Free Love in the Balance by Regina Jennings

bull’s-eye.
    “Naw, she’s got an important job to do here. I wouldn’t cart her off. Just a little playacting on my part. Molly knows I’m funning her.” He forced the watch into his pocket. “Be at the diner in an hour? Good day.”
    Molly’s feet were nailed to the ground. As the wagon creaked away, Nicholas looked over his shoulder and wagged his eyebrows at her. Now her brother had a whole hour to think of ways to crack her story. And they had an hour to prepare.
    But first things first.
    “Lovey?” She removed her hand from his grasp and crossed her arms.
    Unabashed, Mr. Pierrepont smiled. “Perhaps the endearment was bad taste. In my eagerness to replace the unfortunate Mr. Fenton, I might have overstepped my bounds, but come. We have an hour in which to concoct a fascinating account of our relationship, and I can think of nowhere better to plot and plan than at the millinery.”

    “You’re going to buy a hat?” He was insane. She’d thrown her lot in with a moonstruck fool.
    “Yes, because that monstrosity on your head should’ve been put in the missionary barrel with the rest of last season’s clothes. Never commission a new gown without a matching hat. Didn’t you know that?”
    Molly covered her hat with one hand, her mouth a perfect O.
    “When I’m in a good mood, I spend money,” he continued, “and I find that while I generally have a cheerful temperament, today’s performance has put me in . . . What was it the cowboy said this week? In clover?”
    “But you can’t buy me anything. We’ve barely met,” Molly protested, even as she directed him to the preferred milliner.
    “Money is completely impersonal. What difference does it make if I buy a hat for you or a harness for a horse? There’s a need and I have the funds. Not complicated in the least.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Complicated would be an intelligent, competent woman allowing someone else to make her decisions for her. That would be incomprehensible.”
    He waited for her reply. The door to the milliner’s wasn’t going to open itself. Molly reached for the handle, but Mr. Pierrepont stopped her.
    “Tell me, Molly, and I must call you Molly if we are going to successfully mislead your father, are you satisfied with your lot? Do you want to go through life being nothing more than a cunningly painted marionette?”
    She jerked on the handle. “You, Mr. Pierrepont , are insulting.”
    “If I thought you incapable of setting your own course, that would be insulting. But why would you replace your dreams for his? Is it possible you have no ambitions of your own?”
    It was a fair question. Did she have no ambition beyond outmaneuvering her parents? Was her goal of financial independence any loftier than her father’s? Still, it rankled to have a stranger identify the heart of her problem so effortlessly. Maybe there was more to Mr. Pierrepont—Edward—than she’d expected.

    Bailey didn’t mind spending the long winter evenings helping Reverend Stoker with repairs, but going on home visits was even more interesting than patching the parsonage roof. Between Prairie Lea and Lockhart there were many who relied on Reverend Stoker when they needed more than a weekly sermon.
    “Thanks for coming with me.” Reverend Stoker hopped across a small gulley that had washed out the path. “My wife was right. You have a heart for ministry.”
    Bailey chewed the straw in his mouth into submission before answering. “If this is what you call ministry, then maybe I do have a knack for it. I always thought parsons just preached. Never been keen on that.”
    “What are you keen on, if you don’t mind my asking? I heard you’re quitting the blacksmith.”
    Bailey grunted. “Not sure what’s next. I really thought it’d be easier than this. That God would be clearer in His directions.”
    Their path took a sharp incline before they reached the Schmidt home. Reverend Stoker huffed with the effort.
    “Remember the