by Regina Scott
Lily stayed in the coach with Oscar, their coachman, but Cora went inside with Winston and their guide. She was a little disappointed to find Dickson Brothers to be arranged like a typical store, with white-lettered signs hanging on gold chains from the high ceilings, pointing the way to various departments. Hosiery. Shoes. Haberdashery. Cologne. Cologne? She sniffed the air. The stores where she shopped generally smelled of exotic flowers or warm vanilla. Here the air was scented with leather and spices and the faint aroma of pipe smoke.
She spotted a few gentlemen being attended on either side of the main aisle, which led toward wide stairs to the upper floors. Hardee made for a glass-fronted counter in the center of the space, where a fresh-faced clerk with pomaded auburn hair put on a beaming smile.
“Welcome to Dickson Brothers,” he declared. “How may I be of assistance?”
Cora set her list on the counter in front of him. “We are outfitting an expedition to climb Mount Rainier. I’ve been assured Dickson Brothers is the place to shop.”
He looked from her to Hardee to Winston, as if trying to determine which to thank for the honor. “Happy to be of assistance. Are both you gentlemen climbing?”
“And the lady,” Hardee said, his deep voice booming in the quiet store.
Half a dozen eyes darted her way.
“In the name of women’s suffrage,” Cora said, loud enough to carry.
The clerk’s reddish brows shot up, but he quickly schooled his face. “How nice. Well, you’ll find all you need here. Climbing shoes, woolen blankets, blue eyeglasses.”
“Blue eyeglasses?” Cora glanced to their guide.
He nodded. “They protect your eyes from the glare of sunlight on snowfields. Men have gone blind for a time without them.”
“Two pair then,” she told the clerk. “Unless Mr. Hardee needs one.”
“I have everything I need,” he said.
Somehow, she wasn’t surprised.
The clerk seemed more than happy to dash all over the store and collect the items Cora had listed. Or perhaps he feared she’d say more about suffrage to the other customers. Either way, the pile on the counter began to grow. Rubberized Army blankets, guaranteed not to rot or soak up rain. Thick woolen socks to ward off blisters. A cotton outing shirt for Winston. A brass-cased compass for her. And oversized canvas packs for them to carry it all in.
Hardee wandered off from time to time to return with other items she hadn’t realized she’d need. One was a small steel trowel.
“I did not think to take geological specimens,” she told him.
The clerk, who was tallying up their goods so far, began turning red.
“It’s for burying waste,” Hardee explained. That gleam in his eye challenged her to make a fuss. Her mother would have. His mother probably would have.
“And what about a canteen?” she asked the clerk instead.
Shoes proved to be the most difficult. Their clerk could only point her to the shoe department, where more men in tailored wool coats stood before a wall of small boxes set on polished wood shelves that reached to the ceiling. Every few feet, a hook held black laces, hanging in bunches like fresh-caught fish. The scent of leather was overpowering.
When Hardee explained their purpose, one of the clerks hurried to find shoes for Winston, offering two styles to consider, both thick leather with heavy soles in which metal caulks could be embedded. The other fellow studied Cora’s laced-up gray tooled-leather boots for some time before climbing a ladder and bringing her a pair of brown shoes.
“Smallest pair I have, ma’am,” he said with an apologetic smile, “and secondhand at that, outgrown by a lad whose father climbed on occasion.”
Hardee nodded toward one of the wrought-iron benches that sat opposite the mountain of shoeboxes. “Let’s try them on. Too tight or too loose, and they could do more harm than good.”
Cora went to sit and began loosening her laces. He brought her the climbing shoes and waited patiently as her stocking feet came free. Then he knelt in front of her.
Cora sucked in a breath as his hands cradled her foot, guiding it into the shoe. Who else had ever touched her feet? Even Lily merely held the shoes or boots and let Cora slide her feet inside. This touch was too intimate, too tender. She wanted to yank back her foot and push him away.
She bent. “I can handle this, sir.”
He remained kneeling, watching, as she tried on the other shoe and then set about lacing them up. If he noticed her hands were shaking, he didn’t comment.
“Stand,” he ordered as she finished, and she was on her feet before she could think better of it. The shoes felt heavy and stiff, quite unlike the kid leather and satin she was used to wearing.
But she realized why he had remained on his knees. He poked here and prodded there, before having her walk from one side of the department to the other. A number of gentlemen seemed to have decided to purchase shoes today, for the long, narrow department was filling, and all gazes were on her. She kept her head high, her steps firm. As she came by a group, someone whistled.
“Gentlemen, please,” one of the clerks begged.
“I hope you show this kind of support for women voting,” Cora said.
Hardee stood and sent them a look, and they all found other ways to occupy their time.
“No pinch?” he asked as she returned to the bench.
“No,” she said, sitting. “At least, no more than my other shoes.”
He regarded her as she began removing the shoes. Odd that she was so breathless. Perhaps yesterday’s climb was still affecting her.
“You don’t need to climb a mountain in your other shoes,” he pointed out.
“But I do need to play lawn tennis for hours and dance all night at a ball,” she replied, lacing up her boots. “I haven’t blistered yet.”
“Well,” he allowed, “I suppose that’s something.”
At last, he agreed they had all they needed. They returned to the front counter, and Cora opened her purse to pay. Their auburn-haired clerk once again looked from her to Winston, then slid the bill his direction.
Cora put a finger on it and pulled it closer to her. Glancing down, she frowned. “This can’t be right.”
He chuckled. “I know. It’s a lot of money, but such things don’t come cheap.”
“I didn’t imagine they did,” Cora informed him. “But you stated the price before including them in the pile. I know the total. What you quoted is high by nearly five dollars.”
He stood taller, face reddening again. “Now, see here. I added it up myself.” He shoved the paper at Winston once more.
Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw Hardee fold his arms over his broad chest. Cora kept her gaze on the clerk as her stepfather added the sums. Sweat trickled down from his pomaded hair, shiny in the electric lights of the store.
“I’m afraid she’s right, young man,” Winston said, thick finger pointing to the tally. “See here? You must have added her climbing shoes twice.”
He snatched back the bill and scanned it again. “Easy thing to claim. I hear you own a bank and all.”
“Yes, well, that does predispose me to add correctly,” her stepfather allowed with a friendly smile.
“Fine. If you’re wrong, it will come out of my pocket, but I’m sure five dollars is nothing to you.”
“Five dollars isn’t nothing to anyone these days,” Hardee said, deep voice like distant thunder. “I suggest you apologize to Miss Baxter and Mr. Winston, or they may find another store that would appreciate their business.”
The clerk’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes, sir. My apologies, miss, Mr. Winston. I should have checked my sums.”
Cora drew out the necessary funds. “Thank you for your assistance. We’ll take the lot now, in the packs, if you please.”
She turned to their guide to see that half-smile on his lips again. “I believe we intend to practice, sir. Shall we?”
Nathan waited partway up the Eleventh S
treet hill as Miss Baxter and her stepfather climbed to the top. With the pack on her back, all he could see of the lady was the sway of her skirts, and he tried not to watch overly much.
Still, he couldn’t help remembering how she’d dealt with the clerks at Dickson Brothers. The queen couldn’t have been more commanding. And she was clever. He wasn’t sure why that surprised him. She’d graduated college, after all. Then again, she wouldn’t be the first to manage impressive feats more on her family’s connections than her own talent.
They reached the top and started back toward him. Her posture was off. No doubt she’d leaned forward going up to compensate for the pack. She couldn’t do that coming down without oversetting herself.
Of course, posture was relatively easy to correct. A shift of the pack contents, practice keeping shoulders over hips. He was more concerned about the older man. Winston’s pace was slowing even downhill. The banker drew abreast of Nathan, and he held out his hand to stop them. “A moment, sir. I may have put the wrong contents in your pack.” He eased it off the older man’s frame, which trembled from his efforts.
Nathan slipped the pack onto his own shoulders. “Only right I carry it the rest of the way.”
“Thank you,” Winston acknowledged before starting down again.
Miss Baxter paused a moment. “I very much doubt you make mistakes like that, Mr. Hardee. So, I add my thanks as well.” She continued down the hill.
Easy to thank him now, but he couldn’t carry the man’s pack on the mountain any more than he could carry hers. His thoughts chased him to the bottom.
“Miss Baxter,” he said as Winston stood by the carriage, chest heaving and face sweating, “look through these packs. See if there’s anything you can live without or if there’s a way to better balance the load either between them or within them.”
She raised finely arched brows as if surprised he’d entrust such a task to her, then bent over the packs at her feet.
Nathan drew the banker closer to the coach.
“I realize this is an unusual amount of effort,” he said, “but if you intend to climb Rainier, you’ll be enduring this sort of thing for the better part of three days. More if the weather turns on us. Your health concerns me, sir. Perhaps you should wait at Longmire’s.”
The banker eyed him a moment, blue eyes bright in a face sagging with weariness. Then he shook his head. “I can’t,” he confessed. “Cora must have a chaperone.”
Nathan knew society’s rules. A lady couldn’t be alone with a gentleman without a member of her family or an older woman chaperone present. Mrs. Winston was hardly climbing a mountain. And he doubted he could find another woman who could be ready to accomplish it on such short notice.
“Be that as it may,” he said, “I don’t know if you can reach the top.”
Winston raised his head. “I must. I told you, I will not allow Coraline to be forced into marriage.”
Nathan glanced to where Cora was digging through the backpacks. Her pale hair was beginning to slip from her pins, forming a silvery mass about her face. “And you simply can’t put your foot down with your wife?”
“I believe you have met Mrs. Winston,” he said. “She is not an easy woman to dissuade. Her unswerving determination is one of the qualities that drew me to her. I inherited my fortune, you see, and I’m not the sort of fellow to dine on ambition. I never thought to marry until Mrs. Winston showed interest. I knew immediately she would push me to new heights, and she has, while I provide her the security she desires. She believes a husband will provide Coraline with the same security.”
The day felt colder, as if the alpine wind blew down from the mountain even now. “I wouldn’t want to trust my daughter’s future to Cash Kincaid.”
The banker’s gaze kindled. “Then we understand each other. Cora must climb to secure her freedom. She needs our help. I am counting on you to see us safely to the top and back again. I don’t expect you to disappoint us.”
7
She’d done it. If she had somehow doubted, her neck and back would have reminded her she’d just carried a pack, thirty pounds by Hardee’s estimation, up to the top of the Eleventh Street hill and back down again. Surprisingly, descending had been as difficult as climbing, but surely the pack would be a little lighter on the mountain. They would have eaten some of the food when they started down, after all.
Their guide didn’t seem as thrilled by the accomplishment. As they rode home in the carriage, he kept studying Winston, head cocked and green eyes narrowed, as they discussed her stepfather’s climbing apparel. She could imagine Hardee’s thoughts. It took the entire trip back to the house for her stepfather’s face to return to its usual color. Hardee had wondered whether she had what it took to climb a mountain. He must be wondering the same about Winston.
“What are our next steps, Mr. Hardee?” she asked as the carriage approached the house.
Before he could answer, Winston nodded toward the drive. “Our discussion may have to wait, dearest. It seems Mr. Kincaid has come to call.”
Now she could see the other carriage waiting on the drive, sides a lacquered green. How hard his coachman must work to keep the brass appointments gleaming despite the rain and mud.
“If you wish to clean up first, Coraline,” Winston said as the coach came to a stop, “I will make your excuses.”
“And I’ll excuse myself now,” Hardee said as he opened the door and hopped down. “To answer your question, Miss Baxter, we’ll finish packing and go over the route tomorrow. Plan to leave midmorning the day after.”
Air rushed into her lungs. He’d agreed. She was ready. She wanted to sing, to shout. She settled for a ladylike nod that would have pleased her mother. “Excellent. But by all means, stay a moment, Mr. Hardee. I’d like Mother to hear the news. And you can better answer any questions she might have.”
As Winston handed her down, their guide hesitated. Why? Surely not vanity over how he was dressed. He hadn’t seemed concerned about the picture he presented before, even at the theatre.
“Come along, my boy,” Winston said, trotting past him.
Hardee waited only a moment more before joining Cora in following.
Her mother was entertaining their visitor. In the formal parlor, of course. The silver tea service glinted on one of the walnut side tables, and an assortment of little cakes sat on the violet-patterned bone china her mother had had imported from England.
Cash Kincaid rose as Cora entered, ever the gentleman in his buff tailored coat and heather plaid trousers.
“Miss Baxter,” he said, inclining his head. “I was hoping if I imposed on your mother’s excellent hospitality long enough, you’d return.”
“Hosting you is never an imposition, Mr. Kincaid,” her mother assured him with her most charming smile. “And see how eager Coraline is for your company? She didn’t take time to change after her walk.”
By the dampness under her arms and down her back, her exertions were likely evident. She’d hear about it later from her mother.
“I fear I didn’t change either,” Winston put in smoothly. “But allow me to introduce you to the son of an old friend of mine—Mr. Nathan Hardee.”
Something flickered behind Kincaid’s icy blue eyes, but his smile remained. “Hardee.”
“Kincaid.”
The single word was as sharp as a rifle shot. Cora glanced at their guide with a frown, but his gaze was on her mother’s guest, as if he didn’t trust what would happen if he looked away.
Kincaid turned to Cora. “Please, my dear. No need to remain standing. You look tired.”
“I don’t feel the least bit fatigued,” Cora said, strolling over to the windows though her legs balked. “Mother, Mr. Hardee assures me I am ready to climb the mountain. We set out the day after tomorrow.”
She thought her mother might protest, even with their visitor watching, but Kincaid spoke first. “I cannot say I’m surprised you’d attempt the climb; however, I am surprised by your choice of
guide. The Hardee family is not known for its . . . reliability.”
“If you expect me to stand here and pretend to be part of the wall like the maid, you better think again,” Hardee said. “I’ve guided more than a dozen parties up the mountain in the last few years. Not one was lost.”
Kincaid chuckled. “Oh, that’s the measure of success, is it? No one died. I suppose that’s something.”
“It is something to me,” her mother put in. “I would very much like dear Coraline to return unscathed.” Now she eyed Hardee as if doubting him.
Kincaid stepped between Cora and the window. “My most fervent hope as well.” He took her hand. “You must know you have no need to climb the mountain to impress me. One word from you, and I would make you my bride tomorrow. Today, if your mother would allow it.”
“Don’t be silly, Mr. Kincaid,” her mother said with an airy laugh. “I’d need at least a month to plan a proper wedding.”
Cora pulled away from him. “No need to trouble yourself, Mother. I won’t be marrying Mr. Kincaid.”
“Never say never, my dear,” he teased her. “But if you are determined to climb, allow me to find you a guide who won’t abandon you when things become difficult.”
Hardee took a step closer, and heat radiated off him, as if Kincaid’s words had kindled a fire in his chest.
“I grow weary of hearing you denigrate Mr. Hardee,” Cora told the businessowner. “It shows a lack of both prudence and character.”
“Coraline!” her mother scolded. “Really. I don’t know how Mr. Kincaid abides your ungracious behavior. You may leave.”
Was this how Hardee felt when her mother ordered him about? Cora kept her head high as she walked from the room. In the entry hall, she paused to clutch the stair rail. It was firm and unyielding. What would her mother say if she found the power to wrench the thing down and hurl it across the room?
Probably remind her that ladies did not display such a lower-class appreciation of strength.
A smile tugged.
“Miss Baxter.”
Turning, she found Hardee a few steps away. His face had settled into hard lines, but somehow she knew it wasn’t because of anything she’d done.