Perfectly Mismatched (Sweethearts of Jubilee Springs Book 1) Page 7

  Declan released his grip and stepped back, his forehead bunched and wrinkled into a deep frown.

  A lump formed in her throat. The significance of saying a final good night to a beloved hit her…as it must have done to Declan. Could she marry a man whose heart still belonged to another?

  Chapter Seven

  Sunday morning, Aurelia was dressed and downstairs in time to eat breakfast with the other ladies. She’d chosen what she considered her most conservative outfit of blue fabric with white cross-hatching. The style was a simple skirt that required only one petticoat topped by a long-length blouse with a belted waist. A white collar widened from the V-neckline and over her shoulders. She’d tucked a lace handkerchief into the cleavage that suddenly looked too exposed. Her mother’s pearls provided both an accent and needed courage for the day ahead.

  The conversation centered on the dance, and she accepted a few compliments then introduced a new topic. In retrospect, the accomplished dancing she and Declan had performed, while fun and exciting, was not the right behavior for someone who needed to stay out of the limelight.

  A tolling bell called the townspeople to Sunday morning church services. The short walk was accomplished in mere minutes, and she spotted Declan and Byron waiting at the bottom of the steps.

  As she approached, she wondered who would be her escort. The men always decided the rotation out of her hearing, for which she was glad. “Morning, gentlemen. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, ʼtis. And all the better for having ye in it.”

  Seeing Declan’s smile and extended elbow lit her insides. “I appreciate that.”

  “Miss Aurelia, you look right pretty.” Byron ran a hand over the front of his wrinkled shirt.

  “Thank you. Shall we go inside?” Her fingers warmed from where she touched Declan’s arm.

  “Can we sit toward the back? I want to be near the door in case this preacher is one of those fire-and-brimstone types like where I was raised.” Byron dogged their heels on the way up the steps.

  So, he was not a regular churchgoer. She hadn’t mentioned that requirement in her initial letter because in her circle of friends, everyone went. Aurelia tucked away that information. The inside of the Congregational Church looked so different than when she’d attended Friday night’s social. Light streaming in the windows caught the dust motes high above the congregants’ heads. As they settled into the pews, people spoke with hushed voices. But she was glad to see familiar faces in Pastor and Minna Alwin and the Brinks from the mercantile.

  Her thoughts would not stay on the pastor’s words. Instead, she registered the details of the man sitting to her left—the firmness of his trouser-covered thigh against her leg, a spicy scent of bay rum, and his alto voice that complimented her soprano. From her right side, she heard no singing. When the collection basket passed, she dropped in four bits on top of the dollar Declan placed inside. Generous, too.

  Byron added a single coin that plinked against the others.

  Feet shuffling against the plank flooring signaled the congregation standing for the closing hymn. Aurelia sang mostly from memory and held the note for the last “Amen.” When she turned toward the aisle to leave, the pew next to her was empty.

  At the bottom of the steps, Byron waved them forward. “I see the blankets bein’ spread for the picnic. Hurry, I don’t want to miss out on the eatin’.”

  After accepting Byron’s escort, Aurelia glanced to the shaded area of the park where several women set out dishes on plank tables. Some of the quilts on the ground already collected direct sunlight. She turned to him. “I need to retrieve my parasol from the boarding house. The sun is bright today.”

  “Do ye want an escort?” Declan glanced her way.

  Catching the squaring of Byron’s shoulders from the corner of her eye, she shook her head. “No need. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You find us a spot, preferably in the shade.” She walked as fast as she could. Once inside her room, she pulled off her blouse and loosened the ties of her corset. Looking nice for church was one thing, but lowering herself to the ground and sitting for any length of time meant she needed more breathing room. Not to mention, being ready to participate in whatever activity each of the men arranged for the afternoon hours.

  By the time she returned, she spotted Declan and Byron on one half of a log cabin quilt sewn in a pleasing array of calico shades. Behind them, folks had formed lines on both sides of the food table. At her arrival, the men stood, and the three stepped to the end of the line.

  “Goodness, look at the wonderful offerings.” Aurelia gazed at the heaping bowls of sausage rounds, green snap beans, and fat strawberries alongside plates of breads, cheese slices, pickles, and stuffed eggs. “Who did all the preparation?” Again, guilt stabbed her that she hadn’t yet revealed her lack of talent in the kitchen.

  Lizett leaned over from several spaces ahead in line and waved. “The picnic is provided by the Bainbridge brothers. Aren’t they so generous? And I’m told everything here was produced by local businesses. So our event is helping the townpeople’s businesses.” She beamed.

  Nervousness about the importance of the next few hours settled over Aurelia as she walked along the table, selecting a sampling of foods. Following the dance, she’d dug the men’s letters from her portmanteau and reread them. As with her own, they detailed current happenings and relayed facts about their hometown. But in neither man’s letter had the future been mentioned. When all that remained on her plate was a quarter roll and half of a pickle, she glanced around to see Lizett and Royce shared their quilt. Then she looked at Byron and Declan. “I have a question to pose.”

  Both men turned toward her.

  “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

  Byron held a pickle in front of his mouth. “Right here in Jubilee Springs.” Then he chomped the green cylinder in half.

  “But doing what? In your letter, Byron, you mentioned hunting for turquoise and sapphires in your spare time.” She shifted so she could read his expression, which often was more telling than his words. “Do you see that activity turning into a profession?”

  His eyes widened then he shook his head. “Nah, that’s for fun.” He ducked his head and rubbed his chin. “I only did that a few times. The men in my family have always been miners—coal, gold, and now silver.”

  After a nod, she glanced at Declan and raised an eyebrow.

  “Five years, ye say?” His gaze shifted around the area, and he leaned forward. “I see meself either on a small farm in the valley, or in a shop in town to turn me woodworking hobby into a business.”

  Byron scoffed. “You can’t make a livin’ on the animals you whittle.”

  Green eyes hardened and Declan’s lips pressed tight. “Those creatures are not all I can make.”

  The air around them changed, and her stomach clenched. Maybe she wasn’t the only one uncertain about today’s outcome. “Woodworking, that’s interesting. I’ve not thought about how things get made.”

  Declan waved a hand over her shoulder. “Those tables and benches were created within the last few days for this occasion. That’s rough carpentry—hammering boards together and using cross pieces for stability. I envision creating custom bureaus, cupboards, and table and chair sets.” He shrugged. “Or tending orchards of apples and pears, and a few row crops.”

  “Miss Aurelia, you gonna finish that pickle?”

  With an absentminded move, she pushed her plate toward Byron. “Your plans sound wonderful.” To a woman who’d been disappointed by the man she trusted most, she clung to Declan’s solid ambitions that involved hard work, so different from her father’s chicanery of manipulating railroad land deals.

  “Can we go?” Byron shoved to his feet and held out a hand. “Some buddies are waitin’ on me before they start the contest.”

  “Oh.” She accepted the help to rise to her feet, and then gathered her parasol. “But the dishes—”

  “I’ll collect them.” Balancing o
n his knees, Declan stacked plates and gathered cups. “See ye at three.”

  Byron tugged on her arm to get her started across the park.

  After a few steps, she looked over her shoulder and connected with Declan’s lingering gaze. “Three o’clock.” At the edge of the road, she noticed two couples climbing into a waiting surrey. That looks like fun. “Byron, what do you have planned?”

  “You sure use that word a lot.”

  His long stride was difficult to match in her heeled boots. “Which one?”

  “Plan. I’m what you might call a spur-of-the-moment guy.”

  “I see.” She scanned the open area and spotted a few men standing together. “Is that where we’re headed?”

  “Yep, a horseshoe pitchin’ contest. Prepared to be impressed, because I’m quite the expert.”

  “Did you know, many centuries ago, the horseshoe was thought to fend off the plague? That’s why people hung them outside their houses.” That summed up her total knowledge of the subject, so she could hardly be impressed about his skill at a throwing game.

  He frowned and stared. “You must have been the smart one in the class.”

  His words were true enough, but his disparaging tone stung. She fought from snapping back a response.

  “Stand yonder where you can see them two stakes cuz that’s where the action will be.” Then he turned and walked away, raising a hand in greeting as he approached.

  Aurelia moved to under a sparse patch of shade cast by a few aspens at midday. Similar to Byron, the three waiting men wore denims and plaid or plain shirts of homespun. For the first dozen or so tosses, she focused her attention on the contest. But not knowing the rules of the sport led to wandering thoughts. Later today, she would proclaim aloud what she’d known in her heart since Friday afternoon when Declan saved her from the runaway horse. Thinking about how that single act revealed his protective nature meshed her brain and heart. What she needed more than anything was to feel cared for and safe.

  The longer she stood like a uniformed sentinel at a castle she’d seen on a visit to England, the more sure she became. She wasn’t used to standing in one place for so long, and her feet and calves ached. The least he could have done was provide a blanket. This choice of event was a perfect example of how unsuited she and Byron truly were. Whistling to get her attention like he would to call a hansom cab made her blood boil, even though on each occasion, she smiled and waved. After what felt like an eternity, she noted the players picking up the horseshoes and Byron heading her way.

  “How did you fare?”

  His arms pumped in jerky stabs. “The other team won, but I only lost two bucks.”

  She sucked in a breath. “You bet on a Sunday?”

  “Today’s just a day.” He shrugged. “I went to church because the agreement with the Bainbridges said we had to. Most Sundays I sleep in.”

  Her spirits soared at the reason he provided. “Oh, that might pose a problem, Byron, with us making a match.”

  “What do you mean?” He shot her a dark sideways glare. “By the looks of you, I didn’t peg you as pious.”

  Grabbing onto his arm, she stopped and turned to face him. “Excuse me. Please explain ‘by the looks of you.’ What is inside a person’s heart and soul can be dressed in many different ways.”

  “No offense meant, but…” He lifted off his hat and scrubbed a hand through his unkempt hair. “I get a bit riled when I lose.”

  “What if I have an aversion to betting men?”

  “Aversion?” His light brows crashed downward. “What’s that mean?”

  She bit back a sigh of frustration. “That I don’t like the habit.”

  His eyes bugged out. “No. You’d keep a husband from his favorite fun?”

  “I’m not very good with household budgets.” Without saying more, she gestured toward her dress. “And I like nice things. Would that leave money for betting?” What she needed was for him not to make an offer for her hand—by whatever method she could achieve it.

  He started walking. “Once we’re established in our own place, you’d learn soon enough about budgets.”

  Fists tight at her sides, she knew the time had arrived. “I don’t know to cook.”

  His shoulders hunched, and he stopped, mouth gaped open.

  “Nor have I ever cleaned a house.” She sailed past him, marching toward their luncheon spot. Her revelation had rendered the man mute.

  *~*

  Declan barely finished his tasks in Latham’s courting session with Aurelia. He wanted their time to be special, even if he begrudgingly admitted he needed Latham to serve as chaperon. That part still grated on his nerves, but preserving her good name couldn’t be avoided. He steered the two-bench surrey rented from Johnny B and stopped along the edge of the community park. Only a few minutes passed before he spotted Aurelia and Byron walking across the open space. That Latham’s face was pinched and he looked like he had a gut ache didn’t bother Declan in the least.

  From under the front bench seat, he pulled out and extended a bouquet of orange long-petaled flowers. “For ye.”

  Aurelia’s eyes lit, and she smiled. “Thank you, Declan. Are these mountain lilies?”

  “Or maybe wood lilies.”

  “I’ve only read about them. They don’t grow in Kansas.” She touched the flopped-over petals. “Six tepals on each flower head, and look at the black spots at the base, and the stamen is so erect.” Then she blushed and looked away. “I have a pressed flower collection.”

  He didn’t know why describing a flower would embarrass her, but he enjoyed how her cheeks brightened to a rosy shade. “The area has a famous feature I want ye to see. Would ye like to go for a ride?” Seeing her nod, he slipped his hand under her elbow and helped her climb into the surrey’s front bench.

  “Tell me this isn’t about that stupid legend.” Latham sat hard on the backseat, making the springs squeak.

  Bracing a hand on the seat back, Aurelia turned and glared. “I beg your pardon, Mister Latham. Declan gave no opinion about your choice of shared activity, nor did he infringe on the time involved in your selected time. So I expect you to offer him the same courtesy.”

  Declan couldn’t manage to bite back a grin. Aurelia could be a real corker. After snapping the reins, he steered the pair of horses down Main Street then left on River Road toward the foothills of the Prosperity Mountains.“I didn’t know if anyone on the train pointed out the Angel of Shavano.”

  “No, I haven’t heard of it.”

  “Harumph.”

  The single word came from the back seat, but Declan ignored the disgruntled miner. Instead, he eased his foot sideways until it rested next to her white kid boot. “Nice shoes for a ride into the country.”

  The horses’ hooves clopped over the bridge.

  Her brows dipped then she smiled. “Definitely better than silk slippers. I saw two couples leave in a similar carriage after the picnic and admit to being a bit envious. Good thing the livery had more than one.” She gazed down at the flowers and then around at the rocky ground they passed.

  If he’d had to, he would have asked his boss for the use of one of the mine’s surreys. Once he got the idea into his head, he was determined to pull off this trip. A man of limited means had to take advantage of his surroundings to create entertainment. Several miles passed in silence as the horses pulled them higher into the hills. That two people could be silent together was a comfort. He straightened and looked around. “There’s where we’ll stop.” He pointed to a spot to the side of the trail with a flat turnout. As soon as the horses were secure, he confirmed Latham was napping and helped Aurelia walk to the bluff overlooking the valley.

  “How beautiful. I’ve never been this high to look at so much area at one time.” She squeezed his arm and turned back to the view.

  “I’ve heard different versions of the legend. Some attribute the story to the natives who lived here before the westward migration. Others say it came from the original
settlers. Over there…” He stepped behind her and leaned his cheek next to hers to point toward the tall peak. “See where I’m pointing?”

  She nodded.

  The movement tickled tendrils of her hair against his neck, and he inhaled. Jasmine filled his nose, and for a moment, he closed his eyes to smell only her. A chuisle mo chrá. Pulse of me heart. He opened his eyes and focused ahead. “That’s Mount Shavano where legend says during the snowy months, an angel sleeps and waits. Spring brings the warm sun that melts away most of the snow. Finally, a time comes where the snow in her deep crevices is all that remains, and the angel appears.” This time, he sketched the shape of the angel. “She’s there to remind the people in the valley that she’ll provide moisture when the streams and rivers run low.”

  “Oh, I see her.” Aurelia bounced on her feet a couple of times and then turned.

  Right into his waiting arms. Unable to resist the beautiful woman before him, he drew her close and dipped his head for a taste of her shapely lips. Without hesitation, he felt her press harder and move her lips to suck his lower lip between her teeth. His arms tightened, pulling her flush against his chest. Blood pounded in his ears, and he dipped in his tongue for a taste of her sweet mouth. Control slipped with each passing second. Easing backward, he gazed into hazel eyes that sparkled like amber. “No question about mutual attraction, now is there?”

  After she shook her head, she blinked several times and stepped away. “Declan, I fear I have another revelation to make before an additional minute passes. I don’t know how to cook or clean.”

  He snorted, thinking surely she jested. He’d never met a woman who didn’t have those skills. But, seeing the wrinkled brow and fingers that fidgeted with the handle of her parasol changed his mind. Where had he seen such a thing as this tiny, lacy umbrella? His chest pinched. The lady of the manor in Ireland. Narrowing his gaze, he glanced at her and registered the small details. Fine clothes, pearls, handmade boots--and white ones, at that. “Yer serious?”