The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (49 page)

Gabby chuckled. “He is certainly handsome, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a man as entertaining and charming. Life with a man like Rod Walker would never be dull.”

Nobody answered Micah’s knock at the Lockridge house. He glanced at the special delivery letter in his hand addressed to Reverend Lockridge as he strode to the church. He’d considered asking the pastor if he might call on Gabrielle, but perhaps finding no one at home was for the best. What if Gabrielle had answered the door?

He rounded the bend and noticed the front door to the church standing open. But the closer he got, the more preposterous his idea. Even if Reverend Lockridge gave his permission to call on Gabrielle, what would he say to her? His tongue tied into a knot just trying to say good morning.

He lifted his shoulders as he set his foot on the first stair riser. He’d already volunteered to help with the games at the church picnic. Perhaps it was enough to simply be close enough to watch Gabrielle play with the children.

Voices wafted on the breeze. Female voices. Gabrielle’s voice. Micah couldn’t tell with whom she was speaking, but her statement told him everything he needed to know.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a man as entertaining and charming. Life with a man like Rod Walker would never be dull.”

Chapter 6

W
orking alone gave Micah plenty of time to think. And that was a problem. He emptied the mail pouch and began sorting the various pieces into their respective alphabetical slots. With no one to talk to, his thoughts immediately wandered to Gabrielle. For the past three days, her words had echoed in his head.

“Life with a man like Rod Walker would never be dull.”

He shoved a letter into the
M
slot. “Dull. Is that what she thinks
I
am?” He blew through pursed lips. There wasn’t a person in town who thought Rod was dull. He collected followers like the Pied Piper. Truth be told, Micah’s life was quiet, unexciting… “Dull.”

Regret smote him immediately. “Lord, I don’t mean to complain. You’ve blessed me with a good job and a comfortable home.” Sorting mail and minding the telegraph key might not be very adventurous, but the people of Whitley needed the services he rendered—at least he liked to believe he was needed. He’d never experienced feelings of restlessness or discontentment before. Where did these stirrings come from?

Nobody had to tell him the answer to his question. He knew very well. He’d resigned himself to living in the shadows for years, and it never really bothered him… much, until Rod came to town. Watching every eligible female in town flock to his cousin underscored his own invisibility.

He shook his head and returned to his task. Glancing at the addressee written on each envelope, he slid the pieces of mail into their respective slots. Brown in the
B
slot. Greeley in the
G
slot. Parkin in the
P
slot. Lockridge in the… Micah’s hand halted halfway to the
L
slot. Instead of the envelope bearing the name of Reverend Oren Lockridge, this letter was addressed to Miss Gabrielle Lockridge.

Micah noted the return address.
Mr. Cullen Poole, General Delivery, Abilene, Texas.
Micah ground his teeth. He remembered Cullen Poole, the man who had come to town and promised Gabrielle the moon and then left her with a broken heart. She’d even worn his ring, at least for a while. Micah recollected the way she’d gazed at it sparkling on her finger after Poole had left town. How long ago had that been? At least three years. He’d never felt so angry as when he’d seen the way Poole had hurt Gabrielle.

Abilene. Wasn’t that a cattle town? Speculation gave Micah pause. As he recalled, Poole had declared he intended to make his fortune so he could provide Gabrielle a life of ease. Was he some kind of wealthy cattle baron now? After more than three years, why was he writing Gabrielle? What if he intended to renew their courtship?

As much as Micah wished he could toss Poole’s letter into the woodstove, he had a responsibility as the postmaster to ensure the mail was delivered. With a muted growl, he shoved the letter into the
L
slot.

The door opened and Rod limped inside. “Morning, Cousin.”

Micah glanced at the clock. “It’s a little early for you to be up and about, isn’t it?”

Rod settled himself into Micah’s desk chair. “I was hungry, and the café down the street serves a pretty good breakfast for a little Podunk town.” He propped his feet on Micah’s desk and looked around the small office. “I’d go crazy working all cramped up and stuck behind a desk like this.”

The growing dissatisfaction niggled at Micah again, but he pushed it away. “I’m not stuck behind the desk all day. The job requires that I deliver telegrams and meet the stage, sometimes help the driver change out the horses.” As soon as the words left his lips he realized how pathetic they must sound in light of Rod’s exhilarating occupation.

Rod smirked. “You have to do all that and sort mail, too?”

Micah refused to be baited. Instead, he changed the subject. “Will you be around when I’m finished working this evening? We haven’t had a lot of time to catch up with each other. I thought we might go to the café for supper.”

“Sure, sure.” Rod stretched and raised his arms, tucking his hands behind his head. “We’ll probably run into friends there.”

No doubt.

Micah couldn’t help commenting. “You certainly have become popular since you arrived.”

Rod shrugged. “Have I? I suppose I’ve gotten used to flocks of women following me around. Seems like the ladies can’t resist a man of adventure, but I’ve learned to deal with it.” He swung his feet back to the floor and placed his hands on his knees. “Tell me about the preacher’s daughter.”

Micah stiffened and clenched his fingers around the mail pouch. His cousin’s bragging was hard enough to swallow, but hearing him express interest in Gabrielle was stretching his restraint to the breaking point, especially after the arrival of Poole’s letter. Micah couldn’t lay claim to Gabrielle, no matter how much he wished she was his girl.

“What about her?”

“Is she seeing anyone?”

The muscles in Micah’s jaw clenched. “I don’t think so.”

Rod stood and limped to the open door. He placed one hand on the door frame while he looked out onto the street. He turned and rubbed his chin. “You know where she lives?”

“With her parents.” Micah tried to appear busy at a file drawer.

“Hmm. I might have to pay a visit to the preacher’s house.” The cavalier tone in Rod’s voice grated on Micah.

“Why?” Micah doubted Rod’s interest had anything to do with discussing the scriptures.

Rod laughed. “Why do you think? She’s a mighty pretty girl, and I’d like to get to know her. Her name’s Gabby, isn’t it?”

“Miss Lockridge. And her father is very protective.” Micah closed the drawer and forced his gaze to the desk. Truth be told, Reverend Lockridge was a very gentle, soft-spoken man, but Micah assumed any father would be protective of his daughter. He picked up the stage schedule and pretended to examine it, even though he could quote it from memory. “You already have every girl in town swooning over you. You can take your pick.”

Rod’s chuckle lacked true mirth. “I know. But having those girls fawning over me is getting a little boring. Gabby Lockridge is a challenge, and I’m always up for a challenge.”

Micah curled his fist and the schedule crumpled in his hand. Anger smoldered in his chest. Much as he wanted to tell his cousin Gabrielle was spoken for, he didn’t have the right. But hearing Rod refer to her in such a flippant manner set his teeth on edge.

Rod rubbed his palms together. “Yes, sir, I might just take a stroll by the Lockridge home.”

Micah yanked the desk chair back with more force than necessary. “I thought the doctor wanted you to rest that leg.”

“Well, maybe not today.” A wicked smile slid across Rod’s face. “I may make her wait a day or two.”

Gabby attacked the dirty footprints across the front porch with her broom. Her brothers managed to leave a trail everywhere they went no matter how many times Mama reminded them to wipe their feet. When she’d swept the last speck of dust from the porch, she picked up the corner of her apron and blotted the moisture from her brow. As soon as she put the broom away, she intended to work on her new dress. The softly rounded neckline with its delicate lace edging might be a bit too dressy for a picnic, but every time she worked on it, she imagined a look of appreciation lighting Micah’s eyes.

Lifting her face to catch the cooling breeze, she caught sight of Micah walking down the boardwalk, just beyond the white picket fence. Was it her imagination, or did his step shorten and slow as he passed her house?

She slipped one hand up and smoothed her hair. “Hello, Micah.”

He halted, and a ray of light flickered across his expression. The corners of his mouth twitched for the space of two or three heartbeats before he seemed to withdraw.

“M–morning.”

Her heart beat a tad faster. She stepped to the edge of the porch and gestured toward the wicker chairs to her left. “Won’t you join me for a glass of lemonade?”

Micah’s eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed, but he made no reply.

“Please?” She hoped she didn’t sound as if she were begging. “It’s such a pleasant day.”

He stood, one hand gripping some papers and the other fingering the point of a fence picket. Finally, he gave a hesitant nod and pushed the gate open. As he walked to the porch, she suppressed the urge to frown. Is that what a man looked like on his way to the gallows?

He barely met her gaze, his focus sliding left and right as if searching for an avenue of escape. She crossed the porch to the chairs. “Please have a seat, and I’ll fetch the lemonade.”

With jerky movements, he pulled off his hat and lowered himself to a squeaky wicker chair. “N–no lemonade. I—I c–can’t stay.” The papers in his hand waggled, and he muttered something about Sheriff Trask and Wanted posters.

Gabby gathered her skirts and perched on the edge of the opposite chair, waiting for him to start the conversation. When he silently stared at his feet, she cleared her throat.

“It’s rather warm today.”

Micah nodded, nearly imperceptibly, but refrained from commenting. He twisted the brim of his hat.

“I need to drop by the post office to see if there is any mail for Papa.”

Micah’s brows dipped into a scowl. He pursed his lips and shifted uncomfortably to a symphony of wicker squeaks, but he offered no reply.

Impatience gnawed at her. “Well, is there?”

His gaze flicked up at her. “Is there what?”

“Mail.”

His gaze traveled elsewhere again, and he dragged his palms down his pant legs. He mumbled something that sounded like “There might be.”

Her fingers twisted the corner of her apron. “Are you planning on attending the church picnic?” In past years, he normally volunteered to help in some way, and she hoped this year would be the same.

Again, all he did was nod. Frustration stirred in her chest. She wanted to blurt out questions—no, demands that required more than a yes or no answer—to force him to tell her why he was so uncomfortable in her presence. Was it something she’d said or done? But backing him into a corner didn’t seem like a good way to pull conversation from him. Perhaps a switch in topic might loosen his tongue.

“So—are you having a pleasant visit with your cousin?”

Micah’s gaze shot up to meet hers, alertness sharpening his focus. “Uh-huh.”

Gabby smiled. Maybe he’d rather talk about his cousin than himself. “Mr. Walker tells such interesting stories about his adventures. How long is he planning on staying? Will he be in town for the picnic?”

Something undefined steeled Micah’s eyes and intensified his entire demeanor. His posture stiffened and he leaned slightly forward, locking his eyes to hers. “Rod tells a lot of stories, but don’t take everything he says too seriously.”

Surprise jolted through her, not so much from his statement as the fact that he’d uttered a complete sentence without a hint of a stammer.

“Oh? Are you saying he embellishes his escapades?”