“Perhaps, perhaps.” He nodded as he spoke. “But who would give his little cousin a favorite possession—a gentleman or a cad?”
Hattie opened her mouth but decided not to tumble down a path littered with awkward insults. “Lena told me you’re anxious to leave for boot camp.”
“My sister yaps too much.”
“Only sometimes.”
“I’m itching to go and …”
Hattie missed the end of his sentence, too fixated on Arno’s nearness. Clean-shaven and muscular from long hours of fieldwork, his shoulders stretched twice as far as hers. A new scar marred his skin between his bottom lip and chin cleft.
Arno leaned forward. Raised eyebrows, blond and wispy, prodding her response to whatever she’d just missed.
She pumped her brain for an intelligent reply, staring past him at cornstalks, flapping beyond the railroad tracks on a hill. “You don’t say.”
“Besides, nobody’s keeping me home any longer.” He slipped a hand into his trouser pocket, rocking back on his heels.
“I heard that news as well.” Lena had detailed the demise of Arno’s courtship, centering on the other party’s flirting—coupled with Arno’s jealousy—a head-butting combination. How long until he found a new girl to take Priscilla’s place? Or would the pair soon patch up their differences? Either way, it’s not my concern.
“Of course, you did.” His smile reached his eyes, still as potent as ever. “According to Lena, you two are passing out socks this morning.”
They’d tucked a proverb into the footwear for each departing soldier. What were the odds Arno would bother to read the message in his? Poor at best.
His teasing grin quickened her heart, and she placed her hand against her chest to quiet the thumping. “I reckon I should go … find your sister … dole out those socks.” When would she see him again? What if he died in France or some other faraway place? From his brow to his chin, she captured his image in her mind before extending her hand for a farewell shake.
“I reckon so.” His palm connected with hers.
Same as always, tiny arrows stabbed from the point of contact straight to her heart. Current and past noise ceased. Peppermint candy laced his breath. Same … as … always.
Then his eyes strayed to her lips, triggering prickles across her spine. Would he kiss her? Would she let him? Against her better judgment, the answer was yes. She’d waited and waited for this moment, always in the background.
“When I look at you, I still see a little imp, the tomboy who shadowed my steps.” Like always, he made one thing spring-water clear—he’d never reciprocated her schoolgirl crush.
“I know.” She whipped around, blinked back tears, and then stomped away from Mr. Temptation. Over the years, Arno would dangle a smile or a sweet glance before reeling her in like the white sucker fish in Catfish Creek that they’d caught as children. But no more.
The same gentleman she’d eyed from the stage blocked her path, squinting in the wind and sunshine. “Your voice rivals the songbirds.” He spoke with a drawl thicker than hotcakes drenched in maple syrup, delicious but mushy. “I wager those same birds are green with envy.”
Although over-the-top, this man knew how to issue a proper compliment, unlike someone else. “Highly unlikely, but thank you nonetheless.”
He chuckled and lowered a brown suitcase to the ground. “I never argue with ladies, but I’m fairly certain I’m correct.”
“I’d hate to label a stranger a fibber, but …” She spread her arms wide. For someone who rarely garnered male attention, she stood knee-deep in a puddle of flirtation. Perhaps not everyone considered her an “impish tomboy.” Were those Arno’s exact words moments ago? She glanced back but couldn’t find him in the crowd.
“I’m Barrett Jordane, born and raised in Louisiana. I lived there up until a year ago.” A captivating shade of light brown eyes, bordering on gold, invited her to forge a friendship. “There. Now we’re no longer strangers.”
“And I’m Hattie Waltz, same as the dance.”
“Ahh, a pretty name for a pretty girl.”
Why did some men scatter absurd compliments like chicken feed? Then again, some girls gulped them up like silly birds. Not her.
Barrett shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I realize we only met a couple of sentences ago, but may I ask a personal question, Hattie?”
Strangers and personal inquiries rarely mixed. Against her better judgment, she nodded.
“Do you have a brother or a beau boarding today’s train?”
“Only friends.” The label fit some departing soldiers better than others. She lumped all the men into the same category, more than acquaintances but not a single I-can’t-live-without-him relationship in the bunch.
“Splendid.”
Was it splendid her loved ones hadn’t received orders to report for duty, or because she wasn’t attached to a departing soldier? More importantly, why analyze every word he spoke? No wonder she’d never had a beau to call her own.
Barrett motioned toward the black locomotive, stately in the sunshine, where passengers flocked around the entrance. The fresh recruits wore civilian clothes, their uniforms waiting at camp. Daniel Hook, a departing soldier, leaned from an open train window. Two fellows on the ground boosted a female high to kiss the military man’s lips.
Hattie squinted. Was the woman Priscilla Snodgrass, Arno’s old flame? A rousing cheer followed.
“I’ve heard Split Falls is best known for crops and livestock, but I’d like to add pretty girls, present company with her blushing cheeks included.”
Holy smokes. She should walk away, not stand and lap up his sweet talk, particularly when delivered with a husky drawl.
“How long you wager until the army whips us greenhorns into crackerjack soldiers? A month? Two?”
“Let’s hope nobody changes overly much.” Hattie wrote a mental note to pray for only positive adjustments, especially for Arno.
On tiptoes, she peered right and then left, stretching to locate Lena, her fellow Knitting Brigade member. “I’m on a mission myself, handing out socks to the soldiers. If you like, there are extras, but they’re with my friend. Shall we find her?”
“After you.”
Together, they veered right. There stood Lena armed with a bushel basket.
“I’ve been on the lookout for you. Your song ended a while ago. I’m happy to see you survived your ordeal.” With a sassy grin lighting her face, Lena eyed Barrett from Panama hat to two-toned shoe tip. “Who’s your handsome friend, Hattie?”
It was one thing to think the man resembled a Sears, Roebuck and Company clothing model, another to blurt the fact.
Barrett tossed his head backward and howled. “Aren’t you sugary sweet?”
“Am I, Hattie?”
“Like a beehive.” In a flurry, she rushed the introductions, freed a pair of wool socks from the basket, and passed Barrett the footwear.
“I apologize for my forwardness, but will you write me while I’m at boot camp?”
Before Hattie could utter a word, Lena intervened. “Look over there.” She motioned toward a scuffle alongside a row of mismatched evergreens. Two men wrestled in the grass as gawkers hurried toward the skirmish. “I’m guessing somebody should put a stop to that.”