Frontier cinderella, p.4
Frontier Cinderella, page 4
Harry grabbed her and tugged her toward the door.
She laughed as they came out into the sunlight and descended the stairs. “Someone’s in a hurry. I wonder why.”
“You know where the hall is,” Harry said, turning and craning his neck to watch the door of the church. “Your husband is likely looking for you.”
Jesse and Katie Jo should have been right behind him and Beth, yet other people streamed out of the church with no sign of them.
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” Beth assured him. She latched onto his arm anew. “Come on, Harry. You wouldn’t want to be late for the first dance.”
The first dance. Holding Katie Jo in his arms. Telling her he’d been blind, but now he could see. He let Beth tow him along this time, mind sorting through phrases, praises.
Pretty as a picture.
Sweet-natured and shy.
Hard working. No, did women see that as a compliment? Better to stick to her looks.
Hair richer than honey from clover.
Figure like…
“Find your partner,” Simon Wallin was calling from the head of the room as Harry and Beth entered the hall. “This is a celebration.” He set his fiddle under his chin.
Harry had been in the hall next to the church dozens of times. He’d help plane the logs that supported the structure and worked with John Wallin to cover the roof with shakes. He’d set in the windows that overlooked the forest. He and Jesse had sat in chairs watching as the students of the Lake Union School put on theatricals on the raised platform at one end, where Simon now stood, toe tapping time. Harry had always thought the hall spacious and welcoming.
Now, it was entirely too crowded, with more coming behind him every moment. He pulled away from Beth and turned in a circle, trying to catch a glimpse of those curls and curves. Desperation clawed at him, worse than when he’d been trying to escape from one of his relatives’ noxious homes.
Then, a laugh bubbled up from the dancefloor, and he spotted her, preparing to partner Jesse.
A growl bubbled up as well.
“Care for a dance, Harry?” Nora asked with her gentle smile, and he realized he’d stopped next to her along the edge of the floor.
“He can’t,” Beth said, still amazingly at his other side. “He’s waiting for the next.”
She and Nora shared a knowing look.
He ignored them after that, circling the floor. Beth must have found other amusements, for she didn’t tag along. He kept his eyes peeled, watching for the moment he could swoop in and ask Katie Jo for the next dance. She’d always been friendly to him. Surely she wouldn’t refuse.
Would she?
His palms were sweating as the music ended. He started forward to intercept her, only to pull up short as several of the Wallin children pelted past. When he could finally move again, she was curtseying to the lawyer, who swirled her out for the next round.
Harry gritted his teeth. He stood on the side, watched every movement. She was so graceful, her skirts belling behind her like a butterfly skimming across the meadow. Why hadn’t he noticed? Maybe he really had hit his head, and he just didn’t remember.
Old Joe and the new blacksmith cozied up to her the moment the dance ended. Harry elbowed the blacksmith in the side, forcing him back a step, and slid into his place.
“Miss McAllister,” he said, “Katie Jo. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
Would you do me the honor of marrying me?
Instead of taking his offered arm, she frowned at him. “Why, Harry? I wasn’t sure you even liked me.”
***
Ciara and Beth were certainly right. A corset and a new dress seemed to have made all the difference, for Katie Jo had never dreamed of Harry looking at her that way, all starry-eyed, like she was the plum in his Christmas pudding.
“I like you just fine, Katie Jo,” he said, voice sounding a little gruff, as if just offering her his arm choked him up. “Shall we?”
The blacksmith, a handsome widower who had introduced himself to her earlier as Logan Bradshaw, stepped closer. “I believe you promised this dance to me, Miss McAllister.”
Old Joe, a regular at the inn, shoved him in the gut. “I saw her first.”
“Gents!” Katie Jo said, holding up one hand as Mr. Bradshaw glowered at the grizzled prospector. “There are lots of dances. I’ll do my best to get to each of you.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Harry said, and he grabbed her hand and pulled her out onto the dancefloor.
Katie Jo tugged out of his grip. “Don’t you get all bossy on me, Harry Yeager. You don’t own me.”
Immediately, he ducked his head, but not before she saw red blaze in his cheeks. “You’re right. I don’t. But I have too much experience with losing pretty gals to let another man steal a march on me this time.”
Pretty gals. Like she was among them.
She was trying to grasp the astonishing statement when the music started, and Harry took her hands in his.
Her mother had taught her to dance when she was a girl. They’d swing around the yard to her mother’s hum and laugh over their stumbles. Sometimes Pa would join in. He’d look at Ma nearly as tenderly as Harry was looking at her. One glance in those warm brown eyes, and she nearly stumbled.
So, she tried not to look overly long. Plenty of other folks to look at—the ones they were dancing with, taking hands all around; the ones watching from the side. Beth and Ciara, who were now standing along the wall with their husbands, sent her grins. Beth went so far as to wiggle her fingers at Katie Jo as if to say she’d told her so.
Well, she had. Katie Jo hadn’t believed her. She still couldn’t help wondering if this was all a dream and she’d wake up back in her flannel shirt and trousers.
The moment Simon Wallin finished his piece with a flourish and lowered his bow, Mr. Bradshaw and Old Joe swarmed her like someone had kicked a hive of bees. Voices called, entreating, wheedling.
Harry threaded his arm through hers and bent closer, breath a caress against her cheek. “Don’t you listen to any of them, Katie Jo. I aim to prove I’m the only man for you.”
That sounded suspiciously like a proposal. A shiver tickled her back. Could she really walk down the aisle like Ciara to face a man who looked at her the way Kit had his bride—like she was the finest gal in all creation and he was awed God had given her into his care? Could Harry be that groom?
“Sorry, gents,” she said, pasting herself next to him. “This dance is taken.”
Their groans and protests accompanied the music as it started up again.
“You mean that?” she asked him as they took their places in the line for a country dance.
“Every word,” he promised.
“I bet you said that about Ciara,” she pressed, though the thought dug a hole in her heart. “And about that new schoolmarm.”
“Ciara’s married,” he pointed out, offering her his hands. “And the new schoolmarm isn’t here.”
Yet.
But she knew he was right. Tonight, in this hall, against all odds, she was the prettiest gal in the room. Why not enjoy it? Tomorrow she’d probably be back to plain old Katie Jo McAllister again.
So she danced with Harry, and she danced with Harry. And when she needed to catch her breath, he escorted her to a bench along one wall. She took a seat beside Dottie Wallin, who offered her a smile as Harry hovered like a crow looking out for its next meal.
“Watching you dance is the next best thing to dancing myself,” Dottie said, laying a hand on her belly, which was pushing up out of the cotton print dress.
“You’ll be dancing yourself in another month or so,” Katie Jo said with an answering smile. “Would you like something to eat?”
“I’ll fetch you both a plate,” Harry volunteered. He took two steps, then turned to Dottie and held up one finger. “Don’t give her away to anyone else while I’m gone.”
Katie Jo shook her head as he strode off. “Give me away?”
Dottie patted her hand. “He’s protective. I’ve always admired that about Harry Yeager.” She shifted closer to Katie Jo, until their skirts brushed. “But he can be a little too protective. Don’t be afraid of warning him off.”
“I won’t,” Katie Jo promised her. “I seem to recall hearing that Harry courted you once.”
“Yes, but we would never have suited. And I fear my heart was already taken.” Her smile broadened as her husband approached. Most of the Wallin kin had blond hair and deep blue eyes, but John Wallin’s hair was a reddish brown and his eyes were a deeper green than Zeke’s. He took his wife’s hand and bowed over it as if he were still courting her.
“I have it on good authority that the next dance will be a stately waltz,” he said. “May I have the honor, milady?”
“Always,” Dottie said, rising. They strolled off, arm in arm.
As the first notes sang from the fiddle, more married folks ventured onto the dancefloor—Catherine and Drew; Rina and James; Beth and her husband, Hart McCormick; Maddie and Michael Haggerty; Ciara and Kit; and Ada and Scout Rankin. Gazes entwined, fingers held softly, as they twirled around the room, skirts belling.
Katie Jo plucked at the folds of her fancy dress. Could that be her five years from now, gazing into the eyes of the man she loved?
Harry plopped down beside her and offered her a plate and fork. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got you a little of everything.”
The stew had run into the biscuit, but at least the cake and cookies were high and dry. She set to with a will, only to realize that Harry was watching every bite.
She hastily swallowed. “What?”
He grinned. “Nothing. You’re just so pretty you take my breath away.”
And what was she supposed to say to that?
Old Joe sidled over. A grizzled prospector, he had always been polite to her at the inn whenever he paddled over for dinner. “What about the next dance, Miss McAllister?” he asked, lined face cracking in a grin.
She set aside the plate, but Harry stood and put himself between her and the old-timer.
“Afraid this one’s taken,” he warned.
Old Joe leaned around him to glance at Katie Jo. “That so?”
Harry turned, gaze pleading.
“I guess so,” Katie Jo told the prospector. “Soon as I finish my victuals.”
Old Joe huffed.
So she danced with Harry some more. Really, it was no imposition. He was strong enough to twirl her around, agile enough to keep up with the music dance after dance. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so light, like she was dancing on air.
“My turn,” Deputy McCormick said as they finished another country dance. “Beth needs your help at the refreshment table, Yeager.”
She thought Harry might argue, but he sized up the deputy from his short-cropped black hair to his tooled leather boots, then nodded and strode off to the table by the windows, where he commenced pacing back and forth behind the punch bowl as the deputy danced with her.
“Seems you have Beth worried,” he commented as they swept past Simon. The Wallin brother continued to play, but strands were starting to fray from his bow, and the music was slowing again.
“Worried?” Katie Jo frowned at her friend’s husband. “Why?”
“All kinds of rules for gals, it seems.” He shook his head as if he thought them all foolishness. “Beth tells me you’re only allowed two dances with one man.”
“Says who?” Katie Jo asked him.
He shrugged. “Godey’s Lady’s Book, most likely. It comes just short of the Holy Bible and Washington Territorial law as far as Beth’s concerned. She would have explained the matter to Yeager, but she didn’t think he’d listen to her.”
Probably not. “But what if I like one feller over another?” she protested. “What if one looks at me all hungry-like, as if I was the last piece of meat in the pot, and I prefer a gentleman?”
“Refuse one, refuse all,” Hart told her. “At least, that’s what Beth says. Me? I dance with whomever I please. But no one’s going to question my reputation.”
Not with that steely-eyed scowl, they wouldn’t, especially with the badge pinned to his waistcoat and the gun at his hip.
Surely the Wallin women would never judge her. Would the other gents begging for a dance complain to their friends about her scandalous ways?
Not even a lady one whole day, and already she might be the center of gossip. That did not bode well for convincing Uncle Cole to let her and Zeke go.
Chapter Five
“Why’d you set your husband on Katie Jo?” Harry demanded, glancing at Beth, where she was taking her turn presiding over the punchbowl. As at other local celebrations, the married ladies were working together to make sure Old Joe didn’t spice the fruit juice with something that offered a little more kick.
“Why’d you threaten her reputation?” Beth countered, pausing to ladle up some of the ruby red punch into a tin cup for one of her nieces. “Two dances, Harry. You should know that.”
“Two dances?” He scratched behind one ear. “Who says?”
“Everyone,” she replied, letting the ladle settle into the punch. “Two dances says you’re interested. More than two says you’re intending to marry.”
He straightened to his full height. “Then I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed on him. “Oh, no you don’t, Harry Yeager. I’ve seen you fall top over teakettle whenever a new lady appears in Wallin Landing and even one or two in Seattle. You want to marry Katie Jo McAllister? Prove it!”
He leaned over the punch bowl. “What do you think I’m trying to do?”
“You don’t finish a courtship with a few dances,” she scolded. “Especially when you haven’t even started one yet. You’ve treated her no better than a member of the logging crew up until this afternoon.”
Harry turned his gaze out onto the floor. Next to Hart’s dark clothing and lean physique, Katie Jo was a lush lily. “Well, look at her. Until this afternoon, she looked like a member of the logging crew.”
“That,” Beth said, “should have made no difference whatsoever. If she’s good enough to marry today, she was good enough to marry yesterday, and she’ll be good enough to marry tomorrow when she goes back to her trousers and flannel shirts.”
“Putting that woman in trousers and flannel shirts should be considered a crime,” he said. “When she’s my wife, I’ll see her in a dress with as many frills as one of those fashion plates you’re so fond of.”
“If that’s what she wants,” Beth said, busying herself with rearranging the remaining mismatched set of cups, borrowed from every Wallin house in the settlement. “You just keep that in mind, or I may have to apply this ladle to something considerably harder than punch.”
The music was ending. He nodded to Beth, hoping she would take that as thanks, then hurried around the table and strode to Katie Jo’s side.
The deputy eyed him, gun-metal gray eyes heavy. “I hear you should be done dancing with Miss McAllister, Yeager.”
“I hear your wife put you up to that statement,” Harry countered. “I talked with Beth. We have an understanding.”
McCormick leaned to one side to look past him for the refreshment table. Whatever he saw must have assured him, for he met Harry’s gaze and nodded. “One more, then.”
“Don’t I have something to say in the matter?” Katie Jo protested.
Harry cocked a grin. “You sure do, darlin’. Tell the deputy you’d rather dance with me than him.”
“My feet hurt,” she said as the deputy aimed his glower her way. “I plan to sit a spell. It’s up to you, Harry, if you want to join me.”
***
And she’d thought the corset and dress would be challenging! Who knew there were so many rules? Well, Beth. Maybe Ciara. Probably all the Wallin ladies. Which made her odd woman out.
She and Harry joined Nora on one of the benches this time. The seamstress beamed at Katie Jo as she jiggled Grace on the lap of a lavender dress with three overskirts, each edged with green embroidered hearts.
“You look lovely,” she told Katie Jo. “I’m so glad the dress fit after all.”
“It’s very comfortable,” Katie Jo assured her, giving the skirts a swish and trying not to notice Harry watching. “And thank you for the use of the shoes. I guess you don’t wear boots to a wedding.”
Harry glanced down at his boots. So did Nora. “Many do.”
Many men did, she saw as she looked for the first time. The ladies all wore flats-bottomed shoes or short heels of leather or satin.
“Well, these go much better with the dress,” Katie Jo said. “I’ll be sure to leave them at the inn before I head home tomorrow.”
“No, no, no, no, no,” Grace said with a frown.
“Still her favorite word,” Harry said with a grin.
Nora made a face at the baby, and Grace’s frown transformed into a smile. “For now.” Her head came up as the music stopped. “Would you hold her a moment, Katie Jo? I’d like a word with Simon, and he only has a little time to himself at these events.”
“Sure.” She took the nineteen-month-old and settled her in her lap. Grace regarded her solemnly, as if wondering what she knew about babies.
Harry must have wondered as well. “You like babies?” he asked.
She’d been so focused on Grace, she’d almost forgotten he was there. “I like Grace.” She blew bubbles, and the baby’s eyes widened as if Katie Jo had just planted a flag on Mount Rainier. Grace bounced as if encouraging her to do it again.”
“She’s a sweetheart,” Harry agreed, bending closer.
Grace reached out and snagged a lock of his hair.
Zeke would have yowled. Uncle Cole would have yanked away. Harry winced, but he managed to gently pry the baby’s fingers from his hair. But he made sure to move just out of reach.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Grace complained.
“My turn.”
Katie Jo could only be glad it was Catherine and not Mr. Bradshaw or Old Joe sliding onto the bench beside her. She’d danced nearly as much as Katie Jo, but every hair was in place, and her smile was undimmed. She held out her arms, and Katie Jo surrendered Grace into them.
