Sherri Shackelford - The Engagement Bargain

There was every chance the police would discover that someone had accidentally shot out their parlor window like her inept neighbor, nearly killing Anna in the process. Either way, she’d go back home. Back to traveling during the week and corresponding with other suffragists over the weekends. Back to a future that looked remarkably like her past.

There was nothing unsatisfying about her life, was there? And yet her mind rebelled at the notion. The nagging feeling lingered. A sense that something was missing.

A knock sounded at the door and Anna groaned.

Was it really too much to ask for a moment’s peace? The guard at her door announced Mr. McCoy, and her agitation intensified. She wasn’t ready to see him again. Her thoughts and feelings were too jumbled, too confusing.

She considered refusing him entrance, then dismissed the idea as churlish. “Come in.”

The door swung open, and Mr. McCoy entered with another, shorter, gentleman in his later years with a smooth-shaven face, a bulbous nose and prominent ears.

The second man tipped his hat. “I’m Dr. Smith. You probably don’t remember me, but I checked in on you a few days ago.”

Anna glared at Mr. McCoy. “As I stated earlier, I’m fine. I simply need rest.”

“I’m quite sure you do,” Dr. Smith said. “I recommend several weeks of light activity. A visit to the country would do you good.”

Anna huffed. She was usually quite reasonable, but this constant interference was unacceptable. “Did Mr. McCoy put you up to this?”

The doctor washed his hands in the basin. “No. Can’t say that he did. It’s simply a treatment course recommended for my gunshot victims. I must say, my gunshot victims are usually men, but the convalescence procedure is the same. These are modern times, I suppose. Not sure I like all the change. Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Deciding it was easier to concede than argue, Anna lifted her arm and tugged her shirt loose, exposing her bandaged side.

She glanced across the room to where Mr. McCoy had suddenly discovered an intense fascination for the flocked wallpaper. Staying annoyed with the man was impossible. Which annoyed her even more.

Dr. Smith perched on a chair near the bed, peeled away the bandage and squinted. “You’re excellent with a needle, Mr. McCoy. Your talents are wasted on livestock. Sorry I missed the excitement firsthand but I was paying a house call on another patient when they came to fetch me after the accident.” He reached for his bag. “While I hate to unravel all your fine work, it’s time we take out the stitches. Might hurt a bit. Can I send for someone?”

Caleb glanced around as though searching for help. “Jo had an errand. Can I fetch Izetta to sit with you?”

“No. She’s home. She’s been running herself ragged.”

“I should leave,” he said brusquely.

“Stay,” she blurted, immediately regretting her outburst. “Talk with me,” she added quickly, covering her embarrassment. “Tell me a story. I’ve read Jo’s letters, the McCoys must be excellent storytellers.”

What on earth was she blubbering about? A little pain was nothing. She didn’t need her hand held like a child.

“I’ll stay,” he said, a wealth of reluctance in his voice.

Though she’d had plenty of visitors, she’d also had too much time alone. She clung to him because he was the one constant in all her confusion, which was understandable.

That wasn’t exactly true. He and Jo and Izetta had become her salvation.

All the logic in the world failed to ease her fear. She didn’t want her independence right then. She wanted someone to hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be all right.

The doctor clipped the first stitch, and Anna hissed a breath, closing her eyes. Caleb’s hesitation said everything. She’d pushed their relationship beyond the boundaries he’d established. A forgivable mistake.

The situation had forced them into a false intimacy, and that state was temporary. She’d do well to remember the distinction. Except she’d lost all of her usual soft landing places. Normally when she was feeling alone or out of sorts, her work filled in the desolate spots. Here there were only four walls decorated with that abysmal olive-colored flocked wallpaper. She much preferred looking at a pair of kind, forest-green eyes. That was her downfall. Those infernal eyes.

Once she was home, certainly she’d forget all about him. Here there was too much time for thinking, too much temptation to read more into a kind gesture or a caring word.

Too much time for realizing that she’d almost died.

Chapter Five

She’d asked the wrong McCoy for a story, but he’d do his best. She’d been through a rough time, and Caleb wanted to infuse her with some of his own strength.

The bed depressed beneath his weight. “I’ll tell you about the time my cousin nearly got himself killed at the husking bee.”

He watched as the doctor lifted the first stitch free, then adjusted his position on the edge of the bed. The doctor studied the wound, humming softly, ignoring their exchange. With the doctor claiming the only chair, Caleb was left with a sliver of the bed for sitting on the opposite side. He plumped one pillow against the headboard and pushed up straighter, his right leg stretched out on the coverlet, his left knee bent and his foot braced against the floor so that he didn’t take up too much room.

“What’s a husking bee?” Anna asked, her head turned toward him, her expression curious and devoid of the fright he’d seen earlier.

Despite the pain and the forced confinement, she’d not complained, not once that he’d heard. She’d soldiered on through the worst of conditions. Caught in her trusting gaze, the last of his reluctance melted away.

He might not be the storyteller in the family, but for Anna, he’d give his best effort. “Back in the day, a farmer put up his corn in the barn before winter came and husked it at his leisure during the cold months. But old farmer Bainum had a better idea. He figured if all the ladies gathered every Saturday for a quilting bee, then all the fellows could hold a husking bee. He figured if he disguised the work as a party, he’d get a lot of help. That first year, he rolled out a barrel of his best hard apple cider, and every able-bodied man in the county showed up. Except Bainum cider is strong stuff. Only half the husking was finished before the boys decided they were having more fun drinking than husking.”

The doctor muttered something unintelligible.

The groan that came from Anna’s lips died in a hiss. His heart clenched at the sight of her distress. He’d never felt so helpless, so utterly inadequate.

Her grimace eased and she said, “Liquor has never been conducive to work.”

“Not even in the country,” Caleb babbled, desperate to keep her mind off her hurts. “Old Mr. Bainum was stuck husking the rest of the corn himself, and he’d given up a whole barrel of apple cider for his trouble. The next year he had an even better idea. He’d invite the ladies. Even though he’d been widowed longer than he’d been married, he knew enough from family gatherings and church picnics to realize a thing or two about ladies. A wife never showed up at an event without a covered dish, and they always kept an eye on how much cider the men drank.”

“Sounds like more work for the women.” Anna hoisted a disapproving eyebrow.

“He thought of that, as well. Once all the corn was husked, old farmer Bainum decided to throw a barn dance. Around Cimarron Springs, the ladies always like a good dance. Mr. Bainum made a game of the husking, too. He threw in a couple of ears of red corn. When a young man discovered an ear of red corn, he was allowed one kiss with the lady of his choice.”