it."
"Gertie Howard got sick yesterday. She was supposed to bring a custard. I volunteered to bake one for her." Hoping no one up the street was watching, Caitlin gathered her rose-colored skirts and jumped down beside her brother. It wasn't ladylike, she knew, but it seemed silly to pester Patrick when she was capable of getting down by herself. "It's only three things to carry."
With a wink to let her know he'd only been teasing, he handed her the custard dish, keeping the pan-dowdy and loaf of bread to carry himself. Catching her worried look, he made an exasperated sound under his breath. "Caitlin, would you stop? I'll be fine, I promise. Let's go. I can hear the fiddlers warming up."
As she joined him on the boardwalk, she tucked the custard dish under her arm, moistened her fingertips, and tried to smooth his cowlick. He chuckled and pushed at her hand. "Don't do that. Someone'll see. Next thing I know, you'll be spitting on your fingers and washing my face like you used to when I was little."
"I never!"
He laughed. "You did so. Almost every Sunday on the church steps. I hated it. You got any idea how spit feels on your face after it dries? Kinda like egg whites."
Caitlin flashed him a sidelong glance. "How would you know how egg whites feel on your face after they dry?" Sudden understanding dawned. "Patrick O'Shannessy, don't tell me you tried one of my facial masks?"
"Only once." A flush crept up his neck. "I thought it might help fade my freckles. It seemed to work good on yours." He narrowed an eye. "You tell a single soul, and you're dead."
She giggled, trying to picture her brother with white foam all over his face. "Did you use lemon?"
"Lemon? For what?"
"That's what bleaches the freckles, silly." Unable to stop herself, she went up on her toes to take another swipe at his hair. "Honestly, Paddy, it's standing straight on end."
"I don't care," he said, batting her hand away. "I like looking rumpled." A twinkle crept into his eyes. "If I listened to you, I'd be so handsome the women wouldn't leave me alone, and then where would I be? Married most likely, and wouldn't that be a heck of a note? Then I'd have two women trying to straighten my hair all the time."
Caitlin sighed and rolled her eyes. As she fell into step beside him, he ran his fingers through his hair, making deep furrows in the wiry red curls. She itched to fix it, but resisted the urge, concentrating instead on the lovely evening.
It was just turning dark, and on the horizon, a splendorous sunset wreathed the Rockies . The glow washed the weathered clapboard storefronts with pink and reflected off the windows. Above the rooftops, scattered pines rose like royal sentinels, their wind-twisted tops cast in silhouette against a granite sky.
"Looks to be quite a turnout," Patrick commented as they passed several other wagons. "Hope it's not so crowded inside that people can't dance."
"It's so nice tonight, folks may drift outside." She hurried to keep up as they crossed an alley that ran between the buildings. As they stepped up onto the next boardwalk, she said, "Mmm. The smell of that bread is making me hungry."
"It does smell good. So do the apples in this pandowdy." He flashed her a grin. "Would you just listen to that fiddle music?" Tucking both the bread and dessert under one arm, he grasped her by the elbow. "Let's pick up our pace."
She gave a breathless laugh. "Who's been looking forward to this social?"
"Guilty as charged. Since I gave up the bottle, I've gone from bein' a gadabout to stayin' at home. I admit, I'm lookin' forward to some socializing."
The community hall, a sprawling log structure, was located at the end of the street, the last block of which was home to a variety of businesses, including the Silver Spur, the town's only saloon. Caitlin didn't miss the slightly wistful glance Patrick sent toward the drinking establishment as they walked past, and she knew he was wondering how many of his friends were inside. No
"Gertie Howard got sick yesterday. She was supposed to bring a custard. I volunteered to bake one for her." Hoping no one up the street was watching, Caitlin gathered her rose-colored skirts and jumped down beside her brother. It wasn't ladylike, she knew, but it seemed silly to pester Patrick when she was capable of getting down by herself. "It's only three things to carry."
With a wink to let her know he'd only been teasing, he handed her the custard dish, keeping the pan-dowdy and loaf of bread to carry himself. Catching her worried look, he made an exasperated sound under his breath. "Caitlin, would you stop? I'll be fine, I promise. Let's go. I can hear the fiddlers warming up."
As she joined him on the boardwalk, she tucked the custard dish under her arm, moistened her fingertips, and tried to smooth his cowlick. He chuckled and pushed at her hand. "Don't do that. Someone'll see. Next thing I know, you'll be spitting on your fingers and washing my face like you used to when I was little."
"I never!"
He laughed. "You did so. Almost every Sunday on the church steps. I hated it. You got any idea how spit feels on your face after it dries? Kinda like egg whites."
Caitlin flashed him a sidelong glance. "How would you know how egg whites feel on your face after they dry?" Sudden understanding dawned. "Patrick O'Shannessy, don't tell me you tried one of my facial masks?"
"Only once." A flush crept up his neck. "I thought it might help fade my freckles. It seemed to work good on yours." He narrowed an eye. "You tell a single soul, and you're dead."
She giggled, trying to picture her brother with white foam all over his face. "Did you use lemon?"
"Lemon? For what?"
"That's what bleaches the freckles, silly." Unable to stop herself, she went up on her toes to take another swipe at his hair. "Honestly, Paddy, it's standing straight on end."
"I don't care," he said, batting her hand away. "I like looking rumpled." A twinkle crept into his eyes. "If I listened to you, I'd be so handsome the women wouldn't leave me alone, and then where would I be? Married most likely, and wouldn't that be a heck of a note? Then I'd have two women trying to straighten my hair all the time."
Caitlin sighed and rolled her eyes. As she fell into step beside him, he ran his fingers through his hair, making deep furrows in the wiry red curls. She itched to fix it, but resisted the urge, concentrating instead on the lovely evening.
It was just turning dark, and on the horizon, a splendorous sunset wreathed the Rockies . The glow washed the weathered clapboard storefronts with pink and reflected off the windows. Above the rooftops, scattered pines rose like royal sentinels, their wind-twisted tops cast in silhouette against a granite sky.
"Looks to be quite a turnout," Patrick commented as they passed several other wagons. "Hope it's not so crowded inside that people can't dance."
"It's so nice tonight, folks may drift outside." She hurried to keep up as they crossed an alley that ran between the buildings. As they stepped up onto the next boardwalk, she said, "Mmm. The smell of that bread is making me hungry."
"It does smell good. So do the apples in this pandowdy." He flashed her a grin. "Would you just listen to that fiddle music?" Tucking both the bread and dessert under one arm, he grasped her by the elbow. "Let's pick up our pace."
She gave a breathless laugh. "Who's been looking forward to this social?"
"Guilty as charged. Since I gave up the bottle, I've gone from bein' a gadabout to stayin' at home. I admit, I'm lookin' forward to some socializing."
The community hall, a sprawling log structure, was located at the end of the street, the last block of which was home to a variety of businesses, including the Silver Spur, the town's only saloon. Caitlin didn't miss the slightly wistful glance Patrick sent toward the drinking establishment as they walked past, and she knew he was wondering how many of his friends were inside. No
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