Waiting for Spring

by Amanda Cabot

  “I thought you’d given up that idea.” Gwen stuck her needle into the fabric and looked up, frowning. “Honestly, Charlotte, I think you’re mistaken. Why would you want to spend your life teaching other people’s children when you could have a life with Barrett? He’d take care of you and David. You could even have other children. Don’t you see? It would be perfect.”

  Perfect appeared to be Gwen’s favorite word today. The problem was, her idea of perfect was different from Charlotte’s. “The school is important.”

  “It is,” Gwen agreed, “but you don’t have to be the teacher. If you married Barrett, you could use some of his money to hire someone. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

  It wasn’t the first time Charlotte had heard that advice. “That’s what Abigail and Elizabeth said.” Her sisters had not been enthusiastic about her plan for a school. Part of the reason, Charlotte suspected, was that they had been hurt that she hadn’t confided the truth of David’s blindness sooner, and that feeling of hurt colored everything else.

  “You should listen to us,” Gwen said, a smug smile on her face. “We can’t all be wrong.”

  But they were. Establishing the school was what God wanted her to do. Charlotte was certain of that.

  Charlotte was helping a customer the next day when Barrett entered the shop. Though he said nothing beyond a brief greeting, the slump of his shoulders told Charlotte his trip had been discouraging.

  As soon as the customer left, she turned to Barrett. “Welcome back,” she said, infusing her voice with as much enthusiasm as she could. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “You won’t be when you hear what I have to say.” Barrett refused the chair she offered, and so Charlotte remained standing rather than have to crane her neck to look at him.

  “What I learned at the fort is that the baron is even more dangerous than you feared,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “I know the school is important to you, but I’d advise waiting until we’ve found him.”

  Barrett swallowed, and Charlotte realized there was much he wasn’t telling her. Though anger mingled with regret that he felt the need to shelter her from unpleasant news, Charlotte said nothing. After all, Barrett was only trying to help her. He would probably argue that it was caring, not coddling. Perhaps he was right and she was being overly sensitive.

  “I don’t want to wait,” she said quietly.

  “I know that, but if the baron learns that you’re Jeffrey’s widow, there’s no telling what he might do. As you said, he’s an evil man. I’m afraid you might be putting not just David but Nancy and the other children at risk.”

  Barrett had raised the one argument that would make Charlotte stop. Slowly, she nodded. Her dream would have to be postponed.

  21

  She was falling behind. Though her ragged breathing told him she was running as quickly as she could, there was no way she could win the race. Even if she were not burdened by the child she carried, even if she did not catch her foot in one of the holes that pocked the prairie, even if the blazing summer sun did not sap her energy, her legs were no match for the man’s. The man who pursued her had everything on his side: size, strength, and, most of all, the knife. Its silver blade gleamed in the sunshine, a wicked glint that matched the evil twist of his lips. While the woman was clad in only a thin nightdress, the man was dressed for the elements, leather chaps protecting his legs from the spiky leaves of the yucca and the thorns of the tumbleweeds. He was prepared. She was not.

  The woman glanced behind her, and the fear he saw on her face stabbed at Barrett. She was right to fear her pursuer, for his intent was all too obvious. The man would kill her and leave her body and that of her child for the buzzards. He would laugh as he laughed now, untroubled by the death of two innocent souls. Charlotte’s pursuer was evil incarnate, afraid to show his face in the sunlight. This was the masked man she feared. This was the baron. And somehow he had found her.

  Barrett stared at the man, wondering who hid behind the ugly mask. More like a hood than an ordinary mask, it covered his head and face, leaving only his lips and eyes visible. Black as night, the disguise was the most ominous thing Barrett had ever seen, for he knew what was behind it: a man without a conscience, a man who planned to kill the woman Barrett loved.

  “Stop!” Barrett shouted as he lunged toward the man. He had no knife, no weapon other than his hands, but somehow he would stop him. If it was the last thing he did, he would keep the baron from killing Charlotte and David. But though he ran faster than ever before, he could not reach the man. For each step he took, the baron took two.

  “Stop!”

  The man turned, his lips twisting into a sneer as he laughed. A second later, he grabbed Charlotte’s arm, wrenching it backward. She stumbled and started to fall, and as she did, the man raised the knife, plunging it downward.

  “No!”

  Barrett wakened, his heart pounding, his body drenched with sweat. Springing out of bed, he stopped when the cold from the floor penetrated the soles of his feet. It had been a dream. Nothing but a dream. It was winter in Cheyenne, not summer on the prairie. Charlotte and David were safe. Or were they? Perhaps the dream was a premonition, a warning like the ones the Bible recounted. Ma had told him that the Lord used dreams to prepare people. Barrett shuddered, wondering if anyone could be prepared for the evil he’d seen shining from the baron’s eyes. Only God could defeat that evil.

  Keep them safe, Barrett prayed as he slid his feet into slippers and wrapped a robe around him. Keep Charlotte and David safe. Sleep was gone. Though the nightmare had destroyed any hopes of peaceful rest, it had strengthened Barrett’s resolve. If the dream was a warning, he would not ignore it, any more than he had ignored Charlotte’s fears the night he’d discovered her fleeing from a masked man. Somehow, some way, he would keep her and David safe, for nothing was more important than that. Charlotte’s dream of a school might not come true; he might not be able to give her the financially secure future she deserved, but he could offer her protection . . . and love.

  Barrett smiled as the word echoed through his mind, and he found himself wondering whether this was how Camden had felt when he asked Susan to marry him. It couldn’t be. No one else could have experienced this wonderful warm feeling, the sense that he had found the one woman in the world who was meant for him. Others might have similar experiences, but they weren’t the same. Just as Charlotte was one of a kind, what Barrett felt for her was unique.

  Even when he’d tried to convince himself that Miriam was the wife he needed, he’d never experienced anything close to the feelings that surged through him now. It was as if every fiber of his body had become sensitized, heightening every thought of Charlotte. Picturing her smile, remembering the softness of her skin, recalling the delicate trill of her laughter filled Barrett with an almost inexpressible joy. At the same time, the prospect of anyone harming her sent anger and a fierce determination to keep her safe surging through him.

  There was no doubt about it. He loved Charlotte. He loved her, and he wanted to protect her and David.

  Barrett wanted—oh, how he wanted—to ask Charlotte to marry him today. But that wouldn’t be fair to her. He could not forget the day Ma had lined her three boys in a row in front of her and had given them lessons on marriage. Ladies, she had informed them, deserved to be wooed. A man shouldn’t assume that the woman he favored loved him and that just because he could buy her a house and a carriage meant that she would agree to marry him. A man shouldn’t simply ask a woman to be his wife. She needed to be courted first.

  Barrett grinned as he switched on the lights. Charlotte would have her courtship. Oh, it might not be quite what Ma had envisioned—after all, Ma’s advice hadn’t included the etiquette for wooing a widow with a child—but by the time he was done, Charlotte would know that he loved her. And if he was very, very lucky, she would agree to become his wife. But first he had to start.

  As he drew back the drapes and looked outsid
e, Barrett’s grin widened. Fresh snow. Perfect.

  “I’m glad to see you have no customers this morning,” he said as he entered Élan a few hours later. Wyoming snow was fickle. Even on a frigid day, the sun could be bright enough to melt it. That was why he’d come to the shop earlier than normal.

  Charlotte wrinkled her nose. Had he ever noticed how attractive she was when she did that? He must have, but this morning she seemed more beautiful than ever.

  “You may be happy, but I’m not,” she said with a quick gesture at the rack of partially sewn dresses. “I don’t know how I’ll finish these. Molly’s sick and Gwen has a blister on her finger. That leaves just me.” She wrinkled her nose again. “I need to get back to work.”

  “You also need to play. Both you and David.”

  “We do play,” she countered, her fingers plying the needle and thread with the expertise that came from years of practice. “Just because David won’t bowl without you doesn’t mean we don’t play.”

  “But you don’t play the way I intend. Now, won’t you close the store and dress yourself and David in warm clothes? We’re going for a ride.”

  Though he saw the curiosity in her eyes, she shook her head. “I can’t, Barrett.”

  “Yes, you can. C’mon, Charlotte. This could be the last snow of the season. You wouldn’t want to deprive David of a new experience, would you?”

  As he’d known she would, she took the bait. While Charlotte would never play hooky for herself, she would do almost anything for her son.

  “Hurry. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Sooner than he’d expected, she descended the steps, David in her arms. Both were so warmly dressed that they appeared to have gained a substantial amount of weight. It was almost as if she knew what he had planned, for the extra clothing would provide padding as well as warmth.

  “Hello, David,” Barrett said, taking him from Charlotte so she could climb into the wagon that he’d parked in front of her shop.

  “Bowl!” A grin wreathed the child’s face.

  “Not today. We’re going to do something that’s even more fun.”

  As Charlotte settled David on the bench between herself and Barrett, she raised an eyebrow. “That’s an ambitious claim. I’m not sure there’s anything David enjoys more than bowling.”

  “Wait and see.” Though she was normally curious, it appeared that Charlotte had not noticed the blanket-covered object in the back of the wagon. That was good. Excellent, in fact, for it meant that their destination could remain a surprise.

  As they headed north on Ferguson, Charlotte laid a hand on Barrett’s sleeve. “Where are we going?”

  Though he would do nothing to discourage her touch, he couldn’t help smiling at the eagerness he heard in her voice. “Who’s the child, you or David?” he asked softly. David was bouncing up and down on the seat, crooning to himself. “It seems to me you’re as excited as he is.”

  “I am,” Charlotte admitted. “It’s rare for me to go outside the city.”

  When they reached the city limits, Ferguson turned from a street lined with houses and shops into an open road with few buildings in sight. A few minutes later, Barrett turned east, heading toward the snow-covered hill that was their destination. As he had hoped, though the sun was bright, it had yet to melt the snow. Instead, its brilliance made the tiny crystals sparkle more than the diamonds he’d seen in Mr. Mullen’s store.

  “It almost hurts my eyes,” Charlotte said, shielding hers with a hand.

  “I know, but it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Cheyenne’s snow is special. We had more snow in Vermont, and it was different. Softer.”

  “Plus, it probably fell straight down, not sideways.”

  Charlotte laughed. “That’s true. My sisters didn’t believe me when I told them about sideways snow.”

  “You miss them, don’t you?”

  She nodded, and though her smile did not fade, Barrett caught a glimpse of wistfulness in her eyes. “Sometimes I miss being a child. Things seemed simpler then. On a day like this, the three of us would have gone sledding.”

  Barrett fought the grin that threatened to split his face. Keeping his voice as neutral as he could, he asked, “Have you ever taken David sledding?”

  “No.” Something in his voice must have alerted her, for Charlotte turned to look at the wagon bed where he’d stowed the sled. “Is that what we’re going to do?”

  There was no reason to lie. “Yes. What do you think of the idea?”

  The wistfulness was gone. Now Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with happiness. “I think it’s marvelous.” She laid her hand on David’s head and turned his face toward her. “David, we’re going to have so much fun today.”

  And they did. Barrett positioned himself at the rear of the sled, placing Charlotte in front of him, David in her arms. With his legs stretched out on either side, he was able to steer the sled with his feet while he kept his arms around Charlotte. There was only one problem: he couldn’t see her face or David’s as they sped down the hill. But he could hear David’s shrieks of delight and Charlotte’s soft laughter.

  “I thought he might have been frightened,” Barrett said when they reached the bottom. It would be a long climb back up the hill, but that was the price for the seconds of excitement.

  Charlotte’s grin told him she’d enjoyed the ride as much as her son. “There’s no reason for him to be scared when we’re with him. He knows we’ll keep him safe.”

  Barrett felt as if his buttons would burst. She had said “we.” Twice. It was a simple pronoun, a mere two letters, and yet it warmed his heart more than the brilliant sunshine. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking, but it seemed as if Charlotte had begun to think of them as a couple. Perhaps she did not need a long courtship. That would be wonderful.

  “I had an ulterior motive for asking you both to come.”

  Warren raised an eyebrow when Barrett made the announcement. He had waited until the serving dishes had been placed on the table and the butler had left, as if to ensure there would be no interruptions. Warren had been surprised by the timing of the invitation, since Richard was Barrett’s other guest. While the newlyweds were waiting until summer to take a wedding trip, they had remained practically sequestered in Richard’s town house, and when they’d emerged, it had always been together. Until today.

  Warren looked at Barrett. As was normally the case when they dined at the Landry mansion, their host was seated at the head of the table, with Richard on one side of him, Warren on the other. It was a matter of amusement for Warren that one time he would be seated on the right, the next on the left. Barrett Landry was a man of scruples, even to the point of avoiding a hint of favoritism among his friends. What would he think if he knew of Warren’s scruples, or—more precisely—the lack thereof? Fortunately, that subject would never be addressed.

  Richard feigned shock as he helped himself to a serving of roast beef. “I thought you invited us so we could enjoy another of Mrs. Melnor’s fine meals. You’d better be careful, Barrett,” he said playfully. “Miriam wants me to hire her away from you. She says no one does a roast as well as your cook.”

  Barrett nodded. “Miriam’s correct. Mrs. Melnor is a gem, but that’s not what I want to discuss.”

  When it was evident that Richard was more interested in the beef and potatoes or perhaps thoughts of his bride than Barrett’s motives, Warren spoke. “So, why did you summon us?”

  The way Barrett’s face clouded told Warren this was no trivial matter. He only hoped Barrett wasn’t going to announce that he was leaving Cheyenne. He’d been counting on Barrett’s support when his application for membership in the Cheyenne Club was reviewed.

  Barrett’s lips tightened as he said, “I heard a rumor that there’s someone in Cheyenne who calls himself the baron. I wondered if either of you knew anything about him.”

  Thank goodness he was eating. Warren took another bite of meat to give himself the excuse of a
full mouth, then busied himself with buttering a slice of bread. He dared not look at Barrett for fear that his expression might reveal his shock. No one important was supposed to know about the baron. Oh, it was true that the girls at Sylvia’s knew him by that name, but that was by design. Surely Barrett hadn’t gone to Sylvia’s. Not straitlaced Barrett. So how had he heard the name?

  Richard looked up from his plate, his face showing only a modicum of interest. “The baron? I haven’t heard of anyone with that name. He could be a newcomer.”

  Barrett shook his head. “Not from the stories I heard. This man’s been here for a few years.” He turned toward Warren, pointing his fork at him. “What about you, Warren? You know more people than I do. Has anyone mentioned him to you?”

  Warren almost laughed. The way the question was phrased, he didn’t have to lie. Perjury didn’t bother him under special circumstances, and this was certainly one of those, but he tried to avoid lies—and self-incrimination—whenever he could. “I’m afraid not.” He forced a light tone to his voice. “While I’d like to claim that my clientele is the most exclusive in the city, it doesn’t include any barons.”

  Barrett’s frown deepened. “Despite the moniker, it doesn’t sound as if this baron is someone we’d meet at the club. He frequents one of the seedier brothels on 15th Street, and he has a reputation for being rough on the women.”

  Whoever they were, Barrett’s sources were good. There had to be a way to deflect his interest. “Don’t be so prudish, Barrett. I suspect a number of the Cheyenne Club’s members employ the services of prostitutes.”

  “Perhaps.” Barrett helped himself to a serving of green beans. “Whether he visits whorehouses is not what concerns me. I want to meet this man.”