by Jody Hedlund
“You’ve already used up the revenue generated from the sale of the farmland and the lots in town,” Hewitt had told him. “If you hire anyone else or give the women raises, you’ll have to eliminate or cut back on the construction projects.”
Thornton needed to finish selling off the surrounding farmland, yet the majority of what remained was located farther away from the railroad and was therefore less appealing to potential farmers. He also had more town lots to sell. He’d already told Du Puy to work hard at generating more interest. But he wasn’t likely to entice any more immigrants until the spring. That would be too little too late.
With only a week until Thanksgiving, the clock was ticking toward the end of his father’s challenge. Although his father’s advisor, Mr. Morgan, reassured him in a recent telegram that his father was maintaining his strength, he’d also said the challenge would end on Christmas Day as originally planned.
There had been times over the past several months when Thornton wanted to throw up his hands in defeat. He knew that pursuing the humanitarian efforts with his workers would drain his bank account, and Hewitt had warned him dozens of times to be careful. He’d brushed aside the young assistant’s worries like one would a pesky mosquito. Part of him knew he’d done the right thing to improve the lives of the townspeople, whether he won the contest with Bradford or not. But the other part of him still wanted to come out on top so he might finally make his father proud of him.
What would his father say if he could see him now, in the kitchen? Thornton almost laughed aloud at the picture of his father’s face etched with scorn.
And what would Rosalind think? He’d pushed aside the guilt that assaulted him, told himself that his day in the kitchen with Elise was no different from his experience with the Engle sisters doing laundry or his time with the other women who worked to feed the construction crew. Besides, even if he’d been looking forward to his time with Elise much more than the others, it was because she’d become his friend. Surely, Rosalind wouldn’t find fault with him, would she?
Her letter from yesterday was filled with news of the usual New York parties and social events she’d attended recently. She sweetly informed him how much she missed him and that she couldn’t wait for his next visit.
He should have gone to visit her last month. But he’d been so busy helping the farmers that he was unable to tear himself away.
Thornton wiped his hands on the dishrag. He paused and held up his hand. His fingernails were jagged, his skin cracked. He almost didn’t recognize his hands anymore. He almost didn’t recognize himself at all. The weeks of hard labor had been eye-opening, not just in giving him a glimpse of what life was like for the common laborer, but in showing him his own deficits—his callousness, pride, and selfishness. While he still had a great deal to change, he’d made a start.
The question he wrestled with in the dark hours of the night, lying there on his lumpy mattress tossing and turning, was how far he wanted to take the changes. Was he willing to go all the way to make the transformations needed in both himself and in his town? Because if he did, he’d lose all hope of winning the competition, if he hadn’t already lost.
Showing compassion, raising the pay levels, improving working conditions—these weren’t quick and easy fixes. They would take more time and capital. Time and capital he could be spending elsewhere. Part of him wanted to keep following the leading of his heart, a prompting he felt good about, one he felt God smiling upon. But another part urged him to put the compassion aside, to move forward in the last month of the competition with the expansion Hewitt expected, applying the same ruthless determination his father had used to build Quincy Enterprises. The kind of effort that looked out for the needs of the greater good rather than the needs of just a few individuals.
Sometimes people had to be sacrificed for the sake of progress, didn’t they? That was what he’d always believed in the past, what his father had said whenever he received complaints about his methods of running his businesses.
The poor, the less fortunate, the average man often had to suffer in the short term. But in the long term, the progress and expansion benefited them all. Wasn’t that what Thornton still believed? After the past weeks of living and working among the people of his community, could he really take such a view ever again?
The picture of one of the immigrant farm families, the Johnsons, flashed into his mind. Harold Johnson wasn’t much older than he was, with a wife and two dainty, blond-haired girls Thornton had come to adore. He imagined one day Elise having daughters like them.
How could he not care what became of the Johnsons, or the Grays, or the dozens of other families he’d gotten to know? How could he willingly let them suffer for the sake of progress? And yet, at the same time, how could he move forward and accomplish everything he needed to and win the competition?
At a clanking and soft muttering in the pantry, Thornton started toward the small room that contained all the supplies Elise needed to run the dining room. He shoved aside his disturbing thoughts of the competition. Time was running out and he ought to be focusing more on the challenge, but he resisted doing so. Instead he wanted a few more days of pretending it didn’t exist. After all, he’d labored with the other women workers last week just so he could earn this time of being with Elise.
Even if she’d been rather cold to Reinhold since the letter from home had arrived last week, Thornton knew there was a connection between the two that was very strong. Elise had admitted she didn’t love Reinhold, but thought of him more as a brother. Yet Thornton was no fool. He realized that a good man could sway a woman’s heart, and Reinhold was a good man. If he worked hard enough, he might be able to win Elise’s affection.
That thought didn’t sit well with Thornton at all.
He stepped into the pantry, the waft of a hundred aromas greeting him—onion, garlic, molasses, coffee beans, and more. He stopped short at the sight of Elise on her tiptoes trying to push back a bag of grain perched precariously on the edge of the top shelf.
Every sweet, blessed curve of her body was outlined in the faint light coming in through a narrow window near the ceiling. His mouth went dry, and he quickly shifted his gaze to her face. Her bottomless blue eyes met his and were filled with distress.
He jolted forward to help relieve her of the burden. Standing behind her, he reached his long arms up and shoved against the bag, inching it back where it belonged. His hands brushed hers, and his stomach pressed into her back.
She didn’t move except to release her grip on the bag and lower her arms.
With his body against her, he was suddenly aware of her warmth, her softness, her nearness. Though he’d maneuvered the bag sufficiently away from the edge, he didn’t release it but moved to push it farther. In the process he leaned his face toward her head and took a deep breath of her hair, catching a hint of cinnamon and apples. It caressed his nose and cheeks and worked to stir his longing for her.
He nuzzled his nose deeper into her hair and drew in a lungful of her scent. A warning in the far recesses of his mind urged him to pull away, to put an appropriate distance between them. But when she leaned her head back as though inviting him to remain there, he accepted. He let his lips brush her ear.
She inhaled a sharp breath but didn’t move.
He dropped his mouth to behind her ear. The soft, warm skin that met his lips was like the finest sugary delicacy. He let his touch linger there, tasting her, reveling in her.
She tilted her head to the side, giving him access to more of her neck. He brushed his lips across her skin, nearly groaning with the pleasure of it. From the rise and fall of her chest, he could sense he was affecting her too. He lowered his arms away from the bag and wrapped them around her middle. She didn’t push him away or attempt to wrench free. Instead she folded her arms across his.
He was sure she would feel the erratic beating of his heart against his ribs. He made a slow trail of kisses to the back of her neck where he pressed a li
ngering kiss that only made him long to turn her around and take her mouth captive with his. He wanted to connect with her, to fuse their mouths and souls.
“Elise.” His whisper was hoarse and laced with desire. He’d tried so hard over the past weeks to hold at bay his attraction to her. But the embers had been there, unable to be extinguished. And now in one brief encounter they’d been fanned into hot flames.
She began to twist around.
He was afraid she’d break free and dash away, only to smack him over the head with a pan. He’d deserve it if she did. And yet he wasn’t ready for the moment together to be over.
End it, Thornton. She isn’t yours. And until she is, keep your hands off.
Reluctantly he loosened his grip on her. Instead of wiggling away from him as he expected, she spun so she was facing him. When she slipped her arms around him and hugged him, for a full three seconds he couldn’t move.
Then he drew her into his embrace completely. She pressed her face against his chest and stayed there as if that was exactly where she wanted to be.
Warm satisfaction wafted through him. He brought a hand up to her head and stroked the loose strands back to the center braid. When her hold intensified, he closed his eyes as a wave of something intense washed over him.
Was it love? Was he falling in love with this beautiful, strong-willed woman?
And why not? What was so wrong about loving her? Maybe she wasn’t the kind of woman his father had in mind for him. Maybe loving her would cost him the challenge. But did it matter? If he loved her, and if he could earn her love in return, wouldn’t that mean more than claiming a victory in the competition with Bradford? Maybe he wouldn’t win his father’s favor or win the leadership of the company, but he’d gain something far more valuable, wouldn’t he?
“Thank you for everything you’ve done to try to help me this week.”
He nodded and pressed a kiss against the top of her head. He hadn’t done much. He’d sent a few telegrams east to attempt to discover what had happened to the Seventh Street Mission and to Miss Pendleton. His agent had returned the message with the news that the mission was boarded up and empty. Thornton had also attempted to have a telegram delivered to Marianne, but his agent hadn’t been able to locate the Weiss family even though he’d gone to the tenement that both Reinhold and Elise had described to him.
“I wish there was more I could do,” he whispered, stroking her hair again.
“There’s nothing we can do now but wait.” Her words were a soft mumble against his chest.
He closed his eyes and fought back the aching desire he felt for her. Watch it, Thornton. If you love her, you’ll respect her.
“Thorn?” A familiar voice echoed in the kitchen, a voice that sounded like his except more commanding.
Elise jumped away from him as quickly as if he were hot coals and she’d been burned. Thornton was too astonished by the voice to think of anything else. He rose to his full height, raked his fingers through his hair, and stepped to the door.
Bradford was already heading out of the room, never one to linger or waste time.
“Bradford, my good man,” Thornton said.
Bradford grinned. He was dressed in a dark frock coat over a vest and lighter trousers. His fashionable necktie was tied in a knot with the pointed ends sticking out like wings. He also wore a tall top hat, which completed his gentlemanly appearance of perfection.
“To what occasion do I deserve the honor of your visit?” Thornton asked, suddenly self-conscious that he was wearing neither a vest nor a necktie. In fact, his top button was undone and his shirt slightly untucked.
“I’ve been hearing rumors of a fine restaurant you’re running here at your depot.” Bradford’s keen gaze didn’t miss a detail as Thornton quickly stuffed his shirttails back into his trousers and then fumbled at the top button. “I thought I’d find out for myself if the rumors are true.”
Thornton could feel Elise move behind him, and he had the urge to motion her to stay in the pantry. Before he could caution her, she sidled past him and stared directly at Bradford, her eyes widening, clearly not expecting to see a mirror image of Thornton standing across the room, albeit a more sophisticated and better-dressed mirror image.
Bradford sized her up at the same moment. Something sparked in Bradford’s expression that Thornton didn’t like. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was because Bradford, as usual, hid his emotions before Thornton could delve in and explore. Even so, the corner of Bradford’s mouth quirked into a half smile. “I see you’ve been otherwise occupied. Shall I come back later?”
The sarcasm, meant to be a jest, rankled Thornton like a sharp burr stuck in his sock. In the past, maybe he could have responded with equal wit. But this time he stiffened and didn’t return the smile. “Bradford, this is Elise Neumann. She’s the manager of that fine restaurant you’ve heard about.”
Bradford’s eyes flickered with surprise for a brief instant. He looked as though he might say something else abrasive and offensive, but the warning that was surely written on Thornton’s face steered him a different direction. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Neumann. I’m Thornton’s twin. His better half.”
“I wasn’t quite clear on the twin part,” she said as seriously. “But it’s quite obvious who’s the better half.”
Bradford gave a thin grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, I see why she’s your pet, Thorn. She’s as witty as she is pretty.”
Thornton bristled and bunched his fists, battling a strong desire to stride across the room and punch Bradford in the face. “She’s not my pet. And if you want to remain in my depot, I’ll expect for you to treat her with respect.”
Bradford’s brow shot up, obviously not expecting Thornton’s terseness or threat. “Take it easy, brother. I just assumed she’s a . . . well, a diversion, considering the fact you’re planning a Christmas wedding to Miss Beaufort.”
Thornton shook his head vigorously in a vain attempt to silence his twin, but Bradford’s eyes landed on him with faux innocence.
“You are still planning a Christmas wedding, aren’t you, Thorn?”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t asked Miss Beaufort to marry me yet, Brad.”
“Everyone is expecting the engagement announcement when you go home at the end of the month.”
“Maybe from you and Dorothea. But I never made any promises to Rosalind.”
“That’s strange. Father seemed to think it was a done deal. And he was very pleased with both of our choices.”
Thornton’s chest constricted, his muscles tightening in anticipation of an onslaught of anger and frustration from Elise. At the revelation of his girl back east, surely she felt betrayed, belittled, or even used—considering he’d held and caressed her just moments ago.
To her credit, she didn’t make a sound. In fact, she moved past him to the stove, opened the firebox, and began to shovel coal inside. He wanted to go to her, wrap his arms around her and reassure her that he wasn’t using her, that he really did care about her, that he might even be falling in love with her.
He didn’t know what such a love felt like, although he’d never felt for Rosalind anything like what he did for Elise. Rosalind was a sweet girl, kind and sophisticated, and she’d likely make a good mother someday. But she didn’t understand his humor, even if she was quick to smile and laugh. She never challenged him and was instead the epitome of support and encouragement. She was enjoyable to be with, but that was all it was—fun.
Was that all he wanted from life—fun, enjoyment, a life of ease? After working hard for the past couple of months, he wasn’t so sure anymore. How could he continue with his blissful existence and lavish lifestyle when he was all too aware now of the difficulties and challenges so many others faced on a daily basis for their existence?
Whatever his future might be, he didn’t want to hurt Elise. And he didn’t want Bradford’s visit to ruin everything, especially after he’d worked hard to earn her tr
ust and develop a friendship with her.
“So if you’re not planning to marry Rosalind,” Bradford said, “does that mean you’re pulling yourself out of the challenge?”
“I don’t know what it means.” He eyed Elise, waiting for her to question him, not only about Rosalind but also about the challenge. He hadn’t told anyone in Quincy except Hewitt about his father’s challenge and the competition with Bradford. He figured it wouldn’t matter. But maybe he should have explained everything to Elise.
She closed the firebox and lifted the lid on the pot on the stove. The strong aroma of something delicious filled the room and made his stomach gurgle.
Bradford had turned his attention on Elise again and was studying her. Too closely. Something in Bradford’s narrowed eyes told Thornton his brother knew more than he was letting on.
“Why don’t we move our conversation to the dining room,” Thornton said. “We can sit out there.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to take you away from your work here in the kitchen.” Bradford’s emphasis on the word work and his raised brows told Thornton his brother was well-informed about the goings-on in Quincy. Thornton guessed Bradford had his assistant come down from time to time in order to gather information on his progress, the same way Thornton had Hewitt monitor Bradford’s progress.
“Go ahead and wait for me in the dining room,” Thornton said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Bradford’s lips cocked into a crooked smile, one that irritated Thornton again. With any other woman, under any other circumstances, Bradford’s heckling would have made him smile in return. But with Elise he felt protective.
Once Bradford was gone from the kitchen, Thornton stuck his hands in his pockets and expelled a frustrated breath. Elise clanked the lid back on the kettle and began to pour fresh coffee into the coffeepot.