A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(47)

Her cheeks heated. She and this taciturn young man might have clashed at times, but she truly hadn’t meant to be rude. “Forgive me, I was a bit distracted back there. Thank you for the offer.”

The musicians struck up again, this time a slower waltz, a needed breather after the lively reel.

“You may wish I’d take it back.” RJ pulled her into the waltzing stance. “Engineering doesn’t fit one to be the best of dancers.”

Yet he led her surely, his other hand guiding gently on the small of her back, turning them deftly among the other couples.

The tension in Del’s middle eased, and she relaxed into the steps and the music. She’d always loved waltzing, ever since Pa taught her as a little girl. “You seem to be doing just fine.”

Around them other couples twirled, including Jesse guiding a beaming Climie—now that was a sweet sight. Lark had been giving him lessons as promised, and they must have paid off.

Del searched for something innocuous to say. “So you’ve started our boardinghouse.”

He cocked his head. “It would seem so.”

“We’re grateful for your expertise. Have you supervised many buildings before?”

“Not many yet.” A frown creased his forehead beneath the strap of his eye patch.

Oh dear, had she turned him cross again? Del focused on the steps.

“How did you come to teach school?” RJ twirled her away from a collision with Mr. and Mrs. Young.

Del glanced up at him. The frown had passed, miraculously. “The town needed a teacher, and we needed income. I’d always considered teaching, so I took the certificate exam and was teaching almost before I knew it had happened.”

“But you like it?” He met her gaze, apparently really listening.

“I do.” She glanced over at a group of her students circling on the edge of the dance floor, a smile warming her middle. “I love it, actually.”

“Then they are blessed to have you for a teacher.”

She looked up at him again, surprised at the sincerity in his voice. “What about you? Do you love engineering, building things? Or is it just a job?”

“I used to.” His gaze faltered. “I . . . I was . . .”

The music ended. Snapping as if from a reverie, RJ dropped her hand and gave a curt bow, his jaw tight. “Thank you for the dance.” He spun on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Well, so much for thinking RJ was growing past his surliness. Del’s stomach sank. She’d merely been trying to make conversation.

Feeling alone amid the swirl of laughter and chatter, she made her way back to the musicians and touched Lilac’s shoulder. “I can fiddle for a while. Why don’t you go dance?”

“I’m fine.” Lilac angled away from Del’s touch, bending her head toward her bow.

Del dropped her hand to her side. She’d made a mess of this too.

“Here, you can have the guitar awhile if you’re ready for a breather.” Lark lifted the strap off her shoulders. “You were quite the belle of the ball out there.” Her eyes twinkled.

“Hush.” Del tipped her head toward Lilac. Had Lark noticed anything?

A sudden crash jerked all their attention to a commotion inside the newly finished station. There was shouting, then a string of words Del felt sure would burn their ears were they close enough to hear. She and Lark hurried toward the ruckus, following Rev. Pritchard and Mr. Caldwell.

Several men, unfamiliar workers, emerged from the station’s open doorway hauling a man between them who spouted slurred nonsense.

“’Fraid someone’s purty china won’t be eaten off no more,” one of the men hauling him volunteered—though he seemed only slightly less inebriated. “Mac here done smashed it to smithereens.”

Several women exclaimed in dismay and hurried inside to examine the tables. The workmen exploded in guffaws, bending over and slapping their knees while the culprit between them slipped down to sprawl on the rough boards of the platform.

Tight-lipped, Rev. Pritchard hurried after the women.

“Get that man off the premises.” Del had never heard Mr. Caldwell sound so stern, a hint of what he might be like in the courtroom. “And don’t any of you show your faces again here tonight.”

Sobered in mood if not in fact, the men managed to pull their comrade to his feet and stumble their way off the platform. The gathering stood subdued under the emerging stars. The faint wheeze of the concertina when Anthony Armstead shifted his feet was all that remained of the gaiety.

Del and Lark exchanged glances. So much for a happy ending to Salton’s first celebration.





14


The heat was stifling.

RJ pulled off his wool army hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, then settled the hat back in place and scanned the building site of the boardinghouse. He needed to get himself a straw hat for working. The sweat seeped under his eye patch, causing the wet cloth to rub against the flesh and further irritate his scar.

Clive Johnson, one of his workmen, approached, a wad of tobacco bulging his cheek and hat pushed back on his head. “Hey, Boss. You want two window frames in the front or four?”

“Two on the side with the dining room, one on the other. I told you twice.” Tamping down his frustration, RJ strode over to the rising skeleton frame.