Proposing Mischief
Books by Regina Jennings
THE JOPLIN CHRONICLES
Courting Misfortune
Proposing Mischief
THE FORT RENO SERIES
Holding the Fort
The Lieutenant’s Bargain
The Major’s Daughter
OZARK MOUNTAIN ROMANCE SERIES
A Most Inconvenient Marriage
At Love’s Bidding
For the Record
LADIES OF CALDWELL COUNTY
Sixty Acres and a Bride
Love in the Balance
Caught in the Middle
NOVELLAS
An Unforeseen Match (from the collection A Match Made in Texas)
Her Dearly Unintended (from the collection With This Ring?)
Bound and Determined (from the collection Hearts Entwined)
Intrigue a la Mode (from the collection Serving Up Love)
Broken Limbs, Mended Hearts (from the collection The Kissing Tree)
© 2021 by Regina Jennings
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-3386-5
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services
Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.
To Shanna Lewis
For all the years of friendship,
but particularly for the day you
immediately said yes when I asked if you’d
drive me to the hospital to check on my husband—
eight hundred and seventy-four miles away.
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Books by Regina Jennings
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
The Kentworth Family Tree
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
CHAPTER
1
“When I told Pa I wanted to go to town, I didn’t mean the feedstore.” Maisie Kentworth reached over the side of the wagon bed and let the elm leaves swish against her hand as they passed. “That feedstore doesn’t sell any phosphate drinks, and I aim to have me one of those today.”
Her brother Amos pulled one rein tight, swerving to make the sharp turn into the feedstore’s lot. “Welp, we gotta get feed, that’s a fact, and ever since that Silas Marsh business, Pa wants to keep you on a short leash. So if you want to set foot off the ranch, it’s church or the feedstore, or else you’ll be tied to Granny’s apron strings. Them’s the only options.”
Maisie grabbed the supple end of a branch and held it tight so that all the leaves were stripped away as it ran through her hand. Silas Marsh. She wished she’d never lit eyes on that man. She’d been staying in town with her cousin Calista when Silas entered her world. Charming, attentive, and romantic, the young miner seemed just what Maisie wanted in a man, but evidently she wasn’t the only lady to feel that way.
Turning around on the bench and throwing her leg over the seat back, she planted her sturdy boot in the middle of her cousin Hank’s back and jostled him until he groaned and rolled over.
“Wake up. We’re here.” Maisie tidied her chestnut hair behind her ears and wiggled her freckled nose at the sweet scent of the feed.
Hank lifted his straw hat from his face and squinted at the sun. “What do you need me for? I thought we brought you to do the toting.”
With a boot to his shoulder, Maisie shoved harder. “Get on your feet, Hank. It’s time to work.”
“Hank ain’t afraid of hard work,” Amos cheerfully put in. “He’ll curl up right against it and sleep like a baby.”
“What’s your hurry?” Hank groaned. “I was out hunting all night. Give me a minute.”
“If we have time to spare, we might could drive on into town to the soda fountain,” Maisie said.
Hank bolted upright. “I do admire myself a phosphate cherry root drink.” The flat, immovable planes of Hank’s face gave his every pronouncement the weight of the granite tablets from Mount Sinai.
“There ain’t no way.” Amos set the wagon brake and wrapped the reins around the handle. “I have strict orders not to let Maisie anywhere near town.” Even when Amos was serious, the sparks of merriment in his eyes didn’t allow one to believe him.
“Now that it’s settled,” Maisie said, hopping out of the wagon, “how many bags of feed are we getting? I’ll go sign for them, and you’uns start loading.”
Despite their protests, Amos and Hank loaded the feed up with no lollygagging. By the time Maisie had the receipt tucked into her waistband, Amos and Hank were waiting in the wagon. From the anxious tapping of Amos’s foot, it was clear that Hank had brought him around to Maisie’s suggestion.
Maisie climbed into the back of the bed, and without another word, Amos slapped the reins and the team pulled them toward town instead of back to the ranch.
Maisie wasn’t a troublemaker, but she needed adventure like a cornfield needed sunlight. Speaking of sunlight, she snagged the sunbonnet hanging by its ties around her neck and pulled it over her head. No use in making more of those freckles. When she was younger, running around in the sun, unconcerned about a smattering of freckles, she found ample adventure on her family ranch with her multitude of cousins. She’d grown up as independent and as free as her brothers or any of the boy cousins. But as she matured, she realized that adventure came in many forms, and a young lady could find better amusements than wrestling matches and throwing competitions.
Just outside her family’s ranch was enough excitement to flip a corpse. Joplin had it all—society, music, and wealth. Unfortunately, it also contained a former beau of hers, and her family was determined that she not see him again.
Maisie wholeheartedly agreed.
“I ain’t taking you all the way to the soda fountain,” Amos said. “There’s stretching the rules, and then there’s pure stupidity.”
“Then where are we headed?” Hank asked, then answered his own question. “We can go to Daniel’s Drug and Miscellany. They’ve got shaved ice.”
Amos grunted his approval, and Maisie propped her boot up on the side of the wagon bed to tighten a shoelace that had worked loose. She’d always thought Granny Laura was exaggerating when she talked about how Joplin could turn a girl’s head plumb backward. Maisie had never believed her, but when her cousin Calista came from Kansas City, Maisie was sent to stay with her in town as a chaperone. Some chaperone she’d turned out to be. Before she’d gotten her bearings, she’d fallen as love-sick as a turtledove with measles and had decided that she’d be Silas’s wife someday. If Calista hadn’t overheard a young lady at the Children’s Home, Maisie might never have known that Silas had sired children around the county.
She tugged on the shoelace, then whipped it into a tight bow. Maisie had always thought of herself as tough and savvy, but it turned out she was neither. Silas’s deception had shown her that her faith in him was misplaced, but so was her faith in her own discernment.
If only she could be like Calista—get herself an exciting job with the Pinkertons and travel the country hunting down crooks and no-accounts. ’Course, Calista had stopped that when she’d realized she was hunting with the wrong dogs, but Maisie still envied her adventures.
The mercantile appeared as they rounded the bend. The three Kentworths scanned the premises before rolling any closer, getting a feel for who they might encounter at the store. Not that they were worried about being tattled on—they were adults, after all—but sometimes life was ea
sier if news of certain decisions they made didn’t travel back to the Kentworth ranch.
“It’s clear,” Maisie said. “Prissy Jones is out of town, and I don’t see sign of any of the Grosgrain family. No one else would bother to snitch.”
“It’s you that has to worry,” said Amos. “Nothing wrong with Hank and me coming to town.”
“Except you brought me,” she said. “That makes you complicit.”
“How do you figure?” Hank asked, his voice as level as his gaze.
“Because they’ve already determined that I have no sense. You’re supposed to watch over me.”
“If they’re looking for someone responsible to keep an eye on you, they’re barking up the wrong tree.” Hank nodded toward Amos. “I say they get what they deserve.”
Easy for Hank to say. Granny Laura was only his aunt and not likely to tan his hide.
Amid a debate over who should pony up for the ices, Hank and Amos got distracted by a weak bleating from behind the store.
“What do you reckon that’s Wheeler’s two-headed lamb?” Amos grinned so big that his dimples drilled into his cheeks. “I heard he was bringing it to town.”
Even Hank seemed to light up. “Now that would be something to see,” he allowed. “Let’s go.” He followed Amos around the outside of the drugstore.
“Hurry,” Maisie called. “If we’re gone too long, the folks are going to suspicion us.”
She had seen enough carnival acts that she was hard to impress. The pity she felt for the animals wasn’t worth the curiosity. Besides, she’d been hankering for a fancy treat ever since she’d gotten a pass to town. She’d contemplated how odd it was that a drink on the inside could feel as good as jumping into a spring did on the outside. She’d mulled over the merits of an ice drink versus a phosphate, but here she was, and nothing stood between her and this delight.
Except Silas Marsh.
As she entered the store, she saw him standing in front of a shelf filled with personal goods, no doubt buying more of that hair elixir that smelled like fresh lavender and potential.
“Is that you, Maisie Kentworth?” He sauntered across the drugstore while Maisie’s stomach tried to push its contents back up her throat.
“What are you doing on this side of town?” Maisie growled. “You ain’t supposed to come this way.”
“I’ve made it a habit of mine. When I have a spare afternoon, I wander over here, hoping to see you. Looks like today my efforts were finally rewarded.” He swept off his hat and ruffled his hair.
Maisie remembered ruffling that hair herself. That was before she knew.
“I’ve already said everything I have to say to you. If you’re looking for soft words from me—”
“I’m not looking for anything from you besides reassurance. When we parted, you were displeased with me, and I understand why, but you were also discouraged and hurt. Knowing that I hurt you has weighed heavily on my conscience.”
“As heavily as your illegitimate children?” Just saying the words made Maisie’s gut twist. How could she have cared about him?
“I heard that your family blamed you—that they won’t let you out of their sight—and that isn’t fair. You’re a smart woman, Maisie-girl. You shouldn’t be treated like a child. You deserve freedom.”
He was an uncommonly handsome man, full of confidence and charm. The fine creases around his mouth used to hold traces of black dust at the end of his workday. Maisie could never get him to stop smiling long enough to wipe them clean.
“I’m fine. Don’t be troubled on my account.” She cast a glance at the mercantile door, unsure what Amos and Hank would do if they saw Silas, but pretty sure it wouldn’t benefit her.
“What troubles you, troubles me.” He stepped closer. “I wish you’d let me explain to your family. Who are they to judge you? You’re a good person.”
Was she? She sure hadn’t acted like it of late. All her sense had flown out the window when Silas came around. Thank the Lord she had a second chance. It was up to her never to get hornswoggled again.
“If you want to help me, then keep your distance.” She stepped sideways, putting a barrel of brooms between them. “You’re going to bring me nothing but trouble.”
“I don’t want to cause you trouble. I only want happiness for you—our happiness. There’s nothing wrong with being happy, is there?”
“I’m not happy right now, Silas Marsh. Not one bit. Whatever this feeling is, it is not happiness.”
His face crumpled into a sympathetic pout. “What can I do for you, darling? What will make you happy?”
“Cricket’s wings! I told you: leave me alone.” So adamant was she that she didn’t notice the figures in the doorway until it was too late.
“What are you doing here?” Amos growled. “I thought we’d got rid of you.”
“I’m having a conversation with your sister. It doesn’t concern you.” Silas spread his stance when he should’ve been cowering.
Maisie started for the door. “Let’s go home.”
But Amos was having none of it. That dangerous glint to his eyes was setting in. “Seeing how she’s my sister, it sure as shootin’ concerns me.”
Poor Silas. He was keeping his eyes on Amos. He hadn’t even noticed Hank working his way around the shop to get in his blind spot. Maisie shot Hank a silent warning. He waved her off and moved closer.
“I told you if you came within spitting distance of any of my kin, there’d be trouble,” Amos said.
Mr. Daniel stepped out from behind the counter. “I don’t want any trouble from you Kentworths.” He marched between Amos and Silas and drew a pickax out of the barrel. “Whatever you’ve a mind to do, don’t do it here in my store.”
Amos reached into a bushel basket near the door and removed an orange. He squared up, blocking the door and any chance Silas had of escaping. “This coward can leave first.” After tossing the orange and catching it, he perched it on his shoulder. “Just make sure you don’t knock this off my shoulder.”
For crying aloud, that orange was no better balanced than a tipsy field hand who’d just gotten off a barn swing.
Silas straightened, not one to back down from a fight. He turned to Maisie and, with a slight bow, dropped his hat on his head, then began whistling a tune as he tried to get past Amos.
Maisie held her breath. The orange rocked. Amos stared at Silas, waiting for the signal. Silas stepped around him and had nearly cleared the danger when a mighty crash sounded. It was Hank. With pot lids in both hands, he crashed them together like God’s own thunder.
Amos flinched. The orange tottered. Silas paused and watched as it tumbled off Amos’s shoulder.
“That’s not fair, Amos,” Maisie started, but it was too late.
Amos drew back and swung at Silas. Silas, quick as a flea, jumped to the side and swiped a tin labeled Camphorated Dentifrice. While Amos was readjusting his swing, Silas opened the tooth powder and flung it in Amos’s face.
Amos roared from inside the white cloud of tooth powder, making Maisie think that the peppermint flavor wasn’t as refreshing in the eyes as on the teeth.
“Get!” she yelled at Silas, but before he could skedaddle out the door, Hank caught him by the collar, jerking him back to crash into a stack of ebony-black coach paint cans.
Maisie covered her ears at the cacophony as Silas tried to squirm his way out of Hank’s grasp.
“Get out of this store!” Mr. Daniel yelled. He brandished the pickax but didn’t seem eager to join the fray. If he wasn’t going to intervene, then Maisie would have to.
“Stop it!” she yelled. “Stop it, right now!” But they weren’t paying her any mind. She spotted a painted panel propped against the door. With a grunt, she lifted it above her head and smashed the Teeth Carefully Extracted sign against Hank’s back.
“You’d do that to your own kin?” Amos looked afright covered in white dental powder.
“When my kin are making fools of themselves.”
“Traitor!” he yelled, then made a dive toward Silas.
Silas dodged and chucked a can of paint at Amos. It bounced off his shoulder before thudding against the floor.
“Woo-hoo!” Hank’s mouth twitched. “Now we’re in the thick of it.” He swiped a ceramic jar off the countertop and hefted it to his shoulder.
“No!” Maisie and Mr. Daniel chorused, but it was too late. Hank chucked the crockery at Silas. Silas ducked, and the jar flew past him, toothbrushes slinging in its wake, and hit the wall of medicinal spirits opposite.