Love Blooms in Winter (26 page)

Snipping the scissors sharply a few times, he picked up a handful of her hair and pretended to slash a huge hunk. She moaned.

“Relax.”

He carefully snipped the ring loose with a distinct twinkle in his eyes. Being a hair’s breadth away from him, she could smell his fresh, clean outdoor scent. An inappropriate ripple raced up her spine.

“Shall I save the hair for Jake’s memory book?”

“That won’t be necessary.” She took the lock and pitched it into the wicker wastebasket.

“So.” He leaned against her desk, apparently in a better mood than when he first came in the store. “When’s the big event?”

Jake’s earlier words floated through her mind. “
There’s no hurry to set a date is there? We have the rest of our lives, and should we delay a few more years and having children becomes less likely, we’ll deal with the matter when the time comes.
”

“We haven’t set a date yet.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Apparently changing his mind, he grabbed a bottle of sarsaparilla.

She eased around him, well aware he was much too close for comfort. She liked it when they were close enough for her to see the smile lines around his eyes. Liked it far too much for a woman about to marry another man. She paused and let the words sink in. She was engaged to Jake. Formally engaged.

He set a bottle of sarsaparilla on the counter next to the sack of nails. “I’ll take a hunk of cheese and some crackers as well.”

“This is your lunch?” She stepped to fill the order, relieved he was taking the news of her engagement in stride. He had seemed a bit miffed when he arrived, but that was likely due to problems on the site and not at all with his feelings about her.

“Lunch and supper. I only left the site to send a wire.”

“Sure.” She wrapped the cheese in heavy white paper and added a pickle, on the house. His vegetable for the day. After wiping her hands on her apron, she stepped into the cage. “To the railroad?”

“Yes. Ask Letterman if he sent the right track yet, or has he got his head up his nose? Get me temporary track and in a hurry if he wants that rail fixed by Wednesday.”

She wrote,

P
LEASE SEND PROPER TRACK
S
TOP
W
ORK PROCEEDING ON TIME BUT IN DIRE NEED OF EXPEDIENCY
S
TOP

“Anything else?”

“Tell him to get off his duff and get the order right! I can’t fix the track without the proper material. Do they have a bunch of idiots working there?”

She added,

H
AVE A NICE DAY
S
TOP

“Anything else?”

“No.” He shelled a peanut and tossed the carcass on the floor. “I don’t know how I’m expected to build track without the right material,” he grumbled.

“Got it.” She took the piece of paper and stepped to the telegraph machine. She was so attuned to the sound of the dots and dashes that she could decipher incoming and outgoing messages from across the room.

“Trouble on the site?”

“The usual stuff. Material isn’t right. Weather-related problems. People disgruntled because they can’t get their mail.” He glanced at the empty cooler. “Or root beer.”

“No, but it’s not so bad.” She finished sending the message and turned to console him, but through the window she caught sight of Pauline.

“Oh, dear.”

“What?” He stepped up beside her and looked across the street.

“Pauline’s in her robe, and it looks as though she’s about to burn something.”

The wind was hiking the robe’s fancy material higher up the woman’s spindly legs. Mae focused on the small container sitting on the ground. “Oh, Tom! She has a kerosene can!” No matter how many times she warned Pauline about burning things with flammable liquid, she couldn’t break her of the habit.

Tom was out the front door and running before Mae finished speaking. Grabbing the “Closed” sign, Mae hung it on the door, reached for her cloak, and followed him. Wind gusts loosened her hair further, and her cheeks stung from the biting cold. Her heart raced when Pauline slowly pulled a matchstick from the pocket of her robe.

“Pauline! Hold up!” Tom shouted. “Don’t light that!”

The old woman was hard of hearing, and the wind carried his voice in the opposite direction anyway, so it was impossible for her to hear Tom’s plea. Pausing before the barrel, she struck the match. Mae froze in her track. Pauline was acting as though this were a calm spring day!

Tom arrived just in time to block the move. “Don’t do that. The wind’s too high to burn today.”

“Oh.” Pauline glanced around. “Where’d you come from, sonny?” She looked straight at Tom. “They hurt my feet, so I have to burn them.” She touched Tom’s arm with her hand. “I’m only burning shoes.”

A flood of barking dogs arrived, nipping at Tom’s pant legs. “Let me take care of this for you another time.”

A breathless Mae arrived and wrapped her cloak around the elderly woman. “Pauline, you shouldn’t be outside today. I told you I’d burn those shoes.”

“Fiddlesticks. I’m not helpless. I can burn them myself.”

Mae glanced at Tom. “Is it safe to burn old shoes?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. But right now?”

Pauline took another match from her pocket. “Yes, now.”

He peered in the barrel and saw one pair of shoes. He looked up. “Well, if it has to be now, stand back and I’ll light the fire.”

Mae backed away and Pauline obediently went with her. Moving the kerosene can well out of the way, Tom struck a match and tossed it into the barrel. A flash—and then a roaring
whoosh
erupted. Yelping dogs scattered, and Tom staggered backward, throwing up a protective arm as flames from the barrel shot ten feet high.

“Oh my!” Heat seared Mae’s face. “Pauline, you didn’t already put kerosene on the shoes, did you?” She’d only been carrying the can when Mae spotted her.

Pauline nodded. “I emptied one can and went back for another. I figured it’d take one can for each shoe.”

Mae focused on Tom, who dropped and rolled in the snow. She must have spotted Pauline when she was returning with the second can. After this experience, Tom would surely rue the day he came to Dwadlo. She bent to stare at him. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine.” Sitting up, he smothered the last bit of flame on his clothing. “Take care of Pauline, Mae. I’ll meet you back at the store.”

Poor Tom. She took Pauline into her house and quickly settled her before hurrying back to the store. When she entered, she found Tom perched on the barrel she’d sat on earlier.

“Just look at you! It’s a wonder you weren’t killed.” Mae disappeared behind the counter to fetch a clean cloth, a pitcher of water, and some ointment, and then she walked back to Tom. She wet the cloth and carefully washed the soot off his face, looking for wounds as she wiped his brow, nose, cheeks, and chin.

“How bad is it?”

“Well, your eyebrows and lashes will grow back, and so will the front of your hair.” She shook her head. “You may have to wear it short for a while.”

“Great. How many cans did she dump on that fire?”

“Only one full one. She was coming back with the second one when I saw her. Hold still.”

He gritted his teeth while she finished wiping off his face. “Your skin is red from heat exposure, but fortunately you’re not badly burned.”

Tom looked down at his clothes and pointed to the holes in his jacket. “You call this lucky?”

“I am so sorry. I’ve warned her at least a hundred times not to burn things, especially when it’s windy.” Mae pitched the dirty cloth on the counter and applied ointment to his face. Then she brushed the singed fabric, some of it falling to the floor like paper. “I’ll get you a new coat.”

“It’s fine. There are only a few holes in it.”

“No. I’ll get you a new jacket. We received a shipment in before the train derailed.”

Pushing away from her, he stood. “I have another coat, Mae. Where are my cheese and crackers?”

She wrapped up the crackers and thrust the two packages into his hand. As he carefully put his hat on his head, she held back a chuckle. He looked funny with singed brows and lashes. Then she sobered. He could have been seriously hurt. “I hope the rest of your day is more agreeable.”

She winced when he slammed the front door on his way out. Well, at least she had been pleasant. She started back to work but couldn’t get him off her mind.
Thank You, Lord, for preventing Tom from being badly burned
.

The door opened and Pauline came in. Dressed in a warm coat and boots, she walked to the pickle barrel and helped herself.

“Everything fine now?” Mae was pleased the woman was finally dressed properly for the time of year.

“Fine as frog hairs.” She bit into the pickle. “I was sitting over there thinking about my kin.”

Nodding, Mae said softly, “Tom’s a good man.”

“He is, isn’t he? I’d never have gotten that pen built if it wasn’t for you two.”

Smiling, Mae made a notation in her postal record. “I just hope you learned your lesson not to burn on windy days.”

Crunching on her pickle, Pauline made a sour face that made Mae want to laugh.

“Yes…a good man. Can I tell you something that might upset you?”

“Of course.” Mae closed the book and went to join her. “What would you like to tell me?”

“Well, like I said, I was sitting over at my house and thinking real hard, and it suddenly came like a light in the night.”

“What came to you?”

“Tom.”

“Tom stopped by?” Unlikely, since he was a tad bit hot under the collar when he had left the store earlier.

“No, he didn’t stop by. I meant that I suddenly remembered him.”

“You do!” Mae sprang to her feet. “That’s wonderful! Which side—do you recall? Does he belong on your mother’s or father’s side?”

“Neither one.”

Mae’s heart nearly stopped beating. “That isn’t possible, Pauline. He has to belong to one side or the other.”

“No, he doesn’t. Just like I told him and you, I don’t have kin. Tom’s that young scoundrel who was with the railroad official nosing around years back. The one who wanted to buy up my property and turn it into a train station.”

S
inking to the bench, Mae tried to absorb the stunning revelation. Tom wasn’t Pauline’s kin? He’d made the long trip to Dwadlo, suffered numerous indignities, not to mention he didn’t have many eyelashes left, just to pacify both her and Pauline when all along he’d been right? Or was the old woman in another world again?
Oh, please, let that be the explanation
. “Pauline? What day is this?”

“Friday.”

“When were you born?”

“September 7, 1800.”

Bending closer, Mae asked, “What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

“Two eggs and turnip greens.”

She took a deep breath. Pauline’s eccentric eating habits put a kink in the questioning. It was quite possible she’d eaten turnip greens and eggs for breakfast. “Oh, Pauline.”

The old woman nodded. “Thought this might put a crook in your bustle.”

Crook in her bustle? The news would blow her bustle sky-high if she’d been wearing one. How could she tell Tom about the mistake? How could she not? He’d invested nearly two weeks of his time in Dwadlo, North Dakota, and for what? He’d endured Dale’s difficult company for twelve long nights, fought off a pack of dogs daily, joined with people he didn’t know to lay temporary track…But if what Pauline said was true, why hadn’t he recognized her? Or, for that matter, the town?

The elderly woman finished the pickle and licked her fingers. “It’s a real shame he ain’t kin. I like that feller. He growed up good. Must have come from fine stock—even if he does work for the railroad. I could overlook that.” She spotted the ring on Mae’s third finger. “Jake finally proposed?”

Absently nodding, Mae still sat in stunned silence.

“Well, I like him too. He’s about as exciting as watching grass grow, but he’s a good man.” She stood up. “Not as good as Tom, but then I guess that’s water over the dam.”