Handpicked Husband (Love Inspired Historical) Page 7

  “I’m sorry.” Chance stumbled over the apology, his confusion obvious. “I was just—”

  Her eyes rolled and she gave a deep sigh. “Look, Mr. Dawson, I appreciate your gesture, but this box contains fragile photography plates representing many, many hours of work. No one but myself or Mr. Peavy handles them.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If you want to help someone.” She paused to blow a strand of hair off her forehead. “Mrs. Peavy is getting breakfast ready. I’m sure she could use a hand setting the table.”

  Looking none too happy with the mundane chore he’d been assigned, Chance nodded and headed inside.

  Adam fell into step beside Regina as she resumed her trek to the wagon. He didn’t make the mistake of offering to take the box from her. “A bit hard on the boy, weren’t you?”

  She cut him a sideways glance. “I have too much invested in these to take risks.” She blew at that obstinate lock of hair again. “Besides, Chance doesn’t strike me as the careful type.”

  Adam couldn’t fault her there. Changing the subject, he pointed to the wagon. “So, is the understated look your idea?”

  She tried hard to appear affronted, but Adam saw the slight twitch to her lips. “I prefer a touch of flair over the mundane.” She moved to the back of the wagon, where a stubby ladder led up to an open door. “As for the colors, I figured such a fancy design cried out for a truly resplendent treatment.”

  “Resplendent? Don’t you mean gaudy?”

  Before she could offer a retort, Ira appeared in the wagon’s doorway. “Here, just slide those in.” Ira’s sleeves were rolled up and his gold tooth glinted in the sunlight. “I have the camera and equipment already stowed away.”

  The judge’s granddaughter, huffing out a feminine grunt, hefted her load onto the ledge at the top of the ladder. “Thanks, Ira. I have one more set of plates. We can load the rest of our baggage and supplies later.”

  A strangled oath, uttered in British overtones, signaled Everett’s return from the lake. Adam stepped to one side to see the dandy, hair still damp and a towel flung over one shoulder, staring at the wagon in absolute horror.

  “You don’t think she expects us to ride in that atrocity, do you?” Everett’s mouth was set in a belligerent line. “This is just too much. First we spend the night on the kitchen floor, then we have to hike down to a lake this morning just to wash and shave. I will not—”

  His words ground to a halt as Regina stepped out from behind the wagon. Placing a fist on her hip, she tilted her chin up. “Rest assured, Mr. Fulton, she doesn’t expect any such thing. I only extend that privilege to my friends.”

  Everett had the grace to flush.

  “Now if you’re finished praising my hospitality, you may avail yourself of more of the same by joining us for breakfast.” With a decided flounce, she headed back to the house.

  Mitchell, who’d been a step or two behind Everett, met Adam’s gaze with a barely perceptible twitch of his lips. He slapped his towel on Everett’s shoulder. “You might want to follow Miss Nash inside and see if you can make amends.”

  Everett shot him a dark look, then spun on his heel and headed for the front door. Mitchell followed at a more sedate pace, as unruffled as ever.

  Adam glanced toward Ira to find the man grinning broadly.

  “Consider all this amusing, do you?”

  Ira chuckled. “Things are sure gonna be interesting around here the next few weeks.” He gave Adam a conspiratorial wink. “I always did think highly of Reggie’s granddaddy.”

  Adam wasn’t quite certain how to respond, so he changed the subject. “Mind if I take a look inside?” He nodded toward the wagon. “I’ve never been in one of these before.”

  “Suit yourself.” He gave Adam a tongue-in-cheek grin. “Just don’t touch anything. Reggie’ll have my hide if you break something.”

  Adam nodded and climbed inside, ducking under the short doorway. It only took a moment for his eyes to adjust. With the open door and a window on each side, the interior wasn’t as dark as he’d expected.

  He just barely had room to stand upright, though, and if he stretched out his arms he could probably touch both sides of the wagon at once.

  “Not very roomy for someone your size,” Ira commented. “Ain’t much of a problem for me though.”

  The gnome of a man bent over and slid the newly-delivered crate into a cubbyhole sized exactly right to accommodate it. Then he deftly fastened a leather strap across the front. That box wouldn’t budge from its slot, no matter how bumpy the road.

  The whole left wall, from floor to ceiling, was covered with similar niches and cabinets. A good many of them were already snugly filled with odd-size crates. “All these boxes contain photography equipment?”

  “Yep.” Ira straightened. “Cameras, flash pans, chemicals, glass slides—everything a photographer might need, along with spares for emergencies.”

  “So, she’s pretty serious about this hobby of hers?”

  The older man winced. “I wouldn’t let her hear you call it a hobby if I were you, son. Reggie considers herself a professional, with good cause.”

  Interesting. Was the man just being loyal, or was Regina really that good? She certainly seemed to have the determination to make a go of something like this if she put her mind to it.

  “Hand me a strap from that pile, would you?”

  Adam turned to face the other side of the wagon. Along this wall was a long, well-padded, benchlike structure running more than half the length. Adam guessed it probably doubled as a cot when needed.

  Cabinets made good use of the space below, and hooks hung above it for storing odds and ends, many of them unrecognizable to Adam.

  He grabbed the requested strip of leather and handed it to Ira. “Did you construct all this?”

  Ira nodded. “Yep. Every bit of it—at least on the inside. Reggie designed it, though.” He shook his head. “You should have seen her measure and fuss. She wouldn’t let me touch a thing until she was sure she had it all figured just right.”

  Adam had no trouble believing that. Regina Nash was obviously a woman who liked to be in control.

  “Set a spell, if you like,” Ira said over his shoulder.

  But Adam had seen enough. The enclosed space was beginning to feel too much like the prison cell that had been his home for over six years. “Thanks, but I think I’ll see if there’s anything I can do to help get everyone packed up.”

  He climbed out of the wagon and drew in a lungful of the fresh woodsy air. His eyes drank in the view of open sky and rolling woodlands, unobstructed by fortified walls or armed guards.

  As he stepped around the wagon, he was greeted with another sight that had been absent from his life behind bars. Regina Nash pushed through the cabin door, her arms wrapped around another of those small crates. Several more wisps had escaped her hairpins, giving her a not unattractive look of disarray. Such an intriguing mix of confidence and vulnerability.

  Adam decided it would be an insult to offer her a hand since she had been so insistent earlier that she could handle things herself. Instead he stood where he was, crossed his arms and enjoyed the view.

  As she stepped from the porch, Regina’s gaze met his and she paused mid-stride. A what-are-you-up-to-now look crossed her face.

  When he broadened his smile, she jutted her chin up and stepped forward with an almost convincing air of nonchalance.

  She’d only progressed a few paces when Jack dashed around the side of the cabin on a direct collision course with her.

  “Whoa, there, son.” In two steps, Adam had snagged the boy, lifting him off the ground with legs still pumping.

  Jack squirmed a minute longer, then seemed to realize what had just happened. “Gee, Mr. Barr, I’m awful sorry. I—”

  “Put him down!”

  Adam, who’d been in the process of doing just that, stiffened. What had put the flint in her tone now? He’d just averted a catastrophe involving her
precious photographic plates. Instead of gratitude, though, she looked at him like a lioness whose cub had been threatened.

  “I said, put him down,” she repeated.

  Adam set the boy down and raised his hands, palms out.

  Jack scuffed his foot in the dust. “I’m sorry, Aunt Reggie. Didn’t mean to come barreling around like that.”

  Regina took a deep breath and smiled at her nephew. “Of course you didn’t. Just try to be a little more careful next time.” She hefted her load. “Now, go on inside. Mrs. Peavy has your breakfast ready.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  As the boy sprinted up the porch steps, she turned back to Adam, her expression more defensive than apologetic. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to finish loading the wagon.”

  Adam watched her walk stiffly by, and wondered what had set her off.

  * * *

  Reggie could feel Adam’s gaze follow her all the way to the wagon. She knew she’d overreacted, but she wasn’t about to apologize.

  Seeing him hold a squirming Jack in his clutches had reminded her of what his mission was. If things didn’t go the way she’d planned, he could very well haul Jack away, kicking and screaming in protest, stealing him out of her life forever.

  She would do well to keep that in mind over the coming days.

  Reggie handed the box to Ira, then turned to find Adam still watching her.

  “What time would you like to head back to town?”

  Surprised and relieved he hadn’t mentioned her earlier outburst, Reggie smoothed her skirt. “I was thinking we’d pack up right after lunch. I want to get back before dark, but I don’t want to get there too early.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, for one thing,” she said with a smug smile, “I want to make sure you stalwart hunters don’t miss the opportunity to feast on the wild game you bagged last night.”

  He grimaced, but Reggie noticed the amused glint in his eye.

  She pushed a lock of hair off her brow. “Mainly, though, it’s because I’d prefer it if you four would go straight to your quarters this evening and not mingle with the townsfolk more than necessary.”

  He raised a brow. “If you’re planning to keep us sequestered for the duration, I’m afraid you might have a mutiny on your hands.”

  Reggie waved a hand airily. “Don’t be silly. I’m just talking about today.”

  He didn’t seem reassured by her statement.

  “Tomorrow is Sunday,” she explained patiently, “and I’m thinking we can all go to church together.” She paused and raised a brow. “I trust that won’t be a problem for anyone?” Any man who wanted to be a part of her and Jack’s life would have to do more than give lip service to his faith.

  “We’ll be there.”

  Was that annoyance in his expression aimed at her question or her insistence on taking the lead?

  Not that it mattered. “Good. At least when we formally introduce you as friends of my grandfather, they’ll be seeing you all in a charitable, God-fearing light.” She pointed at him. “But it’s important that we present a united front, that we all tell the same story.”

  Adam raised his hands. “You won’t get an argument from me on that score. I’ll make certain everyone follows your lead.”

  She nodded. “Now that that’s settled, shall we join the others for breakfast?”

  Six hours later, the cabin was closed up and they were headed toward Turnabout.

  Reggie watched Adam as he rode ahead of their three-vehicle caravan. His horse was an impressive animal, with a powerful frame and an arrogant demeanor.

  Not unlike the man astride him.

  She’d give him this much—Adam did know how to sit a horse.

  Forcefully turning her focus away from Adam Barr’s distracting back, Reggie smiled at the man seated beside her. She had suggested one of her suitors ride with her, so they could get to know each other better. Chance had gallantly stepped forward.

  Behind them, Mrs. Peavy rode in the carriage the men had arrived in with her two other suitors. Jack and Ira brought up the rear in the photography wagon. Reggie had made sure the boy was safely insulated from the influence of her less-than-eager suitors.

  She flashed Chance a neighborly smile. “So, Mr. Dawson, tell me something about yourself.”

  “Please, call me Chance, ma’am.” He shot her a roguish look. “We’re supposed to be friends, remember?”

  Was he flirting with her? “Of course, Chance. But you must stop calling me ma’am. It makes me feel so old.”

  He flushed at this reference to the difference in their ages, just as she’d figured he would. This would likely be the Achilles’ heel she’d want to attack with him. But would it be enough to make him throw in the towel on this ridiculous scheme?

  Chance recovered quickly. “So, what would you like to know?”

  She could see Adam from the corner of her eye. What would it be like to question him, to ask whatever she wanted and have him be obliged to answer?

  What would she ask?

  The carriage bounced over a rut in the road, pulling her attention back to her companion. “Well, for one thing,” she said, gathering her thoughts, “Chance is an unusual name. Is there a story behind it?”

  “Actually, Chance isn’t my real name.” He shifted uncomfortably. “My given name is Chauncey, but I never did care for it much. One of my brothers started calling me Chancey as a joke, and it eventually got shortened to Chance.” He shrugged. “I think it suits me better.”

  “Oh, you have brothers?”

  She caught the barely perceptible stiffening of his spine. Was his family a tender subject with him as well?

  “Yes, ma—” He slid her a guilty sideways look. “Um, yes. Four of them.”

  “Any sisters?”

  He rubbed his neck with his free hand. “No. Just the five of us boys.”

  “Just?” Reggie let out a genuinely wistful sigh. “I always dreamed about having a house full of siblings to play with.”

  Chance lifted a brow. “You had a sister, didn’t you? I mean, that’s her son you’re raising.”

  “Patricia was my stepsister.” She watched Adam lift his hat and wipe his forehead with his sleeve. The motion stretched his shirt tightly across broad, well-muscled shoulders.

  Clearing her throat, she determinedly focused on Chance. “I was three when my father married her mother. Patricia was ten. We grew to be close friends, but not exactly playmates.”

  Time to turn the conversation back to him. “I imagine you and your brothers were a rowdy crew when you put your minds to a bit of mischief.”

  She’d expected a reminiscent grin. Instead he gave the reins a casual flick. “I was a late arrival. Michael, the closest in age to me, is six years older. I guess that’s something we have in common.”

  “So, you’re the baby of the family?” She didn’t give him time to respond to her deliberate barb. “Your mother must have had her hands full keeping up with six men.”

  His jaw tightened. “Mother died when I was born.”

  “Oh.” Reggie felt a twinge of unwanted empathy, seasoned with a dollop of guilt. She’d touched a nerve again, but this time she wasn’t so pleased with herself. “I’m sorry.”

  He flashed her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault.”

  It was her turn to shift in her seat. She decided to ignore her protesting conscience and go on the offensive again. “So, tell me, why did you decide to sign on for my grandfather’s matchmaking scheme?”

  “Let’s just say my father thought I needed a change of scenery, and I agreed.”

  From his tone, it didn’t sound like it had been an amicable parting. “Ready to shed the family traces and strike out on your own, are you?”

  “Something like that.”

  Reggie pounced again. “Only you’re not striking out on your own. My grandfather is staking you.”

  He shot her a level look. “
I plan to earn my stake, one way or the other.” He turned his gaze back to the road. “If I don’t end up sharing my earnings with you and Jack, I’ll pay Judge Madison back a bit at a time.”

  Now he’d surprised her. “But that wasn’t part of the contract.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” The set of his jaw had an uncompromising hardness. “I might accept a generous loan to get started, but I don’t take handouts.”

  “I see.” He sounded sincere. This unexpected glimmer of nobility, however, didn’t keep her from pursuing the opening he’d provided. “And that grub stake is in the form of a half-burned saloon building and cash to renovate. Seems a rather unusual payment, especially from my grandfather. I wonder why he’d think it suitable?”

  Chance didn’t glance away from the road. “You’ll have to ask him that question.”

  “And do you fancy yourself a saloon owner?”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t decided what kind of business I’ll open yet, but I haven’t ruled out a saloon.”

  “But that doesn’t answer my question. Is running a saloon something that appeals to you?”

  This time he did look at her, and she was surprised by the fire in his expression. “Owning my own business, in a town where no one has ever heard of my father and never met my brothers, appeals to me a great deal.” His voice vibrated with determination.

  Then he took a breath. “If that business happens to be a saloon, so be it.” He gave her a mirthless smile. “Believe me, I’ve been inside more than my share of saloons.”

  “Have you?” He’d just revealed a great deal about his life. She’d file it away and analyze it later. Right now, she wanted to keep pressing. “And do you think a saloon keeper would make a good father and husband?”

  He met her gaze levelly. “That’s for you to decide, isn’t it? Besides, as I said, I haven’t decided yet.”

  Chance had more intelligence than she’d given him credit for. “How do you feel about being father to an active six-year-old?”

  He shrugged. “Raising kids is more the mother’s job. Of course, I’d teach him the things a father should—like how to hunt and fish, how to defend himself, how to transact business.”