Amanda's Beau (24 page)

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Gil took possession of one of Amanda's hands and lifted it to his lips. He used his other hand to tilt her chin up, intending to kiss her again. When she leaned forward in anticipation, he could almost hear his own heart hammering in his chest. He took advantage of her willingness.

Amanda pulled back from their embrace and confessed, "I've been head-over-heels in love with you since you brought me the book."

She searched his face with such an appeal in her eyes Gil's heart throbbed with joy. He was grateful such a fine woman as Amanda should love him, a woman more precious than rubies. The time had come to say something. He wanted to take care of her — and her family. He wanted to protect her. But first he had to be granted the right to do so. The privilege.

"Amanda, I love you. I want to marry you." Looking around the old shed with its clutter of Indian relics and the musty, lingering scent of poultry, Gil chuckled as he caressed her cheek. "I know it's an unlikely time and place for a marriage proposal, but I want you to know how I feel. It isn't too romantic, is it?"

"Isn't it?" she murmured, laughter in her eyes.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes, Gil, oh yes," she replied dreamily.

"We'll have to wait, of course. I don't know for how long. I've got some money saved, but not enough to buy a place of our own," he began.

"Dearest," Amanda said, clutching his hand. "I think I should tell you—"

"Perhaps I should have waited until I could offer you a home before I asked you to marry me, but I couldn't bear the thought of you returning to Las Cruces without knowing how much I love you," he interrupted her.

"About Las Cruces, I—"

Again, he interrupted. "Yes, I know your home is there — your parents' home. I'm guessing you had planned to return there as soon as your sister made a full recovery." His tone was dubious.

"Gil." She covered his lips with her fingers. "I don't want to return to Las Cruces."

"I'm glad," he said, his tone lightening. Smiling down at her, he added, "I won't let you. And I don't want you to worry about anything — not the broken windows, the chickens, the doctor bills. I'm going to help. I've got some money saved."

"Oh, Gil, no," she said almost shyly.

"It's my money. I can do what I like with it." He arched an eyebrow.

"I appreciate the offer, Gil. Truly. But about the money—"she began again.

"I've been afraid Nate might turn your head," he rambled on, grinning sheepishly. "He's handsome, rich, and witty. The women have always buzzed around him like flies around honey."

"He tried to turn my head," Amanda admitted. "I'll confess there were moments when I was… distracted." She gave him a teasing smile.

Gil wrapped his arms around her tighter and would have kissed her again, except Rex and Bonita came dashing in through the open door. Rex carried a hammer. He stopped midstride, staring at his aunt, who was wrapped in Gil's warm embrace — again.

"Aunt Mandy, there's dozens and dozens of dead chickens — too many to count," he informed her, running a grimy hand through his fair hair. "The ones inside the hen house seem okay, but I'm guessing they won't be laying good for a while. They'll be off their feed for a couple of days too, I bet."

As Amanda stepped out of Gil's arms, he felt reluctant to let her go. "Thank you, Rex," she said. "Don't tell your mother about the chickens just yet, okay?" she asked.

Rex tilted his head to one side, regarding her thoughtfully. "There sure are a lot of things happening today I'm not supposed to tell Mama about," he said with a sly smile. He let his gaze slide to Gil's face, and his smile broadened into a grin.

Gil chuckled. "There will be time enough to tell her all about it, Rex," he promised. "Now give me the hammer. Let's get the kitchen window boarded up first. Then I'll help you dispose of all those dead chickens before you have a yard full of coyotes and other varmints looking for an easy meal." Turning back to Amanda he said, "And you, sweetheart, are going back to the kitchen to make flapjacks."

"And bacon," Rex reminded her. "Lots of bacon. I'm starved."

"You'll stay for supper won't you?" Amanda asked hopefully.

Gil nodded. "Yes, but I'll need to return to the village immediately afterwards. I want to make sure there's been no damage to the schoolhouse."

"I sure hope the hail didn't damage Mr. Phillips' fancy automobile," Rex threw in.

"Nate will be more concerned about damage at the excavation site, I think," Gil said.

He was right. After supper, Gil returned to the village on foot with a lantern to light the way. Amanda had tried to convince him to saddle old Toby, but Gil preferred to walk. He had some thinking to do, and walking always seemed to help. He found Nate sitting at the table in the teacherage, scribbling field notes with one hand and raking his hair with the other.

"As you see, your school house is still standing," Nate announced. His tone seemed crisp with annoyance. "Poor Atalanta, on the other hand, is pitted beyond repair. I shudder to think what damage has been done to the site. Those tarps wouldn't have been much protection at all. I've never seen such hail."

"Tomorrow at first light we can go have a look," Gil said, shrugging out of Nate's coat and hanging it on the back of the nearest chair. "I appreciate the use of the coat," he said.

Nate ignored his thanks. "Did you return by way of the ruins? You had a lantern with you. Could you see anything? Could you assess the damage at all or was it too dark?" he pressed.

"I didn't go out that way," Gil admitted. "I came straight back here."

"Of course, the dutiful school teacher."

Gil noted the sneer in Nate's voice. He felt a stab of disappointment as sharp as a sudden bereavement. "I wanted to make sure you were all right, Nate, and the schoolhouse too, of course."

"What about the artifacts out at the Stewart place? Surely you took the time to make sure the old shed hadn't collapsed?"

"The artifacts are fine — all of them," Gil assured him. A quick glance at the small kitchen revealed no dirty dishes or leftover food. "Have you eaten? Can I fix you something?"

"I don't feel like eating. You, no doubt, had supper with the lovely Miss Dale and her nephew." Nate fixed him with an unabashed stare.

"I did," Gil admitted. "And her sister Mrs. Stewart felt well enough to join us at the table." He paused. The silence hung in the room like thick smoke. Finally, Gil cleared his throat. "I've asked Amanda to marry me. She said yes."

There was a moment of heavy silence before Nate pushed back his chair and slowly rose to his feet. "You didn't waste much time, did you, Gilly boy? Were you afraid I might cut you out?" When Gil didn't reply, Nate thrust out his hand and laughed. "Congratulations, old chum!" The two shook hands. "I wish you all the best. Guess I'd better pack my bags and move along. There's not room for all three of us in this little school house hovel."

Although he felt a sting of hurt, Gil refused to let it show. "Nate, be sensible. I'm hardly going to marry Amanda anytime soon. There's no need for you to move out this minute. You have plenty of time to finish the job you've come to do."

"I wish you were working with me, Gil — I mean working by my side, not just handling the money and keeping track of supplies." Nate flushed. His expression appeared to be a mixture of sincerity and frustration. "We could go to Greece together or Egypt. Maybe even South America. Some fellows I know are getting up an expedition to look for one of the long-lost Incan treasure cities. Why did you have to take a teaching position?"

"It's not merely a job, it's a calling," Gil said. "I don't know how I can explain it any other way. I feel called by God to be a teacher, to help build a moral foundation in the lives of my young pupils."

Nate shrugged sullenly. "I thought you were going to take up ranching or horse breeding or something."

"I am, but I still plan to teach," Gil told him.

"Well, so be it." Nate gathered up his papers and ledgers. "You're my best friend, and I don't want to criticize your choice. You should, however, take into consideration that we're at the dawn of a new century — science is making advances every day. You're going to have to give up many of your old-fashioned ideas, Gil."

"You think so?" It had been a long, tiring day. He just didn't feel up to provoking an argument.

"Furthermore," Nate went on, "archeology is going to become an honorable profession, not just a peculiar past time for those fascinated by antiquities. One day soon, someone will discover something thrilling — an ancient pharaoh's treasure perhaps or a lost city in the South American jungle. The discipline will capture the public's imagination. Every youngster in your school and others across the country will want to be an archeologist." Nate stared at him in a belligerent, challenging manner.

Gil found himself somewhat amused by his friend's tirade. "Perhaps," he said, unconvinced. Part of him wanted to pursue their conversation. Another part of him didn't. He was tired and ready for bed. Nate was tired too, he could tell, and more disappointed about the hail damage to his automobile than he let on. He feared the damage at the ruins would be even worse.

Their early morning foray to the site confirmed Gil's fears. He took one look at the muddy mess, the collapsed chambers, the storm-battered walls, and his heart sank. Nate, his hands on his hips, muttered curses as he surveyed the damage.

"Well, this is it, Gil. I'm packing it in," he said on a bitter note. "We can't get back to where we were before the weather turns colder and winter sets in. I'll have the men fill everything in. I'll map out which parts we've excavated and get the artifacts to New York."

"Nate, I'm sorry," Gil said. He meant it. He knew how disappointed his friend had to be. But it couldn't be helped. And, as Nate had observed, winter would be here soon enough.

"I'll finish my field notes and sketches and pack up," Nate went on. He surveyed the site with a pained expression. "I think I can have it all wrapped up in a week or so."

"There's no hurry, Nate. Take your time," Gil assured him. "If there's anything I can do to help — after class — just let me know."

Nate nodded, his handsome features a grim mask of disappointment.

"I'm sorry about Atalanta too," Gil added. In the daylight, he'd been able to see the damage the hailstones had done — the bright red vehicle was covered with permanent dimples. He placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "C'mon. Let me scramble up some eggs with green chilies for you this morning."

As they headed back to the teacherage, Gil silently vowed to help Nate as much as possible over the next few days. But he had to take care of matters at the Stewart place first, for Amanda's sake. When school was over for the day, he picked up his horse at the livery and rode out to the Stewart place. He needed to take some window measurements, so he could get the kitchen window replaced as soon as possible.

"Is Rex with you?" Amanda asked when she opened the door. She peered over his shoulder into the yard.

Gil stepped into the kitchen and removed his hat. "No," he replied. "He went out to the excavation site to lend a hand with the clean up."

He longed to kiss her and to hold her in his arms. But Ella Stewart came in, looking more robust than she had in quite some time. She laced an arm through one of Amanda's and asked, "Mr. Gladney, I wonder if I might trouble you for a favor?"

"Certainly, ma'am, anything I can do to help," he assured her.

When Amanda exchanged a poignant glance with her sister, Gil felt immediate misgivings.

"It's about Bonita, Rex's dog," Ella began. She glanced at Amanda beseechingly. Her eyes grew misty.

Cautiously alarmed, Gil demanded, "What about the dog?"

"We think she has blood lust," Ella confessed. She nearly choked on the words. "We just can't afford to lose any more chickens. Bonita needs to be put down."