Last Chance Wife
Page 17
“What was that?” Delia questioned.
Winifred blinked several times, pivoting away from the direction of the front door. “What was what?”
“That look you two just exchanged.” The woman had her fists on her hips, imitating Granna Cass a little too closely for Winifred’s liking.
“There wasn’t a look.” At least not one that mattered.
But Delia hardly acted convinced. “I saw the same one when you two were hanging the decorations together yesterday. Him hammering string into the wall, and you fightin’ fits of giggles at all his jokes.”
Winifred lifted her chin. “They were funny.”
“Oh, yes, of course. That’s the only reason you laughed and carried on.”
Was it getting warm in here? “Look, if you’re implying what I think you’re implying, you needn’t worry yourself about it. We’re friends. That’s all.” Regardless of the emotions rushing through her.
“If you say so...” With a wiggle of her brows, Delia spun on her shoe and sauntered off to sneak another cookie from Granna Cass.
Before Winifred could react to that comment, she spotted Ewan coming through the crowd toward her. “Win?”
Would that nickname ever stop melting her insides?
He paused before her. “I just realized I forgot a few of your sketches in my office. I see a lot of people buying them, so I imagine we’ll need every last one on display. Would you mind grabbing them for me? I have to watch the front door.”
“Of course.”
He smiled his thanks and headed back to the door while she spun and fled the store. Her hands shook as she supported herself on the staircase banister. Up and up. Expelling a jagged sigh, she brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. There was no doubt about it. She’d unexpectedly opened herself up to Ewan Burke. Her heart had become warm and soft in his hands, stubborn as he was.
She’d become far too attached for a woman who wouldn’t be sticking around. And it was becoming harder and harder to convince herself that going home to Denver, to start her husband search over again, was still the wisest thing to do. But how could she stay? The more time she spent near Ewan, the more she found herself hoping for a relationship that should never be. She must get him out of her head and out of her heart. Sentimental women didn’t belong with serious men. Ewan needed to be with someone who shared his stringent outlook on the world. Winifred could never be expected to adopt his way of thinking—over time, it would eventually crush her spirit. Wouldn’t it?
Reaching the office, she gave the doorknob a quick turn and went inside. She crossed to the desk, covered with orderly stacks of papers, and ran her fingers along the polished surface. So many memories here. When she left Deadwood, because soon she would, she’d miss so many things. Oh, how she didn’t want to go.
She sank into Ewan’s cushioned chair and inhaled everything that made up that man. Not just the cologne he wore, but also his determination, his stubborn resolution, his tireless worry over the well-being of his employees and his unstinting kindness toward anyone in need.
Of everything that composed the Golden Star Mine, she would miss Ewan Burke the most.
Enough woolgathering. Now, where were those sketches?
Not on the desk. She glanced toward the desk’s top drawer but made no move to reach for it—it was the drawer where he kept his personal papers and it was always locked. Except...right now, it wasn’t. In fact, it wasn’t fully shut, and through the opening, a shock of color caught her attention.
She inched open the drawer. Corners of pink and red floral paper stuck out from beneath other stacks of paper and envelopes. Strange. The colored paper reminded her an awful lot of her own stationery.
Her brow pinched. “I think it is my stationery.”
With a quick glance at the open door, Winifred slipped out one of the floral sheets. She nearly dropped it when she recognized her own handwriting.
Dear Mr. Businessman had been scrawled across the top.
Heartbeat rising in her chest, she riffled through the rest of the stationery. “What is going on here?”
Every single letter she’d sent to her secret correspondent was accounted for. Her frown deepened as she plopped back against Ewan’s chair. How did he have all of her letters?
Was he...?
Winifred gasped. “No.”
Ewan Burke couldn’t be Mr. Businessman. They were complete opposites. Her companion was tender, attentive and understanding. Ewan was pragmatic, preoccupied and sometimes harsh. Except, when...when he was tender, attentive and understanding.
She covered her face with her hands. Oh, how humiliating. Her boss had seen her deepest worries, her strongest dreams? He knew parts of her heart she hadn’t shared with anyone!
Had he written her back as a joke? For all she knew, she’d been duped again—man after man, letter after letter. When would she ever learn not to put her faith in suitors through the mail?
“Except Ewan would be the last person to toy with a woman’s emotions,” she whispered, lowering her hands.
The pile of papers beneath her letters looked like correspondence, too. She lifted one and skimmed it. Also addressed to Mr. Businessman, from a woman who lived in Lead City, asking about the living conditions he could provide in Deadwood and about his faith convictions. Another from a woman whose father had owned a mine. Another from a schoolteacher.
She flipped through them faster. These were all addressed to Mr. Businessman—they must be from the women who had seriously answered his advertisement.
Which only confirmed that Ewan hadn’t played a practical joke on Winifred. He truly sought a wife.
Winifred stood and slammed the drawer shut. She knew someone who could tell her the truth. Forgetting the sketches for now, she marched from the room and down through the outside door. She didn’t stop until she reached the post office.
With clipped steps, she approached the counter. Mr. Star smiled at her, but he must have recognized her sense of urgency, because the smile faded into a look of concern. “Miss Sattler, what is it?”
She placed both hands on the counter’s edge, as if clinging to it might keep her from falling off this cliff she dangled from. “I came to find out the truth, Mr. Star.”
His brow furrowed. “Truth about what?”
“My mystery correspondent.” Her knuckles had already turned white. “Please, sir. Tell me who he is.”
Running a hand over his mouth, the postmaster hesitated. “I’m not sure he wants you to know who he is. And you said yourself you didn’t want to know.”
“I changed my mind. Please.” She took the liberty of reaching across the counter and placing her hand on Mr. Star’s sleeve cuff. “Will you tell me if I guess correctly?”
He grimaced. “I—”
“Is it Ewan Burke?” Fiddlesticks, she couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice anymore. Nor the shaking in her hands. “I found all my letters. He keeps them in a desk drawer in his office.”
Mr. Star turned his palms up. “I think you have all the proof you need, ma’am.”
She couldn’t keep from biting the corner of her lower lip. “But was it real? Was he really writing me, or did he play a big charade?”
Squinting, the man cocked his head and shrugged. “I can’t tell you his reasons for certain, since he never told me. All I know is he was much more excited to get your letters than mail from any of his other prospects.”
Everything began to click together. The numerous trips to the post office, his request for someone practical and not beautiful. He’d written to her about the disapproval of his father, the frustrations of running a business, the loneliness of having no one to confide in. Even when they had annoyed each other in person, they had stolen each other’s hearts on the page. Or at least he’d stolen hers.
Oh, dear.
“Miss Sattler?”
Mr. Star leaned over the counter. “Are you feeling all right? You’re looking a little green.”
She rasped in a breath. “I have to go.”
Her heels clicked faster on her way back to the party than they had on her way out. Ewan Burke had stolen her heart. The man she’d come to care for on the page—that was him. Her boss. Her friend. While she dreamed of Mr. Businessman, he had been upstairs in his office in the flesh the whole time.
Laughter met her as she opened the shop door. She looked up into Ewan’s eyes as a patron stepped away.
“Win, what are you doing coming in the front?” he said through a chuckle. “Do you have the sketches?”
Why couldn’t she stand with her mouth closed, like a normal person? Due to nerves and distraction, she’d entered through the front instead of the side. “I’m sorry, I...got distracted. I’ll go get them right away.”
She pivoted and marched in the opposite direction back into the street. What was she to do now? She couldn’t very well tell him the truth, could she? What would he think of her? And he would know she’d dug in his private desk drawer.
Squeezing her eyes, Winifred shook her head and whirled back toward the store. “Oh, who cares about the desk drawer? I love that man, and I need to tell him before I leave.”
Her heart seized. She loved Ewan Burke? No, she couldn’t...could she? No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow herself to. They were too different. Sure, they could ignore their differences for a while, but how long would it take before those things drove a wedge between them? Could he ever truly cherish the person she was—his complete opposite?
Besides that, how could she trust her own feelings were real and lasting? She’d thought she loved her other mail-order prospects, but her feelings had fizzled the moment she’d realized the matches were doomed. Wasn’t it likely that she was merely in love with the idea of Mr. Businessman? If so, that was nothing to build a life around.
Still, finding out the truth had opened her up to the question of if. What if they could have a future together?
The question seeped through her veins as she rounded the office and entered through the side door. Gooseflesh climbed her arms, and not just from the autumn air. It would take her a moment to combine the two men in her head, to think of them as one and the same.
Her breath became shaky as she reached Ewan’s office. Where were those sketches?
Ah. Stacked on the floor against the wall.
Quickly, she snatched them up. The longer she was gone from the party, the more suspicious Ewan would become. Oh dear, what was she to do now?
She’d spent the better part of five years searching for a husband. Her uncle had sent prospects her way, and she’d found a few on her own. And of course, there were the six mail-order flops. Through all of that, she’d never given up hope that she would find the man of her dreams.
But after Mr. Ansell, she’d begun to lose hope that such a man existed.
Until Mr. Businessman.
Fiddlesticks. This was the biggest mess she’d ever gotten herself into.
She flew down the stairs but paused at the shop door, knowing she’d see him on the other side. Winifred drew in a long breath and shot her gaze to the ceiling.
Who was she kidding? Despite their enormous differences and her efforts to quell her feelings, Ewan had captured her affections. Wholeheartedly. Without warning and without foreknowledge or premeditation.
And she couldn’t leave Deadwood without knowing how he felt about her.
It would come as a shock at first, but if he felt even an ounce of the attraction toward Miss Thoroughly Disgruntled that she felt toward Mr. Businessman, then Ewan might just be willing to give Winifred Sattler a try, too.
They could have the beautiful love her parents had shared. Yes, she would tell him. Right after the party. Lord, please help him hear me.
* * *
“I’m quite certain that was the busiest I’ve ever seen this store.”
Ewan, hanging back to help Winifred count sales and clean up after the last customers had gone, chuckled beneath his breath. “I’m quite certain it’s the busiest I’ve ever seen it. Even counting our grand opening.”
The buzz that the woman beside him had created around town had worked. Sketching downtown had raised curiosity. Her idea to post an artistically hand-painted sign out front had sparked interest. The flyers she’d drawn up to post inside local businesses had been smart and well received. He hadn’t finished totaling the sales yet, but he didn’t need his calculations to know the event was a superb success.
“The day went extremely well, Win.” He sent her a smile from across the room. “I have you to thank for it.”
She looked up from wiping the table that held the pencil-guessing contest—two hundred and forty-seven pencils to be exact. The joy on people’s faces had been worth far more than the five pieces of candy. “It wasn’t just me. Granna Cass baked almost all the desserts. Delia cleaned the shop. Mr. McAllister’s wife made the quilt raffle prize—which went over swimmingly, I might add. So beautiful. I wish I could’ve been entered to win it myself.”
So unassuming, so willing to share the credit with everyone. It made him admire her even more. Ewan pulled another stack of bills from the drawer and began to count. “But if it weren’t for you, this would’ve been an ordinary day. No celebration. No extra sales. No renewed interest in the store. Your creativity shoots higher than I could ever aim for myself, and that is to be commended.”
Silence followed his statement. He paused mid–bill swipe and raised his gaze. Winifred stared back at him, the way she did every time he offered her a well-deserved compliment. Did she not receive very many of those? Hesitant surprise hung in her wide eyes, but so did something else. Something warmer, softer. Like vulnerability wrapped up with the need to believe that what he said was true.
“I mean it, Win.” He slipped the bills back in the drawer and recorded the amount in the ledger. “You’ve done excellent work here, and being a temporary employee, that is even more commendable. Most people would’ve come in, sat at the counter and bided their time until they collected their wages and then left. You never did that, not once. You took a dying store and turned it around. And not just the store. The mine, too. The workers, I mean. The overall mood has heightened because of you. In fact, three men approached me just this week asking if they could work here—”
Winifred’s heels clicked across the floor so fast that before Ewan knew what hit him, she had her arms around his neck.
All words left him. Slack jawed, all he could focus on was this woman. And the feelings coursing through him at her closeness.
“Thank you,” she murmured against his shirt collar. “No one has ever said such nice things about me.”
Pushing through his shock, he embraced her, too. Warm and petite, she fit beautifully in his arms. This, the woman he’d thought about firing at least half a dozen times in the past month and a half. And yet, she was also the woman he’d found himself falling for—deeper than he had ever wanted to.
In his arms, with his thoughts full of all the things she’d done, her behavior suddenly made sense. She bounced from idea to idea because she was so intensely creative. Her well of love for people ran deeper than anyone he’d met before. No doubt she’d throw herself in front of a speeding train if it meant saving someone she cared for—and there was no doubt that she cared for everyone at the mine.
Winifred had the power to change his life. She’d already left her mark on him, and long after she returned to Denver, he would remember her.
Because she would return to Denver. Ewan must remind himself of that fact. He wouldn’t ask her to stay. Couldn’t. She had a whole life ahead of her, with all those suitable Denver prospects waiting for her return. His heart shouldn’t get any closer than it was right now.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered.
Ewan looked up. “Six?”
Pink colored her cheeks. “A reason existed for each flop—one had an accident and died before we wed. That one couldn’t have been helped. But some of the others...”
Frowning, she worked her jaw, staring at her hands. Everything within Ewan urged him to reach out and take her hands in his, to offer some measure of comfort. But he didn’t trust himself. Didn’t trust his heart to stay neutral.
“I was so set on finding a husband that I didn’t take the warning signs in the letters as seriously as I should have. I fell in love—well, infatuation—quickly, and let all the beautiful things they said melt my heart.” Propping both hands on the counter, she lifted herself up to sit on its edge. “They always promised great things—elaborate homes, lots of money—promises that were always lies.” Startling, she met Ewan’s gaze. “Not that I only wanted their wealth. I just knew if they lied about that, then they might’ve lied about other things.”
Ewan fought a smile. “No one would think you were after their wealth.” This, coming from the woman who’d been willing to sit in a drift to draw miners.
“I said all the right things, and so did they.” She looked away and sighed, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought I’d learned my lesson and told the whole truth to the last suitor—he knew about the five flops before him, my longing for a husband, my love for art, my family history.” She shook her head, like it could deflect her emotions. Didn’t work, because a faint sheen had collected over her eyes. “The perfect setup for disaster, I suppose. He was the worst, Ewan. I thought I knew him. But then I found out he was looking for a new wife while deciding if he would divorce his first one. They had children, too, Ewan! Children he planned on abandoning along with his poor wife—the horrible man.”