The Texan. Carolyn Davidson

Almost close enough to touch her mouth.

      “Dinner’s on the table.” The words echoed in her mind as the screened door opened and Pearl stepped onto the porch.

      “Yes.” Augusta’s eyes closed for just a second, ruing the loss of…what? Had he been about to place those firm, chiseled lips upon hers? Such a thought did not bear pondering, she decided quickly. Pearl had interrupted but a moment of flirtation on his part.

      The urge to shake her head in denial of that thought was strong. She considered the man a gentleman, far above stealing a fleeting kiss in broad daylight, in full view of any passerby who might glance in their direction.

      Her own gaze flew to the empty road in front of the house, and she blessed the porch roof and the sheltering hedge of bushes that hid them from the boardinghouse next door.

      “We’ll be right there, Pearl,” she said quickly, sending a smile in the woman’s direction. “We’ve just finished the final touches on this shutter.”

      “Yeah, I see that,” Pearl drawled, backing into the front hallway as she cast a mocking grin at Cleary.

      “She thinks we were…” Flustered and at a loss for words, Augusta backed off.

      “We were, ma’am,” he told her softly. “I was about to place my lips against yours, and now I’m regretting the interruption.”

      “I can’t have you saying such things to me, sir,” Augusta told him with a haughty glance. “I am not available for a dalliance, no matter that I owe you my thanks for the work you’ve done on behalf of our shelter.”

      “I’ve been happy to donate my time and limited talents, ma’am,” he told her as he reached for his vest. “And I have no intention of dallying with you. My intentions have never been less than honorable where you’re concerned. It just happens that I almost fell prey to your sweetness a moment ago.” He turned, meeting her gaze, and his eyes burned with a warmth she knew was intended to disarm her. As were his final words. “I regret if I’ve caused you any distress,” he murmured.

      She watched as he rolled down his shirtsleeves, sorting through his words. Losing track when she recalled dallying and honorable, she managed to recall another phrase, words that sounded like an apology. He’d called her sweet, in a roundabout way. And that thought made her blood hum in her veins. She’d never been described as sweet, not by anyone in her life.

      But this man, this strong, handsome man whose very presence made her heart beat just a bit faster, thought she was attractive enough to spend his niceties upon. Her smile wobbled as she took another step toward the door, and her words were proper and ladylike, even to her own ears, as she invited him to join the household for dinner.

      And if there was a sudden look of relief on his face, she chose to ignore it, setting aside the small disagreement they’d sorted through. He followed her into the house and down the hallway to the kitchen at the back. As he soaped his hands in the pan provided, she poured additional warm water over them from the reservoir at the side of the stove.

      It was moments later, as they sat around the table, that she realized his words had held a note of promise she would do well not to ignore.

      I was about to place my lips against yours. And now I’m regretting the interruption.

      In order to succeed, her shelter must remain first and foremost in her thoughts. Mr. Cleary, with his dark eyes and neatly trimmed mustache, was a distraction she could not afford.

      He’d been called out of town. The note was short and to the point. And Augusta was filled with a sense of desolation. One she quickly worked to obliterate, plunging into a cooking lesson as if it were of utmost import this morning. The minister’s wife had cried off again, and Augusta was beginning to recognize that she alone, of the original five ladies who’d met to organize this effort, was left to do this sort of thing.

      Her ladies watched her warily, and she gathered herself together. It would not do for them to recognize her attachment to Mr. Cleary. Indeed, she had no business even thinking about him. The shelter was her first obligation. That and teaching her ladies in order to make them eligible for marriage or a life of their choice beyond the doors of this place.

      “I’ll never get the hang of gravy,” Honey said, stirring the lumpy concoction she’d managed to devise from bacon drippings and flour.

      “When it’s browned nicely, you’ll add a cup or two of water, and be amazed at what occurs,” Augusta said, doing her best to encourage the girl.

      “I know what occurred last time I did this,” Honey told her, her mouth turning down in discouragement. “I ended up with a pan full of paste. Lumpy paste.”

      “Well, my bread didn’t rise the way Bertha’s does,” Beth Ann said sadly. “I think it’ll only be good for toast. Or maybe to feed the chickens.”

      “That’s one good thing about having chickens,” Augusta agreed. “Although a pig might be even better at getting rid of our mistakes.”

      “You don’t make mistakes,” Beth Ann said, lifting her gaze to Augusta, as if she beheld a woman beyond reproach. “You always seem to know the right thing to do and say, and you’ve even got Mr. Cleary hanging on your every word.”

      “Mr. Cleary?” Augusta repeated the name as if it were foreign to her. “What on earth are you talking about?” It would not do to have the ladies thinking she was carrying on with the man, and if Pearl had made untoward remarks after seeing them together on the porch, she’d have to speak to her.

      “He’s sweet on you, ma’am,” the girl said shyly. “I never had anybody look at me the way he looks at you. Never even had any man act like I was fit to spit on.” Her mouth drew into a moue, and she sighed deeply.

      “Well, by the time we get finished with you, you’ll be a fit companion for any man out looking for a wife,” Augusta determined. “You’ll be able to cook and sew a bit and keep house with the best of them.” Deep within, she doubted the total truth of that bold statement, but lest Beth Ann see her doubtfulness, she smiled widely and patted the girl on the shoulder.

      Keeping house was an accomplishment all of the women were able to attain, and the inside of the place was as neat as a pin these days. Floors shiny and windows spotless, it had taken on the appearance of a home. A home such as Augusta hadn’t had in several months. She cherished each room, adding to the furnishings gradually as pieces became available through the lady at the general store, who advised her of folks willing to sell various items at a good price. Nothing matched precisely, but it all began to blend with a homey charm that pleased her.

      “I think we’ve accomplished enough today,” she said as Honey surveyed her gravy, stirring in vain to dissolve the lumps. “Bertha will fix a new pan for dinner,” she told the girl. “Next time will be better.”

      “My cookies came out good,” Honey said quietly. “Maybe I can find a fella to marry who has a sweet tooth.” Her smile was trembling, and Augusta’s heart went out to the girl who would soon be a woman with a child, and with no husband in view.

      “Where’s Mr. Cleary gone to?” Pearl asked idly, glancing up from her task of cutting out biscuits. Her eyes were sharp, her query far from idle, and Augusta hesitated a moment, forming a reply.

      “He was called out of town on business,” she said, wiping the table with a damp cloth and preparing it for dinner. “He’ll be back in a few days, I suppose.”

      “He didn’t tell you?” Pearl asked.

      August sent her a glance meant to subdue her curiosity, but Pearl was not to be deterred from her purpose.

      “I’d think a man as smitten as he is would be here tellin’ you goodbye, not just sending you a note.” Her eyes lit with humor as Pearl leveled her remark at Augusta.

      “He’s not smitten,” August said sharply, “and I don’t appreciate your innuendo, Pearl. Mr. Cleary has been more than generous