lot,” the lovely blonde had explained over coffee that morning at the main house of Wallin Landing, the forested area to the north end of Lake Union where James’s family had staked their claims. “Many of them have already secured positions, and the remaining ones may balk at settling so far out.”
“Fear not, fair maiden,” James had assured her. “I will overcome every objection.”
Catherine’s cool blue eyes could look remarkably warm when she was set on a goal. “See that you do and that you don’t raise any reason to object in the first place. We must have a schoolteacher if we’re to achieve your father’s dream.”
James had nodded. Ever since marrying Drew a month ago, Catherine had been obsessed with honoring Pa’s dream of building his own town along the lakeshore. James wasn’t sure why she was so determined. She had never met Pa; he’d been dead more than ten years now.
His father’s accident—felled by a widow-maker from a tree they were clearing—had affected everyone in the family. James was fairly sure Drew’s overprotective nature stemmed from the fact that Pa had entrusted the family to his care. And sometimes he wondered whether the cool detachment of his next oldest brother, Simon, wasn’t a result of watching Pa die. He was glad neither had berated him for his role in the tragedy. He’d been only fourteen at the time, and it had been his job to look out for potential problems. He hadn’t noticed the loose branch then, but he could see problems aplenty with the town they were trying to build.
Catherine, Drew and Simon knew the challenge, but they were undaunted. They’d drawn up plots, laying out the streets and placing key buildings. Drew had wanted to construct a hospital first because many people needed Catherine’s skills as a nurse, but she’d insisted that the school was more important.
“A hospital tends their bodies for the moment,” she’d said. “A school tends their minds for the future.”
None of them could argue with that. Even now his family, including his younger brothers John and Levi, were back putting the finishing touches on a schoolhouse and attached room for the teacher.
And it was James’s job to convince a teacher to fill it.
He took that commission as seriously as Miss Fosgrave apparently took her profession. This was his chance to make a difference in the family. Nothing would bring Pa back, but building the town he’d always dreamed of was the next best thing. And it had been a long time since his family has asked him to undertake something so important.
So, James had done all he could to make a good impression on the schoolteacher. He’d dressed in his best suit, tailored by a fellow from San Francisco no less. He’d shaved and washed his hair with the lavender-scented soap his sister Beth enthused about, making his hair look almost gold. More than one lady had glanced his way as he’d driven first to the territorial university to consult with Asa Mercer, its president, and then to the boardinghouse.
But who would have thought his horses would be the thing to convince Miss Fosgrave to take a chance on him? He’d seen the way she’d looked at the team, as if they were somehow an answer to a prayer.
“Always said you boys were the finest animals in the territory,” he told them as they turned the corner for the merchant his mother favored. The flick of their ears and the height of their steps told him they agreed.
But as he finished his commissions in town—picking up a paper of needles for Ma and a new sketchpad for Beth, checking at the post office for any mail—he felt unaccountably fidgety. Did he doubt the outcome of his task? He might not have Drew’s brawn, Simon’s brain, John’s knowledge or Levi’s determination, but he knew how to turn a phrase to his will.
That’s one skill You gave me, Lord. The least I can do is to put it to good use. You’ve given me a chance to atone. I won’t let You down.
He took a deep breath as he guided the horses back toward the boardinghouse. Miss Fosgrave might have reservations about the position, but he had none about her. Her presence was her best quality. It would win the day at the school Catherine had planned. So, like it or not, that schoolmarm had an engagement with the frontier.
She just didn’t know it yet.
She was waiting on the porch with several other ladies when James drew the horses to a stop in front of the boardinghouse. Despite the fact that she had said she would only come to visit, standing beside her was a trunk that would all but fill the bed of his wagon. James tried not to cringe.
She’d also changed clothes for the journey. This gown was purple, the bodice fitted to her form, with bands of white satin sculpting the collar, shoulders and waist. Triple bands of the stuff followed the curves of her wide skirts. A straw bonnet with velvet ribbons covered her shiny curls. How could his family possibly find fault?
Determined to match her formality, he wiped the smile from his face, stepped down from the bench and marched up the walk. Stopping at the edge of the porch, he tipped his hat.
“Ladies.”
She stepped forward. “Mr. Wallin. Shall we?”
The others were watching her so solemnly he might have been Death come to take her on her final journey. He offered his arm. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Fosgrave.”
He thought he heard a sigh of envy from one of the other ladies.
If Miss Fosgrave heard it, she gave no indication. She merely accepted his arm, her touch light and sure. James walked her to the wagon as if escorting her to a dance. He couldn’t deny there was something fine about strolling beside a lady in all her glory. His brothers might tease him unmercifully about his liking for fine clothing, calling him a dandy and far too citified, but he’d always appreciated the sheen of satin, the brush of fine wool. Women weren’t the only ones who sometimes had a hankering to look good.
But looking good came at a price on the frontier, and he spied the problem with Miss Fosgrave’s pretty gown the moment they reached the wagon. She couldn’t possibly climb up onto the bench in those skirts. When she paused with a frown as if realizing the issue, he bent and scooped her up in his arms.
Her eyes, now on a level with his, were as clear as spring water. They widened as she cried, “Really, Mr. Wallin! What are you doing?”
“Just my duty, ma’am,” he promised, setting her up into the bench.
Face turning pink, she arranged her skirts around her. “A little warning would have been preferable.”
He leaned against the wagon and grinned up at her. “Very well. I promise to warn you the next time I feel an urge to take you up in my arms.”
The blush deepened, and she faced forward rather than look at him. “A warning that will end any such thoughts, I trust. Now, if you’d be so good as to fetch my trunk.”
“Please?” he suggested.
Her mouth tightened. “Please.”
James pushed off from the wagon and swept her a bow. “At once, your royal highness.”
Her look speared back to him. “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that.”
