“Ah,” he finally said. His flirtatious smile had disappeared, and he glanced toward the stage office.
Celia chewed her lip, a bad habit her mother had always gotten after her for. Doubts began to flutter in her stomach. Mr. Wendler wasn’t entirely the man she’d expected, with his smooth words and flirtatious manner instead of the gallant gentleman his letter had made him out to be. But his dark eyes made her throat go dry, and he’d paid her more attention than he did to Faith, which was something that never happened.
But now he looked as if he wanted to race back to the depot. What would she do? Who knew if any more letters were to come. And if they did, they might all be as pitiful as the others she’d received. She needed a man at the farm, as soon as possible. It was too much to handle by herself, and she couldn’t afford to hire anyone on—if there were even anyone to hire on.
He finally drew his eyes back to her, and watching her for a moment, a warm smile returned to his face. It pulled at the scar at the corner of his mouth and lit up his dark eyes.
Celia exhaled in relief. For a brief moment, she’d feared he only wanted to flirt with her and nothing more. His smile was genuine, much kinder than any of the few Ned had ever given her. And he had written a letter after all, and in it, he’d said he wanted to marry.
Something told her to give him a chance.
Jack swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing even as he held tight to that grin. He appeared nervous, but at least he was still here. “Might I be so bold as to inquire whether you chose my letter?”
She glanced down at the letter still in her hand. “I did,” she said quietly. When she glanced up at him, he was still watching her, his smile even more dazzling than before. Perhaps this was how all men from big cities acted toward women. Celia wouldn’t know. She came from a small town in Mississippi, and no man had ever reacted to her this way before. Even when Aaron began courting Faith, he behaved . . . well, normally. Of course, her sister and Aaron had known one another since childhood, so perhaps that wasn’t the most accurate comparison.
“Did you mean what you wrote in your correspondence?” she asked. She felt bold, asking such a thing, but she refused to marry another man like Ned. She’d rather live alone, penniless with only the barest scraps of food, than subject herself to another loveless union.
He held her gaze. “Every word.”
Celia’s heart seemed to stutter but she couldn’t look away. Her mouth felt parched, as if she’d gone without water for days. She tried to swallow, but it didn’t much help. She gave him a tentative smile as his letter crumpled in her hand. What was she supposed to say next? That they ought to get on over to the church? She felt as if she should offer him refreshments first, or at least sit down in the parlor and get to know him better.
But she could hardly let him accompany her home if they weren’t married . . . She had to be brave, and besides, he’d just said every word he’d written in his letter was true. She clutched her skirts tightly, as if they might give her strength, and said, “Mightn’t you like to freshen up before we go to see Pastor Collins?”
Mr. Wendler’s brow furrowed. “Pastor Collins? I spent an hour or so with the man. He was . . . entertaining.”
Celia bit her lip again, trying not to laugh at Mr. Wendler’s impression of the minister. “He’s the only preacher in Last Chance,” she said by way of apology. “We have no judge in residence, and besides, I believe it important to marry in a church.”
His smile dropped a little, and he blinked at her as if she’d spoken a foreign language.
Celia wanted to disappear. She shouldn’t have been so bold. It was too much to hope that he’d been completely truthful.
Too much to hope that she might find a good, decent man who wanted to marry her.
Chapter Five
“Marry in a church?” Jack echoed Mrs. Thornton’s words.
“Yes,” she said hesitantly, her cheeks aflame.
Jack stared at her. This woman with the fire-colored hair and quiet, assessing mannerisms wanted him to marry her. Half of him could hardly believe it. The other half wanted to run as fast as he could, right out of town.
Mrs. Thornton pulled her lower lip between her teeth, something he’d already begun to notice she did when uncertain. After a moment, she spoke in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . But it was in the advertisement. And you mentioned it in your letter. I thought . . . isn’t that why you’re here? Unless . . .” She ducked her head, her cheeks going pink again. “You don’t wish to marry me. I understand.”
She took a step backward and began to turn as guilt crept through Jack. He hadn’t meant to make her think any such thing. In fact, he—or any man—would be counting their blessings to marry a woman like her.
He reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist. She stopped, glancing down at where his hand curled around her slender arm. Jack immediately let go. He cleared his throat and forced his shoulders back. “That isn’t what I meant at all.”
Hope dawned on her face, as obvious as the rising sun in the morning. This woman would be hard-pressed to conceal any of her emotions, Jack thought. Every thought she had reflected in her expression. He’d never met anyone so . . . honest. It was endearing.
