Carolyn Davidson - The Bachelor Tax

She’d not been offered for, ever, until the new minister had suggested in his letter that they might form an alliance of sorts. It seemed his bishop preferred married men in the pulpit, and Lars Jorgenson sounded willing to sacrifice his bachelorhood to the effort.

It was a stroke of luck she had not thought to encounter. Since the day her father had breathed his last, she had stayed on, the parishioners allowing her use of the parsonage, awaited the arrival of his replacement, keeping the parsonage in immaculate condition, praying for direction should she find herself without a home.

The final letter last week from the prospective minister had brought new hope to her heart. If he felt they suited, he would immediately notify his bishop. Until then, he felt his tentative plans must be held in abeyance.

Now, in just a few minutes, Lars Jorgenson would step from the train and search her out on the station platform. Rosemary scurried around the corner of the bank and picked her way through the weed-infested shortcut to the railroad tracks.

This might well be the most important day of her life.

Gabe Tanner’s gaze scanned the wooden sidewalk again, the fifth time during the past ten minutes. His indolent posture was but a pose, his mission this morning more important than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

Ah, there she was. That mousy, dark-haired excuse for a woman, with her collar buttoned so tight it was a wonder she could breathe, her mincing little steps making her bosom rise and fall within her dress. She’d have a hissy fit if she knew how it caught his eye, and that thought brought a chuckle to his lips.

She turned back, her eyes widening in anger and insult, then resumed her marching gait, but not before he caught sight of the blush that rode her cheekbones. She ought to pinken them up regularly. It would make her look almost…

Naw, it’d take more than that to put some life into the old preacher’s daughter, Tanner decided. He watched as she paraded on her way, her heels clicking on the wooden sidewalk.

And yet, he had decided, she might very well be the one to save him a bundle, not that the amount was likely to make him mortgage his spread. Rather, he couldn’t abide the thought of the new law, passed less than a year ago and soon to catch him in its web.

Bachelor Tax. The phrase alone was enough to make his mouth pucker in distaste. The thought that a man would be subject to a tax burden such as this was loathsome.

If asking Miss High-and-Mighty to accept his hand in marriage would alleviate the burden for another whole year, he’d give it a shot. The knowledge that she would shudder and step back from his imposing presence was insurance enough to allow his consideration.

He tilted his hat back and stood erect, casting one last glance at the shuttered windows of the Golden Slipper Saloon. Too early for business yet, although the sound of Herbie’s broom sweeping the perpetually dusty floor could be heard beyond the swinging doors. Jason Stillwell was no doubt in bed, owing to the late hours he kept running the place.

Tanner’s footsteps were heavy on the boardwalk as he followed his prey. She was heading for the train station, just as he had suspected.

The new preacher was supposed to be coming in today. Word had it that Rosemary Gibson was holding out hopes the bachelor minister would marry her and allow her to stay on in the parsonage, where she’d already spent the past ten years of her life.

He moved more quickly, noting the puffs of dust that rose as Miss Gibson made her way across the vacant lot. Her hips swayed quite nicely, he thought. Tanner doubted if the new preacher would appreciate the view as much as a rancher with a long dry spell behind him might.

When it got so a spinster looked good at ten o’clock in the morning, a man was in pretty bad shape, Tanner decided.

The train slowed, its whistle announcing its arrival with three short blasts as it shuddered to a stop. The conductor stepped briskly onto the platform and turned to assist the passengers from the metal steps.

There was more than one this morning, Rosemary saw with some surprise. All she had anticipated was the man who had been chosen to fill her father’s shoes. Those shoes she had polished for the final time just last month. Her tears fought to escape and she blinked furiously, lest she meet Lars Jorgenson with damp cheeks.

A woman stepped to the platform, a small boy right behind her. Next, a tall man with a tiny girl clutched against his shoulder eased past the conductor. They stood there, looking around as if they expected to be met, and Rosemary glanced over her shoulder at the empty platform. Surely they were someone’s relatives, or perhaps simply a new family moving to Edgewood, Texas, and in need of a conveyance.

The sight of Gabe Tanner rounding the corner of the station platform caught Rosemary’s eye and she turned quickly from the cocky grin he shot in her direction.

Another passenger stepped from the train and Rosemary held her breath. Surely this was Lars, this fine-looking, youthful gentleman whose gaze searched the length of the wooden platform. She lifted her head, settling a pleasant smile on her lips as she allowed her eyes to rest on his handsome face.

Behind her, a hand touched her shoulder and she spun about, a muffled shriek passing her lips.

“Ma’am?”

“I beg your pardon.” Her words might have been cast in stone, so firmly did they fall from her lips.

Gabe Tanner swept his hat from his head and his grin showed an abundance of white teeth, marred only by the slight chip gracing the one directly beneath his left nostril.

“May I have your attention for just a moment?” he asked politely.

She glanced back distractedly at the gentleman who watched her from the side of the train. “What is it?” she muttered, her gaze cutting to Tanner’s sun-warmed face.

“I’d like to ask you to be my wife,” he said simply. “Will you marry me, Miss Gibson?”

She felt her eyes widen, even as her mouth dropped open in total amazement. “You…surely you…” The words would not come. She dampened her lips with the tip of her tongue and blinked at the man facing her, his dark hair ruffling against his collar.

“I take it that was a yes?” he asked, his grin widening.

Her mouth opened and closed, as if she were struck speechless. And then she uttered one word.

“Why?”

“Why?” he parroted.

“Yes, why? Whatever would make you ask me such a thing?”

“I need a wife, ma’am. And you seem a likely candidate.”

She shook her head again. “Do not molest me further, sir. I am here to welcome the new minister to my father’s church.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tanner said, with glee spilling from his dark eyes. “I take it that was a firm refusal then, ma’am?”

“I cannot believe this!” Rosemary spun from him and tugged at her black bombazine jacket, relieved as she heard his boots strike the platform in retreat.

The young man still watched her and she smiled, just a bit. He approached her, sweeping his hat from his head, exposing a lush head of golden hair. Of course, she thought, with a name like Lars Jorgenson, he would be fair-haired, and blue-eyed, too, she noted.

“Pardon me, miss. Do you know where I could find the owner of the Golden Slipper at this time of day?” He ducked his head a bit. “I’m sure you would have no direct knowledge of the man, but perhaps…”

Rosemary gulped, choking on the very air she breathed. “The Golden Slipper?”

He nodded. “I’m to be the new piano player there, and he was to meet the train this morning.” His eyes appraised her carefully. “You wouldn’t know, would you?” he asked, a trace of regret in his voice.