Engaging the Competition (7 page)

“I did find them impressive. You did things I only wished I could do. Things my stupid eyes made impossible. But then you humiliated me in front of my friends.”

“I didn't mean to.”

“I know this now, but at the time, all my feelings for you were dashed.”

“Your feelings?”

He closed his eyes and emptied his lungs. Him and his stupid mouth.

“You used to have feelings for me?”

He shook his head.

She tossed her chalk onto the board's shelf and turned away. “Excuse me, I've got to—”

He swiped at her and barely caught her arm. “I didn't
have
feelings for you.” He pulled her toward him despite her resistance.

“Of course you wouldn't.” Her poor lips were pressed so hard together they were shaking.

“I still do, woman.”

She stilled.

“I still do.”

Admitting that hadn't been as bad as he'd thought—freeing, actually. It didn't make the feelings more sensible, but at least they were out in the open.

Her big eyes blinked up at him, and he could feel his lips trying to smile despite the glistening tear sparkling in the corner of her eye. All the fight had gone out of her—and him as well.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as an excuse to touch her face, and she didn't so much as move. He let that hand
move to cup the back of her head, placed the other on her cheek, and tilted her head up as he leaned in for a kiss. Thankfully even with his bad depth perception he hit her mouth, and not too hard, but her lips were awfully stiff under his.

At least she wasn't pulling away. He let his hand travel down her back to ease her closer and coax more of a response from her, maybe—

“Excuse me?”

His shoulders sagged, and he broke away, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. What was it with people and interruptions this week? He kept hold of Charlie's arm despite her trying to tug away. “Yes?”

“I've got a package from Kansas City for Harrison Gray.” A thin man in dark clothing hesitantly stepped into the room.

Finally, his glasses. “That's me.” He released Charlie, accepted the package, and gave the man a dismissive nod.

The courier looked over Harrison's shoulder at Charlie and cleared his throat scornfully.

Harrison squinted to see if he recognized the man, but nothing about him seemed familiar. He turned back to Charlie. “Could you open this for me?”

She took the box and, surprisingly, said nothing.

Harrison frowned at the lack of footsteps and turned to see the delivery man still there. Why hadn't he left? If the man knew him, he would have spoken up once he realized Harrison wouldn't recognize him without his glasses. Maybe he needed a tip. Harrison searched for a coin in his pocket and gave it to him.

“Thanks. Good day, Mr. Gray. Charlie.” The man finally retreated.

Harrison squinted at the departing man. “You know him?”

“Yes.” She blew out her breath, handed him his unopened box, and jammed her fists against her eyes.

He fished out his pocket knife. He was tired of not being able to see enough to gauge what was going on inside her head. “What's wrong?” He flipped open his knife and felt for the twine that blended in with the paper.

She wrapped her hands around the box and took it from him. “It's no longer my word against Royal's.”

He blinked. Even if he could see perfectly, he wasn't sure he'd be able to figure her out. “What's that mean?”

“The delivery guy was Lonnie Moore.” She sliced through the twine and peeled off the paper from the little crate. “He's Royal's cousin.”

“So?” A good quarter of the town was probably related to the Whitakers. He jiggled the box top to get it to move out of its groove and fished out one pair of glasses.

“Whereas Cash saw nothing, I can't tell August that Lonnie saw nothing.”

He rubbed his forehead. Evidently his feelings for her hadn't changed her plans. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe she felt something for August, and he'd been too blind to see. Maybe that's why she hadn't kissed him back much. He opened the slim glasses case.

“August won't marry a two-timer.”

Trying to unfold his spectacles, his jittery hands dropped them. Just what he needed to do—break them on the first day. He knelt to find them. “I didn't mean to get you in trouble.”

“Are you going to marry me, Harrison?”

“What?” He blinked up at her. “Marry you?” This woman clearly wanted to be married posthaste.

“Yes.”

His mouth turned dry and his heart raced. He was on bended knee, but not for that purpose! “I . . . I only just kissed you.”

“Thanks a lot. Royal's threat was just bark, but now it's got teeth. As soon as August hears what Lonnie has to say, he'll jilt me.”

He felt along the floor but couldn't find his blasted glasses. “But maybe that won't happen.” But what if August did jilt her?

Did he want that to happen? It certainly seemed she didn't.

“But what if he does?” She bent over and snatched up something from under his desk.

No wonder he hadn't been able to see where his glasses had fallen. “I don't know. Perhaps it won't matter to him.”

She thrust the glasses into his hand. “Right. No reason to be worried that August would care about a kiss that meant nothing.”

“Wait.” He stood and unfolded the temples.

But just as he slipped his glasses on and could see that her plain, white shirtwaist was actually printed, she was stomping out between two incoming students. He glanced at the clock and sighed. Even if he ran after her, what could he say in five minutes that would fix anything?

And how exactly did he want to fix things?

His shoulders slumped. What had he just done to her for a kiss that wasn't even that great?

And yet he wanted another one. What did that mean exactly?

Did it mean he wanted another kiss badly enough to fight August for her? Could he be sure he was any better for her than a Whitaker?

Charlie tucked the sheet again. Then pulled it out to retuck. Then yanked it out and plunked down on the bed with a huff. She might as well admit that nothing would make her happy right now, not even a perfectly made bed.

“Honey?”

Charlie looked over her shoulder, hoping her mother wouldn't notice how near she was to crying over frustration, indecision, disappointment, and a plethora of other emotions she couldn't even name.

“Did you need this?” Momma held out a clean pillowcase that must have dropped somewhere between the linen closet and the bedroom. She stepped across the threshold and looked around the room. “Why are you rearranging in here?”

“I don't know.” Would August want his own room, would he stay at his own place, would he want to be married in every sense of the word immediately? Should she even bother to ask since she wasn't sure she wanted to go through with the wedding anymore?

And she wouldn't, except that her mother stood in front of her with eyes that didn't sparkle but rather looked half-empty.

Charlie clamped onto the footboard and hauled herself up. “Momma, are you worried about me getting married?”

“Not if your father approves. I'm happy you'll be joining your sisters out in the world in your own home.”

Charlie winced. Three of her sisters had died young. Only Agatha was actually married, living somewhere in Oregon—yet she hadn't responded to the letter informing her of their father's death.

If Agatha never responded, could Momma handle it? But perhaps her sister had only moved, or maybe the letters had gotten misdirected, so Charlie kept Agatha's nonresponse to herself. Momma hadn't yet asked about her in a way Charlie couldn't deflect. No need to upset her precarious state when there was still hope. “I mean are
you
worried, Momma.”

“Me? I'll be just fine. I've got your father for company, but I'm surprised he agreed to the first man who asked for your hand. He always said you were too good for just anybody.”

She shook her head. Daddy had thought too highly of her. What would he have said to the sad mess she was in now?

Momma grabbed her hand and patted Charlie as if she was the one hopelessly lost.

Daddy had loved Momma so much he'd have relocated a mountain with a pickax and shovel if Momma had asked. He would've surely squared his shoulders right alongside his daughter and done whatever it took to keep Momma happy. “I'm not going to be leaving, Momma. August and I plan to live here with you.”

“Oh.” She squeezed her daughter's hand. “I suppose you want to save money. As long as your father agrees, we've got
plenty of room. Oh wait!” She clapped. “I need to ask him something. We could spruce things up for you two if he'll agree.”

“Oh no, Momma.” She reached for her arm. “Don't inconvenience yourself for us.”

Her mother winked and patted Charlie's shoulder before escaping. “Don't worry your pretty little head about anything.” She stepped out the door and took a stride to the right, but then her shoulders drooped, and she turned back to the left and then took a hesitant step. “Hiram?”

Charlie hugged herself as her mother's uncertain footsteps stopped on the creaky staircase and she called to her husband again, her voice underlined with bewilderment. Could she hope Momma's mental confusion would someday end since she'd been fine before Daddy's death? But what if her problems had simply gone unnoticed before those months of utter grief?

Would Reverend McCabe allow a mad woman to sign as witness to her wedding? But Momma would be heartbroken if she wasn't asked to witness . . . if she even remembered the ceremony. And who else could Charlie ask? She had no real friends. This past year she'd worked so hard compensating for Daddy being gone and Royal's sabotaging that her few friendships had disintegrated into nothing.

Harrison was the only person who seemed to care right now, and he'd be the world's worst witness for her wedding. Not only was he a man who'd flippantly kiss a woman, but once Lonnie told August what happened today, Harrison's signature would be the last one her husband would want on their license.

And how long until Lonnie shared what he'd seen? If he told August before the ceremony, there wouldn't be one. But if he told
him afterward . . . She didn't know August well enough to even guess his reaction.

She'd pray Lonnie kept things to himself.

“Momma!” She searched the house until she found her mother staring out her bedroom window toward the barn. “Do the Whitakers attend First Lutheran with you?”

Momma twisted her lip between her teeth. “Maybe some of their relations, but none with that last name that I know of.”

“Good. Do you mind if I go with you Sunday?” No matter what she chose concerning August—and she had to decide soon—she needed to leave the church she attended with Harrison.

“I'd love that.” Momma's smile lasted a second, then flickered out. “If only I could convince your father to come. I'm worried for him. It's not like him to skip worship as much as he has lately.”

She put her arms around Momma and laid her head on her mother's shoulder, looking out over the land they both loved. The lay of the fields, the color of the barn, and the line of pear trees all bore Daddy's fingerprint. “You don't have to worry about that, Momma. I think he's found himself a good spot to worship, even if it's not where we'd prefer him to be.”

“You wanted to talk to me?”

Harrison stopped pacing at the front of the sanctuary and faced Reverend McCabe. With a glance, he made sure everyone had exited before marching back toward the reverend. Such a simple thing to be able to do, to see everything around him in a moment. Something he'd never take for granted, especially after the last two weeks.

“Is it about Charlie? I didn't see her in the congregation this morning.”

“Yes, this is about Charlie.” He stopped in front of the rev
erend, his hands firmly clasped behind his back. “Why'd you send me after her on that stormy Sunday?”

“Why?” The man scratched his chin. “I figured you could talk some sense into her. Considering they postponed the wedding, I figured you had.”

“But why'd you choose me?”

The man shrugged but didn't quite look at him. “I had a feeling you two needed to talk.”

“If only all we did was talk.” Harrison shoved both hands through his hair. “Do you know how much of a mess you got me into?”

“Me?” The man straightened. “You need to fill me in on what happened if you're going to start blaming things on me.”

“I kissed her.”

The man's mouth twitched and his eyes lit.

Just what he'd feared. “How did you know I liked her?” Most everyone in town probably thought he hated her as much as she had.

The man smiled. “Sometimes people forget I'm up front when I'm preaching. I can see what you're doing or who you're looking at.” His amused expression tried to turn stern, but the tilt of his brows gave him away. “I'd wager your spiritual life might improve if you paid more attention to my sermons than to Charlie, but at least you don't sleep.” He winked.

Harrison glanced at the third pew on the left where Charlie normally sat. “Even if I couldn't keep my eyes off her, I'm still entirely wrong for her. I couldn't help her in cattle drives because of my glasses and the possibility of rain, let alone dealing with horses flicking them off and stomping them.” He pushed his new spectacles back up and tucked the thin curl of the temples behind his ears. He should've gotten this kind of frame to begin
with. “So many possibilities for me to be rendered useless. I'd be a liability to her.”

“I doubt women think in terms of liability and assets when considering marriage.”

“Maybe not most women, but Charlie's not most women.” He shook his head. “It doesn't matter what she thinks, really. I decided years ago I couldn't pursue her because one's spouse should bring the best out in a person, but she seems to magnify my insecurities. I spent years practicing shooting so I could avenge myself because she'd humiliated me.” Harrison dropped down on the front pew. “I actually planned on embarrassing a woman in public. What kind of man does that?”

“But you didn't.” Reverend McCabe walked over to sit beside him. “You struggled with temptation and overcame. You became a better man because of her.”

“Jesus said anger is the same as murder. Perhaps I didn't act out my revenge, but I plotted and gained the skills necessary to do so. I was obsessed.”

“Yet you didn't do it. Why?”

He closed his eyes, envisioning her on that day. Her plaid shirtwaist, dusty split skirt, and overconfident, beautiful smile. “Because I would've hurt her.”

“So you put her above yourself, a good characteristic for a husband to possess.”

A husband? Did everyone think one kiss led to marriage?

A kiss he shouldn't even have given her considering she was engaged. Never had he even entertained kissing a woman promised to another man—and yet, Charlie seemed to muddle up his mind and his heart more than was good for him—or her, for that matter. “I care too much to strap her to me if I'm just as wrong for her as August.”

“Do you think August will think of her above himself? Which you've already done and are still trying to do.”

He shook his head. “You're imagining what should be common courtesy as something more.”

Reverend McCabe stared at him long enough to make him squirm. “So you're telling me you have no feelings for her whatsoever?”

He sniffed and looked away. “How do we know August hasn't pined for her just as long?”

“Maybe she needs a choice.”

“But I'm not willing to get married tomorrow. She doesn't even know who I am. She doesn't know my future plans, my thoughts on politics, religion, and life. She doesn't even know I can outshoot her, which she'd consider an important detail.”

“Then maybe you should tell her.” Reverend McCabe shook his head at Harrison as if he were a schoolboy with terrible excuses.

And maybe they were terrible excuses—because what if none of that information turned her away? Could he be married to Charlie? A woman who caused such contradictory feelings to stir within him?

His father and mother were complimentary opposites. He and Charlie were definitely opposites, but he didn't want to be stomped on for the rest of his life.

“My wife is beckoning.” The reverend raised a hand to acknowledge his wife's request, and she slipped back outside. “So unless there's more you need to discuss . . . ?”

He shook his head. “Thank you, but no.” He needed to process the emotions and arguments warring inside his head before talking any more to anyone. Or maybe he should ride over to see his father and
talk things out with him. Whereas
Reverend McCabe was concerned for Charlie, his father would be concerned for him first and foremost.

“Mr. Gray?”

Harrison startled and looked around to find Reverend McCabe had already disappeared and one of his students, Lydia King, stood at the end of the pew, worrying her lip.

“What can I do for you, Miss King?”

“I wanted to tell you why I missed school on Friday. My mother had to see the doctor.”

“No need to explain.” He held up a hand. “I'm sorry about your mother's health, and I'm glad you've got us all praying, but I'm not worried you'll fall behind. You've been gone before and kept up with your work. I bet you've already asked Beatrice about what you missed.”

She nodded. “But I'm afraid Mother might not be good enough for me to return tomorrow. And my father, well . . .”

He'd met Lydia's father and was surprised the man allowed Lydia to attend school at all, let alone the high school's collegiate course. He admired her pluck considering her living situation and hoped she'd find a way to afford college. “I'll accept any work you turn in through Beatrice for a few days if necessary. I don't know about your other teachers, however.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gray.” She remained standing in front of him, swallowing as if she wanted to say more.

He raised his eyebrows.

She looked at her feet. “I didn't mean to overhear you talking to the reverend.”

He rubbed a hand down his face. Would he have to listen to a seventeen-year-old girl give him relationship advice?

“But you can't let Charlie marry someone without letting her know.”

“Know what?”

“That you're in love with her.” Lydia hugged her Bible to her chest, sporting a faraway look, as if she were imagining him saving the heroine at the end of a novel by declaring his undying love.

“Love isn't always enough, Miss King.”

“I know that. My parents say they married for love, but . . .” She looked toward the pulpit. “Reverend McCabe's right when he preaches on that. It's the type of love that matters—sacrificial love.
Boaz and Ruth, Christ for his bride, Darcy and Elizabeth—that's the kind of love that lasts.”