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When a man fell in love—which he hadn’t, thank God—he become vulnerable. His pa left Canada because his ma was unhappy there. He gave up fur trapping and opened the gun shop for the same reason. She hadn’t liked him gone for weeks at a time.
And what had happened when his pa gave up those things he’d loved? She died and he was miserable until his final breath. If Mitch allowed himself to become involved with Priscilla, chances are when she packed up and caught the mail coach back to civilization, he would be left with a broken heart or forced to move from his beloved town, all his plans for the future gone.
No. It was best that he kept reminding Priscilla—and himself—the town was a passing fancy for her. He rose, along with the others, to the sound of the organ playing the final hymn, realizing he’d ruminated the entire service away.
Priscilla’s voice next to him was clear and sweet. Ian kept glancing up at him, a questioning look in his eyes, so he moved closer to Priscilla to see the hymnal. Big mistake. Her scent of lemons, sunshine, and woman assailed him, drying up his mouth, making it hard to sing.
He was in trouble.
Mitch strode to the buggy to fetch Priscilla’s contribution to the lunch. The basket of biscuits and box of cold chicken smelled wonderful. On top of everything else, the woman could cook. He would have thought a senator’s daughter had been raised with servants. He never would have guessed she would soil her hands in the kitchen.
Was it possible he’d misjudged her? No.
He added her food to the table where the women were busy arranging the food and drinks. Priscilla was right there in their midst, chatting away, laughing and generally looking as though she belonged there. He snorted and headed to the area where the men were setting up the tables and chairs.
“Pa, when we gonna eat? I’m starved.” Ian raced up to him, his shirttail hanging out, his face flushed.
“Soon. Right now you go wash up and tuck in that shirt. Then come back here and help us finish setting up. As soon as we get this all done, we can eat.”
About fifteen minutes later, the ladies called everyone to get their food. Priscilla gathered the children to her and lined them up in a proper manner. While the adults filled their plates, she bent and spoke to each child in turn, resting a hand on a shoulder, patting heads, smiling brightly. Amazingly enough they all settled down and walked quietly to the table and filled their plates.
Mitch was stunned.
Priscilla loved the look of amazement on Mitch’s face. There was nothing she loved more than seeing him baffled.
Take that, Mr. Beaumont.
Once the children had filled their plates and took seats near their families, Priscilla filled hers, her stomach growling. She turned from the table to see Mitch wave at her. Since he was the one who’d invited her to attend, it was good manners to sit with the man.
Not that she minded. Not in the least. Perhaps they could spar some more. She was really coming to enjoy their bantering. She smiled at Ian as she took the seat across from him and next to his father.
“Your chicken was delicious,” Mitch said as he pushed her chair in. “And so were the biscuits.”
“Thank you. No nasty comments?”
He took his seat alongside her. “I never make nasty comments. Only keen observations.”
Raised eyebrows were her only answer.
Pastor Thatcher lumbered to the front of the room and held up his hands. Conversation turned to whispers and then silence.
“Brothers and Sisters in Christ, I want to thank all of you for providing such a wonderful meal for us.” He rested his hand on the back of the chair in front of him, looking as if he needed a nap. “Now we come to the part of our little gathering I like most. We must talk about our Christmas pageant and celebration.”
A stout woman in a large flowery hat and an equally flowery dress stood. “Reverend, we are pleased to announce that the decision has already been made as to who will take on the job of guiding our little angels into a spectacular Christmas performance!”
The woman waited until she had everyone’s attention and then with a flourish waved her arm in Priscilla’s direction. “Our new teacher, Miss Priscilla Cochran, has graciously offered to direct our lovely Christmas concert and pageant.”
“Concert?” Priscilla leaned near Mitch’s ear and whispered.
He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “Yes, indeed.”
No one had mentioned the concert to her, but how hard could it be to teach the children a few Christmas carols? She could consider it part of her music curriculum.
The enthusiastic applause died as the marshal took the pastor’s place at the head of the room. “We have a group of about six men ready to hunt down that mountain lion. If you haven’t signed up yet, come see me when this is over. We’re looking at Wednesday night.”
Ian’s chin jerked up and he leaned across the table. “Hey, Pa, you know who you should get to go with you to hunt that mountain lion?”
Priscilla glanced at the boy, giving her head a quick shake.
