Not a Sparrow Falls (Wyldhaven Book 1) Read online

  Waddell tilted his head. “I didn’t want to shoot you. You should have just let me walk away.”

  A huff of disbelief slipped from the man’s lips.

  Waddell sighed. This was the thanks he got for helping the man? “Best get going.”

  Kastain’s shoulders slumped, but he did start to walk.

  Patrick nodded. The man would be fine. He’d done the best he could. He swung aboard the wagon and gingerly loosed the reins from the brake handle with his left hand. Driving one handed was going to be a trick, but if the horses were trained well enough, they ought to stay on the main path without too much need for guidance. He slapped the reins across the horses’ rumps and clucked to them. “Go on. Gid’up now.”

  The matched pair started out. And the last thing he saw of Kastain was him leaning a palm to a tree as he maneuvered his way past it. Patrick shook off a prick of conscience. The man would be fine.

  Charlotte spent a leisurely morning in her room finishing up The Last of the Mohicans. And just as she had feared, the story was as tragic as the book’s title implied. She always hated sad stories. Tales from the author Jane Austen were much more to her liking because they didn’t leave her feeling dull and gloomy.

  Deputy Rodante delivered her cases around half past ten, and Charlotte had never been so thankful in her life to see a trunkful of clothes. Dixie had surprised her with a portable tub and plenty of hot water. And she almost felt like a new woman when she emerged. She exchanged her soiled green watered silk for a light-blue bombazine and brushed her hair dry in front of the potbellied wood stove in the corner before pinning it up.

  There was still time before the sheriff was set to pick her up, so she spent the next few minutes doodling morose thoughts about Wyldhaven in her journal and thinking through how she was going to tell the townspeople their town founder was a crook of magnificent proportions. But then her pen turned to telling of the boxed supper. And as she jotted idea after idea for ways to raise the money and get the town excited, her doldrums fell away.

  Thus when Sheriff Callahan arrived to fetch her for the dessert social, she was feeling quite distracted by excitement over the whole benefit.

  As they left the boardinghouse, he crooked his elbow and held it out to her. Charlotte hesitated in surprise. Had Kent ever offered her his arm? He’d certainly escorted her plenty of places, but he’d always strode along beside her with his hands tucked behind his back. He’d taken her hand on rare occasions to assist her in and out of a coach, but even that he’d mostly left to the footman.

  Realizing she’d left the sheriff standing with his arm protruding, Charlotte gave herself a little shake and slipped her hand into the bend. There was that scent of leather and spice again, wafting over to unbalance her with its allure.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes at herself. In a moment she would be leaning toward the man and sniffing like a starving woman in a bread factory. She’d better come up with a distraction. “Dixie and I broke our fast together. She had an interesting idea.” Charlotte took a moment to fill him in on Dixie’s plan.

  The sheriff looked down at her. “So you would spend time raising money for our town, even though you don’t plan to stay here?”

  “I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I’m going to need something to keep me busy for the week I’m here. And as Dixie said, it will leave whichever teacher eventually does come to stay in a better place.”

  The sheriff rubbed his free hand over his chin. “Very admirable, Miss Brindle.”

  The compliment shot straight to her heart and bloomed like a lily in sunlight. She tamped down the pleasure and forced a sedate “Thank you, Sheriff. Now I have a question. What types of things would get the men involved in this boxed supper?”

  He chuckled. “You ladies provide food, and we men will be there, certain sure.”

  “Yes. Yes. Of course the women will put together boxed meals for the men to bid on, but I was considering some contests perhaps? For instance, back in Boston we’ve done benefits where two baseball teams put on a charity event. Each man had to pay a dollar for his position on the team, and everyone else had to pay a quarter if they wanted to sit and watch. Do you think the people in this town would get excited over something like that?”

  Sheriff Callahan paused outside of McGinty’s Alehouse. He tipped his hat back and scratched his head as he stared down the street for a moment. “Not sure about baseball, Miss Brindle. But maybe some contests that have to do with logging? Since we are a logging town, and all.”

  Charlotte almost jumped up and down in her glee. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes. That’s just the sort of thing I was hoping for, Sheriff! You are brilliant.”

  “Well now…” The man resettled his Stetson, then looked down at her and smiled. “That’s the first time anyone has ever told me so.”

  The world faded away, and her only awareness was of a pair of most mesmerizing blue eyes, the slash of a crooked dimple, and a nicely sun-browned face. Charlotte held her breath. This was not happening. She really ought to pull away, yet somehow she couldn’t find the will to move.

  The sheriff’s face turned rather serious, and his gaze swept over her features and paused on her lips. His tongue darted over his lips.

  “Reagan?” A woman’s strident voice lacerated the moment.

  Charlotte’s first realization was that the woman who had said his name may as well have coated the word in ice before she spoke it. And her second realization was that somehow she and the sheriff were standing very close to each other—much too close for propriety.

  On the pretense of adjusting her shirtwaist, Charlotte stepped back as casually as she could manage. She felt a swirl of lightheadedness. Hadn’t she just this morning reminded herself that only three weeks ago she had thought she was marrying Kent? Hadn’t she reminded herself that she in no way wanted to get involved with another man? And yet somehow, after only having known him for two days, the sheriff of Wyldhaven seemed to be able to jumble her thoughts into a veritable logjam of attraction tangled with frustration at that very attraction.

  She was off her rocker. That was the only explanation.

  Turning to face the woman who stood in the doorway of McGinty’s Alehouse, she smoothed her hands over the front of her skirt. When her gaze settled, however, she realized the woman was more of a girl. For despite her pretty blond curls combined with a pair of fetching blue eyes, she couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen.

  If she wasn’t mistaken, the sheriff sighed, but he did tip his hat. “Miss Kastain.” He motioned to Charlotte. “May I present Miss Brindle? Miss Brindle, Miss Belle Kastain.”

  Charlotte offered the girl a curtsey.

  But it was clear from the winter breeze Belle directed Charlotte’s way that the girl had set her cap for the good sheriff.

  “Shall we?” The sheriff swept his hat toward the door.

  “Certainly.” Charlotte lifted her skirts but paused to eye the building for a moment. “Is an alehouse the best place for this meeting, Sheriff?”

  “This is the biggest building in the entire town.”

  Charlotte sighed. “I see. Well, there’s nothing for it, then.”

  She put all her years of finishing school to good use and strode into the room ahead of the sheriff, even though in that moment she felt like she’d rather be just about anywhere else. She was dreading that she would need to be frank with the people about their beloved Mr. Heath and why she couldn’t stay. And in truth, she always felt rather like a bug under a microscope when meeting new people. The fact that Belle Kastain was still glowering at her like she’d fully enjoy skewering her to a display board was doing nothing to dispel that imagery.

  Just then Dixie bustled up. “There you are. I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone!” Dixie rushed her away so quickly she didn’t even have time to thank the sheriff for walking her over.

  The next moments were a flurry of introductions. Every square inch of McGinty’s Alehouse seemed to be filled with families eager to m
eet the new schoolteacher. Charlotte met so many people, she knew there was no way she was possibly going to be able to remember everyone’s names.

  Most of the men were big burly loggers, but there was the short and slender postman, Ben King, and his wife, Bertha, and the doctor, Flynn Griffin, with his dark complexion and dazzling smile. Charlotte noted a blush in Dixie’s cheeks when she introduced him.

  Before Charlotte realized what was happening, a hush fell across the gathering, and she noticed she was at the front of the room, with every eye on her.

  Zoe Kastain—Jinx, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen—stood near the front of the group, two identical little girls on either side of her that Charlotte remembered were her younger twin sisters. Though she couldn’t recall their names—something biblical and yet not quite biblical—they were still young enough to have large gaps in their smiles where teeth were missing. All three girls offered grins of adoration. Their older sister, however, stood at the back of the room, alternating between staring affectionately at the sheriff and scowling passionately at Charlotte.

  Until this very moment, she had planned to tell the people what a crook their town founder was and then inform them she wouldn’t be staying.

  But for some odd reason, Charlotte was no longer certain it was the best idea. Right now she had something more important to talk about. She could let everyone know later that she wouldn’t be their teacher after all.

  She folded her hands together in front of her to keep them from fidgeting nervously. Her gaze found the sheriff’s at the back of the room, and he offered her an encouraging nod.

  She licked her lips. There would be no better time than the present to tell the people about Dixie’s idea for a benefit. “First I want to say what a pleasure it has been to meet each one of you.” She smiled at several of the women throughout the room and was gratified to receive smiles in return. “This morning Dixie Pottinger and I shared breakfast together. I have to admit to being rather appalled to learn there is no schoolhouse or church in town—especially since I was led to believe there were both by Mr. Heath before I came here.” A low murmur rippled through the room. Charlotte held up her hands. “But Dixie had a fabulous idea, and I thought since we are all gathered together, now would be a good time to get the town’s thoughts on it as well.” She paused to give her next words their intended effect. And not even her many years of finishing school could keep the excitement out of her voice when she said, “What does everyone think of doing a boxed-supper benefit, with the money slated to build a church building?”

  The low murmur turned into a low roar. Charlotte was gratified to hear underpinning excitement.

  “At first the building could be used as both a church and as a schoolhouse, and then later a second building could be built for a school.”

  “I think that’s a fabulous idea!”

  Charlotte did remember that woman’s name because that woman was none other than Mrs. Callahan herself.

  Charlotte’s face heated. Her gaze darted to the sheriff’s, and though his wink was rapid and subtle, it did nothing to decrease the heat flaming through her cheeks. Would he ever let her live down the fact that she’d mistaken him for a married man?

  Beside the sheriff, Belle Kastain fidgeted. “I believe Mr. Heath’s plans were to build a bank next.”

  “Belle!” a woman toward the middle of the crowd chastised. “Let the adults make the decisions please.”

  Belle hung her head, but her frown of defiance didn’t dissipate.

  Charlotte felt sympathy for the girl being called out in public like that. “No, it’s okay. Belle has a right to bring up the other side. But should we put the proposition to a vote? Or what? How do you handle such things in this town?”

  Humor lit the sheriff’s blue eyes, and he planted one shoulder into a post at the back of the room and looked like he was settling in to be here for a while.

  Reagan’s uneasiness burgeoned along with the excitement in the room over Miss Brindle’s proposal. As he watched her enthusiasm grow with each passing moment, he had an unsettling feeling about the week ahead. Was it possible the lady might change her mind about returning to Boston? Would she be staying on as Wyldhaven’s teacher?

  He settled his gaze on the Nolan brothers, who were gathered in one corner of the room with a couple other boys from the outskirts of town. They were watching Miss Brindle and speaking low behind their hands to each other, with a certain gleam in their eyes that sent a curl through Reagan’s stomach.

  He transferred his gaze back to the woman at the front of the room and decided right then and there that he needed to do everything in his power to convince her that going back to Boston was the best possible solution for her. Because if she stayed, Reagan could see a lot of trouble for her—and in turn, himself—on the horizon.

  And yet…rambunctious boys lived the world over. Would there be anyone in Boston to come to her rescue were she to face such a lad back there?

  Reagan almost snorted when he realized the direction his thoughts had turned. The woman is not your concern, Callahan. No. Keeping Wyldhaven on the even keel was his only worry in this whole situation.

  Enthusiasm for Miss Brindle’s proposition was building, and people were tossing ideas at her right and left.

  Miss Brindle threw up her hands with a laugh. “We need to write all these down, or I’m never going to remember them all.” She dug a pencil and a tidy roll of paper from the tiny bag tied to her wrist, then pegged little Zoe Kastain with a look and held them out to her.

  Reagan’s stomach dropped. Don’t—

  “Zoe? How about you help me by jotting down ideas as they are mentioned?”

  Even from his position at the back of the room, Reagan could see Zoe’s shoulders slump. The girl searched the room over her shoulder, near panic on her pale face, obviously looking for her mother’s advice on what to do.

  Reagan lurched into action. “I’ll do it, Miss Brindle.” He angled through the crowd and took the pencil and paper from her, yanking on one side of the ribbon tied about the pages.

  Miss Brindle looked confused for just one moment, and then her own face paled and she placed one hand to her throat, her gaze darting back to Zoe. But after the briefest of moments, her smile for the crowd was back, and Reagan eased out a breath of relief that Zoe hadn’t been too terribly embarrassed by the situation. Most of the people in the room probably hadn’t even caught on that Zoe had never had the opportunity to learn to write yet.

  “Of course, Zoe, I should have thought. You have your sisters to watch after. I apologize.”

  Reagan’s estimation of Miss Brindle climbed a notch.

  Charlotte continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “Very well! Thank you, Sheriff. Now where were we? Oh yes, please jot down the idea for a log-sawing contest.” Charlotte scanned the gathering. “What else?”

  The ideas poured in fast and furious for the next fifteen minutes, and finally Reagan was out of paper.

  Charlotte, who had already charmed the entire room, spread her hands and offered her tinkling laugh. “I think we’ll have to stop there because one, we are out of paper, and two, I think I’m starting to see smoke wafting up from poor Sheriff Callahan’s fingers, he’s been writing so furiously!”

  Laughter rippled through the room.

  Reagan shook out his hand and blew on each finger as though snuffing out a candle, and the laughter mounted.

  Dixie stepped up next to Miss Brindle and spoke to the crowd. “How about we say that anyone who would like to continue planning the event should show up at the boardinghouse tonight at seven? I’ll make the dining room available, and I think if we spread the word about this to the surrounding communities, we can make quite a success of this benefit! Now, how about those desserts, folks?” She swept a hand toward the tables along one wall, which were filled nearly to overflowing with sweet treats brought to the gathering by the ladies of Wyldhaven.

  As the crowd drifted over to
form a line at the tables, Charlotte turned to face Reagan.

  He held out her pencil and the pages.

  Her expression was stricken, and her voice was low when she spoke. “Thank you so much for stepping in. I had no idea she couldn’t write. I feel terrible to have embarrassed her!”

  “Think nothing of it. You couldn’t have known. And you covered it nicely.”

  Charlotte fiddled with the pages as her gaze drifted over the gathered people and lingered on each child for a moment longer than the rest. “They really do need a teacher here, don’t they?”

  Just not one like you… Out loud he reassured, “We’ll find someone. Don’t worry yourself about it. In fact, I give you my word that I’ll do my best to find a teacher to replace you before the term starts two weeks from now.”

  Her gaze darted back to his, and her jaw jutted slightly to one side. “You sound like you would be quite pleased if I returned to Boston, Sheriff.”

  Reagan almost cringed. His tone probably had sounded rather relieved at the prospect of her leaving. He massaged a hand over the back of his neck. There was nothing for it but to be honest, he supposed. “I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t see someone like you as being the best fit for our town.”

  She tipped her chin up slightly. “Someone like me?”

  Oh boy. He was digging himself a hole big enough for a grave, but maybe telling her how he saw things would be exactly what she needed to convince her that going home was indeed the right decision.

  He eased out a breath. “Miss Brindle, I mean no disrespect to your abilities to teach. It’s just that life is rough here in Wyldhaven. I can tell you’ve been raised with many luxuries that simply won’t be available to you in our town. Not to mention, there will be boys who…well…” Seemingly of its own volition, Reagan’s gaze drifted the length of her, but he pinned it to the toe of one of his boots before it could meander its way back up to her eyes. “You cut a fine figure of a woman, Miss Brindle, and you are a petite little thing. I just feel some of the schoolboys are going to need a bit of a firmer hand than you will be able to offer. And I don’t have time to keep running to your rescue.”