The full-length mirror’s glass was smoky colored and wavy, but good enough for Gussie to size herself up in it. She sure looked better now that she’d had a bath and had changed out of those stinkin’ clothes. She’d been tempted to throw away the skirt and blouse, but sensibility had won out and she’d stuffed them into her satchel. Having only three dresses, two skirts, and two blouses to her name, she couldn’t be foolish and toss out outfits. When she got a chance, she’d wash them and be glad to wear them again.
She did throw away the hat. Flung it out the window and let the late summer breeze send it skipping across the cotton fields.
Standing tall, she turned slightly left and right, judging herself in the mirror with a critical eye. The dress had caught her fancy right off when she’d spied it in a hardgoods store in Dyersburg, Tennessee. Pink and violet plaid on a white background, the fabric was feminine and fashionable. The long sleeves ended in a pink ruffle at her wrists; the same kind of ruffle bordering the hem. The skirt gathered in the back to form a modified bustle. The oval neckline dipped low enough to expose her throat.
She’d bought the dress with money her pa had given her for her eighteenth birthday two years ago, which had surprised the stuffing out of her because he hadn’t given her anything on her birthday before. Evidently, he’d thought that eighteen was an important milestone.
Rolled in thin paper, the dress had been tucked in her satchel ever since as she’d never had an occasion to wear it. Not until Bob Babbitt had sent for her.
Stepping down from the train, she’d felt like a true lady in her best dress with her hair all pinned up under a pink bonnet and a touch of rouge on her cheeks and lips. An hour later, she’d felt like a gussied-up fool.
Allowed to use a private office in the depot, she’d changed out of the dress and put on travel clothes, having made up her mind to get herself to Pear Orchard and give Bob Babbitt a tongue lashing. Maybe she’d find that an accident had befallen him, or a close relative had taken deathly ill or was dying. She’d forgive him, and they’d go along with their marriage plans.
Of course, it hadn’t turned out that way. Jail. Her intended had landed in jail, drunk and disorderly.
With a sigh of regret, she beat down the remorse and focused on how nice the Karlssons were and how fortunate she was to have been invited to their home. Susan had insisted on filling the copper tub in the back bedroom – the room she shared with her husband – so that Gussie could take a long, warm bath. Gussie had even washed her air and gotten the tangles out with Susan’s ivory comb. She’d fashioned it into a long braid and it was still damp to the touch.
After the bath, she’d been shown to this room where Susan said she’d spend the night.
Gazing intently in the mirror at the serious looking girl with big, blue eyes and full, bee-stung lips, Gussie decided that she was borderline pretty, all spruced up. There wasn’t a lot to her, but what was there was put together in a womanly shape.
What she didn’t much care for was the wariness in her eyes and the small lines between them. She forced herself not to scowl and the lines smoothed out. That was better. But she knew those lines wouldn’t stay gone. Life had toughened her. She knew that she was harder tempered than most twenty-year-old maidens. Living with a drunk did that to a gal. Had to learn quick to expect nothing much and be ready to land on your feet when you got knocked sideways.
She’d stopped trying to look pretty about the time she’d grown breasts. That’s when Clem’s drinking buddies had taken notice of her. They would slip into their campsite and try to touch her while her pa was out cold. She’d fought off more than she could count before making it a habit of sleeping near her pa with a hunting knife in her hand. That sent most a message that she wasn’t to be trifled with. Still, a few kept trying to paw at her. Finally, she could take it no more and decided she had to break away from her pa and his travels. Spotting an advertisement about men seeking wives, she decided to become a letter bride. Better to be the property of one man before she was ruined by many.
For as long as she could remember, she’d dreamed of a real home – a place all her own where she was the wife and mother and her husband was kind and respectful. He didn’t get crazy drunk. Didn’t yell. Didn’t use his strength against her or their children.
That’s what she’d hoped for when she’d received the train ticket from Bob Babbitt. She had prayed that he’d be just as his letter had said – a trusted member of the community, a businessman, a gentleman. She had imagined that he would smile warmly at her, kiss the back of her gloved hand, and tell her how pleased he was to finally meet her. They would marry in a simple ceremony and he would place a chaste kiss on her lips. Then he’d whisk her away to his lovely home – their home, surrounded by big trees and flower beds full of sweet smelling blooms.
“This is your home, dearest Gussie,” he would say to her. “Welcome. I hope you will be blissfully happy here with me.”
Sighing, she smiled at her reflection in the wavy mirror, picturing his warm, brown eyes, black hair, muscled physique. And that smile. Sweet and naughty all at once, making her toes curl in her shoes and her heart—.
Whoa, Nelly!
She jerked herself out of the daydream, realizing that Max Lonestar had somehow stepped into the role that had been Bob Babbitt’s.
Disconcerted, she whirled away from the mirror and busied herself by examining the patchwork quilt at the foot of the bed. The room had no personality and she wondered if it was meant only for guests or lodgers. A pitcher and bowl sat on a table under a small mirror. A bar of soap was in the bowl. Meant for washing up and shaving. She stepped closer, opened the table’s drawer, and examined its contents – a straight razor, comb, and a few handkerchiefs. Moving to the corner where a blanket stretched from the ceiling to the floor, she peeked around it. Men’s clothes. Work clothes. A few shirts, trousers, a pair of polished shoes, a leather belt, a pair of red suspenders, a black hat hanging on a peg. The scent of rainwater and leather washed over her and she let go of the blanket with a start.
This was his room!
Surveying it with new eyes, she breathed out his name, “Lonestar.” She pictured him lying on the bed, taking up most of it. His black hair contrasting against the white pillow. Had he grown up in this room? Had it been his when he was a boy?
She went to the small table beside the bed where a lantern shared space with a framed photograph and a book. The photo was of a sweet-faced woman. Her high collar was pinned with a beautiful cameo. His mother, she thought. This must be his and Susan’s mother. She picked up the book and read the gold lettering across the cover. The Three Musketeers by Alexander Dumas. What in heaven’s name was a musketeer? She flipped through a few pages. Looked like a story set way back when folks lived in castles. She smiled to herself, imagining him lying in bed reading about knights and ladies. Wouldn’t mind reading this herself, she mused as she replaced the volume on the night table.
Feeling guilty for snooping, she hightailed it from the room. She located Susan in the kitchen where she stirred something that smelled delicious in a big pot on the stove top. Elias, her two-year-old, tow-headed son, stood next to her, fists full of his mama’s striped skirt. Brigit, the four-year-old, sat on the sofa, whispering to her rag doll.
The Karlsson house was like one out of Gussie’s dreams. A clapboard house, consisting of four rooms – a big, front parlor with the kitchen taking up half of it and a sitting area taking up the other, and three bedrooms. Everything was tidy and scrubbed clean. The floors, the windows, the dishware, all sparkling. Curtains hung at the windows, all pleated and pristine.
Erik Karlsson had welcomed Gussie robustly with a hearty handshake. He was a strapping, blond man with a smile that showed off a row of impossibly straight, white teeth. He didn’t have an accent as much as he had a peculiar intonation. Almost sing-song sounding. He laughed easily and merrily, his blue eyes sparkling with life. He’d wrapped an arm around Susan’s waist and kissed her soundly on the cheek, declaring that he was mighty glad his wife was home where she belonged. When Susan told him about Gussie’s misfortune, he’d rubbed the back of his neck, glanced at Lonestar, and said, “Babbitt is a wily fox, isn’t he?” To Gussie’s mind, Babbitt was more of a skunk than a fox.
The men had gone back to work and Susan had settled Gussie in. The smell of oven-baked bread and fried meat permeated the air, luring Gussie further into the kitchen area. Her mouth watered and her empty stomach rumbled. For a few moments, she felt dizzy as hunger stampeded through her.
“Oh, my, my! Don’t you look pretty!” Susan said, setting aside the wooden spoon to clasp her hands under her chin. “That dress is beautiful.”
Gussie felt her color rise as her head cleared. “Thank you. It’s what I wore on the train.”
A hint of pity tainted Susan’s smile. “I see. Well, you’re a vision in it.” She swept her hand toward the table. “You can arrange plate settings for five, if you will. I’m almost done cooking and the men should be ambling in any minute now.”
“Mama, Helga wants to eat something, too,” Brigit said, holding up the doll.
“She won’t like what I’ve cooked. Leave her there on the settee and come to supper.” Susan motioned for her daughter and then reached down for her son. “Let go of me, Elias.” She picked him up and planted his backside in a high chair. “You stay right there while I finish putting the food on the table.” She flashed a smile at Gussie. “I hope you like pork chops and beans.”
“Some of my favorite vittles,” Gussie assured her.
“Hungeee!” Elias said, waving his fists.
“I hear you, son.” Susan ruffled the boy’s white hair.
“How long have you been married?”
“Five years. I met Erik six years ago this September at a barn raising.”
“A what?”
“Barn raising,” she repeated. “You never heard of those? Folks band together and build a barn – well, most of one – in one day for a neighbor in need. The women cook food and feed the men, who do the work. Erik was one of the barn builders. His family was new to the area. His folks came from Sweden and they’d lived in Memphis for a time before migrating here.” She set a big bowl of beans and a platter of chops in the center of the round table. “I’d been courted by another fella, but when I talked some to Erik, I knew I was no longer interested in that other boy. It was like me and Erik were meant to be.” She sighed.
Gussie resisted the impulse to also release a wistful sigh. Instead, she arranged the plates around the table. The door to the outside rattled open and Erik Karlsson and Max Lonestar came in, bringing the smell of earth and sun with them.
“I’m as hungry as a bear,” Erik announced, whipping his floppy-brimmed hat from his blond head and slapping it onto a peg by the door. Grinning, he reached out for Susan, hauled her close, and gave her a smacking kiss on the lips. “Hello, you pretty thing, you.”
“Erik!” Susan slapped playfully at his chest. “I hope you washed up before coming in here.”
“We certainly did. When do we not?” He planted a hand on Lonestar’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Max? We’re as clean as we can get, we are.” He chucked his son under the chin. “Hey, there, little man. Can you say ‘papa?’”
“Papa,” Elias said, getting a big wink from Erik.
“That’s right.”
“Papa, Papa! Mama won’t let Helga eat with us.”
Erik laughed and ran a hand over his daughter’s golden hair. “Well, blossom, Mama knows best. Helga will be fine, I reckon. Take your place at the table now.”
Susan motioned at the chair to her husband’s right. “Please, be seated, Gussie.”
Gussie tore her attention from the fascination of watching a big man like Erik be so gentle and loving toward his little daughter. Bittersweet feelings for what she’d never known twined around her heart as she pulled out the chair. She started to sit down when her gaze lifted to Lonestar. The heat in his eyes stayed her – even made her heart stall for a few seconds. He was looking somewhere below her waist and then his gaze climbed slowly, ever so slowly up her torso to her throat, hung there for a breath-defying moment or two, then swept up to her face. His eyes widened a bit before narrowing to smoky slits.
Gussie’s mouth went dry and her heart lodged in her throat, beating there like it had sprouted wings. She’d never been looked at like that by a man. Oh, she’d had men pay attention to her, for sure. Ogle her. Leer at her. Eye her like she was prime meat. But never like this – with naked appreciation and . . . attraction?
Susan cleared her throat, breaking Gussie’s trance. “Gussie?”
Her knees gave out and Gussie sat, ungracefully, but gratefully in the appointed chair. Susan settled beside her. Finally, slowly, Lonestar pulled out the ladder-backed chair opposite Gussie and eased his tall frame into it.
Grinning, Erik took his place at the head of the table. “Let’s give thanks for this fine meal before us,” he intoned, and they all bent their heads, even the children.
Erik said grace, but Gussie heard not one word of it. She was caught up in the feelings Lonestar had birthed in her. Her pulses thrummed and she was warm all over. There had been something visceral in his eyes that had touched a wild wanting inside of her that she hadn’t even known existed until that moment. She peeked at him through her lashes. Without his hat, his straight, ebony hair fell across his forehead, the tops of his ears, and on the edge of his collar. He had long sideburns that stopped just shy of his jawline.
“Amen.”
The spiky fringe of his lashes lifted, and he caught her staring at him. Gussie blinked. He didn’t. He drilled her with his brown eyes. Chestnut brown with flecks of gold. Black, thick lashes. The dark shadow of whiskers on his jawline, chin, and upper lip. Lips that weren’t smiling, but weren’t frowning either. Lips that looked hard, but also soft and . . .
“Gussie, pass me your plate and I’ll ladle some beans onto it.”
Gussie ripped her attention from Lonestar and handed Susan her plate. She had to stop this crazy foolishness, she told herself. Act like a mannerly lady instead of a flibbertigibbet! “Thank you. Looks delicious.”
“What did you eat on your travels here?” Susan asked.
“Not much of anything.”
Susan sent a worried frown around the table. “My blood boils when I think of your misfortunes. It’s a wonder you arrived in Pear Orchard safely.”
“Pity!” Elias said, pointing a chubby finger right at Gussie.
She felt her face flame. Lord! Even the baby saw her as a pitiful person!
Brigit giggled, covering her mouth with her little hand and swallowing a mouthful of food before she said, between giggles, “Elias thinks you’re pretty!”
Oh. Pretty! Gussie released a sigh and smiled at the baby. “Thank you, sir.” Her gaze slid over to Lonestar again. He nodded, his eyes smiling at her.
“Where do you hail from, Miss Horton?” Erik asked.
“All over. I caught the train in St. Louis.”
“What business were your people in there?”
“Uh. It wasn’t like that. We traveled from place to place. My pa is a blacksmith and farrier.”
“Ah!” Erik raised his blond brows at that. “You helped in his work, did you? So, you know horseflesh.”
She bobbed one shoulder, her attention riveted now on the savory beans, fresh bread, and thick pork chop awaiting her. “I didn’t help much, really. But I suppose I do know something about horses and mules. Been around them my whole life.”
“So, did you have an anvil in your satchel?” Lonestar asked.
Gussie appreciated his half-grin and sent him one of her own. Good heavens, he was a handsome man! “No. Books. That’s what weighs it down. My books.”
He quirked one winged brow. “You’re a reader. Of love stories, perhaps?”
She nodded. “I like to read.”
“So does Max,” Susan said, smiling from Max to Gussie. “I bet you two have a lot in common.”
Lonestar’s smile faded and he focused on his meal.
“Now, Susan,” Erik said in a mild admonishment. “Don’t be pushy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sliced off pieces of pork and slid them onto Brigit’s plate. “There you go, baby girl. Erik, pull your son up to the table and feed him some of the beans. Smash them up, first.”
Erik put a spoonful of beans and bean soup in a small bowl and made mush of them with the back of a spoon, then shoveled some into his son’s open mouth. Gussie smiled, thinking he resembled a big bird feeding a nestling. She set to her own food consumption, trying not to eat like a starving woman, although it was the first full meal she’d had for nigh on a week. She’d had a sandwich and slice of apple pie on the train, then had made do with some biscuits, a hunk of cheese, and dried fruit after she was stranded.
“We’re happy to have you as our guest, Miss Horton,” Erik said with a kind smile.
Gussie swallowed the mouthful of food as thunder rumbled, making the window panes shudder. “And I’m happy to be here,” she said. She looked out the windows at the dark, stormy horizon. Yes, she was very happy to have shelter and a full belly. The Karlssons and Max Lonestar had saved her from another miserable night of being scared, hungry, and – drenched.
After the dinner dishes were done and put away and the children were tucked into bed, Erik went outside to see to livestock and Susan went with him. But first, Susan pulled Gussie aside and whispered, “You and Max need to talk.”
“We do?” Gussie had asked, angling away from her in confusion.
“Yes. He has a . . . something to tell you.” She smiled encouragement. “Don’t look so worried! It’s something good!”
Then she and her husband had hurried out, leaving Gussie alone in the big, front room with Max Lonestar. She clasped her hands behind her back and swayed side to side to release some of her nervous energy.
Lonestar motioned to the supper table. “Won’t you have a seat? I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”
She sat where she’d been sitting before. He, again, took the chair opposite her. She felt his gaze on her, but she looked everywhere except at him as her pulses drummed and her mind spun from one wild notion to another. Was he going to tell her that he fancied her? That he knew about a job she could do? Or that Bob Babbitt was a good soul and she should wait and marry him once he was sprung from jail?
He laid his long-fingered hands flat on the table and drew in a deep breath that made his chest expand and strain the pearly buttons down the front of it. “Babbitt lied to you about everything.”
“So it appears.”
“Here’s what I want to be clear about before I say anything else.” He was quiet, not moving or saying another word, until Gussie met his serious, unwavering gaze. “I won’t lie to you. Ever. If I can’t tell you the truth, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
She could tell that his declaration was supposed to put her at ease, but it didn’t. If anything, it made her more edgy. Glancing around, wishing she could escape this uncomfortable meeting, she flung out her hands in frustration. “That’s all nice and good, but what’s this about? You have something to say to me, say it.”
He sighed and leaned back in the chair. “You’re right. And I appreciate your forthrightness. It’s a rarity in women around here.” He sent her a smile, but it was gone in a second. “I know why Bob Babbitt sent for you.”
“As do I. He wanted to marry me.”
“Yes, he needed a wife so that he could purchase a particular piece of land. The same land that I want. Sixty acres north of here. Our closest neighbor. The land belongs to Daniel Poindexter and he’s ready to sell. Mr. Poindexter is in his sixties and hankering to live with his eldest daughter in Kansas City, Missouri. Babbitt and I have both tried to purchase the land from him, but he won’t make a deal with us because we’re bachelors.”
She’d been following what he was saying, but most of her attention had been on watching his lips form the words. He had such a beautiful mouth. The top lip made her think of an archer’s bow and his lower lip was full. He had a good set of teeth, too, from what she could see. The last word he said – bachelors – seized her. She narrowed her eyes as her mind skipped ahead and she suddenly felt like the key to a treasure chest being eyed by a couple of cutthroat pirates.
“Mr. Poindexter is of a mind that a married man has a family to think of, protect, provide for, but a bachelor has only himself to please and would allow the place to fall to ruin.” He sighed, wearily. “A lot of old-timers think that way. I’ve tried to convince him that no one would be prouder of that land than me because my mother wanted me to own it. But, Mr. Poindexter is set in his ways. His place was built to house a family and that’s who he wants to sell to – a married man.”
Gussie folded her arms against her ribs and tried not to let her spirits droop around her ankles. Babbitt and Lonestar didn’t want a wife or to be a husband. She was a tool. However, one piece of the story intrigued her. “Bob Babbitt has the money to buy land?”
Lonestar nodded, keeping his eyes on hers. “I’ve known Babbitt most of my life. We worked our family farms, knowing that we wouldn’t be the ones inheriting them. Bob’s got two older brothers. I knew that Susan and her husband would get this farm. As it happens, Babbitt and I both inherited money. Babbitt’s grandpa left him some and my mother provided for me upon her death. She tried to buy the Poindexter place, but he wasn’t ready to sell then. He is now.”
Still didn’t add up for her. The man sitting across the table was as handsome as handsome could be, so why wasn’t he already wed if that was the holdup? “Why didn’t you or Babbitt ask one of the gals around here to marry you? Shouldn’t be difficult, seeing as how you can afford to buy your own place.” Her leeriness increased as she watched his features tighten and the corners of his mouth dip down. He looked away from her, preferring now to stare at a spot on the table top.
“Babbitt and I have been courting a couple of ladies. But their folks think they can do better. Babbitt has been acting a fool since he came into the money. Getting drunk, losing at poker, bedding saloon girls.” He gave a half-hearted shrug. “Landing in jail.”
“What’s wrong with you? Have you been acting a fool, too?”
He gathered his hands into fists. “No.” He scowled. “It has to do with me being half Osage.” He shrugged. “Well, that’s part of it.”
“Osage,” she repeated. That was a tribe she hadn’t read about.
“My father, Lonestar, was Osage.”
“Lonestar,” she repeated, unable to keep the smile from her face or her voice. “That was his name? You took his name!”
His brows knitted and his eyes moved up to confront hers again. The scowl eased off his face. “That’s right.”
“Was he a chief?”
He tipped his head to one side, studying her, his eyes narrowing with interest. “No. He was a chief’s son.”
“Then he would have been a chief one day.” Just like in the stories she’d read! “What happened to him? Were you raised you in a tipi?”
He shook his head a little, a smile playing at the corners of his wide mouth. “He drowned when I was five. I don’t remember much about him. He worked on a ranch and he was herding cattle across a swollen river. His horse reared, he fell off, and was trampled. I guess the current was too swift. Anyway, that’s what my mother told me. They lived in a house. Well, more like a one-room cabin. And they were shunned by almost everyone.”
Shunned. She hated that word and all it represented. “Then your mother married Susan’s father.”
“Yes. William Wilson was the only father I ever knew. But my mother told me stories about my birth father so that I would know something about that part of my birthright.” He waved aside that subject. “Being part Osage is why I haven’t . . . I don’t have any . . .” He looked away from her again, clearly irritated. “Respectable folks in these parts don’t want a half-breed son-in-law. Also, I was in prison for five years.”
Gussie was glad she was sitting because she felt as if the world fell away from her for a few moments. “What for?” she asked, surprised she could get the words out.
His eyes were a dark, sorrowful brown as if shadows lay on them. He no longer smiled. “I killed a man, Miss Horton. A good friend of mine. In a fight in a saloon where we had too much whiskey and too little sense.”