Fist raised, Yarborough swung around to attack the woman. The shock of recognition had him hiding his clenched fist behind his back quickly as he gave a courteous bow.
“Mrs. Stewart, I hope you didn’t misunderstand my greeting to this young lady. In fact, I was just trying to find out if she needed direction to any—”
With a snort of disgust the middle-aged woman waved the man away. “I saw what you were about. Get on with you, cobbler. I’m here to greet the schoolteacher.”
He tipped his bowler—odd how the hat seemed so out of place in Belle—and left quickly. As Delia smiled at her rescuer, she looked beyond the woman’s shoulder. The man who had so intrigued her earlier was gone.
“Now, I’m counting on you being Miss Perkins.”
The woman’s words brought Delia’s attention back to her. Delia smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Well, I’m Mrs. Stewart. Sorry not to be here right away, but I had something in the oven that had to finish up baking.”
Delia began to speak, to assure the woman that it was fine. Mrs. Stewart made a tsking sound that cut her off.
“That Jubal Yarborough has been right fresh with the women here abouts. I wouldn’t want to let our Miss Winkleman down by not looking after you since she sent you to us.”
The woman looked at the rude man’s back as it retreated. “Funny thing, him bothering you of all people. You bein’ Miss Winkleman’s replacement. Yarborough bought her husband’s cobbler wagon. Guess that sort of makes him her husband’s replacement.”
After that rush of words the woman paused to take a breath. Delia would have responded except the woman quickly began to once again speak. “Right fond of Miss Winkleman I was. Always helped me with things and was a good teacher. Course you know her by a different name, I expect.”
The woman gave Delia a defiant look. “She’ll always be Grace Winkleman to those of us here in Belle.”
Murmuring words of agreement, Delia waited for the talkative woman to continue. When she didn’t and only stared at Delia, the younger woman reddened.
“Thank you for coming to meet me.”
Those were the words Mrs. Stewart expected. As soon as Delia said them, the woman’s face brightened into a wide smile. “Expect you’d like to see the school and get settled in.” Linking her arm through Delia’s as if they were old friends, she led her away from the depot. After only a few steps, Delia stopped in alarm.
“My trunk!”
The woman’s warm chuckle and motherly pat on Delia’s arm reassured her. “No worries now, my dear. The men here abouts know where to deliver it.”
At her mention of men, Delia caught sight of the dark-haired man who had so intrigued her earlier. Discreetly pointing at him, she asked, “Do you know that man? He gave me the oddest smile as I waited earlier.” It was the best excuse she could invent for asking about him.
Mrs. Stewart turned her bonnet in the direction of Delia’s small gesture. She turned back and smiled under the shadow of the bonnet.
“The horse trainer. Course, he hasn’t been here long. Brought a small herd to board for the winter out at the Chase ranch.” The bonnet shook. “Can’t imagine a man with a herd of horses not having his own land. Just imagine.”
Though it seemed almost inappropriate, Delia pushed for more information as she tried to keep her tone casual. “That is unusual. But, what is his name?”
Mrs. Stewart smiled, seeming to sense Delia’s interest. “Name? Oh, well, that’s Roland Anderson.”
Chapter 2
Roland Anderson’s wavy hair slipped over his brown eyes while he battled his growing temper. His daughter smirked up at him before hiding again behind his legs.
Wasn’t nine too old for a kid to be hiding? Sure, she might be small for her age. That didn’t make Eenie any less tough. And he knew tough was a good way to describe his tomboy.
The clearing of Miss Perkins’ throat centered his irritation squarely on that woman again. She hated him. It’s the reason she bullied his daughter and sent her hiding behind him.
“Enid Anderson, stand in front of me right now!” The woman said her command calmly enough. Looking into her eyes, Roland made out the frustration bubbling below the prim spinster’s surface.
Spinster was going too far. The woman didn’t look old. She just seemed uptight, similar to the old maids who taught him in his youth in Pennsylvania.
His youth. The thought almost had him snorting. And what would Miss Priss standing in front of him think if he did snort. What little youth he’d had ended long before Gettysburg.
As a boy in Pennsylvania, he’d helped when wounded soldiers were carted from the battle sites into a home volunteered by a resident of the small town of Gettysburg. He’d wet lips and given sips of water. What haunted him most were the amputations he’d been present for then. Someone needed to be the doctor’s extra set of hands. He’d been handy, unfortunately.
If even a shred of innocence had remained after that, it died when faced with raising a baby on his own. He’d had parents who helped. But that was before his mother’s death. Eenie could only rely on him now, God help her.
He would not allow an adult to shift the blame for this to his daughter.
The daughter in question stuck her head around her father’s leg and shook her head. The woman blanched, her face taking on a sort of flat appearance as if she’d been struck.
No, his sweet girl hadn’t stuck her tongue out at the woman. Would she? Did she?
He stared down at his daughter with sudden doubt. The girl helped around the ranch where they were staying. She never sassed or lied. But,
