“You are my only hope for keeping those boys.”
The outburst surprised Mercy almost as much as Mr. Beauchamp, who stepped back, his eyes wide with alarm.
Duly embarrassed, she straightened her shoulders and composed herself. “I’m sorry. What I mean to say is, if your hesitation is due to the boys and all their energy, I will see to it that they contain themselves when you come home from work. I’m sure they’ll settle down; they’re just young, is all. But I keep a neat house, and I’m a good cook, and I’ll—”
“Please, Miss Evans.” He raised both hands, palms out. “I’m simply not the man for the job. After giving this arrangement much thought and prayer, I’ve reached the conclusion that our marrying would not be in everyone’s best interest. Don’t get me wrong; you’re a lovely woman—beautiful, even—but I’m a bachelor who prefers to remain as such. I’m sorry to have strung you along. I thought it could work between us. Were it not for those boys, perhaps it might have.”
She jerked her chin up. “Were it not for those boys, I would not have asked you, Mr. Beauchamp.”
He gave a soft smile. “Therein lies the problem.”
“But—”
He shushed her with a gentle touch to the arm. “You’re a fine Christian woman, Miss Evans, but you know as well as I we’re no match for each other. God no more intended for us to be together than He intended for the sun and moon to collide. I think there must be somebody in this town far better suited to you.”
“There isn’t.” She hated her mawkish tone. Good grief, did she have no dignity?
“I’m sure there is,” Mr. Beauchamp said.
She studied his face. Kindness, pure and simple, filled his brown eyes, and for the first time, she thought she could learn to care for him—never love him, maybe, but care for him. Surely, that would be enough. Wouldn’t it?
He nodded, then glanced over his shoulder. “In fact, I believe I see a suitable prospect coming up the street as we speak.”
She followed his gaze, and her heart jostled.
Riding tall as a tree, his cowboy hat drawn low over his eyes, Sam Connors reined in his coal-black horse at the foot of Doc’s drive and tipped his hat at them. “Afternoon, folks. Am I interruptin’?”
“Yes,” said Mercy.
“No,” said Mr. Beauchamp.
“I’ll be going now, miss.” The kindly postmaster leaned forward and added quietly, “I’ve been praying for you, and I think you’d do well to take Mr. Connors up on his offer.”
“His offer? You know? But how—?”
With another crooked-toothed smile, he plopped his hat on his head, turned around, and started down the walkway to the street, where his horse and carriage waited. Confusion swirled in Mercy’s head like a miniature typhoon as she watched him nod to Samuel Connors before climbing into his carriage and driving away.
There sat Samuel Connors, wearing a grin. Had he somehow convinced Mr. Beauchamp not to marry her? Why, that arrogant rat!
She marched down the walk, prepared to give the man what for, but when he climbed down off his steed and held out a bunch of flowers tied with a yellow ribbon, the steam drained right out of her, at least for a moment.
***
Had he completely lost his mind? Sam figured so when he saw her tramping down the walkway, the hem of her skirts in her hand, vengeance in her eyes. The sight of the flowers seemed to give her pause, but then that fiery look came back all the fiercer. For a Christian woman, she sure did have a streak in her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
He glanced around to see if they had any company. It wouldn’t have surprised him had he seen a few neighborhood doors fly open the way her voice shot to the treetops.
How to answer her with his throat suddenly closed up tighter than a bank safe? While gathering his wits, he mustered a small grin and thrust the flowers under her nose, but she made no move to take them. Heck, she didn’t even give them so
The outburst surprised Mercy almost as much as Mr. Beauchamp, who stepped back, his eyes wide with alarm.
Duly embarrassed, she straightened her shoulders and composed herself. “I’m sorry. What I mean to say is, if your hesitation is due to the boys and all their energy, I will see to it that they contain themselves when you come home from work. I’m sure they’ll settle down; they’re just young, is all. But I keep a neat house, and I’m a good cook, and I’ll—”
“Please, Miss Evans.” He raised both hands, palms out. “I’m simply not the man for the job. After giving this arrangement much thought and prayer, I’ve reached the conclusion that our marrying would not be in everyone’s best interest. Don’t get me wrong; you’re a lovely woman—beautiful, even—but I’m a bachelor who prefers to remain as such. I’m sorry to have strung you along. I thought it could work between us. Were it not for those boys, perhaps it might have.”
She jerked her chin up. “Were it not for those boys, I would not have asked you, Mr. Beauchamp.”
He gave a soft smile. “Therein lies the problem.”
“But—”
He shushed her with a gentle touch to the arm. “You’re a fine Christian woman, Miss Evans, but you know as well as I we’re no match for each other. God no more intended for us to be together than He intended for the sun and moon to collide. I think there must be somebody in this town far better suited to you.”
“There isn’t.” She hated her mawkish tone. Good grief, did she have no dignity?
“I’m sure there is,” Mr. Beauchamp said.
She studied his face. Kindness, pure and simple, filled his brown eyes, and for the first time, she thought she could learn to care for him—never love him, maybe, but care for him. Surely, that would be enough. Wouldn’t it?
He nodded, then glanced over his shoulder. “In fact, I believe I see a suitable prospect coming up the street as we speak.”
She followed his gaze, and her heart jostled.
Riding tall as a tree, his cowboy hat drawn low over his eyes, Sam Connors reined in his coal-black horse at the foot of Doc’s drive and tipped his hat at them. “Afternoon, folks. Am I interruptin’?”
“Yes,” said Mercy.
“No,” said Mr. Beauchamp.
“I’ll be going now, miss.” The kindly postmaster leaned forward and added quietly, “I’ve been praying for you, and I think you’d do well to take Mr. Connors up on his offer.”
“His offer? You know? But how—?”
With another crooked-toothed smile, he plopped his hat on his head, turned around, and started down the walkway to the street, where his horse and carriage waited. Confusion swirled in Mercy’s head like a miniature typhoon as she watched him nod to Samuel Connors before climbing into his carriage and driving away.
There sat Samuel Connors, wearing a grin. Had he somehow convinced Mr. Beauchamp not to marry her? Why, that arrogant rat!
She marched down the walk, prepared to give the man what for, but when he climbed down off his steed and held out a bunch of flowers tied with a yellow ribbon, the steam drained right out of her, at least for a moment.
***
Had he completely lost his mind? Sam figured so when he saw her tramping down the walkway, the hem of her skirts in her hand, vengeance in her eyes. The sight of the flowers seemed to give her pause, but then that fiery look came back all the fiercer. For a Christian woman, she sure did have a streak in her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
He glanced around to see if they had any company. It wouldn’t have surprised him had he seen a few neighborhood doors fly open the way her voice shot to the treetops.
How to answer her with his throat suddenly closed up tighter than a bank safe? While gathering his wits, he mustered a small grin and thrust the flowers under her nose, but she made no move to take them. Heck, she didn’t even give them so
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