Last Chance Wife

by Janette Foreman

  Ewan couldn’t help his brows raising, but he quickly regained control of them. Before he realized what he’d done, he joined her on the counter. “That wasn’t your fault. He preyed on your willingness to trust.”

  “But I shouldn’t have opened my heart to him.”

  “Sometimes people take you by surprise, Win. You try your best to be honest and hopeful. You fall in love and want to make a lifetime commitment to that person, and she crushes your dreams. You thought you knew her, but you didn’t, and there’s nothing to be done about it.”

  Winifred lifted her head, sniffling. “Her?”

  Had he said her? Ewan closed his eyes. “I was left at the altar several years ago.”

  Gasping, Winifred leaned nearer. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry.”

  He leaned away. Hopefully it didn’t appear too obvious, but again, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to keep propriety’s boundaries if she came any closer. In fact...

  Ewan hopped off the counter and strode across the shop floor. “Marilee was the daughter of my father’s colleague. Both of our fathers believed it would have been an advantageous match, but she didn’t think so. Not once a better match presented itself.”

  “Marilee Price? Austin Erikson’s daughter?”

  Ewan glanced away. “I forgot you know a lot of the same people I do.” Which made this conversation all the more humiliating.

  Would Winifred defend the woman? He raised his gaze but found her still seated on the counter, tipping her head to one side. Listening. Of course, she listened without casting stones—how could he have let his doubts make him forget whom he talked to? She also had a past of embarrassing events. If she trusted him with her most horrendous secret, then he could surely do the same.

  He rubbed his cheek as a thought occurred to him. “Was this why—”

  “Ewan, there’s something—”

  They laughed softly at starting sentences simultaneously. “Go ahead,” he offered.

  Winifred shook her head. “No, I have something to tell you, but you can go first.”

  “Was that suitor the reason you moved here? Did you plan to marry him?”

  Winifred stiffened, clearly not expecting the topic to trail there. Then Ewan remembered his promise. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. I wasn’t to ask about Spearfish. Please, you don’t have to answer.”

  She toyed with the hem of her sleeve. “No, I suppose it’s fine. Yes, he lives in Spearfish, so I traveled up to marry him.”

  “And when you found out the truth about him, you didn’t have enough money get home.” His chest constricted. This woman acted so bravely for everyone else—pushing hard for the benefit of others when she herself had crumbled to pieces. He’d been selfish not to notice, not to spend time understanding her earlier. She deserved every good thing, and it seemed as though time and again she was on the losing side. Yet, somehow, she continued to give.

  “Win?”

  His voice startled him, came out of nowhere. It must have been the setting sun streaming golden light into the room, illuminating Winifred sitting on the counter, producing a halo of caramel brown around her meticulous curls. The blue in her eyes, their shape framed in long lashes, outshone the gray as she stared back.

  Warmth curled around his heart. In three steps, he reached her. Sliding his fingers along her creamy jawline, he let his lips meet hers. Her response came cautiously at first, but soon, her hands trailed up to cover his cheeks and she kissed him back with fervor to match his own. Nothing made sense right now. And yet everything did. The emotions pulsing through his veins, the overwhelming beauty and courage radiating from this woman. He stepped closer to drink her in, but in the last moment, she broke the kiss and leaned back to search his eyes.

  “Ewan, wait. What are we doing?”

  Dragging in a breath, he brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. “What do you mean?”

  She bit the corner of her full lips as she regarded him. Then he saw it—the fear that he would lead her on. Kiss her and then send her back to Denver without another thought. And hadn’t he earlier planned on letting her leave? Did he have the right to ask her to stay?

  For once, he hadn’t denied his heart, and look what he’d done because of it.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”

  Hurt flickered in her eyes. Oh, no. She lifted her chin a notch. “I’ll be leaving soon, Ewan. You know that, right?”

  Traitor heart. Why did it pound harder at her words? “What will you do when you get home?”

  “I’ll tell Aunt and Uncle I’m sorry for leaving. Then my uncle will likely pick someone for me to marry. He’s threatened to do it a couple times.” She said it so matter-of-factly, as if she’d told Ewan the sky was blue and the grass was green.

  He frowned. “I don’t think you want that.”

  “No?”

  “No. You have bigger dreams for yourself than that.”

  “I don’t have a choice. Obviously trying to find a husband on my own hasn’t worked out.”

  “But your uncle choosing one for you? That’s not what you want.”

  “Sometimes it doesn’t matter what I want.” The brightness in her eyes began to dim. “Sometimes things don’t work out the way you dream they will.”

  Placing a small kiss on her forehead, he couldn’t explain why he hated that way of thinking. Maybe he saw himself in her explanation, fighting for the mine all this time in the face of his father’s criticism.

  Slowly, she slid off the counter, landing on her feet just a step away from him. She peered up into his face with her beautiful mouth slightly open. “Do you know what you want, Ewan? In life?”

  He swallowed. Blinked a few times, frowning. “I want the mine.”

  “Do you want to marry someday?”

  “Win—”

  “Do you?”

  He lifted her hands in his, though he knew he shouldn’t. “Yes.”

  Her eyes searched for an explanation. “But could I ever be such a person?”

  “I...” Any words he could’ve said died on his tongue. Marilee’s face flashed through his mind, and doubt arrested his breathing, his limbs, his thoughts.

  Her eyes grew watery. “I know where God is leading me, and it’s back home. I’ll marry someone Uncle chooses, and honestly, that might be the best option for me anyway.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “It never fails—I choose the wrong men. I must be searching for something that can’t be found.”

  Conviction gained on him. “I have to be honest with you, Win. I, too, choose the wrong people.” He ran his thumbs over her knuckles. “I don’t trust myself.”

  Seeming to understand, Winifred squeezed his hands. “You’re a good friend, Ewan. I’m sorry your fiancée left you. You deserve much more than that.”

  “Thank you.”

  She glanced to the window, the golden sun lining her profile. “I need time to heal my heart.”

  Ewan didn’t know how to respond. He reached up and touched her cheek. She closed her eyes. Fighting the urge to linger there, he dropped his hand. No use prolonging his avoidance of the truth. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t fall for a vibrant, charming, beautiful woman. No matter the cost, he needed to stay true to his belief. Because as steadfast as she seemed today, tomorrow she may change her mind.

  “I suppose we’d better say goodnight,” he murmured, his voice husky.

  Dropping her gaze, she nodded her agreement. “I’ll take the pans and plates back to Granna Cass. I’ll finish wiping down the counter tomorrow.”

  “I’ll lock the door on my way out.”

  As if they’d counted to three, they pivoted away from each other, each setting to the task they’d mentioned. Ewan paused at the outside door as Winifred picked up the food trays and headed for the door leading into the corridor, her clicking heels t
he only sound.

  “Good night, Win.” He backed out through the door and paused.

  Turning, she smiled a little, though her eyes didn’t shine. “Good night, Ewan. Today was truly a success.”

  Had it been? The word thudded against him like a slap to the chest. Finally, he nodded before shutting the door and sticking his key in the lock. He would’ve agreed with her earlier in the evening, but now, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just made a huge mistake.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Winifred slipped the finished letter into an envelope, this one adorned with a sketch of the Black Hills from a distance. One of the first drawings she’d created on her stagecoach ride. She hated to part with it, her first memory of the hills, but at the same time, the man receiving it deserved her best.

  Especially when this letter would be her last.

  Slipping the note into the pocket of her dress, Winifred left the kitchen and made her way down the hall toward the store. She’d been foolish, really, to correspond with Mr. Businessman—Ewan—so long. Nearly two months of delightfully stimulating conversation. To have been swept into a deepening friendship with him, Winifred must’ve been going mad. No other explanation existed.

  But that was all about to change. Last night’s encounter with Ewan had reminded her how foolish she’d been to trust her heart. She fell for the wrong men every time—Mr. Businessman wasn’t any different. And now she knew Ewan would never accept her as she was.

  So in the end, it was better he didn’t know the identity of Thoroughly Disgruntled. It would save him from needing to reject her twice.

  With what was left of her dignity and her heart, she would go home and heal. Start fresh. Let someone else choose her suitor. This time she wouldn’t be so picky about Uncle’s choices.

  And as for the mine, she’d planned to stay until Mr. Johns came to town next month, but yesterday changed that, too. She had enough money to buy her ticket home. Maybe it was time to do just that.

  She pushed through the shop door, spotting Delia seated at the counter, chin propped up by one elbow. When she saw Winifred, her eyes began dancing. Her brows wiggled up and down, as did her shoulders, her grin stretching ever wider.

  Winifred narrowed her eyes. “What’s got you so excited?”

  Delia cocked her head to one side. “You were pretty late coming back from the store last night. We closed at five, but you were here for a couple hours past that.” She let her words sink in.

  Winifred lifted her chin. “There was a lot to do.”

  Delia only raised her brows higher. “Were you alone?”

  Sneaky. “I do not have to award that question with an answer.”

  Laughing, Delia slapped the table. “You were with someone. I knew it! You thought you were so clever in hiding it, but you weren’t. I figured you out.”

  “I—” Winifred hesitated. Oh, what was the use? She might as well wear the truth written on her forehead. “All right, yes. I was with someone.”

  The young woman let out a squeal. “You have to tell me everything.” Scooting down, she patted the empty spot at her counter. “You were with Mr. Burke, right? Tell me you were with Mr. Burke.”

  Her face must’ve been bright red. “Yes. We were cleaning up the store after everyone left.”

  “And?”

  The pattern of Winifred’s heart quickened. “And he kissed me.”

  If Winifred didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn Delia’s eyes grew two complete sizes. Letting loose a laugh, Delia clapped her hands and then shook Winifred’s shoulder. “Are you joking with me? Tell me you’re not joking with me. He kissed you?”

  “I’m not joking. We were talking about our lives and then he kissed me.”

  “Then what?” She leaned closer as she waited for the answer.

  “Then...” Winifred’s throat thickened, but she swallowed against it. “Then that was it. We went our separate ways for the night.” And her precious news about their correspondence was never shared.

  “What? You just left each other? He didn’t declare his undying love or ask you to marry him or anything?”

  The words stung deep. “No, of course he didn’t. He’s much too sensible to say or do things he doesn’t mean.” Although, after last night’s kiss, she’d begun to doubt that statement.

  A frown diminished Delia’s excitement. “What are you talking about? You don’t think he loves you?”

  “I know he doesn’t.”

  “Are you sure? Do you think he kissed you for selfish reasons?”

  “Well, no. I mean—I don’t know.” Exhaling, Winifred looked away. He might have kissed her with a passion she’d felt clear to her toes, but... “I know his type, Delia. He’s smart and serious, and he’d be better off with a woman exactly like him.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard that opposites attract?”

  “Except they don’t, not really. I annoy him a lot. And I hardly think he’s perfect, either. He’s exceedingly stubborn, and he can be harsh when provoked, and—”

  “And he obviously likes you.” Delia shook her head. “Honestly, Winnie. You’re too smart to be this dense.”

  Her eyes began to burn, so she blinked it away. If he loved her, he wouldn’t have turned her down. But emotional women weren’t meant to be with serious men, and Ewan had been smart enough to recognize it. If only he’d realized it before he kissed her.

  “Win?”

  At the sound of Ewan’s voice, Winifred jumped to attention. “Ewan.” He stood at the shop door like he’d come from outside. When had that door opened? She stared at him, afraid he’d heard her secret thoughts.

  Delia grabbed the broom and began to clean. Winifred focused her attention on the man before her. “What brings you out of the office?”

  His gaze searched hers. “I’m on my way back from the post office.”

  The post office. Their letters. Her last reply waited in her dress pocket, suddenly weighing one hundred pounds.

  “I’d hoped to congratulate Delia on yesterday’s total sales on my way back up to my office. I already caught Cassandra.”

  “Aw, it was none of my doing.” Delia elbowed Winifred. “It was all Winnie here.”

  A blush warmed Winifred’s cheeks.

  Ewan cleared his throat. “Yes, I—”

  His sentence got lost as the door opened behind him. Winifred lifted her eyes to the three visitors and gasped. In the doorway of the shop stood Mr. Richard Johns, a man she didn’t know—and Uncle Wilbur, of all people.

  Her hand flew to the buttons on her bodice, and her mind rapidly calculated the time Mr. Johns had said he’d allot to Ewan and his business to turn things around before he returned. What was the man doing back so soon?

  “Winifred, darling, there you are.” Her uncle passed Ewan without so much as a glance. A small man, he yanked Winifred into his thin arms for a hug, then clutched her arms and held her away from him so he could look straight into her eyes. “I demand to know what you’re doing in Deadwood. You’re supposed to be in Spearfish.”

  “Um...” She couldn’t help but glance over Uncle’s shoulder at Ewan. At the sight of Mr. Johns and the other man, Ewan stood stone stiff, as if he’d been etched from the mountainside, his shoulders broad, his chin up.

  “Winifred?”

  She dragged her gaze away from Ewan. “Uncle, I could ask the same of you. What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to collect you, of course.” The man huffed, throwing his gaze to the ceiling. “You didn’t think you could send me a telegram without me coming to get you, did you?” He removed his hands and crossed his arms. “Now, answer my question.”

  Across the room, Ewan shook both men’s hands. One, then the other, his gaze firm and his mouth resolute. She recognized that expression. He hadn’t expected this visit, either.

 
“Winifred.”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle.” Must pay attention. “I was working here to earn money for the fare home. You told me that my travels to Spearfish needed to come from my own funds, so I didn’t feel I could ask you to send the fare. That’s all.”

  “We came as soon as I received your correspondence.” Apparently satisfied with her answer, Uncle Wilbur pivoted back toward the men. “And you must be Ewan Burke.” Hands behind his back, he approached Ewan like a prosecutor might approach the accused in a courtroom. “Tell me, what were you thinking, holding my niece here against her will?”

  Oh, dear. Winifred scurried forward. “I’m not held against my will, Uncle.”

  The older man narrowed his eyes. “Then why haven’t you come home after—however long were you in Spearfish? Another topic about which you have a lot of explaining to do.”

  Yes, unfortunately only so much fit within a telegram. “I just told you. I first had to earn money for fare.”

  “Why couldn’t this scoundrel show some Christian charity and pay for your way?”

  “I say, Dawson,” the unfamiliar man piped up, bushy brows low over his eyes. “My son may be foolish about many things, but I won’t stand here while you accuse him of being a scoundrel.”

  His son. This man was Mr. Peter Burke?

  She saw the resemblance now—the copper-flecked sandy hair, the strong jaw. The senior Mr. Burke took a step toward Uncle, but Ewan placed his arm in the way to silently break up the mounting quarrel.

  Her mind began to reel. Mr. Burke, Uncle Wilbur and Mr. Johns were all gathered in Ewan’s store. What was happening? Feeling a headache coming on, she moved her fingers to her temples.

  “Mr. Johns.” Ewan spoke up, his voice considerably calmer than Winifred’s would have been. “You’re a little early. We agreed upon three months, correct?”