The Rails to Love Romance Collection

by Brandmeyer, Diana Lesire; Cabot, Amanda; Carter, Lisa

  And that wasn’t all. “I appreciate that accepting my offer means leaving your current position with no guarantee that it will be available once my project is completed. I’ve taken the liberty of speaking to Cyrus Taggert.” Mason recognized the name of the owner of one of Cheyenne’s newspapers. “He has agreed to offer you a position if you choose to remain in Cheyenne once the depot is built.”

  Mason closed his eyes and gave thanks. Erastus Bell’s letter was truly the answer to prayer. The only thing that could possibly go wrong would be that the photographer was as difficult to work with as the crusty old man who’d accompanied Mason on some of his assignments. But, Lord willing, that would not be the case.

  Chapter Two

  You look particularly lovely this evening,” Chauncey Keaton said as he handed his coat to the butler and turned toward Eugenia.

  Though Norton normally escorted guests into the parlor, when she’d heard the knock on the door Eugenia had decided to meet Chauncey in the hallway. She couldn’t help wondering whether the compliment was sincere. Her gown was one he’d seen before; her hairstyle was the same as always. If she looked different tonight, it must be because of her excitement. The depot project was all she’d thought about today.

  “Thank you,” she said with what she hoped looked like a genuine smile. Though she hadn’t worn anything special today, Chauncey had obviously taken extra pains with his appearance. His hair was freshly cut, and his shirt appeared new. The contrast of his dark hair and eyes against the sparkling white shirt was dramatic, leaving no doubt why many of the young women in Cheyenne were attracted to him.

  As Norton returned to the servants’ portion of the house, Chauncey pulled a small package from his pocket and handed it to Eugenia. “I hope you’ll enjoy this.”

  New clothes, a haircut, a gift. There was no doubt about it. Chauncey was a man who’d come courting. Eugenia kept the smile firmly fixed on her face. “Thank you,” she said for the second time as she undid the wrappings, revealing a beautifully shaped bottle of perfume. If there was one thing Eugenia loved, it was fragrance, so she opened the bottle and sniffed.

  Achoo! Achoo! No matter how she tried, she could not control her sneezes. She recapped the bottle and set it on the console table.

  “Is something wrong?” Chauncey asked. “The clerk at the emporium told me this was the finest perfume they carry.”

  Eugenia nodded. The cut glass bottle alone made the perfume a luxury. “I’m certain it is. The problem is there’s jasmine in it. I’m sorry, Chauncey. You had no way of knowing I’m allergic to jasmine.”

  The man’s crestfallen expression tugged at her heartstrings. Though she did not love him, Eugenia didn’t want him to be hurt. “It’s the thought that matters,” she told him, “and yours was a good one. Thank you.” It seemed as if all she did today was say thank you.

  “Papa will be home soon. In the meantime, let’s join Aunt Louisa in the parlor.”

  After Chauncey greeted her aunt, he took the seat next to Eugenia. “How did you spend your day?” he asked.

  This was a neutral subject, better than the fact that she was allergic to his gift. Eugenia gave Chauncey the warmest smile she could muster. “I took some photographs thismorning.” She rose and retrieved the print she’d brought out to show to Papa. “This is my favorite.”

  Chauncey studied the photograph for a moment, furrows forming between his eyes. “What is it?”

  “A lilac bush. I thought the way the ice coated it was beautiful.”

  Chauncey appeared to be perplexed. “All I see are a few branches. Where’s the rest of the bush?”

  Eugenia closed her eyes for a second, reminding herself of her resolve to honor her father by being polite to Chauncey. Perhaps it was too much to expect him to appreciate her photograph. “I have others with the whole bush,” she told him, “but they weren’t as dramatic as this one.” And they hadn’t touched her heart the way this one had.

  Though Chauncey nodded, Eugenia could tell that he was merely humoring her. Fortunately, Aunt Louisa joined the conversation. “Did Erastus tell you about his new project?” When Chauncey shook his head, she continued. “He’s going to produce a commemorative book about the depot. Eugenia will be the photographer.”

  It happened so quickly that Eugenia wondered if she’d been mistaken in thinking that Chauncey was displeased, but it seemed as if his lips curled in what looked almost like a sneer before he flattened them. “It’s good that you have a hobby,” he said, his patronizing tone making her cringe. “That will keep you occupied until we’re married. Afterward, you’ll be too busy to bother with things like that. Taking pictures is hardly a suitable activity for my wife.”

  But she wasn’t his wife yet.

  It wasn’t difficult to understand why the city fathers wanted a new depot, Mason realized as he stepped off the train. This one was shabby and ordinary in the extreme, nothing more than a rectangular box of a building. A city that was reputed to have more millionaires per capita than any other in the United States deserved something with more… He paused, trying to find the correct word, finally settling on substance.

  A man wearing a dark coat and one of the flat-brimmed hats that Mason associated with drivers approached him. “Are you Mr. Farling?” the man asked.

  “Indeed, I am.”

  “Mr. Bell asked me to take you to his home.” He reached for the two bags that contained Mason’s belongings. “Let me get those.”

  To Mason’s surprise, the man led him to a simple wagon rather than a fancy carriage. Though Erastus Bell was a wealthy man, it appeared he was also a practical one. The wagon was probably used on his ranch, perhaps hauling feed to the cattle that were the source of his fortune.

  His house, Mason discovered as the wagon pulled to a stop on Ferguson Street a few minutes later, was not simple and, in all likelihood, not practical. The imposing two-story building with the wide porch spanning the front and two sides was much larger than a widower, his spinster sister, and his daughter needed, and the intricately carved railing and columns on the porch combined with the tall leaded glass windows told Mason no expense had been spared.

  When he knocked on the front door, Mason was greeted by a butler whose livery matched the driver’s.

  “Right this way, sir. Miss Bell and her aunt are in the parlor.” To Mason’s surprise, though the driver had sounded as American as he, the butler’s accent was British, confirming Mason’s belief that appearances were important to Erastus Bell.

  As the man who’d introduced himself as Norton slid open the pocket door, Mason took a deep breath. A second later that breath whooshed out, and his heart began to pound. He formed a vague impression of dark furniture arranged on a Persian rug with lighting provided by a crystal chandelier and wall sconces. Those were expected. What was not was the presence of the most beautiful woman Mason had ever seen. Standing perhaps half a foot shorter than his own six feet, she possessed perfect bone structure, curves in all the right places, vibrant auburn hair, and green eyes—eyes that had widened with surprise.

  “Mr. Mason Farling to see you, ladies,” the butler announced in a predictably solemn tone.

  The woman who’d stolen his breath rose and extended her hand. “Welcome to Cheyenne, Mr. Farling.” Her voice was even, making Mason wonder if he’d imagined the surprise in her expression. “I’m Eugenia Bell, and this is my aunt, Miss Louisa Bell.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Somehow he managed to make the expected reply as he took the seat she’d indicated. Mason couldn’t understand it. Never before had he been tongue-tied, but from the moment he’d set foot inside the Bells’ parlor, he’d found himself struggling to form a coherent sentence. All he could do was stare at the beautiful woman whose home he would be sharing for the next year and a half.

  Declining her offer of tea or coffee for fear that he’d be unable to swallow even a sip, Mason looked around. There had to be something he could say. When his glance fell on a photog
raph resting on the end table, he found himself almost as entranced by it as by the lovely woman who sat only a few feet away from him. The photograph was unlike any he’d ever seen, a picture of some kind of bush, its branches encased in ice. Instead of including the entire bush, the photographer had focused on only a few branches, showcasing the beauty God instilled in every detail of His creation.

  “That’s a very unusual photograph,” he said, pleased beyond all measure that he’d managed to construct a simple sentence.

  Though Mason saw nothing amusing in his comment, the older woman chuckled.

  “Do you like it?” Eugenia Bell asked.

  Her aunt made a little tsking sound. “Now, Eugenia, you know it’s rude to ask a question like that.”

  Mason shook his head, regretting that something he’d said had subjected Miss Bell to even mild censure. “I don’t mind answering. I’m intrigued by the picture. In fact, I wish I could meet the photographer. I’d like to ask him why he chose those particular branches and how he captured the sun sparkling on the ice so perfectly.”

  This time there was no doubt about it. The aunt was laughing, although she was obviously trying to hide it. She pinched her lips together, then nodded briskly. “You’ve already met the photographer, Mr. Farling. It’s my niece.”

  Mason blinked in astonishment. “You?”

  Chapter Three

  Under other circumstances, Eugenia might have laughed at Mason Farling’s shock. His reaction to Aunt Louisa’s statement made it clear he was like most men and did not believe a woman could be a photographer. Papa had felt that way initially, and Chauncey still did.

  Eugenia knew she shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet she was. For a moment when Mason had looked at the picture, she had thought he admired it. More than that, she had thought he understood why that scene had touched her so deeply. That had led her to believe they would work well together, but then he’d stared at her as if she were a creature from another planet.

  “What’s the matter, Mr. Farling? Do you think that just because we wear skirts women are incapable of handling a camera?” Eugenia kept her tone mild in deference to Aunt Louisa and the fact that Eugenia would have to spend a great deal of time with this man. She needed to be civil, even if his attitude infuriated her.

  For the second time in less than a minute, he appeared surprised. “That’s not at all what I thought, Miss Bell. I will admit I was shocked that you were the person who’d taken that extraordinary photograph, but it was not your gender that surprised me. It was your age.”

  His blue eyes were serious as he continued. “I’ve had the opportunity to work with several photographers and have seen many others’ pictures, but never before have I met anyone your age with such skill. Normally it takes years—even decades—to develop such talent.”

  While Eugenia blushed at the unexpected compliments that warmed her heart more than she’d thought possible, Aunt Louisa clapped softly. “Well said, young man. If you feel that way, you’ll probably be pleased to learn that my niece is the photographer Erastus chose for the depot book.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard in days.” Mason’s lips curved into a smile as he fixed his gaze on Eugenia. “Your father made me an exceptionally generous offer to write the stories, but I never dreamt that my words would be paired with such beautiful pictures. This will be a book no one will forget.” His smile widened, and he took a step toward Eugenia. “I look forward to being your partner.”

  When Mason extended his hand for the traditional shake that men who were partners would exchange, Eugenia placed her hand in his. The handshake was not what she had expected. Not at all. But then again, Mason Farling was not what she had expected. Instead of the boring, middle-aged man she had thought Papa had hired, Mason was one of the most handsome men she’d ever met, with hair as golden as the prairie grassin autumn, eyes as blue as the summer sky, features as finely formed as the sculptures she had seen in the museums she and Aunt Louisa had visited in New York and Philadelphia while Papa had been occupied with business.

  But physical beauty was not the only thing that made Mason memorable. His touch was one Eugenia knew she would never forget. When their fingers and palms met, tingles raced along her arm, and her heart began to pound as if she had run up three flights of stairs. Never before had she felt like this, but never before had she met a man like Mason Farling.

  Mason looked around as he entered the dining room. It was what he would have expected from a house this size. The table was large enough to seat two dozen, the china so delicate he was afraid his meat knife might break it, the water goblets fashioned of wafer-thin crystal. This was a far cry from the farmhouse where he had grown up or the boardinghouse where he’d eaten most of his meals for the four years he’d been in Denver.

  Erastus Bell led the way toward the table and took his place at its head. Though Mason had thought either Eugenia or her aunt would have been positioned at the other end of the table, they were standing behind the chairs closest to Erastus.

  “I’ve put you next to my sister,” Erastus told Mason. “Chauncey, you have your usual place at Eugenia’s side.” The moment he’d arrived and introduced himself to Mason, Mr. Bell had insisted that everyone be on a first-name basis.

  After he’d seated Eugenia’s aunt, Mason pulled out his own chair. One good thing about this arrangement was that he would be able to watch Eugenia. Although, the truth was he wanted to do more than watch her. He wanted to touch her again, to see whether his memory of the way his heart had raced when he’d felt her palm against his was accurate. He hadn’t expected that any more than he’d expected her to be so young, so beautiful, so appealing. And he certainly hadn’t expected that she would be the photographer whose pictures would accompany his stories. That was the proverbial icing on the cake of an already intriguing assignment.

  Mason glanced at the man seated across from him. He couldn’t say that he was impressed with Chauncey Keaton, though he’d felt an instant affinity with Erastus. Eugenia’s father was a large-boned man whose leathery skin, the product of years spent outdoors, seemed at odds with his finely cut suit. And yet Mason realized that Erastus’s appearance was probably typical of many cattle barons. While some merely invested their money, others were active participants in everything from branding to roundups. Chauncey Keaton, on the other hand, had the pale skin and perfectly shaped fingernails of a man with little acquaintance with manual labor, even though he also raised cattle.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you when you arrived,” Erastus said to Mason after he’d blessed their food. “Unfortunately, I got tied up with several major UP supporters.”

  Mason shook his head. “It wasn’t a problem. Your daughter and Miss Bell—sorry, Miss Louisa—” Despite Erastus’s decree, Mason could not address a woman her age without some sort of title. “The two ladies made me feel welcome. I also had an opportunity to see some of Eugenia’s photographs. You must be very proud of her.”

  As he dipped his spoon into the thick soup the butler had placed before him, Erastus nodded. “I am, indeed. I believe that together you and she will create a book that willimpress everyone involved with the Union Pacific.”

  “You always have good ideas, Erastus.”

  Though Mason could not imagine why, Eugenia appeared surprised by Chauncey’s compliment.

  Erastus nodded at Chauncey. “It’s kind of you to say so, my boy.” He directed his attention back to Mason. “I know I told you I wanted you to document the depot’s construction, but today’s meeting made me think we should expand the scope and feature the railroad’s primary supporters here in Cheyenne as well. What do you think?”

  “I like the idea. It sends the message that the depot is more than a building. It’s part of the community. You might want to incorporate that concept into the title.”

  Eugenia laid down her soupspoon as she asked, “Do you have a title in mind, Papa?”

  He replied without hesitation. “The Magic
City Depot.”

  “That’s a great title.” Chauncey’s words were infused with enthusiasm, making Mason wonder if he ever disagreed with Eugenia’s father.

  “What do you think of that title, Mason?” Eugenia asked.

  Mason was glad he’d taken a bite of bread, because it gave him a chance to collect his thoughts. He didn’t want to offend his patron, but he also would not lie. “This is my first experience with a book,” he reminded Erastus. “I’m not sure how or when authors choose their titles. I suspect it might be similar to creating a headline for an article.”

  When Erastus nodded, as if he were truly interested in Mason’s opinion, Mason continued. “I usually wait until I’ve finished writing the article to compose the headline. Even though I know all the facts before I start writing, sometimes my slant changes.”

  Eugenia gave him what appeared to be a grateful look. “That makes sense, doesn’t it, Papa, especially since we don’t yet know everything that will be included in the story?”

  Her father chuckled. “All right, my dear. I can see you didn’t like my idea.”

  “I never said that, did I, Mason?” Eugenia accompanied her question with a wink.

  As solemnly as he could, Mason said, “I don’t believe you did.”

  Erastus’s chuckle turned into a full-fledged laugh. “It looks to me like I made the right choice. I can tell you two are going to work well together.”

  The conversation became casual for the rest of the meal, with Chauncey telling an amusing story about how he had met the Bells’ neighbor and fellow cattle baron Barrett Landry at the emporium and how Barrett had found choosing the perfect gift for a lady just as difficult as Chauncey had. When he’d concluded the story, the way Chauncey looked at Eugenia left no doubt that she was the recipient of the gift. The man was staking his claim and wanted Mason to know it.