Big Bad Professor(63)
Stephen smiled.
“Chances are, brother, that you’re both a little skeered—and given your histories and life situations, that’s no surprise at all,” he paused here, adding as he graced his brother’s broad shoulder with a reassuring pat, “It is high time you faced the fact, though, that your sweet Elsa isn’t coming back. Of course, she will always live in your heart, but she of all people would never want you to live your life alone and miserable. Abigail is here; she’s alive; so why not give her a chance?”
Cal thought a moment, then nodded.
“I reckon you’re right,” he allowed finally, adding as he shook his head from side to side, “I’m just not so sure that she’s at all willin’ to give me a chance.” He paused here, adding as he rolled his eyes heavenward, “As is almost always the case when we play poker, she holds all the cards.”
*****
The evening could not come quickly enough for Cal’s liking; and as he rode his trusty steed with purposeful strides through the tall steel gates of his ranch, his eyes scanned the landscape for any sign of the woman that he simply couldn’t wait to see.
When finally he spotted Abigail, herself riding in an emerald leaved meadow astride Gentry, her beloved chestnut mare, he dug his heels sure but gentle into the sides of his own ride; quickly catching up with her as he opened his mouth to issue her a hearty greeting.
This same mouth snapped shut moments later, as she saw him coming and ran.
“Ha!” Abigail summoned her horse, racing her mare into a steady gallop as the two raced fast and free across the meadow.
Immediately taking the challenge to heart, Cal urged his horse onward until he’d engaged his ranch hand in something of a madcap race; soon the couple rode neck and neck as they approached the door of the ranch house.
Bringing her horse to a dead stop in the grasses of the lawn beneath her, Abigail turned slightly in her saddle to regard Cal with cold eyes.
“We’d best get inside the house,” she told him, tone dry and noncommittal. “It’s high time for supper.”
Cal nodded.
“Indeed it is,” he allowed, adding as he inclined his head in her direction, “Before we chow down, though, I have a question for you. Would you consider bein’ my date for the barn dance this Friday night? The one that Old Man Hodges is hosting at his farm on the south side of town?” he paused here, adding as he held his hands up before him in what seemed a defensive stance, “Now before you tell me to go to blazes and ride clean off my range, consider this. As the deputy sheriff of this town, I am expected to attend this dance—half to keep the peace, half to make an appearance on behalf of the sheriff’s department. Sheriff Michaels expects me to come—if I don’t, well then I could be out of a job!”
Abigail shrugged.
“Sorry to hear that,” she allowed, adding with arched eyebrows, “All the same, surely you know a lot of pretty young ladies in town. Why not ask one of them?”
Cal shook his head.
“As my brother Stephen reminded me today, Abigail, many people in town happen to think of us as husband and wife,” he reminded her. “I do not want the populace I serve to take me for a cheatin’ cad. And I can guarantee you, Abigail, that if you agree to tag along to this particular dance, you won’t get stuck alone in the corner.” He paused here, adding in a loud and declaratory tone, “Nobody sticks Abby in a corner!”
Abigail had heard enough.
“Oh criminy,” she declared, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “No need to be such a cornball, Cal. I’ll go to the dag gum dance.”
Abigail came close to regretting these words a few days later, as she found herself poised at the broad apple red doors that fronted a massive, ably constructed barn; a structure that would be the site of a dance that she had no earthly desire to attend.
Dressed once again in that ancient torture device known as a dress, Abigail winced beneath the weight of a stern tied bodice that came darned close to cutting off her circulation; even as she did have to pause and admire the design of the dress itself.
A gift from her date for the evening, who had purchased the exquisite garment from a dress shop downtown, this exquisite frock boasted a full scarlet-hued calico skirt adorned with a pattern of bright yellow roses—appropriate, she supposed, especially when topped with a lush ivory cotton top graced with lacy sleeves and a high lace collar.
A pair of sleek ivory hand gloves and a gold-tinted heart shaped choker—also gifts from an attentive Cal—completed the look, which she wore with pride as she strode headfirst into the barn that had been morphed this evening into a social hall.