Wanted: Gunsmith (Silverpines Series Book 3), page 6
She was right and he was impressed.
“There should be a rope hanging from that tethered target. Do you see which I mean?” Mason looked around, spied the one she meant and walked over to it. “Yeah, it’s got a rope.”
“Okay walk out with the rope as far as it’ll go and set it to swinging.” Again Mason gawked questioningly at her and then walked out to the end of the rope, turned to see if she was ready. She nodded.
He yanked the rope and watched the target swing like a pendulum in a grandfather clock. She held the right gun up even with her shoulder, held it there for a moment, not following the swing of the target but aiming for when it crossed the post. She fired and the target slapped back against the post and fell to the ground.
“Woo hoo!” she hollered.
He walked back to the target and picked it up. She’d hit the thing dead center. He couldn’t believe it. If ever there were another woman in this world he would give half a consideration to getting married to, this one would be the one. She was smart, kind, funny, and caring. She made amazing biscuits and smooth cream gravy. She loved the people in her town as if they were her own family, and she could shoot better than Calamity Jane. Mason shook his head. Not to mention the way his body reacted whenever he got near her. That kiss they shared earlier in the gunsmith shop set his soul on fire.
“So, what do you think?”
Her voice startled him. He looked up in surprise and tilted his head. “You told the truth, you are a fantastic marksman. How do you feel about wearing buckskin?”
She laughed. “You kidding, this is the Wild West, son. All us women got at least one buckskin skirt.” She imitated Annie Oakley’s famous drawl.
He looked at her with shock in his eyes. “Honest?”
“Or at least we know a good seamstress who can make us one.”
They laughed.
“We better get home, in case Momma wakes up.” She gathered their spent shells and packed everything up. “I’ll help you clean these guns after supper.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her womanly shape as she bent to gather the empty shells. She might only be nineteen, but she was every bit a woman. He wished he hadn’t made that agreement with her so hastily.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Good night, Momma.” Sarah stood at the door to her momma’s bedroom. Mason stood behind her, with his hand on her shoulder, as if they were about to go to bed together.
Sarah’s mother mumbled. He assumed it was her salutations of good night. She hadn’t fully recovered clear speech, but she did seem alert and knew when she was hungry or thirsty. Sarah turned to glance at Mason. He shrugged and so they waited a moment longer in the hall.
Holding her this way, poised across the hall from her bedroom door, awakened the longing that stirred in his gut every time she came near him. He knew they couldn’t walk into her room together. They couldn’t sleep in the same bed. But standing here, waiting for Anna Mae to go to sleep, he wished they could.
Soon they heard Anna Mae’s deepened breathing. She was asleep. Mason dropped his hand from her shoulder. Sarah put her finger to her lips, as if he would make a sound and wake her mother, and gingerly pulled her mother’s door closed.
She sighed. “Okay,” she whispered barely above a breath. “Good night.”
“Good night.” He echoed her sentiment and tiptoed the length of the hall to his room. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. So he undressed, washed his face in the cold water, lit a fat candle, rather than burn oil in the lantern, and crawled into bed with a book. He’d been trying to read this Gulliver’s Travels since he arrived in Silverpines. It seemed he never could keep his mind on the story and off of Sarah Gillham.
He opened to the last page he had stared at and began reading. He could hear soft thuds in the next room, Sarah’s room, and imagined what she was doing. He loved watching Lucy remove all her feminine trappings. She’d blush when she discovered him looking at her, so he’d pretend to be reading, but would peek over the top of the pages. She was a beautiful woman.
Flashes of memories of Sarah backing off the wagon and bumping into his up-lifted hand. He only meant to help her off the bench, but when he saw her totter and flail her arms, he knew she would fall. He quickly positioned himself just so to have her fall directly into his waiting arms. He would have kissed her then and there, if they had been married. Then later when she bent down to set up her sighting log, and then again as she laid on her tummy to sight-in the guns. He had no doubt she would look like a goddess undressing in front of him while he pretended to read.
Suddenly, he leapt from the bed and splashed his face with the cold water in his wash bowl. He needed air. Quickly slipping on his trousers and shirt, he pulled on his shoes without socks. He walked as softly as possible to get past both ladies’ doors and slipped down the stairs and around the corner to his now rock-walled forge.
He had left his key in his pocket and luckily could get in without having to go back up and risk waking Sarah. He sat on his stool, drumming his fingers on the rock hearth, pondering what to do. If only he had not agreed so easily to a pretend marriage and had insisted on a real one. A marriage of convenience, where the man and wife marry to protect her virtue, or to settle some matter of legality, but don’t sleep together or have intimate relations of any kind.
If he had talked her into that kind of marriage, then this would be so much less of a dilemma. There were shadows of feelings in her eyes. He knew he wasn’t mistaken, and he certainly was having strong feelings for her. His sitting down here in his forge was proof of that. He would be in a better position to invite her to his bed, or she could invite him to hers.
What they had gotten themselves into was a business arrangement. He worked for her as a gunsmith and she was the brilliant gunman—woman. She was his little Annie Oakley. He chuckled.
Well, he wasn’t going to get any sleep any time soon, so he decided to fire up the hardwood and make a load of charcoal. At least he’d be ahead for the morning to get started making more .38 Specials.
Sarah stood at her bedroom door, telling her mother good night and hearing a response back for the first time in two months. It was good to have her momma alert. But it did present a new set of problems for her and Mason. Standing there, pretending she was about to go to bed with her husband, caused undue butterflies in her tummy. Then when he improved the façade by holding her shoulder with his big callused hand, her knees nearly buckled. Good thing they were leaning against the wall for added support.
When her momma breathed deeply, and Sarah knew she’d drifted to sleep, she closed the door to help protect their secret. If she or Mason got up for any reason, it wouldn’t disturb Momma as easily. To tell the truth, this was the first night that Momma had come to herself. Sarah had no idea how the night would go for her.
She had whispered good night to Mason and watched him ease down the hall. Somewhere in a crazy part of her mind, she wished he would come into her room. But this was her idea. She had good reasons for not marrying and she would stick to her convictions. Her freedom was important to her. Marriage would mean she became his property. She would no longer have a say in any decisions about her own life. She didn’t ever want that.
She rushed into her room and sat at her vanity. Pulling her hair down she aggressively brushed it out, and then braided it in one long strand. Tying it at the end with a piece of cloth, she tossed it over her shoulder. Her eyes lifted and she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She was only nineteen. But she felt like, with everything she’d been through since the accidents, she was an old maid of thirty.
Suddenly, it occurred to her. She didn’t know how old Mason was.
She’d never asked.
In fact, there were a lot of things she’d never asked Mason. Bless his heart. The tragedy of his wife burning to death right in front of him. A shiver shot down her back. She hurried to her bed and slipped under the covers, although she knew the shiver was not because she was cold. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling in the grayish-silver light of a half moon.
Mason had kissed her this morning. She touched her lips, remembering the tingle it left on them when Fannie Pearl barged into the shop.
No, she was excited to tell Sarah about the good news that her momma was alert. Besides, where would that kiss have led to if Mrs. Edmondson had not interrupted? A thrill shot up from Sarah’s middle and pinched her heart. She had to stop this. She didn’t ever want to get married. Ever.
But if she did… Mr. Mason Dekum, with his strong muscle-bound arms and tall stature was a fine specimen for just such a thing as a husband.
The floor outside her bedroom creaked. She lay still, listening. Was it Momma? Then she heard the door open and gently close. It had to be Mason. He couldn’t sleep either. Did he have the same ridiculous misgivings she had, about this arrangement they had made without much thought on the day he arrived? Sarah tossed the covers off her body and padded to the kitchen. Maybe some buttermilk and leftover biscuits would help her sleep. Perhaps she’d warm the buttermilk, too.
CHAPTER NINE
Sarah ran into the new entrance to gunsmith’s forge at the back corner of her poppa’s shop, panting. She stopped abruptly and clinched her fist. She had to stop calling it that. The shop was hers… and Mason’s. Certainly the forge was all his.
Mason looked up at her unexpected entrance. “Sarah! Get back.”
She knew why he reacted this strongly so she backed up to the door and stayed as far from the fire as she could. “I learned something today from the fence-line gossip. She grasped her hands behind her back and twisted her body like a little girl bursting to tell a secret.
Mason gave her one of his Oh really? looks. “Do I want to know this fence-line gossip?”
She snorted a giggle. “You’ll want to know this, I promise.” She stepped closer to him, but then saw the caution in his eyes and stepped back.
“Mrs. Bennett, I mean, Mrs. Winters at the White Oakes Ranch is having a horse auction.” She lifted her voice to speak with a more defined voice— “at the ranch! No one’s ever done that before. They always take their livestock to an auction in Astoria or Portland. But… because of those heathens who keep pestering Laura to sell her land for pennies on the dollar, Max Winters is having the auctioneers come to the ranch. They are putting advertisement and telegraphing fliers all over Oregon and the surrounding states.” She took a big breath. “And—“
“And we can have a demonstration of the .38 during the auction? Is that what you’re saying?” Mason’s face lit up and it wasn’t from the flames, although they did cast a lovely orange-red glow across his handsome jawline.
“YES! That’s what I’m saying! Laura Bennett, I mean, Winters was in the mercantile today, passing out the fliers she’d had made at the newspaper office, and I talked to her about us doing a little something like an Auctioneer’s Break-Time Show. I told her we’d give her new husband and all her ranch hands, which are three men, a .38 Special for letting us do the exhibition at her ranch… during the auction.”
Suddenly, her smile dropped into a frown. She had made a fair and reasonable deal for barging in on Laura’s auction, what if Mason didn’t approve and wouldn’t let her give four guns away for free? This was why she didn’t ever want to get married! Ever!
She almost ran out the door before he could tell her she had to go back and tell Laura she couldn’t hold to that deal. Then her hackles lifted. She’d be switched if she’d let him make her renege on a perfectly fine deal. She lifted her chin a notch and settled her fists on her hips, waiting for him to respond. Daring him to tell her no.
“That’s a great idea.” He looked nervous. “What?”
She opened her mouth to give him the lecture about how she could make a perfectly fine deal and what a fool he was for not agreeing with her, then she realized that wasn’t what he had said.
“So… you like the idea?”
“Sure.” He smiled again. “You’re a smart negotiator.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Thanks.” A wide grin stretched her mouth across her face. He just made her the happiest girl in Silverpines. She bounced on the balls of her feet over to him and leapt up to throw her arms around his neck.
He stood terribly still as she kissed his sweaty cheek.
“Thank you.” She slid down to the ground and trotted out the door. This was the best day ever!
It seemed like a month of Sundays, but the day had finally arrived. The White Oakes Ranch Auction was today. Sarah had asked Miss Tess Daniels to make her a bonafide Annie Oakley buckskin get-up and she bought a beautifully tooled holster and stove-top boots to match her holster. A tan cowboy hat finished the look. She’d tied her hair in rag-curls the night before so it would cascade over her shoulders in curly waves.
They arrived early to watch the first half of the horse auction in the newly built, indoor corral. Mason had bought a large strongbox to lock the inventory in while they were away from the livery wagon they rented from Mr. Myers. The horses Laura had up for auction were so impressive, Sarah got caught up in the action and bid on a lovely blue roan filly. She sighed with relief when someone quickly out bid her.
Close to the halfway mark, Sarah and Mason parted ways. Sarah had seen the announcer’s box where Mason would wait for his chance to speak to the people. A megaphone was anchored to an open window overlooking the arena. Whoever wanted to be heard had to put his mouth against the small end and speak loudly into the cone, although with the corral being enclosed, the acoustics carried the speaker’s voice with ease.
Sarah made her way down to where she would make a dramatic entrance.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, you’re in for a real treat today.” Mason’s voice blared from the announcer’s box. That was her cue, she opened the gate and waited for the next cue when she would run in, guns blasting into the air, and begin her demonstration of the new Smith and Wesson .38 Special. “My name is Mason Dekum, and I’m here to introduce you to the sharpest shooter in these here parts. Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s have a warm round of applause for—” Mason introduced Sarah who ran in shooting two revolvers. Of course these first rounds were blanks. Then she reloaded while Laura’s hands set up a long row of bottles lined up on a board which spanned two saw horses. Sarah walked over to within twenty feet of the bottles. Shooting both guns, she shot in a rapid fire, one after the other in quick succession, and broke every bottle. The crowd cheered.
Mason talked to the audience as the ranch hands set up the next act and Sarah got into position. “How about that little lady’s shooting, folks? I think she could give even Annie Oakley a run for her money.”
Sarah glanced at the announcer’s box with a glare. She didn’t appreciate his “little lady” reference, but she supposed it was in character with the demonstration.
The crowd burst into enthusiastic applause, shouting, and whistles. He kept talking, expounding the virtues of the new Smith and Wesson .38 Special revolver, until Sarah had mounted her horse, also rented from Mr. Myers.
She kicked the mare into a full tilt run and dashed into the arena, circling around until she came to the five swinging targets that the hands had arranged. One of the hands, Dex Bastion, was nearby to start the pendulums moving. Sarah rode by at a gallop and shot every target without missing a single one.
Then Dex ran over to the target and gestured largely, to the audience’s amazement, that she’d hit every one, square in the middle. The hand could easily be a rodeo clown for all Mason knew, because he was excellent with the crowd.
Mason encouraged the crowd to show their appreciation for her amazing shooting and they responded with a standing ovation, whistles, and whoops and hollers.
Next, Mason, left the auctioneer’s box and walked down to the rail to hang out over it. He called to Sarah. “You ready?”
She nodded and kicked her horse into a fast canter, circled the field, and came back toward him. As she circled in front of him, he tossed glass balls into the air, high above her head. Being careful to shoot straight up into the air and not toward the audience or Mason, she broke every glass ball and then dismounted, while the horse was still running, to land solidly on her feet. The crowd was once again amazed and showed it with screams, whistles, and wild applause.
Sarah took a bow in four different directions so as to address all of the people’s accolades. She waved and walked out of the arena. Her horse had been rounded up and removed by Dex. Mason made a mental note to reward him for his extra help with a box of bullets to go with the brand new .38 he would be receiving.
Now it was Mason’s turn. He ran back up to the speaker’s box and gave an enthusiastic speech about the design of the new Smith and Wesson .38 Special revolvers, which were quickly becoming known as the Model 10 revolver. He told them about its innovative solid frame, the hand ejector system, and the newly designed cartridges it fired.
“Light and rugged, this gun includes the famous designs Smith and Wesson has built its reputation on. And folks,” Mason drew in a deep breath and continued with a sparkling smile. “They are manufactured right here in Silverpines at the Gillham Gunsmith Shop, 4th and Ash Street. Come on over and visit us while you’re in town.” He gave the people time to absorb that information, then continued. “But if you weren’t planning on staying for long, come see me by the horse stables, I’ve got a wagon full of ‘em, ready to be slipped into your holster.” He thanked them all for watching their demonstration and asked the audience to give Miss Sarah Gillham another round of applause.
Although she was outside of the arena, that was her last cue. She wouldn’t be making any encore appearances. She vaulted into the saddle of her livery horse and turned toward town to canter away from the auction.
The plan was for him to stay and sell as many revolvers as he could from the wagon and she’d go back to the shop to prepare for the customers to come into town. They hoped to be inundated with buyers for the rest of the week.
