Page 14 of Brian and Cora
Ivy pressed her palms to her face. “Don’t make me cry!” She lowered her arms and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “You must write me often.”
“Silly, you know I will.”
A tear ran down Ivy’s cheek, but she lifted her chin high. “Your letters will be full of your interesting adventures.” Her voice trembled. “Mine will be same old, same old. Housework, errands, practicing my harp, tutoring the boys, repeat, repeat, repeat.”
“I will pray that there’s a teaching position available for you to join me.” Even as she rose to hug her friend goodbye, Cora feared her encouraging words wouldn’t come true.
Before the timecame for the horse race, Brian had eaten from the fine feast of food contributed by the good womenfolk of Sweetwater Springs set out on the tables under the oak tree by the school, watched the shooting contests from far enough away to not distress Sassy Girl, and chuckled over the children’s sack and foot races, even while having to restrain the puppy from not chasing after them. He’d even wound his way through the rest of the booths without buying anything.
Throughout the whole day, there’d been a part of him—the author part, or so he told himself—that held aloof, observing and noting details. He’d mentally collected enough character descriptions for his next five books. But he still had no glimmers of a story.
A secret fear that his author career might be over niggled. What will I do if I can’t write? The fear chilled him.
The day’s not over. Inspiration might be around the next corner. He pulled his silver watch from his vest pocket to check the time and saw he was almost due to meet his friends at the dressmaker’s booth.
Brian ambled down the aisle, relieved to see the counter was empty, and no women flocked around.
Hank lounged nearby. Inside the booth, Constance packed away her tools—scissors, a jar of pins, measuring tape, ledger, a pencil—into a wooden crate, while Elsie neatly wound the lengths of ribbon and lace floating across the counter.
Hank caught sight of Brian and straightened, his gaze sweeping over the new belt, and then down to the puppy. “What have we here?” He sauntered around Brian, giving his new accoutrements an exaggerated leer. “Quite a gunslinger you look.” He crouched to pet Sassy Girl, who vigorously wagged her tail.
Brian shot a pointed glance at Hank’s gun belt. Neither man usually wore them.
Hank’s expression sobered, and he stood. “An odd gut feeling made me wear my gun to town,” he said in a low voice. “I anticipated a lot of woman-starved strangers pouring into Sweetwater Springs.
“They pack the saloons, too. Turn into drunken fools.”
“I wanted to protect Elsie and Constance, if need be.”
Brian touched his Colt. “God forbid I’ll ever have to draw this. But I agree about the need to have a gun just in case.”
Hank glanced at the puppy. “Best take her to my room to wait out the races and the fireworks.”
“You sure?”
“Don’t have a rug and nothing’s on the ground for her to chew.” Hank fished a key from his pocket.
Elsie dropped a ball of trim into the crate. She hurried around the back of the booth and over to them. “I’ll run her over, Brian. I have to use the facilities anyway. I’ll be back faster than you can say ‘Bob’s your uncle.’”
Behind Elsie’s back, Brian saw Constance grimace, and he held in a smile. Her assistant’s earthy sayings and lack of awareness of the proper behavior for ladies often dismayed her.
Elsie swooped down on the puppy, picked her up, and kissed her head. She wiggled some fingers, for Hank to drop the key into her palm, and then she tightened her hand around the dog.
“Give her some water,” Brian instructed.
“Will do.” She rushed off.
Hank watched his beloved, a silly smile on his face.
While they waited, something about an old woman, hobbling with a cane, caught Brian’s attention—her wrinkled-apple, brown face, perhaps, and the wisdom in her eyes. He took out his notebook and pencil, jotting down a description.
Elsie hurried back, bobbing as she walked. She flashed her customary happy smile before heading behind the booth to help Constance finish up.
Dr. Angus joined them. His gaze swept the empty counter. “Looks like ye made out, then,” he said to his fiancée.
“The church made out,” Constance corrected, reaching up to straighten her flowered hat. The pride in her green eyes belied the playfully prim tone.
“Everyone did.” Elsie swept an arm out and twirled, her pink dress belling, to indicate the booths around them. “Looks like the bare prairie after a cloud of grasshoppers descended.”
