them.”
“Uncle Bryce drinks
sometimes,” Charley responded with the guileless artifice of a child.
“That’s his
prerogative, but he won’t be drinking in this house, and if we make any headway
tonight, he won’t be drinking in that new saloon.” Kaitlin jammed her hat upon
her head and gathered the flag. “Come along, ladies. It’s time we made our
stand.”
Six
Bryce tugged at the
scratchy tan tweed, the jacket sleeves just shy of being too short against his
long arms. Thank goodness, he’d had a professional seamstress stitch up a pair
of darker brown pants for him, or they’d be on the short side also. Ready-mades
didn’t fit his long legs and arms as they should. He had to settle for
store-bought on the jacket since the seamstress hadn’t had time to make him
one. He hoped Emma appreciated all the trouble he’d gone to on her account.
He held his Stetson
in front like a shield. If it had been spring or summer, he’d have brought her
a bouquet of flowers. At least the snow had melted, leaving only scattered
patches here and there. After running his hand over his slicked-down hair one
more time, he knocked on the door.
A tall, portly woman
answered. He assumed the woman to be Emma’s mother. She gave him the once-over,
her sour expression making him wonder if he’d put on enough bay rum. She
wrinkled her nose. He stammered out an introduction and the reason for his
visit.
“You wait out here.
She’ll be along shortly.” The woman shut the door in his face. He paced the
length of the porch, praying Emma would be pleased by his visit.
As promised, the door
opened, and Emma stepped out, her smiling face a ray of sunshine on this brisk,
wintry day.
Bryce rushed forward.
“Miss Emma, you are a vision. I thought you were pretty the last time we met,
but my memory didn’t do you justice.” Bryce twisted his hat in his hand.
“Bryce? Bryce
Stanton?”
“The same. It’s been
a spell. Two years as I recollect.”
“My. This is a
surprise. What brings you here?”
Sweet, like cornbread
soaked in milk. Her honeyed voice washed over him, caressing each of his senses
with a promise he had yet to discover.
He gave her his
biggest smile. “I came to see you. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I figured
writing wasn’t good enough. I had to see you again in person.”
“Oh. Oh my.” She sank
onto the porch swing. “I guess you didn’t get my last letter then, did you?”
“I got one about four
months back. I responded, but I’ll admit, it wasn’t a quick response. I only mailed
it a month ago.”
“Yes, I know. I
received it. And well...well, I wrote straight away.”
He glanced at the
swing, wanting to sit beside her. She sat in the center, leaving no room for
him. He frowned. Something about her tone and the way she held herself aloof
made him think this meeting wasn’t going to go as planned. “Then no. I didn’t
get that letter. It doesn’t matter. I’m here now. I reckon you can tell me in
person what you wrote in that letter.”
She smiled, though it
didn’t quite touch her eyes. He was making her uncomfortable, and that wasn’t
his intention. “This feels rather awkward, Bryce.”
“I reckon that’s how
it’s supposed to feel when folks first start callin’ on one another. I know
this is sudden, but...”
“You’ve caught me by
surprise.” Her voice sounded as cold as the light coating of snow on the
railings of her house. This first meeting was definitely not going as he’d
planned.
“That wasn’t my
intention, ma’am. I thought you wouldn’t be opposed to seeing me. Your letters
gave me hope that such was the case.”
She sighed. “I
suppose I must apologize then. Though I am glad you’ve come. It’s been a long
time, and I’ve enjoyed corresponding with you.” Her voice thawed with what
sounded like regret.
Bryce stared at his
scuffed boots, the only real part to his outfit. He felt like a turkey dressed
for Thanksgiving dinner with
“Uncle Bryce drinks
sometimes,” Charley responded with the guileless artifice of a child.
“That’s his
prerogative, but he won’t be drinking in this house, and if we make any headway
tonight, he won’t be drinking in that new saloon.” Kaitlin jammed her hat upon
her head and gathered the flag. “Come along, ladies. It’s time we made our
stand.”
Six
Bryce tugged at the
scratchy tan tweed, the jacket sleeves just shy of being too short against his
long arms. Thank goodness, he’d had a professional seamstress stitch up a pair
of darker brown pants for him, or they’d be on the short side also. Ready-mades
didn’t fit his long legs and arms as they should. He had to settle for
store-bought on the jacket since the seamstress hadn’t had time to make him
one. He hoped Emma appreciated all the trouble he’d gone to on her account.
He held his Stetson
in front like a shield. If it had been spring or summer, he’d have brought her
a bouquet of flowers. At least the snow had melted, leaving only scattered
patches here and there. After running his hand over his slicked-down hair one
more time, he knocked on the door.
A tall, portly woman
answered. He assumed the woman to be Emma’s mother. She gave him the once-over,
her sour expression making him wonder if he’d put on enough bay rum. She
wrinkled her nose. He stammered out an introduction and the reason for his
visit.
“You wait out here.
She’ll be along shortly.” The woman shut the door in his face. He paced the
length of the porch, praying Emma would be pleased by his visit.
As promised, the door
opened, and Emma stepped out, her smiling face a ray of sunshine on this brisk,
wintry day.
Bryce rushed forward.
“Miss Emma, you are a vision. I thought you were pretty the last time we met,
but my memory didn’t do you justice.” Bryce twisted his hat in his hand.
“Bryce? Bryce
Stanton?”
“The same. It’s been
a spell. Two years as I recollect.”
“My. This is a
surprise. What brings you here?”
Sweet, like cornbread
soaked in milk. Her honeyed voice washed over him, caressing each of his senses
with a promise he had yet to discover.
He gave her his
biggest smile. “I came to see you. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I figured
writing wasn’t good enough. I had to see you again in person.”
“Oh. Oh my.” She sank
onto the porch swing. “I guess you didn’t get my last letter then, did you?”
“I got one about four
months back. I responded, but I’ll admit, it wasn’t a quick response. I only mailed
it a month ago.”
“Yes, I know. I
received it. And well...well, I wrote straight away.”
He glanced at the
swing, wanting to sit beside her. She sat in the center, leaving no room for
him. He frowned. Something about her tone and the way she held herself aloof
made him think this meeting wasn’t going to go as planned. “Then no. I didn’t
get that letter. It doesn’t matter. I’m here now. I reckon you can tell me in
person what you wrote in that letter.”
She smiled, though it
didn’t quite touch her eyes. He was making her uncomfortable, and that wasn’t
his intention. “This feels rather awkward, Bryce.”
“I reckon that’s how
it’s supposed to feel when folks first start callin’ on one another. I know
this is sudden, but...”
“You’ve caught me by
surprise.” Her voice sounded as cold as the light coating of snow on the
railings of her house. This first meeting was definitely not going as he’d
planned.
“That wasn’t my
intention, ma’am. I thought you wouldn’t be opposed to seeing me. Your letters
gave me hope that such was the case.”
She sighed. “I
suppose I must apologize then. Though I am glad you’ve come. It’s been a long
time, and I’ve enjoyed corresponding with you.” Her voice thawed with what
sounded like regret.
Bryce stared at his
scuffed boots, the only real part to his outfit. He felt like a turkey dressed
for Thanksgiving dinner with
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