A Match of Sorts Page 4

  Caleb was right, he sported more facial hair than Luke, but he was definitely the better looking one. She gulped, and then spewed, choking on the drink. Coughing, her cheeks burned as all gazes settled on her.

  “Are you all right?” Caleb handed her the dishcloth.

  She wiped her chin and neck. “I’m fine.” She swallowed.

  “Do you remember anything about the night my brother found you?” Sheriff Brennan folded his arms across his chest and braced his feet.

  Caleb poured two more cups of coffee and handed one to his brother’s wife. The other one he set down on the table within the sheriff’s reach. “Luke, sit down.” Caleb yanked a chair from the table. “You’re making me nervous.”

  Jewel barked at the harsh sound.

  “Sorry, girl.” He rubbed Jewel’s head. When he sat down on the chair beside Grace, the kitchen shrank. His knee brushed against hers.

  Apart from crossing his legs at his ankles, Sheriff Brennan didn’t move, his gaze unwavering as he continued to regard her.

  “I had business here.” Grace titled the cup, wishing instead she was tightening her hands around the sheriff’s neck.

  “What kind of business?”

  “Law-abiding business. I was to collect payment from a man named Willie Pratt.”

  “Willie Pratt.” Sheriff Brennan rubbed his forefinger across his smooth chin. “What happened?”

  “Willie double-crossed me. I did a job for his boss, and he was supposed to pay me the rest of my fee.”

  “What job?” Sheriff Brennan’s face remained passive.

  “I tracked and returned a runaway daughter.” The suspicion in the sheriff’s eyes would’ve stung if it was rare. Unlike some bounty hunters, she preferred to work within the law. Unfortunately, most lawmen found it hard to grasp.

  “And then?”

  “He kept my money. So I trailed him, demanded my payment. Next thing I know I woke up in your brother’s house.”

  “You think Pratt did it?”

  Grace straightened her spine. “He was the only one in the alley.”

  “So he thwacked you on the head and purposely dropped you near the parsonage?” The sheriff continued to rub his chin, evidently digesting her story. He straightened and paced the length of the kitchen.

  Across the table, Mrs. Brennan offered Grace a small smile.

  If she didn’t know better, Grace would assume the sheriff’s wife believed her story. “I reckon I didn’t get here myself.”

  “Oh, you poor thing. I’m just grateful Caleb found you.” Mrs. Brennan rested her hands on the table.

  “He’s probably long gone.” Caleb used both hands to ruffle Jewel’s fur.

  “Possibly. But what if he’s still in town?” Sheriff Brennan stopped, flattened his hands on the scarred table top, and leaned over, pinning her with what she imagined was his most intimidating glare.

  “What are you suggesting?” Mrs. Brennan covered her husband’s hand, her brow furrowed.

  “Miss Blackwell, you can’t leave until I’m sure Pratt won’t try to finish the job.”

  “I can take care of Pratt.” Grace cracked her knuckles and winced at the pain in her bruised hand. Pratt had a granite jaw.

  “I prefer to handle it, Miss Blackwell. This is my town. I have a responsibility toward the residents of Cedar Grove.”

  “Do you think he had cohorts?” Mrs. Brennan fisted her hands on the table.

  “I’ll find out.” Sheriff Brennan glanced at his wife, and then pointed at Grace. “You’ll have to lay low until I make sure he’s left the area.”

  She sagged against the chair. “He stole my guns and my money, Sheriff. Bashed my head. Trust me. I’m leaving as soon as I’m fit. I understand that I’m inconveniencing your hospitality, Caleb.”

  “You’re welcome to stay with us.” Mrs. Brennan’s smile was as bright as her husband’s scowl was dark.

  Grace bit her tongue. “No, thank you, ma’am.” Her shying away from proper women like Ellen Brennan was best for them.

  Sheriff Brennan scratched his neck. “The widow Johnson sometimes houses strays.”

  “I’m not a stray.” Grace shot to her feet, her arm throbbing. She bumped against the table and coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup.

  “Well, you can’t stay here. You’ll ruin my brother’s reputation.”

  “I’ll ruin his reputation? Oh. Right, because I’m the scum, and he’s the martyr?” Grace fisted her hands on her hips. “What kind of reputation does the preacher have for people to grow suspicious, Sheriff?”

  “I’m sure you’re well aware that rumors sprout regardless of a person’s good name.” The sheriff angled forward.

  Caleb pointed to the only vacant chair at the table. “Luke, relax.”

  “I have a suggestion.” Mrs. Brennan blotted a cloth on the spilled coffee.

  Grace wasn’t sure she was ready for this. And judging by the looks of the men, they weren’t either. It didn’t seem to bother Mrs. Brennan, though. She stood and straightened her spine.

  The sheriff exhaled.

  “Luke, please sit down.” Mrs. Brennan arched a finely sculpted brow at him.

  He yanked the chair away and sat down.

  After a second, Grace followed suit, taking care not to touch Caleb’s knee again.

  Mrs. Brennan’s smile broadened. “You can pose as a mail-order bride.”

  Grace gaped at the woman. She must’ve heard wrong. “What?”

  “You can pose as a mail-order bride.”

  Grace glanced at her trousers and scruffy boots and snorted. Some fine, mail-order bride she’d portray.

  “A stage arrived this morning. You could’ve been on it.” Mrs. Brennan motioned over her shoulder, as if the coach had just pulled away.

  Grace pierced the preacher with her gaze. “I don’t mind paying you back for your kindness, but I will not marry you!”

  Caleb backed from her wagging finger. “I didn't even suggest it, Miss Blackwell. She did.” He pointed to the grinning woman across the table.

  The sheriff snorted. “I’m sure Pratt would be able to recognize her.”

  “He doesn’t know I’m a woman.” The silence was as thick as lard in winter. “Men tend to make harsh assumptions about women like me.” Grace crossed her arms and focused on the gap in the floorboards between her boots. “So I decided to spare myself the effort from putting them in their place.” She glanced at Caleb. Bluebonnets! He had a dimple.

  “You have morals?” The sheriff cocked his head to the side.

  “Some.” Could the sheriff be any more annoying?

  “Perfect. That way, you’ll be safe, and Caleb will as well.” Mrs. Brennan clasped her hands beneath her chin.

  “How would Caleb be safe if I pose as a mail-order bride?”

  “You’ll pose as his mail order bride.” Mrs. Brennan smiled and squared her shoulders.

  “Ellen, that is a ridiculous plan,” Caleb said and then mouthed an apology to Grace. The tips of his ears were as pink as a spring pig.

  “It might work.” Sheriff Brennan massaged the back of his neck.

  “It won’t work.” Caleb held up a hand.

  “Sure, it will. Everyone knows you didn’t correspond with just one woman. Mr. Pratt was under the impression Miss Blackwell was a man.” Mrs. Brennan paced the kitchen. “That way, Luke can look for Mr. Pratt, and you’ll be safe.”

  “How will that help Caleb?” Try as she might, Grace couldn’t fit all the random pieces of information they’d tossed together.

  “His father-in-law is on his way. The storm might have delayed his arrival, but Reverend Conrad will be here the moment it’s safe to travel.”

  Grace turned to Caleb, but he had his chin lowered, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the table.

  “He wants to take Libby and Abby back to Boston with him.” Mrs. Brennan stopped pacing.

  “Your daughters?”

  “Yes.”

  Grace waited, but when Cal
eb failed to elaborate, she threw her hands in the air. “Why?”

  “He feels I’m responsible for what happened to Margaret.”

  “What happened to her?” Since her social skills were lacking, she might as well get all the unpleasantness out of the way. And after what his sister-in-law suggested, manners could take a step back…or just walk out altogether.

  “Last fall bank robbers sought refuge in the church. Margaret got hit by a stray bullet.”

  That explained the wariness behind his easy smile. Grace bit her lip.

  “Reverend Conrad doesn’t think Caleb is fit to raise his granddaughters alone.” Mrs. Brennan cradled her cup of coffee.

  “And how will having a fiancée change his mind?”

  “It was one of his requests. When he sees the girls being reared by a lady, it might make all the difference.” Mrs. Brennan returned to her chair.

  “A lady? I don’t even own a dress. I haven’t worn a petticoat in ten years.” She ignored the blush that swept across Mrs. Brennan’s full cheeks. “I don’t even remember how to lace a corset.” Beside her, Caleb shifted on the chair and after a quick glance at him, she found his face flushed. And it rather suited him.

  5

  Caleb hesitated to enter the parsonage. He’d asked Ellen if the girls could spend another night with them. Not sure why, though. It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust Grace. Maybe it was because a morsel of him hoped she’d want to discuss the possibility of pursuing Ellen’s irrational suggestion. And having Abby and Libby underfoot would mean never ending questions from the pair.

  Grace appeared appalled at the idea. She’d grown quieter and quieter until Ellen and Luke had left. Though her response wasn’t unexpected, it still stung. What disturbed him most was the way he’d wished that she might consider this insane charade.

  Grace was lovely, but she wasn’t what he needed. She was a bounty hunter, for crying out loud. Not the kind of woman who wanted to settle down and care for a home and family. Not the kind of woman—even temporarily—whom he needed for his daughters. Abby and Libby had suffered enough for their young age. This ruse would make everything worse. They would grow attached, and then Grace would leave, breaking their hearts all over again.

  When he opened the door that led to the kitchen, he stopped.

  The table was set, the aroma of ham and onions heavy in the air. Grace sat at the spot she’d occupied this morning, bathed in the soft yellow light of the lamp.

  She acknowledged him with a nod.

  “I’m sorry. It took longer than I’d planned.” Especially after Mr. Preston found him along the way and grabbed the opportunity to extol his daughters’ good characters and recited the fact that Caleb’s daughters needed a mother.

  “I made grub.” She pointed at the bowl. “It’s nothing grand. But I thought I’d pitch in.”

  After his trying day, pig slops would’ve been welcomed. If not for housing a guest, he’d been ready to settle for a mere cup of coffee before going to bed.

  “Thanks.” Being spared from making supper was a welcomed treat. “How are you feeling?” He removed his coat and scarf and after hanging both on a peg, he sat down and arched a brow at the warm cornbread steaming inside the cast-iron skillet. The bounty hunter knew how to cook. What other hidden skills did she possess?

  “Fine.” She tugged at her earlobe. Wisps of hair grazed her cheek. Her gaze flitted from his to the food. “How was your walk?”

  “It was good.” Now was not the time to admit how much he’d yearned for moments like these, craving quiet conversation. He needed a woman’s presence in his home, in his life, and missed having a wife waiting for him. Confound it! The woman was a guest—a patient really. And the sooner he’d put Ellen’s outrageous suggestion from his mind, the better.

  “How are your daughters?”

  “They’re good. They want to come home.”

  “I imagine they do.” She cocked her head. “I know you don’t have reason to trust me, but I’m not some kind of fiend. I’ve never harmed innocent people, except once, when I had to hogtie a runaway.”

  “You hogtied someone?” Considering her slender build, he couldn’t picture her overpowering anyone.

  She gave him a one-eyed squint. “There are certain disadvantages to being male.”

  Caleb threw his head back and laughed. He composed himself and wiped his eyes. When had he last laughed like that? “You need to tell me about it.”

  “Man tried to shirk his responsibilities. Bride’s pa hired me to bring him back.” She made it sound as if it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

  His lips twitched. “Food smells great.”

  “It’s my only specialty. Kept me from starving many a night.” Her smile was small, perhaps even a little unsure. It suited her, took some of the edge from her face. “Guess you want to say grace?”

  He smiled at her hesitant tone. Then with a nod, he bowed his head and offered a prayer.

  “Just take a tiny bite. See if you like it.”

  “I know I’ll like it.” He lathered a slice of bread with butter and dropped it into his bowl. Hungry as he was, he would settle for hardtack and bitter coffee.

  She arched her eyebrow as he mashed the bread, mixing the mushiness with the soup. He chuckled, took his spoon, and dug in, pausing only to blow on the hot, fragrant meal. “It smells really good.”

  “You shouldn’t be so easily impressed.” She stirred her bowl, her attention fixed on it.

  Some of Caleb’s excitement dwindled, but as he took a tentative bite, he found it to match the mouthwatering aroma. A little on the salty side, but not as bad as some of his earlier attempts at supper. “Really good,” he repeated.

  She continued to stir her soup, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “I thought about Mrs. Brennan’s suggestion.”

  “Oh?” Careful. Appearing desperate wouldn’t help his case.

  “I have some questions.”

  “I imagine you would.” He nodded. Was that a good sign?

  “You’re the preacher. Isn’t it odd that you’ll be willing to deceive someone?”

  He set his spoon down and took a deep breath. “I’ll do just about anything to keep my daughters. I’ve negotiated for months with Margaret’s father. I’ve tried to convince him that this is where the Lord led me. He seems unable of accept that I’m capable of raising them, even here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “But you’re their father. That’s got to count for something?” The suspicion in her voice seeped through and touched him.

  “Unfortunately, he has a certain amount of influence that he can use to have authorities bend his way.”

  “Influence?”

  “Money.”

  “Aah. I’ve had my run-ins with men like that.”

  “They’re everywhere.” He took another bite of mushed bread and soup and smiled as she wrinkled her nose.

  She tore off a piece of bread and dunked it, then bit it. “Why don’t you marry one of the fine women from your congregation? You’re attractive. I imagine there has to be a widow or another suitable young woman interested in marrying the preacher?”

  She thought him attractive? Caleb took his time to chew his bite, swallowed, and then met her gaze. “Because they’d want more.”

  “More?” Grace’s spoon clinked as she set it down in the bowl.

  “They’d want—and deserve—a real marriage. I’m just not ready for another woman to share my life. Mrs. Haddon, the lady I’ve corresponded with, agreed to an arrangement that would’ve worked for us both.”

  “An arrangement?”

  “I need a wife in name only. A mother to my girls.” He plucked at the cuff of his shirt.

  “One of those marriage of convenience fixings?”

  “I won’t lose my girls.”

  “Why’d she changed her mind?”

  “A better opportunity arrived.”

  “Say what?”

  He gave a mirthless laugh. “Mrs. Haddon wasn’
t aware of my injury. Or the lasting results.”

  “So she changed her mind because of that?”

  He pulled up a shoulder.

  She slapped the table. “Jumping crickets. Good thing you didn’t end up marrying that woman.”

  “Perhaps a blessing in disguise.”

  Grace studied her soup. “When’s your father-in-law coming?”

  “He should be here before Christmas.”

  “That’s less than a week away.” Her brow furrowed.

  Caleb nodded.

  “For how long will he stay?”

  “Just long enough for me to convince him that I’m a good father.”

  “And then after he leaves, I can be on my way?”

  Caleb clasped his hand in his lap. “Yes.”

  She tapped her spoon against the bowl in a quick staccato. “All right.”

  “Really?”

  She snorted and pulled up a shoulder. “Might as well do something worthy while I wait for your brother to catch Pratt.”

  Caleb braced his elbows on the table. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. We need to convince your rich father-in-law that I’m a good fit to raise his granddaughters.”

  “Right.” He raked his fingers through his hair, pushing the strands away from his forehead. “Where are you from?”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll be my fiancée. I need to know you a little, at least.”

  “Since I’ll be your pretend fiancée, you can decide.”

  “If we keep the lies to a minimum the chances of slipping up will be less.”

  “Richmond. I left after the war. There was nothing left for me. Decided not to stay and set out to make a life for myself.” She resumed tapping her spoon against the bowl.

  “How old were you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Caleb lowered the spoon to the empty bowl. “You’ve been alone since you were fifteen?”

  “It suits me. Never was one of those proper gals.” She turned her face away. “I caught my first criminal that year. The reward was fifty dollars. Sheriff said I was a natural. So that’s what I’ve been doing ever since.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “How long have you been a bounty hunter?”

  “Since then. It was the best prospect available.”