’d just happened to be nearby when he’d found himself needing a woman’s opinion. He’d probably have been just as happy to ask Cora Danvers, if she’d been handy. But the brisk mental lecture didn’t have any effect on her rapid heartbeat.

When the toweling had been cut and wrapped in brown paper, she gave Andrew an absent thank-you without really seeing him. Picking up the package, she turned to leave, her eyes catching Luke’s.

“I hope the new curtains are what you wanted, Mr. McLain.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice the slight breathlessness in her voice.

“Thank you for the help, Miss Williams.” He nodded and smiled at her, and Eleanor hurried out before she could make a fool of herself by collapsing at his feet.

Luke let his eyes follow her as she left, watching her walk past the big front window. It wasn’t until she’d disappeared from sight that he turned his attention to Andrew Webb. The suspicion in the other man’s eyes had deepened but Luke ignored it. Webb had had plenty of time to make his intentions known to the girl. If he hadn’t done so, then he had no one to blame but himself if someone moved faster.

Luke gave him the order for the supplies. He loaded a case of canned peaches and sacks of flour, sugar and other staples into the buckboard. It wasn’t until they were almost done that he remembered the curtains he was supposedly anxious to have made. He didn’t give a damn about curtains but, remembering Eleanor’s earnest help, he felt his conscience tug at him. Moving to the bolts of fabric, he picked up the muslin she’d indicated. He started to carry it to the front of the store and then hesitated. Obeying an impulse, he picked up the bolt of blue fabric she’d been fingering. If he married her, he could give it to her. And if he didn’t, well, then, he could give it to whomever he did marry.

Chapter Four (#ulink_542d15dd-d5d3-51b1-8e4f-98b5c57c4490)

Luke McLain attended church alone the following Sunday, and his presence incited only a smidgen less speculation than it had the week before. After the services he exchanged greetings with people he knew but made it a point to intercept the Williams family before they reached their carriage. A few minutes’ conversation and a smile and he was the recipient of an invitation to join them for Sunday supper.

It was no wonder Mr. McLain had hinted for an invitation to dine with them, Dorinda Williams pointed out on the carriage ride home, what with Anabel looking particularly pretty today.

“Just be your own sweet self, precious, and Mr. McLain won’t be able to resist you.” Dorinda gave her daughter a fond look. Luke was following on horseback, giving the family a few moments alone.

“I don’t know if I want to marry a rancher, Mama. All that dirt…and those animals.” Anabel wrinkled her short, straight little nose.

“The McLains are just about the wealthiest folks hereabouts,” her father put in.

“Really?” Anabel straightened and gave her father a calculating look at odds with her delicate pink-and-white image. “How wealthy?”

“Now, you know I can’t tell you that, pussycat.” Zeb clicked his tongue at the horse that drew the little carriage. “That’s confidential information.”

“But this is important, Daddy.” Anabel thrust her lower lip out in a pout. “I’m not asking for myself, you know. I’m thinking about you and Mama. It’s my duty to marry someone who can provide for you in your old age.”

“Isn’t that just like her?” Dorinda said, to no one in particular.

“Yes, isn’t it.” Eleanor’s muttered comment brought her aunt’s attention to her. The sentimental tears that had filled Dorinda’s hard blue eyes vanished the moment she looked at her niece.

“You see that you don’t push yourself forward the way you did last week. ‘Six years, four months and twelve days,’” she mimicked sharply. “I was never so embarrassed in all my life. You just remember where you’d be if your uncle and I hadn’t taken you in.”

“Yes, Aunt Dorinda.” Eleanor kept her eyes lowered, knowing that her resentment must be plain to read, even to someone as insensitive as her aunt.

“Is everything ready for supper?”

“Yes, Aunt Dorinda.”