The Bride’s Matchmaking Triplets. Regina Scott
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last members of his congregation. All the while a part of him was aware of Elizabeth at the foot of the steps, settling the boys into the cart.
It had been the same way during service. While he’d made it a point to meet the gaze of every member in attendance at least once, he’d felt himself drawn to her. He’d seen those cinnamon brows rise in surprise, those peach-colored lips purse in concern. He generally spoke about what the Lord put on his heart. He shouldn’t crave her appreciation.
But he did. And he couldn’t help feeling that by championing the children’s home he’d somehow disappointed her.
He couldn’t afford such concerns now. He’d asked Lula May McKay to call a meeting of the Lone Star Cowboy League for right after service, and he knew he had some persuading to do.
Please give me the words, Lord.
It seemed he’d had to choose his words carefully his whole life, to keep from hurting his already-wounded mother, to prevent a blowup with his father. The trait naturally flowed into his work as a minister. Words chosen carefully built sermons, mended hearts and healed lives.
“Powerful sermon, Pastor,” Mrs. Hickey said, strutting out of the church and pausing to frown across the yard. Brandon thought she might be looking for her husband, a warmhearted man who called the community dances, but he knew the moment she spotted Elizabeth, because her gaze narrowed and one foot began tapping under her blue skirts.
“I’m glad you appreciated it, Mrs. Hickey,” he said, drawing her gaze back to him. “But then, I don’t have to tell you to care for widows and orphans. You were among the first to reach out to the triplets.”
She raised her head, the soft pink roses on her hat belying the sharpness of her gaze. “I believe charity starts at home. I expect you’ll be joining us for dinner, Reverend. I plan to eat at four.”
Was he now her charity? Something within him protested. “That’s very kind of you, I’m sure, but I fear I have other plans.”
Her brows came up. “Oh?”
“I was going to see if Miss Dumont and the triplets wanted some dinner,” he told her.
She sucked in a breath, no doubt ready to launch into a scold.
Brandon met her gaze. “After all, what use is a minister who doesn’t practice what he preaches?”
She deflated. “True, true. Well, next Sunday, then.” Head still high, she clomped down the steps. Brandon thought about following her, intervening in anything she might say to plague Elizabeth, but Lula May appeared in the doorway of the church just then and beckoned him inside. It was time to present his case. With one last look at Elizabeth, in a peach-colored dress that only made him think of her lips, he followed the lady into the quiet of the church.
The members of the Lone Star Cowboy League had wandered to the front of the chapel. With fewer people gathered in the pews, their voices echoed to the beams overhead. Every rustle of cotton against wood, every shift of a heavy body spoke volumes. He only hoped his proposal would speak as loudly.
His brother, Bo, gave him a grin of encouragement from the front row. Brandon knew all the other members. Dark-haired CJ Thorn, one of the founders, had once held himself aloof and somber. Now, thanks to his wife, Molly, infant son and twin nieces, he tended to smile more often than not. He curled his long body next to Edmund McKay, who somehow managed to make the pews seem small.
McKay too had stayed away from people until the widowed Lula May had taken him under her wing and shown him what family could mean. Caroline Murray had done the same for Edmund’s brother David, who sat forward on his seat now, hat turning in his hands, as he waited for the meeting to start. Leaner than his brother, David met Brandon’s gaze and nodded encouragement, green eyes bright in the shadows of the church.
Edmund, CJ and Bo had been amenable to David’s earlier proposal to build a children’s home, Brandon knew. According to David, it was the older cattlemen who had balked. They always seemed to count pennies rather than needs.
They clustered together now, as if uniting against whatever idea would be proposed: lean and cautious Abe Sawyer, stocky and cranky Clyde Parker, hard-as-nails Gabe Dooley and ruddy and cantankerous Casper Magnuson. The last scowled at Brandon as if he suspected the sermon earlier had been leading up to this.
He would not be wrong.
“Order,” Lula May called, and the men fell silent. There was a reason the cow pony breeder had been made league president. The only woman in the group, the petite blonde with red in her hair had a way of making her presence felt.
“We have one item of business today,” she announced, intelligent blue eyes pinning each man in his seat. “And that is the matter of the children’s home we agreed to fund.”
Sawyer, Parker and Dooley leaned back and crossed their arms over their chests. Magnuson did the same, even though his old friend Saul Hauser had recently passed on, leaving children behind. Nothing like having support.
At Lula May’s nod, Brandon stood and spread his hands. “Gentlemen, madam president, thank you for your concerns about the most vulnerable among us. The triplets, the Satler siblings and the other children scattered across the county need our support.”
“Something has to be done,” Magnuson allowed, lowering his arms.
His cronies cast him a look as if to accuse him of giving in too soon.
“Something has to be done,” Dooley agreed. “We said we’d help. But let’s not get carried away. There’s only so much money.”
“True,” Bo put in. “But there isn’t a civic fund, and the church fund already goes to pay for religious activities, community gatherings and the school.”
“We could always levy taxes,” Lula May suggested sweetly, a determined gleam in her eyes. “Say, on every head of cattle on the range and every acre of farmland.”
Edmund shook his head, a grin winning free. Brandon wouldn’t have been surprised to see him applaud his wife’s audacity.
Dooley, Sawyer and Parker shifted in their seats. Magnuson tugged at his collar. “Enough of that kind of talk now. Someone might get ideas.”
Brandon hid a smile. “Then the Lone Star Cowboy League is our best, least expensive option to fund a children’s home.”
Parker snorted. “Least expensive? You didn’t hear McKay’s proposal. Gardens, their own bedrooms, training for employment. Why give all that to orphans?”
“Why give those to any child?” David countered, gaze darkening. “Because we want them to grow up to become contributing members of society.”
Parker turned his scowl toward the young rancher.
Brandon held up his hand. “What if I told you I could give you everything David originally asked for, at less than half the cost you imagined?”
Sawyer and Dooley perked up. Magnuson leaned forward. Parker’s scowl eased just the tiniest.
CJ spoke up. “I’d say I’d like to hear more, Pastor.”
Brandon drew in a breath. They were ready to listen. He went on to explain about the Crenshaw house and his hopes for an easy renovation. He added that the Arundels and Mercy Green had agreed to help provide food for the home. By the time he had finished, they were all nodding.
“It just might work,” Sawyer said. “Several families in the area are having trouble caring for kin left orphaned. This could really help them.”
Bo winked at Brandon.
Lula May beamed at them all. “It seems we have an accord, gentlemen. We already agreed that David and Pastor would oversee the project. All in favor of funding Pastor Stillwater’s proposal?”
“Aye,” everyone but Parker chorused.
“Opposed?” She speared Parker with her blue gaze.