Free Love by the Letter by Melissa Jagears Page A

headache.
    He pocketed his mouth harp and marched toward Patricia though Everett’s tall, fair-haired form seemed nowhere close. Had his friend actually found a pair of scissors, snipped his ties, and wandered away from his girl for a minute?
    When she spun around and caught his eye, he lost his breath as if she’d pierced his lungs with a dagger.
    Not Patricia.
    Rachel. Her curls were hidden under Patricia’s poke bonnet, showing off her long neck, accentuating the wide neckline she’d slipped off her shoulders. The full green plaid dress was nothing extravagant, but she’d taken off the lower sleeves, letting the silk fringe at the elbows tickle her arms, milky white like the rest of her. She was exquisite.
    Her eyebrow went up, and she smirked.
    He tugged at his necktie, but she kept right on looking at him. Why was she smiling at him like that? She’d slammed a door in his face mere hours ago. He looked over his shoulder, but no one followed behind him.
    Rachel beckoned him forward with a tilt of her head. No flecks of anger marred the mesmerizing golden eyes that drew his leaden feet forward a pace. The thumping of his heart moved him forward another step, and he wiped his damp palms on his trousers. Perhaps he hadn’t ruined his chance with her after all.
    “Yoo-hoo! Dexter!”
    Dexter? The unfamiliar feminine call came from the road to his left. He turned to find Everett, still in work clothes, trudging along with a stocky little lady. His friend looked none too pleased about the blonde pulling on his arm. Everett bent over, and she whispered something into his ear. He nodded, and they both looked straight at him. One with a frown, the other with the brightest smile he’d ever seen.
    “Dexter!” She cried again, only louder.
    “I’m not Dexter,” he gritted, thrusting his hands on his hips. Why hadn’t Everett corrected her? He glanced toward Rachel, but her attention was on the sturdy lady in the bright yellow traveling suit—just like everybody else’s in the crowd.
    The blonde let go of Everett and raced unladylike toward him, her ringlets bouncing with each step. Winded, she stopped in front of him and smiled. “You’re more handsome than I pictured.”
    “What?” The churning his gut had been doing since Rachel had slammed the door on him turned as sour as apple cider vinegar.
    “Oh, don’t be modest. I can see why you didn’t send a picture with your letter. What girl wouldn’t come running if she knew what you looked like?”
    His stomach clenched. He’d only sent one letter in his life. But that didn’t make sense . . . the response—
    She stuck out her hand. “I know it’s rather formal to shake hands with your bride, but we do have to start someplace.”
    His fingers curled around his belt loops. There was only one person she could be. “Miss Pratt?” Dex croaked.
    Everett caught up and shrugged.
    “Pleased to meet you, but you can call me Fannie.” She took his hand hanging limp and clammy at his side and shook it twice.
    “But I didn’t . . . I hadn’t . . .”
    “I apologize for not sending a telegram before I came, but I figured I’d better get here quick, seeing as you’re leaving on Sunday.”
    “No . . . that is . . . I wasn’t taking a bride with me. I just meant to start the process—”
    “Oh, but I only live a day’s ride away. And how’s a few months of letters going to do any good when you plan on marrying a stranger anyway? Besides, it’ll be easier talking to you than reading your letters, right?” She winked. “Might as well drive alongside your wagon rather than find someone to travel with later. Besides,” she pointed over her shoulder with her thumb, “Mr. Cline here can tell you I brought plenty of good supplies. Practical ones too. A cook stove, dishes, barrels of salt pork, most of which I bought wholesale. My uncle’s a mercantile owner.”
    Everett crossed his arms. “I tried to tell her she couldn’t take the cook