The tinkling of Mrs. Allen’s laughter washed over Meg, flooding her with relief.
“Allen, Sam. Mrs. Allen. I am not the only one, I see.”
Sam’s eyes grew wide as did Meg’s. She’d not been introduced as Mrs. Allen so far, and the words sounded strange to her ears—and, apparently, Sam’s as well.
“It is very nice to meet you, ma’am,” Meg said, her heart still beating more rapidly than she would like.
Her new mother-in-law gave her a warm smile as she removed her soft, brown gloves and extended her hand. “How do you do, Meg? It’s very nice to meet you—finally,” she said, casting a sideways glance at Sam.
Her warm handshake helped to quiet Meg’s nerves. She smiled as Sam squirmed under his mother’s gaze.
“However, we’ll have to think of something different for you to call me besides ma’am, or Mrs. Allen. They both sound so formal, don’t you think?
Her bright blue eyes twinkled as she turned back to Meg. “I’m sure we’ll come up with something in time.”
Meg wasn’t surprised that this lovely lady was Sam’s mother. He had a similar personality and it made sense that they would have been close—at least at some point. And she could also understand why he wouldn’t want to hurt her.
“I’ll go fetch your bags, Mother,” Sam said, mouthing the words good luck to Meg as he glanced at his mother who had turned toward the stagecoach driver unloading luggage.
“I just have a smallish blue bag, dear. The stagecoach driver knows which one it is.”
Sam tipped his hat and headed toward the stagecoach.
“Now, Meg, you must tell me all about yourself,” Mrs. Allen said as she wound her arm inside Meg’s and they walked toward the stagecoach.
“Oh, I imagine we’ll have plenty of time to do that.” Meg’s stomach flipped as she fingered the list of questions in her pocket.
“Well, at least tell me how you two lovebirds met.”
Meg cringed at the question. How had they forgotten to practice such a big part of their story? Five minutes, and she was already in trouble.
“Oh, uh, I…”
“That memorable?” Mrs. Allen said, followed by laughter.
Meg’s cheeks burned. She searched for the most believable story as she forced a laugh.
“Oh, yes, it was quite memorable. Uh, Sam had spent a fair amount of time at my father’s ranch—”
“A ranch? How lovely. I’ve not seen a ranch, coming from the city. Are their horses there?”
Meg’s eyebrows rose at the question. “Yes, there are horses. And cows and pigs and chickens.”
“Goodness, that sounds more like a zoo.”
Meg had never thought about that. “I suppose it could be, but it’s a working ranch. We sold eggs, milk and other things to the mercantile.”
That was it. She’d met Sam at the mercantile. That made perfect sense.
“I suppose it must be done,” Mrs. Allen said and sighed, looking up as Sam returned with her bag. “That’s it! Nicely done. Meg was just telling me how you two met.”
Sam coughed into his hand, color creeping into his cheeks as he clearly realized what Meg had—that they hadn’t made a story up about that.
“I was just telling your mother that you’d spent a fair amount of time at the ranch, and I was in charge of the milk, eggs and other products. And that we’d spoken every day when I brought them to your store.”
“Oh, yes, the mercantile,” Sam said—not with much conviction, Meg noted.
Mrs. Allen’s eyebrows rose and she turned to Sam. “You own a mercantile? That is the business you spoke of?”
“It’s the best mercantile in town,” Meg interjected when Sam hesitated.
He smiled at Meg as he recovered his composure. “Yes, the mercantile.”
Meg held her breath, hoping that a mercantile was a decent enough business to make Mrs. Allen happy, and let it whoosh out when Mrs. Allen spoke.
“That’s wonderful, son,” she said, pulling Sam into a hug. “Good, honest work and it provides a service. I don’t imagine it’s easy to get supplies way out here, even with the mines booming.”
Sam cleared his throat. “It’s a bit of a challenge, but Meg’s made good work of it. She’s a whiz at the business end.”
Now Meg’s eyebrows rose. This was getting more complicated by the second, and she only hoped her memory served her well.
“Sounds like a perfect match to me,” Mrs. Allen said as they walked to the buggy. “Your father would be proud.”
Sam stopped short and turned to his mother. “Would he?”
Mrs. Allen’s eyes softened as she pulled her handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Yes, he would. I’m just sorry he passed away before he could see you, and meet your lovely wife. All he wanted was for you to be happy, Sam.”