She tried to focus on the room, at the men, women, and children around them. People were talking, smiling, and congratulating Charity and the choir members.
I don’t belong here. It wasn’t a new revelation, but it hurt more than ever to realize a woman like her didn’t belong anywhere—except in a brothel.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” he asked.
The undisguised admiration and warmth in Brand’s gaze threatened to be her undoing. “Of course.”
She watched him walk toward a gathering of ranchers. He greeted them warmly, shook hands all around.
Alone in the middle of a crowd, she fidgeted with her gloves, adjusted the silk cords on her reticule, and promised herself never again.
“Mrs. Foster?”
She turned to find Charity there with Mary Margaret Cutter. Along with her husband, Timothy, Mary Margaret owned the First Bank of Glory, the town’s only bank.
“You did a wonderful job with the choirs,” Laura complemented Charity to keep the conversation on anything but herself. “Especially the children. You must have infinite patience.”
Charity shrugged. “Not really. I just can’t bring myself to correct them. I usually end up trying to hide a smile when they misbehave. I’ll admit I had to use a touch of Amelia’s nerve medicine before the performance—” She suddenly flushed with color.
Laura found herself wishing she’d remembered Amelia concocted nerve medicine and had bought some before tonight.
Mary Margaret leaned closer. “It’s nice to see you here, Laura. I’m happy the reverend convinced you to join us.”
“Yes, well…” She’d never made small talk in this sort of a situation. “Thank you, Mary Margaret. It’s nice to see you out from behind the teller window.”
Mary Margaret was seventy if she was a day, yet she worked five days a week in the bank alongside her husband, Timothy, who was notoriously hard of hearing.
“We’ve been so busy lately. Not that I’m complaining, but with so many folks purchasing homesteads and ranches, most of them wanting some kind of loan, it’s been hectic for us. It’ll be interesting to see how many of these folks actually take. Not everyone adjusts to Texas. It takes a certain breed to fit in. The weather and the isolation out here will beat the stuffing right out of you, if you let it.” She shook her head at Laura. “Never thought you’d last, but you did and we’re mighty glad.”
Laura was overcome by a sudden stinging in her eyes and wondered what on earth was wrong with her until she realized it was the threat of tears. Her carefully constructed facade was coming apart at the seams.
“I was thinking of starting a ladies sewing circle. Do you sew, Laura?” Charity asked.
“I’ve never even tried.” She immediately realized they might wonder why not. “I…have to admit, I’m spoiled when it comes to sewing. I…my mother never taught me.” She turned to Mary Margaret. “How about you?”
Mary Margaret shook her head. “Sew? When on earth would I have time to sew?”
“What about a Bible study group?” Charity was unwilling to let go of the notion of getting them all together. Laura feigned interest in the cuff of her gown.
“I don’t have time for a lot of reading,” Mary Margaret said. “By the time night falls, I’m tuckered out.”
“Would you enjoy a Bible study group, Laura?” Charity asked.
“I’m afraid running the boardinghouse takes all of my time. I don’t know how I could possibly attend a meeting,” she admitted. “I do love to read, though.” Laura wondered what Charity would say if she told her she’d never even read the Bible.
“Maybe if you invited Brand, Charity, we could get Laura to join.” Mary Margaret chuckled.
Laura nodded as her face grew warm. She glanced around the room. Coming tonight had made a statement to everyone. Their preacher was interested in her.
What now, she wondered.
She spotted Brand still in deep conversation with the men. As if he felt her gaze on him from across the room, he looked up, met her eyes, and smiled. It was such a simple, innocent gesture, and yet the unexpected thrill—that was becoming less unexpected by the moment—ran through her. It frightened as well as excited her.
“What do you read, Laura?” Libby wanted to know.
“Novels.” Laura tried to focus on the conversation. Their little group had been joined by three other women who had moved closer, closing ranks around them. They were all listening intently.
“Nathaniel Hawthorne,” she added. “And Dickens. I’ve read most of his work.”
“How about Jane Austin?” Mary Margaret wanted to know. “I used to love reading her novels when I was young.”
Laura could relate to Dickens’ starving orphans, the underbelly of London’s streets, and Fagan with his band of ragtag child thieves. She knew the polite constraint of the social world in which Jane Austin’s characters moved merely masked what really went on beneath the varnish of polite society.
Standing there chatting with stout, hardworking Mary Margaret and Brand’s sister, Laura was reminded that she didn’t really know these women and had absolutely no real connection with them—and never would. She would never be able to fool them for long. She studied the faces of those who had joined them and wondered how they couldn’t see right through her.
She took a deep breath and fanned herself with her hand. “This has been an enjoyable chat, but now if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’m going to get some air.” She stepped away before anyone could protest and headed for the front door.
Hovering on the threshold, she stared out into the darkness that blanketed the town. Main Street spread out beyond the churchyard. Far in the distance, a light shone through the windows of the Silver Slipper Saloon. Closer, her own porch light still burned. It called to her like a beacon, drawing her to the safety of her gilded cage.
Bryce Botsworth and his family would be leaving after breakfast. If she snuck in the back door and up the servants’ stairs to her room, she could lock herself away without ever having to see him again. She would have Anna deliver a note of apology; a headache would keep her from bidding them a personal good-bye.
A glance over her shoulder assured her that Brand had moved on to chat with yet another small group. She stepped outside and drew her shawl close. The breeze blew a cottonwood leaf down the street, the first of many that would fall in the coming days and weeks. Soon Glory’s few trees would be as bare as the landscape surrounding the town—the open plains and prairies that rolled on forever would now and again be covered with frost and sometimes even a light dusting of snow.
Rain would come, then the cold, and thanks to the fertile range in Texas and growth in the region, guests would continue to walk through the door of the boardinghouse, insuring her future. The guests would never know what she had been before she became Laura Foster.
She had barely made it to the end of the path that led to the edge of the street when she heard footsteps quickly approaching from behind. She slipped the strings of her reticule open and reached inside. Her hand closed around the pearl handle of her derringer.
“I’m sorry, Laura.” It was Brand. “Surely you aren’t upset enough to walk home alone, are you?”
As she turned, she let go of the gun and slipped her hand out of her bag. She smiled.
“I’m not upset in the least—”
“I tried to get back to you and when that was impossible, I tried to catch your eye to call you over. I’m sorry I abandoned you like that.”
A bitter laugh nearly escaped her. She knew what true abandonment was.
“Charity and Mary Margaret kept me company.”
“You weren’t even going to say good-bye?”
He had her there. He deserved better than to have her run out on him.
“You were busy chatting with everyone. I planned to send you a thank-you note.”
He smiled. “I still have your note of regret in my pocket. Perhaps I’ll start a collection. The congregation i
s going to wonder why I smell like lavender.”
“You noticed.” She was thankful for the darkness that hid her embarrassment. She kept a lavender sachet in her stationery box.
“I notice everything about you, Laura. I even noticed how uncomfortable you were inside.”
She thought she’d been able to hide it.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
“You meet strangers every day. People from miles around rave about your hospitality.”
She shrugged. “I’m simply more comfortable at home.”
“Then let me take you there.” He offered his arm.
“You should be inside the hall—”
“Right now, this is where I should be. Where I want to be.”
No one had ever said anything as tender to her before. She didn’t even know how to react. Silent, she slipped her hand into his elbow and let him lead her to his buggy.
The chatter and noise around Brand had receded the moment he realized Laura was no longer in the hall. Charity had explained that Laura needed some air. He headed for the door, expecting to find her just outside, but she was gone. His heart sank until he caught a glimpse of her headed down the shadowed walk toward Main Street.
Now, seated beside her in the buggy, the world felt right again. There was something about her that intrigued him and drew him to her. Something that made her stand out in a way no other woman had since he’d lost Jane. Granted, Laura was lovely, but there was something more, something haunting about her. He’d noticed the first Sunday she walked into the church. Since then he’d found there was so much more to her than her lovely countenance.
There was a wistful sadness about her despite her strength. Perhaps it was the way she gave the appearance of an observer of life, not someone who was part of it. Each time he’d seen her around town or on Sunday sitting in the back of the church, she had been alone. The more he thought about it, the more he realized she had few close friends aside from Hank and Amelia, the Cutters, the Hernandez family, and a few others.
People moved in and out of her life daily, but she was virtually alone.
He knew nothing about her past, where she came from, or who her people were. She’d never even mentioned her late husband by name. Her past was a mystery to him. One he hoped she would share when she came to trust him enough. Her isolation made him want to introduce her to another way of life—a life full of love, laughter, and family.
So far, he hadn’t found a single flaw in her, except perhaps her stubborn determination. To her great credit, she was able to gently but firmly discipline his children, something neither he nor Charity had ever been able to accomplish. Laura managed to handle them without talking down to them, or bullying.
Her beauty hid a will of iron.
He was loath to say good-night, so he walked his horse down the street at a snail’s pace. Even so, they reached the boardinghouse in what seemed like seconds. He set the brake and started around the buggy to help her, but this time she scrambled down before he reached the other side. A chuckle escaped him.
“Have I somehow amused you?” she asked as they made their way up the walk to her veranda.
“I was obviously too forward when I helped you down at the church.” He remembered the feel of her waist beneath his hands. The shock on her face.
“It was…unexpected.” Her words were so soft he barely heard them. He followed her up the steps to her door.
“Laura…” Unable to help himself, he stepped closer, which forced her to tip her head back to look up at him.
In the church hall, he’d imagined kissing her. He thought she’d protest this nearness now, but she didn’t step back, didn’t make an excuse to hurry inside. The lamp beside the door cast her face in flickering light and shadow, caught and played on the curls peeking from the edge of her bonnet. Her eyes were huge.
One kiss, he thought. Just one.
Brand found himself leaning closer. When they were mere inches apart, he heard her swift intake of breath just before their lips met.
That slight, whispered gasp before he covered her lips brought him to his senses. He would not risk any tomorrows by pressing her tonight. He ended the kiss so quickly that it was over almost before it started.
He stepped back, took a deep breath, and was tempted to tuck a stray lock of her hair inside her bonnet. Instead, he merely whispered, “Thank you, Laura, for accompanying me tonight. You have sweet dreams.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and jogged down the steps. Fearing that one glance might make it impossible to leave, he didn’t look back.
SIX
With her hands fisted at her sides, Laura watched Brand’s carriage pull away. Her erratic heartbeat eventually slowed to keep time with the crickets under the front step. She lingered in the dry heat of summer’s last sigh, picturing Brand’s clear honest eyes, the intense tenderness in them. It was a look that would have brought her to tears, if she had been capable of tears. He was a man who would offer his heart. A man who would give and not take.
She had never kissed the men who bought her time unless they insisted. Most of them were too focused on other things. Surprisingly, kissing was almost too intimate for most of them. It was something they held sacred, meant for wives and lovers, not whores.
Brand’s kiss had been short and sweet, but there was nothing tentative or awkward about it. It had been completely heartfelt and spontaneous. And seductive in its sheer innocence. Its brevity left her wanting more.
He is a preacher. A man of God.
She’d been powerless to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life.
As she pressed her gloved fingertips to her lips, she knew he would be back. There was only one thing she could do when she saw him again.
She had to turn him away.
A bittersweet sadness swept through her as she smoothed down the front of her skirt. She reminded herself of all she had to lose, of all Brand stood to lose. She was being foolish, playing with fire. Falling in love was simply out of the question.
She had one hand on the front doorknob when she remembered Bryce Botsworth. She couldn’t run the risk of running into him in the drawing room. She couldn’t let him see the recognition on her face, couldn’t give him any indication that they had met before.
She quickly tiptoed around the veranda to the back of the house.
The back door whined as she let herself in. Peaches slipped through before it closed and purred as she circled her ankles. When the cat started to meow, Laura scooped her up and held her close. She buried her nose in the soft fur on the cat’s head.
“Shh. You want a bite to eat?” She set the cat down, slipped off the strings of her reticule, and laid it on the dry sink. Across the darkened room was the pie safe, where she found a piece of cheese. She was about to break some off for the cat when someone struck a match behind her.
Laura turned, expecting to see Anna.
Bryce Botsworth was lighting the candle in the middle of the kitchen worktable. Laura dropped the cheese.
She drew on every ounce of courage she had. “You frightened me, Representative Botsworth.”
He moved closer. “No need to stand on formalities, is there, Lovie? I recognized you the minute you opened the door today. Do you think a man ever forgets a woman like you or the things you can do? Laura Foster, eh? Nice name. Certainly not as catchy as Lovie Lamonte.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I believe you do, Lovie.” He crossed the room and stopped not two feet away.
She tried to edge aside. He wasn’t budging. He had her backed up against the dry sink with nowhere to go. Peaches was purring, circling, rubbing against her ankles. Laura’s heart pounded.
“Cat got your tongue?” He laughed. “What was it? Fourteen, fifteen years ago? That was the last time I was in New Orleans before the war. I was younger then.” He looked her over from head to toe. “You’ve filled out some.”
&n
bsp; The look in his eye told her he wasn’t about to back down.
But he had as much, or more, to lose than she. Their brief acquaintance was a double-edged sword. She decided to have her turn.
“I seem to recall you had hair back then…and a waist.” She paused a second before she added, “Your youngest daughter must be what? Eighteen? She’s older now than I was at the time. I’m sure your wife would be surprised to hear of our previous acquaintance.”
“Are you threatening me?” His voice took on a hard edge. “Do you know who I am?”
She nodded. “You think you know me, but you have no idea who I really am or what I’m capable of, Mr. Botsworth.”
He spread his meaty hands.
“Look, Lovie, why don’t we let bygones be bygones?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Laura, then. If you are running this establishment—”
“I own it.”
“Fine. Whatever. I’m sure you have some policy in regard to seeing that all your guests have a pleasurable stay.” He took another step and suddenly his hands were on her. His breath was hot and heavy in her ear. “Everyone else has gone to bed. We can do this here and now. A stolen moment. No one has to know. I’ll make it worth your while. I’m a very wealthy man.”
She braced herself, shoved him back at arm’s length.
“Let go of me.”
“Women like you don’t change, Lovie.”
“Pigs like you are the reason women like me can’t wait to get out of the business.” She gave him a harder shove and pushed him away.
His palm had connected with her cheek before she even realized he’d raised his hand. The sound of the slap echoed in the empty kitchen.
Laura refused to react. Ignoring the pain, she fumbled for her reticule, slid her hand inside, and closed it around the handle of her derringer. She pulled it out and pointed it directly at Botsworth’s heart.
“Go back to your room and I’ll forget this ever happened,” she said.
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