Regina Scott - Frontier Matchmaker Bride

Mrs. Jamison floated back in with a young man at her side. He wore no coat over his cambric shirt and wool trousers, and his black hair was parted to fall neatly on either side of his face. He acted more diffident, but Hart was certain the lad was the same one he’d chased from the wharf.

Mrs. Jamison’s long-fingered hand rested on her brother’s shoulder. “Bobby, this is Deputy McCormick. He wanted to meet you. Deputy, this is my brother, Robert Donovan.”

Hart inclined his head. The adolescent gazed back, mute.

“Donovan,” he acknowledged. “I’m glad to meet you. Tell me what you were doing down by the dock.”

Mrs. Jamison’s fingers must have tightened on his shoulder, for the cambric stretched under her hand. “You must be mistaken, Deputy. My brother knows better than to visit such a dangerous place.”

Still the lad said nothing. Hart cocked his head. “We know otherwise, don’t we?”

Donovan swallowed.

His sister’s hand slipped around his shoulders. “Oh, Bobby, you didn’t. I told you it was no good meeting the ship. None of your friends are coming north. And we don’t have the money to send you back to San Francisco.”

Donovan hung his head.

Mrs. Jamison met Hart’s gaze, tears shimmering in her violet eyes. “I’m sorry, Deputy. Bobby didn’t want to come north, but there was nothing for us in San Francisco after my husband died. Please forgive him if he caused any trouble. He just wanted to find a friend.”

As if fighting tears himself, Donovan gave a brave sniff.

Hart straightened. “No harm done. But do as your sister says, lad, and stay away from the docks. If you want to make friends, you’d do better to attend school.”

Mrs. Jamison beamed at her brother. “Of course. We’ll be enrolling him at the North School at the start of next term.” She turned her look on Hart. “Thank you, Deputy, for your kind concern. May I send something home to your sweetheart to show my appreciation? Perhaps a length of ribbon?”

“Mr. McCormick doesn’t have a sweetheart,” the elder Mrs. Denny put in with a sly look to Hart.

“Though many of his dear friends would like to see that remedied,” her sister added with a giggle.

Mrs. Jamison turned the same shade of pink as her wallpaper. “Then you must send her to see me when you propose. I specialize in wedding dresses.”

Hart tipped his hat. “Very kind of you, ma’am, but I’m afraid that time might be a long while coming.”

The seamstress fluttered her dark lashes. “Perhaps not as long as you fear. A lawman like you would make a devoted husband and father. See how well you did with Bobby?”

The boy glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “I hope you’ll come by often, Deputy.”

His sister’s smile tightened. “Now, now, Bobby. Deputy McCormick must be very busy. We’ll be fine. Haven’t I always taken care of you?”

Her brother didn’t answer, dropping his gaze and shuffling his feet.

He didn’t fool Hart. There was something going on with Bobby Donovan and his lovely older sister. Hart made up his mind to keep an eye on them both. Right after he made sure Beth hadn’t settled on a bride.

Chapter Four

“Are you certain this is advisable, Miss Wallin?”

Beth smiled encouragement to the woman sitting beside her in the Pastry Emporium. Honoria Jenkins was a gentle lady who had been hired to teach at the newly opened North School, starting after Easter. Her light brown hair, cornflower-blue eyes and rosy cheeks made her resemble one of the glass-eyed dolls on display at Kelloggs’.

“We are in a public place,” Beth assured her, waving at the neat little wrought-iron tables and glass display case the bakery boasted. “And I’m here as a chaperone.”

Miss Jenkins adjusted the brown velvet hat on her sleek hair. “But won’t Deputy McCormick suspect this is more than a casual meeting?”

Beth certainly hoped so. “As I mentioned, Mr. McCormick is seeking a wife. I’m merely facilitating introductions as his good friend.”

The schoolteacher eyed the door as if expecting Father Christmas to arrive with a bag of presents. “He sounds like quite a catch.”

“Oh, he is.” Beth picked up the cup of chamomile she had ordered. “Upstanding, loyal, a hard worker. He’s the law in this area.”

Miss Jenkins sighed. “How heroic.” She turned her blue gaze back to Beth. “Why aren’t you pursuing him yourself?”

Beth’s face heated. She set down her cup and selected one of the lemon drop cookies, her personal favorite, then took a bite and swallowed before answering.

“He’s like a brother to me.”

The lemon drop was like dust in Beth’s mouth. Maddie Haggerty, longtime friend and owner of the Pastry Emporium, must have had an off day. Beth took another sip of the tea to wash things down. It didn’t help.

Suddenly the couple sitting closest to the window gasped, and others began rising. Beth caught a glimpse of a dark-coated rider and a black horse pelting past, heard the shouts accompanying them. Her heart started beating faster.

Miss Jenkins pressed a hand to the ruffles at her throat. “What is it?”

“Deputy McCormick, I believe,” Beth answered, rising. “Come on.”

She hurried to the window, where the other patrons had collected, voices buzzing as they vied for the best position to watch. Beth squeezed in and pulled Miss Jenkins with her. Down the block, Hart and Arno veered against a team of horses thundering along, reins flapping. As she watched, he leaned over in the saddle, caught the reins, and pulled both Arno and the team to a halt. The elderly driver trembled while his wife buried her face in his shoulder.

“Runaway team,” someone said. “Good thing McCormick was on duty.”

“As usual,” Beth said, drawing a breath.

Miss Jenkins pulled her gaze from the street to stare at Beth as the others returned to their seats. “How can you be so calm? Someone might have been killed.”

“Possibly,” Beth allowed, taking her arm to lead her back to their table. “But you see how he rescued them. Mr. McCormick is a gentleman who can be counted upon.”

Miss Jenkins looked thoughtful.

They had no sooner settled themselves than the door opened to the ring of the shop bell. Hart stepped inside, leather duster settling against his black boots. His hard gaze bypassed the display counter with its dozens of frosted and spiced treats, and narrowed in instead on the patrons gathered at the tables. Some of the other patrons applauded. He gave them a nod.

Beth rose as he approached.

He removed his hat, the sunlight from the window gilding his short-cropped black hair. “Miss Wallin.” His look moved to her companion.

As if she was guilty of some crime, Miss Jenkins paled, and she pushed the cookies away from her.

“Good afternoon, Deputy,” Beth said determinedly. “May I introduce a new acquaintance of mine, Honoria Jenkins. Miss Jenkins, this is Deputy Hart McCormick.”

Hart inclined his head. “Ma’am.”

She dropped her gaze. “Deputy. Won’t you join us?”

With a look to Beth that held any number of misgivings, he drew up a chair.

“Cookie?” Miss Jenkins asked, offering the plate. “They’re quite good.”

“No, thanks,” he said. “Never was too partial to lemon.”

She set down the plate, wrinkling her nose. “Too tart. I quite agree.”

Odd. She’d consumed four of the things before Hart had arrived and even agreed with Beth they were one of Maddie’s best.

“That was very brave of you just now,” the schoolteacher continued, folding her gloved hands demurely on the table. “Miss Wallin told me you’re quite the hero, but now I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes.”