by Jane Porter
“It seems her father was the same way.”
“And what way is that?”
She didn’t immediately answer. “Do you know it was only twenty years ago that men could legally beat their wives in every state?”
“Frances’ husband beats her?”
“I’m getting sad. Let’s not be sad on such a special day. Let’s speak of something else.” She managed a smile, but he thought it looked strained. “What did you think of the parade and speeches? Wasn’t it exciting? And did you see those lovely girls in the pageant?”
“I missed the pageant and the speeches and only saw the tail end of the parade. I’d only just arrived when I spotted you.”
“And Finch,” she said her smile somewhat crooked.
If they weren’t in a public place he would have reached out and touched her cheek, right where the small dimple flashed and then faded.
“And Finch,” he murmured, wanting her safe, and settled, and happy.
There were good men to be found, too. He’d find her one, someone who’d take her west, someone who’d give her all the comforts she was accustomed to.
“Well, the celebrations were splendid,” she said firmly. “I was impressed.”
He’d forgotten how quickly emotion crossed her features, and how easily she smiled when pleased. There was nothing subtle about her. Maybe that was what made people react to her, both good and bad. “How would it have been in Butte?”
“I was thinking of Butte, earlier. Everything they do is grand there, so I imagine they would have had a larger parade, and a lot of musicians, bands from Dublin Gulch, and the Germans and the Scots.”
“And more speeches.”
“A great deal more speeches,” she agreed.
The waiter returned with a tray of drinks and placed the tall glass of amber colored liquid in front of Sinclair, and the small china pot and teacup before McKenna.
Sinclair reached for his glass. “Do you mind me drinking?”
“Why would I?”
“You’re not a member of the temperance movement? Most suffragists seem to be both.”
“I wasn’t as much of a progressive as I probably should have been.”
“No writing of pamphlets? No marching in streets?” he teased.
“I don’t know anyone who did that, at least not in New York. Maybe Boston. Perhaps Philadelphia.” Her lips curved. “Instead I was being fitting for costumes for fancy dress balls, both home and abroad.”
He heard the mocking note in her voice. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”
“Wasn’t it? You were here, toiling in my father’s mine, while I was going to parties and plays, with my only worry being what to wear next.”
“I knew this was what you were doing.”
“It didn’t make you angry?”
“I was happy for you.”
“Why?”
“I wanted you to have the world. And you did.”
Her eyes suddenly glistened and she looked away, teeth sinking into her lower lip. “Don’t say it like that,” she whispered.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked down, her thick black lashes hiding her eyes, the crescent shaped lashes brushing her cheek. “I hate how selfish I was—”
“I suspect your father will one day forgive you, particularly if you make an advantageous marriage.”
“You seem quite determined to marry me off,” she said lightly. “And yet I see no suitors lining up outside my door.”
“They would, if they thought you’d consider marrying one of them.”
“Even with the stigma attached to my name?”
“California and Nevada are full of self-made men. And what do new millionaires want? They want a beautiful wife, to give them beautiful children.”
“How nice for them.”
“Not all men are vile, alcohol-soaked wife beaters.”
“I’m sure not all are, but you forget something important. You forget me. I am not a woman that would make a good wife. I’m not docile and obedient. I’ve too many opinions and, Sinclair, I can keep my house tidy, but I don’t love the domestic arts.”
“You’d rather struggle on your own then be provided for?”
“If it means I can think my own thoughts and be my own person, yes.”
“Don’t you want to have a husband… a family?”
Her head jerked up and her gaze met his and held for the longest time. “No,” she said at length. “I’m afraid I’m too selfish.”
“Too selfish to love someone else?”
“Too selfish to give up my dream of how life is supposed to be.”
“How is life supposed to be?”
She shook her head, shadows darkening her eyes.
His brow creased. He didn’t understand, and he wanted to understand, but before he could pose another question, he spotted three familiar faces in the door. He’d seen them earlier, and he’d tried to draw McKenna away but somehow he and McKenna had been found. He knew who’d tracked them down. Johanna was determined to see Sinclair married to Miss Burnett, and soon.
“It looks like we will have company for lunch,’ he said casually, before rising to greet his mother, Johanna, and Miss Ellie Burnett.
Chapter Nine
The waiters quickly drew a table over to create sufficient space for the additional ladies, and the three women, protesting that they never meant to sit down, sat down, skirts rustling, voices a murmur of feminine sound. Miss Burnett, McKenna discovered, was just as pretty up close.
McKenna fixed a smile on her face for the introductions, praying it was warm and cordial, even as she felt the cool undercurrents despite the civil greetings. It didn’t help that she felt dreadfully guilty, as though she’d been caught doing something illicit.
And she had, if she were honest. He was single. She was single. He wasn’t courting her, which created all sorts of problems for those preoccupied with deportment.
“It’s begun to rain,” Mrs. Douglas said. “It’s a freezing rain, though. I think we’ll see snow later.”
The waiter went to order more pots of tea and soup and whatever else could be brought quickly as the storm was just going to get worse and Mrs. Douglas didn’t think Sinclair would want to be out late.
“I’m not worried about the weather,” he answered. “I’ll be fine.”
“What about you, my dear,” Mrs. Douglas asked McKenna. “How are you getting home?”
“I’m to meet my family at the courthouse in half an hour,” McKenna said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if they want to leave earlier, on account of the weather.”
“You have family here?” Ellie interjected, surprised. “I had no idea.”
“Oh, no. I was speaking of the Hoffmans. I teach four of their children. They are a ranching family in the valley, not far from Emigrant.”
“I know the Hoffmans,” Ellie answered. “My father’s property isn’t far from theirs. They have a dozen boys, I believe. Or something along those lines.”
“I think there are six and, yes, all boys. I have the four older ones in my classroom, with two toddlers still at home.”
Ellie turned to Sinclair. “Remember the Hoffmans summer picnic? Everyone had such a good time, no one wanted to leave, and then Mr. Deltman’s boy pulled out a fiddle and everyone danced half the night.” She smiled at him. “At least we did.”
“I think that was the first time I’ve danced in years,” he said. “Three dances and I was worn out.”
“It wasn’t three! We danced for hours.”
He smiled, amused. “You danced for hours. You were quite popular, as ever.”
McKenna’s stomach rose and fell and she suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here, where lovely Ellie was making Sinclair laugh, and his family was hanging on every word, delighted by the repartee.
It would be rude to leave before her meal arrived, but she’d lost her appetite. Glancing out the small window, she could see the rain was turning to sleet and was coming do
wn harder, and thicker. “The weather’s turning foul,” she said. “I don’t think I should keep the Hoffmans waiting.”
“You haven’t eaten yet,” Mrs. Douglas said. “Should I have them pack you something to take with you? Some bread and cold meats? Or maybe one of their meat pies? I’m sure the chef has something you could carry out.”
“I’m not hungry. The tea was all I needed.” McKenna rose, smiled at everyone, careful not to look at Sinclair, not wanting him to make eye contact. “It was so nice to see everyone, and a pleasure to meet you, Miss Burnett.”
And then she hurried towards the door, collecting her coat on the way. She walked fast, blinking, so conflicted about leaving. She hated saying goodbye to Sinclair that way, and yet she couldn’t just sit there and smile as if everything was fine. Things weren’t fine. And Sinclair wasn’t hers and she wasn’t a good enough actress to act indifferent when Ellie Burnett flirted with him.
Footsteps rang behind her. Sinclair caught up with her half way across the marble and mahogany paneled lobby with the glittering chandeliers. “Let me at least help you with your coat,” he said.
She refused to slow down. She flashed a taut smile in his direction. “I’m fine. I don’t need help.”
“You’re practically running. Stop it.” He caught her elbow, turned her to face him. His narrowed gaze swept her hot face. “You are upset. You’re about to cry. What is the matter?”
“I’m not about to cry. I don’t cry—”
“You not cry? Since when? You’ve always been emotional.”
“Well, I don’t cry anymore. Tears are useless. They change nothing.”
He took her coat from her. “You were happy earlier.”
“I was,” she said. “Yes.”
“What was said to upset you so much? Did my mother say something that I missed? Or was it Johanna? Tell me and I’ll have a word with them.”
“It was no one, Sinclair. There was nothing. It’s been a long day and I work tomorrow and I am sure the Hoffmans will be waiting for me. It’s better to go back early.” Her voice cracked and she shook her head. “See? I’m just tired. Forgive me.”
“McKenna.” He growled, voice pitched low.
Aware that others were watching, and that a couple just entering the hotel had slowed to listen, McKenna gave him a radiant smile. “Happy Statehood Day, Mr. Douglas. What a great day it’s been for all.”
*
The sleet turned the road to a muddy, slushy mess. It was slow going south, the wheels sticking in ruts, making the horses unhappy.
The Hoffman children who had been so lively on the way into town were morose and miserable on the way home, shivering and complaining until their father threatened to take a switch to them if they made another sound.
It was dark by the time they reached the plot of land with her house and the school. McKenna thanked the Hoffmans for their kindness as she climbed down from the wagon, and bundling her coat tighter, she dashed across the crunchy ice coated grass for her front porch.
Opening her door she was immediately struck by the warmth, and then the glow in the corner, opposite the big hearth.
She had a stove.
She had a stove.
McKenna closed the door and crossed to the new stove, gleaming in the corner. A tall, black chimney ran straight up to the ceiling, carrying the smoke above the roof.
She walked towards the stove, pulling off her bonnet and then her gloves, thinking she’d never seen anything half so beautiful. It definitely wasn’t the biggest model as there were huge cook stoves available, or the fanciest heating stove, but this narrow stove was perfect for her needs as it took up very little floor space and still had a lovely flat plate for cooking and heating water. She noticed the bin next to the stove already filled with chopped wood so she could keep the fire burning tonight.
Her eyes filled with tears as the heat penetrated her coat, and she sank in front of her stove, hands outstretched, letting the warmth surround her. It was without doubt the most lovely gift she’d ever been given.
She knew who’d done this, too. It was why he wasn’t in town today for the festivities, only arriving at the end of the parade. It must have taken him most of the day to lug the stove into the cabin and cut the hole in the roof and mud around the chimney to ensure it was secure and the cabin properly ventilated.
He’d missed the celebrations for her, to do something for her.
It made her throat squeeze closed and her chest feel tender. He’d never said a word, either.
She’d been given many lovely gifts in her life but nothing had ever meant so much. And not just because it was the very thing she needed most, but because it was given by the one person who’d once understood her best.
Who might still understand her best.
He was her friend. He’d always been her friend. She’d never appreciated him, though. She’d taken him for granted.
He was right, what he’d said coming home from the Brambles. He deserved better. And he did. He deserved a woman who would put him first.
Beautiful auburn-haired Ellie Burnett came to mind. McKenna’s eyes stung and she closed her eyes, chasing the image of Ellie away.
McKenna was jealous. Not that she had the right to be jealous, but Sinclair was hers. He’d always been hers.
Why hadn’t she married him when she’d had the chance?
*
Monday afternoon McKenna remained at her desk after class had ended, taking advantage of the large workspace and excellent natural light to grade papers and plan her lessons for the rest of the month.
She’d just finished preparing the math lessons for the coming week when the door to her classroom opened and McKenna lifted her head, certain it was one of her forgetful students back to retrieve missing lunch pail or book, but it wasn’t a student. It was Sin.
He was so big as he filled the doorway. Tall, broad shouldered, with the thick blond hair and masculine jaw.
Her pulse jumped and she held her breath, taking him in, feeling his full impact.
For a moment, she just felt the fierce hammer of her heart, her blood drumming in her veins, making her head light, and her emotions hot. She couldn’t help her response, either. It was as much as part of her, as it was a part of them.
Whether she was a girl watching him on the football field, or sitting with him in desks too small, listening to him read from a baby primer, she’d been dazzled by him, responding to him as if he were the moon and stars.
It was such a strong reaction, so intense, that it shook her to the core.
The attraction was overwhelming, and it had overwhelmed her even more when she was a young girl. How did one live feeling so much? How did one survive life when it made them feel so tender all the time?
“Hello,” she said, finding her voice as she put her pen down. “I don’t suppose you’ve come about a missing lunch pail. I have three at the back.”
He smiled crookedly, white teeth flashing. “None of those are mine, Miss Frasier.”
“I see. I will have to work harder at finding their homes.”
He walked towards her, unbuttoning his heavy coat, revealing the blue work shirt beneath. The blue was almost the same color as his eyes.
She loved his eyes. She loved his face. Such a beautiful face. Such a beautiful man. “By the way, I owe you thanks. You shouldn’t have—”
He sat down on the corner of a desk in the front row directly across from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My new stove?”
He shook his head. “Not me.”
She stared at him, searching his solemn expression, and just when she was beginning to doubt herself, he winked at her, and her heart gave another thump.
“Okay, don’t claim the good deed,” she said, “but I’m grateful. Very, very grateful. I don’t think I’ve slept that well in weeks, and then each morning I have hot water in no time. It’s a miracle.”
“It hasn’t smoked too much?”
>
“Not at all.”
“Good.”
He extended a leg. “What happened at the Graff during lunch to make you leave so quickly?”
She moved her ink well back. “I was worried that I’d miss the Hoffmans.”
“You didn’t leave because of the Hoffmans. You left because my mother and sister arrived.”
“Remember how it was getting stormy? There was rain and sleet and snow forecasted—”
“I know you waited over an hour at the courthouse park for the Hoffmans. Mrs. Bramble saw you and was worried you’d been forgotten.”
“They ran late.”
“And you ran out to be early.”
“They were my ride, Sinclair.”
“Come on. This is just going round and round. Tell me what happened at the Graff. I want to know why you left so abruptly. Everything was good, and then it wasn’t once my mother and sister arrived, and I want to know what they said or did to make you leave so quickly.”
“They did nothing, I promise.”
“McKenna, you bolted like a rabbit.”
She shrugged impatiently. “Fine. I wasn’t comfortable once they joined us. I thought it best to go before things became more awkward.”
“You were once friends with Johanna.”
“Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
“They came to see me, you know. A week after the Brambles’ party.”
“My mother mentioned it to me. She said you’d been at work when they stopped by so they didn’t stay long.”
“Yes, I was cleaning the hearth. I was filthy.” McKenna didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t want to create trouble. Her position felt precarious as it was.
“You weren’t happy to see her?”
“I was quite happy to see her. I hugged them both, despite being black with soot, and I was very touched that they’d remembered me, and brought me freshly baked bread and preserves. It was such a treat.”
“And?”
“Let’s not continue this. It’s not going to please you. At least, it doesn’t please me. It’s upsetting. I don’t want controversy and yet every time I turn around, I am at the center of some conflict and I can’t do it. I can’t live like this with people constantly at me, talking about me, criticizing me at every turn—”