Adela's Prairie Suitor (The Annex Mail-Order Brides Book 1) (10 page)

Her preoccupation with the books didn’t bother him. In fact, he seemed relieved, keeping his distance and never spending any time alone with her. This worried her. After that kiss, she’d hoped—expected more.

Had she done something wrong by returning his kiss? He was the first man who’d ever kissed her, so how was she to know? From what Ramee and other acquaintances had told her, men liked to kiss. But Byron hadn’t wasted time breaking the kiss. Maybe he just didn’t like her kiss. That didn’t portend for a happy marriage.

She shook her head, trying to pull her thoughts from Byron and get them on the business at hand. On the afternoon of the third day, she didn’t see any progress. Then Mrs. Calhoun surprised her by popping in to ask for help in the kitchen.

Adela put a paperweight on the stack of receipts atop her reconstructed ledger and rose to stretch the kinks out of her stiff muscles. She scurried to the kitchen, wondering what job she could possibly help with.

Mrs. Calhoun was filling a picnic basket with food. Without looking up, she addressed Adela. “I just put a ham in the oven. Would you take it out in a couple of hours and pop the biscuits in.” She waved a hand to a pan of raw biscuits sitting by the dry sink. “They cook up fast so keep an eye on them.”

“Are you going out?”

“Mr. Lynstrum cut a gash in his leg yesterday, and Hilda Jane hasn’t had time to cook. I’m taking their supper.”

“How kind. Of course I’ll finish up our supper.”

“Good. I do hope the poor man can come to the taffy pull Saturday night. We’re holding it here this year.”

“Yes, Byron told me. My friends and I made taffy every fall. I well know how to make that.”

“Good…Good. I appreciate the help. I know you’ve been busy with those dusty old books, though I can’t think what you hope to find.”

“So far nothing, I’m afraid.”

Mrs. Calhoun lifted her chin as if to say she didn’t expect any better. “Well, I’ll be back in time to finish up before the men come in.”

“Give my regards to Mr. Lynstrum for a speedy recovery.”

After Mrs. Calhoun let the back door drop in place, Adela checked the kitchen clock. It would be five o’clock before the ham was ready to come out. She supposed she could go back to her bookkeeping chore, but her heart wasn’t in it.

She wanted to see Byron, talk to him, assure herself he still liked her. He’d be in the fields all day, and they wouldn’t have a minute to themselves tonight.

The day had turned unusually warm. Byron would be hot and tired and thirsty. She could take him some water. Searching through the cupboard, she found a tall jar and started to pump water. About to screw on the lid, she spied four lemons in a small basket in the corner. She’d make lemonade instead.

She measured out the sugar and squeezed three of the lemons, then dipped out the seeds, well, most of the seeds. Ramee never bothered taking out the seeds. She always said the seeds just provided extra sustenance. Carianne, too, took a practical view by explaining how God designed His creation so that animals eating the whole fruit would spread new trees across the land.

That reminded Adela—she owed a letter to her friends. She’d do that when she got back from taking Byron the lemonade. Maybe by then she’d have something interesting to tell them.

Adela could see Byron from the house, so she decided to walk. The fresh air would do her good. The smell of freshly turned earth drew her, and she remembered playing at the end of a row as her father plowed.

Byron caught sight of her and dropped the mule’s leathers. He was already out of the field when she strode up. He pushed back his hat and smiled. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his wet hair lay plastered to his skin.

His shirtsleeves, rolled up above his elbows, revealed the corded muscles of his forearms.

“I brought you some lemonade.” She held out the jug.

“Thank you, Adela. Can’t think of anything that would taste better about now.” His voice, soft and husky, excited her. He unscrewed the lid and tipped the jug to his mouth.

She watched in fascination as his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow. Clasping her hands behind her, Adela waited until he came up for air. “You’ve almost finished with this field, haven’t you?” She threw out the useless question to cover her emotions.

He swiped his mouth. “Yeah, but there are three more to go. It’s a race against the snow. Last year, I just let most of it go fallow—not a good idea, as I found out this spring.”

“Farming has to be learned like anything, I guess.”

“Pa was a good teacher, but I didn’t expect to take over so soon.”

“You know I’m working on your father’s books. I just know there’s been some mistake.”

“Hope so.” He took another long swig.

She shouldn’t keep him from his work. “I suppose I should be going. I have to take the ham out of the oven. Your mother went to take some food to the Lynstrums. She said Mr. Lynstrum had an accident.”

“Yeah, I need to get over there and help out tomorrow.”

Reluctance to leave kept her rooted to the ground, even leaning toward him. “The party’s tomorrow,” she reminded him, as if he didn’t know.

“Tomorrow night. I’ll surely be there. All the neighbors will likely show up, and I want to introduce you to some folks you haven’t met yet.”

Realizing how far she’d inched to him, heat flooded her face, and she stepped back, dipping her head and focusing on his scuffed boots. She lifted her gaze slowly, over his dusty denims, belted waist, the tan striped shirt where his chest still heaved from exertion, to the stubble on his firm chin, all the way to his questioning eyes.

She was suddenly aware of his maleness. Raw, primitive passion stirred her—scaring her a little. Her mind went beyond their possible marriage, beyond his kiss.

For the first time in her life she beheld what a man should look like. Funny, she didn’t find it in the dark alcoves and secret gardens of dime novels, but out here, under a wide expanse of azure sky in a plowed cornfield. Love didn’t hide in secret places. It chose wide open space to reveal itself.

And she did love him. Here was a man who worked hard to provide, ever ready to protect, yet offering tenderness when needed. A man with a strong sense of right and wrong, who bowed to no one but God. Faced his own weakness honestly. Not only noticed a brother in need, but did something about it.

He’d emptied the jar and held it out to her with a look that had her mesmerized for several long seconds. She took the jar and waved. “I’ll see you at supper.”

Happiness put a skip in her steps. She didn’t know what had transpired between them, but she was certain the memory of this moment would stay with her all the days of her life to be taken out and savored over and over.

After everyone retired for the night, Adela went back to the books. She had a new goal, greater than marrying for convenience. Saving a home—her home. Her goal melded with Byron’s mission. He wanted to provide a home and livelihood for those poor boys. To do so, he must save the small ranch. She could help him in that.

She’d already reconstructed the past two years of the farm’s operations, and a pattern had emerged. When she recorded the information for the current year, if something out of the ordinary stood out, she’d be able to spot it.

Rubbing her gritty eyes, she glanced to the little French clock atop the bookshelf. It was after twelve. No wonder her shoulders strained. She was too tired to think. After finishing this year’s transactions, she’d make a comparison. How did the lean year differ from those of plenty?

She was about to close the ledger for the night when she saw it. Suddenly, like a quail startled in the brush, it jumped out at her. Mr. Calhoun’s last wheat shipment hadn’t been paid. Why Byron hadn’t noticed that before, she didn’t know. Perhaps he’d been so preoccupied with his father’s sudden death— It didn’t matter. The mistake was huge and would make a big difference in the farm’s income, if it could be corrected.

Adela reworked her calculations to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake in math. Convinced she hadn’t, she sagged in her chair and closed her eyes.
Thank You, Heavenly Father.

This would save Byron’s land. He could build the ranch for the boys.

Byron. He had to know. Now. Tonight. Regardless of the time.

She grabbed her cloak and a lamp and ran out of the house. The chill night air made her pull the cloak closer as she made her way to the narrow door on the side of the barn that opened to the men’s sleeping quarters. She rapped on the wooden panel, and when that brought no response, rapped harder.

Adela almost fell in when the door jerked open. “Adela, what’s wrong?” Concern etched Byron’s features.

She held the lamp higher to take in the sight of him from his rumpled hair to his nightshirt only half tucked into his dungarees. “Nothing’s wrong.” She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “Everything is right. I found the bookkeeping error. You have more money than you think—or you will have.”

He shook his head. “What?”

She started to repeat herself, and he held up a hand. “Whoa. It’s cold out here. Go on back inside. I’ll get my coat and be right in.”

“I’ll make some coffee,” she called over her shoulder as she sprinted back to the house.

The coffee hadn’t perked before she heard Byron. She hustled to the desk where papers still covered the top. Adela showed him the error. “See, there’s the shipping documents, but no payment for the wheat for last summer. “There was no draft recorded by the bank, and the delivery was made after your father’s death, so he couldn’t have cashed it.”

The perplexity on Byron’s face told her he didn’t understand. “You look over the documents, and I’ll go get our coffee,” she said.

When she returned with two steaming cups, he glanced up. “I believe you’re right, Adela, but what am I going to do after all this time? Even though I was in a state after Pa’s death, it was stupid to overlook something like this. I can’t expect the shipper to make it good now.”

She set one of the cups in front of him. “This is a reputable company. If they did make payment, they’ll have proof of it, and you can trace it. Unless the draft was stolen—and I can’t believe that happened. They’ll make good on it. If they don’t, you can get a lawyer.

He drank steadily for a minute, and the coffee seemed to convince him. Byron got up and took the cup from Adela. “Do you know what this means?” He took her hands.

“Yes, it means you can keep that land for the boy’s ranch and not have to scrimp through the winter.”

“It means more than that. You’re a genius, Adela, a pure genius.” He pulled her to his chest in a bear hug that sent a thrill skidding through her. She lifted her head. He lowered his. Their lips were inches apart.

“What’s going on in here?” Mrs. Calhoun’s question cracked through the silent room.

They both jumped apart. “Ma, Adela found where we weren’t paid for last summer’s wheat. It’s still due.”

“How could that be, and how are we going to get it now? How could we prove it just by a bunch of numbers pulled out of the air?”

Byron ran his fingers through his already ruffled hair in a gesture of frustration. “Ma, Adela is an educated woman. She didn’t pull numbers out of the air.”

Gratitude warmed Adela all the way to her toes. Byron was in the impossible position of smoothing the ruffled feathers of two women he cared about. He’d obviously been brought up to respect his mother, so he couldn’t tell her she was off her rocker. Yet his willingness to defend Adela proved he not only cared about her, but he respected her as much as his mother.

She wanted to make it clear it wasn’t Byron’s fault. “It’s not unusual for mistakes to occur when settling an estate. Sometimes it takes years for the affairs to be straightened out. You may have to hire a lawyer.”

Mrs. Calhoun’s brows shot up. “Hire a lawyer with what?”

Adela wouldn’t let the woman rob them of their celebration. “Byron can probably get a lawyer to take a commission only if he wins the case, but it’s an iron-clad case.”

For the first time, Adela caught a spark of admiration in Mrs. Calhoun’s eyes, but she didn’t drop the argument easily. “I know you’ve been educated in the ways of city business, Miss Mason, but I’ve been farming all my life, and it don’t always work out that way for us.”

Byron made a wide path around his mother on his way to the door. “I’ll make it work, Ma. Now, let’s all go back to bed. We have a party to get ready for tomorrow. Let’s not say anything to our neighbors yet.” He stopped to squeeze Adela on the shoulder, smiling as they made eye contact. “Thanks to you, we’ll have a lot more to be celebrating than this year’s harvest.” He would have kissed her if they’d been alone.

She tried not to read more into that than she should. The mistake she’d uncovered might be easily explained and not result in any gain for the farm at all. She might be getting their hopes up for nothing.

When Byron told Adela most of the farming community would come to the shucking and taffy pull, she pictured a large gathering similar to the receptions back in Cambridge. When only nineteen people showed, including half a dozen children, she realized how small the community was.

They all seemed to swarm in at once, straining the small house to its limits. Then the men trooped to the barn where they’d spend most of the afternoon shucking corn and jawing, as Mrs. Calhoun put it. Hilda Jane and her father came early—to help they said, though Hilda Jane didn’t put herself out any.

Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins came. Ester Hawkins was the only woman who paid Adela any attention, but not enough to prevent her from again feeling like a wallflower and in the way.

Leaving the women discussing the recent birth of a baby, Adela went to the kitchen and mixed cocoa, sugar, and milk in a pot on the stove. She was stirring slowly when Hilda Jane came in.

She stuck her head over the pot. “You making fudge? Bertha won’t like that. Fudge’s her specialty.”

“No, I thought I’d make some hot cocoa for the men. It must be cold out there.”

“Don’t use too much cocoa or sugar. Bertha wants to make fudge later. Do we have enough sugar?”