Page 6

I could easily have forgiven his pride,

if he had not mortified mine.

—Jane Austen

THE NEXT EVENING, ON Saturday, at five-thirty sharp, Blake stood in the foyer of Hensley’s family home, a grand, old, Victorian house, turning his cowboy hat in his hands.

He’d never seen a houseful of so many girls, all of them running here and there.

They were talkative, full of personality, and a beehive of activity.

The spacious front lawn along each side of the long gravel drive leading to the house was shaded here and there with enormous pines, sprawling oaks, and glorious maples stretching their branches out in a stately manner.

At the end of the drive, tucked in behind two enormous lilac shrubs on each side of the front porch, flanked by junipers, hollies, boxwoods, and arborvitaes, stood the house.

It was well maintained and seemed to hold its former glory like a time capsule.

The three-story yellow structure boasted a wrap-around porch encompassing the front and one side to the left.

A turret loomed up like a crown on the far right corner.

Lewis Wickham waited in the limo while Blake had taken the three steps up and then strode across the front porch.

A porch swing, wicker porch furniture, white shutters, and window boxes with spring pansies caught his attention.

The shrub beds were bordered with clumps of daffodils, hyacinth, crocus, and tulips.

Though it was likely a century old, the home bespoke plenty of welcoming charm and timeless elegance with its elaborate white carved trimmings and spindled railings.

He took note of the barn and what looked to be an old carriage house for a garage off to the right.

After knocking, he had been welcomed inside by a lady wearing an aproned light blue and white uniform. She wore her salt-and-pepper-streaked hair in a loose bun. The house was so large, he imagined they made good use of some help to care for the lawn and cleaning duties.

“You must be Blake. I’m Sarah. Wait here, honey. Hensley’s expecting you. She’ll be down in a few minutes,” the lady informed him.

He barely had a chance to nod in reply before Sarah hurried away in response to someone calling her from the back of the house.

Maybe Hensley’s mother? He’d only been left alone for long enough to take in the high ceilings, tall windows, and excellent workmanship in the main staircase that led upstairs, door casings, baseboards, wainscotting, and moldings—all of it drawing his admiration.

But it was the family inside that caught most of his interest, a bustle of activity.

“Has anyone seen my book?” A girl about the age of maybe eighteen called out as she bounded down the staircase, one hand on the banister railing, a white poodle tucked under her other arm.

“It’s due back at the bookmobile and I’ve simply got to find it.

I’ve looked everywhere ...” She paused on the landing and snuggled closer to the poodle. “Did you eat it, Ruffles?”

Spotting Blake, her voice faded. She paused in the foyer and peered up at him, pushing thick eyeglasses higher on her nose. “Oh, hello. I’m Kit, Hensley’s sister. You must be Blake.”

“Nice to meet you.” He shook her free hand.

Despite the glasses, Kit was a pretty girl. Not as pretty as Hensley, but attractive .

“Sorry to dash away. I’m on a mission to find a book.” She smiled at him and then crossed through the double doors into the spacious room to his left, peeking in various corners as she went.

He moved closer to the room where she stepped into hoping to find her book. A comfortable parlor back in the day, he guessed, judging by its décor. Pinstripe sofas and chairs, all framed in walnut. It appeared nearly the same as what he imagined he’d have found back then.

A grandmotherly lady with excellent posture and silvery white hair piled into a knot on the top of her head came bustling through the double doors from the room where Kit had entered.

“Good heavens, child! Who knows where you’ve left it.

Your nose is always in a book. It could be anywhere.

” She crossed directly in front of Blake toward a set of double doors on the opposite side of the foyer leading to his right.

A large drawing room, perhaps. She gave him an efficient nod hello as she passed before him, along with a peculiar and mischievous grin.

He returned an amused smile and nodded. She didn’t pause to greet him beyond the odd smile she’d given. She must be the grandmother Sam had mentioned. And she moved briskly, like a spry young chicken, wasting no time at all, carrying a basket with some skeins of colorful yarn.

His brow arched as she sped away, disappearing from his view.

She wore a navy-blue straight skirt to above her ankles with three large white buttons on the sides of each hip, old-fashioned cream shoes with chunky low heels, and a white blouse with a big bow that draped in front.

She could have stepped out of a magazine from the turn-of-the-century in the early 1900s.

Now he could see why Hensley dressed the way she did. She had inherited her fashion choices from this clearly competent woman. He could tell that she was in command by her posture and manner.

A blond young lady entered the foyer from the opposite direction of the front door, blowing on her bright pink nails, presumably to make them dry faster. She stopped a few feet in front of Blake and gave him a flirtatious but charming smile.

“Well, aren’t you handsome?” Then she turned around and hollered up the staircase. “Hensley, your Wyoming cowboy is here! Hurry it up! You’re making him wait.” She whirled back around to face him. “I’m Lula. But I’ve got a date and can’t linger. I’m sure she’ll be down soon.”

“He’s not my Wyoming cowboy!” A voice hollered from somewhere above.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. Hensley’s voice.

Cheerful, vibrant, and sweet. But at that moment, she sounded rather annoyed.

Hopefully not too annoyed with him. She’d answered his call at noon about joining him at the diner that evening and hadn’t hesitated too long or fussed when he offered to pick her up.

To Lula, he attempted to maintain his dignified manner, holding his cowboy hat in his hands. “Not a problem. Carry on.” He grinned, further amused.

“Lula,” the blond, dashed up the stairs, disappearing as quickly as the others.

A quieter version of Hensley, another brunette, reading a book, wafted through the foyer from the same door where Lula had entered.

She never glanced up as she proceeded toward the room with the turret where Hensley’s grandmother had gone.

She read aloud, murmuring to herself. “Drain and serve at once. Serves fifteen.” Once inside the room where her grandmother was, her voice drifted into the foyer.

“Grandmother, what do you think of this recipe for the Women’s Missionary Auxiliary luncheon next week? ”

An exchange of lowered voices between them, and then the girl emerged again into the foyer, still reading the recipe.

This time, she stopped to take in the fact someone was standing there.

“Oh, goodness, hello. You must be Blake. I’m Jenny, Hensley’s older sister. I didn’t see you there before ... ”

Before he could reply, a vigorous rendition of “Stand by Me” sounded on a piano. The melody was soon accompanied by offkey vocals streaming from the room on their right where their grandmother had disappeared.

Jenny sighed and rolled her eyes. “Sorry. That dreadful pitch would be our MaryAnne. She’s practicing for a wedding. I’m afraid her singing skills do not match her beautiful playing.”

He shouldn’t comment one way or the other about that, so he cleared his throat. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Jenny turned her head away to glance up with him when heels clicked on the staircase.

It was Hensley, wearing taupe heels beneath her shapely legs.

And above those pretty legs swirled another of those fifties-style dresses, similar to the one she’d worn the day they’d chased after Boscoe.

Cinnamon brown fabric dotted with white polka dots.

His eyes traveled to the cinnamon brown sash wrapped around her slim waist, and her brunette waves framing each side of her heart-shaped face.

She certainly had her own style. Different from other girls, and very attractive.

They were only headed to the diner for burgers, to discuss ideas for the fundraiser. He’d dressed down, opting for jeans and a plaid shirt. He’d brought a navy blazer along, but it was inside the limo. Should he offer to take her to The Creek Grill instead?

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ve had all sorts of interruptions and last-minute phone calls.” Hensley breezed up to them, tucking a taupe clutch and a notebook under her arm. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, but I’m starved. Let’s go before another delay happens.”

“Sure. It’s all right.” He stood up taller and slid his hat on. Should he mention how pretty she looked? Nah. This wasn’t a date. Just a meeting. She might take it wrong.

“Have fun!” Jen smiled and closed her book as Hensley opened the front door and stepped outside.

“Thanks. See you later.” Hensley waved to her sister .

He followed. Interesting family. Would he remember all of their names?

Had he misjudged this old-fashioned girl? She seemed, somehow, perfectly ... family oriented. Completely unlike his family, spread out all over the country at present. He had yet to meet her parents, but oh, to have a family like this!