Would-Be Mistletoe Wife. Christine Johnson

out Garrett Decker’s children did. They wanted a new mama. Got one too. And Roland Decker and Sawyer Evans claimed two of the other three. There’s only Mrs. Smythe left. Of course, she’s the oldest. Must be around thirty.”

      Then Jesse hadn’t been mistaken about her age. “What else do you know about her?” When Blackthorn gave him a quick look, Jesse regretted his question. “I need to know how to deal with her,” he added, feeling the heat again creep up his neck. “She’s...difficult.”

      “Is she? Always seemed quiet as a mouse to me. Would rather poke her nose in a book than speak to anyone. Skips most of the church suppers and the like. Maybe the missus knows more.”

      They’d reached the lighthouse. Rather than enter the tower, Blackthorn stuck his head into the door to the keeper’s quarters.

      “Jane!”

      Jesse waved his hands, trying to get Blackthorn to stop. He did not want Mrs. Blackthorn involved. She would start matching him to every eligible girl in town.

      Blackthorn came out of the open doorway. “Go on in, Jane’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

      “Uh, that’s not what I wanted.”

      “Ambitious young man like you oughta be lookin’ for a wife.”

      Jesse squared his shoulders. “First I need to be able to provide.” Unlike his father and mother, whose impetuous decision cost dearly. “Maybe when I’m head keeper I’ll be able to consider a wife.”

      Blackthorn shook his head. “You got a lot ta learn, son. A man’s got a leg up on gettin’ the head job if he’s got a wife and family.”

      “He does?” That was news to Jesse, troubling news, for he couldn’t afford a wife.

      “Oh, you won’t catch anyone sayin’ it right out, but you just look around, especially at them remote lights, and you’ll see what I mean. One man can’t run this place. Not when the service expects you ta be on duty twenty-four hours a day.”

      Now Jesse understood. The man was back to his favorite annoyance—Jesse’s arrival. “That’s why there are assistants.”

      “Assistants! Bah!” Blackthorn waved off the idea as he headed for the tower.

      Jesse followed, his thoughts drifting back to the earlier conflict on the dune. “What I really need to know is if you approve of Mrs. Smythe trespassing on government property.”

      Blackthorn shook his head. “You gotta get your head out of those books of yours and into real life. Those ladies aren’t doing no harm. This here’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone else. It pays to be on people’s good side.”

      “But the property—”

      “This isn’t a fort. It’s a lighthouse. People are curious. They stop by all the time. Treat ’em like a neighbor, and they’ll do the same for you.”

      Blackthorn then opened the door to the tower. Each day he poured some of the oil into a smaller filling can and then carried it up the circular iron staircase to begin filling the lamps. The process took several trips up and down the tower staircase. According to Article IV of the manual, the filling of the lamps was supposed to be done as soon as the lamps were cleaned except when cold weather would make the oil too thick to flow. That meant late morning, but Blackthorn didn’t keep a regular schedule. Moreover, today’s warm temperatures offered no excuse for tardiness. If Jesse was head keeper, he’d follow the manual’s instructions to the letter. As assistant, he could only stand by.

      “Let me help you.” Jesse stooped slightly to get through the door.

      “No need.”

      Jesse swallowed frustration. The keeper hadn’t let him touch anything in the lantern. If Jesse was ever going to be head keeper, he had to know more than could be gleaned from the manual. He needed experience. Even without that experience, he’d discovered some inefficiencies that could be rectified. “I could show you a faster way to handle the oil.”

      Blackthorn practically glared at him. “I’ve been tending lighthouses for more than twenty years. Don’t you think that I know what works best and what doesn’t?”

      Jesse choked back the retort that clearly Blackthorn didn’t. If he would carry the large can up the stairs and transfer the oil to the smaller filling can when he reached the top, he wouldn’t have to go up and down the staircase so many times. Since pointing this out had gotten Jesse nowhere, he wouldn’t rankle the keeper again.

      So Jesse swallowed his pride. “I suppose you do, sir.”

      “That’s right. Jane said she needed something from the store. Find out what it is and go fetch it.” The man finished pouring the first batch of oil into the filling can and began the long climb up the circular staircase, the soles of his boots ringing against the iron steps.

      Jesse backed out. Though he’d only been here six days, he was sick of being nothing more than an errand boy. Other than polishing lamps, which the children could do, Blackthorn hadn’t let him near any of the equipment. Jesse closed the tower door against the ever-drifting sand.

      “What do you want to know about Louise?” Mrs. Blackthorn’s voice made him jump. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you were expecting me.”

      “I was?”

      “Samuel said it was something about Louise Smythe?”

      “Oh. I suppose I did, ma’am.” Jesse couldn’t recall what he’d intended to ask about Louise. Since Blackthorn approved her climbing all over the dunes, Jesse had lost that argument. He searched for something else. “I, uh, understand she’s a teacher.” That sounded pretty feeble.

      “Down at the boarding school in the west wing of the hotel.” Mrs. Blackthorn pointed it out, as if he hadn’t noticed the place before.

      It hadn’t taken long to ascertain that Singapore was tiny. It boasted few businesses beyond the general store, the boardinghouse and the hotel. There were a few saloons, but Jesse didn’t frequent those, and the church looked like the rest of the bunkhouses used by the lumberjacks and saw operators when they came to town. Boardwalks stretched between businesses so people didn’t have to walk through the sand. The streets served more pedestrians than wheeled transportation. Jesse had yet to see a buggy or horse other than the wagon down at the docks. Then again, the town was only a few blocks long and even fewer deep.

      It was a good place to begin remaking his life.

      “I hear tell she’s a war widow,” Mrs. Blackthorn said.

      The words shot through Jesse like lead. Not the war. He’d done all he could to escape the harrowing memories. A lighthouse offered a chance to get away from the endless war stories and sorrow. He’d hoped to land at a remote island lighthouse but instead was assigned here.

      “You all right, Mr. Hammond?”

      Jesse managed a smile. “Just lost in thought.”

      “Just like her.”

      “Like who?”

      “Like who?” Mrs. Blackthorn shook her head. “Like Louise. That’s who we’ve been talking about, isn’t it?”

      Jesse had to agree that it was, but Mrs. Blackthorn’s description of her didn’t match his experience. “She didn’t seem very quiet to me.”

      That made Mrs. Blackthorn smile. “Well now, isn’t that interesting. Might be you managed to catch her eye. She is looking to marry, you know.”

      Jesse grimaced. “That’s what your husband said. But I’m not. I need to get established as a keeper first.”

      “Isn’t that just like a man.”

      Jesse stiffened. “A man needs to be able to provide.”

      “Love doesn’t wait for our schedule.