The bulls had gotten loose. Josh and Sam had Hercules cornered, but Shane’s crazed barking made Micah glance back toward the house. Drawn by the laundry flapping in the breeze, Mercury was jogging toward the line—a nuisance, to be sure, but when Deborah stepped around a sheet and the wind whipped her reddish dress, the bull picked up speed.
I can’t get to her in time! Micah bellowed in anguish as he turned Gray toward the yard and rode for all he was worth.
Deborah ran behind the laundry, out of sight. Merc plowed through the clothes, scattering them and revealing how Deborah twisted and changed direction.
Lord, protect her. Keep her safe. Let me reach her in time.
Mercury snorted and ran toward her billowing skirts. Deborah let out a scream as she changed directions again and ran. Shane headed off the bull, nipped at him, and bought her a few seconds. It won’t be enough…. God, please …
She was heading for the garden. Micah knew she wouldn’t make it in time. He spurred Gray on and drew his pistol. He couldn’t shoot—Deborah zigged. He would have shot her. Seconds later, she flew over the garden fence.
Mercury plowed into it, and pickets scattered like toothpicks. Micah could see the horror on Deborah’s face as she whirled around. He strained forward, Gray streaked ahead, and Micah swept her out of what was left of the garden just before Merc reached her.
The commotion had ranch hands scrambling. Micah let them take care of the bull. He clasped Deborah to his chest and strove to calm himself so he could handle her.
Only she wasn’t hysterical. She clung to him and let out a breathless gasp as the bull charged the clothesline again and shredded a shirt. Burrowing in close, Deborah laughed. “I was just thinking that shirt didn’t have much life left in it.”
“The shirt!” Micah fought the urge to shake her; he fought the urge to kiss her silly.
“Is she all right?” someone yelled.
“I’m perfectly fine!”
Micah rode up to the house, slid her onto the porch, and grated, “Go pack.”
“I saw Deborah today,” Lou said as she pulled burned rolls from the oven. “Basket Stitch is a hit.”
Micah gritted his teeth. He’d determined to take Deborah to Abilene or Tyrone and put her on a train, but she’d taken a mind to dig in her heels. Stubborn woman decided she liked Petunia and promptly wheedled her way into the Fosters’ hearts and home. She took over a small corner of the feed store, where she wove baskets and did sewing. With all of the bachelors working on the ranches, she didn’t lack for work.
“Three days, and she already has enough work to keep her busy for a month.” Lou dumped the rolls into a basket—one Deborah made.
It’s been four days not three. Micah scowled at the table. It looked naked without Deborah’s place setting next to his. The whole house felt empty. All of the little touches were missing: wildflowers on the table, the scent of tea rose….
“She makes the best of things.” Grandma set a bowl on the table. “I never once heard her complain. If my daddy matched me with a man the way hers did, I would have pitched a fit.”
“You mean the newspaper announcement?” Micah winced after he spoke. If Deborah hadn’t shared that with anyone, he’d just broken her confidence.
“That, too.” Grandma slipped into her seat. “He and Dustin agreed to the marriage like they were hiring a brood mare or a maid.”
“What?” Micah leaned forward.
“Instead of providing a home, Dustin was to move into her father’s house. He’d have a wife, and she’d still do her daddy’s cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Dustin just up and left town a week later—left a note about coming out here. She didn’t know why.”
Sam whistled. “And she still came out here to marry him?”
Restless, Micah paced into the parlor. Of all places, he stopped in front of the family tree sampler. His was the fourth generation to be on it, and for the first time, the blank place by his name intended for his mate seemed wrong.
“Everyone needs someone,” Grandma said.
“She should have stayed back in civilization and woven her baskets there.”
“It’s none of your business what she does, Micah Stafford.” Grandma gave him a look of regal disdain. “Now sit down and ask the blessing. The food’s going cold.”
The food wasn’t just cold; it tasted awful. Each bite stuck in his throat like the sawdust from the work they were doing, finishing the second story of the house. But what good was a bigger house when it already felt so empty?
“There you are, Hank. Nearly good as new.” Deborah handed the shirt she’d mended to the cowboy. He tipped his hat and hobbled off on bowed legs. She turned and smiled. “Ready, Cynthia?”
Though Lou’s age, Cynthia Connelly was nothing like Lou. She was polished, prissy, and spoiled. She’d also come with a length of lavender taffeta. That came as no surprise. Fosters carried a single bolt each of white cotton and brown denim. They had red, white, and brownish-black thread and a single card of shirt buttons. Three shelves held the sum total of the items suited for people. Those sewing items, cans of coffee, ready-made shirts, spices, lamp oil, beans, and a box of borax made for unlikely partners in that meager space. Beautiful fabric such as this had to be brought in.
“I want this to be special.” Cynthia leaned closer. “It’ll be my new Sunday best.”
“It’s a lovely color.”
“She hopes the new parson thinks so, too,” Jake Connelly teased. He lounged against Deborah’s worktable and gave her an assessing look. “Gals of a certain age have to start thinking of marrying up.”
Deborah forced a laugh. Almost every single man who’d come in to have her write a letter, mend a garment, or conduct business with the Fosters managed to wrangle marriage into the conversation with her. There was only one man she wanted, but he didn’t want her.
I’m not giving up. Grandma said he’d come to his senses, and Lou said he’s miserable.
“Boys have to be dry behind the ears before they start considering matrimony.”
The sound of Micah’s deep voice slid over her and made her shiver. “Cold, honeybee?” He stepped from behind her to beside her and slipped his arm about her waist. If he hadn’t been holding her, Deborah was sure she would have melted into a puddle on the floor.
“You had your chance, Stafford. She didn’t want you.” Jake squared his shoulders.
Micah chuckled. “It wasn’t proper for me to court a woman under my own roof.”
She didn’t know how he managed it, but Micah steered her out of the corner of the store where she’d set up shop and took her out to a grassy little spot that had a sprinkling of wildflowers. He turned her toward him and tilted her face to his. “Remember the night when I took you to Dustin’s soddy? You said God would put you where He wanted you.”
“I remember.”
“He did. You belong back home. With me.”
It wasn’t what she’d hoped and prayed for—he hadn’t proposed. Deborah had spent her whole life settling, but she refused to settle this time. She lifted her chin. “I’m not boasting when I say I can cook and clean and sew a fine seam. I’m earning enough here at Basket Stitch to make my way.”
His eyes darkened to the color of thunderclouds. “You don’t have to earn your keep. You earned my heart—that’s all it takes.”
Deborah gave him a wary look.
“Honeybee, I’ve fought this every last step of the way. From the moment you told me you weren’t a widow, I wanted you for my very own. This is no place for a lady. Life here is rugged, and you’re such a delicate woman. I’ve tried every way I can to let go, but I can’t. You’ve filled my heart and my home. No matter what I’m doing, you’re always on my mind. Now I know why Dad left Virginia and moved here—he couldn’t bear the memories of Mom in every room in the house. Come home, Deborah. Come home to me. Be my wife.”
Slowly, she nodded. He let out a whoop, scooped her up, and spun her around, then kissed the very breath from her.
Micah wanted to take her home at once, but Deborah needed to pack. As if he was afraid she’d climb out the window and run away, he stood in the doorway and watched her stuff her robe and brush into her valise. Mrs. Foster slipped past him. “Don’t forget your sewing basket.”
“I’ll take that.” Micah caught one handle but missed the other. To Deborah’s mortification, the contents of the sewing basket spilled all over the floor. Micah bent over, picked up the wedding sampler, and ran his fingers over where she’d neatly stitched his name next to hers.
A slow grin tugged at his mouth. “Well, it’s nice to know you care for me. I wondered.”
She knelt by him and straightened the sampler. “Read further.”
“Love unite us, and God keep us together forever.” He looked back at her.
“I’ve hoped, Micah. When I met you, for the first time, I dared hope and pray for love. God answered my prayers.”
“You may greet your bride.”
The words were barely out of the parson’s mouth when Micah gently pulled Deborah into his arms. He put his heart and soul into their wedding kiss.
Sam chuckled, and Lou, dressed in her new yellow gown, let out an embarrassed moan.
As they cut the cake, the parson turned to the Testaments and gave them a stern look. “This is a sacred union. No shivaree.”
“No shivaree!” they protested.
“They’re so uncouth,” Cynthia Connelly simpered as she rested her hand on the parson’s arm.
“She’s just sour ’cuz none of us’ll have her,” King One shot back. “We all thought Miss Deborah was a fine prospective wife. It’s a matter that we’re of discriminating taste.”
Folks stayed and celebrated, and Grandma happily pointed out how Deborah’s name had been stitched into the family tree sampler. Micah finally tugged Deborah through the kitchen door and out to the little cottage in the back. Sam, Josh, and the hands had all done their best to make it as a wedding gift. Micah and Deborah would spend their honeymoon in it, but they’d have to move back into the big new suite upstairs in the house until the rest of the work was done.
They reached the threshold, and Micah swept her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “Whithersoever thou goest, I will go.”
“Honeybee, coming here was your last flight.” He kicked the door shut behind them. “You’re home now.”