Heartland Courtship. Lyn Cote
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hesitant greeting and handed him the leather pouch, which read Official U.S. Documents. “I brought this over for the land agent. Do you think the mail will go out today?”
Ashford, middle-aged with thinning hair, consulted a notice on the wall. “Yes, if the Delta Queen arrives on schedule.” The storekeeper cocked an eyebrow at Brennan. “It’s odd that the agent let you bring this over.”
“Oh, I just told him I was on my way here. Now you watch over the mail pouches, don’t you? You don’t let anybody mess with the letters, right?” Brennan asked.
“I certainly do not let anybody interfere with the mail. I took an oath.” Ashford starched up.
“Excellent. Glad to hear it.” Brennan turned to Miss Rachel. “Here is your receipt for the land transaction.”
“Thank thee, Mr. Merriday.” She accepted the paper and slid it into her pocket, then dazzled Brennan with a smile that cast her as, well, pretty.
At this realization, Brennan stepped backward. Whoa, he had no business thinking that. Why had he thought her plain? Was it the way she hid behind that plain Quaker bonnet?
“I just staked my claim, Mr. Ashford,” Miss Rachel explained, “on the Ryersons’ abandoned claim.”
Ashford goggled at her. “Indeed?” he finally said.
“Yes, Miss Rachel’s makin’ her own way in the world.” Brennan regained his aplomb. “An independent woman.” Brennan relished setting another pillar of society on edge.
“And Mr. Merriday will help me as my hired hand,” Miss Rachel agreed. “Mr. Ashford, I will be back next week to pick up the flour, sugar and other items I’ve ordered. And please let it be known that I want to buy a cow and chickens from anyone who has any to spare. I’ll pay what’s fair.”
“Yes, Miss, but I still think you should have ordered much less flour to begin with,” the storekeeper said.
“I appreciate thy concern,” she replied, but this didn’t show in her tone. “Mr. Merriday, I think our town business is done now.”
He was back to himself. So he did find the lady pretty—what did that have to do with the likes of him? “Yes, Miss Rachel,” Brennan said, grinning with sass as he followed her to the door, opened it for her and let her step outside. He glanced over his shoulder to catch Ashford frowning. And mocked the man with a grin.
Back on the wagon bench beside Miss Rachel, Brennan slapped the reins and piloted the team toward home. A rare feeling of satisfaction suffused him. And he was beginning to like Miss Rachel. That was all. “You called me Mr. Merriday,” he teased. “Thrice.”
“Yes, I thought if I called thee by thy first name as Quakers do, the storekeeper might misunderstand our relationship. I think it will be best if I use Mr. Merriday so everyone understands....” Her voice faltered.
“I take your meaning, Miss Rachel.” He couldn’t stop his grin from widening. Working for Miss Rachel would certainly bring zest into his life for a time.
From the corner of his eye, he gazed at her profile. She sat so prim and proper, her back straight and her gloved hands folded in her lap. What would she do if he turned and kissed her? A startling, disturbing thought.
Then she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “My thanks, Mr. Merriday, for thy support today.”
“Just part of my job, miss,” he said, taking control of his unruly mind. He owed this lady a debt, that was all.
And then the two of them rode in outward silence toward the Whitmore claim. But one sentence ran through Brennan’s mind—What have I gotten myself into this time?
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