Heartland Courtship

“And Mr. Merriday will help me as my hired hand,” Miss Rachel agreed. “Mr. Ashford, I will be back next week to pick up the flour, sugar and other items I’ve ordered. And please let it be known that I want to buy a cow and chickens from anyone who has any to spare. I’ll pay what’s fair.”

“Yes, Miss, but I still think you should have ordered much less flour to begin with,” the storekeeper said.

“I appreciate thy concern,” she replied, but this didn’t show in her tone. “Mr. Merriday, I think our town business is done now.”

He was back to himself. So he did find the lady pretty—what did that have to do with the likes of him? “Yes, Miss Rachel,” Brennan said, grinning with sass as he followed her to the door, opened it for her and let her step outside. He glanced over his shoulder to catch Ashford frowning. And mocked the man with a grin.

Back on the wagon bench beside Miss Rachel, Brennan slapped the reins and piloted the team toward home. A rare feeling of satisfaction suffused him. And he was beginning to like Miss Rachel. That was all. “You called me Mr. Merriday,” he teased. “Thrice.”

“Yes, I thought if I called thee by thy first name as Quakers do, the storekeeper might misunderstand our relationship. I think it will be best if I use Mr. Merriday so everyone understands....” Her voice faltered.

“I take your meaning, Miss Rachel.” He couldn’t stop his grin from widening. Working for Miss Rachel would certainly bring zest into his life for a time.

From the corner of his eye, he gazed at her profile. She sat so prim and proper, her back straight and her gloved hands folded in her lap. What would she do if he turned and kissed her? A startling, disturbing thought.

Then she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “My thanks, Mr. Merriday, for thy support today.”

“Just part of my job, miss,” he said, taking control of his unruly mind. He owed this lady a debt, that was all.

And then the two of them rode in outward silence toward the Whitmore claim. But one sentence ran through Brennan’s mind—What have I gotten myself into this time?

Chapter Three

On the dusty drive home, Rachel felt unsettled again. She tried not to think of those first few days on the journey here when nothing had seemed right and she hadn’t been able to eat. And sitting beside this handsome man who’d stood up for her added more confusion.

“How soon could I move into my cabin?” she asked, forcing herself to stop musing.

“Just need a day or two to get it cleaned out and fix the roof.”

“I will do the cleaning so thee can concentrate on the fixing.” She had succeeded in staking her homestead claim. She should be experiencing relief but she wasn’t. Her stomach churned. What’s wrong with me?

The ride home passed much more quickly than the ride to the homestead and then to town. The hot sun beat down on Rachel’s shoulders and bonnet. But she found herself more aware of Mr. Merriday with every mile. She hadn’t expected him to abet her in town. Also she’d seen in Mr. Ashford’s expression that having the Southerner work for her would be frowned on. Well, so be it.

When Noah’s cabin came into view, Rachel’s heart started jumping oddly. She stiffened her self-control and tried to remain unmoved as Brennan helped her down from the wagon with his usual courtesy, which was not usual to her.

Noah hailed them from outside his woodshop. With their little boy in her arms, Sunny opened the door and greeted her warmly.

Rachel burst into tears.

Everyone rushed forward as if she’d fallen, which shamed her. She turned away, trying to hide her face.

Sunny came to her and grasped her elbow. “Come. I’ll make you some tea.”

When Rachel looked up, the two men had disappeared with little Dawn and only she and Sunny went to the bench outside the cabin. Rachel sat while Sunny went inside. The toddler in his dress rolled in the grass, playing with his toes. Tears dripping down her face, Rachel watched him, envying his innocence.

Soon Sunny handed her a cup of tea and sat beside her. “Was the land agent very rude?” Sunny asked conversationally.

“Of course he was.” Wiping her eyes with her hankie, Rachel tried to keep bitterness from her tone, but failed. “Why are men so...?” Words failed her.

Sunny made a sound of agreement. “They certainly can be.”

Rachel sipped the sweet, tangy tea. “Life would be easier if I just went along with what’s expected of me,” she finally admitted.

More tea. “Yes, but would that be easier on you?”

“No!” Rachel’s reply flew from her lips.

“Then you will just have to thicken your skin.”

Rachel sighed. “I thought I had.”

“It’s just this starting out part. Everyone here will get to know you, begin to see that you’re a good person. You’ll become part of the town and then they’ll resent anybody who disparages you.”

Rachel turned to Sunny. “Really?”

“Yes, that’s how it happened with us.”

“Really?”

Sunny beamed at her. “Noah’s the preacher now.”

For some reason, Rachel couldn’t swallow a chuckle. Then the two of them were laughing out loud.

In a while, no doubt drawn by the sounds of mirth, the men approached, looking as if the women’s behavior mystified them. And that only caused Rachel and Sunny to shake with more laughter.

* * *

The next day Brennan climbed the ladder onto the roof of Rachel’s cabin, no clouds masking the hot sun. He crawled across the rough surface till he reached the spot where he thought the leak was. Three wooden shakes or shingles had blown loose.

His lady boss was humming below, sweeping out her cabin. And soon Noah would arrive to start work on the large oven Miss Rachel needed for her business. The question over whether to add a kitchen to the cabin had been debated completely. Finally a summer kitchen connected by a covered walkway to the cabin had been deemed best.

Thinking of Noah, Brennan found himself filled with potent envy. Noah Whitmore had it all—a place of his own, a pretty wife and two great kids.

Reminiscence of a time when he’d thought Noah’s kind of life would always be his life goaded him. Lorena’s slender arms slipped around his neck and her soft voice—

Then the worst happened—one of his infrequent spells hit him. The past flooded him. Waves of darkness engulfed him. That awful day before the war? Or all the awful days of war after it rolled into one? He was surrounded. Fists pounding him, the stench of stale sweat, curses bombarded him. He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to keep in touch with his surroundings—which way was up and which was down. He lost.

He felt himself sliding, the rough shingles hitting his spine as he slid. He wrenched his eyes open and at the last minute jammed his heels into another space where shingles had been blown away. His hands scrabbled for something to cling to. He stopped and then he lay back, gasping for air.

“Is thee all right?” Miss Rachel called up.

Brennan couldn’t answer. The world still tilted and swayed around him. Then he heard Miss Rachel climbing up the ladder.

He had to stop her, couldn’t let her see him like this. Brennan wanted to send her away with a flea in her ear, anything to prevent her from asking what the matter was. Upon the rare occasion when he had one of these spells, he just left town.

But I can’t leave this town. And Noah saved my life as much as the little spinster. Brennan waited for the inevitable questions.

But Miss Rachel asked none.