Love Inspired Historical January 2015 Box Set: Wolf Creek Father\Cowboy Seeks a Bride\Falling for the Enemy\Accidental Fiancee (13 page)

Colt saw Allison blink fast to hold back the tears that filled her eyes at hearing Cilla repeat the lesson she'd just heard. Any doubt that she truly cared about his children was laid to rest.

It was gratifying that Cilla had been listening and even more satisfying that she was using her newfound lesson to give her brother a pep talk. Colt didn't know if the changes in the kids had come about because of him laying down the law about their behavior, or if Allison's caring had worked some sort of miracle. Whichever it was, he was grateful.

“Good point, Cilla,” Colt said as Allison nodded.

She smiled at Brady. “We're doing something else right, too, by finding things you like to do and can learn to do well, like your bow-and-arrow shooting and learning to play the harmonica.”

Brady turned to him. “I forgot to tell you, Pa, but Mr. Jessup says I'm doing good with the harmonica, too. He says I'll be ready to play with the other guys by the time we have the harvest festival.”

Though Colt thought Brady might be stretching it a bit, since he'd had only two or three lessons, the pride on his face was something to behold. Colt felt a sudden surge of love so poignant he wasn't certain when he'd last experienced it. “I'm sure you will be.”

“Does anyone have any more questions?” Allison asked. When no one spoke, she said, “I'd best be going, then.”

“I'll walk with you,” Colt said, reluctant to see her go despite his determination to keep her at arm's length. Before he realized what he was doing, he offered her his hand.

She looked from his hand to his face, decidedly uncomfortable. “That won't be necessary.”

“I insist. It'll be dark soon.”

They both knew she would reach her little house long before darkness fell. They both also knew she was too much of a lady to protest any further. He thought he heard a little breath escape her, but she placed her hand in his, and he drew her to her feet.

Her hand was small and warm and soft. When he held it a second or two longer than propriety permitted, Allison tugged it free with a sharp look from beneath her eyelashes.

“I'll be back in a little bit. You two start the dishes, please.”

“Sure, Pa,” Brady said.

“Thanks.” Colt stepped back for Allie to precede him. Instead of offering her his arm, he chose to keep a couple of feet between them. They'd gone no more than a step or two when he surprised himself by saying, “Do you need anything for your ice cream?”

“As it turns out, I won't be taking ice cream. I'll be taking apple pie instead.” Her chin was high; her voice was cool.

“No peach ice cream? Why?”

“It seems that in my eagerness to contribute I forgot one small thing.”

“What's that?”

“That I am a single woman with no husband to bring and crush the ice or help haul the freezer to Jackson's Grove.”

The mental image of the pint-size redhead toting a block of ice in a tow sack and using the flat side of an ax to crush it into smaller pieces brought a reluctant smile to his lips. “I'd be glad to help.”

“No, thank you,” she told him in her prissy schoolteacher voice.

Before he could stop himself, Colt took her shoulders in his hands and propelled her gently against the side of the house. Her palms were flat against his chest, as if to keep him back.

“What got your bloomers in a twist?” he asked, narrowing his gaze in question.

Allison's eyes widened and her lips parted in shock at hearing the socially objectionable word bandied about with such ease. “My...my
what?
” she all but screeched.

“You heard me.” She was angry. So was he, though he wasn't sure who he was mad at—or why.

“Indeed I did! How dare you speak to me with such disrespect!” she told him in a low, furious tone. “I'm doing everything I can to help you with your children, and it seems you're determined to drive me mad. One minute you're friendly and cooperative—the next you ignore me for days! And how dare you question the way I'm behaving when you've made no move to—”

“Why, Miss Grainger,” he said in a silky voice. “I do believe you're trying to tell me you've missed me.”

Her eyes widened. “I...I most certainly have no—”

“You talk too much,” he interrupted. With that, he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was born of irritation, frustration and maybe just a little bit of curiosity.

He didn't know what he expected, but he was pretty sure it wasn't for his heart rate to double or for her to struggle in his arms. Women usually didn't do that. But then, he'd never kissed an unwilling woman, and he'd never known a woman like Allison.

Just when he was about to release her, she sagged against him, all resistance gone. In response to her surrender, he slanted his mouth for a deeper kiss and tightened his arms around her. At that moment he knew it was Allie he'd been kissing in his dream.

Despite the pleasure spiraling through him, his addled brain registered a couple of things. Her hands were fisted between them, her fingers tangled in his shirt. She was kissing him back. With unexpected enthusiasm. A soft sound, something that might have been a whimper, escaped her, bringing Colt to his senses.

Good grief! What was he doing?

It was a bit of a surprise to realize that he didn't want to stop kissing her, but he knew he should, for more reasons than he could comprehend at the moment. Sliding his hands to her shoulders, he put an arm's length between them and stared down into her flushed face. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, and her pretty mouth looked as he'd imagined it would after being thoroughly kissed.

“Why did you do that?” she asked in a quavering whisper.

His wide shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It seemed like a good way to shut you up.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Do you ever take anything seriously?” she choked out and, with a little shove, she pushed him aside and headed toward the road.

“Allie, wait!” he said, his long legs soon overtaking her. He clamped a hand onto her shoulder to stop her headlong escape.

“Let me go, Colt,” she said, struggling against his hold.

“I wanted to.”

“Wanted to what?” she muttered, trying to pry his hand from her shoulder.

“I wanted to kiss you.”

She stilled beneath his touch, her gaze clinging to his, disbelief warring with a question in her eyes. “Why, Colt? Why me? Why now? I'm so beautiful and exciting you couldn't help yourself?” she taunted. “Or are you working your way through all the available women in town and my turn came up?”

The offhand question was so near the truth that Colt felt a surge of panic. He couldn't tell her that after a lot of waffling, he'd decided to use the time he spent with her and the kids as a sort of testing ground to see if they were compatible without actually courting her. That was certain disaster!

There
were
other reasons behind the kiss. He could tell her that her lips had tempted him with their softness ever since the day of their big confrontation. Or maybe because he was curious as to whether she ever shook free of her prim persona or had buried all her feminine dreams with the man she'd loved and lost, just as he'd buried his relationship with God with Patrice. If so, what a pair they made. What a shame.

He chose the course closest to the truth and promised the fewest repercussions. “Curiosity, maybe.”

“Curiosity?”

He nodded. “I'm learning that you're much more than you choose to let people see. Maybe I wanted to see what else is hiding behind that wall you put up between you and the world.”

He released her and, reaching out a single finger, lifted a wayward wisp of hair from her flushed cheek and tucked it behind her ear.

Allie sucked in a sharp breath. “L-like what?”

“You're not nearly as self-possessed as you'd like everyone to think, which your outburst in my office proved.”

“Everyone has a breaking point,” she told him, the fire of her defiance burning the moisture from her eyes. “Actually, I found my
outburst
quite liberating.”

He regarded her intently. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Mmm-hmm. Holding things in is bad, Doc Rachel says. And you're insecure.”

He noted her surprise and realized she thought she'd kept that hidden. “But I can't imagine why,” he added. “You're a very talented person, and you're smart and kind and caring and good at what you do.”

“Ah, yes,” she said dramatically. “Saint Allison, living right here in Wolf Creek.”

He smiled a lopsided smile. “And you have a wicked sense of humor...when you let it out.”

He could tell his comment had caught her off guard. She plunged her hands into the pockets of her skirt and snapped, “Whatever your reasons, I suggest that we put the...um, unfortunate incident behind us. It would make things far too awkward when we spend time with the children.”

Uncertain whether to laugh or go nurse his bruised ego, Colt stepped back, putting another foot between them. “You certainly have a way of putting a man in his place.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I'm not sure I've ever had a woman call a kiss an ‘unfortunate incident.' I must admit that it smarts a bit, Miss Grainger. Still, I suppose you're right. As usual.”

“Don't be patronizing,” she said, but the animosity had left her voice and she looked as bewildered as he felt.

“I didn't mean to be. I'm just saying that you may be right, but all I can promise is that I'll try.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning I don't know about you, but I'll be a long time forgetting that kiss.”

He turned and walked toward the woods, leaving her to walk home alone, certain in his heart that he'd spoken the truth. His last image of Allison was her mouth hanging open in surprise. Let her sleep on that.

* * *

“How do you feel about what Miss Grainger said about why you can't read?” Cilla asked Brady as they washed and dried the dishes.

“I'm glad I'm not a dummy like Bethany.”

“Don't call her that!”

“You do.”

“Maybe I did, but it was wrong. Bethany was just born different, the way you were.”

“I'm nothing like Bethany!” Brady cried, flinging the dish towel down.

“Of course you're not exactly like her,” Cilla told him, trying to get her thoughts together.

“I've just been thinking a lot about Mr. Gentry's scripture about judging people and how it goes right along with what Pa always says about not judging a book by its cover. They're both the same thing, really.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So that's what I did with Bethany, and it's what the kids at school do to you when you make mistakes in reading. They're judging you by that one thing and not the other things that make you Brady Garrett.”

“What do you mean?”

“That there's a lot more to you than how well you read.”

“Why are you so nicey-nice all of a sudden?” Brady asked, stacking another dry plate on the shelf.

“I guess Pa laying down the law the day I stomped on Miss Grainger's glasses got me to thinking about things. And I've been thinking about Ma a lot, too.” She gave Brady a sad little smile. “Sometimes I really miss her. I'm sorry you never knew her, but do you know what I remember the most?”

Brady shook his head.

“She was always kind, and she smiled and laughed a lot like Miss Grainger does, and I don't think she'd be happy with the way we've been acting.”

“I wish I'd known her,” Brady said. He lifted his gaze to his sister's. “Is it my fault she died, Cilla?”

“Of course not!” she said. “Things like that just happen sometimes, and no one knows why. Just like Bethany's problem and your dyslexia. It's no one's fault.”

“I'm glad about that.”

Cilla smiled at him and handed him another plate to dry.

“Another thing. I can see that Pa's really bothered by the way we've been acting. I don't want him to lose his job and move us somewhere else, and I don't think you do, either.”

Brady shook his head. “I like it here, and another teacher might not be as nice as Miss Grainger.”

“That's true,” Cilla said. “We've been selfish, not wanting to share Pa with anyone. It's really not so bad having Miss Grainger around, and I really do want Pa to be happy. I don't like him being mad at me, and I'd rather see him smile than have him give me a blessing out any day.”

“Me, too,” Brady admitted.

“Besides,” she said thoughtfully, “if we want Miss Grainger to be our ma, we have to be good so she'll like us.”

Chapter Eight

W
hat on earth had he been thinking when he'd kissed Allie? Colt berated himself the following morning as he headed toward Ellie's, where he was meeting Gabe for an early breakfast. It was just light, and already the heat of the morning sun promised another scorcher.

Like the kiss.

Why couldn't he get the kiss—and Allie—out of his mind? There was another problem, too. Would that one moment of madness ruin everything? Would she want to keep helping him with the kids now that he'd stepped over that imaginary boundary of propriety? She'd implied that nothing would change as long as they forgot what had occurred between them. As if that was going to happen anytime this side of the grave!

What would he say to her when he saw her later in the day? How would she react? He'd toyed with the idea of surprising her with some ice the following day, and even considered making the ice cream for her as a little surprise, but now he was questioning the wisdom of the idea. The last thing he needed was her thinking he was trying to butter her up for the sake of her help with the kids.

Charlie Pickens, who was unlocking the door of the newspaper office, called out to him from across the street, thankfully delaying his decision a little longer.

The light of Ellie's beckoned. He'd been so wrapped up in the problem with the kids lately, it seemed as if he talked and thought of little else. Maybe some male conversation with Gabe would take his mind off things, at least for a while.

Gabe was already seated, and to Colt's chagrin, Win Granville sat across from him. As usual, the wealthy Bostonian was decked out in the latest style. His double-breasted, dove-gray suit boasted a wing collar and covered buttons, and had no doubt been chosen to make him look more casual. It didn't work. The only purpose it served was to make Colt, in his denim pants and plaid shirt, feel like a poor country relation. Even Gabe, in his tan trousers and plaid, square-cut waistcoat, outdid him in the style department, but then, their jobs were vastly different. As was Win's.

The first—and last—time Win Granville was in town had been in the spring, when he'd taken perverse pleasure in running up the bids at the box-lunch benefit. Colt had been forced to pay far more than he'd expected for Ellie's basket, and Gabe had been none too pleased at the price his stepbrother had forced him to pay for Rachel's.

It looked as if they'd put that behind them, though, if the smiles on their faces were anything to go by. Despite the fiasco at the box lunch and his fancy way of dressing, Colt had yet to make up his mind about Win, unsure if he were just a smooth city slicker or if he possessed a contrary sense of amusement. Colt suspected that, like Allie, there was a lot more beneath the facade he presented to the world than most people suspected. Law enforcement had broken Colt of the habit of underestimating people based on their outward appearance.

Ellie had already delivered steaming mugs of coffee, and when she saw Colt step through the door, she headed toward the table with a plate of biscuits and the coffeepot, another mug dangling from one finger.

Both men stood. Hands were shaken all around. Ellie asked Colt if he wanted the usual, poured his coffee and then topped off the other cups while Colt settled into a chair.

“Thanks, lovely lady,” Win said with a lazy smile.

In reply, she plunked the biscuits onto the table, gave him a smile sweet enough to cause a toothache and murmured an equally syrupy “You're welcome.” Then she stalked back to the kitchen.

Undaunted, Win grinned and reached for a flaky biscuit and knife.

“What was that all about?” Gabe asked.

“I do believe the lady is smitten,” Win said, using the knife to slice the biscuit in half and then spreading it with fresh-churned butter.

Gabe shook his head, chuckling at the sheer audacity of the statement.

“Looked to me like she wanted to put that butter knife in your back,” Colt told him.

“Oh, she just hasn't come to terms with it yet,” Win said, winking as he added a spoonful of muscadine jelly to the featherlight creation. He took a bite and rolled his eyes in ecstasy. “To say I've missed Ellie's cooking would be an understatement.”

He directed a challenging look at Colt. “Just so you know, I plan to marry that woman one of these days.”

Colt pondered the preposterous statement for a moment then smiled. “You may try, but so have a lot of men, and she leaves them in the dust with broken hearts.”

“Yours?”

Colt shook his head. “No broken heart—just bruised pride.”

“Good.”

“You may as well hang it up, Granville,” Colt told him. “Ellie can't marry anyone.”

“I've told him her story,” Gabe said. “Didn't faze him in the least.”

“I've always loved a challenge,” Win said. “Besides, I have a brother who's a whiz of an attorney. While I'm winning the lady's heart, Philip will be looking for the husband. He has a close friend who works for Pinkerton's.”

Then, as if he hadn't made the preposterous comment, he looked from Gabe to Colt and hit them with another. “So what's the latest Wolf Creek gossip besides Ellie giving you the boot, Garrett?”

“You're not much for beating around the bush, are you?” Colt said.

The Granville heir shrugged his elegantly clad shoulders. “There may be a time and place for it, but not much sense in it. When you see something you want, you go after it.”

He'd said more or less the same thing to Gabe about Rachel last spring, and from what he'd just said about locating Ellie's wayward husband, it must be Win's philosophy. It might be a good one, but Colt's problem was identifying what he wanted. Did he want to give serious consideration to Allison as a prospective wife? Marriage was far too serious a commitment to enter on the strength of a single kiss. Would they suit in other ways? Would he grow to love her wild hair, and could she ever care for a man with a lesser education?

Most important of all, could he learn to love her?

You already do.

The words drifted through his mind softly, as if someone had whispered them, and at that instant he recognized them for the truth they were. He sat stone-still, his cup poised halfway to his lips. How could something so momentous slip up on a person so easily? How had it happened? When? The uncertainty he'd felt since the kiss had vanished. How it happened wasn't really important. It had happened. He'd fallen in love with Allison Grainger, spinster schoolteacher. He set his cup onto the table so hard that the coffee splashed onto the pristine white cloth.

“What's the matter?” Gabe asked, his forehead furrowed in concern. “You look like you just heard your best friend died or something.”

“I'm fine.” He tried to smile. He wanted to leave, to go somewhere he could be alone to get used to the idea and think about what it would—could—mean. He needed to figure out the best way to handle it.

When you see what you want, you go after it.

He couldn't take Win's advice. Unlike Win, Colt wasn't the kind to rush into things. He liked to think through all the angles and have a plan. Besides, if he told Allie he loved her, she would never believe him. Love didn't happen in a couple of weeks, did it? Especially when the person you thought you loved had been under your nose for more than a year.

He would have to take things slowly, for both their sakes. He would stay with their original plan to spend time together with the kids, but... The kids! How could he tell them his decision without them blabbing it all over town? What would they think? Despite their recent good behavior and his laying down the law about sabotaging his relationships, if he told them he planned to court Allison, would they start their subtle attacks on her?

Questions tumbled through his mind, but he had no answers.

“I wish Ellie would hurry with that breakfast,” he muttered. “I'm starving.”

He noticed that both Gabe and Win were looking at him as if they weren't quite sure what was going on with him. Not so strange since he wasn't sure himself. All he knew was that the sooner he ate, the sooner he could get to the jail and do some serious thinking. As if in answer to his request, Ellie emerged from the kitchen with two plates. Bethany was right behind her with the third.

Thank goodness.

* * *

I'll be a long time forgetting that kiss.

The sound of Colt's voice played through Allison's mind. Even though she'd told him they should forget their brief stolen moment, she was finding it impossible to do. Regardless of his reasons for kissing her, for a few precious seconds she had felt beautiful and desirable, something she couldn't recall ever experiencing before.

Forget it, Allison.

Using the back of her hand, she pushed her spectacles up where they belonged. Drat the heat still radiating from the stove that was causing them to slide down her nose! And drat Colt Garrett for kissing her and causing the sleepless night that left her cranky and with dark circles beneath her eyes.

She'd tossed and turned for hours, thinking about him, wondering why he'd kissed her and what it might do to their unusual, somewhat volatile arrangement. When she'd fallen into a fitful sleep at last, she still had no answers. Even now, wide-awake, she was wondering what would happen next.

She pressed the iron against one corner of Colt's freshly laundered handkerchief—the one he'd tied around her foot—and pulled it taut to minimize the puckering as she ran the hot iron along the edge.

How on earth could they continue to spend time together for the children's sake, when being around him turned her into a mindless ninny? Or a lovesick schoolgirl.

Lovesick.

The thought held her motionless. Was she? Was it possible that after almost ten years of guarding her heart from the possibility of pain she had allowed Colt to slip beneath that guard and overcome her hard-found control with a single kiss?
Was
she falling in love with him—or worse—was she already
in
love with him?

The smell of scorched fabric assaulted her nostrils, and she looked down to see that she had stood with the iron in one spot for so long she had burned a hole clear through his handkerchief. She tossed the ruined piece of fabric to the tabletop and sighed, focusing on Cilla's increasingly nimble fingers as she practiced her scales.

It was just her and Cilla this morning since Brady was with Ace, practicing his archery. Allison had to admit Colt's young daughter was far more engaged in her piano lessons than she'd expected.

Cilla launched into a hesitant, faltering rendition of “Camptown Races,” and Allison smiled. She expected no less than the rousing tune from Hattie, who claimed there was plenty of time to learn the classical pieces. The main thing was to make learning enjoyable at first so students wouldn't lose interest as soon as they started.

Adults might think “Moonlight Sonata” was a haunting, beautiful melody, but Hattie claimed that most kids found it dreary. Allison thought it was an interesting insight. Hadn't she often improvised and modified her teaching methods in an effort to reach certain students?

Casting another look at the ruined handkerchief, she decided she might as well take a break. Cilla probably needed one, too. Setting the iron on the back of the stove, she went to the door of the tiny parlor, which was dominated by the upright piano, and poked in her head.

“Cilla?”

Cilla looked up. “Ma'am?”

“Are you ready for a cookie and some lemonade?”

“That sounds good,” Cilla said, rising from the round stool to join her.

In the kitchen, Allison poured two glasses of tangy lemonade that was nice and cold from the deep well out back. Then she gave Cilla a couple of raisin-dotted sugar cookies they'd made earlier.

“Thank you, Miss Grainger.”

“You're very welcome.”

Allison was beginning to believe that the changes in Cilla were real, that she was not plotting to cause someone harm or pain. Allison truly enjoyed the time she spent with the child. It wasn't her fault her father was...well, the way he was.

Aggravatingly attractive.

“For someone who hasn't been taking lessons that long, you're making great strides,” Allison said, determined to rout thoughts of Colt from her mind.

“Thank you. Aren't you going to have any cookies?”

Allison shook her head. “Oh, no. I had two as they came out of the oven. I can't possibly eat everything I bake.”

“What do you do with all of it?”

“Give it to the shut-ins and the sick people in town, mostly,” she said, sitting down at the oak table across from her guest. She smiled. “And I've been sending an awful lot of it home with you and Brady lately.”

Cilla smiled. “Pa really likes that. He has a terrible sweet tooth.”

Colt again. The child positively doted on the man! But then, everyone in town did. Yet despite her annoyance at him for kissing her and her own response to that kiss, Allison couldn't deny the thrill of pleasure that shot through her at hearing Cilla's admission.

“He does?” Allison asked with studied nonchalance. “Which ones are his favorites?”

“His absolute favorite is your chocolate pie, but his favorite cookies are the oatmeal.” Cilla gave a slight shake of her head. “When you send those over, he has them for breakfast with a glass of milk and tells me and Brady that's all right because he's eating his oats.”

“I guess that's one way of looking at it.” Allison took another sip of her cool drink.

“Are your new glasses okay?” Cilla asked out of the blue. “Can you see all right?”

“They're very much okay. I can see very well, thank you.”

“I'm really sorry for breaking them, Miss Grainger. I don't know what got into me.”

Her contrition seemed real. Allison reached out and touched Cilla's hand, which was curled around the glass. “We all do and say things we shouldn't from time to time.”