The Scoundrel

“But,” she continued, “I won’t allow any child to disrupt my classroom or my other students. That’s why I had to ask you to come collect Eli yourself today.”

Daniel fisted his hand, frustration evident in every line of his hardened body. “I can’t keep leaving my blacksmith’s shop like this. I need to earn my living.”

“You need to be a father to Eli.”

He shook his head. “That’s not enough.” He wheeled around, his expression newly determined. “What I need is a wife. A good one.”

That again. He couldn’t be serious. Daniel McCabe was the most well-known scoundrel in the northern part of the territory. Although Sarah hadn’t captured his heart for herself, she knew she didn’t have to worry about another woman accomplishing that miracle, either. Daniel didn’t honestly want a bride. The very idea was outlandish. He was simply overwrought right now because of Eli’s shenanigans.

She shelved another book, then gave him a complacent wave. “A ‘good’ wife, hmmm? I may be wrong, Daniel, but I don’t think you’re in any position to be dictatorial.”

He snorted. His raised eyebrows made her smile. Clearly, the notion that he might not always be in command of things came as an astonishment to him.

“A wife will take care of Eli,” he said, his enthusiasm for taking a bride undimmed. “A wife is what I’ve needed all along. I should have gotten myself one weeks ago.”

“You can’t order a wife from the Bloomingdale Brothers’ catalog, like a new suit.”

But Daniel wasn’t listening. He was running his hand through his hair again, thinking. He pulled his palm away and frowned anew.

“I’ve pulled out more hair than I thought these past weeks. At this rate, I’ll be bald before winter’s out.”

She glanced downward, bemused. Nothing had changed—Daniel still possessed enough thick, dark hair for a man and a half. Besides, he’d still be handsome to her, even with no hair at all. Sarah wanted to tell him so, to put his mind at ease. But experience had taught her better than that.

Instead, she settled on, “Bald, eh? All right, then. I guess you’d better hurry up with that wife business.”

“Hmmph.”

Pointedly, she peered at the crown of his head. “You wouldn’t want to scare away any potential brides.”

Amid another surreptitious examination of his locks, he stilled his hand. “They’re that fussy?”

As a spinster herself, Sarah had no idea. But she knew Daniel didn’t, either. So she nodded knowledgeably. “The savvy ones are. The ones who want a husband with a full head of hair.”

He furrowed his brow, looking increasingly worried. She felt a little deceitful, carrying on this way. But she simply couldn’t resist. It wasn’t often Daniel was uncertain about anything—especially anything to do with women. Besides, this was all in fun. He’d forget the whole idea by tomorrow.

“But you don’t want a potential bride who scares easily,” she cautioned. “That wouldn’t do.”

He nodded, encouraging her. Perhaps foolishly.

“You need someone with fortitude,” she opined.

Another nod.

“Someone who’s organized,” she offered. “Someone who’s efficient and orderly.”

He made a face. “I’m not opening a mercantile. I’m getting hitched.”

Noncommittally, she shelved another book. Daniel was taking this far too seriously. Ordinarily, the two of them teased each other often. But this time…a prickle of unease nagged at her. Could Daniel really mean to find himself a wife?

Before Sarah could contemplate the matter further, a rustle at the schoolhouse doorway alerted her to another presence in the room. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hello, Emily.”

The nine-year-old girl murmured a quiet greeting.

“Your slate is there at your desk, right where you left it. I thought you might be back for it.”

“Thank you, Miss Crabtree.”

Emily snatched up her slate and ran out, pigtails flying. Satisfied, Sarah blew a dust mote from her shelf and resumed working.

Below her, Daniel glanced out the window. Emily—one hand protectively on her hair—was making her way cautiously around Eli. After she’d passed, the boy went back to hopping.

“How did you know who that was?” Daniel asked. “You didn’t even turn around.”

She shrugged. “This is my job. Just like your new mercantile will be your job. Yours and your organized new bride’s.”

He did not take the bait. He only went on discussing his impending marriage…as though it might actually take place.

“All I need is a woman who’s amenable,” Daniel said, his usual certainty firmly in place. “And knowledgeable about children. That should be easy enough to find.”

Sarah rammed in another volume. She’d had just about enough. A jest was a jest, but this… Daniel was beginning to sound downright resolute about finding a wife. Even worse, he’d already rejected her as a candidate! No matter that he didn’t know it yet. Those wifely qualities she’d suggested to him—bravery, fortitude and keen skills in the areas of organization, efficiency and order? They happened to be some of her personal best. He’d dismissed them out of hand.

A woman who’s amenable. And knowledgeable about children.

Hmmph. She possessed plenty of amenability. And who could be more knowledgeable about children than a schoolmarm?

It wasn’t that she wanted to make herself a potential candidate. Not exactly. Not for an arrangement like this. Sarah wanted a love match. She wanted Daniel. She’d already made up her mind to wait until she could have both. This new scheme of his was trying her patience in the extreme, though.

Experimentally, she plastered an amenable simper on her face. She glanced down to gauge its effect.

Daniel looked oblivious. He’d crossed his arms over his broad chest and was studying the pine plank floorboards.

“She should be passing fair to look at, too,” he said decisively, adding another item to the list of his potential wife’s qualifications. “That wouldn’t hurt.”

His anticipatory chuckle got her dander up. Sarah shoved in the next book. There were any number of women who were “passing fair to look at” in Morrow Creek. Not one of them was good enough for Daniel. Or Eli, for that matter.

She’d obviously have to do something about this. Scuttling her plans to give Daniel time to realize the obvious—that they were meant for each other—Sarah set her expression in a dubious frown. The amenable simper hadn’t felt a natural fit, anyway.

“Having a wife might help,” she agreed as she put away a book of poetry. “But on the other hand…”

At her hesitation, Daniel squinted upward impatiently. Just as she’d known he would.

“Out with it, Sarah. ‘On the other hand,’ what?”

“On the other hand, planning a wedding can require an awful lot of time. Time you don’t have, as you pointed out yourself.”

“Fine. I’ll let my bride plan the wedding.”