by Kari Trumbo
He and Miss Rockford would meet in a few hours and, after talking for a little while, he'd hopefully have her packing her trunk. Unless, he took the opportunity to enjoy a little womanly company for a few days first. What could it hurt? Montague would never know, and he'd been the one to task him with the job. Assuming she wasn't repulsed by him as women usually were. He lifted his hand up and turned it, the dark scar an angry purple in the chilly room.
The bed sank as he sat on it and laid down, resting his head against the pillow, his feet off the end as usual. He hadn't allowed himself to picture what Miss Rockford might look like, so he wouldn't back out of the job. All he knew was that Ronda had said she was roughly ten years younger than Montague and had attended a school in Maine. Something to do with lawyers. She'd returned to Montana when her aunt married and to help take care of her ailing father. She was used to work and attending to a home.
But even by thinking about her, he was putting his boots on before his socks, and he'd need to stop or risk another disappointment. May had to go. It didn't matter if she was perfect in every way. She'd fallen for Montague, and Randolph had to make sure the problem was fixed. He'd go home alone and so would she. All he had to do was meet her. And he'd do that after he scrubbed his face and put his coat back on.
His muscles balled as he sat up, then stood. He had to calm himself. Looking and feeling like a penned-up elephant wouldn't help the situation any. He splashed water on his face and scrubbed at it as he prayed that Miss Rockford would look like the south end of a northbound donkey, and that he would feel less like one.
Chapter Two
The note was completely crumpled. May had read it so many times, she couldn't even fold it properly anymore. According to what Mr. Montague had written, she was to make herself comfortable until five, then come down to the hotel restaurant, where they would meet at the table in the far corner to the left of the door. Except, she couldn't make herself comfortable no matter what she tried. Even now, she paced back and forth, worrying her hands and waiting. It seemed as if her whole life had been spent waiting. Now that she was at the head of the queue, ready to be the one chosen, would she finally have her heart's desire?
She'd had to wait to be old enough to go to Maine for school. Then she'd had to wait until her aunt was ready to introduce her around. Then wait some more for a man to find interest in her. That had been the longest wait of all. She had the uncanny ability to be completely forgettable. Even when a man would feign attraction, he would forget to call on her again.
At least here at the hotel, she was the only reason Mr. Montague had come, he couldn't possibly forget about her. Or could he? Was he, even now, reading the paper and so engrossed in what he was reading that he wouldn't come down and meet her, leaving her alone in the dining room? Her heart beat a little faster. She had no way to pay for anything at the extravagant hotel. A light sheen of perspiration dappled her forehead. Her wages from the Sweet Shoppe paid for her rent and food, with little to spare. She pressed her hand to her belly to calm the butterflies and dabbed at her temples with her kerchief.
No. She wouldn't start off this way. If she did her best to appear confident, he wouldn't forget her. Perhaps she would feel a bit more of her old self if she put on a clean dress, but there wasn't enough time to change into dinner attire, and her only other walking suit was the same blue as the uniforms of the people who worked at the Livingston. A most unfortunate happenstance, but no bother. She was not going to let a little misfortune ruin what could be her last chance at love.
Someone knocked on the door and May answered, glad to have something else to think about. A bellman pushed a trolley with her trunk into the room and he carried it to the foot of her bed for her.
"Will that be all, miss?" He asked, waiting.
She remembered that her aunt used to give a gratuity to people who served her but weren't employed by her. May grabbed her little reticule and scooped out a few coins without looking at them, dropping them in the man's hand.
"Nothing else. Thank you."
He nodded and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Now what to do with the time left? She'd already made certain her hair was in order and freshened up after the trip. She took a few minutes to remove her few dresses, so they wouldn't wrinkle within the trunk. She'd already done everything she could think of doing to pass the time.
She could go down early, but if she arrived too soon, he might not be there. It was altogether possible that he wasn't as excited about the prospect of meeting her as she was of meeting him. She'd begun to open her heart to him in her letters, but he'd remained cold, stoic, especially at the end. The reservation in his wording worried her. The last letter he'd sent had given her such hesitation, because he didn't seem all that excited for her to come, yet he'd still sent her a ticket to meet him.
Dear Miss Rockford,
It's interesting to note that you keep track of the days between letters. The weeks have very little change in them here.
I have purchased a ticket for you from Cutter's Creek to Sweetwater Springs. I think the Livingston Hotel is probably the best option, as you said. There is nowhere in Ruby that we could meet without everyone I know witnessing the occasion. I'd like to make sure that we are absolutely certain of this relationship before I introduce you to my acquaintances. The location away from both of our homes will serve to do just that.
When you arrive, go right to the hotel and I'll have your room ready. To give us enough time to decide if this is right, please plan to stay for one week, and no more. We can always return home if we discover that we don't suit. Just ten more days.
Desmond Montague
His letters were always short, but up until that one, there had been so much she thought she'd read that he never said. For instance, in one letter, he'd told her a bit about his ranch and that he often couldn't send her letters until the day after he received them. From that, she understood that he worked too late into the evening to get into town. She’d assumed he was a hard worker, like her brother and her father had been. Perhaps he was the type of owner who really got into the work, like a foreman. But now, she was uncertain, and doubt continued to eat away at her. There had been one thing about Caruso that had never pulled her heart, while he'd done a lot, he didn't work. Montague made it sound as if he were a hard worker, and she respected that.
Mr. Montague had never said what he expected of her as his wife. Would she work alongside him on the ranch? She had no idea, and his short letters gave no clue. Did he see May as his helper or a mother for his children? As her body had aged, she’d prayed that, if she found a husband, he’d want babies. Her years were almost up, and her arms ached to hold a babe of her own. Though some women were gifted with them into their fortieth year, she'd rather have them while she was young enough to enjoy them. It was possible he didn't even expect May to be a wife at all.
She turned on her heel to make her round to the other side of the room, and just as she turned the direction of her feet, she turned her thoughts to better purpose. Mr. Montague would love her. There was no question about it. She'd never been one to back down from a trial and she wouldn't now, either. As long as she didn't lose her mind with waiting. Her watch sat heavily in her pocket, and she drew it out, glancing at it one last time. Ten minutes left until she could go down and meet him. Ten minutes until her life changed ... forever. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, stepped out of her room, and locked the door behind her.
#
Randolph sat in a big, blue velvet, wing backed chair next to the largest potted palm he'd ever seen. He kept telling himself that he had to respond as Mr. Montague, not Randolph; cultured, wealthy, a land owner, not a hard-working foreman. That's what she would call him, and he had to listen for it. Next to the palm, he felt dwarfed and this set him at ease. Miss Rockford would be coming down the stairs any moment to meet him. She'd come around the corner and glance back to where he sat—because he'd been specific about w
here he'd be—and they would meet. He would then decide if he was going to enjoy a few days with a lovely woman before he broke her heart, or just let her down right away.
Whether she was pretty or not made little difference, in the end, he'd still have to leave her. It wasn't something he had to broach right away, though.
She'd never said her age, and his boss had never asked her. Montague was only going by what Ronda had told him. It was possible she was older than a nag, in which case, he'd just go home. Montague's cousin did have a strange sense of humor, now that he thought about it.
The woman he'd run into on the platform at the train station tentatively peeked around the wall, then came a few steps into the room. She glanced about for a minute, then back to his corner. Though he'd recognize her in a heartbeat, he'd only superficially glanced at her in their moment by the train. She was petite, on the shorter side—though all women seemed rather short to him—with brown hair pinned back in an elegant bun. It was a warm brown, which was the color everyone preferred as of late. Her nose was pert and small, and she held herself in a demure fashion that both made his heart race in curiosity and fear, she certainly wasn't a donkey's rear.
Her gaze lifted from the floor and for a brief moment their eyes met across the room and recognition sparked. She smiled slightly and made her way toward him.
No! This was all wrong. Miss Rockford would come down and see him talking to this beautiful woman ... and he wouldn't have to scare her away...
Randolph smiled at his good fortune as he stood to greet her. She came up short, eyes wide as her gaze traveled up, up, up to his full stature.
She finished her trek to him, her head tilted back. "Mr. Montague?" Her voice trembled slightly, and he immediately realized what he'd done. He dropped the smile and tried to make his face stern and gruff. Between that and his height, it might make her want to run.
Fool.
He should've made Montague ask for a picture and he wouldn't have made such a blunder.
"Miss Rockford?" He arched an eyebrow in the bored way Mr. Montague had showed him, or at least he hoped. Miss Rockford was a surprise. He'd assumed that the woman on the platform would be leaving, not arriving. She was still wearing the traveling suit and looked as fresh and beautiful as a morning glory.
Miss Rockford nodded with a slight curtsy. "It's good to finally meet you."
She didn't run, didn't stare, didn't make excuses... He tried to remember all the things Montague had taught him and not a single one came to him. He shifted the chair next to him so that they might converse a little easier, and after she sat down and made herself comfortable he went back to his own seat, his thoughts tumbling. She was beautiful, young, witty ... or at least her letters were, and now she was sitting here with him. As much as he was supposed to chase her away, he was intrigued. How could a woman so smart and beautiful be unmarried?
"Yes, it's good to finally meet you, too. Your letters have made coming home every day much easier." He fumbled, remembering she'd said something like that in one of her letters.
She sat on the edge of her chair, so proper. Every woman, with whatever contraptions they wore, had curves abundant, but Miss Rockford's were perfectly proportioned, to his mind, and he couldn't take his eyes from her.
"Yes, your ranch work. Tell me about it." Miss Rockford saved him from having to think of something to converse about. Just as he was about to open his mouth, a server, dressed all in blue and standing straight as an arrow, arrived at their table.
"Can I bring you the menus for this evening?" He bowed slightly.
It was the supper hour and his guest was most likely hungry. Her journey had been long, and he certainly was hungry, but he hated the server’s interruption.
"Yes, please. Thank you."
The server didn't linger. As Randolph caught Miss Rockford’s deep blue eyes, once again searching his, he lost his thoughts.
"Mr. Montague? You were going to tell me about your ranch?"
He blinked a moment, letting her words sink into him. She'd saved him once again, and he felt like a wretch for what he had to do. But Mr. Montague paid him to follow orders and his orders were to send Miss Rockford home without embarrassment to any party.
He cleared his throat, trying to think of how Montague would answer the question. "Yes, I'm sorry." He laughed. He'd never been nervous around any woman, but he hadn't had to play act with one since he was in school. Other than his own mother, he'd never been around one long enough to get nervous. "We have a large spread at the base of Ruby Ridge."
Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a pretty smile. "I live at the base of the mountains as well, I would miss the mountains if you didn’t. So, if this works, it will feel like home. "
If this works... He was leading her in the wrong direction.
Why couldn't it be easy? Why couldn't she be terrified of his height, think of him as a bear, stare at his scars and just run?
He purposely moved his left hand, with its deep purple scarring, to his leg where she could see it. "I would miss the mountains, as well, if I were ever away from them. The weather, the sunsets, it's also unexpected and beautiful."
Miss Rockford nodded and smiled, and still didn't stare.
Already they were getting along. Too well. What could he do to make something go wrong? She couldn't just make herself at home with him on the very first meeting. The server appeared with menus and handed one to each of them.
"I'll give both of you a few minutes to take a look." He nodded to Randolph and strode away.
"My, he's efficient. Back in Cutter's Creek, there's only the one server for the whole hotel restaurant, and poor Caroline does her best, but she gets so behind."
Maybe he could draw that out further, make her remember that she would pine for friends that she left behind, and her little hamlet on the other end of the mountain ranges.
"You sound quite fond of Cutter's Creek." He did his best to make the statement a question, but it came out more forcefully than he planned.
She gave a hint of a smile and tilted her head with a bit of confusion, then went on. "I grew up there. My father and mother are buried there. I have friends there. But ... I've felt for some time that my life isn't there. I'm not meant to stay. I suppose that sounds rather silly." She blushed slightly, and the pretty glow left him a little more breathless than he'd like. She finally glanced away from him. The pink in her cheeks made him want to lean forward and draw her closer. He fought that urge as he pressed on.
"Not in the slightest." It wasn't silly, but the situation would be harder to overcome. "I just didn't want to take you away from family and friends you loved... Assuming we suit, of course." He fought against his own desire to know more about her, because Montague would have him stop this quickly, before it got too personal.
The side of May's softly curved mouth lifted with an inquisitive smile. "I can always write letters to friends, and they to me. I'm good at letters."
Randolph tried to ignore where she was leading and glanced at the menu for a moment. May took the cue and looked over her own. Everything on the menu sounded good, but he'd be glad to get back to his own house with his own basic food. Call him particular, but he liked his meals in a certain way, and the fancy food at the restaurant didn't suit him. May didn't seem the type to enjoy fancy meals, either.
"What can I order for you?" He waited to see what she would say.
Miss Rockford's blush deepened. "I'm not sure. It's all more than I'm used to. I only cook for myself. The only things I ever make that are for more than one, are the rolls and desserts I make for the Sweet Shoppe."
He nodded his understanding and pushed ahead, not wanting her to recall being alone, because she would be back there soon enough. "Is there anything on the menu you’d rather not have? If not, I'll just order for the both of us."
Her eyes lit up a little and she straightened in her seat. "That would be fine, Mr. Montague."
Asking her to call him Randolph wasn’t part of
the plan, but he was already tired of his boss's name. Had Montague ever told her his first name? Could he get away with using his own?
"I'll do that. After we have our meal, let’s go for a walk in the conservatory."
"That's a fine idea." Miss Rockford smiled and leaned in close to him, encircling him with a slight scent of lavender. "You look nothing like I expected you to."
That made two of them.
Chapter Three
Mr. Montague was the tallest man she'd ever laid eyes on. He towered over her and it took every effort to continue to smile and be cordial, but she must, or risk being alone forever. He was nothing like his cousin. She'd expected someone rather small and meek, small boned and fragile, like Ronda. Though Ronda was a woman, and May now saw how foolish that assumption had been.
The longer she sat with Mr. Montague, the more she was certain something was wrong. He was quite nice, both genial and in physique. His warm hazel eyes, with long brown lashes, were the softest thing about him. Everything else, was all man; strong, tall, muscled, and nothing at all like she'd expected. He could scare away a freight train.
After Beau had left, with his harsh words about her fate, she'd feared he was right. She'd be lonely forever. That's what drove her to calm herself when she saw Mr. Montague and his towering frame.
All during the meal, he'd used his left hand to eat, almost forcing her to look at the deep purple of the wounds long healed. Even though it seemed unnatural for him to use that hand. Now that supper was over, he would stand once again and she would be faced with his size. It was easy to forget, to get lost in the conversation when he merely sat with her, gazing into her eyes and listening intently to her every word. Not so, when he stood and reminded her that she had to practically raise her voice to be heard, he stood so much taller than she.
Mr. Montague raised up and gently pulled out her chair, offering his arm. May took it and held in a flinch once more. His forearm was almost larger than her cinched waist. He led her out of the restaurant and out the back to the conservatory. All the while, shortening his long stride to match hers.