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Frontier Matchmaker Bride
Regina Scott
The Lawman Meets His MatchSuccessful Seattle matchmaker Beth Wallin has her most challenging assignment yet – find Deputy Hart McCormick a bride. Beth's still smarting after the handsome lawman spurned her affections a year ago. But if she finds Hart a wife, Beth will gain favor with the city's most influential women…and perhaps free her own heart, as well.Marriage is the last thing on the deputy's mind. After tragically losing his sweetheart, he vowed never to love again. But as sweet, spunky Beth introduces him to potential fiancées, Hart finally feels a spark…for her! The stubborn bachelor will be Beth's first matchmaking miss, unless they can both admit that she just might be his perfect match.


The Lawman Meets His Match
Successful Seattle matchmaker Beth Wallin has her most challenging assignment yet—find Deputy Hart McCormick a bride. Beth’s still smarting after the handsome lawman spurned her affections a year ago. But if she finds Hart a wife, Beth will gain favor with the city’s most influential women...and perhaps free her own heart, as well.
Marriage is the last thing on the deputy’s mind. After tragically losing his sweetheart, he vowed never to love again. But as sweet, spunky Beth introduces him to potential fiancées, Hart finally feels a spark...for her! The stubborn bachelor will be Beth’s first matchmaking miss, unless they can both admit that she just might be his perfect match.
REGINA SCOTT has always wanted to be a writer. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages. Fascinated by history, she learned to fence and sail a tall ship. She and her husband reside in Washington State with an overactive Irish terrier. You can find her online, blogging at nineteenteen.com (http://nineteenteen.com). Learn more about her at reginascott.com (http://reginascott.com) or connect with her on Facebook at Facebook.com/authorreginascott (https://Facebook.com/authorreginascott).
Also By Regina Scott (#ud5b238af-ef50-583c-bcab-d6cdbaee7080)
Frontier Bachelors
The Bride Ship
Would-Be Wilderness Wife
Frontier Engagement
Instant Frontier Family
A Convenient Christmas Wedding
Mail-Order Marriage Promise
His Frontier Christmas Family
Frontier Matchmaker Bride
Lone Star Cowboy League: Multiple Blessings
The Bride’s Matchmaking Triplets
Lone Star Cowboy League: The Founding Years
A Rancher of Convenience
The Master Matchmakers
The Courting Campaign
The Wife Campaign
The Husband Campaign
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Frontier Matchmaker Bride
Regina Scott


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08251-8
FRONTIER MATCHMAKER BRIDE
© 2018 Regina Lundgren
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
And we have known and believed the love that God hath to us. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.
—1 John 4:16
“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
Hart’s gaze moved to the wharves, as if he saw a gang of marauding pirates rather than busy longshoremen.
Beth stared at him.
“I’d hate to have to explain to your brothers,” he added.
Well! She was about to tell him exactly what she thought of the idea when she noticed a light in his eyes. Was that a twinkle in the gray?
Beth tossed her head. “Oh, they’ll take your side. They always say I have more enthusiasm than sense.”
He shrugged. “I know a few women who match that description.”
Beth grinned. “But none as pretty as me.”
“That’s the truth.” His gaze warmed, and she caught her breath. Hart, flirting with her? It couldn’t be!
Silly! Why did she keep reacting that way? He wasn’t interested in her. He’d told her so himself. And she wasn’t about to allow herself to take a chance on love again, especially not with Hart McCormick.
Dear Reader (#ud5b238af-ef50-583c-bcab-d6cdbaee7080),
Thank you for choosing Beth and Hart’s story. I hope you enjoyed watching the youngest, and most determined, Wallin meet her match. If you missed any of the other stories in the Frontier Bachelors series, look for The Bride Ship (Allegra and Clay), Would-Be Wilderness Wife (Catherine and Drew), Frontier Engagement (James and Rina), Instant Frontier Family (Maddie and Michael), A Convenient Christmas Wedding (Simon and Nora), Mail-Order Marriage Promise (John and Dottie) and His Frontier Christmas Family (Levi and Callie). It has been my pleasure to bring their stories to you.
You can find more information on my books and sign up for a free email alert when the next book is out at my website at www.reginascott.com (http://www.reginascott.com).
Blessings!
Regina Scott
To Tina James, for making my books the best they can be across nineteen stories, and to the Lord, without whom there would be no stories.
Contents
Cover (#u94991a16-9975-51b9-b4f3-1eeda61405d8)
Back Cover Text (#uc0466ab9-07a0-5a4a-a10c-c32893f045c0)
About the Author (#uf44adf6d-5dd7-5f73-99ae-ae74683962cf)
Booklist (#ua6efbbf9-f041-5791-b3c4-063c12bbbac0)
Title Page (#uda39f5f0-8ca8-5647-8e40-1363b26cd26b)
Copyright (#u19b13d04-030b-5173-a954-63e44af2f26d)
Bible Verse (#uf5756644-8bf0-5645-9e06-aca159a13204)
Introduction (#u1668f1fa-58bf-55ae-b32e-030e53c65cc1)
Dear Reader (#u6ffa150b-d6a6-5b3c-82da-af5bcad0534f)
Dedication (#uba1f6c74-d5f8-59ca-9d5f-707b68167482)
Chapter One (#udc320537-e9af-5c72-9107-300d928232da)
Chapter Two (#u68276edd-7a7a-5ae0-b7ca-02e5df615d22)
Chapter Three (#u956ef390-d76d-511b-9c7a-e8e330993fdb)
Chapter Four (#u86b79e6c-1a8c-50cf-83ae-372c1ba1fc80)
Chapter Five (#ude1a21ae-ee92-52b7-8cf9-7dcbd3a21b29)
Chapter Six (#uddfa31c6-4704-5bbc-86b4-a297171fec0c)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ud5b238af-ef50-583c-bcab-d6cdbaee7080)
Seattle, Washington Territory
March 1875
It simply wasn’t easy to save a man’s life.
Beth Wallin blew out a breath as she stood in front of the Kellogg Brothers’ mercantile, a cold breeze tugging at her feathered hat. Hart McCormick always rode down Second Avenue between ten and noon on Tuesdays. She’d studied his movements every time she came to town, and the pattern hadn’t changed in the ten years she’d known him. Here it was nearly noon, and she hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of the lawman.
Her booted foot was tapping against the boardwalk under her pink-and-white-striped skirts. She forced it to stop. The muddy street was thronged with riders on horseback and farmers with wagons. She loved the bustle, the purposefulness. Men in warm wool coats and ladies with swaying skirts passed her for the shops on either side. She smiled and nodded in turn. After all, it wouldn’t do her reputation or Hart’s any good if the truth about their past was known.
But really, was it too much to ask that the man be punctual?
She shook her head. She shouldn’t be so annoyed with him. Hart had no idea she was waiting. He might be off chasing bandits, lying in wait for vandals, rescuing children from raging rapids. That’s what he did: safeguard the citizens of King County, standing between them and the forces of evil.
“He’s just a man,” she muttered aloud. “Opinionated, stubborn, bullheaded...”
“May I help you, Miss Wallin?”
Beth put on her sunniest smile and turned to the clerk who had come out of the store. Mr. Weinclef couldn’t help that he resembled a rat with his lank brown hair, long nose and close-set brown eyes.
“How very kind of you,” Beth told him. “But I’m simply trying to decide where to go next.”
He waved a hand back to the store, the movement tugging at the green apron looped around his neck and tied at his slender waist. “Why go anywhere else but Kelloggs’? We can meet all your shopping needs.” He leaned closer, his flowery cologne washing over her. “And I just marked down that pink crepe you’ve been eying to half price.”
“Oh!” Beth started toward the store. “Thank you! I might have just enough egg money to...” She drew herself up short of the door. “That is, I really should wait.” She bit her lip, then met his gaze. “I don’t suppose you could set aside two yards?”
He straightened, adjusting his spruce-colored neck cloth. “First come, first served. That is the Kellogg rule.”
Beth sagged. “Of course. I wouldn’t want you to break the rules. Perhaps you could just keep Mary Ann Denny from buying it all.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he murmured, glancing either way as if to make sure no one overheard his concession. “Just don’t delay too long.” He whisked back into the store.
Beth turned her gaze to the street, eyes narrowing. Hart McCormick would be in even more trouble if he cost her that material. A deep pink, it would make the perfect overskirt. She could see the creation now, the material swept back over her hips with pleated trim all along the hem and tiny white bows dotting the pleats, just like the latest fashion plates in Godey’s Lady’s Book. Pink always complemented her fair coloring and blond hair. If she could convince her sisters-in-law, Nora, Catherine, Dottie and Callie, to help her, she could finish the dress in time for Easter.
But not if she had to stand here woolgathering all day!
Another noise caught her attention, and she glanced to the right. A group of men lounged outside the Pastry Emporium on the next block. The roughly dressed fellows ought to be working at the sawmill at the foot of Mill Street, but perhaps it was their meal break. Either way, they elbowed each other and grinned at her, and she knew it was only a matter of time before one of them worked up the courage to come speak to her.
She was one of the only unmarried females over the age of eighteen within a fifty-mile radius, so that sort of thing happened a lot. Normally, she didn’t mind. Their approach allowed her to put her matchmaking skills to the test, suggesting other ladies who might better appreciate their attentions. She loved playing matchmaker, helping couples reach their wonderful happy-ever-after. Her success with her brothers had brought her to the attention of the Literary Society, an august group of women she had dreamed of joining. All were established, respected, admired for their civic contributions and taste. She’d felt nearly giddy taking tea with them, eager to volunteer for any of the worthy causes they supported—women’s suffrage, literacy, medical treatment for the poor.
Unfortunately, the opportunity they suggested she volunteer to champion was the most difficult she could have imagined, taking her back to a day nearly two years ago, a day she’d tried in vain to forget.
Beth put her back to the men now, straightened her shoulders in her gray wool cape, but still the memory intruded. She’d just turned one-and-twenty and had filed for her claim. That was what was expected of her, choosing one hundred and sixty acres that would augment the town her family was building at the northern end of Lake Union. She was proud to do it.
She was too proud.
She saw that now. A young lady on the frontier might accomplish much at such an important age—file for her own claim, pursue a career.
Select a groom.
She didn’t have to look far. She’d admired Deputy Sheriff Hart McCormick since she was fourteen and he’d ridden out to Wallin Landing the first time. Tall, handsome, worldly even at the age of four-and-twenty then, he’d been the embodiment of the heroes in the romantic adventure novels their father had left her and her brothers. He was the knight Ivanhoe, fighting to save England; the dashing John Alden petitioning the fair Priscilla Mullins to wed. She’d smiled and primped and giggled at him every time he came near. He never seemed to notice.
But when she turned one-and-twenty, she became determined to make him notice. She was certain God had a plan for her life, and it included Hart McCormick. She just needed to give God a little help in moving things along.
She’d dressed in her best gown, a vivid blue with white piping, styled her pale blond curls to spill down behind her. She’d borrowed her brother James’s famous steel dusts and driven the horses in to Seattle to tell Hart how she felt. It hadn’t been hard to locate him. Then as now, Seattle consisted of a few business streets hugging the shoreline with residences and churches on the hillside above, backed by the forest from which they’d been carved. She could scarcely breathe when he’d agreed to walk with her. They’d passed the Brown Church when she’d stopped him, gazing up into his dark eyes.
“I admire you far more than any lady should,” she’d said, voice ringing in her ears. “I don’t suppose you might feel the same.”
He’d gazed down at her a moment, and she’d thought she would slide into the mud of the street, her bones had turned so liquid. She waited for his gaze to warm, his arms to go about her, his lips to profess his undying devotion. That was what happened in her father’s novels. That was the way she’d always dreamed it would be for her.
He’d tipped his black hat to her instead. “That’s mighty kind of you to say, Miss Wallin. But I have no interest in courting you. Best you go on home now.”
She had. She’d run all the way back to the livery, startling the owner, and urged her brother’s horses Lance and Percy into a frenzy to get them back to Wallin Landing. She very much doubted she’d be willing to risk her heart again, for him or any other fellow. It seemed her role in life was to encourage others to marry. Perhaps it was easier to see from a distance how two people might become a couple. She’d certainly misjudged her own circumstances. Even now, she avoided spending time with Hart.
Yet how could she allow him to be pushed beyond his endurance? For that was what would happen if the ladies of the Literary Society thought she had failed in her commission.
Farther up the street, a movement caught her eye. A black horse, sides glossy, head high and proud, trotted toward her. The man riding him was no less impressive—carriage firm and controlled, gaze sweeping the street. She knew those eyes could be as dark and unyielding as a rifle barrel. Her heart slammed against the bodice of her dress.
She made herself step to the edge of the boardwalk and raised a hand. “Deputy McCormick! A word, if you please.”
His gaze swung her way, and the world seemed to narrow until she could see nothing but him. Shoulders broad in his worn black leather duster, the flash of metal that was the badge on his chest. Long legs in denim and black boots. Her breath was hard to find as he guided his horse across the street and reined in in front of her.
Gloved fingers brushed the brim of his black hat. “Miss Wallin. What can I do for you?”
Beth swallowed. Where was the speech she’d so carefully rehearsed? Why did one look at those chiseled features still serve to make her tremble?
She refused to be a ninny in front of him again. He wasn’t the man for her. Her experience and his determination had confirmed that.
“Hitch Arno a moment,” she directed him. “We need to talk.”
He leaned back in the saddle. “I thought you and I were done talking.”
Heat rushed up her. He had to remind her of the most ignoble moment of her nearly twenty-three years, as if she wasn’t reminded of it every time she saw him.
“This is different,” she told him, catching a stray hair the wind had freed from her bun and tucking it behind her ear. “There’s a plot afoot, and you must be wary.”
He stiffened, but then there was nothing soft about him. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t noticed before confessing her feelings. Hart was all planes and angles, his brows a slash, his lips an uncompromising line. Some in Seattle were afraid of him. She wasn’t. She wouldn’t allow it.
He slung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. Tying his horse Arno to the hitching post in front of Kelloggs’, he followed Beth around the corner onto a quiet side street.
“What’s this about a plot?”
His gravelly voice stroked her skin. Beth stood taller, even though that brought the top of her feathered hat just under his chin.
“The Literary Society has designs on you,” she informed him.
His brows shot up. “The Literary Society? Mrs. Howard, Mrs. Yesler, Mrs. Wyckoff, the Denny ladies and Mrs. Maynard?”
Beth nodded. “The most influential women in Seattle. They are determined that every upstanding citizen do his or her part to grow the territory.”
He relaxed, arms hanging loose at his sides. “As deputy sheriff, I’m available to help as needed.”
Beth licked her lips. “Not in this particular area, I fear.”
He shrugged. “If they need a lawman, they have only to ask. They didn’t need to enlist your aid to turn me up sweet.”
“As if that would work,” Beth muttered.
His eyes narrowed. “See? I told you we were done talking.”
And she hadn’t noticed how stubborn he could be, either. Beth stamped her foot. “Oh! Will you listen for once? I’m trying to save your life!”
Once more tension slid over him. “What do you mean?”
Finally! Beth met his gaze. “The ladies of the Literary Society have decided it’s time for you to wed. They’ve even compiled a list of candidates. And they’ve asked me to play matchmaker.”
* * *
Hart stared at her. For a moment, when she’d mentioned saving his life, he’d thought she’d stumbled into something dangerous. She couldn’t know how the suggestion chilled him. He’d have cheerfully walked barefoot through a raging forest fire before he saw her harmed. But marriage?
He barked a laugh. “Well, you can try, but we both know it won’t work.”
The pink was rising in her cheeks again. Better that than the pallor she’d worn the day he’d refused her overtures. He’d been shocked when she’d confessed she admired him. He’d known her since she was a girl, had thought her sweet, had nothing but respect for her older brothers and their wives. That day he’d looked closer and recoiled as if he’d run into a brick wall.
Little Beth Wallin had grown into a fine woman.
That didn’t mean she was the right woman for him. She had always been everything pure and bright, her enthusiasm as shiny as a new penny. She didn’t need his shadow covering her. He’d been curt, almost rude in refusing her. It was for the best, or so he’d told himself every time he’d seen her since.
“You don’t understand,” she said now. “If I had declined the request, they would have asked someone else.”
Perhaps they would. He knew each of the ladies. They were used to getting their own way. They had been the vision and the drive to transform the tiny frontier town into the second biggest city in the territory. There was nothing more dangerous than a woman with a vision.
“I’ll speak to Mrs. Wyckoff,” he told her. “There’s no need to look for a bride for me. I’m not marrying.”
She sighed. “That’s what my brothers said, and look at them now.”
Her five older brothers were happily married, and she’d had a hand in it.
“I’m not your brothers,” he replied. “I’m not pining for a wife.”
Her head came up. How did such a little chin look so hard? Everything about her was feminine, from the silvery-gold curls tumbling down behind her head to the curves hinted at when her cape swung about her. But Beth Wallin was another lady who wasn’t used to being told no.
“And why don’t you want a wife?” she demanded. “You have a position of authority. You’re well respected in the region. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
Despite himself, he winced. Two-and-thirty wasn’t so old, for all he sometimes felt twice that. Chasing after criminals could sap the joy from life at times.
Watching the woman you love die in your arms, knowing she’d sacrificed herself for you, did worse.
“Some men aren’t meant to wed,” he said. “Thank you for the warning, but I’ll be fine.”
She shook her head. “You really think it’s that easy? They’ll be throwing women at you. You won’t be able to turn around without stepping on one.”
He chuckled. “I’ll take my chances.”
“I give it a month. Maybe two.”
Hart turned for Second Avenue. “Good day, Miss Wallin. Give my regards to your family.”
“Oh! It would serve you right if I followed through with the agreement to match you up.”
A chill ran through him again, and he turned up his collar, even though he knew the feeling had nothing to do with the brisk March weather. “You do what you have to do. So will I. No one can make me walk down the aisle, say my vows before a preacher. Not even you, Beth.”
“I know.”
The words held such pain, such sorrow, he nearly turned back. But if he did, he’d only give in to the need to gather her close, be the man she wanted him to be, promise to protect her.
And he could only protect her if he kept his distance.
“You don’t have to encourage them,” he murmured, gaze on the busier street beyond. “Tell them you have better things to do. It’s only the truth.”
He heard her sigh, the rustle of cloth as she must have shifted on her feet. “But Hart, if I decline, the next person they ask might not have your best interests in mind.”
And she did. Whatever their differences, he knew that. Beth Wallin only ever acted from love and compassion. He had refused to accept her as his bride, but she would willingly find him another, if that pleased him.
How did anyone grow up so selfless? He’d been practicing for more than ten years, and he still failed some days.
And was he doing any better today? As much as the high-handed machinations of the Literary Society annoyed him, the ladies were right. Settling the frontier took men and women of courage and tenacity, and partnerships like marriage only made sense. You needed someone you could count on at your side, in good times and bad, a helpmate, a comforter and encourager.
Only Sheriff Wyckoff knew that Hart had already found all that, and lost it. He couldn’t go through that pain again. The best he could do was work to make sure no one else lost a love to an outlaw’s bullet.
And he could try to see this from Beth’s perspective. She’d once confessed herself in love with him—nothing more than a schoolgirl infatuation, he was sure. However much it had hurt at the moment to be denied, she’d be better off in the future with another man less burdened by his past. Yet how mortifying now to be asked to play matchmaker to the man she’d hoped to wed, and by the mighty Literary Society, no less. Every lady in Seattle wanted to join the elite group. Beth likely wasn’t immune. Besides, if any lady had a right to be admired, respected, it was her.
“Follow through as you promised,” he said. “Just know I won’t agree. It won’t matter which lady you parade in front of me. The answer will always be no.”
She scurried around him to block his way forward. That pink hat with its silk bows and white feathers was far too frivolous for the concerned look in her deep blue eyes. “Are you sure, Hart? You have a lot to offer a lady.”
“And a great deal no lady should have to bear.”
Her eyes lit, as if he’d given her the key to unlock his heart. He tugged on the brim of his hat, started around her, intent on escaping before he betrayed himself further.
“You wait, Hart McCormick,” she called after him. “I’ll find you the perfect bride, one you can’t refuse.”
He didn’t respond. He’d already had the perfect sweetheart. Her loss had left a gaping hole, sharper than a knife and deeper than a bullet. And he doubted even the pretty, sweet-natured Beth Wallin could heal it.
Chapter Two (#ud5b238af-ef50-583c-bcab-d6cdbaee7080)
Stubborn, obstinate, annoying man! Beth picked up her skirts and climbed onto the boardwalk, fully aware that Hart was standing beside Arno, watching her. Couldn’t he see he was only making matters worse for them both by fighting this edict? The Literary Society would think she had no gumption, no perseverance. And they would certainly begin to question his character. Why refuse matchmaking when it could result in a happy future? Truly, at times like this she’d had her fill of males. And was it any wonder?
Her oldest brother Drew had played father far longer than necessary after he’d taken over the family on Pa’s death. He still had trouble accepting any fellow who came courting her, claiming this one wasn’t well enough established, that one hadn’t sufficiently developed his faith. Why, he’d once warned her away from a suitor because he thought the fellow had shifty eyes! Not that she’d been heartbroken to see any of them sent packing, but still.
Then there was Simon. Even after marrying her favorite sister-in-law, Nora, her second oldest brother was far too logical. He persisted in pointing out all the reasons she would benefit from a marriage, including potentially adding another one hundred and sixty acres of land from her husband to contribute to the town. Hadn’t he noticed she scarcely had time to improve her own claim, much less work a second?
Her next two brothers were more understanding. James was always up for a lark. He’d helped her scare off two particularly persistent suitors. John completely endorsed her decision to marry only for love. But both seemed a little mystified that she hadn’t found someone she admired enough to accept. And her youngest brother, the recently married Levi, was so besotted with his dear Callie and the family he had adopted that he hadn’t even remarked upon her single state. No doubt he’d start harping on the matter shortly. Those in love always wanted everyone else to be as happy.
And she couldn’t forget about Scout. Her brother Levi’s best friend growing up, Scout Rankin had recently returned from the gold fields a wealthy man. He was as reticent as she was about romance. But even he encouraged her to find a beau.
She knew her brothers and Scout only wanted the best for her. She’d thought she’d found the best. The best hadn’t wanted her. And she couldn’t tell any of them that her heart hadn’t healed from Hart’s rejection.
For one, the whole situation was entirely too embarrassing. She was a noted matchmaker. What confidence would anyone have in her abilities if she couldn’t even catch the eye of the gentleman she fancied? For another, she couldn’t count on her brothers not to pick a fight with the lawman over his refusal. And that would make everything so much worse.
The main reason she’d accepted the Literary Society’s request to find him a match was the chance to be of service to Hart. It seemed she wasn’t the woman for him, but it didn’t follow that there wasn’t some paragon out there who would make him happy. If he was safely married to another, perhaps she could finally remove him from her thoughts. She could impress the ladies of the Literary Society at the same time.
And she did love a challenge.
So, she turned her back on him and swept into Kelloggs’.
He followed her.
Beth scowled at him. “What? Not only do you doubt my ability to find you a bride but I can’t even complete my own shopping?”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind a display of tinned goods in the crowded mercantile. “Keep the bride business to yourself.”
Oh, but those cool eyes could look fiery. “How exactly can I do that when I must talk to the various women involved?” she demanded. “Springing it on them as a surprise won’t work. Trust me on that.”
“I meant you don’t need to discuss it in front of every Tom, Dick and Harry,” he gritted out.
Beth fluttered her lashes at him. “But Deputy McCormick, I left Tom, Dickie and Harry at Wallin Landing.”
He blinked, and she held back a giggle. Not for the first time she found herself pleased that the names of her brother’s logging crew made for such interesting commentary. Still, she couldn’t help noticing how Hart glanced around the store, as if expecting a desperado to leap out from behind the salt casks or sprigged muslin.
“I won’t breathe a word to anyone unless absolutely necessary,” Beth promised him. “Now, may I go, Deputy? Or do you intend to charge me? If I stand here much longer, you’d have every right to arrest me for loitering.”
He stepped back and inclined his head. “Just doing my duty to protect the citizenry, ma’am. In case you hadn’t noticed, Seattle can be a rough place. I aim to make sure you head for home safely.”
He didn’t trust her. Her! She’d kept secrets about birthday presents, Christmas presents and wedding presents and never said a word to others. She’d listened to stories about lost horses, lost funding and lost loves and never whispered about it. She was the keeper of all family knowledge. Nora liked to say there was nothing that wasn’t wound onto Beth’s spool.
And Hart thought she’d blab to anyone who came along!
“Suit yourself,” she said, detouring around a pile of furs brought in from the winter trapping season. “But I’ve never met a man who had the stamina to match mine for shopping.”
Head high, she swept up to the counter, where Mr. Weinclef stood waiting.
With a decidedly pinched look on his narrow face.
She thought perhaps it was because of Hart looming behind her, but the clerk immediately disabused her of that notion.
“I’m sorry, Miss Wallin,” he said, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Another customer asked for all the pink crepe.”
Oh! Beth spared Hart a glare. He wisely went to look at rifle cartridges.
Beth turned to the clerk. “Are you sure? You wouldn’t have a yard or two tucked away?”
Weinclef positively squirmed. “I’m very sorry, miss.”
Beth sagged. “It’s all right. I’m sure you did your best. If any more comes in, you’ll send word?”
He bowed. “Of course.”
Beth turned, started for the door, and Hart fell into step beside her.
“You heading home now?”
She sighed. “I suppose I must.”
He held the door open for her. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you so discouraged. That pink whatever-it-was mean so much to you?”
How could she explain? She loved fabric—how it looked, how it felt, how it made her feel, the many things she could imagine creating with it. Some of the men of her acquaintance turned positively glassy-eyed when she started talking about fabric and fashion. Of course, there were those who consistently complimented her on her sense of style.
And there was Hart, who never seemed to notice what she was wearing.
“I’m just disappointed,” she told him. “I had plans for that crepe.”
He pulled up. “Wait here.”
Before she could ask why, he strode back into the store. Someone yelped, and something fell with a thud. Beth peered through the open door, but saw nothing amiss.
Hart returned to her side. “The lady who bought the fabric is named Jamison. She’s the new seamstress down on Commercial.”
The day brightened. “New seamstress?”
He started in that direction. “I figured we could ask if she’d be willing to part with it.” He led her to the corner and down the block to turn onto the busy street. As much as she wanted that crepe, she knew what he was doing. He was trying to take her mind off her purpose—finding him a bride. He ought to know she wasn’t deterred so easily.
Even by fabric.
“By the way,” she said, stepping up onto the boardwalk, “some of the candidates on the list I was given are simply unsuitable for your wife. You have too much experience to favor a dewy-eyed debutante, even if Seattle had boasted more than two of them.”
His boots thudded against the rough wood, as if he’d put excessive energy into his walk. “Too much experience or too many years?”
Was he touchy about his age? She wouldn’t have guessed him to be so vain. But then again, he had proven that he wasn’t the man she’d originally thought him.
“Either,” she answered breezily. “And I’ve ruled out the widow with seven children.”
She thought she heard a chuckle. “Kind of you.”
Beth waved her hand, causing a gentleman in a top hat to veer around them. “Most men would have to ease into the role of father. Even Drew nearly buckled when our family was thrust upon him.”
“He was only eighteen, if I recall the story.”
“Eighteen and unsure,” Beth agreed, glancing up at the placards over each storefront. Ah, there was the shop, sandwiched between the bootmaker’s and the haberdashery. “You are neither.”
She reached for the handle and pushed open the door. A bell tinkled. The scent of roses drifted over her as her foot sank into the carpet. Hart, her commission, her family faded away as she stepped inside and turned in a circle. Her gaze flew from the bolts of bright satin and rich velvet to the soft wool and crisp cambric. And the ribbons—wide and narrow, in every possible color. Spools of thread to match. Lace in white, cream, black and, oh! Pink. Dressmaker forms with half-finished gowns she would be proud to wear when completed. She nearly swooned.
A curtain at the back parted, and a tall woman glided into the room. Her raven hair was piled up behind her head to spill artfully around her shoulders. Her creamy complexion set off liberally lashed eyes of a delicate shade of violet, Beth saw as the woman approached. Every inch of her black gown was tucked and pleated, draped with lace and dotted with bows, the very height of elegance.
“Good afternoon,” she said in a cultured voice. “How may I help you?”
A dozen ideas presented themselves, but Beth set them all aside. Very likely she hadn’t enough money in her pocketbook to afford one of this lady’s creations. “I understand you purchased the last of the pink crepe from Kelloggs’, and I was hoping you’d part with some.”
The woman wandered to the nearest wall, trailed a long-fingered hand along the bolts of wool. “An inferior material to be sure, but it was perfect for a day dress I am constructing for Mrs. Yesler.”
Beth brightened. “I know Mrs. Yesler. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Tell her Beth Wallin asked.”
The proprietress turned and held out a hand. “Mrs. Wallin, Mr. Wallin, a pleasure. I’m Mrs. Evangeline Jamison.”
Too late she remembered Hart. Turning, she found him just behind her, a dark shadow among all the pink and white.
Beth turned to accept the seamstress’s hand. “It’s Miss Wallin, and this is Deputy McCormick.”
Mrs. Jamison fluttered sable lashes as she dropped her gaze. “Deputy, an honor.”
“Ma’am,” Hart said.
He gave no explanation for his presence, didn’t so much as attempt to look at material or notions. A slight frown marred the perfection of Mrs. Jamison’s countenance.
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Beth said, moving the lady’s attention back to her. “Your shop is lovely. You obviously have excellent taste.”
She inclined her head as she pulled back her hand. “As do you. I’m certain I saw that gown in Godey’s.”
Beth touched the striped fabric. “Oh, do you take Godey’s?”
“Of course. One must remain au courant with what other designers are attempting. I’m sure they study my designs depicted there.”
Beth head jerked up. “Your designs were in Godey’s?”
She thought she heard a choked sound. It might have been Hart.
It might have been her.
“Most recently the January issue.” She said it as if the tremendous honor was commonplace. “And I’m working on one now for June.”
“May I...may I see it?” Despite her best efforts, her voice came out breathless.
Mrs. Jamison’s smile was tight. “Now, why would I show my best work to the competition before it was complete?”
Beth blinked. “Competition?”
Mrs. Jamison spread her hands. “Come now, dear. Someone made that fetching gown.”
Beth glanced down at the pink skirts again. “Not me. My sister-in-law Nora sewed it for me.”
“Nora Wallin.” Mrs. Jamison cocked her head, sending curls cascading across her shoulder. “Customers have mentioned her, but I haven’t seen a shop with her name on it.”
“She takes commissions out of Kelloggs’,” Beth explained. “Or she did until you came to town. I very much doubt Nora will be a competitor. Every lady will be flocking to your door. You and Mr. Jamison must be very proud.”
The seamstress lowered her gaze. “Alas, Mr. Jamison has gone to his just reward. It’s only me and my younger brother here in Seattle, but I must say everyone has been so welcoming.” She raised her head and made sure to include Hart in her smile.
Beth glanced between the two of them. An accomplished widow of grace and beauty, a lonely lawman established in his career. What better match could she envision?
And why did everything in her rebel at the very idea?
* * *
Hart had thought his work difficult. He’d grown thirsty or hungry as he chased a culprit across the county for days. He’d been bruised and battered by men fighting to remain at large. Nothing was as painful as waiting for Beth to finish her transactions in the frilly, overly perfumed shop. And he didn’t much like the looks the proprietress was directing his way. For all her sweet smiles and fluttering fingers, he sensed calculation. He could only hope Beth didn’t suggest her as a likely bride.
Finally, she left, fabric folded under one arm. Pink, like much of her wardrobe. The fresh, youthful color suited her. Not that he paid much attention.
“What next?” he asked, pacing her as she started down Commercial.
She cast him a glance. “Tiring already?”
Hart stretched his arms over his head. “I can last as long as you can.”
She shook her head. “Perhaps you can. But I refuse to monopolize Seattle’s only deputy. Think what dire crimes are being committed even as we speak!”
Hart chuckled. “It’s Tuesday. Most of the dire crimes happen over the weekend.”
“Really?”
Those blue eyes were so trusting. She believed anything he said. While he had tried to walk the narrow path since that dark day in Ohio ten years ago, he still found her belief gratifying.
She probably hadn’t noticed that Seattle had too many troublemakers these days. Some of the men coming to work in the coal mines across the lake were harder types than the original pioneers. The steamship route from San Francisco that had started this week added dozens more strangers to the city. Worse, there had been reports of newcomers being enticed from the docks so a gang of ruffians could relieve them of any valuables. Mortified, the immigrants hadn’t been willing to come to the sheriff for help, according to the locals who had found the victims. So far, he hadn’t been able to convince the immigrants to talk, and he hadn’t located the criminals, but he wasn’t about to stop trying.
Seattle had one duly appointed constable, but he mostly served as a watchman, raising the hue and cry when something happened. If criminals were to be stopped, it was up to Hart, Sheriff Wyckoff, and any other man he might deputize. Which meant Beth was right, and he had work to do.
Something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face, for she sighed. “I’m finished for today, Hart. You can see me back to the livery.”
She sounded so defeated he moved closer. “Didn’t you get what you wanted?”
“Oh, yes.” Her grin reappeared, forming a dimple at the side of her mouth. “At least, purchase-wise. But don’t think you can get rid of me so easily. I’ll come back to town and meet with you tomorrow. I’ll have better candidates in mind then.”
Not if he could help it.
As soon as he saw Beth on the road north toward Wallin Landing, driving a wagon with her brother’s famous steel dusts in the traces, Hart went straight to his superior’s home on the outskirts of Seattle to speak to Mrs. Wyckoff.
Ursula Wyckoff was a pillar of the town. A handsome woman in her late forties, she worked on most civic and church committees, donated flowers for every funeral and supported any number of charitable causes. Her stern demeanor reminded Hart of the woman who had run the orphanage where he’d been raised. Still, Mrs. Wyckoff invited him in and offered him a glass of lemonade, which he declined, before sitting across from him in the parlor.
“Is something wrong, Mr. McCormick?” she asked, blue eyes bright.
Had she noticed the way he shifted on the horsehair-covered sofa? The Wyckoffs had one of the finer homes in Seattle, the walls covered with floral paper, the wood floors by thick carpets. The furnishings were dark and heavy, while crystal draped the lamps. He always felt like an interloper.
Now he balanced his hat on his knee. “Not wrong, ma’am, just of concern. I understand you and the other ladies of the Literary Society persuaded Miss Wallin to find me a bride.”
She didn’t look the least embarrassed to be caught in her machinations. “Ah. I had hoped Miss Wallin would be more circumspect.”
Hart raised a brow. “So you wanted her to lie, too?”
She waved a hand, the sleeve of her gown dripping lace. “You make it sound so sordid. We were only trying to help.”
“I don’t need help,” Hart told her. “I’m perfectly capable of finding myself a wife if I wanted one. And I don’t.”
She leaned forward, frown gathering. “And why not?”
Her husband knew the full story of his past, his upbringing in the crowded orphanage, his short time as an outlaw, the deadly consequences of his decision to testify against the gang. Would Wyckoff be strong enough to deny this woman if she asked him about it? Would the story have any chance of remaining hidden if the sheriff or Hart told her?
Would he escape this room without giving her something?
He squared his shoulders. “I was in love once. She died. I don’t much care to try again.”
Mrs. Wyckoff made a commiserating noise. Then she rose and went to the sideboard. “I don’t believe you met my daughter, Ursula.” She returned to hand him a daguerreotype. “I thought my first husband silly for insisting that we name her after me and even sillier for going to the expense of having this made.”
Hart gazed down at the little girl with a riot of pale curls and a grin that likely tugged at her father’s heart. “Is that why you call her Miss Eugenie now?”
Mrs. Wyckoff retrieved the image. “This isn’t Eugenie, Mr. McCormick. It’s her older sister. My Ursula died when she was seven. She wandered too close to the hearth, and her dress caught on fire.”
His stomach clenched. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
She stroked the picture as if she would have liked to stroke her daughter’s curls. “So am I. I still miss her.” She dropped her hand. “But my point is this: Where would Eugenie and my son John be now if I had been afraid to try again? Where would any of them be if I had refused to marry after my first husband died?”
He sat straighter. “It’s different for a woman. You don’t have much choice but to wed.”
She set down the picture. “I had choices, Mr. McCormick. I could have kept all my suitors dangling and raised my children in peace. I chose to marry and continue with life. So must you.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Hart said with a shake of his head, “but there’s no must about it. Besides, my job keeps me too busy to take a wife.”
She nodded. “I’ll speak to Lewis about changing your schedule.”
That was not what he’d had in mind. He enjoyed his work, knew he made a difference. “I live in a small cabin on the Howards’ land. It doesn’t have room for another.”
“I’m certain your wife wouldn’t mind staying in a hotel while you build her a house. Or perhaps Clay Howard can be persuaded to sell you one of his properties in town.”
He wasn’t about to ask the successful businessman for another favor besides allowing Hart to live in the cabin. “Mrs. Wyckoff, I won’t go along with this.”
She eyed him. “Is it Beth Wallin?”
She could not have guessed his feelings. He kept his face impassive from long practice. “No.”
She sighed. “I thought she might be too young to join the Literary Society and accept this assignment, but Mrs. Howard assured us she was a woman of character despite her years and had had much success with her own family. Perhaps I should take on the task instead. After all, you would have a difficult time refusing your superior’s wife.”
He would indeed. Except for a short stint last year when Henry Adkins had been elected, Lewis Wyckoff had been sheriff since Hart had arrived in 1865. He’d listened to Hart’s story, his dreams, and taken a chance that a onetime outlaw would make a good deputy. Hart had never given him reason to regret his decision. He wasn’t about to start now.
“Why are you doing this, Mrs. Wyckoff?” he asked. “You and your husband have been nothing but kindness. Why force me to wed?”
For the first time, her face softened. “Oh, Hart. I’m not trying to harm you. Seattle needs men like you—strong, certain, forthright. But keeping everyone at arm’s length is no way to live. If Miss Wallin cannot find you a woman you’d be proud to call wife, I’ll simply have to delay her entrance into the Society and undertake the commission myself.”
He couldn’t do that to Beth. Hart rose and slipped on his hat. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Wyckoff. The Literary Society would be fortunate to have Beth Wallin as a member. I promise you, if there’s any woman on this earth who could make me consider matrimony, it’s her.”
Chapter Three (#ud5b238af-ef50-583c-bcab-d6cdbaee7080)
As Beth went about her chores that afternoon and the next morning, she gave considerable thought as to who might be the right match for Hart. She didn’t believe his protests. Her brothers had all reacted that way to courting, only to fall in love when they found the right brides. Hart might bluster all he liked, but the ladies of the Literary Society were right—he’d make some woman a fine husband.
She decided as she cleaned out the main cabin, which served as a rooming house for her brother’s logging crew, that he needed a woman of substance, maturity. As she helped John’s wife, Dottie, bring in the wash hanging on the line before a squall came in, she determined that an impoverished lady might touch on his sense of chivalry and convince him to help. And she kept her promise. She said nothing to any of her family about her plan.
She had a few women in mind when she went to fetch the mail on Wednesday. Wallin Landing had its own post office, sanctioned by the Postmaster General of the United States, no less, but someone had to carry the letters and parcels from Seattle to her brother James’s store and back. When she stopped at the mercantile on Front Street, however, Seattle’s postmaster was apologetic.
“A big storm ran down the Strait,” Mr. Pumphrey told her, rubbing at the counter with his thick fingers. “I heard it even toppled houses in Victoria. All ships have been delayed, alas.”
“We’ll send someone back later in the week,” Beth promised. “Have you seen Deputy McCormick today?”
“He rode past not a quarter hour ago, heading toward the docks.” He leaned across the counter, heavy features lifting. “If you see him, will you tell him his books arrived?”
Beth glanced to the far wall, where leather spines promised adventure and romance. Mr. Pumphrey had stocked the largest collection of books and magazines of any mercantile in Seattle. Her brother John usually had to be dragged from the store before he spent all his money.
“What did he order?” she asked.
His smile brightened his green eyes. “Dime novels—cowboys, train robberies, kidnapped maidens. Perhaps he learns something about being a deputy by reading them.”
She promised to let Hart know. Leaving her brother’s horses tied in front of the store, she started for the docks. Dime novels. Who would have thought? They were thrilling, sensationalist, romantic. A shame he hadn’t learned more from them than the importance of enforcing the law.
The docks were busy as she approached. When she was a girl, Seattle had boasted only one wharf. Now six others stretched across the shores of Elliott Bay. Three ships had made it to port before the big storm. Sailors and teamsters were still working to unload the cargo. The steamer from San Francisco had also docked, longboats heading out to ferry the passengers and luggage ashore.
Even in all the movement, she easily spotted Hart’s black hat, his tall figure. Because it was useless to call over the whine and whir of the nearby sawmill, she stepped out onto the dock. Her rosy skirts were a sharp contrast to the weathered wood, the clumps of lichen and moss, the dark clouds hanging heavy. But it wasn’t the threat of rain that made work screech to a halt as she passed. Men lowered their end of boxes to tip their caps. Others offered smiles and nods. One enterprising fellow with dark hair darted in front of her.
“Can I help you, miss?”
A blond elbowed him aside, one thumb hooked in the suspenders that covered his flannel shirt. “I’m the man for the job, miss. Anything you need.”
His colleague shoved him. “Back off, you lout. I saw her first.”
The other man raised a fist.
“Gents.” Both the men froze at Hart’s raspy drawl as the lawman moved up behind them. “I believe the lady is looking for me.”
“Yes, please,” Beth said with a smile to the would-be brawlers. “But thank you for your eagerness to help.”
The first swept her a bow. “Anything for you, milady.”
His colleague pushed on his shoulders, nearly oversetting him, then ran off with a laugh, the first in hot pursuit.
“They’re so cute at that age,” Beth said.
Hart shook his head. “You’re not much older.”
“But so much wiser.” She linked her arm with his. “So, tell me. When shall we meet to discuss the next steps in finding you a match?”
He glanced around, likely concerned the men might overhear as work resumed. “Not here.” He tugged on her arm, and she allowed him to lead her back up to the shore and pointed him toward Pumphrey and Company, where Lance and Percy waited in their traces.
“Mr. Pumphrey wanted you to know the new dime novels are in,” she told Hart. “I understand you’re fond of them.”
He cast her a glance. “Against the advice of the Literary Society, no doubt. Probably not up to their standards.”
Beth raised her chin. “I would never disparage another person’s taste in literature. Besides, I’ve always enjoyed them. Have you read The Adventures of Black Bess?”
His smile brightened, and something inside her wanted to dance in its light. “Now, there’s a lady. Nothing stopped her—kidnapping, tornado, bandits.”
Beth grinned. “Of course you remember the bandits.”
He shrugged. “Part of the job.”
“I’d have thought you’d want something different from the job to read,” she said as they approached the team.
“I started reading them before I was a lawman.”
“And they made you dream of becoming one,” Beth guessed.
He seemed to be studying the horses. Over the years, many men had responded that way to her brother’s horses. They were steel dusts, the first in the area, their shorter necks and powerful hindquarters making them uniquely suited to run far and fast.
About as far and as fast as Hart likely wanted to run from her idea of matching him up.
“Would you be willing to meet me at the Pastry Emporium at two?” she asked. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
His eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “All right. Until then, stay away from the docks. There are some rough sorts down there.”
The two workers hadn’t seemed all that rough to her. “You forget. I have five brothers.”
“Your brothers are gentlemen. Some of those workers aren’t.”
She really shouldn’t take his statements as anything more than his duty as a lawman. “Very well. I’ll be careful.”
His gaze moved to the wharves, as if he saw a gang of marauding pirates rather than busy longshoremen. “Good. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
Beth stared at him.
“I’d hate to have to explain to your brothers,” he added.
Well! She was about to tell him exactly what she thought of the idea when she noticed a light in his eyes. Was that a twinkle in the gray?
Beth tossed her head. “Oh, they’ll take your side. You know they will. They always say I have more enthusiasm than sense.”
He shrugged. “I know a few women who match that description.”
Beth grinned. “But none as pretty as me.”
“That’s the truth.” His gaze warmed, and she caught her breath. Hart McCormick, flirting with her? It couldn’t be!
Fingers fumbling, she untied the horses and hurried for the bench. “I should go. Lots to do before two. See you at the Emporium.”
He followed her around. Before she knew what he was about, he’d placed his hands on her waist. For one moment, she stood in his embrace. Her stomach fluttered. She traced the lines around his mouth with her eyes, tried not to think about how those lips might feel against her own.
He lifted her easily onto the bench and stepped back, face impassive as if he hadn’t been affected in the slightest. “Until two, Miss Wallin.”
Her heart didn’t slow until she’d rounded the corner.
Silly! Why did she keep reacting that way? He wasn’t interested in her. He’d told her so himself. She was not about to offer him her heart. There was no reason to behave like a giddy schoolgirl on her first infatuation.
Even if he had been her schoolgirl infatuation.
She was a woman now, with opportunities, plans, dreams for a future. If those dreams sometimes seemed nebulous, it was only because she hadn’t firmed them up yet. She needed time, more information. She’d figure it out eventually. And she wasn’t about to allow herself to take a chance on love again, especially not with Hart McCormick.
For now, the important thing was to find the perfect woman for him, and she knew just where to look. She drove the wagon up Mill Street for the houses that lined the ridge.
Mrs. Dunbar was happy to entertain her, until Beth eased into her reason for visiting. The tall blonde widow leaned back in her leather-upholstered chair with upraised brow at the idea of working with a matchmaker. When Beth confessed she’d come about Hart McCormick specifically, the woman held up a hand.
“Oh, not him. I appreciate you thinking of me, Miss Wallin, but I have no interest in having Deputy McCormick court me.”
Beth couldn’t help frowning. “May I ask why? He seems to me to be everything a gentleman should be.”
The pretty widow went so far as to shudder. “You were raised in the wilderness, I hear. Some ladies have more exacting standards. Deputy McCormick is far too gruff, far too uncompromising. And those eyes.” She shuddered again. “I’d not like to see those looking at me across the dining table every day.”
Beth stood, shaking out her skirts. “I understand. You’d prefer a gentleman you can bend to your will, preferably with pale eyes and a wan constitution. If I find one in Seattle, I’ll be sure to send him your way. I’ll just see myself out.”
She was still steaming as she climbed up onto the bench. Uncompromising, Mrs. Dunbar had said. Who wanted a man who compromised his values? What was wrong with having a strong moral compass? And to judge a fellow by the color of his eyes? Mrs. Dunbar was no better than Drew, coming up with reasons to refuse a man without having any idea of his character! Hart could do better.
Unfortunately, the next two ladies she visited were equally uninterested. One thought him too opinionated, the other too quiet. He certainly held strong opinions, but she generally agreed with them, except for a certain decision on whether to wed. And he wasn’t garrulous. When he spoke, he spoke with substance, imparting information, concern. Why did they see those traits as weaknesses rather than strengths?
The final lady agreed to come with her to meet Hart, but so timidly that Beth could only wonder. Perhaps he wasn’t showing himself to best effect. If these women had encountered him in the middle of some investigation, Beth could see why they might find him uncompromising. He would have been focused on doing his job. Perhaps they needed to see another side of him, a man who could show to advantage in society.
Not that she’d ever seen that side of him, come to think of it. But it had to be there. She merely had to bring it out.
As in the tale of the ugly duckling she’d read as a child, she was certain Hart McCormick had a swan inside. He just didn’t know it yet. But, with her at his side, Seattle would soon see what a fine man held the position of deputy sheriff. And then the ladies would come running.
* * *
Hart dragged his feet going to the Pastry Emporium that afternoon. He told himself he had work to do. That was why he’d been out on the docks, after all. Weinclef at Kelloggs’ had confessed to finding another newcomer beaten in the alley beside the store. Hart wasn’t about to let the gang claim another victim. Whoever recruited the poor fellows must have a pleasing disguise, because the immigrants went willingly and didn’t want to implicate their benefactor in their troubles.
So, after seeing Beth off, he returned to the top of the docks, watching as the passengers from the San Francisco run climbed up onto the planks. The first pair were grizzled sourdoughs, looking for better pickings, it seemed. Likely they’d be too savvy to run afoul of Seattle’s newest gang. Next up the ladder from the longboat was a dapper gentleman with a lady and two lads in tow. They were probably safe as well. Single fellows were easier to peel away.
The next fellow was the perfect candidate. Tailored coat and plaid trousers, big grin on his face, as if even the frontier town delighted him. Carpetbag in hand, he strutted up the pier.
A lad materialized from behind a crate, startling the fellow. Hart frowned as the pair exchanged words. Then the youth fell into step beside the newcomer, as if guiding him along the dock.
Hart met them at the top of the wharf, feet planted and stance wide. The youth blanched. He could have been as old as fourteen, though his slender build and short stature made it equally likely he was younger. He quickly tugged down on his tweed cap and lowered his gaze, but not before Hart made out thick black hair.
“Afternoon,” Hart drawled. “I’m Deputy McCormick. Where might you be going?”
The man beamed at him. “My new friend here was about to show me a suitable place for a gentleman to lodge in your fair city.”
“Wasn’t that neighborly of him?” Hart eyed the youth. “Where are you headed, son?”
He bolted.
While the newcomer called out in protest, Hart gave chase. The adolescent darted among the wagons waiting to be loaded. Horses shifted, wagons swayed, drivers shouted a complaint. Nothing stopped the youth. Nothing stopped Hart either.
His quarry wove in and out among the traffic on Commercial Street, then paused before a shop. Was he daring Hart to follow him? Hart didn’t look at the name of the proprietor before diving after him.
Three women cried out, and he managed to stop himself before plowing into them. He recognized the two Denny ladies. He couldn’t mistake the woman with them.
Mrs. Jamison drew herself up. “Really, Deputy! What is the meaning of this?”
Hart nodded to her, gaze sweeping the shop. It ought to have been easy to spot a lad among all the fripperies, yet everything looked much as it had yesterday. “Forgive the interruption, Mrs. Jamison. I followed a possible felon into this shop. Did you see where he went?”
The Denny ladies clutched their chests as if fearing for their lives.
Mrs. Jamison narrowed her eyes. “Felon? What nonsense. The only person of the male persuasion to come through those doors in the last hour was my brother.”
Mrs. Arthur Denny, wife of the railroad president, collected herself and stepped forward, blue skirts swinging. “There must be some mistake, Deputy. Mrs. Jamison and her brother are new to our shores.”
“And she is a terribly talented seamstress,” her sister, who had married the wealthy land developer David Denny, brother of Arthur, added. “She and her brother are a credit to our town.”
Hart nodded. “Good to know. I’d like to meet the fellow.”
The Denny ladies looked to their hostess. Mrs. Jamison’s bow of a mouth was pressed tight together. Then it widened to a smile. “Why, certainly, Deputy. I’ll just fetch him for you.” She passed through the curtain at the back of the shop.
The two dark-haired sisters busied themselves with the sketches they must have been perusing before he’d burst in on them. He could imagine Beth poring over the things as avidly.
He cleared his throat even though he hadn’t spoken his thoughts aloud. Both of the ladies were members of the Literary Society. No sense giving them more ideas.
Mrs. Jamison floated back in with a young man at her side. He wore no coat over his cambric shirt and wool trousers, and his black hair was parted to fall neatly on either side of his face. He acted more diffident, but Hart was certain the lad was the same one he’d chased from the wharf.
Mrs. Jamison’s long-fingered hand rested on her brother’s shoulder. “Bobby, this is Deputy McCormick. He wanted to meet you. Deputy, this is my brother, Robert Donovan.”
Hart inclined his head. The adolescent gazed back, mute.
“Donovan,” he acknowledged. “I’m glad to meet you. Tell me what you were doing down by the dock.”
Mrs. Jamison’s fingers must have tightened on his shoulder, for the cambric stretched under her hand. “You must be mistaken, Deputy. My brother knows better than to visit such a dangerous place.”
Still the lad said nothing. Hart cocked his head. “We know otherwise, don’t we?”
Donovan swallowed.
His sister’s hand slipped around his shoulders. “Oh, Bobby, you didn’t. I told you it was no good meeting the ship. None of your friends are coming north. And we don’t have the money to send you back to San Francisco.”
Donovan hung his head.
Mrs. Jamison met Hart’s gaze, tears shimmering in her violet eyes. “I’m sorry, Deputy. Bobby didn’t want to come north, but there was nothing for us in San Francisco after my husband died. Please forgive him if he caused any trouble. He just wanted to find a friend.”
As if fighting tears himself, Donovan gave a brave sniff.
Hart straightened. “No harm done. But do as your sister says, lad, and stay away from the docks. If you want to make friends, you’d do better to attend school.”
Mrs. Jamison beamed at her brother. “Of course. We’ll be enrolling him at the North School at the start of next term.” She turned her look on Hart. “Thank you, Deputy, for your kind concern. May I send something home to your sweetheart to show my appreciation? Perhaps a length of ribbon?”
“Mr. McCormick doesn’t have a sweetheart,” the elder Mrs. Denny put in with a sly look to Hart.
“Though many of his dear friends would like to see that remedied,” her sister added with a giggle.
Mrs. Jamison turned the same shade of pink as her wallpaper. “Then you must send her to see me when you propose. I specialize in wedding dresses.”
Hart tipped his hat. “Very kind of you, ma’am, but I’m afraid that time might be a long while coming.”
The seamstress fluttered her dark lashes. “Perhaps not as long as you fear. A lawman like you would make a devoted husband and father. See how well you did with Bobby?”
The boy glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “I hope you’ll come by often, Deputy.”
His sister’s smile tightened. “Now, now, Bobby. Deputy McCormick must be very busy. We’ll be fine. Haven’t I always taken care of you?”
Her brother didn’t answer, dropping his gaze and shuffling his feet.
He didn’t fool Hart. There was something going on with Bobby Donovan and his lovely older sister. Hart made up his mind to keep an eye on them both. Right after he made sure Beth hadn’t settled on a bride.
Chapter Four (#ud5b238af-ef50-583c-bcab-d6cdbaee7080)
“Are you certain this is advisable, Miss Wallin?”
Beth smiled encouragement to the woman sitting beside her in the Pastry Emporium. Honoria Jenkins was a gentle lady who had been hired to teach at the newly opened North School, starting after Easter. Her light brown hair, cornflower-blue eyes and rosy cheeks made her resemble one of the glass-eyed dolls on display at Kelloggs’.
“We are in a public place,” Beth assured her, waving at the neat little wrought-iron tables and glass display case the bakery boasted. “And I’m here as a chaperone.”
Miss Jenkins adjusted the brown velvet hat on her sleek hair. “But won’t Deputy McCormick suspect this is more than a casual meeting?”
Beth certainly hoped so. “As I mentioned, Mr. McCormick is seeking a wife. I’m merely facilitating introductions as his good friend.”
The schoolteacher eyed the door as if expecting Father Christmas to arrive with a bag of presents. “He sounds like quite a catch.”
“Oh, he is.” Beth picked up the cup of chamomile she had ordered. “Upstanding, loyal, a hard worker. He’s the law in this area.”
Miss Jenkins sighed. “How heroic.” She turned her blue gaze back to Beth. “Why aren’t you pursuing him yourself?”
Beth’s face heated. She set down her cup and selected one of the lemon drop cookies, her personal favorite, then took a bite and swallowed before answering.
“He’s like a brother to me.”
The lemon drop was like dust in Beth’s mouth. Maddie Haggerty, longtime friend and owner of the Pastry Emporium, must have had an off day. Beth took another sip of the tea to wash things down. It didn’t help.
Suddenly the couple sitting closest to the window gasped, and others began rising. Beth caught a glimpse of a dark-coated rider and a black horse pelting past, heard the shouts accompanying them. Her heart started beating faster.
Miss Jenkins pressed a hand to the ruffles at her throat. “What is it?”
“Deputy McCormick, I believe,” Beth answered, rising. “Come on.”
She hurried to the window, where the other patrons had collected, voices buzzing as they vied for the best position to watch. Beth squeezed in and pulled Miss Jenkins with her. Down the block, Hart and Arno veered against a team of horses thundering along, reins flapping. As she watched, he leaned over in the saddle, caught the reins, and pulled both Arno and the team to a halt. The elderly driver trembled while his wife buried her face in his shoulder.
“Runaway team,” someone said. “Good thing McCormick was on duty.”
“As usual,” Beth said, drawing a breath.
Miss Jenkins pulled her gaze from the street to stare at Beth as the others returned to their seats. “How can you be so calm? Someone might have been killed.”
“Possibly,” Beth allowed, taking her arm to lead her back to their table. “But you see how he rescued them. Mr. McCormick is a gentleman who can be counted upon.”
Miss Jenkins looked thoughtful.
They had no sooner settled themselves than the door opened to the ring of the shop bell. Hart stepped inside, leather duster settling against his black boots. His hard gaze bypassed the display counter with its dozens of frosted and spiced treats, and narrowed in instead on the patrons gathered at the tables. Some of the other patrons applauded. He gave them a nod.
Beth rose as he approached.
He removed his hat, the sunlight from the window gilding his short-cropped black hair. “Miss Wallin.” His look moved to her companion.
As if she was guilty of some crime, Miss Jenkins paled, and she pushed the cookies away from her.
“Good afternoon, Deputy,” Beth said determinedly. “May I introduce a new acquaintance of mine, Honoria Jenkins. Miss Jenkins, this is Deputy Hart McCormick.”
Hart inclined his head. “Ma’am.”
She dropped her gaze. “Deputy. Won’t you join us?”
With a look to Beth that held any number of misgivings, he drew up a chair.
“Cookie?” Miss Jenkins asked, offering the plate. “They’re quite good.”
“No, thanks,” he said. “Never was too partial to lemon.”
She set down the plate, wrinkling her nose. “Too tart. I quite agree.”
Odd. She’d consumed four of the things before Hart had arrived and even agreed with Beth they were one of Maddie’s best.
“That was very brave of you just now,” the schoolteacher continued, folding her gloved hands demurely on the table. “Miss Wallin told me you’re quite the hero, but now I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes.”
His gaze swung Beth’s way, and she had to stop herself from squirming. She raised her chin instead. “Everyone here saw what you did. We all know you stand between the citizens of the county and every sort of danger.”
He snorted, leaning back in his chair as if to distance himself from the very notion. “Folks in King County are pretty good about spotting danger and protecting themselves. I’m just here for when things get out of hand.”
Miss Jenkins leaned closer to him. “And do they get out of hand often?” she asked.
Hart frowned as if he could not understand her breathless interest.
“Miss Jenkins is new to our shores,” Beth explained. “I’m sure she’d appreciate your assessment of the area.”
Hart shrugged. “Things are fairly safe. Only had one cougar attack in the last month, and Sheriff Wyckoff and his dogs chased it off. Natives left on this side of the Sound are friendly for the most part. Last time anyone was murdered was a few months ago—family out Columbia way—shot in their beds. We strung up the killers.”
Miss Jenkins was turning whiter with each word.
“But everything in Seattle is fine,” Beth rushed to assure her. “Kind people, industrious...”
“Few drunken brawls on the weekend, petty theft in the mercantiles...”
“Four churches now,” Beth continued, raising her voice.
“A gang along the waterfront, beating and robbing newcomers.”
Beth gave up and glared at him. “A vicious gang, in Seattle?”
“Never underestimate man’s ability to prey on man, Miss Wallin,” he insisted, with a nod to Miss Jenkins. “Or woman.”
She rose in a flutter of brown, like a sparrow startled from its nest. “Thank you for inviting me to tea, Miss Wallin. I fear I must be going. I’ll be starting work shortly, and I won’t have time for more of these...social events. Deputy.”
Hart had risen when she did, but she scooted out the door before he could bid her farewell. With a frown, he settled himself back onto his chair. “Curious woman. Doesn’t say much.”
“Because you wouldn’t let her get a word in,” Beth accused. “What were you thinking, filling her head with dangers and drama? I’ll be surprised if she sets one foot outside her door the next two days.”
Hart reached for a cookie. “If she’s that timid, she shouldn’t have come to Seattle.”
Beth stared at him as he popped the morsel whole into his mouth. “I thought you didn’t like lemon drops.”
“They’re tolerable,” he allowed, reaching for another.
Heat flushed through her and not from embarrassment this time. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did what?” His face and voice were bland, but he didn’t fool her.
“You went out of your way to be unpleasant to Miss Jenkins. Surely you guessed I was trying to match you up with her.”
“Couldn’t think of any other reason she’d be here.”
Beth threw up her hands. “You didn’t even try to see if she was suitable.”
“We won’t suit.” He’d finished the last of the cookies and pushed the plate away. “No man wants a wife who can’t stomach to hear about his work.”
There was that. Beth sighed. “Very well. I suppose she might be too timid for a fellow like you.”
He nodded, leaning back in his chair as if satisfied. Something inside her itched to remove that smug smile.
“I should have thought to ask,” she said sweetly. “What do you prefer in your bride?”
His smile snuffed out. “I’m not looking for a bride.”
Stubborn! Like most of his kind. Beth smiled at him. “You’re quite right. I’m seeking you a bride.” She leaned forward. “You don’t have all that many choices, you know. There are still far more men than women here. And the other ladies I’ve approached have been reticent.”
He nodded. “Good. I always knew the ladies of Seattle were a smart lot.”
“But that doesn’t mean there aren’t ladies who would be willing to have you court them,” Beth insisted. “I’ll try to take your ideas into consideration, if you’d care to share.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, setting his badge to winking in the light. “Never gave it much thought.”
“Really? I know women who have the gown all picked out and are just waiting for the fellow to go on their arm.” When he frowned, she pushed on. “Let’s start with physique. Slender or ample?”
Was that a touch of color working its way into his firm cheeks? “I am not having this conversation with you.”
She smothered a laugh, keeping her tone pleasant. “Whyever not? It’s in your best interest. I certainly don’t want to waste my time on women you wouldn’t look at twice.”
“This whole thing is a waste of time,” he grumbled, shifting in his seat.
“Blonde, brunette, raven-haired, redhead?” Beth persisted.
He glanced toward the curtain covering the opening to the bakery kitchen, where the redheaded Maddie Haggerty was likely hard at work. “There’s something to be said for red hair.”
She’d wondered from time to time whether Hart had had a soft spot for the spunky Irish baker before Maddie had married her dashing husband, Michael. She must have been sitting too long, for the little chair seemed suddenly hard.
“Not too easy to find them,” she said. “What else?”
She heard his sigh. “Can’t you leave well enough alone?”
She almost gave up. His shoulders were tight, his hands braced on the table as if he wanted nothing more than to escape. She reached out, laid her hand atop one of his.
“I’m only trying to help, Hart.”
He blew out a breath. “I know. Being a matchmaker is a fine calling, for men who want a wife.”
Once more Beth smiled encouragement. “But not any wife. What’s the perfect woman for you?”
He straightened. “You want to hear what kind of woman I’d accept as a wife? Tall enough to fit under my chin, sunny hair, warm disposition, backbone to argue her side of the matter, grace to give in when she sees it’s important to me. Someone who understands what I do and respects me for it. You find me a woman like that, and I may have to rethink my decision not to wed.” He pushed back from the table and headed for the door.
Beth watched him go, too surprised to move. She’d thought it might be difficult finding him someone who met his criteria, but she knew a woman who embodied all those traits.
Her.
* * *
Hart strode down the boardwalk, the sound of his boots beating in time with his pulse. Why’d he give her a target to shoot at? Her brothers bragged that Beth was a crack shot. Once she set her sights on a lady, Hart was as good as married, even with so few women in the area.
“Hart! Deputy McCormick!”
Her breathless call pulled him up short. She hurried down the boardwalk after him, one hand clamping her dainty little hat to her head. The gray net veil fluttered behind her as if trying to escape. He knew the feeling.
“I said my piece,” he told her, widening his stance. What, was he planning to draw on her? Why did he feel as if he’d been backed into a corner by an outlaw gang bent on destruction?
“And I appreciate your candor,” she assured him as she came abreast. “But we haven’t determined our next steps.”
He started down the street for the sheriff’s office, where he’d left Arno with a feed sack. “You tried. No lady will have me. That’s the end of it.”
Her skirts flapped as she lengthened her stride to keep up with him. “I didn’t say no lady would have you, only the ones I’ve approached so far. I would never give up so easily. We have merely encountered a challenge.” She shot him a grin. “And I love challenges.”
Truth be told, he liked a challenge as well. But this was something more. “You said it yourself—there are only so many unmarried women in these parts. What can you do about a lack of ladies? The women Mercer brought back were all married within a year.”
“Except Lizzie Ordway,” she reminded him. “She chose to devote herself to teaching.”
“Wise woman.” He offered her his arm as they came to the end of the boardwalk, but she used both hands to gather her skirts out of the mud instead.
“I agree.”
She said it so firmly. Why did he doubt she believed it?
“If you and the Literary Society are so determined that every gentleman take a wife, why would you allow some ladies to avoid taking a husband?”
There was a prim set to her mouth. “Some people of either gender lack the spirit of compromise and congeniality necessary for a good marriage.”
“And what makes you think I’m not one of them?”
“Because I know you.”
So she thought, but Hart had gone out of his way to keep his past quiet, his present private. It was best not to make too many friends you’d only end up having to investigate one day.
“If you know me so well, you ought to understand this isn’t going to work,” he told her.
“Nonsense. I must insist that any number of fine, upstanding women might meet your criteria and win your heart, but for one thing.”
From what he’d seen, there were few enough women who could truly appreciate the life of a lawman on the frontier. But he found himself curious as to what might stop them from agreeing to his suit.
“What’s that?” he asked as they rounded the corner.
She met his gaze. “You.”
Hart jerked to a stop, then recovered himself. “Well, I could have told you that. And I’m not changing.”
“Not in character,” she assured him as he set out once more. “Although you might work on some traits. Patience, openness to new ideas...”
His glare only made her giggle. The happy sound could not fail but make him chuckle too.
“Very well,” she acknowledged as they neared the sheriff’s office. “You don’t want to change. Personally, I’m not sure why you would need to do much. I would have thought any lady could see from your exploits reported in the papers that you have high morals, an outstanding work ethic and a chivalrous nature.”
He wasn’t sure whether to thank her or laugh. What a paragon she thought him. He settled for a humph as they reached Arno. The gelding bobbed his head as if agreeing with everything Beth had said.
Traitor.
“If I’d make the perfect husband,” Hart said, “why is it a challenge to find me a wife?”
He’d hoped to prick her bubble of optimism, but she merely raised her chin, the breeze tugging at her platinum curls. “A woman wants more in a husband. She seeks a gentleman, a fellow who appreciates music, the arts.”
He raised a brow, and Arno snorted as if doubting Hart could ever measure up. “In Seattle?” Hart asked.
“Anywhere,” she insisted. “And I cannot believe you insensible to such refinement of spirit. You read literature.”
“Dime novels,” he reminded her. “Adventures, mysteries.”
“And what are the great novels of the past if not adventures. Dickens, Scott, Fenimore Cooper.”
He hadn’t read anything by those authors, but he’d have to ask Mr. Pumphrey about them. Or perhaps her brother John. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d borrowed books from the scholarly logger.
“No,” Beth continued, “we merely need to prove to the ladies that you are Seattle’s most eligible bachelor.”
A weight fell across his shoulders. It was not unlike the feeling that came over him before he moved in to apprehend a felon, as if he was about to meet his destiny. “What do you mean, Beth?”
She gazed up at him, eyes shining with a light that sent a chill through him. “I intend to show you to best advantage—grooming, clothing, domicile, social prominence.”
Hart’s stomach sank. “Now, wait a minute...”
She gave Arno a pat and stepped back. “No time to waste. I can see this will require all my time, all my energy. I’ll have to move into town for a while.”
“Town.” The whole idea seemed to be spinning out of control. “Your brothers won’t like that.”
She waved a hand as she was so fond of doing, as if the movement wiped away all his arguments. “They’ll survive. They have their wives to assist them now in any event. And I don’t expect it will take more than a month or two.”
Two months of this? He’d never survive.
“You can’t put up in a hotel,” he protested. He certainly couldn’t protect her there. “Too many men.”
“I’ll speak to Allegra Howard. I’m sure she’d let me stay with her and Clay.”
Very likely she would. The Howards and the Wallins were old friends. But if Beth was staying with the Howards, she’d be just across the paddock from his cabin. He could see her every morning before he left for work, every night when he returned. Likely she’d be at the table when he ate with the Howards as he sometimes did.
She beamed at him as if she had no idea she’d boxed him into a canyon and was standing guard at the entrance. “Just think, I’ll be right at hand to help whenever you need.”
That was what he feared.
Chapter Five (#ud5b238af-ef50-583c-bcab-d6cdbaee7080)
Hart hadn’t been enthused about Beth’s idea to move into town from Wallin Landing, but Allegra was as welcoming as Beth had hoped when she called that afternoon to ask a favor. The dark-haired beauty had come with Beth’s sisters-in-law and Maddie Haggerty in the second Mercer expedition bringing brides to Seattle, but the widow had become engaged before she ever reached Seattle’s shores. Her onetime sweetheart had sailed with the expedition and convinced her to marry him instead.
Now her daughter from her first marriage, Gillian, had been joined by a little brother, Georgie. Beth had watched both children grow. Gillian was thirteen, and Georgie was seven, fair-haired like their fathers but with their mother’s refined features. They were equally excited to have Beth come stay with them.
“You can tell me all about the latest styles,” Gillian gushed.
Georgie made a face. “Dresses, bah. You can show me how to shoot. Pa says you’re better than he is.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Beth demurred, thinking of the stalwart businessman who was the boy’s father. Clay Howard had traveled the country, including working on the California gold fields, before settling in Seattle. He knew how to take care of himself.
Her family, however, wasn’t so sure about her. The first people she told about her plans when she returned to Wallin Landing that evening were Drew and his wife, Catherine. She generally cooked and kept house for her oldest brother’s logging crew, after all. Drew would have to make other arrangements while she was in town.
“Out of the question,” he said when she went to his cabin across the big clearing at Wallin Landing. “You have too much to do here.”
He seemed so determined, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed. Strangers took one look at his broad shoulders, his muscular build, and concluded the blond giant must be a bear of a man. His family and friends knew the warm heart that beat inside that massive chest, and felt free to ignore his edicts.
Catherine, ever the reasonable one, put a hand on his arm as if to restrain further comments. Raised near Boston and trained to be a nurse, she had an elegant way about her Beth could only admire. She was certain it had something to do with Catherine’s pale blond hair and light blue eyes.
“What will you be doing in Seattle, Beth?” she asked politely.
Beth couldn’t tell them the whole truth. She’d promised Hart to keep quiet about the matter. And her brothers didn’t like to encourage her matchmaking, for all none of them might have married without her help.
“I’ve promised to assist Allegra and the Literary Society in a matter,” she said.
Catherine eyed her husband. “The Literary Society? How nice that the most influential ladies in Seattle would enlist the aid of a Wallin.”
If Drew was impressed, he didn’t show it. “If they’re so important they ought to be able to take care of the matter themselves,” he grumbled in his deep voice. “You have work here.”
Beth put her hands on her hips. “May I remind you that I took on cooking for the crew, without pay I might add, because you were concerned they couldn’t fend for themselves? They are grown men, Drew. Surely they can make their own way without me for a little while.”
Drew leaned back. “That wasn’t the work I meant, though I am grateful for your help. You have a claim to improve. You’re still living in Simon’s old cabin. You haven’t even built one for yourself yet, and you’ve had the land for nearly two of the five years allowed. If the territorial land office learns you aren’t living on the claim, you could lose it.”
Why did talking with her brothers always make her feel like a child again? “I know the law. I must live on the property six months of the year. I’ll be back after Easter, and we can decide on plans for the cabin then.”
His arms fell. “After Easter? You won’t be here for the celebration?”
He sounded so forlorn that her heart went out to him. “Of course I’ll come home for Easter. You couldn’t keep me away. Rina, Nora, Catherine and I have already been planning. I’m sure they can continue without my input.”
Drew looked as if he would keep arguing, but Catherine nodded. “It won’t be the same without you being here to direct things with your usual energy, but I’m sure we’ll make do. Dottie and Callie can help.”
Drew sighed. “Very well, if no one else has any objections.”
Of course, there were more objections. Her other brothers were nearly as argumentative when they learned of her plans. Drew must have sent his children around with the news, for the rest of her brothers descended on the main cabin shortly after she’d finished serving the logging crew dinner. Harry, Tom and Dickie wisely beat a retreat at the sight of them crowding into the front room. Beth only wished she could get away so easily.
“You’ll be too far from home,” Simon pointed out, long legs eating up the plank flooring as he paced before the stone hearth. “We can’t reach you if there’s trouble.”
“I’ll be staying at the Howards’,” Beth told him. “What sort of trouble do you expect?”
She was sorry she asked, for he stopped to tick off his concerns on his fingers. “Cholera has been reported in the territory. The town is becoming increasingly crowded with men of every sort. That windstorm cut off supplies—another could do so as well, leading to rioting in the streets.”
“Worse,” James intoned, voice like a church bell, “she might come back engaged to a sawmill worker.” He gasped and clutched his chest.
Simon looked daggers at him, but Beth shook her head at his teasing. So did her brother John.
“I’m sure we could deal with that,” he told James. “But Beth, Simon has a point. Here you have all of us for support if you need it. Who will you rely on in Seattle?”
Her middle brother, John, was such a dear, always concerned about the family. Before she could protest that she could take care of herself, Levi, her closest brother in age, spoke up.
“I have similar concerns. You need someone you can count on, Beth.”
Beth threw up her hands. “And you don’t believe Allegra and Clay are reliable? Look at the lives they’ve built—successful, admired.”
Levi had learned something about the tact required in his position of minister, for he made a sad face as if commiserating with her. “Allegra and Clay are good friends, but they aren’t family.”
“Precisely,” Simon said. “Someone should go with her.”
That was all she needed. Immediately they set about arguing who could spare time from their families and work. Beth stamped her foot to get their attention.
“No,” she said. “I don’t need anyone to look out for me. I’m not a child.”
“That,” James said, “is exactly why we’re concerned.”
Oh! Brothers!
“I have a solution,” Levi put in. “There’s someone in town as close as family who’d be glad to help Beth. Scout.”
Her brothers all nodded, stances relaxing, mouths smiling. Even Beth thought she could live with that solution. She’d known Scout Rankin all her life. Only three years her senior, he and Levi had been nearly inseparable growing up. Before James’s wife, Rina, had come to Wallin Landing as the first official schoolteacher, Beth, Levi and Scout had sat for lessons with Ma in the main cabin. The three of them had fished and hunted together, climbed trees together, chased each other through the woods. Only when Levi and Scout had set off to seek their fortunes on the gold fields of the British territories to the north had the trio been parted.
Scout and Levi had had a falling-out along the way, but since their friend’s return to Seattle last month, they had made up. Scout had come back a wealthy man and had purchased a fine house in town. And he had proven himself a good friend.
But while her brothers were certain Scout could keep an eye on Beth, Beth was equally certain she ought to be keeping an eye on Scout. He’d returned to Seattle triumphant, just as he and Levi had always dreamed. But his quiet nature and the wariness learned under his abusive father seemed to be keeping him from accepting the place he’d earned in society.
What he needed was a wife.
She told him as much when they met at the Pastry Emporium two days later, after she’d moved in with the Howards and made arrangements to start the next phase of her plan to find Hart a bride.
She smiled at her old friend sitting across one of the wrought-iron tables from her, looking rather dapper in an olive coat and tan trousers. Scout had never been as tall or muscular as her brothers. His dark hair was longer than currently fashionable, brushing his collar. His narrow face was marred by a crooked nose that had been broken years ago, and his left cheek bore a scar he had received while he’d been away.
“Oh, you needn’t worry,” he said, soft brown gaze dropping to the tabletop. “I doubt anyone will want to marry me.”
Beth nudged his foot with her own, and he glanced up.
“You are a gentleman,” she reminded him.
Scout quirked a smile. “I suppose money will do that for a fellow.”
“Nonsense,” Beth said, applying herself to the cinnamon roll Maddie had placed between them, white sugar icing dripping from the still-warm sides. “You were a gentleman before you left for the gold fields. Money doesn’t change who you are.”
He rubbed a hand on the olive-colored sleeve of his coat, as if uncomfortable with the elegant cut of the wool fabric. “It sure doesn’t.”
This time, Beth’s nudge was sharper, and he looked up, brows raised in obvious surprise.
“You stop that immediately,” she scolded. “You are a fine man, Thomas Rankin. Any lady in Seattle would be blessed to have you.”
Whether it was the use of his formal name or the tone of her voice, she wasn’t sure, but Scout grinned at her. “Well, there’s one lady I’d like to impress, but she’s awfully bossy.”
Beth stuck out her tongue at him.
Scout laughed. “See? You don’t stand for any nonsense from me or your brothers. Never have.”
“Never will,” Beth promised him.
“And that tells me it isn’t anything about me that keeps you from letting me court you. I know which way the wind blows there.”
Like her brothers, Scout had witnessed her earlier infatuation with the deputy.
“The wind has changed, Scout,” she murmured, keeping her gaze on the cinnamon roll. “I’ve changed. I don’t think I’ll ever marry either.”
“What?” He leaned closer, and she could feel him searching her face. “But you’re the matchmaker!”
“Just because I can match other people doesn’t mean I can pick my own husband reliably,” she said, voice prim. “That’s why people need a matchmaker, you know. They lack the vision to see the right person for them.”
“Funny,” Scout said, leaning back. “I thought it was lack of skills in society or lack of confidence.”
“Those can be overcome,” Beth assured him, raising her gaze with certainty. “But I’m beginning to believe none of us can reliably choose a mate on our own.”
“The human race is doomed,” he teased.
“No,” she replied with a grin. “I’ll save it.”
He laughed. “We’re a pair, I guess. I doubt any woman would want me given my family history. You doubt the man you want will return your affections.”
“I don’t doubt,” Beth told him. “I asked him. He doesn’t.”
She wasn’t sure why she told him. He could very well take the tale back to Levi and the rest of her brothers. But there was something about Scout, something sweet, something approachable.
And it was very nice to have someone commiserate with her.
His reaction was everything she might have hoped for. He drew himself up, color rushing back into his lean cheeks. “Then Deputy McCormick is nothing but a low-down skunk, and you’re better off without him.”
“That’s what I keep telling her,” Hart said as he stopped by their table.
* * *
He watched as Beth washed white. She’d been so intent on her conversation with Scout Rankin she probably hadn’t heard the shop bell. Georgie Howard had told him Beth had come to visit. The boy often joined Hart at the paddock to help him rub down Arno. But Beth hadn’t approached Hart, and he found himself eager to speak to her. After all, he needed to know how she intended to follow through on her threat to find him a wife. Then he’d spotted her through the window and had decided to ask.
Besides, he still wasn’t any too sure about Scout. He’d known the fellow since Scout was seventeen. He’d seemed the sneaky, weak-natured son of a crooked, cruel father. Ben Rankin’s homemade liquor and high-stakes card games had been the ruin of many a man in Seattle. His son might be living in a fancy house instead of the shack along Lake Union where his father had raised him. He might be wearing better clothes than the torn trousers and rough wool shirt that had been his habitual outfit, but until Hart knew this apple had fallen farther from the tree, he couldn’t feel comfortable with Scout spending time with Beth.
Scout flushed now, but he rose to his feet and met Hart’s gaze unflinchingly. “Deputy. I’m glad to hear we’re in agreement.”
“Stranger things have happened.” He turned to Beth, who seemed to have recovered by the way her chin came up. “What brings you to Seattle, Miss Wallin?”
Scout bristled. “Seems to me this is a free country. Beth can go wherever she likes.”
“Deputy McCormick isn’t questioning my rights, Scout,” she said, keeping her dark blue gaze on Hart. “He’s concerned what I may be doing. You must know I’ve deposited my things with the Howards, Deputy. I will stay in Seattle as long as it takes to accomplish my goal.”
At least she hadn’t mentioned that goal aloud. It was bad enough the Literary Society had been discussing his matrimonial prospects. He didn’t need Scout Rankin laughing behind his back.
“Your family will miss you,” he told her.
Her look softened. “And I will miss them. All the more reason to settle things quickly. I believe you have this afternoon off?”
How did she know? He took care to vary the days and times so no criminal would guess when the law might be absent. Had Mrs. Wyckoff learned his schedule from her husband?
“I do,” he acknowledged.
She nodded. “Good. You have an appointment at Ganzel’s at two.”
The barber? He certainly hadn’t made that appointment. “Do I, now?”
“You do.” The twinkle in her eyes was unmistakable. “And I believe Messieurs Black and Powell are expecting you at three.”
The tailors as well. She had been busy.
“And if I had other plans for the afternoon?”
The twinkle became a gleam. “Cancel them.” She rose suddenly, and Scout stepped to her side as if protecting her, his gaze defiant as he looked toward Hart.
“I must be going,” she said. “Scout, it was lovely to see you. Let’s keep in touch while I’m in town. I haven’t given up on our plans.” In her usual impetuous manner, she gave him a hug.
Hart was more interested in her words. Plans? What plans did she have with the fellow? Was Rankin looking for a bride, too?
Releasing Scout, Beth nodded to Hart. “Deputy. Don’t disappoint me.” She swept from the shop to the chime of the bell.
Scout sighed like a moonstruck schoolboy.
“Someone should marry her,” Hart spat out.
Scout started, then peered more closely at him. “I have it on good authority the only man she ever wanted turned her down.”
Had she confessed? He had been under the impression she’d told no one. After all, none of her brothers had come calling demanding an explanation. If Beth trusted Scout so much that she’d share her secret, perhaps Hart had been mistaken about the man.
On the other hand, the gang along the waterfront had risen to prominence in the month since Scout had come back. Maybe he hadn’t returned wealthy. Maybe his money was coming from somewhere else. Maybe, like his father, he saw other men as victims rather than friends.
Hart straddled Beth’s chair. “Sit down, Rankin. I’d like a word with you.”
The sullen look reminded Hart of Scout as a youth. One of Scout’s jobs had been to come in to Seattle and entice men out to his father’s place to drink and gamble. It struck Hart now that the pattern was a great deal like what the gang was doing.
Still, Scout obeyed his command and sat, gaze hard on Hart’s face.
Hart leaned back. “You arrived in town the middle of February, didn’t you?”
Scout nodded.
“Any particular reason you wanted to return?”
Scout’s smile was more sneer. “It’s home.”
Hart stuck out his lower lip. “Not much of a home to return to. Your pa’s gone. He lost his claim.”
“Because you drove him out.”
Now, there was some venom. The color was rising in his cheeks again.
“Guilty,” Hart said. “But then, so was he, of moonshining, cheating at cards.”
“Oh, he was guilty, all right.” Scout leaned across the table, gaze drilling into Hart. “But I’m not. I intend to be a fine, upstanding citizen, Deputy. You have no call to hound me.”
Hart nodded, and Scout rose. Instead of leaving, however, he came around the table, forcing Hart to his feet. Though Scout was a good six inches shorter, the heat radiating off him made Hart take a step back.
“And you have no need to hound Beth Wallin, either,” Scout said, tenor voice surprisingly hard. “She’s been through enough on account of you. If I hear you’ve hurt her further, you’ll have to deal with me. And I promise you, Deputy, I can be even less forgiving than my father.”
Chapter Six (#ud5b238af-ef50-583c-bcab-d6cdbaee7080)
Hart shook his head as he left the Pastry Emporium. Who’d have thought Scout Rankin had such courage? He seemed to have developed backbone on the gold fields. Of course, it shouldn’t surprise him that Scout was determined to protect Beth. Scout had grown up with her and her brothers. And she was the kind of woman to inspire acts of valor. Every man in Seattle would likely be willing to do her a service.
Even, it seemed, the barber.
“Deputy McCormick,” he said, welcoming Hart with a warm smile. “What a pleasure.”

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