Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Rafe had stopped in front of the red-haired woman who had saved Joseph King’s life. She was holding onto another lady as if one of them might keel over at any moment.
And then she did exactly that.
The woman she’d been with let out a little shriek as her friend slipped to the ground in an ungraceful heap of blue fabric.
Rafe blinked at the woman lying in the dirt, momentarily confused.
He’d just been thinking about how she must have kept her head during the excitement that had overtaken the stagecoach with the way she’d had the sense to keep King from bleeding out into the dust and dirt.
“Hannah! Hannah, wake up, please.” Her friend was kneeling next to her now, tapping her pale cheek.
Rafe could feel the others clustering around them. He bent down, thinking he could be of good use, but he honestly didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t been around decent women much at all since he’d arrived in Perseverance, and he’d certainly never had one faint in his presence before.
The blonde woman looked up at him with pleading brown eyes, as if she expected him to do something miraculous.
Rafe studied the face of the brave woman lying on the ground, hoping something would come to mind.
Should he shake her? Attempt to lift her up?
Or was it better to let her sleep? She looked awfully peaceful, lying there, as if she needed the rest. Her skin was paler than it was before, the little freckles that dotted her nose standing out more.
She resembled an angel in a painting, even with her hat askew from the tumble she’d taken.
Her eyelashes, he realized, were the same shade as her hair, a light red color. They blinked, once. Then twice.
And with relief sagging Rafe’s shoulders, she opened her eyes.
“Why are you all staring at me?” she asked.
“You fainted, silly,” one of the other girls crowding around them said.
“I did?” Soft blue eyes found Rafe. She lingered on him a moment, and Rafe felt his face going warm. It was discomfiting having a woman look at him like that, as if she were expecting him to give her answers or provide some kind of encouraging words.
None came to his mind at all, and she looked away toward the concerned gazes of her friends.
“Why don’t we step back and give her some air?” Sheriff Henry Rodgers, better known as Hawk, said from behind Rafe.
Everyone shuffled back, and Rafe got to his feet, feeling more useless than a hat with a hole in it.
The redheaded woman’s friends helped her sit up. She pressed a hand to her head and winced.
“Are you injured?” Hawk asked. Rafe silently cursed himself for not asking that obvious question. Instead, he’d just leaned over her and stared.
“My head hurts,” the lady replied.
“You bumped it when you fell, Hannah,” her friend added.
Hannah. It was the second or third time someone had said her name, but this time it triggered recognition.
Hannah White was the name of the woman he was to marry.
Rafe opened his mouth to say something, but immediately shut it again.
What was he to say to her? I’m sorry you fainted, but we’re to be wed?
Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to bring up that topic of conversation.
Besides, he hadn’t paid close enough attention at the saloon.
There might have been more than one lady called Hannah.
He took a step back and let Hawk and the blonde woman assist the lady he presumed was Miss White to her feet. She was still as pale as the moon on a clear night, but she seemed to be in good spirits as she smiled and thanked them.
The coach driver was already working on fixing the broken wheel, and Rafe silently backed away to join him. It was better to keep his hands busy than second guess every decision he’d made since he’d agreed to marriage.
He listened as Hawk explained to the women what had happened. The stage hadn’t arrived at its appointed time in town. After waiting a few hours, they’d set out from town to locate the missing conveyance.
“After all,” Hawk said with a smile that made several of the women go pink in the face. “We knew who was expected on this coach.”
Two of the younger women giggled. Rafe shook his head as he returned his attention to the wheel. It was a good thing Hawk was already married, else a couple of these ladies might start vying for his attention instead of the men who’d already agreed to wed them.
Hawk went on to explain that they were making their way up the mountain, still in search of the stagecoach, when they heard a shot ring out nearby.
They quickly came upon a couple of men with ill intentions who had discovered the stalled stage.
It didn’t take long to overcome them, although to Hawk’s dismay, they’d gotten away.
With the wheel finally repaired, Rafe and the driver carried the injured shotgun messenger inside the coach.
They arranged him on one of the benches as best they could.
Three of the ladies sat on the other side and promised to look out for him, while three others—Miss White included—offered to walk.
“I’m perfectly well,” she said when one of her friends protested and insisted she ride inside the coach. “I was merely overcome with the moment.” She crossed her arms, almost as if she were daring anyone to demand she ride inside.
“None of you need walk,” Hawk said. “We have horses, and the path is treacherous.”
And that was how Rafe found himself leading his horse with Miss White in the saddle down the narrow mountain road. He kept glancing up at her, half afraid she’d find herself unconscious again and fall off her perch onto the road.
He ought to have introduced himself. Let her know he was the one who received her letter. Rafe opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come. Every which way he tried to say something sounded wrong.
It was funny. He’d never felt unsure speaking to anyone. From the richest fellow come to complain about the theft of his company’s payroll to the man who had murdered with no shred of remorse, Rafe hadn’t ever flinched in saying what needed to be said.
But the moment he sensed Miss White’s curious blue eyes on him, his throat felt like cotton.
When they reached town, not a word had passed between them during the entire journey. He reached up to help her off the horse. Her gloved hand clenched his, and he caught her waist with his free hand.
“Thank you,” she said, a bit breathless, when her feet hit the ground.
Rafe looked down at her, managing to grunt out a “You’re welcome” as he tried not to think about how small her hand was in his.
She stepped back with a grateful smile. He tipped his hat, hoping she wouldn’t think him the most uncouth man who’d ever crossed her path.
“Would you escort your bride and the other ladies to Cabot’s?” Hawk asked as he took the reins of Rafe’s horse. “I’ll send a few men with their bags.”
The eyes of every single woman in the group went immediately to Rafe.
Heat crept up the back of his neck. He knew they were wondering which of them might marry him, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to know what they thought of that.
The most petite one of the group stood on her toes to whisper into the ear of a dark-haired lady, who covered her smile with a hand and nodded.
Rafe gave Hawk a sour look, but the man simply grinned at him. He was enjoying every second of Rafe’s discomfort. Rafe wondered how his friend might react if he accidentally made their morning coffee in the office with a little of Senor Hernandez’s ground chili peppers.
“If you’ll follow me, ladies,” he said as he pointedly avoided looking at Miss White. “The boardinghouse isn’t very far.” Not that anything in Perseverance was far from anything else.
They trailed behind him. He ought to have yanked Jackson from his carpentry work or Billy Morrell from the start of his evening duty guarding Mrs. Garner’s diner. Pleaded the need to remain in town while one of them accompanied Hawk and the volunteers who’d gone after the stagecoach.
Then he could have avoided all of this. He could have approached Miss White prepared and presentable, rather than coated in dust and unable to put two words together.
When he opened the door to the boardinghouse to find the other grooms-to-be waiting in the parlor, Rafe nearly growled in frustration.
Billy, fresh-faced and suddenly somehow free of the duty to keep drunkards out of the diner, stood up first. Dr. Stanton wore his finest suit and looked every inch the educated man he was.
The mayor stood proudly next to the fireplace.
Even the saloonkeeper had lost his ever-present apron to greet the ladies. Rafe slid to the wall, next to Jackson.
“Got that order for a table and chairs finished, did you?” he whispered under his breath.
“Not yet,” Jackson replied, oblivious to Rafe’s irritation.
“Welcome to Perseverance,” Cabot said as he stepped forward. “I’m Grant Cabot, the town mayor and proprietor of this establishment. I thought you might like some time to freshen up before we dine?”
The man acted as if he were running a grand hotel serving a nine-course meal. Rafe crossed his arms and leaned against the wall—until Miss White’s gaze landed on him again. He dropped his arms and straightened up.
The women agreed to Cabot’s suggestion. The second they disappeared up the stairs, Jackson turned to Rafe.
“You should take a moment and wash your face,” Jackson said, ever-so-helpfully as he tugged at his collar.
“Ain’t you got something clean to wear?” Billy chimed in.
Rafe bit back a retort. If he stood here and told them what he thought of this entire situation, he’d lose the precious moments he needed to make himself presentable.
Without a word, he turned and headed for the door.
“Don’t take too long, Garland,” Watson called. “Else your lady will think you’ve lost interest.”
The other men laughed. And Rafe let the door slam hard behind him.