Dallas Schulze - Short Straw Bride

Though Luke participated in the conversation, his attention was centered on the dark-haired girl across the table from him. He saw nothing to make him think his first assessment had been in error. The more he watched Eleanor Williams, the more convinced he became that she’d make a suitable wife. Her looks were pleasant, her demeanor quiet—she was the very picture of the docile bride he’d described to his brother.

When the meal ended, Eleanor rose and began to clear the table. Luke noticed that neither Anabel nor her mother moved to offer any assistance. Since Eleanor didn’t seem to notice the omission, he assumed this must be another example of how she “earned her keep.”

As Eleanor disappeared into the kitchen, Anabel caught Luke’s eye. Her smile was pure invitation, too old for her sixteen years. Luke was surprised by his own lack of interest. Perhaps Anabel read something of that lack in his expression because her soft, pink Cupid’s-bow mouth tightened momentarily and something cold and hard flickered in her baby blue eyes.

Just like that mule Pa owned, Luke thought again. Remembering the mule’s tendency to bite when riled, he had to restrain the urge to shift his chair a little farther away from Anabel’s. But he underestimated her intelligence. Anabel knew exactly who was to blame for his indifference.

Eleanor carried in a pie and Luke’s mouth watered at the pungent, sweet smell of warm cherries. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had cherry pie. And if her pie was anywhere near as good as her biscuits…

“That smells mighty good, Miss Eleanor,” he said, enjoying the flush of pleasure that brought a sparkle to her eyes.

“Serve our guest first, Eleanor,” Dorinda Williams said, with the air of a queen giving out favors.

Still flushed, Eleanor set the pie down next to her aunt and used a narrow spatula to lift an already cut slice onto one of the small china plates that sat ready to receive it. It had never occurred to Luke that a woman could look graceful doing something as simple as serving a piece of pie, but there was a quick grace about everything she did and he found himself thinking that it wouldn’t be a hardship to watch her around the house.

Eleanor moved down the table and reached between him and Anabel to set the plate down in front of him. Luke was looking at the pie but out of the corner of his eye he caught a quick movement from Anabel. Eleanor gasped as her arm was jogged. The plate tilted and Luke’s white shirtfront was suddenly decorated with cherry pie.

There was a moment’s stunned silence as everyone at the table stared at the bright red cherries splattered across his chest.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how—”

“Eleanor, you clumsy little idiot!” Dorinda’s sharp voice cut off her niece’s breathless apology. “Can’t you do anything right?”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Williams,” Luke said.

“It’s kind of you to say so,” Zeb put in, his long face drawn in tight lines of disapproval. “Naturally, Eleanor will see to the cleaning of your clothing or its replacement. Tell Mr. McLain you’re sorry, Eleanor.”

“She’s already apologized.” Luke spoke before Eleanor could say anything. She’d set down the plate and grabbed Luke’s napkin and was dabbing at the stain on his shirtfront. He closed his fingers around hers, stopping her futile attempts to repair the damage. “I’m just glad the pie wasn’t hot,” he said, glancing up at her with a smile.

Her mouth curved, but the lower lip quivered and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Luke found himself wanting to bang her aunt’s and uncle’s heads together. He still held Eleanor’s hand and he could feel her pulse jumping erratically under his touch.

“If I could have a towel?” he suggested gently.

“Get Mr. McLain a towel, Eleanor,” her aunt snapped immediately.

There was an awkward silence when Eleanor had vanished into the kitchen. Luke found himself wondering why his mother’s lessons on etiquette had never covered what a man should say when he found himself wearing a slice of pie and knowing that the cause of the disaster was sitting right next to him looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am that this happened, Mr. McLain.” Dorinda’s voice was heavy with mortification.

“No need to apologize, Mrs. Williams. Accidents can happen.” He let his gaze settle on Anabel, who looked back at him without the smallest trace of guilt or remorse in her pretty blue eyes.

Eleanor returned and Luke scraped cherries and pie crust off his chest and into the towel she’d brought. Aside from his shirt, there was no real damage done. Once the towel was disposed of, he fixed Eleanor with his best smile, the one that had generally succeeded in getting him just about anything he wanted from a woman.

“I’d still like a slice of that pie, Miss Eleanor.”

She gave him a grateful look and reached for the pie plate, but her aunt spoke before she could touch it. “ I’ll serve the pie. I’d prefer to avoid another scene.”

Eleanor flushed and moved around the table to sit down, her hands in her lap.

“Anabel, my dear, please pass this to Mr. McLain.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Anabel took the plate from her mother and turned to Luke, who eyed her warily. But she set the plate in front of him, giving him a sweet smile in the process. She turned that smile on her cousin. “You see, Eleanor, all it takes is a little care.”

Luke saw Eleanor’s dark eyes flash with anger. She knew as well as he did just who was to blame for spilling the pie. He waited, wondering if he was about to see a display of temper, but she only drew a deep breath and looked down at the table.

His expression thoughtful, he picked up his fork. She had a temper but kept it under control. That was a good thing in a wife. As he’d told Daniel, he didn’t want a wife who was prone to throwing fits. The more he saw of her, the more she seemed a likely candidate for marrying.

Besides, she baked the best darned cherry pie he’d ever sunk a tooth into.

“It was just awful, Letty. It looked like I’d shot him with a shotgun, only it had been loaded with cherries instead of buckshot.” Eleanor’s face flushed at the memory.

“It doesn’t sound like he was upset.” Letty Sinclair picked up the teapot and filled both their cups.

“He was nice as could be,” Eleanor agreed. “And that little cat, Anabel, sat there with a smug little smile on her face. I just wanted to shove her headfirst into a mud puddle.”

“Or a cherry pie,” Letty suggested.

“That would have spoiled her mood,” Eleanor agreed, smiling at the thought of Anabel with a faceful of cherry pie. Her smile faded. “Luke must think I’m clumsy as a bull at a tea party.”

“Luke?” Letty raised her eyebrows at the familiarity.

“Mr. McLain,” Eleanor corrected herself with a guilty blush.

“I’ve seen him and his brother in town a time or two even before I met them at church last week,” Letty said. “They’re both very attractive men. You could do worse than to set your sights on one of them.”

Eleanor choked on a mouthful of tea. “Me? Set my sights on a man like Luke McLain? I’d be making a total fool of myself.”

“I don’t see why.” Letty’s pretty chin set stubbornly.

“What would a man like that see in a dab of a girl like me? Ouch!” She cried out more in surprise than pain as Letty rapped the back of her knuckles with the silver spoon she’d picked up to stir her tea. “Why did you do that?”

“Because you sounded just like your aunt Dorinda,” Letty said, showing not the least sign of remorse. “You’re not a dab of a girl, Eleanor Emmeline Williams.”