by Karen Kirst
“All right. I’ll see you at supper time.”
He turned to Grace. “Before I go, I have a request to pass along to you.”
Anticipation buzzed. Was it from Noah?
“Pete Lyle has extended an invitation to the opera house this coming Friday. Noah’s agreed to watch the twins. What would you like me to tell him?”
No. Tell him no.
Consternation made her stumble over her response. “I suppose... I...” The women were watching her with unconcealed expectation. There was no logical reason to refuse. Noah clearly wanted her to go if he was willing to be in charge of her girls for an evening. She sucked in a slow, steadying breath. “Please tell Mr. Lyle that I accept.”
Daniel nodded, his smile gentle as if he were privy to her dilemma. “He will be delighted. I’ll have him come to the ranch at six o’clock sharp.”
“I’ll be ready.” Manners dictated she express her gratitude. “Thank you for orchestrating this for me.”
“We want to help in any way we can.” He turned his gaze on his wife. “Leah, would you join me on the porch for a moment before I go?”
After they’d left, Tomasina adopted a mischievous expression. “I have a feeling this whole finding-you-a-husband mission isn’t going to sit well with Noah.”
Grace frowned. It wasn’t going to sit well with her, either.
* * *
“Momma, you look pretty.” Abigail trailed her fingers along Grace’s bodice’s intricate lace design.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
She had donned one her finest dresses for this outing, partly because it was appropriate for her destination and partly in hopes of making Noah regret casting her aside. Not that a fancy dress would likely accomplish that. Checking that not a single strand had escaped her intricate upswept style, she lifted a necklace from her jewelry box and attempted several times to clasp it. With every movement, the satiny, royal blue folds whispered in the quiet bedroom.
Abigail disappeared, returning moments later with Noah at her side. “Mr. Noah can do it, Momma.”
Stiffening, she met his inscrutable blue gaze in the mirror. The mood had been stilted between them the past few days. He’d spent the bulk of his time at the jail or outside doing chores. The one time she’d attempted to bring up the overheard conversation between him and Daniel, he’d cut her off, insisting he didn’t want to discuss it.
She was ready to throttle him.
Bending his blond head to address the child, he said, “What is it you want me to do, Adelaide?”
Her big brown eyes centered on his, Abigail considered him for long moments. “My name is Abigail Lorraine Lo—”
“Abigail,” Grace hurriedly interrupted her, alarm exploding inside at the near slipup. She bustled past the bed’s footboard to join them in the doorway. “You shouldn’t have bothered the sheriff. The necklace isn’t necessary.”
His gaze sharpened as he scanned her from head to toe. Admiration flickered before he snuffed it out. “Abigail didn’t interrupt me. I was reading the newspaper, is all.” Holding out his palm, he said, “Where’s the necklace?”
Jane’s high-pitched chatter filtered in from the other room where she was playing.
Grace retrieved the thin gold chain with the sapphire pendant and, piling it in his waiting hand, affixed her gaze to the floor. He slowly moved to stand behind her, his solid warmth surrounding her, drawing her to him, as he bent close to lift the two sides over her head. When his fingertips skimmed her nape, tickling her, a shiver worked its way up from her toes. He faltered for the barest second.
She wished she could read his thoughts, discover if he was affected by her as she was him.
What if he hadn’t fought the bridal agreement? What if it were him escorting her tonight instead of a complete stranger?
I’d be proud to be seen with him.
Noah Burgess possessed hard edges, to be sure, but his appeal couldn’t be denied. His obvious strength, the vitality and intelligence that shone in his ocean-blue eyes, the fair hair, tanned skin, bold cheekbones, unyielding jawline... He was gorgeous in a rough-hewn, man-of-the-land way.
“There.” His hands dropped, and he stepped away.
His distance made her ache with loneliness. Before she’d met Noah, her sadness had been a general recognition of what her life lacked. It was worse now. Now her loneliness had a name and face. Noah alone could ease the yearning inside her. A depressing thought.
Wolf’s barking ricocheted through the cabin walls. Noah strode toward the nearest window overlooking the front yard. His lips thinned.
“Lyle’s here.”
Grace entered the main room, pressing her hands flat against her middle. Not a single part of her wanted this. She didn’t exactly have a choice, though, did she? Wasn’t like she could stay here in Noah’s cabin forever. Even if that’s exactly what she longed to do.
She kissed both girls’ cheeks. “Mind the sheriff, girls.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused, hurrying to the other window and peeking out at her gentleman caller.
Last night before bed, she’d explained the situation as best she could, careful not to place blame on Noah. They’d been confused and a little apprehensive about yet another upheaval. It said something about Noah that, even after a short time, they liked him and could envision life on the ranch with him. Asking God for fortitude, she’d tried to be upbeat about the future. She’d tried to mask her own unhappiness.
Lord Jesus, give me wisdom and discernment. I can’t do this without You.
Walking through the open door, she joined Noah on the porch as Pete Lyle descended his wagon and approached with an eager gait. Whipcord lean with windswept black hair, the rancher had a blinding-white grin and gray eyes that seemed very light against his deep golden skin. She guessed him to be in his early thirties. He was an attractive man, but his coloring reminded her of her brother-in-law, and Grace knew that no matter how attentive or how kind he might prove to be, she couldn’t accept his suit.
* * *
“Did you attend the opera in Chicago?”
“I was fortunate to attend many shows. I loved every minute of it.”
In the opera house’s opulent foyer, they waited in line for what Pete assured her were the best chicken-salad sandwiches around, supplied by the Cowboy Café’s cook, Nels Patterson. Conversations hummed in the lengthy space, punctuated by spurts of hearty laughter. Anticipation and good cheer marked the predominately male crowd. Grace could feel the high interest focused on her, and she yearned for Noah’s reassuring presence.
The polite smile she’d managed grew tighter. Reassuring wasn’t a description she would’ve imagined applying to the aloof sheriff when they’d first met. But she’d seen a softer, gentler side of him that few were privy to.
The couple ahead of them moved away, and Pete put a hand low on her back to guide her forward. She gritted her teeth. He’s not Frank. He’s not Frank.
Her brother-in-law was likely in Chicago, fuming over her disappearance and taking his displeasure out on those unfortunate enough to be called his friends. Maybe he’d decide she wasn’t worth the effort. Maybe he’d accept that she didn’t want him.
Her spirits dipped lower. The Frank Longstreet she knew wasn’t a quitter. Once his pride was wounded, he’d go to any lengths to achieve retribution.
Pete paid for their plates. The chicken-salad sandwiches were served with spears of pickled okra and half ears of roasted corn. “Would you mind carrying the lemonades?” he asked.
Taking up the ice-cold jars filled with pale yellow liquid, she followed him outside to where makeshift tables had been set up in the lot beside the building.
They located a spot at the far end of a long table, and Pete bowed his head to say grace. He peppered her with questions throug
hout the meal. She appreciated his interest, but discussing her former life made her nervous. She was relieved when it was time to find their seats.
The theater’s main space was impressive, with high ceilings, cushioned chairs and gleaming wood finishes. Some folks chatted in groups while others picked out their seats. Intricate metal sconces lined the balcony ledge above, casting a soft glow over the attendees.
“Where would you like to sit, Constance?”
Masking her ire—the man acted as if they’d known each other for decades instead of hours—she lifted one shoulder. “You decide.”
They were making their way down the left aisle when she noticed a pair of gorgeous redheads in their path, one being Tomasina Canfield. The other woman was younger, her hair a more muted shade of red and straight as a stick compared to Tomasina’s corkscrew curls. The attractive woman was garbed in a flamboyant style—her white-and-pink dress possessed a bustle large enough to serve dinner on. A bold pink feather rising from her straw hat bobbed inches from her forehead.
It had to be Pippa Neely, the actress her twins hadn’t stopped talking about for days. Jealous thoughts bombarded her. Did Noah think Pippa was beautiful? Had he rejected Grace because he was really interested in the younger woman? Pippa certainly didn’t have the complications Grace came with...an unhappy first marriage, a deceased husband and young children in need of care and guidance. Not to mention an obsessed brother-in-law who’d stop at nothing to have her, only to then discard her like his other conquests.
Tomasina met her eye. “Constance! You look like you’ve stepped from the pages of a French catalog!”
“You’re too kind.” Asking Pete to choose seats for them, she assured him she wouldn’t be but a minute. He looked reluctant to leave her side, but agreed with a nod of his head.
“I’d like for you to meet the woman responsible for tonight’s entertainment. Constance, meet Pippa Neely. Pippa, Constance Miller.”
The actress’s hazel eyes rounded. “You’re the mother of those darling twins. I’m thrilled to finally meet you.” She took Grace’s hand between both of hers. “I’d planned to call on you next week and discuss the possibility of the girls performing. Twins are a rarity in these parts. I can guarantee they will draw crowds. I’m sure even fussy ole D. B. Burrows would deign to write a front-page article about them. Imagine the attention such an act would draw to our humble opera house!”
Grace struggle to maintain her schooled expression. Fame and attention were the last things she wanted... It could lead Frank right to their door.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Oh, no.” Pippa’s face fell, the pink feather swinging to the right as she cocked her head. “That’s unfortunate.”
“I’m extremely protective of my daughters. They are much too young for what you have in mind.”
A tall, distinguished blond man jostled Pippa, forcing her forward a step. He quickly turned to apologize, a twinkle of mischief in his gray eyes. “Please excuse me, Miss Neely.”
His apology didn’t mollify her. Quite the opposite. Her mouth twisted with displeasure. “You did that on purpose, Gideon.”
The thin mustache about his lip twitched as he lifted his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Now, why would I do that?”
“Because.” She planted her hands on her hips. “You delight in irking me, that’s why.”
He make a clucking noise with his tongue. “Don’t be overdramatic, my dear. Save it for the stage.”
She emitted a gasp that garnered the attention of passersby. Pulling herself up, she addressed Grace. “This isn’t the best place to discuss the merits of your girls performing. Would you mind meeting me at the bakery one day next week? My treat.”
Her mind was already made up, but she didn’t want to offend the woman. Cowboy Creek was her permanent home; she had no desire to make enemies. And truly, she missed feminine companionship. “I’d like that.”
“Wonderful. I’ll find you after the show to iron out the details.”
Ignoring the Gideon fellow, she bade Tomasina goodbye and swept toward the stage, disappearing behind a swath of thick maroon curtains.
He thrust his hand at her. “Gideon Kendricks.”
She supplied her name. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Kendricks.”
“Gideon works for the Union Pacific,” Tomasina said. “He’s here temporarily.”
“My time here is short, unfortunately.” His regret struck her as genuine. Did it have anything to do with Pippa?
“Will and Daniel would like it if you decided to stay.” The redhead’s smile included Grace. “Noah, too, I’m sure. He was impressed that you helped with the posse search.”
He shrugged. “I dislike criminals as much as the next guy, I suppose, and aim to see justice prevail.” Edging to the side to allow an older couple to enter the row he blocked, he said, “I’m glad I ran into you, Mrs. Miller. I heard you’re from Chicago. I have a beloved aunt and uncle there who I visit at every opportunity.” He named the same affluent section the Longstreets inhabited. “What part of the city are you from?”
Her mouth went dry. If she mentioned her cousin Constance’s poor neighborhood, her attire and jewels would arouse suspicion and spark questions she couldn’t afford. She’d banked on Will and Daniel’s ignorance of the city and Constance’s vagueness in her letter to avoid this exact dilemma.
What were the odds she’d meet someone familiar with Chicago all the way in Kansas?
There was no avoiding her deception. She was lying to everyone in this town...those trying to help and befriend her, like Noah, Will and Tomasina, Daniel and Leah...and those potential suitors who would offer to marry her.
Dizziness assailed her. Pete’s black head swiveled round as he checked on her. How am I to stand up in front of God and this town and pledge to honor, cherish and obey a man I’m lying to? Another horrible thought hit home. I’ll never be known by my real name. No one will call me Grace again.
“Actually,” she forced through stiff lips, “my family lived in that same neighborhood.”
His brows shot up. “Truly? What a coincidence.” Scraping his chin, he shook his head. “I don’t recall the Miller name. My aunt and uncle, Lydia and Terrence Lowell, are very active socially and politically. Do you know them?”
Her mind raced. Terrence Lowell was a well-known philanthropist, his fortune gleaned from multiple clothing and shoe factories he owned in the city. He and his wife often attended the same functions as the Longstreets. Grace had met him once and thought him an intelligent, gentle man.
She was saved from outright lying when the lights flickered, a signal the show was about to begin. Relief rendered her knees weak. “Excuse me, but I must rejoin Mr. Lyle.”
“Of course.” Gideon didn’t appear to notice anything amiss. “I’m sure we’ll have more opportunity to compare notes about Chicago.”
Grace nodded, unable to form a response, all too aware her escape was a temporary one.
Chapter Thirteen
“And the princess lived in the castle, surrounded by her favorite animal friends, for the rest of her life. The end.”
Noah closed the picture book, careful not to jar the slumbering girl. Abigail had stunned him when she’d brought him the book and, without waiting for his consent, climbed into his lap and rested her head against his chest. More shocking were the fragile, tender feelings worming into his heart. These innocent, precious girls trusted him. He suspected they even liked him.
Jane had bluntly told him she was not pleased they weren’t going to live on the ranch forever. After he’d fed them and wiped their faces free of crumbs and jelly stains, she’d pierced him with those inquisitive eyes and asked why he wouldn’t let them stay. His response—that she was too young to understand—hadn’t mollified her in the slightest. Thankf
ully, she hadn’t pursued the topic.
The question wouldn’t leave him in peace, however. Why couldn’t they stay? What would be so horrible? Truth be told, he’d grown accustomed to their enthusiastic greetings each day when he came home. They’d run up, waving and smiling, happy he’d returned...and whatever burdens he was carrying seemed lighter.
Jane yawned. “That was a nice story. Will you read another one, Mr. Noah?”
He eyed the mantel clock, irritation rising as images of Pete and Constance taunted him. They should’ve been home an hour ago.
“Your sister’s already asleep, as you should be.” Sliding the book onto the table, he gathered the sweet-smelling girl in his arms and stood up. Her head went limp, her dark hair spilling over his arm. “Come on.”
He was about to enter the bedroom when Wolf, who’d been dozing near the fireplace, sat up and strained his ears. The door creaked open, and Constance entered in her regal, bell-shaped dress, her features tight and pinched. Not the expression of a love-struck woman. To Noah’s shame, satisfaction slid through his chest.
Her honey-hued eyes landed on him, taking in the scene. Marching straight for him, she said, “I’ll take her.”
He motioned with his head. “The bed’s right there. I can get her settled.”
“She’s my daughter. I’ll do it.”
Unaccustomed to finding her in this particular mood, he transferred Abigail into her arms and waited by the door until both girls were beneath the covers and the lamp turned low. Constance glanced at him as if to ask, Why are you still here?
She crossed her arms. “Thank you, Noah, for watching them.”
She was dismissing him.
“What’s wrong, Constance?” She appeared to flinch at the name. “Did something happen tonight?” Alarm flared. He pulled his hands free of his pockets. “Did Lyle do something to upset you?”
“No.” Her gaze pinned to the floor, she shook her head. “Pete was the perfect gentleman.”
There was a flat note in her voice denoting fatigue that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. A resigned air shimmered about her.