Free Cinderfella by Linda Winstead Jones Page B

piece of her mind. How dare he presume to find a husband for her, when she had very plainly told him she didn’t want one? He might as well be done with the formalities and auction her off like a prize mare.
    But an emergency had taken him out to the range, and it had been late when he’d returned to the house. Charmaine had been very aware of and concerned about her mother’s exhaustion, and had decided to refrain from bringing the subject up until she was alone with her father. Then she could let him have it without restraint.
    In spite of her fury and indignation, she’d fallen asleep early, weary herself from all the preparations for this now-dreaded ball and somewhat disturbed by the unexpected encounter with Ash.
    By breakfast her father had gone for the day, and her mother was preparing to meet the musicians and get them settled in the cabin. Charmaine’s anger had cooled by then, and it no longer seemed so terribly important that she confront her father head-on with this bit of news. It was at least in part her fault as much as his. She should’ve realized from the start what his intent was in throwing this ball. He was so transparent, she should have known from that first day.
    Besides, just because Stuart Haley had spread the word that he was looking for a husband for his youngest daughter, that didn’t mean she had to cooperate. She didn’t have to actually accept any one of the louts who dared to present himself with that intent.
    Her father had already shown her that most men had no tolerance for a woman who dared to speak her mind. She had no doubt that any man he seriously presented to her as a potential husband would be of like temper. A discourse on the inadvisability of the corset, the way the romantic novel was leading young women and young men astray, or the impure influence of the bicycle, perhaps even a lecture on the appalling lack of independence afforded women in this country, and any man bearing a hair of resemblance to Stuart Haley would go running into the night.
    By the morning of the ball, Charmaine was able to give her father a true, wide smile over breakfast.
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 

 
    Six
    Â 
    He’d never seen Verna in such a state, and she’d been this way since morning. It was not a pleasant sight, Verna Coleman in a dither.
    She’d convinced herself that Charmaine Haley would fall madly in love with one of her boys, and they would all move into the big Haley house and be set for life. She was so adamant, so eager, that she was well on her way to convincing Oswald and Elmo of that possibility.
    If only it were true. Ash could close his eyes and see it, the house without Verna and her boys in it. What a soothing and pleasant thought it was. With the three of them gone, he could finally give serious thought to getting married and having a family of his own and making this farm truly his home once again. It was time.
    Charmaine and Oswald would make quite a pair, of that Ash was certain, but Verna seemed certain that Elmo had an equal chance of attracting the beautiful and spoiled Charmaine. Only a mother could look at Elmo and see anything of value.
    Ash’s chores kept him close to the house today, and he’d watched the day’s progress with silent amusement. Verna and the boys were alternately giddy and nervous, and displayed more energy than he’d seen from the lot of them in some time. Nathan had slept until quite late, but since rising he’d watched the proceedings with an apparent interest of his own.
    The boys were finally bathed and shaved and dressed in their Sunday best. Verna was not quite pleased with Oswald’s hair. Each time she passed him she fussed with it a little more, until he’d had enough and drew back to gently slap her hand away.
    All Elmo had to do was move and his once neat appearance was altered. The lapels of his navy blue coat fell askew, his shirt came untucked and poked forward, his tie scooted