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He chuckled at her determination. A small niggle of doubt teased the back of his mind.
Maybe I misjudged her.
He shoved the thought away. Just give the U.S. senator’s daughter a couple of weeks here, and she’ll be high tailing it back to Oklahoma. And good riddance. The last thing he needed was to feel as though he had to look after her.
“I’m surprised your wife didn’t attend the meeting. I thought she would be interested in hearing about the school for Ian.” She looked at him with mischievous eyes. “Unless you don’t allow her out of the house? Keep her locked up and in the kitchen?”
He shrugged. “My wife is dead.”
Priscilla felt her stomach drop to her feet like a stone. Dead? That sweet little boy had no mother? “I’m so sorry. I had no idea, or I wouldn’t have been so flippant. Please forgive me.”
He took her elbow as they stepped from the boardwalk to cross the street. “Don’t trouble yourself; it was a long time ago. Right after Ian was born.”
“He is a sweet little boy. How old is he?”
His grin showed her the pride he held for his son. “Eleven.”
“Does he like school?”
“Unfortunately he hasn’t had a whole lot of formal schooling since we’ve had a hard time with teachers. I’ve worked with him whenever he was between regular instruction.”
Most likely she had her work cut out for her. Patchy schooling made it difficult for a child. It would be important for her to make sure she covered all the basics and tested each child to see where they were in their education. Just the thought of having her own classroom had excitement and anticipation swirling through her. She so loved teaching. “I’m looking forward to having him in school. And all the other students. How many are there?”
“Last count about twenty or so.”
They reached her front door and, before entering, she turned to him. “One of my trunks is packed with books and teaching supplies. Can you have someone carry it over to the school when you have a chance? I’d like to get the classroom set up as soon as possible so it’s all ready for Monday.”
Illumination from the gas streetlight bathed them in a soft glow, allowing Priscilla to focus on the man’s strong features. His high cheekbones, straight black chin-length hair, and tan skin spoke of Indian ancestry. His deep brown eyes bordered by long black eyelashes held her captive as he spoke. “Certainly. I’ll be by in the morning before I open my shop.”
She gave him a questioning glance. “Which shop do you own?”
“The gun shop.” He crossed his arms over his chest, which she was beginning to realize he did when he was about to accuse her of something. “I’m sure guns are on your disapproval list.”
She smiled inwardly. The man really did have her wrong. “Not at all. I’ve handled a gun or two in my life.” No point in telling him she’d won the shooting contest at the last Annual Guthrie Land Run festival, beating out not only her three older brothers, but the other men in the contest as well. Every year she was the lone woman who entered and was permitted that honor because four years ago her women’s rights cousin, Ellie, had fought the Festival officials to allow her entrance.
He tipped his hat. “Good night, Miss Cochran, I will see you in the morning.”
Priscilla entered her house and turned the lock on the doorkn
ob. She must remember to ask Mr. Beaumont for a key.
She removed her coat and hung it in the bare closet. With tomorrow being Thursday, she didn’t have a lot of time to get both her house and the school set up by Monday. It seemed days, instead of hours, since she’d first arrived in Dogtown. At least after tonight’s meeting she was certain of her place in the community.
Everyone she’d met seemed excited to have her in their town. Now if she could only convince Mr. Beaumont that she intended to stay and she was anything but a high society woman. There were no more down-to-earth people than her parents. They would never have tolerated a princess in their house. And any woman raised with four brothers could hold her own.
As she shimmied out of her clothes and rummaged around in her trunk for a nightgown, she thought about Mr. Beaumont. He was a widower and had been one for many years. Something about him drew her interest. Maybe it was simply because his place in town represented a challenge for her.
Strolling around in her nightgown, she finally got the opportunity to check her kitchen and was pleased to see her pantry had been stocked with jars of canned fruits and vegetables. Her refrigerator had a supply of eggs, milk, cheese, and butter. There was flour, coffee, tea, sugar, rice, oats, and beans. It would be awhile before she ran out of food.
Despite wishing to relish having her own house that she shared with no one else, fatigue from the day’s events, starting with her ride on the mail coach from Denver that morning, had crept up on her. With a healthy yawn, she padded into the bedroom and crawled into the bed, satisfied with its comfort. After a lifelong habit of saying a quick prayer of thanks, she drifted off to sleep.
The next morning she awoke with a sense of anticipation. She lay in bed and studied the cozy room. Once she got the schoolroom set up, she would paint the walls of her bedroom a nice light blue—totally different from her cream-colored walls at home. That would match the lovely blue-and-tan quilt her cousin’s wife, Heidi, had made for her.
She jumped up, eager to start her day. Of the three trunks Mr. Beaumont had piled in her parlor, one was school supplies, one held household items her female family members had made for her, and the last was a trunk of her clothing. That’s the one she reached for first. Pulling out a dark green serge dress, she shook it out, pulled out her undergarments, and headed to the bedroom where she took a quick wash and dressed.
For years her family had had indoor plumbing, along with a good sized bathroom, so resorting to using the privy once again was probably the only thing so far that she was unhappy about.
Once she’d taken care of her business, she scrambled eggs and walked around her house, eating them and half a jar of peaches. She smiled. Walking around while eating was something her mama would never have allowed. But this was her house.
