A Mid-Summer's Mail-Order Bride (9 page)

He jumped off the ladder and went over to them. “What kind of cookies?”

“Molasses,” she said, her heart in her throat. The sun glinted off his hair and he had a smudge of dirt on his cheek and down one side of his neck. It made him appear ruggedly handsome, and her chest warmed at the sight of him.
Oh dear …

“I appreciate you bringing me something so delightful. I’m afraid if I eat some it will have to be with soiled hands. There’s no place to wash them except up at the house.”

“Are you ready to head that way?” Summer asked.

“I was giving it some thought,” he said as he stared at Bernice.

Good heavens, he was looking at her like
she
was a snack! Elle had kept her promise – fixing her hair in a pretty braid, wrapping it around her head like a crown, even putting a few flowers in for good measure. She wore a red and cream-colored dress that, truth be told, was too nice to be traipsing across the countryside in. But Warren obviously liked it, if his staring was an indicator.

She noticed him snapping his mouth shut, clearing his throat, then looking at the ladder. “We could … take these back to the house and leave them,” she suggested.

He took the ladder from the tree and leaned it against another. “No need – I can finish here tomorrow. I’ll walk with you.”

Bernice’s heart leaped in her chest. “Oh … how nice.”

“Unless you prefer to leave them and go,” he said.

“Go? No, no … I was just …”

“You didn’t sound very sure of yourself.”

“Of course she’s sure,” Summer quickly interjected, while aiming a look at Bernice.
Buck up, girl!

“So you did the baking this time?” he asked.

“Yes, I hope you like them.”

“I’ll like them better once I’m washed up. Shall we?”

Bernice smiled and turned from him to head back, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. When she looked at him, he offered her his arm. “Better safe than sorry.”

She couldn’t help it – she laughed. “Yes, I’ll be the first to agree with you on that.”

He smiled at her, a wonderful warm smile that could melt chocolate. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he’d changed his attitude toward her overnight. What could have happened to make him so much more attentive from one day to the next?

Whatever it was, Bernice hoped it kept happening. Maybe then she’d feel better about the situation.

Nine

What in tarnation was wrong with him? For hours Warren had pondered how he was going to break it to Miss Caulder that he wasn’t ready to marry, no matter what Grandpa said. If he was going to wed, he’d do it because
he
wanted to,
when
he wanted to. But when he saw her …

His eyes flicked to the brunette beauty at his side. With her hair done up the way it was, she reminded him of a fairy princess. Tiny wisps had escaped the braid and framed her face to give her a magical look. She walked next to him with the utmost care to not trip like she’d done the day before. He knew she’d been embarrassed by it and had felt bad for her, but she was able to joke about the incident afterwards.

What was it about this slip of a girl that gave him pause? His logical brain said sending her on her way would be best for them both. If he married just to please Grandpa, he’d hate himself later and would probably take his resentment out on her. That wouldn’t make for a good husband. But today he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her. He tried to be nonchalant about it, glancing at her only when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

Problem was, they weren’t the only ones there – and Summer Riley most certainly noticed. “So tell me, Warren,” she said with a smile. “When would you and Mr. Johnson like to join us for supper? I’m sure Miss Caulder would love to cook a meal for you.”

Miss Caulder almost tripped.

Warren tightened his hold on her arm to steady her and gave her a reassuring smile. He hadn’t counted on an invitation to the Rileys’! “Er, I’m not sure. I’m rather busy of late.”

“Not so busy you can’t walk us home and protect us from wild beasts!” Summer teased.

“Mrs. Riley,” he said, more firmly than he intended, “a skunk is hardly a wild beast.”

“I don’t know. I remember when my papa got sprayed by one,” Miss Caulder replied. “He had to sleep out in the back shed for a week – Mother wouldn’t let him in the house.”

“How horrible!” Summer exclaimed. “See? What if we were to have a run-in with such a monster?”

Miss Caulder giggled. A shiver went up Warren’s spine at the sound. It reminded him of a story he’d read in college – something about wood nymphs … “I can only imagine,” he said. “Having not had the, ah … experience.”

Summer walked on. “Sunday, then. I’ll let Clayton and the rest of the family know you’ll join us for supper after church.”

“What?” Warren and Miss Caulder said in unison. They looked at each other in panic, and swallowed at the same time. “Um, didn’t he just say he’s too busy?” Miss Caulder asked, never taking her eyes from his.

“I did? Oh – yes, I did!” He looked at Summer, who now eyed them both with amusement. “Far, far too busy.”

“Sunday, Warren. After all, I’m sure you and Miss Caulder have much to discuss.”

Another mutual gulp. He wondered what
she
had to be worried about! With him it was obvious: he was going to have to make up his mind on what to do with her before then. But then, wouldn’t that be reason enough to cause her discomfort?

He studied her and sure enough, she’d gone pale … well, even paler. And he was the cause. Guilt stabbed him, and once again he wavered on his earlier decision to send her away. She was so darn cute with her big brown eyes gazing up at him the way they were ...

… yeah, cute. But you couldn’t run a farm on “cute.” What on earth was he going to do?

“Sunday it is, then,” he heard himself say in resignation. But that only made Miss Caulder blanch further. “Are you all right?” he asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

“I … I’m fine,” she said as she wobbled.

“Oh no, you don’t!” he ordered.

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “Don’t … what?”

“Faint.”

“Oh,” she said, just before her knees buckled.

“Bernice!” Summer gasped, lifted her skirts and hurried over to them.

Warren already had her cradled in his arms. “Great Scott, what happened?”

“She fainted, obviously! Warren Johnson, what did you do?”

Warren’s hackles went up. “
I
didn’t do anything! You’re the one that started all this talk of Sunday supper! I don’t think Miss Caulder was real keen on the idea!”

“Oh, never mind about that!” she snapped as she stared at the woman in his arms. “Well?”

“Well, what?” he shot back

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Warren, don’t just stand there! We have to get her to the house.”

“Mine’s closer – maybe we should take her there.”

“All right, but let’s hurry in case something’s really wrong.”

He nodded and, tightening his grip on Miss Caulder, headed back the other way toward home. Thankfully, she was light, so he wouldn’t be spent by the time they got there.

By the time they did, Grandpa was just arriving at the house. “Jumpin’ Johnnies, what happened?” he said as he came off the porch. “Is she hurt?”

“Nah, she just fainted,” Warren grunted as he hurried up the porch steps.

“Maybe she’s sick,” his grandfather said and followed him.

Summer brought up the rear. “I hope not. She’s been fine all day.”

Warren gently lay Miss Caulder on the sofa in the parlor. “Grandpa, bring some water.”

“Yessiree!” he said and went to fetch a glass.

Summer kneeled down, took one of Miss Caulder’s hands and patted it. “Bernice? Can you hear me?”

“Of course she can’t hear you, she’s out cold,” Warren pointed out.

Summer glared at him just as their charge moaned.

Warren’s eyes went wide at the sound. “Miss Caulder?”

“Bernice,” Summer corrected.

“She’s Miss Caulder to me.”

“She’s Bernice to everyone else, so she might as well be to you too.”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, I’m not going to argue over a name!”

Another moan, softer this time.

Warren leaned toward the noise as if against his will, and stared into two big, soft, brown, beguiling eyes as they fluttered open. “Ber … Miss Caulder?”

Summer rolled her own eyes and shook her head.

“Where am I?” Bernice whispered.

Warren leaned in closer. “My house.”

A delicate gasp escaped her. “Wh-what? How did I get here?”

He leaned closer. “I carried you.” His voice had dropped in pitch. It was all Summer could do to keep a straight face.

Grandpa came into the parlor, a glass in his hand. “Here, Warren. Oh, I see she’s recovering. Good.”

Warren reached up and took the glass from him. He turned back to Bernice with a warm smile. “How do you feel? Do you think you can drink this?”

Summer and Grandpa both watched in fascination as her eyelids fluttered. “Thank you.”

Warren put a hand behind her shoulder and helped her up to a sitting position, then held the glass to her lips. “Take a small sip. Don’t drink it too fast.”

Summer and Grandpa leaned toward them like the rapt audience they were.

“I won’t,” she said, and did as he’d told her.

When she was done, he took the glass from her and held it out to no one in particular. Summer took it, then stepped back, a pleased look on her face.

“I think I’d like to go home now,” Bernice said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Maybe we ought to have Doc Brown take a look at you,” Warren suggested.

“What for?” Grandpa blurted. “Seems to me you’re doin’ enough lookin’ as it is!”

Warren turned and glared at him.

Grandpa chuckled and left it at that. Summer handed the glass to him. “How do you feel? Can you make it home?”

“I’m so sorry, I really don’t know what happened ...”

“It’s all right. You’ve had a lot happen to you in a very short amount of time.”

“Happen to her?” Warren croaked. “What’s happened to her?”

Summer took the opportunity to glare back at him. “
You
did!” She reached down, took Bernice by the hand and helped her off the sofa. “Let’s go home, Bernice.”

Warren stood. “Now see here, Summer Riley! You can’t just drag the poor girl home like that when you don’t know if she’ll be all right.”

“Maybe she will be once I get her away from you!”

He consciously kept himself from making a fist. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re the one that had her so upset she fainted!” she fired back, eyes blazing.

“I had nothing to do with it! It was you and your talk about Sunday supper – not to mention dragging her all that way out into the orchard.”

“Dragging her …” Summer wasn’t about to back down, let alone admit guilt. “You’ve been torturing her all this time, letting her life hang in the balance –”

“Hang in the … now see here!” Warren declared.

“I think I feel better now,” Bernice interjected.

“Stay right where you are!” Warren ordered her.

“She will not!” Summer countered. “She’s perfectly capable of making it home on her own.”

“She couldn’t even make it back from the orchard after you wore her out!” Warren shot back. “And then you’re going to force her to cook Sunday supper? Gads, woman, what did your last slave die of?”

Summer stiffened, and Warren almost regretted playing the “slave” card – almost. He’d learned in college that bringing that up with a Southerner was an invitation to a fight.

But Summer was showing no inclination toward avoiding a tussle. “Fine!” she yelled. “I’ll run home myself and get the wagon!”

“You’ll do no such thing! I’ll hitch up
my
horses and take her to see Doc Brown!”

“Really, I’m quite all right,” Bernice added.

But by now, neither side was listening. “She
doesn’t
need a doctor!” Summer argued.

“She. Fainted. On my property. You gonna tell me not to take responsibility for what happens on my land?”

“Fine!” Summer huffed and sat in the nearest chair, her arms crossed.

“I’m glad you finally see sense!” Warren said as he stormed out of the parlor, but not before stopping next to his grandfather. He took the glass of water from him, drained it, then shoved it back into his hand. “I’ll be right back.”

They watched him leave, each with a different look on their face. Bernice’s was dreamy; Summer’s smoldered indignantly. And Grandpa’s eyes held a suspicious gleam. “Ya handled that well,” he told Summer.

Summer was still stinging from that “slave” comment – back in New Orleans, the slave owners had been the same people who’d looked down on her and the other orphans, not to mention had roped the nation into that ruinous war. Nellie Davis and her ilk. She turned to him, confused. “What do you mean?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. “You sure got Warren riled up over this little gal. He might marry her yet.”

Summer blinked. That hadn’t been her intent, but … “I suppose I did, didn’t I?” She chanced a chuckle. “How about that?”

“Fancy piece of maneuverin’, on purpose or not.” He looked at Bernice. “Don’t worry, I think he likes ya.”

She looked at him and gave him a tentative smile. “I like him too.”

Grandpa chuckled. “Just let him make sure yer all right. Ya are, ain’t ya?”

“I don’t know. I think so. It’s just … Summer suggested I cook Sunday supper for the two of you, and ...”

“Ya did?” he asked in shock.

Summer’s face froze guiltily. “Oh. Oh dear …”

“The thought was a bit overwhelming,” Bernice added. “I think that’s what did it.”

He turned to Summer. “I commend ya, woman – yer better at this than I thought!”

She grimaced. “Thank you. I think.”

Bernice stared at her in shock, then looked at the empty space where Warren Johnson had knelt with the most concerned look she had ever seen. She wasn’t sure if things had just gotten better, or worse.

* * *

Warren and his grandfather drove the women home after stopping at Doc Brown’s. Just as Summer had said, Bernice was perfectly all right, just a little tired after the journey to Nowhere and the stress of the last few days. An early bedtime would do her wonders, the doctor prescribed.

Warren, however, was wound up tighter than a string. Why? Why did she affect him like this, that he’d been willing to go to war with Summer Riley over her welfare? It wasn’t like he was in love with her or anything – heck, he didn’t even know her! But there was that unnerving desire to protect her from harm. Maybe because one look at her told him that she couldn’t very well protect herself.

“How do ya like apple country, Miss Caulder?” Grandpa asked.

Bernice sat in the wagon bed next to Summer. “It’s beautiful.”

“Wait ‘til next spring, when the trees are bloomin’.”

“That’s what I’ve heard. I … hope to see it …”

“You will,” he said. “Won’t she, Warren?”