Spitfire Sweetheart: A Four Weddings and A Kiss Novella (10 page)

Jack nodded, thinking it best not to say much about the staff until he’d met them. He would judge their qualifications by his own standards.

Roland got to his feet. “If you’ll come with me, I will take you to the boardinghouse. Though my wife is expecting you to be our guest for supper your first night in Killdeer.”

“I wouldn’t want to put her out, Mr. Everton.” Jack stood.

“Nonsense. She would never forgive me if we didn’t show you the proper hospitality. First impressions are important, and we want your impression of Killdeer to be a positive one. Now come along.”

T
WO

“M
OLLY
,
DO GO ALONG AND CHANGE INTO ONE OF YOUR
nice dresses. We are expecting a guest for supper.”

At her mother’s words, Molly felt herself go hot and cold and hot again, in quick succession. A guest for supper. The new editor. It had to be. And her parents had kept everything about him a secret from her. Oh, how could they?

Then again, perhaps it was just as well she got a look at him here at home rather than in the office. She would have the advantage seated at the Everton dining room table.

She excused herself and went upstairs to her bedroom. One of her nice dresses. What her mother meant was something more fashionable. Molly favored dark skirts and simple white blouses. Clothing that was practical and allowed her to move and breathe. Ruth Everton wanted her daughter in handsome suits with gathered flounces and lots of fringe, and a corset that laced her into the perfect
S
shape that fashion demanded. Forget breathing altogether.

A frown creased her brow. How she wished she’d asked Father more about this Jack Ludgrove instead of storming out in a huff. How old was he? How long had he been an editor? Was he a married man? A father? A grandfather? What papers had he worked for?

She sighed as she reached for a mauve-colored gown. Her mother had bought it for her on a trip they’d made to San Francisco two years ago. She’d worn it twice. It was too frilly for her taste, although she did like the color. It went well with her complexion, bringing out the rose in her cheeks.

Molly moved to the mirror and gazed at her reflection. Should she be congenial and welcoming at this first meeting? She had no experience with subterfuge and underhanded schemes, but that did seem as if it would be the best way to achieve her desired end. Could she fool Mr. Ludgrove into believing she was glad he had come to Wyoming?

“I must,” she whispered. “There’s no other way.”

She would put on this fancy gown, sweep up her hair on her head, and act the perfect and proper lady for the evening, all the while looking for where this man from Iowa might be most vulnerable, most easily driven back to whence he came.

Reverend Lynch would not approve.

She tamped down the voice of her conscience. This wasn’t a time to be missish. This was a kind of war, and in war, one must have a battle plan at the ready.

God would not approve.

She groaned and made an even greater attempt to silence her conscience.

A tap at the door announced her mother. “I thought you might need help with your corset,” she said as she looked into the room.

“Yes, I will need help. Thank you, Mother.”

“Oh, good. You’re going to wear the gown we brought back from San Francisco. It is lovely, and it’s not much out of fashion.”

“It’s certainly good enough for Killdeer.”

Her mother moved to stand beside her. “If we want our town to become more civilized, we must act as if it is civilized already.”

Molly looked over her shoulder. “Mother, Killdeer will never be a large city. We aren’t a gold rush town. We aren’t a port city. Even when they bring the railroad spur through here as promised, we cannot expect things to change all that much. Killdeer is here to serve the ranchers and farmers. I like it the way it is.”

“Do you?” Her mother gave the corset laces a good pull. “What about all of your progressive ideas? What about women’s suffrage?”

“What has that to do with liking Killdeer the way it is?”

“Heavens, I don’t know. You always do this to me, Margaret Ruth. I get so confused.” Another good pull on the laces. “But from what I’ve seen, the cowboys and farmers around here don’t appreciate your ideas. If you want to get married before it’s too late, you’d better learn to either hold your tongue or pray for God to send a man to Killdeer who thinks like you do.”

A man who thought like Molly did. “Think you there was or might be such a man / As this I dreamt of?” she quoted to herself.

“What was that, dear?”

“Nothing, Mother.”

“Please try not to talk to yourself when Mr. Ludgrove is here. It’s a very bad habit.”

Molly swallowed a sigh. “I’ll try, Mother. I promise.”

The Everton home was a short distance to the north of town. It was two stories tall with a wraparound porch. Its yard, surrounded by a white picket fence, sported green grass, colorful flower gardens, and trees all around.

Roland Everton drove the buggy to the front of the house and reined in the horse. It took some maneuvering for him to get down from the buggy, his right leg not seeming to bend in the normal fashion. Jack had to resist the urge to try to help the man.

“Come along, Mr. Ludgrove,” Roland said once both feet were solidly on the ground. “Mrs. Everton is eager to meet you.” He opened the picket gate and motioned Jack through.

“How long have you lived here, Mr. Everton?”

“Better than ten years now. When we built this house, we thought the town would grow right up to us in no time. Hasn’t happened as fast as we expected.”

“The grounds are beautiful.”

“My wife excels at growing things.”

And the
Evertons had a well that didn’t run dry. The emerald color of their lawn made that plain to Jack’s eyes.

Roland opened the front door and again waved Jack to go before him. He stepped into a small entryway. To his right was a parlor. To his left the dining room. The rooms were tastefully decorated. Nothing ostentatious. The Evertons were well-to-do, but they didn’t flaunt it.

“Ruth?”

A moment or two later, a woman appeared from the back of the house. “Roland, I didn’t hear you come in.” She smiled at Jack as she approached.

“My dear, this is Jack Ludgrove. Mr. Ludgrove, my wife, Ruth Everton.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Everton.”

“Likewise, Mr. Ludgrove. And welcome to Wyoming.”

“Thank you. It’s good to be here.”

Roland asked, “Where is Molly?”

“Upstairs. She’ll be down shortly.” Ruth Everton turned and moved into the parlor, and the two men followed.

She was an attractive woman, perhaps in her early- to midfifties. Jack guessed her to be at least ten years younger than Roland. Her light brown hair was sprinkled with gray, but she had the face and form of a woman who could be Roland’s daughter rather than his wife.

“Please sit down, Mr. Ludgrove,” Ruth invited.

He was about to do so when the rustle of skirts drew his gaze toward the parlor entrance. Molly Everton, no doubt.

She wasn’t what he’d expected, though he didn’t know
for certain what that had been. She wasn’t what he would call beautiful, but there was something appealing about her refined features. Tall for a woman. Slender and not too curvy where women were supposed to be curvy. Sharp angles to her face. Honey-brown hair piled high on her head. Wide, almond-shaped eyes of blue. She carried herself erect, and he sensed the strength in her spine had nothing to do with the corset beneath that fancy gown. No, hers was an inner strength.

“Mr. Ludgrove,” Roland said, “our daughter, Molly Everton. Molly, this is Jack Ludgrove.”

“Miss Everton.”

“Mr. Ludgrove.”

“Your father tells me you write a column for the newspaper.”

“Yes.”

“I look forward to reading it.”

There was a coolness in her gaze as she inclined her head.

He had the feeling she didn’t like him. Not a familiar feeling either. Most women were fond of him. He’d never lacked female companions, although none had ever tempted him to wed.

Ruth invited them all to be seated, then began asking Jack polite questions about his home in Des Moines, his family, his journey to Killdeer. He answered them and interspersed a few questions of his own. And then it was time for the family to go in to dinner.

The host and hostess sat at opposite ends of a modest-sized
table. Jack and Molly were seated on the sides, facing each other. A maid—a girl of about twenty—served the meal.

Jack wondered how many household servants the Evertons employed. And then there was the manicured lawn. Ruth Everton might be an excellent gardener, but he didn’t envision her pushing a cylinder mower around the yard. How much could a weekly newspaper earn for its owner? Doubtful it was enough to make a man rich. Which left Jack to assume Roland or Ruth Everton or both came from money.

Interesting. And if true, why had they moved to a place like Killdeer? Jack had come west for the adventure. What had brought the Evertons?

“You seem deep in thought, Mr. Ludgrove.”

He raised his eyes to look at the woman opposite him. “Woolgathering, I’m afraid.”

A small smile curved the corners of her mouth. “You don’t strike me as the type to let his thoughts wander.”

“Don’t I?” She was right, of course.

“No. I believe nothing escapes your notice.”

She was right again. “A danger of my profession, I suppose.”

Her eyes narrowed and the smile disappeared. “And of mine.”

Ah, she was sensitive about being a columnist. Why was that? Maybe she’d been told her column wasn’t good. Maybe she knew she only had the job because her father owned the newspaper. Maybe—

“What made you apply for the editorial position at the
Sentinel
?” she asked. “I can’t imagine you ever heard anything about our little town before.”

“No, Miss Everton. I hadn’t heard of the
Sentinel
or of Killdeer until I saw the notice about the position. I applied because I have wanted to see the West since I was a boy. This was my opportunity to do exactly that. I’m hoping to have an adventure or two. The kind I read about when I was younger.”

“If you’re looking for adventure, then I don’t suppose you plan to stay long in Killdeer. There are many more exciting locations than this.”

Jack had to swallow a laugh. That she would like to see him gone was as plain as the aristocratic nose on her face.

I’ll stay in Killdeer and at the newspaper just as long as I
wish, Miss Everton. Don’t think I won’t.

The story continues in
Love Letter to the Editor
by Lee Hatcher.

Other Books by Mary Connealy

T
ROUBLE IN
T
EXAS
S
ERIES

Swept Away

Fired Up

Stuck Together

K
INCAID
B
RIDES
S
ERIES

Out of Control

In Too Deep

Over the Edge

A Match Made in Texas

About the Author

M
ARY
C
ONNEALY
WRITES ROMANTIC COMEDY WITH
cowboys. She is a Carol Award winner, and a RITA, Christy, and Inspirational Reader’s Choice finalist. She is the author of the best-selling Kincaid Brides series:
Out of Control
,
In Too Deep
,
Over the Edge
; Lassoed in Texas trilogy; Montana Marriages trilogy; and Sophie’s Daughters trilogy. Mary is married to a Nebraska rancher and has four grown daughters and two spectacular grandchildren.