Free The Teacher's Mail Order Bride by Cindy Caldwell Page A

attend was a completely different matter. Not welcome? She wasn’t exactly sure what he’d meant, and didn’t feel like she knew him well enough to ask. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Mr. Tate slowly go through each of the books in the schoolhouse, chewing the end of his pencil and taking notes as he went through each of the pages.
    Every once in a while, he’d laugh out loud and she’d watch him scribble furiously yet again. They hadn’t spoken much for the remainder of the morning as they each went about their business. Rose was grateful that he was so engrossed in his tasks that she could be alone with her thoughts.
    Each time she looked up as he laughed, she took a moment to study him—his strong cheekbones, his Roman nose and the tortoiseshell glasses that he frequently pushed back up to his dark eyebrows. He’d removed his coat hours before and his white shirtsleeves were rolled up, almost to his elbows.
    She’d never known anyone who could become so immersed in books that they lost hours—anyone besides herself, that is. As she reached the final books on the last bookshelf that she had been cleaning and arranging, she opened the cover and smiled at the familiar author and title. She closed the book again, running her hand over the leather binding, and wondered who had donated this particular book, as it was her favorite. The very one she had under her pillow and read nightly.
    She furrowed her brows as she wondered where it had come from. The book had only been published for maybe a decade, and it seems to take much longer than that for books to make their way to Tombstone.
    Mr. Tate laughed again and she smiled, feeling oddly comfortable in his presence. Her hand flew to her stomach as it grumbled, reminding her of the lunch Maria had given her, and remembered that she’d said there was food for Mr. Tate, too.
    She clutched the book as she stood and straightened her skirts, and reached up to make sure that her ringlets were still behaving and in place. She tried twice to pin back a stray ringlet that had fallen and gave up when it refused to be held by the hairpin.
    Her lunch sack hung on one of the pegs by the door next to her coat and she crossed over to it, pulling it down and setting it on one of the student desks.
    She untied the string around the cloth bag and peered inside. She smiled when she saw what Maria had provided. The previous evening at dinner, Mr. Tate had been very complimentary—and inquisitive—about Maria’s cooking. He’d asked question after question about what things were that he seemed unfamiliar with. So today, Maria had sent leftover homemade tamales and tortillas, all things Rose was used to having the next day without the need to heat them. “Mr. Tate, Maria packed lunch. Did you bring anything?”
    “What?” he said, finishing the sentence he was writing before he lifted his head, looked in her direction and smiled. “Did you mention food?” He rubbed his stomach as he laid his pencil down and stood. “I didn’t even think to bring anything. But I don’t pretend to be a very good cook, either. I’ve grown quite fond of the meat pies at the Occidental and sometimes buy pie to take home, but I’m afraid I’ve mostly eaten out since I’ve been here. I’ll have to think about that when school starts.”
    “Yes, you probably should.” Rose smiled as she picked up the bag and walked toward the back door. “It’s warmed up a bit outside. Would you like to eat on the bench? The leaves are changing color and will be gone soon.”
    “That would be nice,” Mr. Tate said as he unrolled his sleeves and reached for his jacket. He pulled Rose’s off the hook and held it up, his eyebrows raised in question. “Might be a little chilly.”
    “Oh, thank you.” She set the lunch bag back on the desk and turned as he held her coat open for her. His fingers brushed the back of her neck and she shivered at the heat that flashed through her chest.
    “Are you cold