Golden State Brides

by Keli Gwyn

  She had every right to perform the piece. And she wouldn’t let him keep her from it. She’d do her best, and he would have to admit she had talent. She swept to the front of the stage, tucked her violin under her chin, and watched Mr. Morton’s baton.

  Miles stood before the mirror in his back room the next morning, combed his hair, and grabbed his hat. He shoved the curtain aside and headed for the front door, addressing his clerk as he passed. “I won’t be gone long, Sammy.” At least he hoped he wouldn’t.

  “Pardon me for saying so, sir, but you don’t seem to be yourself this morning.”

  Miles paused with his hand on the doorknob. “What do you mean?”

  “Your waistcoast. You buttoned it crooked.”

  “So I did.” He fixed his mistake, one he couldn’t recall having made since he was a boy in short pants. Focus, Rutledge. You can’t let a woman get to you like this.

  He left his shop and waited for a farmer with a load of feed to rumble past. Early though it was, El Dorado was a hive of activity as folks tried to get as much done as possible before the heat of the day. He had a task of his own to perform, one he couldn’t put off, not if he wanted Ellie to accept his offer.

  Stepping lightly so as not to stir up dust that would cling to his clothes, he crossed the wide street, made his way around the corner of the Oriental Hotel at the end of the block, and approached the back door of Ellie’s shop.

  She emerged and flung a tub of dishwater his way. He jumped back.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. I got your boots, didn’t I?”

  She had. He’d need to condition the leather as soon as he got back. “No harm done.”

  “Tildy’s not here.”

  “I know. I didn’t come to see her.”

  Ellie held out a hand toward the open door. “Won’t you come in then?” She leaned the tub against the wall and wiped her hands on an apron smeared with jam—blackberry, judging by the deep purple stain seeping into the white fabric. A single braid hung down her back, and if the number of loose hairs was an indication, she’d yet to complete her morning routine. Even though she didn’t seem to be a woman focused on appearances like Irene, who’d spent hours primping, Ellie was usually well put together. He’d never seen her look as homey—or as appealing.

  He followed her into her back room. An unmistakable scent filled the air, the same one he’d smelled in Mother’s kitchen earlier. “You didn’t burn the bacon.”

  “You do have a way with words, don’t you?”

  “Sorry.” What a fool he was. He’d come to make peace. Instead he’d been downright rude. She studied him with such intensity he felt like an insect being eyed by a hungry bird. It was all he could do not to squirm.

  Her expression softened. “Since I owe you an apology, I’ll accept yours.”

  “What do you have to apologize for? I’m the one with the habit of tasting boot blacking.”

  “You may speak before thinking at times, but I know you mean well, whereas I set out to put you in your place last night. I was wrong to do it, and I hope you can forgive me.”

  Women. After all the years he’d spent waiting on them, he still couldn’t figure them out. Especially the one before him, a woman who could make him madder than a yellow jacket one minute and send his heart soaring the next.

  When Ellie had drawn her bow across the strings for the final note of her stunning performance and turned to face the members of Musical Society with her head held high, ready to take their feedback with courage befitting a man, his chest had swelled so much his waistcoast buttons had been in danger of popping off. Rarely had Irene affected him the way Ellie did last night.

  Whatever she took on she gave her all, be it raising a daughter on her own, running a business, or performing a challenging solo. If she were to accept his offer of a partnership, he’d reap the benefits—in many ways. “You had every right to audition. The only excuse for my behavior is that I was caught off guard.”

  “I was surprised, too. You generally know what’s going on in town.”

  “Seems my friends were out to teach me a lesson. One I needed to learn.”

  A bud of a smile curved her mouth, growing until it bloomed into one so warm and welcoming he wanted to plant a kiss on those lovely lips of hers. She stared at his. Was she inviting him to—

  “You may—”

  “Really?” He hadn’t meant to sound so eager.

  “What?” She looked into his eyes, and her smile evaporated as quickly as the dishwater she’d tossed out. “Oh!” She looked away and fanned her cheeks. Although he couldn’t see them, he guessed they’d taken on a pretty pink tinge.

  He turned her around and let his hands linger on her upper arms. She stared at the top button of his waistcoat. Good thing Sammy had pointed out the need to refasten it. Wouldn’t do for her to know how flustered he’d been when he dressed. Not that she’d have any idea why. For all she knew he was angry with her for joining the Musical Society. He had to make her understand. “Ellie, please look at me.”

  She did as he asked, but what he saw wasn’t amusement or confusion. He got a glimpse of something much deeper. It was as though she’d opened a window to her soul, allowing him to see into her heart. The burning need for someone to appreciate her and show her some tenderness was so startling, so intense, that he dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back.

  For a moment she stood rooted to the spot, her attention fixed on his boots. Then she whirled around and removed empty crates from the chairs and table, stacking them willynilly. “What I was going to say is that you may have a seat, but I realized my back room is in a terrible state. Since I haven’t been able to open my shop to customers and have been busy packing orders for the Tal—for my employees to deliver, I’ve let things go. I’ll have the place cleared up forthwith.”

  She reached over her head and attempted to add one more of the slatted pine boxes to the unwieldy stack. It teetered precariously.

  “Careful!”

  Before he could right the crates, the tower toppled, sending the containers crashing to the floor and Ellie reeling backward. He reached for her, but she caught her heel and landed on the floor with a thump, where she sat with her boots peeking from beneath her splayed skirt and a stunned look on her face.

  He dropped to his knees beside her and rested a hand on her back. “Are you all right?”

  Rather than answering, she giggled. Softly at first and then louder and louder until she erupted in peals of laughter, an undignified display so unlike her and so refreshing he couldn’t help but laugh along with her. At length she resumed a measure of control, although her lips still twitched.

  “Let me help you.” He stood, extended a hand, which she took without a moment’s hesitation, and pulled her to her feet.

  She straightened her dress, reached behind her to brush off the dust, and scrunched her face. “Oooh!”

  “You hit hard. You’re going to be sore. I suggest sitting on a pillow for a few days.”

  She swatted his arm, merriment dancing in her warm brown eyes. “Mr. Rutledge, a gentleman doesn’t mention such things.”

  “Nor does a lady howl, although I quite enjoyed the spectacle.” He awaited the rebuke or retort sure to come.

  “You can be quite pleasant company when you choose to be, can’t you?”

  Her voice held no edge, but he’d proceed with caution anyhow. “Does that mean you’re considering my offer?”

  “Not seriously, although I’m glad you finally realize I’m a worthy opponent.”

  She was that. He had to find a way to get her working for him instead of against him. If she accepted his offer and wasn’t under the pressure she faced now, perhaps she’d relax more often. When she did, she was a lot of fun. “You’d make a worthy partner, too.”

  “But I’d have limited say. Here”—she pointed a finger at the floor—“I’m in charge.”

  “In charge of what? You’re in a building so badly damaged you can�
�t even use it.”

  “I’m making progress. Let me show you.” She pulled aside the curtain, beckoned him to follow her into the shop, and extended a hand toward the front, which was still covered in tarpaulins. The woodsy scent of freshly cut lumber overtook the smell of bacon. He located the source, a pile of boards behind her display cases.

  “The pine for the awning and the fir for the trim were delivered several days ago. The plate glass arrived yesterday, but it was broken in two, although no one knows when or how that happened. I’ll have to wait for a new sheet to be shipped from San Francisco. It’s unfortunate, but I sent Mr. Steele a telegram, and he agreed to visit the factory to see if they’ll rush the order.”

  Miles squatted and ran a hand over the smooth strips of fir. “How long does MacDougall think it will take to get you up and running again?”

  “Another three weeks.”

  He stood and rested a hand on the dusty countertop. “You could be selling your wares in my shop tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve a number of socials scheduled, and I’m using the time to make plans for my reopening. I aim to have some surprises for my customers.”

  “New merchandise?”

  “That…among other things.”

  She gave him a sly smile—and an idea. If he could get her to himself for a few days, away from her business, he’d be able to show her how much he’d changed. Once she saw that he valued her opinions, she’d be more likely to accept his offer. He’d much rather see her bent over the books in his back room than behind the counter in her shop waiting on customers she’d lured away from him.

  “If you want to get more wares, I know just how you can do it. Join me on a buying trip to Sacramento City next week.”

  “Please, Mama. Just one more time.”

  Elenora pinched the string between her thumbs and first fingers in the two places Tildy had pointed out with her chin, reached around her hands, and opened it to reveal a new pattern. “What do you call this game again?”

  Tildy took a turn, creating another in a sequence of transformations that had her captivated. “Cat’s cradle. Timmy taught me, and he showed me his arrowheads. He said they’re real ones from the Miwok Indians who live around here. He’s pretty smart for a boy, even if he doesn’t say much.”

  Mrs. Rutledge set a stack of plates on the kitchen table beside the silverware and condiments and patted Tildy’s shoulder. “You’ve gotten him talking, which is commendable. Mrs. Talbot said he’s let Tommy do most of the talking since they were tykes.”

  Tildy held out the string configuration to her. “Would you like to take a turn?”

  “I’ve had more than enough already. Besides, I need to make the gravy. Perhaps you can talk Miles into playing with you. It should be easy, since you’ve got him wound around your little finger.”

  The grandfather clock in the parlor chimed twelve times, and Mrs. Rutledge paused with a cup of flour over the drippings in the skillet. “Matilda, would you dash over to the shop and hurry him along? I’d like to get dinner over with quickly, since he said he’d tend to the rug beating for me after the meal. You might enjoy watching him. He creates quite a cloud of dust.”

  “Yes ma’am.” She skipped out of the room with the string still stretched over her hands.

  The tantalizing scents of beef and cooked onions caused Elenora’s stomach to rumble—rather loudly. Papa’s new wife used to frown when she heard such an unladylike noise. Elenora pressed a hand to her midsection in an attempt to put an end to the embarrassing sound. “Excuse me.”

  Mrs. Rutledge whisked the mixture in the iron skillet. She didn’t seem at all offended by the growling, which finally subsided. In fact, she chuckled. “Sounds like you’re ready for dinner. All that walking you’re doing works up an appetite. It can be draining in this heat, though, even for someone who enjoys it. If you were to take Miles up on his offer, you wouldn’t have to be out in the sun. Have you made a decision?”

  Forthright. That description fit his mother like a glove. If she could speak her mind…“I can’t. He’s been complimentary of late, but for weeks he did nothing but question my way of doing things.”

  “He did. But you have to admit, your methods are unorthodox.”

  “Unorthodox? Last week you called them innovative.” Whose side was she on? Her son’s, of course. Elenora pressed her lips together and stared out the window.

  “My dear, you needn’t take offense. I’m not out to criticize you. I know my son. He can be slow to embrace change, but the fact that he’s made you the offer again proves he’s teachable.” Her voice had risen. She paused. When she spoke her tone was soft and pleading. “Can’t you give him a chance?”

  “I’ll set the table.” Elenora rose, carried the dishes into the dining room, and arranged the place settings. She put the mustard at Mr. Rutledge’s place. He fancied the spicy spread on his pot roast. If she agreed to be his partner, he’d have even more spice in his life. But how would he take to having someone around who insisted on having a say in the business? Not well, from all she’d seen.

  The idea of being his partner caused her empty stomach to roil. Mama had talked about asking the Lord to give her a sense of peace so she’d know what He wanted her to do. Elenora smiled. If that were true and God led using such means, the answer was clear. The only thing that stopped the swirling in her belly was the thought of standing in her own shop, opening her new door, and welcoming her customers inside to look at the wonderful merchandise she had for sale.

  And she knew how to get it. She would go on the buying trip and let Mr. Rutledge introduce her to the vendors. Not having to locate them on her own would speed things up nicely, and she’d be able to reopen with new goods sure to draw people into her place.

  She returned to the kitchen for the butter dish. “If you’re sure about working in the mercantile in his place while watching Tildy for me, I’ll travel to Sacramento City with him.”

  Mrs. Rutledge smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. You won’t regret it.”

  No, but when Mr. Rutledge found out she wasn’t accepting his offer, he would.

  Chapter 17

  Miles sat before a vendor’s desk four days later with Ellie at his side. The businessman’s ebony hair held enough grease to lubricate every hinge in Sacramento City. Even the hand he’d offered when they’d arrived felt slick.

  “I’m afraid you misunderstood, Mr. Beadle. I’m serving as Mrs. Watkins’s escort today and making the introductions. She has a shop of her own, but she’s not ready to place any orders yet. Should she choose to place one with you, we’ll return tomorrow.”

  “Indeed? Do forgive me, ma’am. I’m unaccustomed to dealing with members of the weaker sex.” He dipped a bow before Ellie. The broad smile on his gaunt face when he arose was at odds with the conspiratorial wink he shot Miles.

  “Good day, sir. Shall we go, Mr. Rutledge?” Elenora made a show of wiping her feet on the worn rug at the door of the small smoke-filled office and marched down the wooden walkway. Her gloved fists swung in time with each clomp of her heels. He matched her lengthy strides.

  Once they were out of earshot of passersby, she spoke her mind. “Weaker sex! How dare he say such a thing? Doesn’t he know women here have rights and can conduct business on their own behalf? If he thinks for one minute that I—”

  “Calm yourself, Ellie. Mr. Beadle might not be as enlightened as some, but you can’t expect the world to change overnight. Look how long it took me to come around.”

  She stopped, and he followed suit. Her eyes flitted from side to side as they roved over his face. He wished he could keep his as impassive as hers. It wouldn’t do for her to see how much he was enjoying her outburst. She looked like a banty hen with her feathers fluffed.

  He couldn’t fault her for being upset. Mr. Beadle had been out of line, but she had to learn to lower her expectations. While California was more progressive than other parts of the country, it would take men time to grow accustomed to
seeing women hold positions unheard of in days gone by. He was just getting used to the idea himself, although it did have hidden benefits. Making the rounds of Sacramento City’s wholesale houses was decidedly more agreeable with an attractive woman like Ellie at his side.

  Her assessment complete, she met his gaze. “I see from the telltale twitch of your lips that you’re enjoying this, but I fail to see any humor in the situation. While you have made progress, I wouldn’t exactly say you’ve been a model of broad-mindedness.”

  “That’s balderdash! Whose idea was it to make this trip in the first place? And who’s been taking a businesswoman around to meet as many vendors as possible, in spite of the looks I’m getting from most of the men? I’d say I’m being quite progressive—and downright charitable.”

  Her chin dropped, leaving her mouth parted, and he had the strongest urge to kiss her. Had they been alone, he might have tried it just to see how she’d react.

  “Progressive? Charitable? That’s exactly what I mean. Implying I need your charity because I’m a woman doesn’t exactly qualify as progressive thinking in my mind.”

  “All right. Perhaps my word choices weren’t the best. How about big-hearted or kind? Would one of those work for you?”

  She stared at him so long he could have grown a beard, but when she spoke her tone was as warm as the sun-baked roadway beside them. “Thank you for making the effort to understand. I know it’s only a matter of semantics, but it’s important to me. Shall we go? I’d like to make as many stops as possible before supper.” She gathered her skirts and crossed the dusty street.

  What a spunky little thing she was. All the more reason he needed her to join forces with him. If she didn’t, she’d continue to draw business away from the mercantile. He couldn’t afford to let that happen. Besides, working with her could be more fun than he’d first thought.

  When Ellie reached Marchand and Babineaux Wholesalers, she rested her hand on Miles’s as he reached for the doorknob, and he froze. She wasn’t in the habit of touching him, although he liked it when she did. “I think things might go more smoothly if you were to start the conversation and wait a while to tell them I’m representing myself. I’d like to see how they respond under normal circumstances.”