Page 9 of Val (Wild Rose Ridge #1)

Chapter Eight

Val continued to wander the store, her gloved fingers brushing over shelves and counters.

There were so many things she could use, but money was tight, especially after yesterday’s fiasco.

Poor Marianne and Jeremy. Not that their marriage was the trouble…

no, it was his shop. It had been broken into.

She moved toward the hardware section, eyeing the neat stacks of saws and hammers. A familiar voice startled her. “Miss O’Malley? Whatever are you doing?”

Val turned, hammer in one hand, saw in the other, and found Preacher Sutton beside her.

He looked both bemused and concerned, as though catching her red-handed in some crime.

“As you know,” she said, sharper than she meant.

“There was some misquoting yesterday concerning one of my brides and her new husband. I need to help them.”

“Oh, yes, the carpentry shop. Terrible thing, someone vandalizing it like that.” His brow creased. “Well, I suppose you’ll be wanting some nails, too.”

“Yes, that would be prudent, don’t you think? Especially if I’m buying a hammer.”

“True,” he admitted, “but what Jeremy really needs are the specialized tools that were taken. I’m afraid those will have to be ordered.”

She bristled. “Well, can you start the fund?”

“I… yes, well, I…”

“Is it yes or no, Preacher?” The words shot out more tartly than she intended, but she was tired of delays.

His voice softened. “Everything is going to be fine, Miss O’Malley. You’ll see.”

“Will I?” she asked, hearing the defiance in her own tone. He didn’t flinch, only offered a patient look that made her feel unreasonable.

Without another word, he gathered a few more tools and carried them to the counter. “Phineas, would you mind wrapping these up?”

“Not at all, Preacher Sutton,” the crabby clerk replied. Middle-aged, sour-faced, and looking as though the sun had never once touched his day, the man set about his task. Val didn’t mind. At least he was doing it.

They paid, each purchasing a few things to replace what Jeremy might have lost, and stepped back into the brisk street.

“I think we should bring them some food,” Val said suddenly. “Tools will fix the shop, but sandwiches will fix hungry bellies.”

Micah’s mouth tugged into a smile. “There’s a café just down the street. Shall we?”

“Of course. Unless you need to drop these at the church first?”

“Food first,” he said decisively. “Then tools. A man works better with something in his stomach.”

She couldn’t argue. They went to the café, the smell of baking bread and roasted meats making her stomach growl. The place was warm and crowded, the clink of dishes filling the air. They ordered sandwiches for Jeremy and Marianne, then set off again, arms laden.

When they reached the shop, Val watched Micah move through the damage.

He was quick, practical, his big hands running over splintered wood and bent hinges as though measuring every break.

He didn’t waste words, but there was compassion in the way he looked at the young couple, steady reassurance in the way he nodded to Jeremy.

Val’s throat tightened. Perhaps she had been too hard on him. He wasn’t trying to thwart her. He was simply looking out for his town, and the people in it.

You know why you’re doing this, a whisper of Augusta’s voice teased in her mind. You shouldn’t be afraid, Valentine.

Val pressed her lips together and shook the thought away.

Micah rejoined her, his smile warm, almost gentle. “Don’t worry. They’ll be fine. The town will rally around them, you’ll see.”

She gave Marianne a sympathetic look, then nodded at him. “I believe you. Still, it’s hard. For a bride to come so far, marry, and then have this to contend with…”

“And already things are being replaced,” Preacher Sutton reminded her. “It might be a rough town at times, but it isn’t without heart.”

She gave him a sidelong glance as they started back toward the church. Before she knew it, he was ushering her through the sanctuary, across the wide, pine-scented hush of the dais with its pulpit, and into a modest office.

Micah went around the desk and gestured toward the chair across from him. Val sat, folding her hands primly in her lap, telling herself to remain composed.

“You look lovely in that blue coat, by the way,” he said.

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“The blue coat Mrs. Hanford urged you to try on. It suited you.” His gaze held hers.

“Oh. That.” She looked back down at her hands. “Yes, well, I suppose it did.”

“Are you going to buy it?”

She peeked up. He was marking something on a paper with a pencil, as though the question were casual, harmless.

“Is it any of your business what I buy?”

He lifted his eyes. “I’ve seen your current coat.” His glance flicked toward it. “You could use a new one.”

She sniffed. “Well, I spent my money on things that were needed elsewhere. That need was greater. Preacher Sutton, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” he said, leaning back. His smile tilted. “Thank you for taking the time, and your own money, for Jeremy and Marianne. Very generous of you, Miss O’Malley.”

She rolled her eyes at his teasing tone. “Well, if we’re going to be working together, we might as well be on a personal basis, don’t you think?”

“Why?”

Val blinked. Why indeed? The words had slipped out without thought. She certainly couldn’t blame the sisters for that one.

“I think it’s a fine idea, Miss O’Malley,” he said. “Shall I call you Valentine?”

“No. Call me Val.” She gave a curt nod. “Everyone does.”

“Very well, Val. Now then, this list.”

He passed her a paper, and she scanned it quickly. “No occupations? I need to know what these men do.”

“Of course.” He took it back, pencil scratching as he added notes.

While he wrote, she let her eyes wander the office.

It was small but orderly, with neat shelves and a polished desk.

Through the open doorway the sanctuary beckoned, empty now, its rows of pews glowing faintly with the light of the tall windows.

Without the press of people it smelled of pine and oil soap, comforting and serene. Val drew in a breath. She liked it.

And she was beginning to like spending time with Preacher Sutton. The thought startled her, enough that it slipped out in a blurt. “Shall I call you Micah then?”

He looked up from the paper and smiled, slow and genuine. “Of course, if that’s what you’d like.”

“I could call you Preacher Micah, or Pastor Micah, or Reverend Micah,” she said in a rush, trying to cover her slip.

He chuckled, the sound warm in the small office. “Micah will do, Val.” His smile grew as he bent his head to the list again, jotting down a few more things.

When he finally slid the paper back across the desk, Val leaned forward eagerly. Her eyes moved down the names: a blacksmith, several miners, lumbermen, even a rancher or two. “A banker!” she breathed.

Micah’s mouth curved. “He works at the bank,” he corrected gently. “He doesn’t own it.”

“Oh, I see.” She gave a little cough, cheeks warm, and continued down the page. When she reached the end, she pushed it back to him. “And what can you tell me about these men?”

Micah rested his forearms on the desk. “They’re all hardworking and of good moral character. More than once I’ve heard them mention wanting a wife. But as you’ve noticed, there aren’t many females around here to marry.”

“No widows?”

“One or two, but they’re older. Old enough to be mothers to these men.”

Val tilted her head. “Well then, you’ve quite the list indeed.”

He nodded. “More than a dozen names. Think you can help them?”

“I can try. But it may take some time. It might be well into summer before I gather enough. The Sisters’ Mail-Order Bride Company can only supply so many at once. Brides don’t come filing in daily, you know.”

“I understand. And I suppose not all want to come this far.”

“You’re right about that,” Val agreed. “Some only want to go to the next state. I’ve even had a few who wanted to return back East.”

Micah frowned. “That seems odd.”

“Not really. Think about it. Some women are alone because of circumstances beyond their control. They need protection, provision. Maybe the East feels safer, or at least more familiar, than venturing further West.”

He considered her words, then nodded, slow and thoughtful. A smile tugged his mouth. “So, you’ll get to work on this?” he asked. “Do you have any brides already waiting in Chicago?”

“There were one or two when I left,” Val said. “But by now the sisters may have matched them and sent them on to their grooms.”

“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “Well then, if we plan for summer, that might be doable. Summers here are fine, and I’ve been thinking…”

Val lifted her brows. “Thinking what?”

“Of a celebration. Something for the town. A new tradition, maybe. A summer festival.”

Val’s lips curved. “Why not call it Wild Rose Ridge Days?”

The look in his eyes when he smiled back made her belly flutter. “That’s brilliant, Val. I like it.”

Her heart thumped as she ducked her head. “Then I’m glad.” He watched her for a long moment, until she shifted uneasily in her chair. “Do you need something, Micah?”

“No.” He shook his head, still smiling. “I was only picturing it. A new batch of brides stepping off the steamer on a warm day, the town full of banners and music. Couples marrying right in the middle of the festivities.”

Her throat tightened. “That… would be something.”

“Hot summers, cold winters, pleasant springs and autumns,” he went on easily.

She wrinkled her nose. “You make it sound like a burning inferno here in summer.”

He laughed. “It can be uncomfortable. But we’ve rivers and creeks with fine swimming holes.”

“Swimming holes?” she repeated, incredulous.

“Of course,” he said. “One gets hot, one goes swimming.”

She nearly swallowed her tongue. “And do you go swimming, Micah?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

His eyes twinkled, but he didn’t answer. Heat flooded her cheeks as her imagination betrayed her. Bare shoulders, sunlight on water, laughter echoing against the rocks. She pressed her hands together until her knuckles ached.

“Do you like the idea?” he asked, breaking into her fluster.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Better than icy winds and muddy streets.”

“Exactly.” He gave her a satisfied nod. “Now, have you any shopping to finish?”

She shook her head. “No. I only hope Jeremy can make use of the tools we gave him today.”

“He will. He’s grateful. Trouble comes. Thievery, fights, worse sometimes. But our sheriff and deputy keep things in check.”

Val sniffed. “I suppose so.” She stared at the list again, partly to avoid his eyes. Why did her thoughts keep veering toward him when she’d come to Wild Rose Ridge to think of brides and grooms, not preachers?

“Anyone else you can add?” she asked briskly.

He picked up the paper. “No, that’s it for now.”

“Very well.” She rose, smoothing her coat. “Thank you for showing me. Can you make a copy?”

“Of course. I’ll have one ready for you soon.”

She nodded. “Good. I’ll… see you later, then.”

Backing toward the door, she nearly tripped over the threshold in her haste. Down the aisle she went, cheeks burning. “Oh, what’s going through my head?” she scolded herself. “And those sisters aren’t even here to blame. Blast it, this is all me!”

By the time she stepped out into the chill air, she was walking fast enough to raise suspicion. But no one asked, and that was just as well, for Val O’Malley had just realized she was more than a little attracted to Micah Sutton.