On the short trip into town, Jake realized he hadn’t felt so entertained since returning to Mattawa three months ago. Although glad to be home, he’d had a difficult time readjusting to the slower pace and more restrictive social conventions of his hometown after four years in Eugene.
It wasn’t that he particularly missed studying at the University of Oregon or the apprenticeship he’d served with a Eugene lawyer. By accepting a limited partnership with Roger Lord, the Murdock family lawyer, he’d begun the process of launching his career in Mattawa. And in truth, that was a challenge he much preferred to the role of student or of newest hire in a city firm. He had plans for his career, plans he figured he would one day realize.
No, the difficult part was adapting to the lack of privacy. In a town this size, everyone knew everyone else’s business, and he often felt he was conducting his social life in a brandy snifter.
Mattawa was small; if he paid a call on a pretty girl, everyone in town knew about it before the morning paper was delivered.
He’d grown accustomed to Eugene. You could flirt with a debutante at a charity ball, or pay your two dollars at a bawdy house and take your pick of any girl in the establishment.
At least your affairs, be they innocent or sordid, weren’t bruited about town by the time you emerged for breakfast.
Of course, Jake admitted with a certain wryness to himself, it was entirely possible that Eugene might not have impressed him as being so much freer and less hypocritical had he spent more time there courting the city’s nice girls and less time visiting the women in the various bawdy houses. It likely boiled down to a matter of perspective.
In any event, the arrival of Hattie Witherspoon Taylor was a welcome one . . . if for no other reason than she didn’t monitor every damn word she spoke before it left her mouth. He imagined, for her own survival, that would change. But for now, at least, she harbored no fear of appearing less than morally upright in the public’s eye. That little girl said exactly what was on her mind. It was a quality Jake admired. Even if it was one he seldom saw in this small town.
Not that he in any way regretted his return to Mattawa.
Sure, he missed some of the pleasures and the anonymity to be found in a larger town. But this was his home. It was where his mother lived, and she was his only remaining close relative. It was where he was building his career and would someday raise his own family. And as an unequivocal plus, Mattawa boasted Jane-Ellen Fielding.
The town had acquired a new doctor while Jake was in Eugene. According to the letter Augusta wrote him at the time, Doc Fielding’s arrival was heralded with only a little less fanfare than she expected the Second Coming to garner. That wasn’t the blasphemy a stranger might believe it to be, for there had been only one other doctor in town at the time, and anyone with a lick of sense knew better than to rely on Doc Baker’s help after four in the afternoon.
Old Doc Baker was a notorious tippler and the tremors in his hands became more pronounced as the evening progressed. The need for emergency medical treatment was a ghastly occurrence to be avoided at all costs, as anyone who’d ever had the misfortune to require stitches after dusk could attest. Small wonder the new doctor had been welcomed so warmly.
Augusta had also written about Doc Fielding’s lovely daughter, Jane-Ellen. At the time, Jake was caught up in his life away from home and hadn’t paid much attention. More fool he.
Shortly after returning to Mattawa, Jake was introduced to Jane-Ellen. His captivation had been immediate and total. She was perfection personified. Were a textbook written on the budding flower of womanhood, Jane-Ellen Fielding would be its model. She was sweet natured, blond, and beautiful. The ideal woman. And suddenly, years before he ever contemplated he would, Jake Murdock was entertaining the notion of matrimony.
“Entertain” being the operative word at this point. He pulled up to the hitching post in front of the dressmaker’s establishment.
It wasn’t difficult to convince the modiste to accompany him back to the house. Augusta Murdock was a valued customer, and the prospect of supplying an entire wardrobe for her young ward was clearly an enticing one. The woman gathered her pattern books, fabric samples, and such ready-made apparel in Hattie’s general size as she had on hand. After locking up her shop, she allowed Jake to assist her into the buggy.
* * *
—
The pandemonium coming from an upstairs bedroom assaulted their ears the moment Jake opened the front door. Hattie’s voice, strident with anger, overrode the faint murmurs of the two older women. The actual words were indistinguishable, but the tone was unmistakable. Ushering the dressmaker into the parlor, Jake ignored her avid curiosity and excused himself. He loped up the stairs two at a time.
Following the noise down the hall, he reached the room Augusta had prepared for Hattie and tapped on the door. His knock apparently went unheard over the commotion inside, so he turned the knob and pushed the door open. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded. “Hattie, hush up.”
To his surprise, Hattie hushed. She stood with her back to the wall, swathed in Augusta’s dressing gown, which was four times too large for her. The blue fabric pooled around Hattie’s feet and gaped in the front, exposing her sturdy flat-planed chest. Droplets of moisture still dappled her pale skin and her drenched, copper-bright hair clung to her skull, sleek as a seal’s and darkened by the water plastering it in a fan across her shoulders and down her back. The robe’s arms had been rolled several times, yet still hung to her fingertips.
Cutting herself off in mid-tirade, she picked up the skirts of the dressing gown and ran to Jake. Gripping his hand, she stared up at him with big, demanding eyes.
“Make them give me back my bag!”
“Oh, for . . . Mother, give her the bag. Mirabel, go down and offer the modiste refreshment.”
Mirabel handed the carpetbag to Hattie and left the room. Hattie immediately dropped to her knees on the floor and opened it up.
“I was only trying to prevent her from donning another pair of those dreadful boys’ overalls,” Augusta murmured.
He patted her hand. “I understand, Mother. But the satchel appears to be the only thing she can call her own.” Glancing across the room, he swore beneath his breath.
“Hattie!” he roared. “Put that wrapper back on this instant!”
3
Jake’s loud voice made Hattie jump. Having just located a clean pair of overalls in her bag, she’d shucked out of the oversized wrapper Mirabel had given her without a thought for modesty. It never occurred to her that just because a man was in the room she shouldn’t disrobe.
Horace and Papa had never minded.
Hattie blinked at Jake in confusion as he crossed the room in two giant strides and manhandled her back into the wrapper. He pulled the two sides together and yanked the tie at her waist so tight she could barely breathe. Ripping the overalls from her hands, he tossed them across the room. “Hey!” she protested.