Free Heartland Courtship by Lyn Cote Page B

beginning of August, Brennan fidgeted in the bright summer sun near Miss Rachel, who stood at the dock watching her brand spanking new stove be carried off the boat. She glowed with evident satisfaction over her major purchase while he shifted from one foot to the other. He wished he were waiting to get on this boat and go.
    Irritating Ashford stood nearby, saying he wanted to make sure that the purchase matched all that the firm had advertised. What a fuss about a stove.
    Brennan stayed near the lady, but felt miles and miles away already. Tomorrow he’d dig her future garden plot. Then he would be gone on the next riverboat that docked here. Restlessness consumed him. At times the itch to leave became physical, as if he wanted to jump out of his skin. But how to tell Miss Rachel? Something about her kept him confused, unsettled, making it hard to leave, and this was the first time in memory this had happened. But I’m goin’.
    The boatmen pushed the stove, supported on a wooden skid, off the boat onto the pier. Noah had come to help Brennan and held his team unhitched from the wagon.
    Though the boatmen moved as slow as molasses on a very cold January day, Brennan held himself in check. Move it along, why don’t you?
    “Miss Rachel Woolsey?” a boatman asked, looking down at an invoice.
    “Yes.”
    Brennan noted she could barely speak, she was so happy.
    “Sign here, please.”
    “Miss Woolsey must examine the stove first,” Mr. Ashford said, holding up a hand.
    The boatman looked chagrined but motioned for another two men to crowbar off the sides of the wooden box.
    Brennan held his tongue between his teeth. He’d been ready to say that. Of course Ashford would butt in. And take his time about it, too.
    Rachel examined each side, looking for any imperfection. “It looks fine.”
    “Open and close the doors. Check to see if the latches fit tight,” Mr. Ashford suggested.
    She did so and then signed the invoice. The boatman had the men nail the crate back together.
    Brennan noted her convoluted signature revealed her excitement. All over a stove. Miss Rachel, pink with pleasure, made a pretty picture. He looked away.
    “My cousin Noah and Mr. Merriday will attach the horses to the skid. Isn’t that right, Noah?” Miss Rachel asked.
    Brennan held tight to the ragged fringe of his temper. Couldn’t they just get this going?
    “Rachel’s place is just a half mile up the road,” Noah said, gesturing toward the other end of town. “I’ll bring the skid right back to you.”
    “Sure. Fine.” The boatman handed Rachel her copy of the invoice and then turned away.
    Finally. Now they could get this home and in place and then he could begin to lay out the garden. And if all went right, he’d be off tomorrow. Somewhere inside him, deep down, a voice whispered, Stay. Why leave?
    Stonewalling the thought, Brennan helped Noah secure the team to the skid. The horses began to drag the heavy iron stove up the road. The progress was excruciatingly slow, with a lot of creaking. Brennan’s nerves tangled into knots, but he kept from showing it. Miss Rachel had become a trap for him. He’d escaped other orchestrated marriage traps. But Miss Rachel had set no trap for him—that made it harder. He knew he was making no sense.
    Finally they reached Miss Rachel’s cabin door.
    Noah and Brennan had already prepared a row of short logs of similar size, stripped of branches and bark, to use to roll the stove inside. The hard part would be getting it up over the threshold. They contrived a little ramp for this. Now the two of them painstakingly shifted the stove in its crate off the boat’s skid and onto the logs and steadied it.
    “I need to take the skid back first. Wait for me. I’ll be quick.” Noah turned the team around and headed back to town at a run.
    Miss Rachel came near Brennan or rather her new stove. She stroked it the way another woman might have stroked a fur coat. Her nearness made his stomach twist. Her