The Engagement Bargain. Sherri Shackelford

buildings surrounding the tiny grassy square loomed over Caleb like brick-and-mortar sentinels. As the time for the suffragist speech neared, the mood of the crowd had shifted from lazy joviality into restless impatience.

      His sister adjusted the gray knit shawl draped around her shoulders against the brittle fall breeze. “As you’re quite well aware, I’m here for Anna Bishop’s speech. This is the closest she’s come in the year since we’ve been corresponding, and the best chance I have to see her in person again. If you’d met her when she traveled through Cimarron Springs last fall, you wouldn’t be so surly.”

      “And yet she never replied to your telegram.”

      Jo pursed her lips. “It’s possible she never received my message. She travels quite a bit.”

      Caleb mumbled a noncommittal response. Having been raised with five younger brothers, Jo was tougher than tanned leather. She was smart and independent, but vulnerable in the relationships in her life. Fiercely loyal, she naturally expected the same in her friends.

      A good head taller than most of the women in the crowd, and several inches above the men, Caleb searched for any sign of dissention. “There’s no trouble yet. That’s a relief, at least. The sooner this speech is underway, the sooner it’s over.”

      A faint, disgruntled snort sounded beside him.

      While his sister had maintained an active correspondence with the prominent suffragist, the fact that Miss Bishop hadn’t responded to Jo’s most recent telegram had left him uneasy. “What do we know about Miss Bishop, anyway?”

      “Well, she’s the current darling of the suffragist movement, a sought-after speaker for the cause and an outspoken advocate for women’s rights. You can’t possibly find fault in any of that.”

      “An absolute paragon.”

      “She must be. You wouldn’t believe the names people call her or the threats she receives. It’s positively nauseating.”

      A grudging admiration for the suffragist’s conviction filtered through his annoyance. His work as a veterinarian introduced him into people’s lives during unguarded moments, and he wasn’t naive to the injustices women faced. Men who were cruel to animals were just as apt to be violent toward the women and children in their lives. And yet a man who beat his horse was more likely to be censured or fined than a man who abused his wife.

      Jo chucked him on the shoulder. “Even if Garrett forced you to accompany me, it’s good for you to get out once in a while. You talk to animals more than people.”

      “That’s my job,” he grumbled. “Animals don’t expect small talk.”

      Undaunted by his annoyance, she slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow. “I’ve been saddled with a male escort to an event celebrating the independence of women. You’re lucky I’m not insulted.”

      “Then you should have mentioned that to your overprotective husband.”

      Jo sighed, her expression rueful. “And let you spend the day alone? Again? You’re becoming too set in your ways. You’re turning into a hermit. Everyone thinks you’re still sweet on Mary Louise.”

      “I’m not—”

      “Shush. Anna is about to speak.”

      Caleb lifted his eyes heavenward. He wasn’t a man who sought attention. He wasn’t a man who liked crowds. That didn’t make him a recluse. He lived a good life. He had a thriving practice and he enjoyed his work. He’d tried his hand at romance once already. He’d been sweet on Mary Louise, but she’d chosen his younger brother instead. Since then he’d never had the desire to court anyone else.

      With four brothers altogether, a confirmed bachelor in the family was hardly a great tragedy.

      A smattering of applause drew his attention toward the podium. A nondescript woman in a gray dress took the stage and spoke a few words in a voice that barely carried beyond the first few rows of standing people.

      Jo tugged her arm free. “I can’t hear a thing. I’m moving closer.”

      She forged a path through the crowd, and he reluctantly followed. The scores of people pressing nearer had exhausted the oxygen from the space. Yanking on his collar, he sucked in a breath of heavy air. Bodies brushed against him, and sweat dampened the inside band of his hat. As the square had grown congested with late arrivals, the audience had abandoned their picnics and stood. He picked his way over the baskets and blankets littering the ground.

      His heel landed in something squishy. Glancing down, he caught sight of the cherry pie he’d just decimated. No one cast an accusing glare in his direction, not that Jo paused long enough for him to apologize. He limped along behind her, dragging his heel through the flattened grass in a futile attempt to clean the sticky filling from his boot.

      Near as he could tell, the gathering was an unequal mix of women to men. Judging from the expressions on their faces, the spectators were split between supporters and curiosity seekers. Jo charged ahead and found a spot near the barricades separating the makeshift stage from the audience. A young girl, no more than eight or nine years old in a bright yellow dress and white pinafore, scooted in beside Caleb. She rested her chin on the barricade and stared at the podium.

      Caleb frowned.

      While the onlookers currently appeared harmless, this wasn’t the place for an unattended child. “Shouldn’t you be at home? Or in school or something?”

      Two dark blond braids rested on the girl’s shoulders, and she blinked her solemn gray eyes. “She’s the prettiest lady I ever saw.” The girl’s voice quivered with admiration.

      “The prettiest lady I’ve ever seen.”

      “You like her, too?”

      “No, that is....”

      The woman on the stage announced Anna Bishop, and the girl’s face lit up.

      Caleb held his explanation. He’d been correcting his younger brothers’ speech for years, and the habit was ingrained.

      The girl in the yellow dress rose onto the balls of her feet and stared. Caleb followed her gaze and froze. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and looked again. Anna Bishop couldn’t have been much older than her midtwenties or thereabouts. Her dark hair was smoothed away from her face and capped with a pert velvet hat decorated with an enormous teal plumed feather. Her skin was radiant, clear and pale, her cheeks blushed with excitement.

      The cartoons he’d seen in the newspapers had depicted Miss Bishop as a dreary spinster with a pointed jaw and beady eyes. Having expected a much less flamboyant person, he fixated on the vibrant details. Her satin dress matched her feathered hat in the same deep, rich shade of turquoise. Rows of brilliant brass buttons created a chevron pattern mimicking a military style. The material at her waist was draped and pulled back into a modest bustle, the flounces lined with rope fringe.

      She glanced his way, and he caught a glimpse of her eyes. Blue. Clear, brilliant blue.

      His heartbeat skittered before resuming its normal rhythm. Miss Bishop marched up the stairs and exchanged a few words with the woman who’d made the introduction, then faced her audience.

      “I am here as a person whose opinions, according to the laws of this nation, are of no merit to my community. I am here as a soldier in a great Civil War to amend this gross injustice,” she declared, her lyrical voice pulsating with each word.

      As she detailed the importance of the amendment, her eyes flashed, and the passion in her voice swelled. “We live in a country founded on the right of revolution and rebellion on the part of those suffering from intolerable injustice. We cannot fail to recognize the injustices heaped on one half of the population simply because that half is female. The Fifteenth Amendment was progress, but there is more to be done. If the question of race has been removed as a restriction, must the question of gender stand between us and the vote?”