The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (50 page)

Micah’s hand moved forward, as if to grasp hers, but he pulled it back and gripped his hat instead. The tone of his voice gentled. “Just be careful. Rod seems to enjoy a rather worldly life. I…” Color climbed his neck and emblazoned his face. She could almost feel his eyes probing deeply into hers before he finally broke the connection and dropped his gaze to his hat. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”

Chapter 7

M
icah watched as Gabrielle paused on the boardwalk outside the post office. She stared for almost a full minute at the envelope in her hand before she turned it over and broke the seal. The ache in his chest reminded him to exhale the breath he’d sucked in when he handed Poole’s letter across the counter to her.

Try as he might to divert his attention to his other duties, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Gabrielle. Her back was to him, so he couldn’t observe her expression, but her posture stiffened as she stood there reading Poole’s letter.

For a few seconds, Micah gave serious consideration to rushing out the door and snatching the missive from her hands, banishing it to where it could do no harm. Or stir any buried emotions within her. It must have been a short letter, because after only a few moments, she folded the paper and slid it back into the envelope.

A voice hailed her, and Micah followed Gabrielle’s line of vision. Daphne and Clara waved from across the street and dodged a couple of wagons and horse droppings on their way to greet her. He hoped Poole’s letter wouldn’t be important enough to her to share with her friends, but to his chagrin, Gabrielle held up the envelope. The other two girls gasped and giggled, but Micah couldn’t hear if she shared the contents of the letter with them.

What had he told her just yesterday as they sat on her front porch? He didn’t want her to be hurt. Between him and God, he had to admit that was only partially true. The other half of his warring emotions declared that he hated standing by and watching other men—Cullen Poole and his own cousin—communicate romantic interest in Gabrielle, especially since one of those men had already hurt her and the other possessed the capability.

Gabrielle walked down the boardwalk between her two friends, and Micah returned to the ledger book on his desk. If he stayed busy, his conflicted thoughts wouldn’t torment him so. But his heart accompanied her down the street.

Utilizing all the self-discipline he possessed, he made himself focus on the records the state required him to keep. After a while, he stood and stretched, working the kinks out of his neck. He stepped over to the small stove to pour his third cup of coffee when the telegraph key began to click.

He grabbed his pencil and copied down the message as it tapped across the wire. When it completed, he tapped back his received code and folded the telegram for Eli Timmons, the editor of the
Whitley Chronicle.
Mr. Timmons fussed at him if he waited until Jed arrived to deliver messages, regardless of how trivial. It wouldn’t take long—the newspaper office was only a block away.

He tucked the telegram into his vest pocket and hurried down the street. As he approached the dressmaker’s shop, the door opened and Daphne Purcell stepped out, engaged in animated conversation with Trudy Henderson.

“I couldn’t believe it myself, but she showed us the envelope.” Daphne waved her finger, as if tracing invisible handwriting in the air. “Just as plain as the nose on your face. Cullen Poole, with an address in Abilene, Texas, of all places.”

Micah’s steps slowed. He told himself he was only trying to avoid running into the pair. He wasn’t really eavesdropping. Not intentionally.

“Just think, after three long years.” Trudy’s screechy voice grated on his ears. “Isn’t that romantic? Did he say when he was coming back?”

“He must be coming soon, because Gabby was certainly all aflutter.” Daphne’s giggle punctuated her statement. “But I should think she would have better sense than to welcome Cullen Poole back with open arms after not hearing a peep from him all this time.”

The two traipsed off in the direction of the mercantile, and their gossiping faded as they distanced themselves from Micah. Unwilling to put any stock in the clucking of hens, he drew in a fortifying breath and proceeded on to the
Chronicle
office to deliver the telegram.

On his way back to the depot, Millicent Brown yoo-hooed to him from the door of the apothecary. He nearly stumbled midstep in surprise. Most of the young ladies in town, including Millicent, acted as though he didn’t exist. They barely said hello, much less yoo-hoo.

He nodded to her. “Miss Brown.”

She intertwined her fingers at her waist and twisted to and fro, a demure smile lifting her lips. “I was wondering…” She leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “Is your cousin at home? I made a strawberry pie for him. If I’m not being too presumptuous, do you think I could stop by and give it to him?”

Micah shrugged. “I suppose.”

Millicent laughed. “You sure aren’t anything like your cousin, are you?”

He lifted his shoulders again. “I suppose not. Good afternoon.”

Self-incrimination dogged Micah’s steps all the way back to the depot. Millicent’s comment stung. No, he wasn’t charming or adventurous, handsome or popular. For as long as he could remember, he’d been the one left behind, the one whose name nobody remembered, the one most people overlooked.

He stepped inside the depot door and plopped down onto the desk chair. The mail was all in its proper place, the telegraph key was still, and the stage wasn’t due in for another hour. Silence roared within the confines of the office.

Propping his elbows on the desk, Micah rested his head in his hands. “God, I’m nobody. I’m not a man who draws the interest of people, I’ve never done anything noteworthy, I’m not wealthy or important or influential, my life is so dull most folks don’t even know I’m alive. My cousin has been here for less than three weeks and more people in Whitley know who he is than know me. I’m in love with a beautiful woman, and I can’t tell her. I’m just… nobody.”

A scripture he learned at his mother’s knee fell over his aching soul like a gentle rain.
“I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.”
He curled his fingers into fists and pressed his knuckles into his forehead.
“Thou wast precious in my
sight… and I have loved thee.”

How could he have forgotten? Where did he misplace the assurance God gave him the moment he first believed so many years ago? When had he given the favor of men a place of higher importance than the favor of God?

His heart bowed before the Lord, and he cried out in contrition. “Oh… Father. I am Yours. I have need of nothing else.”

Gabby read Cullen’s letter again in the privacy of her bedroom. What did it mean? Why would he return now after more than three years without a word? Nowhere in the note did he state his purpose in coming, nor did he use any expressions of affection or terms of endearment the way he had before he left Whitley. His note appeared to have been hastily scrawled. There were even a couple of smears where the ink hadn’t dried completely before he folded the paper and stuffed it into the envelope. She frowned at the letter as if she expected to find an explanation she’d previously overlooked, but no additional information magically appeared.

She flopped back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. “God, what does he want? Why would You let me put all my feelings for him behind me and then bring him back into my life?”

She’d been so befuddled when she’d received the missive, she didn’t think to guard her tongue when Daphne had asked her what was wrong. Asking her friends to keep the news to themselves didn’t occur to her at the time. Daphne and Clara must have already told half the town. When she stopped by the mercantile, Mr. Murdock winked at her and snorted, saying it was about time her beau got over his cold feet and came back. Millicent was practically beside herself, giggling one minute and weeping the next, and Bessie Linquist asked if she’d begun sewing her wedding gown yet. Even Mama nailed her with a scrutinizing look and inquired about the letter the moment Gabby set foot inside the door. While she didn’t want to put her mother off, there was truly nothing to tell.

“Eli Timmons will probably plaster it across the headlines of next week’s edition of the
Chronicle
.” Her sigh rang like a dismal dirge within the walls of her room. No doubt she’d be the recipient of advice from at least a dozen people before nightfall.

And what of Micah? Whenever she stopped by the post office, normally his face reddened and he kept his gaze fastened on whatever he happened to be doing at the time. But this morning, he looked her straight in the eye for several seconds before sliding the letter across the counter to her. A longing filled her to know what he’d been thinking. Of course, he had no way of knowing the contents of the letter, but he certainly knew Cullen had courted her at one time. Was there the slightest possibility feelings of jealousy had connected his gaze to hers?

Oh, who was she fooling? He likely didn’t care that Cullen had renewed correspondence with her, and the look in his eyes was nothing more than curiosity, like everyone else in town.

She pulled herself into a sitting position. Moaning about it wouldn’t change a thing. Her emotions might be in a tizzy, but she knew what to do. She slid to her knees at the side of her bed.

Jed shuffled into the office five minutes early, toothpick stuck in his mouth and humming off-key. “Hey, Micah.”

If Micah hadn’t been so drained, he might have poked fun at Jed for arriving early for the first time ever. Yet, although the sweet time he’d had letting God minister to his hurting heart had breathed comfort over him, he simply wasn’t up to bantering with his relief man today.

“Hey, Jed.”

“You hear the news?”

He’d heard lots of news that day, and most of it, he wished he hadn’t. He responded with nothing more than a grunt, but Jed must have interpreted the sound to mean,
No, what news is that?

“You ‘member that feller what was courtin’ the preacher’s daughter here awhile back?”

Micah groaned within his spirit. At this point he’d rather hear there was a cholera epidemic than listen to one more person speculate about Gabrielle’s former beau.

“Jed, I’m real tired, and I haven’t eaten all day. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just head on home.” True, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to swallow anything more than coffee, and he wasn’t hungry now, but he needn’t admit that to Jed.

“Oh, well sure. You go on and get yourself some vittles. My news will keep till tomorrow.” The old soldier chortled. “Might even get a little juicier by then.” He cackled at his own joke. “See ya in the mornin’.”

Micah bid Jed good evening and turned down the worn path toward his house. But before he reached the door, someone called his name. He turned to find Rod trotting up the path with barely a sign of a limp.

“Micah, do you know anything about some fellow by the name of Cullen Poole?”

No, not again! Micah sucked in a weary breath and blew it out. “I know of him.”

“There’s talk around town that—”

“I’ve heard the talk.” Micah refused to believe it was anything more than gossip.

Rod crossed his arms. “Is it true? Is Gabby Lockridge betrothed to this Poole fellow? You told me she wasn’t seeing anyone. I’ve made a fool of myself going out of my way to charm her because you told me she was available.”

As far as Micah was concerned, making a fool of himself was Rod’s own doing. He wished with everything in him he could inform Rod and Cullen and anyone else who was interested that Gabrielle was his girl. If that ever came to pass, however, it would be a miracle of Red Sea proportion.

“Rod, I cannot speak for Miss Lockridge, and I won’t engage in gossip over the lady. She does, after all, have a right to keep her private affairs private.”

Rod’s lip curled. “That sounds like you know something that you’re keeping to yourself.” His brow dipped into a scowl, and he planted his hands on his hips. “Could be you’re interested in her yourself. Is that it?” He snorted. “Remember when you used to tag along behind me when you were a kid? Well, you’re still tagging behind. That picnic is in a few days, and I intend to be her escort.”