you couldn’t go with him, I suppose?”
“On the contrary, I’m quite happy to wait to enjoy Mathew’s company at the dance tomorrow night.”
Leigh’s jaw went slack.
“So nice to meet you, Flossie,” Christie said with a polite nod, before marching off across the dusty street. It was all she could do to contain her triumphant smile. Let him chew on that for a while. If denying her attraction to Mathew Sutton wouldn’t shut him up — perhaps confirming it would.
But it wasn’t Mathew Sutton who’d haunted her dreams lately, or even her dear sweet Robby — it was Nat Randall. Ever since his lips touched hers, he’d intruded on her mind night and day. Just remembering his cool blue eyes could freeze her thoughts and make her heart hammer hard against her breast.
A shout from down the street jerked her back to the present as she reached for the knob on the mercantile door.
“They caught one of the Everetts! They’re bringing him in now!”
Christie swallowed hard.
Very slowly she turned around. Her hand trembled as she pressed a stray curl back under her bonnet. She’d hoped to avoid fulfilling her obligations as a witness, but it seemed Nat Randall had done his job after all.
Men poured out of the saloon to gawk at the riders dismounting in front of the jail.
Christie lifted a hand to block out the bright rays of the afternoon sun.
Sheriff Brimley stepped out on the stoop to meet them just as Holt pulled his bound prisoner from the saddle like a sack of feed.
After exchanging a few words with the sheriff, Holt shoved him toward the jailhouse door.
Christie shifted her gaze, squinting passed them down the street.
But it was empty.
No more riders came.
Something sank in the pit of her belly.
Then her knees went weak.
Dear Lord, what had she gotten herself into? Had the same fate befallen Nat as his last witness? She stood staring at the empty horizon, willing him to materialize, fighting back an overwhelming sense of panic.
Then her fighting spirit took hold.
She straightened her back.
No.
He couldn’t be dead.
Men like him didn’t die that easily. It was silly to get carried away by fanciful notions without knowing for certain. Besides, she had Uncle Will and the sheriff to protect her. It wasn’t as though the Everetts could just ride into town and snatch her away.
She turned the knob, then pushed the door opened with the toe of her boot. The mercantile seemed empty and lonely without Uncle Will there to greet her. A rush of homesickness swept over her, making her throat constrict.
The smell of freshly ground coffee and gunpowder seemed foreign today. She longed for the scent of bees’ wax, lavender, and windblown sheets — the sparkle of innocence in Evie’s eyes when she knelt at her bedside to say her prayers.
Then Christie remembered — the letter!
She hastened to the counter to set down her parasol. One good pull on the string and the pile of letters scattered over the wooden counter. When she came across one with familiar handwriting, she let out a squeal of glee. Joy bubbled up in her chest. She tore it open and began to read.
My dearest Christie,
I hope this letter finds you well. Papa is very busy at the bank these days and so he asked me to write in his stead. Miss Elliot, the new governess, is very stiff, but Evie minds her well. Bess is very hard in her opinion of her, as she believes she has designs on Papa and would not see our futures compromised. Papa is off to Charleston to visit Mr. Cavanaugh tomorrow. I suppose they will discuss your betrothal.
I have attempted to plead your case, but you know how very stubborn he is. We went for a carriage ride in the park with Dr. Turner yesterday. He sends his regards. Please write soon, as I know your last letter by heart since Evie insists on me reading it every day.
Your Loving sister,
Meagan
Christie brushed the tears from her eyes. She refolded the letter with trembling hands. Dear Bess, their housekeeper, still
“On the contrary, I’m quite happy to wait to enjoy Mathew’s company at the dance tomorrow night.”
Leigh’s jaw went slack.
“So nice to meet you, Flossie,” Christie said with a polite nod, before marching off across the dusty street. It was all she could do to contain her triumphant smile. Let him chew on that for a while. If denying her attraction to Mathew Sutton wouldn’t shut him up — perhaps confirming it would.
But it wasn’t Mathew Sutton who’d haunted her dreams lately, or even her dear sweet Robby — it was Nat Randall. Ever since his lips touched hers, he’d intruded on her mind night and day. Just remembering his cool blue eyes could freeze her thoughts and make her heart hammer hard against her breast.
A shout from down the street jerked her back to the present as she reached for the knob on the mercantile door.
“They caught one of the Everetts! They’re bringing him in now!”
Christie swallowed hard.
Very slowly she turned around. Her hand trembled as she pressed a stray curl back under her bonnet. She’d hoped to avoid fulfilling her obligations as a witness, but it seemed Nat Randall had done his job after all.
Men poured out of the saloon to gawk at the riders dismounting in front of the jail.
Christie lifted a hand to block out the bright rays of the afternoon sun.
Sheriff Brimley stepped out on the stoop to meet them just as Holt pulled his bound prisoner from the saddle like a sack of feed.
After exchanging a few words with the sheriff, Holt shoved him toward the jailhouse door.
Christie shifted her gaze, squinting passed them down the street.
But it was empty.
No more riders came.
Something sank in the pit of her belly.
Then her knees went weak.
Dear Lord, what had she gotten herself into? Had the same fate befallen Nat as his last witness? She stood staring at the empty horizon, willing him to materialize, fighting back an overwhelming sense of panic.
Then her fighting spirit took hold.
She straightened her back.
No.
He couldn’t be dead.
Men like him didn’t die that easily. It was silly to get carried away by fanciful notions without knowing for certain. Besides, she had Uncle Will and the sheriff to protect her. It wasn’t as though the Everetts could just ride into town and snatch her away.
She turned the knob, then pushed the door opened with the toe of her boot. The mercantile seemed empty and lonely without Uncle Will there to greet her. A rush of homesickness swept over her, making her throat constrict.
The smell of freshly ground coffee and gunpowder seemed foreign today. She longed for the scent of bees’ wax, lavender, and windblown sheets — the sparkle of innocence in Evie’s eyes when she knelt at her bedside to say her prayers.
Then Christie remembered — the letter!
She hastened to the counter to set down her parasol. One good pull on the string and the pile of letters scattered over the wooden counter. When she came across one with familiar handwriting, she let out a squeal of glee. Joy bubbled up in her chest. She tore it open and began to read.
My dearest Christie,
I hope this letter finds you well. Papa is very busy at the bank these days and so he asked me to write in his stead. Miss Elliot, the new governess, is very stiff, but Evie minds her well. Bess is very hard in her opinion of her, as she believes she has designs on Papa and would not see our futures compromised. Papa is off to Charleston to visit Mr. Cavanaugh tomorrow. I suppose they will discuss your betrothal.
I have attempted to plead your case, but you know how very stubborn he is. We went for a carriage ride in the park with Dr. Turner yesterday. He sends his regards. Please write soon, as I know your last letter by heart since Evie insists on me reading it every day.
Your Loving sister,
Meagan
Christie brushed the tears from her eyes. She refolded the letter with trembling hands. Dear Bess, their housekeeper, still
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