“I agree.” He checked his watch once more. “Five minutes.”
Priscilla smoothed the wrinkles in her blue linen dress. The ride from Denver to Dogtown on the mail coach had been the worst part of her journey. Because of the unseasonably warm weather for the Rockies, Mr. Boswick, who drove the coach, had left the flaps on the side of the coach open to allow for a breeze. However, it had also let in small bugs that Priscilla had practically choked on. At least the man had closed t
he flaps when they’d ridden through a heavy rainstorm.
She wiped sweat from her forehead and upper lip and pushed back the damp curls sticking to her face under her bonnet. If she wasn’t so nervous about her subterfuge, she would be thrilled to hear Mr. Boswick call over his shoulder that they were only about ten minutes outside of Dogtown.
After all, how important could age be for a teaching position? She was fresh out of college and had brought along an entire trunk loaded down with books, slates, and teaching supplies. Her head was full of ideas on new methods of teaching. She was anxious to meet her students and start introducing them to the better things in life that education provided.
The coach began to slow down as the edge of town came into view. She was surprised to see a small but tidy town. She moved from one side of the coach to the other, taking in the houses that lined the streets. Most of them were snug homes with white picket fences around them, many with flower gardens. Several children stopped playing and watched the coach pass by. Apparently word had spread that the new teacher was arriving on the mail coach. Two little girls holding hands waved at her.
Several women strolled the boardwalk, cloth shopping bags dangling from their arms as they chatted with each other. They also stopped and watched the coach pass. Parents of her students, she surmised.
Goodness, it appeared everyone in town was anxious to see her. She took a deep breath and smiled at the women and waved back to the children. This would be her home from now on. Excitement coursed through her. She swung her head to the left when Mr. Boswick shouted, “That there is the schoolhouse.”
A small red building sat on a lot by itself. A clapboard house was partially visible from the road. She’d been told by Mr. Beaumont, who had hired her, that a house came with the teacher’s job. That must be the house he’d written about. Once more she wiped her upper lip.
They came to a rolling stop, and Priscilla’s stomach lurched, threatening to bring up the breakfast she’d eaten before they left Denver three hours earlier. She peeked out the side of the coach and saw two men and a boy standing on the boardwalk in front of the mercantile. One of the men held a bouquet of flowers. Since she was the only passenger and it was obvious the men waited for the coach, the flowers must be for the new teacher.
Mr. Boswick brought the coach to a complete stop and jumped off. He lowered the steps on the side of the coach. “We’re here, miss. And it looks like you have a welcoming committee.”
Taking another deep breath, Priscilla clutched her reticule and made her way to the doorway. She accepted Mr. Boswick’s hand and took the two steps to the ground. She smiled brightly at the two men. The younger one looked puzzled. “Are you Miss Cochran?”
“Yes.”
He continued to stare at her.
“Are you Mr. Beaumont?”
He nodded, still gaping. Wondering if they were going to stand there all afternoon just gawking at each other, she stuck her hand out and moved forward. Her foot slipped out from under her on the wet, slick ground, and, arms flailing, she landed face first in the mud at Mr. Beaumont’s feet.
Two strong hands gripped her arms and pulled her up, a sucking sound coming from the action. Mud dripping from her face, dropping in clumps down her dress and cape, she shook the mess from her hands.
Mr. Beaumont shoved the flowers at her and placed his hands on his hips. “A woman of mature years, Miss Cochran?”
Chapter Two
Priscilla raised her chin, swiping at the clumps of mud dropping to the ground. “Excuse me, Mr. Beaumont. I am happy to meet you, but now that you have greeted me, I would appreciate being escorted to my house so I may clean up and get warm.” She pulled the sodden flaps of her wet, ruined cape together. Rocky Mountain air was much cooler than Oklahoma.
The man’s eyes flashed. “No, Miss Cochran.” He pointed at a surprised Mr. Boswick. “The only place you’re going is back on that mail coach and return to wherever it is you came from.”
Ready to fight, she stood her ground. “I will not, sir.” She waved the bouquet in his face. “I have a signed contract to teach in Dogtown for one year.”
“Under false pretenses. You lied,” he growled.
She stamped her foot, splashing mud on the bottom of his trousers. “I did not.”
Mr. Beaumont stabbed the air with his index finger in front of her face. “You said you were of mature years.”
She shoved his finger aside. “Well, I’m not a child, am I?”
“Hold on here, now.” The man who had been standing with Mr. Beaumont, his head swiveling back and forth as she and Mr. Beaumont traded words, stepped up to her. “Miss Cochran, allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Raymond Morrow, the mayor of Dogtown.”
Giving him a warm smile, she took a deep breath and smoothed the front of her mud-splattered cape. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morrow.” She extended her dirty gloved hand and glared at Mr. Beaumont who stretched his neck muscles.
The mayor looked askance at her hand, took it lightly and continued. “I think at this point, you have the right of it, Miss Cochran. You need to clean yourself up and change into something warm.” He nodded at Mr. Beaumont. “This can all be cleared up after the lady is more comfortable, Mitch.”
She’d started to shiver during the exchange and now she found it hard to even speak. Lord, the cold water and mud had seeped all the way to her skin.