Short Straw Bride. Dallas Schulze

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      Drawing a deep breath, Eleanor pushed open the door of Webb’s. She immediately had the urge to turn and run, but the little bell over the door had already given away her presence and Andrew Webb was stepping out from behind the counter, his thin face wreathed in a smile.

      “Miss Eleanor. What a pleasure to see you again so soon.”

      “Mr. Webb.” Eleanor gave him her warmest smile and was pleased to see him blink and swallow hard.

      “What can I help you with today?” he asked, regaining his composure.

      “My aunt was hoping you’d have some good linen toweling. We’ve just finished spring cleaning and she’d like fresh towels to finish things off.”

      “I have just the thing. Got it from St. Louis not two weeks ago.”

      Eleanor followed him as he went to find the requested item. Looking at his scarecrow-thin figure and neatly combed sandy hair, she tried not to picture a pair of broad shoulders beneath a plain black coat and a head of deep brown hair in need of a cut.

      “Best money can buy,” Andrew said proudly as he lifted a bolt of fabric onto the counter. “Your aunt won’t find any better, even if she went to Denver.”

      “It looks like just what she had in mind,” Eleanor murmured. Her eyes were drawn to a bolt of royal blue grenadine. The deep, rich color would suit her coloring much better than her cousin’s castoff pastels. She reached out to finger the soft fabric, picturing it made up in a simple gown with a minimum of decoration, with perhaps just a touch of lace at the neckline and wrists to soften the severity of the cut.

      “That’s much too dark a color for a young lady such as yourself, Miss Eleanor.” At Webb’s comment, she let her hand drop away from the fabric. “Something in a softer shade, perhaps. My late wife favored pinks and the softest of blues,” he said reminiscently. He seemed to suddenly realize to whom he was speaking and flushed a deep shade of red. “I hope you don’t mind me mentioning my wife.”

      “Not at all. It’s only natural that you think of her.”

      “Yes. But life goes on and I’ve put aside my grief and am looking to the future.”

      The fervent look he gave her left no doubt that he was hoping the future he looked toward included her. Looking into his watery eyes, Eleanor felt her heart sink. Was she really contemplating spending the rest of her life with this man? At most, she felt a mild liking for Andrew Webb. Could a happy marriage be built on so little?

      She was saved the necessity of having to answer either him or herself by the jangle of the bell over the door. It rang again almost immediately and the harsh tones of Cora Danvers admonishing her son about something echoed through the store. Andrew jumped and blushed again, like a boy caught smoking his father’s cigars behind the privy. He glanced over Eleanor’s head toward the front of the store.

      “Are you in a hurry, Miss Eleanor?”

      “Not at all. Please take care of your other customers, Mr. Webb. I’ll find plenty to occupy myself.” She was relieved when he hurried back toward the front of the store. Perhaps if she didn’t have to look at him she’d be able to bolster her determination a little.

      She heard Mr. Webb greet Cora Danvers, heard Cora’s son Horace offer some whined complaint, the words indistinguishable. She reached out to finger the blue grenadine again. She had a little money, but it would be wildly foolish to spend it on a bolt of cloth when she already had four dresses hanging in her room. But wouldn’t it be wonderful to wear something that suited her, she thought wistfully. In a dress like the one she’d envisioned, she wouldn’t feel like such a little dab of a female. She’d feel elegant and almost pretty. Maybe even pretty enough to draw the eye of a man as handsome as Luke McLain.

      At the sound of someone approaching, she snatched her hand back from the fabric and turned, annoyed to feel herself flushing as if she were guilty of some crime. Luke McLain stood not three feet from her, and Eleanor felt her breath catch and her cheeks blush fiery red. She pressed one hand to her bosom, as if to physically still the sudden pounding of her heart.

      Luke wondered why he’d thought of her as plain. The face beneath that god-awful hat was not beautiful, by any means, but it was certainly not plain. Not with those big brown eyes that made him think of a fawn and that full mouth that seemed just about made for a man to kiss. Her flush deepened and he realized he’d been staring at her without speaking.

      “Miss Williams. Reverend Mulligan introduced us at church last Sunday.”

      “I remember, Mr. McLain.” As if I could forget.

      “A new spring dress?” he asked, gesturing to the bolt of grenadine.

      “Oh, no.” She glanced guiltily at the beautiful fabric. “I’m here to buy new toweling for my aunt. We just finished spring cleaning and she wanted fresh towels.”

      “Spring cleaning.” Luke remembered his mother’s annual frenzy of cleaning when every rug had to be taken out and hung on a line to have the dirt beat from it. Then fresh straw had to be spread on the floor before the rug was tacked back into place. The memory was superseded by an image of the layers of dust and dirt that covered her once tidy home, and he winced.

      “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. McLain.”

      Eleanor started to step around him and Luke saw his opportunity to talk to her vanishing.

      “I was wondering if I might ask your advice, Miss Williams.”

      “My advice?” She raised her dark brows in surprise. “I can’t imagine a topic on which you could possibly need my advice, Mr. McLain.”

      Neither could he, but it had been the only thing he could think to say to keep her from leaving. Now she’d actually expect him to ask her something. He shot a quick glance around, looking for inspiration. He found it, more or less, in the bolts of fabric stacked beside them. He could hardly claim to have come in to buy new toweling. The coincidence would be too great.

      “Curtains,” he said abruptly, remembering the graying rags that hung at the kitchen windows in the ranch house. “I…ah…wanted to buy fabric for curtains. I was hoping you could offer some suggestions.”

      “Curtains?” She looked surprised. “What kind of curtains?”

      “For the kitchen,” Luke answered with a promptness that concealed the fact that the idea had just occurred to him. “To tell the truth, since our mother died, my brother and I have sort of let the place go a bit and I was just thinking it was time we put a little work into it.”

      At the mention of his mother’s death, Eleanor’s face softened. It wasn’t really proper for her to talk to a stranger like this, but she knew how difficult it was to lose a parent. And the idea that he cared enough about his mother’s home to buy new curtains for it went straight to her tender heart. She didn’t think most men would even have noticed worn curtains.

      “How big are the windows?” she asked briskly, deciding that propriety could be pushed aside, just this once.

      Luke held out his hands to estimate the size, but Eleanor’s attention was drawn to the width of his chest. He was wearing a plain blue shirt tucked into denim pants, and the soft cotton clung to muscles no decent woman should be noticing. She blushed and dragged her СКАЧАТЬ