13

Brett drew his rented horse and buggy behind a long line of wagons, buggies, and carriages and set the brake.

During the last mile or so, he’d sensed a sudden change of mood in Kate. His effort to keep the conversation going had solicited only one-syllable responses. Was she having second thoughts about attending tonight’s affair with Foster? Or was it the fact that maybe one or more of her customers might be members of the Ghost Riders?

He jumped to the ground and ran around to the passenger side to help her down, but she had already climbed out of the buggy herself. Avoiding his eyes, she straightened her wrap and fluffed out her skirt.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

This time she did look at him. The rising moon turned her eyes into stars and cast a dewy glow upon her full, moist lips. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you for the ride.”

Surprised to find himself wishing things were different—wishing he was her escort for real, wishing he could dance the night away with her in his arms—Brett cleared his throat and smoothed down the front of his vest.

“Shall we?” he asked, crooking his elbow.

She hesitated a moment before slipping her arm through his. Together, they walked toward the barn’s blazing lights, and he felt like the luckiest man alive. His elation lasted only as long as it took to remind himself once again that he was a temporary escort. The moment they walked through the barn door, he would lose her to Foster.

Fiddle music filled the air, along with the sounds of pounding feet and bursts of laughter.

Just as they reached the barn, she pulled her arm away. It felt all wrong, as if she had taken part of him with her.

Frank met them at the door as they had rehearsed. Dressed in full “war paint,” including a red bow tie and matching suspenders, he didn’t look half bad. It helped that his eyes were no longer swollen shut, but he’d also slicked down his hair and combed it to the side.

“You look mighty handsome, Kate,” Foster said, giving her a playful punch on the arm as though he were greeting a male friend.

Brett grimaced. Handsome? Kate was the most beautiful woman in the room, and that was the best Foster could do?

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said, accepting the sorry excuse for a compliment with goodwill.

Brett cleared his throat, and when Foster failed to take the hint, he gave a short cough—an agreed-upon gesture that action was needed. The man’s memory was as short as the tail-hold of a bear.

Brett coughed again. Finally, recognition flared in Foster’s eyes, suggesting he’d remembered what they’d practiced.

“Pretty!” Foster exclaimed, making Kate jump. “You look as pretty as…as…as…newly tanned leather.”

It wasn’t the kind of compliment Brett had in mind, but he let it pass. Pretty was better than handsome, no matter how Foster defined it.

Kate looked surprised, and two spots of red flared on her cheeks. “Why…thank you, Frank.” She flashed a smile before asking, “How’s the goat?”

Foster looked baffled. “Goat?”

“The one you brought to my house,” she said.

“Oh, that goat. Uh…” Foster glanced at Brett. “Fine, fine. Completely healed.”

The news brought a smile to Kate’s face, and Brett felt his heart practically turn over. “That’s good to hear,” she said.

A young woman rushed over to join them, her sausage curls bouncing up and down like tight little springs. “Oh my,” she gushed. Pressing her hands together, she looked at Brett with fluttering eyelashes before turning to Kate. “Does this mean that you and Frank are a couple again?”

Kate looked as though she didn’t know how to answer. Perhaps she was having second thoughts after being compared to newly tanned leather. Or maybe she just wasn’t ready to forgive and forget.

The fiddler started thumping his strings, a signal that the short break was over and the dancing was about to begin again. Brett rushed to Kate’s rescue by directing the woman’s attention to himself. “Would you care to dance, Miss—?”

She giggled. “Hopkins,” she said. “Cynthia Hopkins.”

“Brett Tucker,” he said.

He crooked his elbow, and Miss Hopkins shoved her arm through his. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said. Staring at Foster, he inclined his head ever so slightly toward Kate. When Foster failed to take the hint, Brett coughed again. This time he both nodded his head and rolled his eyes in Kate’s direction.

As far as social mores were concerned, Foster was as helpless as a cow in quicksand, but he finally got the message and asked Kate to dance.

Satisfied that things were going as planned, Brett led Miss Hopkins onto the sawdust-covered dance floor. He tried his best to be an attentive partner and make sense of her endless prattle, but his eyes seemed to have a mind of their own. He watched Kate and Frank like an overanxious parent. Though Brett had circled his partner around the dance floor several times, Frank and Kate hadn’t moved from the same spot.

Frank’s idea of dancing was to sway from side to side and then rock back and forth, barely moving his feet. Brett cringed every time it appeared Frank had stepped on Kate’s dainty slippers. He’d been so busy rehearsing Foster on what to say and how to win back Kate’s heart that he’d completely forgotten to ask if the man could dance.

“Am I right, Mr. Tucker?”

He drew his gaze back to his partner. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” He felt bad for letting his mind wander. “You were saying?”

She frowned. “I know where I saw you before. You’re the man who messed up Kate’s wedding. Am I right?”

The reminder made him grimace. “I’m afraid so. It’s not something I’m proud of. Let’s hope that a happy announcement is in the works.”

Miss Hopkins’s gaze wandered over to Foster and Kate. “I hope for Kate’s sake the announcement includes a promise from Frank to quit dancing.”

Brett chuckled. “That’s not a bad idea.”

The music stopped, and a man with a sweeping mustache clapped his hands and yelled in a leather-lunged voice, “Time to change partners, folks!”

Shuffling feet and swirling skirts followed the command as everyone rushed around to partner up with someone new. It took some fancy footwork on Brett’s part to reach Kate’s side before anyone else did. He only hoped that Foster would play his part the way they’d practiced.

“May I?” he asked, holding out his hand.

Kate hesitated. Her big, blue eyes said yes, but something held her back. No doubt she was worried that Foster’s jealous streak would flare up and he would make a scene.

Brett cleared his throat. Come on, Foster. This is your big moment. Do it the way we practiced. It took much in the way of visual prodding and clearing his throat before Foster finally got the hint.

“Sure, go ahead,” Frank said, looking like he’d bitten into a lemon. It wasn’t how they’d practiced it, but at least Foster got some of it right.

Leading Kate away, Brett glanced over his shoulder at Foster. “Whistle,” he mouthed. Instead of showing his jealousy or acting it out, Foster was supposed to whistle. If his tuneless whistles didn’t chase the green-eyed monster away, nothing would.

Brett turned back to face Kate, and it suddenly seemed imperative to recall his purpose in asking her to dance. It was the only way he could think to prove to her that Foster had conquered his jealousy or, at least, was trying to.

Brett slipped his arm around her tiny waist and closed his fingers over her dainty, soft hand. She draped her arm over his shoulder and rewarded him with a brilliant smile that made him tingle inside.

Though he was a good head taller than Kate, they seemed perfectly matched as he circled the dance floor effortlessly with her in his arms. His heart pounded, but fortunately the music muffled the sound. So this was how it felt to float on air.

Brett could almost feel Foster’s visual daggers as he steered Kate around the other couples. Foster’s pursed lips and red face suggested he was whistling up a storm, and the strange looks directed his way seemed to confirm that. Hoping Kate hadn’t noticed, Brett led her in such a way as to block Foster from view.

“I’m surprised Frank didn’t object to me dancing with you,” she said. “He doesn’t usually like me dancing with anyone but him. He can be so jealous at times.”

Brett gazed into her starry eyes. If she didn’t stop looking so utterly fetching, he’d give Foster plenty to be jealous about.

Now was the time to say something positive on Foster’s behalf, but he couldn’t think much past the present moment.

“As a young child, he was bounced from family to family,” she continued, relieving Brett of the need to jump to Foster’s defense. “He never had a real home until he came here to Haywire. And even then, he grew up without a mother. Mr. Foster didn’t remarry until Frank was in his late teens.” Her eyes softened into pools of appeal. “A background like that would make anyone feel anxious. That’s why he’s…”

“Afraid of losing you?”

She moistened her lips, calling attention to her pretty pink mouth. “Something like that.”

Catching himself staring, Brett cleared his throat and gazed over her head. He forced himself to concentrate on the fiddler, the refreshment table, the other dancers. Anything to keep from drowning in the depth of her blue eyes.

“Horehound will help,” she said. “Or perhaps you’d prefer peppermint? For your throat, I mean.”

His gaze locked with hers. “My throat?”

“I noticed back there that you kept clearing your throat and coughing.”

“Oh, that. Yes, you’re right. Maybe some…hard candy would help.”

She smiled up at him. “You can pick up a bag when you stop by the shop tomorrow for the list.”

His mind went blank for a moment until he recalled the list of customers she’d promised him. “I’d be much obliged.” He spun her around and then pulled her back. Holding her close, he felt her stiffen in his arms.

“Something the matter?” he asked.

“It’s Frank,” she said. “Look! He’s all red in the face.”

Brett followed her gaze. Foster’s overwrought whistling had turned his face as red as an overripe tomato.

Her face lined with worry, Kate pulled away. “I better see what’s wrong.”

Before he could stop her, she rushed to Foster, in whose arms—Brett told himself—she belonged. But knowing that didn’t stop him from wishing things were different. Wishing that the arms she had run to had been his.

Drawing in his breath, he glanced around the dance floor and tried to act as if everything were fine. It would have been fine, if memories of holding her hadn’t kept coming to mind.

Contrary to what Kate believed, not a thing was wrong with his throat. But he sure in blazes was worried about the condition of his heart.

* * *

“Psst, Kate.”

Kate whirled around and spotted Connie beckoning from the open barn door.

Using the first opportunity to slip away from Frank’s watchful eye, she joined Connie outside. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you inside enjoying the dance?”

Connie looked especially pretty tonight. The bright-yellow dress showed off her small waist and ample bosom. The color complemented her dark hair, which was swept to the crown of her head and cascaded down her back in a mass of shiny curls.

“Is Harvey here?”

Kate took her by the arm. “He is, and it’s time to make your grand entrance.”

Connie pulled back. “I can’t. What if he ignores me?”

“He won’t tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“Trust me,” Kate said.

Connie’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Did you…?”

“Of course I did. Just like I said I would. He came to the shop, and I slipped a little…advice into his bag of candy.”

“Did he read it?”

Kate shrugged. “We’ll know soon enough.”

Connie continued to fret. “You didn’t mention me by name, did you?”

Kate laughed. “Of course not, silly. Don’t look so worried. The advice was simply that love comes in all colors, even yellow.” Kate gave a satisfied nod. “You’d be amazed at how a mere suggestion can turn a man’s head. Now unless there’s a run of yellow dresses, Harvey should be all yours.”

Connie’s mouth rounded in anticipation. “Oh, I do hope you’re right.”

Kate gave her friend a little nudge. “Go on. Your prince is waiting.”

Connie started forward and Kate followed, fingers crossed.

Without warning, Connie halted just inside the barn door, and Kate almost plowed into her. “What’s wrong? Why did you stop?”

Connie curled her hands into fists by her side. “Looks like your suggestion turned Harvey’s head just fine… In Mary-Ruth’s direction!”

Kate followed Connie’s gaze and groaned. Harvey was dancing with Mary-Ruth Myers, who just so happened to be dressed to the nines in a bright-yellow gown.