get my comb and shears.”
While he was gone, Charlotte quickly ironed his shirt and folded it next to the trousers.
Abram returned, set the comb and shears on the table, and then began to unbutton his shirt.
Charlotte put up her hands, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”
“Taking off my shirt.”
“Why?”
“I always took off my shirt when Susanne cut my hair.”
She shook her head quickly and grabbed the towel from the table. “Please keep your clothes on and put this around your shoulders. I have no interest in seeing you without your shirt.”
His blue eyes twinkled with mischief and Charlotte was reminded of how charming he had been when he’d courted Susanne.
He sat at the table and set the towel on his broad shoulders with a chuckle.
Maybe it wasn’t just his good looks that had attracted her sister to him.
Charlotte forced the thoughts from her mind and stepped up to the job. Her hands hovered over his head. Father’s hair had been thin and greasy. Abram’s hair was thick and wavy. It looked as if he had washed it recently, too.
She took a deep breath and ran the comb through his hair. She allowed her fingers to slip through the thick waves and assess how she wanted to cut them.
He sighed and his shoulders relaxed.
Charlotte paused, aware of how her touch had just affected him.
“Nothing too short,” he said. “I like to keep a bit of insulation on top.”
She picked up the shears, and with a quick snip, the first lock of hair fell to the floor.
Charlotte worked for several minutes, combing and cutting until she was satisfied. When she was finally finished, she stepped back and admired her work.
“Well?” He turned his head this way and that. “What do you think?”
“I think your beard looks even worse now.”
He grinned and stood, holding the towel so the hair clippings stayed inside the fabric.
“Here—” she reached for the towel “—I’ll take care of that.”
“Then I’ll go see what I can do about my beard.” He grabbed his clean clothes and left the kitchen.
After she swept and threw the cuttings outside for the birds, Charlotte came back into the kitchen and began to make scrambled eggs and sausage for breakfast. Everyone would soon be awake and they’d want to be fed.
She set the table for seven—recalling that she would not be serving Harry at her table. If he couldn’t come down for Sunday breakfast, she wouldn’t serve him the rest of the week. He could take a plate to the barn.
The door opened and Charlotte turned from the hot stove.
There, standing in the doorway, was a handsome stranger—or so she thought for a brief moment. Abram looked like a new man. He had kept his beard but trimmed it close to his face. He wore his clean pants and shirt, tucked in, and had wet his hair and combed it into submission.
He smiled and the effect was stunning.
“I look that good?” he teased.
The room suddenly felt overly warm. She realized she was staring and wanted to spin back to the sizzling sausages, but if she didn’t acknowledge his transformation, she suspected he would tease her incessantly. “You look fine.”
He cocked a brow and swaggered into the room. “Just fine?”
At that, she did turn back to the stove, taking a deep breath to steady her thoughts. “Where will the men sleep while you’re away?”
“The men?”
She looked back at him—she couldn’t help it. “Yes.”
He raised his hand to stroke his beard, but finding it gone, he rested his hand on his chest instead. “Why can’t the men sleep in the house?”
“It wouldn’t be decent.”
“But it’s decent when I’m here?”
“As my sister’s husband, you’re an acceptable chaperone. With you gone, tongues could wag.”
“What tongues?” He looked around, a bit bewildered. “No one is close enough to care.”
“I care.” She flipped the sausages one at a time with a fork. “They’ll need to sleep in the barn or somewhere else while you’re gone.”
“I doubt they’ll like that idea.”
“That may be so—”
The door opened and Harry and Milt walked into the kitchen.
Harry ignored Charlotte, while Milt nodded a halfhearted greeting. They both stopped when they caught sight of Abram.
“What’d she do to you?” Harry asked, his eyes filled with horror.
Abram touched his jaw and paused. “I thought I’d get cleaned up to go to St. Anthony.”
Harry shook his head and exited the house, Milt behind him.
“I don’t think Harry will be happy with the idea of sleeping in the barn,” Abram said.
Charlotte indicated a plate sitting on the cupboard counter. “He can eat out there, too.”
Abram groaned. “Maybe I’ll take him with me to St. Anthony. Let the two of you cool off a bit.”
Charlotte glanced outside, where Harry and Milt were entering the barn. Harry appeared to be just as stubborn as her. She doubted either one would cool off soon.
* * *
Abram stepped into the office of Cheney Milling Operation and inhaled the familiar scent of pine. The office stood on the eastern banks of the Mississippi at St. Anthony Falls, where dozens of men had built sawmills on wooden stilts in the water. Numerous mills crowded the piers and sawed thousands of feet of lumber a day. Mill owners were bringing in a fortune as the population increased, making St. Paul, St. Anthony and Stillwater thriving towns.
Over the years several prospective investors had traveled through Little Falls and longed to harness the power at the largest waterfall north of St. Anthony, but Abram had said no. One of those men had been Liam Cheney, owner of a successful sawmill here in St. Anthony.
Abram nodded at a clerk who stood behind a high counter. “Is Mr. Cheney available?”
The mousy clerk peeked at Abram behind his round spectacles. “Whom shall I say is asking?”
Harry had stayed
