Frontier Matchmaker Bride. Regina Scott

up behind her head to spill artfully around her shoulders. Her creamy complexion set off liberally lashed eyes of a delicate shade of violet, Beth saw as the woman approached. Every inch of her black gown was tucked and pleated, draped with lace and dotted with bows, the very height of elegance.

      “Good afternoon,” she said in a cultured voice. “How may I help you?”

      A dozen ideas presented themselves, but Beth set them all aside. Very likely she hadn’t enough money in her pocketbook to afford one of this lady’s creations. “I understand you purchased the last of the pink crepe from Kelloggs’, and I was hoping you’d part with some.”

      The woman wandered to the nearest wall, trailed a long-fingered hand along the bolts of wool. “An inferior material to be sure, but it was perfect for a day dress I am constructing for Mrs. Yesler.”

      Beth brightened. “I know Mrs. Yesler. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Tell her Beth Wallin asked.”

      The proprietress turned and held out a hand. “Mrs. Wallin, Mr. Wallin, a pleasure. I’m Mrs. Evangeline Jamison.”

      Too late she remembered Hart. Turning, she found him just behind her, a dark shadow among all the pink and white.

      Beth turned to accept the seamstress’s hand. “It’s Miss Wallin, and this is Deputy McCormick.”

      Mrs. Jamison fluttered sable lashes as she dropped her gaze. “Deputy, an honor.”

      “Ma’am,” Hart said.

      He gave no explanation for his presence, didn’t so much as attempt to look at material or notions. A slight frown marred the perfection of Mrs. Jamison’s countenance.

      “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Beth said, moving the lady’s attention back to her. “Your shop is lovely. You obviously have excellent taste.”

      She inclined her head as she pulled back her hand. “As do you. I’m certain I saw that gown in Godey’s.”

      Beth touched the striped fabric. “Oh, do you take Godey’s?”

      “Of course. One must remain au courant with what other designers are attempting. I’m sure they study my designs depicted there.”

      Beth head jerked up. “Your designs were in Godey’s?”

      She thought she heard a choked sound. It might have been Hart.

      It might have been her.

      “Most recently the January issue.” She said it as if the tremendous honor was commonplace. “And I’m working on one now for June.”

      “May I...may I see it?” Despite her best efforts, her voice came out breathless.

      Mrs. Jamison’s smile was tight. “Now, why would I show my best work to the competition before it was complete?”

      Beth blinked. “Competition?”

      Mrs. Jamison spread her hands. “Come now, dear. Someone made that fetching gown.”

      Beth glanced down at the pink skirts again. “Not me. My sister-in-law Nora sewed it for me.”

      “Nora Wallin.” Mrs. Jamison cocked her head, sending curls cascading across her shoulder. “Customers have mentioned her, but I haven’t seen a shop with her name on it.”

      “She takes commissions out of Kelloggs’,” Beth explained. “Or she did until you came to town. I very much doubt Nora will be a competitor. Every lady will be flocking to your door. You and Mr. Jamison must be very proud.”

      The seamstress lowered her gaze. “Alas, Mr. Jamison has gone to his just reward. It’s only me and my younger brother here in Seattle, but I must say everyone has been so welcoming.” She raised her head and made sure to include Hart in her smile.

      Beth glanced between the two of them. An accomplished widow of grace and beauty, a lonely lawman established in his career. What better match could she envision?

      And why did everything in her rebel at the very idea?

      * * *

      Hart had thought his work difficult. He’d grown thirsty or hungry as he chased a culprit across the county for days. He’d been bruised and battered by men fighting to remain at large. Nothing was as painful as waiting for Beth to finish her transactions in the frilly, overly perfumed shop. And he didn’t much like the looks the proprietress was directing his way. For all her sweet smiles and fluttering fingers, he sensed calculation. He could only hope Beth didn’t suggest her as a likely bride.

      Finally, she left, fabric folded under one arm. Pink, like much of her wardrobe. The fresh, youthful color suited her. Not that he paid much attention.

      “What next?” he asked, pacing her as she started down Commercial.

      She cast him a glance. “Tiring already?”

      Hart stretched his arms over his head. “I can last as long as you can.”

      She shook her head. “Perhaps you can. But I refuse to monopolize Seattle’s only deputy. Think what dire crimes are being committed even as we speak!”

      Hart chuckled. “It’s Tuesday. Most of the dire crimes happen over the weekend.”

      “Really?”

      Those blue eyes were so trusting. She believed anything he said. While he had tried to walk the narrow path since that dark day in Ohio ten years ago, he still found her belief gratifying.

      She probably hadn’t noticed that Seattle had too many troublemakers these days. Some of the men coming to work in the coal mines across the lake were harder types than the original pioneers. The steamship route from San Francisco that had started this week added dozens more strangers to the city. Worse, there had been reports of newcomers being enticed from the docks so a gang of ruffians could relieve them of any valuables. Mortified, the immigrants hadn’t been willing to come to the sheriff for help, according to the locals who had found the victims. So far, he hadn’t been able to convince the immigrants to talk, and he hadn’t located the criminals, but he wasn’t about to stop trying.

      Seattle had one duly appointed constable, but he mostly served as a watchman, raising the hue and cry when something happened. If criminals were to be stopped, it was up to Hart, Sheriff Wyckoff, and any other man he might deputize. Which meant Beth was right, and he had work to do.

      Something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face, for she sighed. “I’m finished for today, Hart. You can see me back to the livery.”

      She sounded so defeated he moved closer. “Didn’t you get what you wanted?”

      “Oh, yes.” Her grin reappeared, forming a dimple at the side of her mouth. “At least, purchase-wise. But don’t think you can get rid of me so easily. I’ll come back to town and meet with you tomorrow. I’ll have better candidates in mind then.”

      Not if he could help it.

      As soon as he saw Beth on the road north toward Wallin Landing, driving a wagon with her brother’s famous steel dusts in the traces, Hart went straight to his superior’s home on the outskirts of Seattle to speak to Mrs. Wyckoff.

      Ursula Wyckoff was a pillar of the town. A handsome woman in her late forties, she worked on most civic and church committees, donated flowers for every funeral and supported any number of charitable causes. Her stern demeanor reminded Hart of the woman who had run the orphanage where he’d been raised. Still, Mrs. Wyckoff invited him in and offered him a glass of lemonade, which he declined, before sitting across from him in the parlor.

      “Is something wrong, Mr. McCormick?” she asked, blue eyes bright.

      Had she noticed the way he shifted on the horsehair-covered sofa? The Wyckoffs had one of the finer homes in Seattle, the walls covered with floral paper, the wood floors by thick carpets. The furnishings were dark and heavy, while crystal draped the lamps. He always felt like an interloper.

      Now