“Evening, ladies.”
Dahlia smiled. “Good evening. My name is Dahlia Kingsley, and this is my sister, Tulip Mays. We’re Grace’s great-aunts. Are we interrupting?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Miss Atwood and I were just about done. Pleased to meet you.”
Both aunts smiled at him as Tulip exclaimed, “Well,we’re certainly glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Blake.”
Grace’s aunts were as unpredictable as they were unconventional, so in order to keep them from saying or asking lord knew what, she jumped into the conversation. “As you see, I’ve decided to hire Mr. Blake to be the wagon master.”
“We heard,” Dahlia said, gazing appreciatively up at the tall, handsome Texan.
The smiling Tulip hadn’t taken her eyes off Blake since their introduction. She replied, “We certainly did. Mr. Blake, why don’t you come and have supper with us tomorrow evening? I’m sure you and Grace have much to talk about, and you can do it over a meal. What do you think, Dahl?”
“I think that’s a marvelous suggestion,” her sister declared.
Grace noted that no one had asked her how she felt about sitting across the dining room table from Blake. “Aunts, I’m afraid I’ll be working late tomorrow night. I have some—”
Tulip waved her off. “Grace, dear, you’ve been running around trying to get this wagon train under way for weeks. We can eat, get to know Mr. Blake a bit better, and then the two of you can retire to the study to work. How’s that sound, Dahl?”
“Sounds perfect,” Dahlia replied agreeably. “What do you think, Mr. Blake?”
Grace dearly hoped he’d decline.
“Sounds fine,” he answered. His eyes unreadable, he turned to Grace. “What about you, Miss Atwood?”
She was certain he’d accepted just to vex her. “It seems I have no choice,” she stated evenly, while glowering pointedly at her aunts. However, they weren’t paying her a bit of attention; they were too busy staring up at the Texan.
“How about seven?” Grace asked him.
“Seven it is,” he told her.
After being given the address and directions to the house, he told the aunts, “Thanks for the invite. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He then turned to Grace. “How about I pick up that contract, then?”
“That would be fine.”
He nodded her way and headed for the church door.
After he disappeared, the aunts were still staring at the door. Tulip waxed wistfully, “Now, Dahl, that was a good-looking young man. Did you see those shoulders?”
Dahlia nodded. “Sure did. I wonder if his father is still living? Maybe we’ll be lucky and learn he’s a widower.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to ask,” her sister reasoned.
Grace dropped down into the nearest pew and put her head in her hands.
Grace’s afternoon meeting with caterer Otis Hooper and his solicitor about his bank loan did not go well. For weeks now he’d been trying to bully her into lowering the interest. Today, he’d demanded to speak with a male bank representative because he didn’t believe Grace knew what she was doing. Holding onto her temper, Grace firmly pointed out that she was the bank’s president and lending officer, and that Hooper would deal with her or no one at all. The confrontation became so heated, Hooper threatened to take his substantial accounts elsewhere, but Grace didn’t back down. She knew that there were few White banks willing to do business with Blacks, and those that did charged a far higher lending rate, so calling his bluff, Grace walkedover to her office door and opened it wide.
Hooper sat there a moment as if his glare alone would make her change her mind, but when it didn’t, he and his man picked up their papers and stormed out.
Later, after their departure, Lionel Rowe stuck his head around her office door. “How’re you doing?”
A dejected Grace looked up. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Could you hear all the yelling?”
“Clearly, but I’m very proud of you. Your
Dahlia smiled. “Good evening. My name is Dahlia Kingsley, and this is my sister, Tulip Mays. We’re Grace’s great-aunts. Are we interrupting?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Miss Atwood and I were just about done. Pleased to meet you.”
Both aunts smiled at him as Tulip exclaimed, “Well,we’re certainly glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Blake.”
Grace’s aunts were as unpredictable as they were unconventional, so in order to keep them from saying or asking lord knew what, she jumped into the conversation. “As you see, I’ve decided to hire Mr. Blake to be the wagon master.”
“We heard,” Dahlia said, gazing appreciatively up at the tall, handsome Texan.
The smiling Tulip hadn’t taken her eyes off Blake since their introduction. She replied, “We certainly did. Mr. Blake, why don’t you come and have supper with us tomorrow evening? I’m sure you and Grace have much to talk about, and you can do it over a meal. What do you think, Dahl?”
“I think that’s a marvelous suggestion,” her sister declared.
Grace noted that no one had asked her how she felt about sitting across the dining room table from Blake. “Aunts, I’m afraid I’ll be working late tomorrow night. I have some—”
Tulip waved her off. “Grace, dear, you’ve been running around trying to get this wagon train under way for weeks. We can eat, get to know Mr. Blake a bit better, and then the two of you can retire to the study to work. How’s that sound, Dahl?”
“Sounds perfect,” Dahlia replied agreeably. “What do you think, Mr. Blake?”
Grace dearly hoped he’d decline.
“Sounds fine,” he answered. His eyes unreadable, he turned to Grace. “What about you, Miss Atwood?”
She was certain he’d accepted just to vex her. “It seems I have no choice,” she stated evenly, while glowering pointedly at her aunts. However, they weren’t paying her a bit of attention; they were too busy staring up at the Texan.
“How about seven?” Grace asked him.
“Seven it is,” he told her.
After being given the address and directions to the house, he told the aunts, “Thanks for the invite. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He then turned to Grace. “How about I pick up that contract, then?”
“That would be fine.”
He nodded her way and headed for the church door.
After he disappeared, the aunts were still staring at the door. Tulip waxed wistfully, “Now, Dahl, that was a good-looking young man. Did you see those shoulders?”
Dahlia nodded. “Sure did. I wonder if his father is still living? Maybe we’ll be lucky and learn he’s a widower.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to ask,” her sister reasoned.
Grace dropped down into the nearest pew and put her head in her hands.
Grace’s afternoon meeting with caterer Otis Hooper and his solicitor about his bank loan did not go well. For weeks now he’d been trying to bully her into lowering the interest. Today, he’d demanded to speak with a male bank representative because he didn’t believe Grace knew what she was doing. Holding onto her temper, Grace firmly pointed out that she was the bank’s president and lending officer, and that Hooper would deal with her or no one at all. The confrontation became so heated, Hooper threatened to take his substantial accounts elsewhere, but Grace didn’t back down. She knew that there were few White banks willing to do business with Blacks, and those that did charged a far higher lending rate, so calling his bluff, Grace walkedover to her office door and opened it wide.
Hooper sat there a moment as if his glare alone would make her change her mind, but when it didn’t, he and his man picked up their papers and stormed out.
Later, after their departure, Lionel Rowe stuck his head around her office door. “How’re you doing?”
A dejected Grace looked up. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Could you hear all the yelling?”
“Clearly, but I’m very proud of you. Your
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