by Kristin Holt
He fell silent and Evelyn simply held his gaze. How would she know if he wasn’t as certain as he claimed?
“Not long ago, I wrote to her again—Octavia’s her name—and asked her to wed me now that the business is solid and I have a home to offer her.” He pulled her back into him, inviting her to rest her head against him. “That was at the end of winter, as spring approached. The time seemed right. Looking back, I felt like I had to follow through and offer once more. I’m not sure I still loved her then.”
He fell silent, and Evelyn listened to the rise and fall of his breaths. A gust of wind drove rain into the window panes with sharp spatters. Lamplight flickered in the draft.
“She turned me down. Just like I knew she would.” He drew the pad of his thumb over hers, where their hands lay linked. The touch was delightful, endearing, and sweet.
“This place is too wild for the likes of Miss Octavia Sheline. She’s accustomed to the best and newest of everything, the comforts only long-settled places can provide.” He turned thoughtful once more.
“Didn’t you want to stay with her?”
“No. We came from different worlds, she and I. Oh, I might make my way in the world, buy a nice suit, learn to dance as well as any other beau, but inside, I’ll still be the destitute orphan boy from the poor German Immigrant side of town.”
“You don’t sound German. I hear Georgia in your voice, but not a hint of a German accent.”
“My parents died a long time ago, but I was born in Georgia.” He shrugged. “Pretty much raised myself.”
Her heart ached for him, feeling his aloneness, the regret that claimed him. Such pain had reverberated through his words: destitute, poor, orphan boy. He was good enough, he was better than the likes of hoity-toity Octavia.
The woman was a fool for turning Sam Kochler away.
“You think so?” he asked, making Evelyn realize she’d made that statement aloud.
“Yes. Octavia is a fool. You are more than worthy, you—” She cut herself off. She’d said too much.
Sam chuckled, turned himself on the settee to better face her. He pressed his lips to her forehead for a long moment. “Does this mean you accept my proposal of marriage?”
Evelyn swallowed. Her heartbeat tripped so fast it seemed to skip a beat or two. She couldn’t help but smile at the hopeful, adoring expression on Sam’s dear face.
Heaven help her foolish heart, but she’d fallen in love—again.
But two enormous differences loomed between Sam Kochler and the likes of Daniel Tracy—Sam Kochler had offered marriage and apparently meant it.
All at once, the tremulous sense of possibilities opened up before her. She just might have a future with Sam—a real future. Not just a few stolen kisses and a tumble filled with consequences—no, that was more Daniel’s style. Now that Sam had related the truth behind the rumors of his Sweetheart at home, Evelyn wanted to believe he was ready to move on, ready to commit to someone else. To her.
Sam blinked those long, dark eyelashes. A lopsided grin tugged at his sensual mouth.
Could he possibly mean it? “That all depends on whether your offer is sincere.”
“Completely. I meant what I said, Evelyn…I’m a man in love. Marry me?”
She pulled her gaze from his lips and nearly fell into the warmth of his hazel eyes. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Surprise registered on his dear face.
She chuckled. “Did you want me to say no?”
“No, ma’am. I wanted a yes.” He kissed her, a quick buss on the lips. “You really said yes?”
“Sam, I’d be honored to have you for my husband.”
Uncertainties still nagged. She detested Daniel for making her mistrust Sam…before Daniel, she never would’ve doubted.
Her expression must’ve given away her uncertainty, because he squeezed her hand. “Evelyn?”
She forced a bright smile.
“What is it?”
She lowered her attention to their joined hands. How easily his touch had become familiar. “Is this all part of the charade—this claim that you’re a man in love, offering marriage? Part of keeping the unsavory types away until I make up my mind? Because if it is, I thank you, and I understand—”
Sam nudged her chin up with his knuckles. He held her gaze for the briefest of moments—so intense, this certainty and desire in his eyes—that when his lips touched hers every doubt fled.
His kiss started sweet but rapidly heated to something far more than chivalry and duty and couldn’t be confused with friendship. She tasted lemonade in his kiss, but the underlying flavor of honesty and desire chased away her doubts.
Daniel Tracy had swept in like this, all passionate kisses and whispered adoration…but without promises of tomorrows and without Sam’s authentic honesty.
“Marry me,” he said, pulling back enough to pin her with the intensity of his gaze. “Let’s be a family, you, me, and the baby we’ll bring into the world, together. I want you for my wife.”
“Oh, yes.” Without question, she knew what a man’s interest looked like, because Sam had shown her his heart.
The mercantile saw twice its normal business that day. Word was out that Sam had a nice selection of courting gifts, that gifts were apparently expected by the young ladies—and gentlemen, anxious to win over a woman before they ran out, brought them into the mercantile in droves.
If they weren’t there to buy courting gifts, they’d come to see if Sam had been serious when he’d proposed marriage to a pregnant woman.
What was wrong with these people?
Is that all they could see? Just a rounded belly that announced she would soon be a mother?
As twilight descended, Sam doused the lamps, drew down the shades, and locked up tight. He tucked his own courting gift under his arm—a large bundle wrapped tidily in brown paper and tied with string—and pocketed his keys. He whistled a happy tune as he turned toward the Quarters.
Piano music drifted out of the saloon—but not the usual raucous show tunes…a sonata by one of those dead European composers. Sam had heard it before, but didn’t know its name. Must be one of the ladies taking over the saloon. Perhaps some of the other brides had gathered ‘round.
It was a good change.
When Sam arrived at the Quarters that his bride-to-be called home, he did not knock on the door like a suitor coming to call. He had far better plans.
He rounded the two-story structure and found her bedroom window closed and the curtains drawn. He could only hope she was in her room. He’d find out soon enough.
He set his wrapped packet on a tree stump and fished his harmonica from a pocket. He blew through the piece to warm it up, put it to his lips, and began a ballad. He cupped his hand around the mouth organ, flavoring the sweet notes with vibrato and raised the volume just a bit, watching for any signs of Evelyn at her window.
He caught a glimpse of a dark-headed lady at a first-floor window. Then another joined her. One of the second story windows opened to let the music drift inside, but it wasn’t Evelyn’s.
Sam played on, through the refrain, and started again at the top. He coaxed as much emotion from the love song as he could. After all, didn’t men successfully court women by serenading them?
He was going for dramatic effect here, as well as the reward of seeing Evelyn’s smile.
Halfway through the second verse, Evelyn pushed up the sash of her bedroom window. She leaned forward, hands braced on the window sill, that beautiful smile radiant. Her teeth shone white in the fading daylight.
In the distance, the competing piano tune drew to a close, so Sam drew a deeper breath and played to the final measure with more emotion, more fervency and volume. He let the last note hang in the still night air. Just as he lowered his instrument, his impromptu audience burst into applause.
But he had eyes only for Evelyn.
She’d knelt at the window, the better to see him. She clapped with the kind of appreciation that spoke to his
lonely heart.
Yes! His plan to court his bride was working.
He held her gaze and bowed from the waist.
This made her laugh. The high notes lyrical and oh, so appealing.
“Play another tune,” the elder Miss Duprize requested in her ladylike way.
“Yes, another!” came the call from Miss Baker from her second-story window.
Evelyn just held his gaze and smiled.
Sam couldn’t help but think that special smile was just for him. He certainly hadn’t seen her this happy nor this content since she stepped off the train. He wanted to believe he’d put that smile on her face, and that she reserved those smiles for him.
One more tune, then he’d get on with his courting plans. Playing directly to Evelyn, everybody else merely bystanders, Sam held her gaze through the opening bars of another love ballad, this one a favorite back home. He shoved aside memories of dancing with Octavia at one of her many house parties to this very tune.
Right now, he forged new memories.
The music poured from his very soul, the melody both bright and joyful yet melancholy with interspersed minor chords. Partway through, Evelyn leaned her head on her fist, but her attention remained riveted on him.
Pride warmed him clear through. He hadn’t expected this much complete attention. Octavia had found his mouth organ inferior. An acceptable hobby, as long as he didn’t think to play for an audience. Now, if he’d played a violin or cello, Octavia would have approved.
The contrast made Evelyn’s attention and obvious appreciation feel even sweeter.
Meeting her gaze in the fading daylight did something mighty strange to his equilibrium. It felt like the world shifted a little beneath his feet, as if he were on the edge of a precipice…and at the bottom, full-blown love for Evelyn.
He played on, that weightless sensation toying with his stomach.
When the song was over, Sam took another bow to the appreciative applause and calls of “encore!” He brushed off the requests and made a show of slipping the harmonica back into his pocket, picking up his gift, and knocking on the door.
He knew for a fact that some of the fellows didn’t bother to knock on the Quarters’ door. After all, they saw it as a public house, where all were free to come and go, especially as far as its parlor and front entryway.
But Sam had himself some wooing to do.
He’d barely rapped on the door when Evelyn pulled it open.
Her smile, so sincere and warm, sent Sam’s heart into a stutter. Oh, no…no, no. Not what he’d planned on, not what he wanted to have happen. Affection, sure. Contentment and commitment and friendship were all fine ideas…but love?
Yeah, he’d told Evelyn he was a man in love…but actually falling for her was risky business.
“You play splendidly, Mr. Kochler.” Evelyn’s praise felt so darn good.
“I play for your enjoyment.”
Her smile blazed like a summertime sun at high noon.
“I know another fifty tunes and I’ll play for you anytime you want.”
Octavia would have laughed and insisted his kind of music was vulgar. But Evelyn merely stepped outside and slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow.
“Let’s walk.” She leaned a little closer, her voice lowering so it would be less likely to carry. “I haven’t been alone with you, not once, all day.”
He’d been keeping an eye out for her today, too. He’d spied her on the street, walking with several of the other young ladies. She’d smiled and waved. He’d been delighted to catch a glimpse of her, enjoying the evidence that the most unsavory of the guys paid her no mind any longer. It seemed his claim had done its job…and kept those fellows away.
Good.
She was his.
He squeezed her hand where it lay on his forearm and offered the wrapped parcel. “I brought you a present.”
She took it even as happiness warmed her beautiful features. Dusk had fallen, and she might not be able to see the contents clearly, but he’d rather give this atypical courting gift away from the prying eyes of the other brides.
She squeezed the paper wrapping with apparent curiosity. “What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
She untied the string, unwrapped the paper, revealing the neatly folded calico and cotton twill beneath. In this light, the yards of fabric could’ve been any color at all, but he hoped that in the full light of day she’d like the purple and moss-green calico combination that would set off the red-gold of her hair. It would make a lovely dress or pair of blouses, maybe an apron, too. The rich brown twill would make a serviceable skirt and jacket, or a dress she could fashion to suit during the pregnancy. Even in the summertime, their high mountain valley got downright chilly most nights and didn’t really grow warm until mid-afternoon.
His woman needed clothing that fit, and it had seemed like an appropriate courting gift. Its whole purpose was to show her he would take care of her, as best he knew how.
She glanced up to meet his gaze, an unvoiced question lurking in her eyes.
Sam suddenly felt a bit foolish. Everything he’d ordered, specifically as courting gifts for the ladies—ranging from baubles to silver-handled brushes and combs, silver-framed mirrors and candies—had wooing a lady written all over them.
Back at the store, providing fabric for her to sew herself something that would fit her changing figure had seemed like a good idea.
But right now, he felt a mite foolish.
How did he explain he thought she needed bigger clothes? He rubbed the back of his neck, knowing how that would go over.
Evelyn clutched the bundle of fabric to her chest, leaned close, and kissed his cheek.
The soft, warm press of her lips against his freshly-shaved face soothed the panic. “Thank you. I love it.”
“I just thought—”
“I’ve had to become rather creative,” she murmured, putting him out of his misery, “just to make my wardrobe fit me. You’re most thoughtful.”
Relief rushed through him.
It was easy—too easy—to slip his arms around her waist and draw her near. He found he quite liked holding this pretty gal close, liked the way they fit together.
The light was so far gone now, he could only see in shades of gray and black. But the vibrant color of her hair was all there in his mind’s eye. This woman—his woman—was a beauty. The swirling, tumbling feelings that knocked on his hand-me-down heart, demanding entrance, were all too familiar. He knew what falling in love felt like because he’d been there before.
As Evelyn initiated a sweet kiss, the nudge struck him just as surely as if she’d put a single fingertip to the center of his chest and pushed. He fought to hang on to the edge of that cliff…how could he risk falling headlong in love? He wasn’t ready.
He panicked.
But not enough to break away from the magic of her kiss.
Falling in love hadn’t worked out so well with Octavia. She’d used his love for her like a bit in his mouth, turning him whichever way she wanted, persuading him to do her bidding, usually against his better judgment.
As Evelyn’s kiss sparked something fresh and beautiful within his heart, he realized he must stop comparing this wonderful woman, his bride-to-be, with an old flame who’d broken his heart.
Yes, it had been a mistake to give his heart to Octavia, but he had no way of knowing if he was repeating that mistake with Evelyn.
After all, he truly did want to marry for love, to be in love, to love his wife. The last thing he wanted was a loveless marriage. But Evelyn hadn’t actually married him, yet.
Octavia had strung him along a good long while.
Obviously, he’d had blinders on…and the past effected him far more than he wanted it to. He decided then and there to trust Evelyn to say her “I do’s” and mean them.
Maybe then, after she’d fully committed to him, he’d let himself fall in love.
Chapter Eight
Two days
later, the afternoon stage stopped across the street from Sam’s store. As was routine, Billy, the stage driver, would bring the mail delivery into the mercantile and collect outgoing mail—including Evelyn’s letter to her parents.
Sam couldn’t help but grin like a fool in love.
He was so darn proud of her for contacting her parents, despite her anxiety.
She’d shown him the carefully crafted letter explaining the reasons she’d disembarked in Leadville and the newfound joy in her upcoming marriage. He’d seen a new depth of her character in her written apology, asking for their understanding and forgiveness. She’d introduced him with descriptions of his appearance, personality, and nature that nearly brought him to his knees.
He couldn’t wait to take this wonderful woman to wife, so he’d suggested that they travel to Leadville and be married there, but Evelyn had wanted to have the minister come to them. That way, she’d have all of her newfound friends around her.
If she wanted to be married right here where they’d live out the rest of their lives, who was he to deny her? Besides, she’d been pink-cheeked and flushed with happiness at the prospect of marrying as soon as the preacher could get to town.
It was still too early to expect a response from Brother Quayle, but that didn’t keep Sam from wishing. If he had his way, the preacher would get off the stage this moment and call for Sam to bring his bride forward.
She wasn’t the only bride elated with the thought of a preacher to officiate, and that was fine by him. If the brides wanted a man of God saying the words at their weddings, who was he to complain? At last count, four additional brides anxiously awaited Brother Quayle’s arrival.
He checked his timepiece, noting he had a good quarter hour until he had to officiate at a ceremony for two couples who had no interest in waiting for the preacher. He had plenty of time to finish unpacking a crate of canned goods onto freshly dusted shelves.
Across the way, the stage disgorged two female passengers, one slender and youthful, the next matronly and stout. The sight of skirts held his attention—women, arriving in Prosperity? Most unexpected. There’s been no word from Mrs. Mumford and the Hartford Bridal Agency.