Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) (3 page)

"Callahan. Rocky Callahan." He tipped his head a little
by way of a greeting, and she noticed that one corner of his
mouth curved slightly upward. "But then you already knew
that, didn't you, Miss-?"

"Sarah Woodward," she put in, deciding to ignore his
impudence. "I met your niece and nephew on the stagecoach a
few weeks back, and I saw you take them away."

No point in trying to hide the fact that she'd noticed him.
She wouldn't admit to having watched him, however.

"I assumed you were the uncle in question," she added.
But not because you overflowed with love and compassion.

He glanced at Mrs. Winthrop, who hadn't moved from her
place behind the counter. Receiving a red-hot glare from him,
she took up a bundle of papers and moved to the back room,
expelling a loud gasp of air on her way. "I'll let you know about
the fabric," he called after.

Once again turning his dark gaze on Sarah, he said,
"You're the woman Ben Broughton sent for."

Sarah's stomach tightened. The last thing she intended to
do was discuss her personal reasons for coming to Little Hickman.

"I suppose you would need to alleviate some stress about
now," he said with a mocking grin, making Sarah's back go
straight as a pin, her chin jut with resolve. "Must have been a
bit of a shock to travel all that way and then find the man you
came to marry had set his cap for the schoolteacher."

"I'll need to measure your niece-is it Rachel?" she asked,
trying her best to ignore his callousness.

He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "She's out on the
buckboard if you've a mind to measure her right now."

"You left her sitting in the cold?" Sarah exclaimed. "And
the boy as well?" Picking up her skirts, she scooted around his
broad frame to see out the window. Sure enough, two unfortunate little souls sat huddled together high on their perch,
plainly cold by the way they both hugged themselves. "They're
freezing."

"I asked them if they wanted to come inside," he said,
moving up behind her at the window to fix his eyes on the
children. "They both refused."

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, whirling around to
face him, no longer thrown off balance by his tough exterior.

"The wind is brisk today, cold enough to bite off the tips of
their little noses."

"I told you I invited them in," he said, as if that should fix
the matter.

"Well, you should have insisted." Without waiting for his
retort, she went to the door and flung it open. "Come in out of
the cold," she called over the wailing winds.

Like lifeless statues, the pair sat rigid. Finally, the boy gave
his sister a hopeful look, but she rewarded him with a slow
shake of the head.

"Please come in where it's warm," Sarah called again, lowering her voice so that it sounded less demanding. Again, the
boy looked to his sister, his bare little fingers finding a place to
warm themselves between his skinny legs.

"They're not wearing mittens," Sarah hissed in disbelief.

"I couldn't find them when it was time to leave. The girl
is absentminded. I've no idea where she put them and neither
does she. I figured it would teach them both a lesson to go
without."

"What? How old is she, six, seven? What do you expect?"

"She's seven, and I expect some level of responsibility," he
answered.

His impertinence angered her so that she made a huffing sound before traipsing out into the frigid air and coming
face-to-face with the poor little imps. Eyeing them with equal
amounts of compassion and firmness, she looked from one to
the other. "Hello, Rachel and Seth. My name is Sarah, and I
would like you both to come inside now. I'm to make a dress
for you, Rachel. Isn't that nice? If you'll please come inside I
can measure you."

The child turned cold eyes on Sarah and folded her arms
in front of her. "I don't need no dress," she stated.

"Just the same, you should come inside. It's bitter cold
today"

"Is it going to snow?" asked the boy, his teeth clattering as
he spoke. His sister knocked him with her elbow, indicating he
wasn't to ask questions.

"It certainly feels cold enough," Sarah replied with a smile.
"Do you like snow?"

He nodded readily but, at his sister's silent admonition,
chose not to elaborate.

"Do you remember me? We rode into town together on
the stage."

A simple nod was all she got from Seth. Rachel remained
bravely staunch. "Ar mother died," she said simply.

"I know, and I'm sorry. Did you know my mother died
about the same time as yours? If you come inside we can talk
about it."

Rachel's cold stare intensified. "I don't want to talk about
it.

"Fine then, we won't. I do need to measure you, however,
so it's best you hop on down. You might help me pick out the
cloth as well. How would that be?"

Only slightly intrigued by that notion, the girl looked at
the doorway from where her uncle waited, his dour expression
matching hers. "Ar uncle hates us," she declared.

Sarah digested the girl's words and planned her response
with care. "I don't think he hates you." Her hasty glance backward confirmed that he couldn't hear them over the whistling
wind.

"Well, it don't make no difference anyway," Rachel clucked.
"'Cause we don't like him neither."

Sarah shivered and offered a hand to the angry child.
Begrudgingly, she took it, jumping to the hard earth below
and taking care to keep her frown in place. Next, Sarah held
her arms out to the boy, who went to her with no prodding, his
icy fingers clinging to her neck until they stepped inside and
Mr. Callahan closed the door behind them.

At the pinging of the door's little bell, Mrs. Winthrop
appeared around the curtained doorway. Sarah set Seth's
booted feet on the floor. "Have we made a decision on the
fabric yet?" she asked.

"Not yet, Mrs. Winthrop, but I would appreciate a tape
measure if you have one," Sarah said. "I need to take Rachel's
measurements."

"Yes, of course." She headed for a drawer near the cash
register, pulled out a long cloth tape, and then hurried to
deliver it. She seemed anxious to be rid of them.

After removing Rachel's coat and tossing it to the side,
Sarah saw why the girl needed dresses. This one was tattered
beyond repair, the hem hanging crooked with holes in the
sleeves and a three-cornered tear on the back of the skirt,
revealing a portion of her petticoats. Stains from lack of washing had fixed themselves down the front. To make matters
worse, the material was nothing more than thin cotton, wearing and fraying at the edges. Sarah cast an eye at Mr. Callahan
and hoped he read her disapproving look. If he did, he didn't
let on. Instead, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other
while she measured, as if to communicate his agitation. The
act only made Sarah want to dawdle.

Once finished measuring, they moved to the various bolts
of cloth, Mrs. Winthrop following on their heels. Mr. Callahan and the boy remained standing near the cash register.
Sarah steered Rachel in the direction of the warmer weaves,
the girl's eyes seeming close to bursting at the variety of colors
and patterns. Finally, her gaze landed on heavy, rose-colored,
brushed cotton. Grubby fingers came out to judge its texture.
Sarah watched in silent pleasure as the girl's expression went
from hesitance to sureness.

"You like this one?" Sarah asked.

A simple nod of the head was Rachel's response. Had she
never had the opportunity to choose before? Moreover, had
she never owned a new dress? By the looks of the one she wore,
it was a hand-me-down, perhaps previously worn by more than
one girl. Sarah's heart squeezed at the notion, for she couldn't
begin to count the number of brand-new dresses she'd owned
in her lifetime.

Mrs. Winthrop removed the bolt and hurried to a long
table where she laid the material out to prepare for cutting.
"Do you need thread?"

"I believe I have plenty of color choices back in my trunk.
I'll check my supply before purchasing," she said. The woman
looked across the table at Sarah, clearly intrigued.

"Fine," she managed, taking up with the huge piece of
cloth.

Just then, Mr. Callahan approached, the young boy on his
heels. "How soon before you finish the dress?" he asked.

"I've nothing better to do with my time. I should think I'll
finish it in the next day or so."

He lifted a dark eyebrow and then removed his woolen
cap before running long muscled fingers through his thick mass of black, wavy hair. "Nothing better to do, huh? You staying over at the boardinghouse?" he asked, his bottomless voice
resonating off the walls.

"Yes." It was best to keep her answers short, she determined.

"And how long will that last?"

Bemused, she angled him a curious stare. "What sort of
question is that, Mr. Callahan?" Mrs. Winthrop's hand movements slowed, as if she wanted to make certain not to miss a
beat in the conversation.

"A simple one. You came here to marry Benjamin Broughton, right? Since that didn't pan out for you, I was curious as to
how long before you go back to wherever it is you came from."
A shadow crossed his face, indiscernible in nature.

She hid her anger beneath a forced smile. "Not that it is
any of your business, sir, but I shall remain in Little Hickman
indefinitely. I sold most of my possessions while still in Winchester. To return now would be most futile."

"Winchester?"

"Massachusetts. Just outside of Boston."

He cocked his dark head. Sarah found she had to crane her
neck to see his face, making her believe his height exceeded
six feet. "No family or friends up there?"

"Friends, yes, but none worth staying for," she confessed,
immediately put out with herself for divulging such personal
information. As if that weren't enough, she added, "My parents are both deceased and I have no siblings."

To that, he gave a perfunctory nod. "How long you staying
at Emma's place?"

She couldn't help the little huffing sound that slipped past her lips. What did he care where she resided and for how
long? "For the time being," she offered. "In time I hope to..."
It wouldn't do to mention that her financial resources sat in a
trust fund back in Boston, awaiting her marriage as per her
mother's final will and testament, so she buttoned her lip and
left the sentence unfinished.

Creased brow raised, mouth slightly agape, he waited for
her dangling sentence to reach its conclusion. "What? In time
you hope to what?"

The children had wandered away out of boredom and
were looking at various items around the store. Finished cutting the fabric, Mrs. Winthrop carried it to the cash register
and feigned busyness, then took up a writing utensil to jot
some figures.

"Find some suitable place in which to live," she finished,
miffed at herself for being so forthright.

"In Hickman?" He grunted in disgust, trailing it with a
cold chuckle. At that, Mrs. Winthrop gave a mighty sniff, causing both adults to turn their gazes on her. Hastily, she resumed
her figuring. Mr. Callahan looked down his nose at Sarah. "In
that case, you might be lookin' a while. You'll not find much
finery in these parts, lady, and from the look of you, you've
been conditioned to enjoy life's finer offerings."

His mocking manner unnerved her, the way he perused
her from top to bottom, as if she were some piece of furniture
he'd been pondering buying and couldn't quite determine
whether it would mesh with his older pieces.

"I'll have you know I'm quite adaptable, sir!"

As if he had good reason to disbelieve her, he gave a halfnod. "No need to be snappish," he chided. Then, with a twist of his head, he glanced at the children, who'd wandered to the
back of the store. "Don't touch anything," he ordered. At the
harsh tone, his niece and nephew jolted to attention.

"Now who's the snappish one?" she asked, sticking out her
chin.

Clearly irritated, he ignored the remark and moved to
the cash register where he pulled out a sheaf of bills from his
pocket. Sarah examined the roll of greenbacks from where she
stood.

A palpable tightwad, that's what he was.

Mrs. Winthrop stated her price, and Mr. Callahan frowned.
"You sure about that? Seems high to me."

"It's extremely reasonable, Mr. Callahan," Sarah inserted.
Mrs. Winthrop's shoulders relaxed with gratitude.

"Oh, fine," was his annoyed response. He passed the proprietor a single bill, then waited while she made change. Once
she slipped it to him, she gathered up the paper parcel containing the rose-colored material and handed it over to Sarah.

"Bring Rachel by Emma's tomorrow afternoon," she
ordered. "I should be ready for her first fitting by then."

"Tomorrow?" His brow gathered into a frown. "Don't know
as I'll have the time tomorrow."

Rather than react, Sarah merely gave her head a little toss.
"Well, I can't put the finishing touches to the dress without
first fitting her."

His broad shoulders shrugged impatiently. "Oh, all righttomorrow."

"Good." Then to Rachel, she bent just slightly and placed
a hand on her tattered wool bonnet. "See what you can do
about finding those mittens, okay?"

The girl nodded, her expression bleak. Sarah smiled at
both unfortunate waifs. Clearly, they needed some love and
attention.

As to the man, he deserved nary a glimpse backward as
she tugged open the heavy door and marched out into January's harsh gale.

at your eggs," Rocky told his five-year-old nephew the
next morning.