young ladies stared at her. She would not look directly at them, certain she’d see resentment that the handsome bachelor would pay her attention.
“I’m sorry.” Her tongue barely functioned. “I don’t understand your question.”
His grin widened. “About the dance. Can I sign you up to offer dances? And would you care to pay a dime for the privilege of a dance with me?” He lifted his sheet of paper toward her. Already several lines were filled in.
No doubt her cheeks were unattractively red. She felt everyone waiting. Knew she had to say something but his question left her speechless.
She said the first thing that sprang to her mind. “I would not want to take a dance away from any of your admirers.” Her purchases pressed hard to her chest, she pushed past Bo and rushed out the door. Why had she said that? She understood the dance was not without its benefits as a way to raise funds. Her answer made her sound as though she didn’t care about helping the town. She did care. But between preparing for her mother’s arrival and helping her father with his work, there was no time in her life for anything else.
Her life was satisfyingly full. She’d found joy in caring for her mother and making sure her younger sister, Amy, enjoyed a happy and full life despite being frail because of her too early birth. She knew it wasn’t her fault Amy was born early but still she carried a burden of guilt. She’d visited a friend and brought home an infection that made Mother ill, made her deliver Amy much too early and permanently damaged Mother’s already weak heart.
Bo called after her. “Surely you are going to support the—”
The door clicked shut, closing off the rest of his words.
Of course she would support the county fair. She’d contribute what she could toward the fund-raising because her heart went out to those struggling through hard times.
She would love to help the cause with just one dance with the silver-eyed Bo, but it wasn’t to be.
* * *
Bo adjusted his hat as the girls around him gasped or giggled as suited their personalities. What was wrong with Miss Clark that she refused to take part in the festivities? Yes, she was a newcomer so perhaps unaware of the needs in the community. The drought affected so many of the ranchers, leaving them near destitute. There were needy widows with children in the area. And orphans that needed care. He would like to see the young men who worked on the ranches be taught some basic schooling so they could handle their affairs better. Some could not even write their names or do more than basic counting, which left them vulnerable to being taken advantage of.
His final words to Miss Clark died before he could spit them out. Surely you are going to support the Lone Star Cowboy League. He was one of the founding members and deeply committed to the causes it sponsored by offering many forms of assistance to fellow ranchers. Lately, it had grown to include anyone in the community in need of aid.
Pretty little Suzanne Bachmeier, whose father owned the shoe-making business, edged closer. “I’ll buy her dance.” She giggled behind her hand, batting her blue eyes at him. Her blond ringlets danced with her merriment.
Her equally pretty and equally blonde sister, Nora, delicately edged her aside. “No, I will. After all, I’m older than you.”
The girls elbowed each other while the rest of the young ladies protested loudly.
He held up his hands. “Now, now. Let’s be fair. One dance only until Saturday night. Then if I have any spaces left, I’ll...” He hadn’t thought of how he’d handle the possibility but now saw what an opportunity it would be. “I’ll auction off whatever dances I have left.” Pleased with his solution, he tipped his hat at the young ladies and hurried from the store.
Was that Miss Clark turning the corner ahead? He’d catch up to her and explain why the league was so important to the community. He lengthened his stride, easily gaining on her.
She turned to the right. Her pace increased as she turned right again down the next street. He followed, steadily gaining on her. He had most of the block to overtake her before she reached the doctor’s quarters.
But his steps slowed as he drew abreast of the blacksmith shop. The two boys—Butch, fifteen, and Brady, twelve—huddled in the shadows of the building. Butch spoke low and hard. Brady’s shoulders shook. The boys had lost their mother last year.
Bo remembered how that felt. He and his twin, Brandon, were sixteen when their gentle mother had died, leaving the boys under the guardianship of their cruel father. His words still rang in Bo’s head. You’ll never amount to a row of beans. Too much like your mother, the both of you.
Bo sucked in a deep breath. He would not let his father’s words hurt him any longer, though they had achieved one good thing...they’d made Bo determined to prove the old man wrong and he was well on his way to doing it by becoming a successful rancher.
“Howdy,” he called.
Both lads jerked toward him. Brady scrubbed at his cheeks, wiping away the evidence of a cry.
Bo’s gut clenched. His fists curled. He’d never known James Forester to be a hard man, but nevertheless, these boys were having a difficult time. Their situation was different from his and Brandon’s. Yet it was much the same. The loss and aloneness of death. What could he do to help them? He remembered the candy sticks he’d purchased at the store. Although he had a genuine fondness for sweets, he would gladly share them if it helped these boys forget their pain if only for a few minutes.
He pulled the little package from his pocket. “I think I bought more of these than I should have. You two care to help me reduce the number?” He took two steps toward them and showed them the array of candy.
Brady moved first and selected a red-and-white stick—peppermint. One of Bo’s favorites.
Butch hung back momentarily, then grabbed the cinnamon stick. Two of Bo’s favorites gone, but he selected the root-beer-flavored one and the three of them sucked at the candy.
“You boys will be coming to the fair tomorrow, won’t you?” he asked.
Butch shrugged. “Pa says we’re too busy.” The ringing thunder of hammer against anvil bore witness to the truth of those words.
Brady scuffed the toe of his boot against a lump of dirt and said nothing.
Bo straightened. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.” He glanced down the street. Miss Clark had disappeared into the doctor’s house. He was about to again follow after her when David McKay rode up on horseback and called to him. David, one of the three McKay brothers, had a little girl, Maggie. Bo glanced around, wondering what mischief she was up to at the moment. He didn’t see the child and tried to relax.
“Bo, we’re having trouble getting some of the tents to stay upright. Could you come and give a hand?”
He should have been at the fairgrounds long ago, had been headed that direction when he got sidetracked with his good idea of selling dances and then of convincing Miss Clark to join the activities. All for a good cause. “I’ll be right there.” He’d talk to Miss Clark later. Perhaps to James Forester, as well. Every bit of money would help, be it admission to the grounds, entry fee for the many contests to be judged, payment for a chance to participate in the many games or a dime for a dance.
He
