by Mona Hodgson
“Y-you don’t b-belong here.” And neither did he belong here alone with her.
She draped her long blond hair over her shoulder. “I belong with you.”
He leaned back, trying to regain some lost space, and glanced toward the door.
“Are you expecting Mrs. Peterson?”
How did she know about Willow?
Smiling, she looked at the sign in the window. Of course, the advertisement—Portraits by Willow. But her married name? It didn’t matter. Susanna needed to leave.
He let the lid slam shut on the stove. “Y-you and I … are no longer b-betrothed.”
“You never said that.”
“I guess I assumed you’d f-figure it out when I c-caught you k-kissing the cabinetmaker. Or, at the v-very least, when I d-drove off in my wagon and ne-never returned.”
“That was a peck on the cheek. We went to school together. I was just saying good-bye to him before you and I wed.”
“I heard w-what you said to him.”
“That only proves you can’t believe everything you hear.”
“Or that I c-can’t believe anything you s-say.” He grabbed his keys off the desk. “You have to l-leave.”
“Why? Because you are involved with a married woman?”
Feeling slapped in the face, Trenton scrubbed his cheek and drew in a deep breath. Susanna didn’t know him at all. How could he ever have entertained the thought of marrying her?
“N-not that it is any of your b-business,” he said, “b-but Willow is a w-widow.”
He hoped to at least see a hint of remorse, but it was amusement that brightened Susanna’s eyes as she took a step toward him.
Willow shut the door on her bedchamber and carried the package down the stairs. She’d finished the portrait yesterday afternoon, and it had finally dried after a full twenty-four hours. That meant she was cutting it close for catching Trenton before he left the studio for the day.
Stopping in front of the mirror in the entryway, she leaned the paper-wrapped canvas against a table leg. She adjusted a hatpin and brushed her cheeks. Satisfied that she looked more rested than she felt, she retrieved the package and stepped outside. When the cold air hit her, she reconsidered her decision to deliver the portrait. If her visit to the studio only concerned handing in the completed job, she’d rather perch by the fireplace in the parlor with a good book.
Sunday was coming, and for five days she’d been thinking of little else but her urgency for Trenton’s soul and the invitation she’d prayed about.
Willow held the package against her as a barrier to the cold breeze and quickened her steps. So far she’d only painted two portraits from Trenton’s photographs and colorized one. Mollie Kathleen’s portrait was in the studio window for nearly a week with her business sign. By this time, Willow had expected to have more work than she could handle. Hopefully, Trenton would have a package of photographs for her.
Praying for the right words, she strolled up the boardwalk toward the Photography Studio. The closer she came to it, the faster her mind shuffled the memories of her recent time in Cripple Creek. Trenton Van Der Veer seemed to have the biggest stack of memories. From their first meeting and seeing him alone in the ice-cream parlor, to sitting on the bench with him in front of the post office and then accepting the fudge he bought her at Carmen’s Confectionary. She blew out an unladylike breath. Entertaining such thoughts did her no good. He hadn’t given her any indication he needed or even wanted a romantic relationship or a family. And most importantly, his spiritual convictions were still in question.
The plain wooden shingle still hung over the boardwalk. If she had enough time, she’d mention her ideas for a more fashionable name for his business and a more colorful sign. She stopped at the window to admire the advertisement one more time.
Portraits by Willow
Inquire Within
A fresh start far better than she’d imagined. Yes, she’d be forever grateful to Trenton for believing in her abilities when others would have turned her down simply because she was a woman.
She was reaching for the door handle when she caught a glimpse of Trenton behind the counter.
With a woman.
In close proximity.
Her insides twisting, Willow pulled her arm back and stepped away from the door as if it were hot. Trenton apparently wasn’t as innocent as she’d imagined him. She leaned the canvas against the metal storefront, trying to steady her racing pulse. Feeling like a spy in a dime novel, she hid behind the column framing the doorway and peeked in the window.
The blond woman in a playful purple dress caressed Trenton’s face. Willow’s own face burned, witnessing such brash familiarity. Even if it was inside his own place of business.
How could he do this?
Her left hand knotted. But what she was feeling couldn’t be jealousy. She had no cause to be jealous of this woman. She was merely Mr. Van Der Veer’s employee, and he was free to conduct his personal life according to his own …
The young woman was so elegant looking. And she touched him.
Willow shuddered. She might have admitted to a twinge of jealousy if she weren’t so disappointed. She grabbed the portrait and whirled around. She’d let Archie deliver her work.
This was her fault. Trenton hadn’t made a personal commitment to her. She’d allowed her longing for love and family to set him on a faulty pedestal.
And if that woman hadn’t just knocked him off it, she’d gladly bean him with the canvas and do so herself.
Susanna’s fingers trailed Trenton’s cheek. His skin tingled under her touch. It felt good.
But it didn’t feel right. He couldn’t trust himself to touch her hand to remove it, so he backed away. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t let Susanna ensnare him again. He’d been expecting Willow to walk through the door. That was who he’d hoped to see … wanted to see.
Susanna stood frozen in place, hurt narrowing her blue eyes.
Trenton clasped his hands behind his back and drew in a deep breath. “You have to st-stop touching me.”
“I’m sorry. I—” Her bottom lip quivered. A big tear rolled down her face. “I was just so glad to see you.” In slow motion, she raised her hand to her face and swept away the tear. “I’d hoped you’d missed me too.”
He had. The woman he’d once believed her to be, at least. He’d missed the idea of settling down with a wife and building a family.
“You can’t stay.”
“But I’ve come all this way.”
“That was your doing, not mine.”
“The way I feel about you, Trenton … I had to see you. We’d made plans for a wonderful life together.” She pressed her lips together and sighed. “We were to be married.”
“Were. That’s past tense, Susanna.”
She stretched the curl dangling beside her eye. “You can’t tell me you were happy with the way things ended between us.”
How could he be? She’d hurt him, and he’d turned tail and run, hoping to cause her the same kind of humiliation and pain. The guilt had ridden in the wagon with him, following him into his new life here. And now she’d done the same.
“Are you happy, Trenton?”
“I wasn’t expecting you … this.” He buttoned his jacket. “I need some time.”
“Of course.” She pressed her reticule to her midsection and gave him a silky smile. “I’m lodging at the Downtowner Inn.”
“I’ll telephone you there. Tomorrow.”
She met his gaze and nodded. “Thank you.” She turned and sauntered out the door with the same theatrical finesse with which she’d entered.
He sank into his chair. She’d left him alone to think. An impossible task, because right now his thoughts were as untrustworthy as his senses.
Saturday morning Trenton stopped short of Golden Avenue and glanced at the envelope under his arm. Archie had brought the Johnstones’ portrait by the studio early. What had gotten into him that he hadn’t let the cour
ier deliver the photographs to Willow?
If Willow had wanted to see him, she would have delivered the canvas herself. Thankfully, she’d chosen not to. The thought of her walking in while Susanna was trying to rekindle their relationship made him cringe.
“Mister?” A huge, sweaty man sat atop a mule-drawn wagon hauling a load of firewood. “You gonna go, Mister?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Trenton waved at the driver and finished crossing the street.
He needed to see Susanna and pay for her return fare to Scandia, but he wanted to take care of this business first. He’d simply hand the package to the boardinghouse proprietor and be on his way. That was it. Although he’d be working during the picnic, he’d at least see Willow tomorrow. He found himself looking forward to the entire day. He knew a few of the folks, including some he counted as friends—Tucker Raines and his wife. And, of course, Willow.
The two-story boardinghouse stood at the end of a graveled walkway, looking bright and cheery in yellow with white trim. A few hardy sunflowers lingered in clay pots on the porch.
He’d stepped up to the door when it swung open. A woman with silver hair stared out at him, her mouth open and her blue-gray eyes wide. “Oh my lands. I hadn’t a clue there was anyone out here.”
“S-sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to frighten you.” He almost reached up to remove his hat, but remembered he hadn’t worn one today. “Trenton Van Der Veer.”
“You startled me some is all.” She looked him up and down. “You’re Willow’s employer.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Hattie Adams. I own this place.” She extended her hand, and he obliged her handshake. “A good, strong handshake. Says a lot about a man, you know.”
Trenton nodded, without a clue why he’d agreed with her. Or why he’d given her such a firm handshake. Given yesterday’s circumstances, he felt more like a worm.
“It doesn’t take much to put the color of beets into your face, does it?” she asked.
He laughed. “No m-ma’am, it doesn’t. I inherited my f-father’s fair skin.”
She stepped back from the door. “Most folks call me Miss Hattie. Do come on in.”
His feet leaden, Trenton held up the envelope. “Thank you, Miss Hattie. But if I could ask you to deliver this to Willow, uh … Mrs. Peterson, I’ll be on my way.”
“Don’t be silly. What if she has questions for you?”
“The note I included is qu-quite thorough.”
“I’m sure she’ll want to see you.” Miss Hattie motioned for him to join her inside. “She was in the kitchen last I heard.”
He was in no hurry to see Susanna again, despite his warring emotions. Willow, however, he wasn’t seeing nearly often enough to suit him. He closed the door behind him and followed the matronly woman through a well-appointed entryway.
Willow laid a crust over the apple pie filling and pinched the top and bottom layers together into a scalloped edge. She wiped the flour on her hands onto her apron. Despite her lack of sleep, she’d already scrubbed her paint palette clean, washed and hung her clothing, and prepared two pies.
Since no one else was around, as Mr. Sinclair and Cherise had moved in with Kat and Morgan for the time being, and Miss Hattie didn’t mind how Willow looked, she wore her plain checkered frock. She hadn’t even bothered to tame her hair in an upsweep. After what she’d witnessed from outside the Photography Studio yesterday afternoon, her overactive mind had kept her awake into the wee hours. She’d spent most of those hours writing letters to Mother, Aunt Rosemary, and Maria.
She carried both pies to the stove and slid them into the oven. While the pies baked, she’d clean the kitchen and finish reading one of the books she’d borrowed from the library. Later, she’d take a short nap. A lazy afternoon would suit her fine.
Trenton would have received the portrait last night and, hopefully, would have more work for her on Monday. If he wasn’t too busy with the woman who couldn’t keep her hands off him.
As Willow gathered the dirtied bowls and utensils, she heard the front door close and remembered Miss Hattie was on her way to the Blue Front Grocery for another chicken for tomorrow’s picnic.
“Willow, dear?” Miss Hattie called.
“Did you forget something?” Willow lifted the stack of dishes off the table to carry them to the sink.
“I met up with a visitor at the door. Someone who came to see you.”
“To see me?” Willow turned. “Who is—”
Her employer stood in the doorway, looking quite rested with his hair parted in the middle and slicked back with hair tonic. He wore brown trousers and a grass-green shirt, not his usual business attire.
“Trenton.” Why had he come to the boardinghouse?
“I should’ve waited for you in the p-parlor, but I’m glad I didn’t. I wouldn’t have wanted to m-miss this sight.” He smiled, making her wonder if flour caked her face.
She removed the apron. She doubted the blonde in his studio would ever be caught with her hands in flour.
He sniffed and glanced at the oven. “Apple pie?”
“Two, for the picnic tomorrow.”
“Your brother inv-vited me … to take photographs.”
She wanted to ask if he planned to bring his lady friend with him but refrained. It was best they keep their private lives just that—private.
Trenton looked at the envelope he held, then at her gooey hands. “I have more jobs for you and p-payment for the Johnstones’ portrait. Archie delivered it this morning. I was going to l-leave this with Miss Hattie, but she insisted I hand it to you myself.”
Willow looked past Trenton at Miss Hattie. Amusement danced in her landlady’s blue-gray eyes. “Yes, Miss Hattie is like that.”
Miss Hattie tittered. “I’ll clean the kitchen and watch the pies, dear. Why don’t you and Mr. Van Der Veer conduct your business in the parlor?”
“Thank you.” Willow faced Trenton. “I best wash my hands first.”
Trenton nodded. The sight of his warm smile warred with the memory of what she’d seen through the window. She soaped her hands and scrubbed them under running water until they were clean.
“Here you go.” He pulled the hand towel off the counter and handed it to her. “You did an excellent job on Mr. Johnstone’s nose.”
She giggled and dried her hands.
“On b-both of them.”
“Both of his noses?”
Trenton’s musical laugh followed her out of the kitchen and into the parlor. She sat in a wing-back chair, and he sat in the armchair, with only a side table between them.
She liked this man. Or at least she had until she’d seen him with another woman. She’d experienced jealousy, but it was more than that. He’d seemed a man of integrity, unlikely to be leading a double life. Until yesterday afternoon, she hadn’t seen or heard any evidence he was involved with anyone. His attentions toward her, including his visit this morning, would lead her to believe his interest in her may run deeper than mere employment. And yet she’d clearly witnessed an intimacy between him and that woman.
Trenton cleared his throat. “I knew you’d finish the p-painting early, and I thought you m-might bring it in yesterday afternoon.”
Willow rested her hands on the chair arms and looked at him. “I did.”
His brow creased.
“I was there. Outside the window.”
He swallowed hard. “You should’ve come in.”
“To interrupt you and look like a fool?” Her voice, louder than she’d intended, cracked on the last word.
“To rescue me.”
“You didn’t look like you needed rescuing.”
“Looks can b-be deceiving.” His gaze collided with hers. “So can f-first impressions. Remember?”
She recalled their first meeting, and her heart melted.
Trenton stood and paced the room. “Do you care to hear my story?”
“You don’t have to tell me, if you’d rather not.”
&nb
sp; “B-but I do.” He met her gaze. “I want you to kn-know me.”
She wanted to know him better, especially if he hadn’t been guilty of what she’d imagined. “Yes. I’d like to hear it.”
“I came to Cripple Creek from K-Kansas. That’s where S-Susanna is from.”
“The woman in the studio?”
“Yes. She and I were betrothed, and we planned our wedding for last month.”
He was going to marry that young woman? She wanted to know why it had fallen apart, but it wasn’t her business to ask. Instead, she picked a piece of lint from the arm of the wing-back chair. After an uncomfortable pause, she looked at him.
“I learned S-Susanna wasn’t at all the w-woman I thought her to be,” he said, “and I b-broke the engagement.”
“And left Kansas.”
“Yes. R-rather abruptly.”
“She followed you here?”
He nodded. “I didn’t know until yesterday, when she showed up at the s-studio.” He looked at her, the anguish in his eyes confirming that he spoke the truth. “I sent her away.”
“I didn’t see that part.”
“Except to p-put her on a train b-back to Kansas this afternoon, I want nothing to do with … with Susanna.” The last phrase rushed out as one word. “You have to b-believe me.”
“Why does it matter what I believe?”
“I care that you kn-know the truth.”
She stood. “I have something I need to show you. Will you come with me?”
“Yes.” Bewilderment creased his brow.
She held up a finger and hurried to the kitchen to let Hattie know of her plans, then went up to her room. She swept her hair up and changed into a walk-about-town dress.
When she returned to the parlor, Trenton smiled and followed her down the porch steps. They walked the few blocks to the church in silence but for the street sounds.
As the steeple came into view, Trenton turned to her. “I was here Sunday before last.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“You looked for me?”
Her face warmed. “I did.”
“I sat on the bench in the foyer.”