by Gina Welborn
He headed straight to the kitchen. A small plate sat in the middle of the table; propped up in front of his candied corn was a note card. Isaak walked closer. Four caramel-colored blobs lay on a plate. He lifted one to his mouth.
Wow!
Sweet, crunchy, nutty, chewy. He ran out of adjectives while munching the savory treat. A note in Mrs. Wiley’s scratchy penmanship rested next to the candy. He opened it and read:
Zoe made these pralines for you. I told her that you didn’t care for coffee, but she insisted you would like coffee served this way. She preferred to use almonds. We could only find pecans. I finished everything on your list.
P.S. She says your candied corn isn’t eatable. I wouldn’t let her throw them away.
He smiled and reached for another praline, unable to remember the last time someone had done something just for him. He was self-sufficient, confident in his likes and dislikes, and busy being the man others relied on. All good things, but they left him lonely.
Not an adjective he’d applied to himself until Pastor Neven’s sermon on Sunday describing how God created loneliness in Adam’s breast by making him name the animals—each of them with a mate—before bringing Eve to him.
Isaak had seen himself in the story. He enjoyed a great relationship with his parents. He and his twin shared a special bond . . . most of the time. He had meaningful work to do. And yet he was alone.
He scooped up the last two pralines, then crossed to the stove. With one hand, he stoked the fire, lifted the cast-iron pot onto the stove, and retrieved the covered bowl from the icebox while polishing off the candy. He might have to pay Miss de Fleur to make him a batch once a month.
Jakob breezed in half an hour later, just as Isaak was sitting down to his stew, bread, and Earl Grey tea with lots of sugar and a splash of cream. “Hope you ate,” Isaak said, “because I didn’t save any for you.”
“I had dinner.” Jakob peered at the stew, a smile tugging one side of his mouth higher than the other. “And I must say, I ate better than you.”
Isaak shoveled a bite of stew into his mouth so he wouldn’t say, But you didn’t get pralines, out loud.
“By the way”—Jakob opened the bread box and took out a biscuit—“Jefferson Brady came by The Import Company today. He wants the big office, so I added two dollars to the monthly payment and sent him over to Hale to sign the lease.”
“That’s great, Jake. I was hoping to have all those offices leased by the time Pa got back. You’re way ahead of schedule there.”
Instead of appearing pleased at the compliment, Jakob stared at the biscuit in his hand. “Why was I about to eat this?”
“Instinct, I imagine.” Isaak spooned stew into his mouth.
Jakob tossed the biscuit back into the bread box, then strolled to the table and sat down next to Isaak. He swiped his finger in the crumbs on the praline plate and licked it. “Did Zoe leave you some pralines?”
“Leave me?” came out in a tone of voice more suited to a ten-year-old.
“She brought a jarful down to The Import Company for me.” Jakob held his hands six inches apart to indicate the height of the jar.
Jealousy stabbed Isaak in the heart. So she hadn’t made the treat especially for him.
“You’re in a cheery mood.” Isaak bit into his biscuit with more force than necessary, making his teeth clank together.
“I had a great time at Aunt Lily’s tonight.”
Isaak didn’t want to hear about it. Tuesdays were Jakob’s night for dinner with Miss de Fleur at the Forsythes’.
Jakob circled his index finger around the praline plate. “Yancey and Carline joined us for dinner and helped us figure out what to serve at the welcome-home dinner.”
Isaak held his spoon inches from his mouth while trying to untangle his brother’s sentence and why he was jealous again—this time because Yancey and Carline were invited to share dinner at Aunt Lily’s with Jakob and Miss de Fleur.
Isaak set his still-full spoonful of stew back in the bowl. “What welcome-home dinner?”
“For Ma and Pa.” Jakob stretched his arms wide and yawned. “I’m bushed.”
Isaak picked up his teacup to give his hands something to do. “Come on, Jake. Give me the whole story.”
Jakob yawned again. “Sorry. It’s been a long couple of weeks.”
Did that mean he was on schedule? The question lodged in Isaak’s throat. He’d committed to staying out of what was happening at The Import Co.
Jakob rubbed his left shoulder with his right hand. “Yancey showed up at the store in time to claim the last praline. She’d never tasted Zoe’s cooking, although she’d heard plenty about Mrs. Hollenbeck’s welcome-home breakfast last Saturday.”
Who hadn’t? It was the talk of the town.
“Yancey suggested Zoe cater a dinner party for when Ma and Pa get back, only this one large enough to include us and our friends.” Jakob held up his hand. “Before you say anything about how I’m behind and don’t have time to add another thing to my schedule, I’ve already planned how it will work.”
Jakob planned something ahead of time? Isaak was tempted to make some smart-aleck remark about marking the occasion in his calendar. Instead, he sipped his tea and listened while Jakob glowed with enthusiasm as he explained how tasting pralines at The Import Co. had set in motion a grand dinner on the Friday night eight days after their parents were scheduled to return to Helena. The guest list included twenty-five people and would be held at Mrs. Hollenbeck’s, if she agreed, because her house was the only one with a dining room large enough to accommodate that many people.
Isaak listened while sipping his extra-sweet tea, which did nothing to abate the sour taste in his mouth.
Jakob was as committed as ever to his courtship of Miss de Fleur.
Wednesday, April 18
De Fleur-Gunderson Courtship Contract, Day 40
Isaak sat in his office staring at a Spiegel catalog. He was supposed to be studying prices of new items so he didn’t overpay for secondhand ones. He was supposed to stop thinking about Miss Zoe de Fleur and his improper attraction to her, too.
Neither of which was happening.
Isaak slapped the catalog closed with a huff. He needed advice, but he’d run through the list of possible people and disqualified every one of them. Right or wrong, his pride couldn’t take admitting his preoccupation with the lady to anyone else. His heart leaped every time he saw a woman with black hair, whether it was curly or not. He looked for Miss de Fleur every time he delivered merchandise for the store or food to widows and orphans. And every time he returned home, he hoped to find a bowl of nuts or some other treat he could pretend she’d made special for him.
Meow.
“Hello, Harry.” Isaak reached down and picked up the tabby cat Jakob had rescued when they were eleven years old. Jakob had lost interest after a few weeks of playing with the stray, so Harry had become Isaak’s.
“You were the first time I realized it was up to me to follow through on Jakob’s initial ideas.” Isaak stroked the cat’s head. “Not that I’ve minded much. We’re a good team most of the time.”
As they were with the Sundin family. On an impulse, Jakob had hired Timmy to work at The Import Co. Once Isaak heard about it, he’d added the boy and his mother to the list of widows and orphans who received food boxes. Which made him think of walking to Mrs. Hollenbeck’s house with Miss de Fleur.
Why did every thought either start or end with her?
Isaak held the cat aloft so they were eye to eye. “What do you think of Miss de Fleur?”
Harry blinked his yellow eyes.
“I agree. She is a lovely person, which is my problem.” Isaak lowered the cat into his lap and reached into the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled out a piece of paper. “See this?” He laid the paper on top of the Spiegel catalog. “It’s my list of qualities I require in a wife.”
Harry wriggled free to jump onto the desk and paw at the paper.
&nbs
p; Isaak picked up the cat and held him away from the list. “I’ll read it to you. Item number one: godly character.”
There was a check mark beside it because Miss de Fleur had demonstrated grace and mercy every time she didn’t return Isaak’s accusations with ones of her own. The day she bought the books, she could have run straight to Aunt Lily, telling her about Isaak’s bribe offer. But no, Miss de Fleur had remained silent. She even paid full price for the books when she could have bested him again by offering a ridiculously low price. Adding the two bits extra was her only comeuppance, and it was given with a smile.
“Item number two: balances me.”
It was also checked. Like Uncle Jonas, Isaak was hard around the edges with a softer middle than most people knew. Like Aunt Lily, Miss de Fleur was soft around the edges with an inner strength.
Balance.
“Item number three: shares some of my interests.” Isaak pulled Harry’s claws from his tweed vest to prevent snags. “Pay attention, because this one is important. See? No check mark. We both like to cook, but that’s not enough for a strong relational foundation. The problem is, I don’t know Miss de Fleur very well. I’ve been avoiding her, for obvious reasons.”
Harry blinked his wisdom.
“You’re right. The problem isn’t my lack of knowledge, it’s what happens if I get to know her better and she does share more interests with me.” He looked at the list. “I take that back. My biggest problem is that I never should have taken this list out in the first place. I was trying to prove that my infatuation was unfounded.”
Harry purred.
Isaak stroked all the way to the tabby’s tail. “I believe I need to add one more item.”
Meow.
“Yes, I should have thought of it long ago, but I never imagined this situation.” After setting Harry on the floor, Isaak picked up a pencil and added a new item at the top of his list: NOT JAKOB’S GIRL.
Seeing the words failed to relieve Isaak’s exasperation at his weakness.
Harry weaved his way around Isaak’s ankles. “You’re right again. Sitting here is doing no good at all.”
Neither was talking to a cat. Isaak needed advice from someone other than himself. If only Pa were here. Or Ma.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Come in.”
Mac opened the door, sidestepping to let Harry race past him.
Isaak checked the clock. Before Mac and Emilia married, they’d developed a habit of sharing their lunch hour together. “You’re here early.”
Mac closed the door and locked it. “I’m here to talk to you.”
Isaak tucked his disobliging list inside the catalog. “Have a seat.”
Mac hung his Stetson on the peg. “Remember that leveling foot I showed you last year after Finn died?”
“Yes.”
He crossed the room and sat in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. “Could you look through your father’s ledgers and make a list of anything requiring one?”
“Why? Has something new come up about Finn’s death?”
“What I’m about to tell you must remain between us. You can’t tell Jakob, Hale, the Forsythes, or even your parents when they return home.”
Isaak nodded his agreement to the terms.
Mac licked his lips. “Finn and my mother weren’t selling women into prostitution. They were smuggling young girls out.”
“What! I mean, yes. That makes sense.” At least about Finn Collins. But rescuing girls with Madame Lestraude? That didn’t make any sense. Isaak shifted in his chair. “What a relief to know your best friend wasn’t deceiving you all these years.”
Mac nodded. “Emilia has known since last June. She’s been encouraging me to earn my mother’s trust, so she’d tell me the story herself.”
“Which I’m guessing was right before the wedding.”
Another nod. “I showed my mother this a few minutes ago.” Mac pulled the leveling screw from his coat pocket. “She gasped. It wasn’t much, and she attempted to cover it with a cough, but she knows more than she’s telling me.”
Isaak harrumphed. Of course she knew more. A brothel owner who catered to the rich and powerful probably kept more secrets than a graveyard. “Do you need me to check my father’s ledgers now, or can it wait until after the grand opening?”
“After is fine.” Mac stood. “But then as soon as possible.”
“Of course, but before you go . . .” Isaak opened the catalog. “I need your advice about something that also must remain between us.”
Mac sat down again.
Isaak pulled the list he’d hidden from between the pages. “These are the qualities I require in a wife.” He turned the paper around so Mac could see the bold print letters at the top.
Mac’s eyes widened, then snapped to meet Isaak’s gaze. “Oh, man.”
* * *
Madame Lestraude stormed into his office, her burgundy silk skirt rustling like leaves in a windstorm. “You killed Finn Collins.”
“I did not.”
She gripped the back of the chair opposite his desk. “Don’t play a game of semantics with me. You may not have shot the bullet, but you’re responsible.”
The rancher’s death plagued his conscience enough; he didn’t need Madame Lestraude fanning the flames. “Whatever gave you such an odd notion?”
Her brown eyes constricted. “A certain metal object my son showed me earlier today. One found in Finn’s barn last year.”
Heat snaked up his spine.
“As soon as I saw it and heard it was a leveling foot, I realized it belonged to that printing press you’re so proud of.”
He closed the file on his desk to give himself somewhere else to look other than in her too-intelligent eyes. That press was churning out page after page of near-perfect counterfeit money, so of course he was proud of it. He’d purchased it for pennies on the dollar because it required extensive repairs. Dunfree was supposed to find someone far from Helena for that job, but Collins was the only man in the territory who could fix the thing “What did you tell your son?”
“Nothing.”
He looked up at her, a mistake because any doubts she might have had were eradicated by whatever she saw in his face.
She came around the chair, placed her hands on his desk, and leaned down close enough he could smell the rosewater on her skin. “I have tortured myself thinking I was responsible for getting that good man killed.”
So had he.
She pushed off his desk and straightened her shoulders. With a deep breath and slow exhalation, she transformed herself into the passionless madam who cared for no one. “You and I have coexisted in this town for twelve years because our interests have never conflicted until now. Edgar Dunfree deserved what he got, and I was no fan of Joseph Hendry.”
He flinched, unable to maintain the same disguise of disinterest. But then, she’d had more practice. “How did you know about Hendry?”
“I didn’t until now, but I knew he wasn’t killed for meddling in the red-light district. Was he getting too close to your precious counterfeiting?”
There was no point in denying it, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of confirming it either.
She stared down her nose at him. “We have reached an important point in our peaceful coexistence. Finn is gone. For us to feud over his death now is a waste of effort.”
He nodded. He should have stood when she entered the room, a tactical error he wouldn’t make again.
She took a step back. “We shall let Finn Collins rest in peace, but I swear to you on his grave, if you ever threaten my family or cause them harm, I will tear every one of your illicit businesses down with my bare hands.”
Chapter Seventeen
Millionaire’s Hill
Late afternoon, the next day
De Fleur-Gunderson Courtship Contract, Day 41
“Ma’am, I found these in the attic.”
The sound of Miss Bloom’s voice drew Zoe’s atten
tion away from the food crate she was filling in the shadow of Mrs. Hollenbeck’s three-story mansion. Mrs. Hollenbeck’s paid companion, with a jubilant smile that emphasized her deep dimples, stepped out onto the patio and gave the older woman three stacked baskets, each the size of a hatbox.
“Thank you, Miss Bloom.” Mrs. Hollenbeck studied the stack. She took the largest basket, then handed the other two back to her assistant. “Choose the one you like best, then return the other from whence it came.”
“I like neither,” Miss Bloom said without losing her smile, “so to the attic they both go.”
Mrs. Hollenbeck laughed. “My dear child, you will never win a gentleman’s favor with that attitude.”
“Then my surliness is working.”
“Not if I can help it. I vowed to find you a husband by year’s end, and I mean to fulfill my promise.”
“I am most grateful for your concern over matters of my heart,” Miss Bloom responded, even though her lack of gratitude for Mrs. Hollenbeck’s matchmaking skills was clear to Zoe.
Ignoring their bantering, she added the final two onions to the food crate. Since arriving to aid in packing crates for a dozen church families, she had listened to Mrs. Hollenbeck extoll to her assistant the virtues of numerous Helena bachelors, including Geddes Palmer and Windsor Buchanan, the latter seeming to hold a tenderness in the rich widow’s heart. Zoe had spoken on numerous occasions with both gentlemen—the former being friends with Jakob and the latter with Mr. Gunderson. Either would make a suitable husband, so she had no idea why Miss Bloom resisted being courted.
“—is why you will fill a basket. End of debate.” Mrs. Hollenbeck strolled over to Zoe and the wooden patio table laden with food crates. “This one is yours.”
Zoe reached for the basket.
“Don’t take it, Miss de Fleur.”
Heeding Miss Bloom’s warning, Zoe lowered her hands. She looked at Mrs. Hollenbeck and the basket she held. Then she looked at Miss Bloom, whose perpetual smile had faded. Then Zoe looked back at Mrs. Hollenbeck, who wore an expression of mild disappointment at Zoe for not immediately accepting the basket.