The Engagement Bargain Page 24

  “But it’s raining.”

  Tony tipped her head forward, and a river of water trickled from her hat. “A little rain never ruined a good parade.”

  Her mother took in the display with a curt nod. “How quaint. Come along, Anna. I’ll catch a chill in this rain.”

  She trudged toward the waiting train, her walking stick splashing through the puddles.

  The porter assisted her onto the train while Anna remained rooted in place.

  Her mother gestured. “Come along.”

  “No,” Anna called over the rain. “I’m staying.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” She shook her head. “Come over here this instant.”

  Anna walked the distance, then paused. “I’m staying here.”

  “Do you think that countrified veterinarian can make you happy?”

  Anna blinked.

  “I saw how you looked at each other. I’m not an idiot. He’ll saddle you with a half dozen children and a miserable existence.”

  “Maybe that doesn’t sound miserable to me.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying. I groomed you for something better. I raised you for something more.”

  “No. You raised me to be independent. That’s what I’m doing. I’m asserting my independence.”

  “If you choose that man over me, I will never speak to you again.”

  “You know what I just realized?” Anna said. “Caleb would never make me choose. That’s why he asked me to leave. He wanted me to know I didn’t have to choose between him and the cause. Besides, I am in charge of the flowers at the quilting bee and a Bishop does not shirk her duties.”

  “You’re babbling now. I will not speak to you when you’re in this...this emotional state.” She banged her walking stick against the train deck.

  “A man will ruin a woman faster than rain will ruin a parade.”

  “That’s the difference between you and me,” Anna said, turning away. “I never did mind a little rain.”

  The train whistle blew, and Anna didn’t look back. She strode into the crowd of women, and they let up a cheer. Jo caught her around the shoulder. “You’re missing your train.”

  “I’m not leaving!” Anna shouted. “I love your brother.”

  Jo whooped and did a little jump. She slipped in the mud and lost her balance, careening into Anna. Anna slid backward and bumped into Tony. They all fell into a heap in a chilly mud puddle, laughing.

  For the first time in a long while, the future was rife with possibilities.

  * * *

  Caleb stepped into the barn and handed Pipsqueak a stem of roses. “I figure you’re feeling just about as rotten as I do right now.”

  “I hope those roses didn’t come from Izetta’s garden,” Anna said.

  He froze. “You should be gone by now. I heard the train whistle blow.”

  “I decided to stay.”

  Pipsqueak trotted past him, the roses forgotten.

  “Why?” he asked, wondering if this was all a dream.

  “Because of something somebody said to me about the power of words.”

  He turned toward her and gaped. “What happened to you? You’re covered in mud.”

  She smiled, her face smudged, her clothes streaked with dirt, looking a bit like the bedraggled kittens they’d rescued and more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.

  “Jo and I had a slight accident.”

  He fished his handkerchief from his pocket and approached her. “I have a feeling this isn’t the only trouble the two of you will cause.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  He rubbed a smudge from her forehead. “How about I move to St. Louis? I hear it’s a beautiful city.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  A spot of dirt near her temple caught his attention and he dabbed at the mark. “To be near you.”

  “Then you would be terribly disappointed, because I don’t have any plans to return.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because St. Louis is far too boring. Cimarron Springs is much livelier. There are caves for hidden treasures, and the finest Harvest Festival in the state.”

  “Anything else?” A bit of dirt on her ear needed tending.

  “There are good people here. I read in a book once that good people make good places.”

  He leaned back, creating some distance between them. “You don’t have to do this, Anna. I don’t mind moving. Your work is important. I won’t have you give that up.”

  She placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. “I won’t be giving anything up. The cause will always be a part of my life, a part of who I am. That will never change. I don’t have all the answers yet and I don’t know quite how things will turn out, but I know that this is where I need to be. With you.”

  He remained steadfast, hardening his resolve. “You were meant for something better than this.”

  Her lips tightened. “I’m not a legacy. I’m a person with thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams. All my life someone else has told me what I should do, how I should live my life. I don’t know who I’m meant to be, and I need the space to find out.”

  A silent war raged within him. “I can’t let you do this.”

  A shadow passed over her eyes. “Would you love me if I was ordinary?”

  “Of course. How can you even ask such a thing?”

  “Then let me decide my own future. Even if that future is very ordinary.”

  He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb along her chin, dislodging another speck of dirt. “You will never ever be ordinary.”

  “I’ve never saved a life,” she said. “And that is a very extraordinary thing indeed.”

  His expression softened. “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Life with me will always be challenging.”

  “What if you grow bored here? What if you find married life unsatisfying?”

  Her lips parted. “Who said anything about marriage?”

  The teasing glint in her eye gave her away. “I’m very conventional. I demand you make an honest man out of me.”

  “I’m not very conventional at all. I still haven’t learned how to cook. I can only make eggs and toast.”

  “I’m a very good cook.”

  She brushed the hair from his forehead. “I’m dazzled by your looks and enthralled by your kind heart.”

  “You do have a way with words, Miss Bishop. Have you ever thought of being a writer?”

  “Actually, I’ve given that thought quite a bit of consideration. I want to write about women, about their struggles, about their pain. I want to make a very small difference in a very big way.”

  “I’ll buy extra ink and paper.”

  “At least we don’t have to worry about explaining our engagement to the town.”

  “I think they knew we were meant for each other.”

  “I think you’re right. Even the goat knew.”

  Caleb grinned. “That is one smart goat.”

  He knelt and took her muddy hand between his own. “Anna Bishop, will you marry me?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Good.”

  “Now kiss me,” she ordered.

  He gladly complied. Their kiss was full of tender promise, a gentle assault on her senses.

  “You don’t play fair,” she said.

  “I know.” He grinned.

  She returned his smile. “Kiss me again.”

  Caleb decided then and there that it wasn’t a bad thing to have a woman in charge, not a bad thing at all.

  Epilogue

  Three years later

  Anna snatched her bonnet from the stand near the door. She chec
ked her appearance in the mirror and swiftly tied the strings beneath her chin.

  Caleb waited patiently, holding one-year-old Susan in his arms. “Don’t worry,” he said, “they can’t start without you.”

  “Yes, but the mayor should at least be on time.”

  Women had won the municipal vote in Kansas that year and Anna had run for mayor the very next election.

  She’d won by a landslide.

  Caleb caught her gaze in the mirror. “We might even have time to stop by the new house and see what progress they’ve made.”

  “There’s no time!” After Susan’s birth, they’d realized their house was far too small for their growing family. “I heard Maxwell teasing you about the money. You’re not annoyed, are you?”

  “I rather enjoy being a kept man.” Caleb grinned.

  Anna rolled her eyes. Her father had left her more money than she could possibly spend in a lifetime, especially considering their modest lifestyle. Figuring out ways to donate the surplus was a job in and of itself.

  She adjusted her collar. “All right. I’m ready to cut the ribbon on Cimarron Springs’ first ever salon for women only.”

  Caleb pecked her on the cheek. “I wonder who donated the money for the remodel of the old haberdashery.”

  Anna assumed an air of innocence. “I couldn’t say. Although events turned out to be quite fortuitous. Since Mr. Phillips passed away last spring, Mrs. Phillips needed a source of income and a place to stay that accommodated Jane. The salon is the perfect solution.”

  She turned toward the door, but something in his expression stopped her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I wasn’t going to tell you until after the ceremony, but you received a letter today.”

  Anna’s chest tightened. “From the publisher?”

  She’d spent the past two years writing letters and gathering stories, interviewing women and compiling their heroic journeys into an anthology. She’d sent off the manuscript months ago.

  “I can’t read it,” she said. “I’ll wait until this evening.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  She made it as far as the door and then stopped. “Hand it over.”

  Caleb complied, and she tore open the envelope, scanning the first few lines, then clutched the letter against her chest.

  “They’re going to publish my book.”

  Caleb grinned. “I never had any doubts.”

  She smothered him and Susan with kisses.

  Caressing the back of her head, Caleb pressed his forehead against hers. “You are one extraordinary woman.”

  Anna smiled, her heart swelling with love, Susan squirming merrily between them. “I am one happy woman. Thank you for supporting me.”

  “Always,” he said simply. “Always.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from SHELTERED BY THE WARRIOR by Barbara Phinney.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed getting to know another McCoy. There are lots more stories featuring the McCoy brothers and their cousins coming your way in the Prairie Courtship series.

  It’s hard to believe women in America have had the vote for fewer than 100 years. In July of 1848, the Seneca Falls Convention issued the first formal demand authored by American women for suffrage. More than seventy years later, in August of 1920, the Nineteenth Amendment to the Constitution received the necessary thirty-sixth state ratification with a narrow victory in Tennessee. The deciding vote was issued by Harry Burn, a twenty-four-year-old senator who received a letter from his mother urging him to vote in favor of the amendment.

  You may also be surprised to note that although the thirty-six state ratification made the Nineteenth Amendment a federal law, the last state to formally ratify the amendment was Mississippi—in 1984. The history of the suffrage movement is fascinating, and I hope I have inspired you to learn more!

  I love to hear from readers. You can email me at sherri@sherrishackelford.com, visit my website at sherrishackelford.com, or if you’re feeling nostalgic, drop me a letter at PO Box 116, Elkhorn, NE 68022.

  Sherri Shackelford

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.

  You find illumination in days gone by. Love Inspired Historical stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.

  Enjoy four new stories from Love Inspired Historical every month!

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  Chapter One

  Kingstown, Cambridgeshire, England

  Autumn, 1068 AD

  She will surely starve this winter.

  The mists of the early morning lingered as Rowena stepped from her hut and found herself staring at the plunder around her. Little Andrew hadn’t yet awakened, so she’d taken this time to pray, as her friend, Clara, had once suggested.

  Her shaking hand found the door and she shut it quietly. Her other hand grasped the cut ends of the thin thatch that reached from the roof peak almost to the ground. In this village, ’twas cheaper to grow thatch for roofs than to make daub for walls, so the hut’s walls were short, barely coming to her shoulders. Only those in the manor house were rich enough to have fine, straight walls that reached two stories up to the thick, warm thatch above.

  Stepping forward, Rowena gaped at the devastation around her. How could someone have ruined her harvest? And in the middle of the night? Aye, the villagers gave her the cold shoulder, but to move to such destruction? Why?

  Gasping, she tossed off the hood of her cloak and forced the crisp air into her lungs to conquer the wash of panic. Last night, when she’d locked up for the evening, she’d wondered if there would be a killing frost, but had remembered with gratitude that she had a good amount of roots dug and neatly stored under mounds of straw, and enough herbs drying to make strong pottages. With the pair of rabbits and the hen Lady Ediva had given her, she’d truly believed that she and her babe would not just survive the winter, but mayhap even flourish.

  Nay, this cannot be happening!

  Rowena bit back tears as she stepped toward what was left of her garden. The heavy dew soaked through her thin shoes, and her heart hung like the wet hem of her cyrtel and cloak. All her hard work of collecting herbs and gathering straw and burying roots in frost-proof mounds was for naught.

  As she looked to her right, wisps of her pale hair danced across her cheek. Both the rabbit hutch and henhouse had been torn apart, the animals long gone. Someone had wrenched off the doors and crushed the early morning’s egg beneath the hard heel of a heavy boot. Chicken feathers flipped in the misty breeze.

  She hadn’t heard a thing, but since her babe had begun to sleep through the night and her days were long, she was oft so exhausted that sleep held her till morn. Hastily, she scanned her garden, her eyes watchful for movement, her ears pinned to hear any soft clucking of a distressed hen. Nothing, not a breath of life amid the shredded vegetation.

  “Nay,” she whispered in the cold air, “come back, little hen. You’re safe now.”

  No answer. Just a ruined cage. But that was fixable, at least. Clara, who’d left yesterday to return to her own home, had shown her how to weave various plant stalks into strong netting. Being a fisherman’s daughter, Clara knew these things.

  Rowena already knew how to soak and shred the leftover stalks until the soft fibers c
ould be spun into threads. She’d seen her older sister weave cloth that way and looked forward to making baby clothes this winter, for Andrew was growing fast and she had no one to offer her their children’s castoffs.

  At the thought of her family, a knot of bitterness choked her. Rowena tried to swallow it, for Clara had warned that bitterness caused all measure of illness. But ’twas hard to forget the fact that she had no kin willing to help her. ’Twas hard to forget that her parents had sold her as a slave to a Norman baron, ridiculously boasting that her pale hair and eyes were a promise of many strong sons within her.

  Nay, she thought with watering eyes, ’twas hard to forget that the baron had then tried to murder her and steal the son she’d birthed, as part of a plot so villainous it still terrified her.

  And the men in Colchester, the town to which she’d fled, had no wish to defend her. They’d wanted her along with Clara to leave and take their troubles with them. So she’d left. Now here in Kingstown, she knew that heartache and pain had followed her.

  Rowena looked toward the sun that strained to pierce the rising mists. Lord God, Clara says You’re up there. Why are You doing this to me? Are You making me suffer for not knowing You all these years? I know You now.

  When she received no answer, Rowena set her shoulders and pursed her lips. She’d resettled in this village, been given her freedom and a hut that had with it a decent, albeit overgrown, garden. Clara had brought with her some provisions from Dunmow and had offered Rowena a final prayer to start her new life. ’Twould be difficult for her as a woman without a husband, and a babe too small to help, but Rowena had been determined to succeed.

  She’d thought she would do well.

  But now? She peered again at the ruined henhouse. Each day she’d found that one egg brought joy, and she’d offered thanks to God for it. A hope of a new life.

  Not so anymore. The fair-headed Saxon villagers here had taken one look at Andrew and his mixed heritage and prejudged her. She’d heard the whispered words: “Traitor.” “Spy.” “Prostitute.” They didn’t even care to ask for the truth.