Late that afternoon he emerged from the house. He was attired in a blue serge suit, a starchy white shirt cinched at the collar with a tie, and his Sunday hat. As he stepped off the porch, Neal Brown walked up from the corral. Brown gave him a slow once-over.
“You headed for church on a weekday?”
“Nope,” Tilghman said. “Tonight’s Zoe’s birthday party. Promised her I wouldn’t miss it.”
Brown sniffed the air. “You shore smell sweet. Sorta like a petunia.”
“You ought to try it yourself sometime.”
“Take a bath ever’ time it rains. Reckon that’s enough.”
“Anybody downwind wouldn’t doubt it.”
“Sorry state of affairs,” Brown grumped. “That little lady’s got you turned inside out.”
“Neal, you’ve got no idea.”
A short while later Tilghman drove off in the buckboard. He often thought that Brown was right, that he was addled by a younger woman. Though their birthdays were only a month apart, he and Zoe were separated by a span of years. She was now twenty-one, and come July 4 he would be thirty-seven. Still, for him, the years seemed to have fallen away. He felt like a kid again.
Not long after dark he arrived at the Stratton place. The buggies and buckboards of neighbors were parked outside, and the house was ablaze with lights. Gaily colored Chinese lanterns had been strung between the roof and nearby trees, and the crowd had spilled out onto the yard. Zoe saw him step down from the buckboard, and she excused herself from her guests. She hurried toward him.
“You’re here!” she said, her eyes radiant. “Somehow I knew you would make it.”
“Told you I would,” Tilghman said, taking her hands. “How could I miss your birthday?”
“When did you return?”
“Late last night.”
“Everyone’s heard,” she paused, searching his eyes. “About Dalton, I mean. Was it bad?”
“Time for that later,” Tilghman said, smiling at her. “I thought you invited me to a party.”
“Yes, of course, you’re right. Come and say hello to everyone.”
She led him to the guests congregated under the Chinese lanterns. The women smiled, watching him with curious expressions, and the men shook his hand, greeting him warmly. Several offered their congratulations, alluding to Dalton, and waited expectantly for details. But Zoe warded them off, pulling him through the crowd toward the house. Her father came through the front door.
“Look who’s here,” she said, leading Tilghman onto the porch. “He got in just last night.”
“Bill.” Amos Stratton extended his hand. “Glad you could make the party.”
“Glad to be here, Amos. Looks like everyone in the county turned out.”
“That reminds me,” Stratton said. “Zoe, you’d better check the punch bowl. It’s just about empty.”
“Oh, fudge!” She squeezed Tilghman’s hand. “Don’t run off. I’ll be right back.”
She hurried into the house. Stratton was silent a moment, then cleared his throat. “Your name’s been in the papers the last couple of days. Way it sounds, Dalton put up a stiff fight.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Tilghman said. “Like most, he didn’t know when to quit.”
“Zoe worries about you something terrible. She’d never say so, but it’s a fact.”
“Not all that much to worry about. I look after myself pretty close.”
“You must,” Stratton said amiably. “Or maybe you carry a lucky charm?”
“Never tried that,” Tilghman said with a good-humored smile. “I always figured a man makes his own luck.”
“I suspect that’s so in your line of work.”
“Daddy!” Zoe came out the doorway. “No talk of work tonight. This is a party!”
“Whatever you say, honey. It’s your night.”
She kissed her father on the cheek. Then, hooking her arm through Tilghman’s, she turned back into the yard. Smiling, nodding to her guests, she led him under the Chinese lanterns, leaving the crowd behind. They paused beneath a tree.
“I know it’s shameless,” she said gaily. “But I don’t want to share you with anyone tonight.”
“Same here,” Tilghman said. “Fact is, I was wondering how I could get you alone.”
“Were you really?”
“Well, you see, I’ve been thinking about your birthday present. So I went by a shop over in Guthrie yesterday.”
“You got me a present?”
Tilghman took a small box from his coat pocket. He snapped open the lid and the light from the lanterns sparkled off a diamond set in a slim gold band. Her mouth ovaled in a silent gasp and she stared at it as though bewitched. She finally looked up.
“Bill—”
“No, let me talk. You’re everything a man could want in a wife and … well, if you’ll have me, I’m, proposing marriage.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I said ‘yes.’ I’ll marry you.”
“You will?”
“Of course I will. Just tell me one thing … do you love me?”
“So much it hurts like a toothache.”
Though hardly poetic, the sentiment was there. By now, she knew he was a man rarely given to a display of emotion. Still, once they were married, she could change that easily enough. She held out her hand.
“Put the ring on, Bill.”
Tilghman slipped the ring on her finger. The sparkle in her eyes was no less than that of the lantern light off the diamond. She kissed him soundly on the lips.
“I do love you, Bill,” she murmured. “So very much.”
Tilghman enfolded her in a great hug. Across the yard there was a buzz of conversation. Then the crowd went silent, staring at them. She stepped out of his embrace, took his arm. She nodded to the watchful crowd.
“Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
“Announce our engagement.”
Tilghman grinned and led her toward the house.
CHAPTER 18
Tilghman still felt slightly dazed. The party had ended with another round of handshakes and warm congratulations from all their neighbors. Even Amos Stratton had pumped his arm,
