How did one say good-bye after kissing a woman like that? He laid a hand on her stiff shoulder and let his palm run down the length of her arm until he cupped her elbow, his eyes locked on hers. He stared at her for a moment. Was she going to say something?
She dropped her gaze from his, seemingly struck dumb.
“All aboard! Last call!”
“Write me, Kate.” He let his fingers trail down the rest of her arm, then tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear.
She looked up and blinked. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she nodded.
He turned to grab his luggage and shuffled it over to the freight car where Anthony was the last person hoisting his things into the porter’s hands.
Over his shoulder, Kate only stared at them, both hands now pressed against her mouth.
He hopped onto the passenger car’s back platform as the locomotive’s pistons started their first hard, slow chug.
He waited for her to take a step forward, hold out her hand, widen her eyes with regret—anything to tell him whether or not he’d hear from her soon. But she only stood transfixed.
When the train depot’s platform and Kate’s slender figure disappeared, Silas laid a reluctant hand on Anthony’s back and guided him into the car. Anthony slid across the cushioned bench seat and looked out the window.
Silas closed his eyes and let his body rock with the train’s gentle swaying. Was it his imagination, or had she responded to his kiss as if . . . as if she’d been pining to kiss him all along?
But then she’d said no to his awkward proposal.
So which was it? What was he to hope for?
Time. Time was what they needed.
Time for his proposal to sink in. Letters to discuss what could be. Dreams of more kisses that would stir up the undercurrent of feelings already there.
How had he not entertained marrying Kate earlier? He smiled. Just a few exchanged letters to convince her Anthony wasn’t the only good thing awaiting her in Kansas, that he’d work to be a good husband, that there’d be more kisses like that. . . .
Surely she’d let him prove the spark that had just consumed them could be fanned into a flame. If she wrote, they could get to know each other better and she’d see he already respected her. Coaxing admiration into love wouldn’t be as hard as nurturing crops through a season of drought—and he’d done that before.
But what if he wasn’t enough? His smile faded. Kate was a keg of dry powder. Any flame sparked her passion, and she burned hot. Moments before kissing her, had she not said they had nothing to base a relationship on?
She knew his addiction still threatened to send him back to his darkest days, and her school contract promised her a stability she probably didn’t believe he could provide after all his talk of his farm being in ruins.
She’d not been happy when he’d almost given up on finding Anthony either.
“So did you convince Miss Dawson to come?”
He glanced at his son sitting beside him before groaning and closing his eyes. Of course the spectacle he’d made of himself would plant a seed of hope in Anthony.
And if Kate didn’t come, Anthony would be far more devastated than he.
Chapter 14
With her fingers pressed against her mouth, Kate stared after Silas, though the train had already conveyed him from sight.
She should’ve waved farewell to Anthony. Had he been waving at her while she’d stared at his father? She forced herself off the empty depot platform, putting one foot in front of the other, fighting against the heat in her eyes.
Anthony was gone.
But they didn’t have to be separated long . . . if she got married right away. She fisted her hands against her skirts.
How dare he do this to me. Like dangling a carrot in front of a mule, he was trying to get her to consider the one thing she’d decided never to do again. She of all people should know not to be enticed by a hasty marriage proposal. She didn’t know Silas inside and out; he hadn’t courted her like a proper gentleman over months and months, couldn’t possibly love her in such a short time.
However, Anthony wasn’t a carrot, and the dreams she’d entertained, the feel of Silas’s lips against hers . . .
Her brain still felt sluggish and dazed and . . . and . . . mind-numbingly elated.
It had been so hard to say no, but it was the smart thing to have done.
Wasn’t it?
Someone bumped her shoulder. “Excuse me, miss.” The man grasped her upper arm to right her before he continued on his way. She needed to clear her head if she was going to make it home without tripping and making a fool of herself.
But the kiss kept replaying in her mind. Had she been longing for a kiss from him for so long that she’d felt more than she should have? She’d been daydreaming about Silas, assuming nothing would happen. But something had.
She just hadn’t expected a proposal to come with it.
What was wrong with her that men didn’t seem to care if they loved her or not before they offered their hand?
And what was wrong with her that each and every time she wanted to answer with a “yes”?
But this time, she wouldn’t do it. She’d pledged never to do it again.
Waiting for a buggy to pass so she could cross the last road to the Logans’, she blew out a breath and tipped her head back to watch the clouds roll by overhead.
Should her opinion on quick, convenient marriages change with one kiss? One really, really extraordinary kiss?
She did want to be with Anthony, but Silas had said nothing about love—and that’s what she was holding out for.
After the way her heart practically leapt from her chest and into Silas’s arms, what if she married him and he never came to love her? She might as well throw her heart on the tracks and let the locomotives grind it into the rails every day for the rest of her life.
All of this contemplation only proved she was on the edge of making a mistake again. But what if refusing to marry was the mistake this time? Would she ever have another chance to leave spinsterhood behind? Was gaining a financially secure future more important than love? She might have a teaching job to rely on now, but if she crossed Mr. Kingfisher again . . .
At the Logans’, Kate quietly let herself in the side door. Knowing dinner would be long over, she headed for the stairs, but the rattle of dishes in the kitchen led her stomach to hope Mrs. Logan had something warm left for her.
Drying a mixing bowl, Mrs. Logan pierced Kate with a sharp look the minute she passed through the door.
Kate cleared her throat. “I hope I didn’t inconvenience you by not letting you know I’d miss dinner.”
The woman’s eyes didn’t grow any softer with the apology. “You were with Mr. Jonesey again?”
“Yes.” She straightened her shoulders despite the blush she felt creeping up on her. This time Mrs. Logan would be right to believe she and Silas may have done something inappropriate. That kiss . . . Well, it wasn’t the chaste peck on the lips she’d seen a few married couples exchange in public.
Oh goodness, how many people saw them kiss like that? She pressed her hands against her cheeks and staggered over to one of the kitchen table’s chairs. Trying to envision the train station, her mind blanked over how many might have seen them kissing. The whole world had disappeared, and—
Mrs. Logan’s tsk jarred her from that memory.
Kate cleared her throat. “Anthony was almost kidnapped this afternoon so I helped him pack so Silas could get him out of town to keep him safe.”
“Why would he be any safer gone than here?” The woman didn’t look sufficiently appalled over a boy nearly being abducted.
“We’re certain Richard had to be behind it, so we had to get Anthony away.”
Mrs. Logan set down a plate and picked up another. “Was Mr. Fitzgerald arrested?”
“The sheriff is looking into it. Richard’s gone—at least he appears to be, but why else was Anthony targeted in the middle of
the day? I’ve never heard of kidnappers so bold.”
“I suppose there won’t be any more of your traipsing about town, then.”
Why did she feel as if she was no more than fifteen? Kate gritted her teeth against the desire to ask if she’d be as concerned about Kate’s actions if the child in question was one of the Logans’. “You don’t need to worry about me being improper now any more than you had to before.”
Especially now that Silas was gone.
Mrs. Logan grabbed a pie tin off the back of the stove and slipped it onto the table. “Here’s leftover ham I kept out for you.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Logan stared at her, an eyebrow raised.
Kate covered her mouth with her hand, though surely the woman couldn’t see that her lips still felt roughened from Silas’s beard. Of course she hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror before she came into the kitchen. Was it possible to tell if a person had just been kissed?
Had her lips felt like this when she’d kissed Aiden two years ago?
The late afternoon beams piercing through the Logans’ kitchen curtains splintered into the shards of gaslight that danced around the memory of Aiden McGuinness’s mischievous smile under the oak tree in front of her sister’s house in Georgia.
He’d just given her a sweet little peck on the lips. “Things will be better with me—I promise.”
Kate had smiled up at him. “Of course they will.” Had he really just proposed? He was too good, too handsome, for someone like her. Had he really come to care for her during the few conversations they’d shared the handful of times he’d come to her house earlier than her brother-in-law had expected?
For years, she’d longed to get out from under Peter’s abusive hand, and just hours earlier, she’d overheard Aiden regaling her brother-in-law’s guests with how his stepfather had often tried to beat the Irish out of him. Not the typical story told at the grand parties Peter and her sister Violet threw for the bank employees to celebrate particularly good business months.
Though Kate had been ordered upstairs for the evening, she’d crept closer to the doorway to the dining room as Aiden continued his story about proving to his stepfather that an Irishman needn’t blueblood heritage or family money to succeed in America. His voice resounded in the crowded dining room, impossible to ignore. And then Aiden glared straight at her brother-in-law as he accused any man who laid a harsh hand on his charges as worse than a snake.
The champagne in Peter’s glass had shook as he took a nonchalant sip, though he nodded his head along with the other gilded guests murmuring their agreement.
He’d have to have been daft not to realize Aiden was declaring he knew how Peter treated Kate—and that he didn’t approve.
She’d waited outside to catch Aiden as the guests left, hoping against hope he would help her leave—but she hadn’t expected his proposal.
“I’m assuming you won’t want a long engagement?” Aiden tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
She shook her head. He was indeed seriously suggesting marriage. The nervous butterflies fluttering about her body clogged her throat. She stepped into his offered embrace and pressed the side of her face against the shoulder of his starched suit, trying not to think of the patched work dress she wore. The fine weave of his dinner jacket cooled the heat in her cheek. She’d never dreamed he’d propose marriage as an escape. Why would she have? A young, talented banker paired with his boss’s sister-in-law, who was treated worse than a servant?
Perhaps Cinderella was more than just a fairy tale after all.
Aiden wrapped his arms around her, his forearm pressing against her left shoulder blade. She sucked air in through her teeth.
He backed away and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me there are marks on your back.”
She swallowed and looked at his hand clutching her upper arm. Peter always made sure bruises from the broomstick were hidden.
Aiden placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “Why didn’t you come to me before I figured this out myself?”
How could she have convinced anyone of the abuse without disrobing? No one but her sister saw the bruises beneath her shirtwaists. How would she have known he’d believe her until she’d heard the cruelty he’d himself known at the hands of his stepfather—and that he was already suspicious of Peter?
Aiden’s jaw tightened. “How could anyone treat you like this?”
She’d been asking that question for years. Peter didn’t even raise a hand against his Great Dane, and that beast stole food off the table and made most of the messes she rarely cleaned to Peter’s satisfaction. “Maybe—”
“Hush, there is no good answer. At least I never got one that made any sense from my stepfather.” Aiden’s face took on a faraway angry look, the same one he often directed at Peter when her brother-in-law talked down to her in Aiden’s presence. “What I wouldn’t give to strangle them both.”
Aiden laughed, a throaty, vengeance-filled cackle. “But we’ll show both of them. We’ll take away Peter’s free maid, and I’ll prove to my stepfather this lowly Irishman can mop the floor with him in the banking world.”
“Oh no.” She pressed a hand against her mouth. “What if Peter fires you when he finds out? What if he’s so angry—”
“Hush.” Aiden laid a gentle finger on her lips. “I once heard him say he wished someone would take you off his hands. That was what drew my attention to how he treated you in the first place.”
If she could melt with shame, she’d slip through Aiden’s fingers like sunbaked butter.
“Besides, I’m his best employee. I have a knack for investments none of the others have. He’ll not fire me. It’d cost him more than he thinks you’re worth.”
Which wasn’t much.
Aiden leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I’ll be richer than him in no time—wait and see. Imagine how they’ll squirm seeing you wearing fancier furs and riding in finer carriages than Violet.” He smiled and tapped her nose. “Let’s go tell him.”
Within the hour, she’d been tossed out of the house. But it didn’t matter. Aiden had scrambled to get her lodging at the boardinghouse, and she was drunk with thoughts of a wedding and a new home.
While she’d worked on gathering a trousseau, he’d spent his spare time deciding on a place for them to live. He finally settled on a huge townhouse, one he surely couldn’t afford no matter how well his first year of investments went.
Evidently he figured appearing wealthy would gain him the affluent friends, connections, and opportunities he sought. And of course, he’d explained, she’d have to do her part and keep the place immaculate with only a cook to aid her, for they, after all, hadn’t the money for more help . . . yet. So she’d run the house for him as she’d done for Peter and Violet, from sunup to sundown—minus the blows from the broomstick and any help from other servants. After realizing exactly what Aiden expected of her, Kate’s future no longer looked so bright.
Oh, she’d not be beaten, at least she was pretty certain of that, but her brother-in-law had a cook, a gardener, a butler, a head housekeeper, and two maids other than herself, and she still couldn’t please Peter. How could she possibly keep up a three-story townhouse well enough to impress the businessmen Aiden hoped to charm?
That night, trembling at how quickly her hopes of an easier life had fallen down around her, she’d picked up a discarded newspaper at the boardinghouse where she lived. Her fingers slid down the matrimonial advertisements. Surely some man wanted a wife who wasn’t a glorified maid.
Jasper’s advertisement had popped off the page: a small house and the desire for help in the paint shop he owned with his brother. She’d always wanted to learn to paint. She—
“Is there something wrong with the ham?”
Kate startled. “I’m sorry?”
Mrs. Logan stood beside the table with her hands on her hips.
Clearing her throat, Kate picked up her fork. “The ham’s good. I just got lost
in thought.”
“Do you need me for anything?” Mrs. Logan wiped her hands on her dish towel. The dishes were all put away. No wonder her ham had cooled.
“Can I ask you a question?” She knew her hostess had questioned the time she spent with Silas, but what other woman did she have in her life to ask?
“What do you want to know?”
She swallowed and busied herself with cutting her meat into tiny squares. “I . . . well . . . Did you marry for love?”
“I find that question highly improper.” She tilted her chin higher.
What did she do that this woman didn’t consider improper? She wilted, but drove on. “It’s just that, I’ve had two men . . . or well . . . three now, offer their hand to me without being in love. I just wondered if there was something wrong with me, or . . . as a spinster, is that all I can hope for?”
“I thought your contract explicitly stated you can’t court while teaching.”
“It does.”
“Then I don’t see why you’re contemplating your marital status.”
“But what if I want to change it?”
“You can’t until the end of the term.”
“Right.” She sighed. The hope of getting motherly advice was evidently for naught.
And Mrs. Logan was correct. She couldn’t make a decision right now as a teacher anyway, didn’t even have to.
This time her exhale took a weight off her shoulders.
She had her answer. She’d write Silas as he suggested and learn more about him, and she’d have the whole rest of the school year to decide. To see if the ache of missing Anthony got stronger. To see if there was more behind Silas’s proposal than the need of a mother for his son.
“Thank you, Mrs. Logan. You’ve helped me tremendously.” She lifted a piece of meat to her mouth, where she could still feel the weight of Silas’s lips. The sensation of which she could experience again within days if she’d only—
Blast the memory of his lips on hers. She needed to be patient and careful for once in her life. If she ever felt his mouth on hers again, it’d be a year from now.
Silas groaned and rolled over. Since returning to his homestead outside of Salt Flatts, nights on his cabin floor had not been kind. He should get to work making another bed, but the mess Peter Hicks had left drove him to do as much as possible before a cold snap made outside work even more unpleasant.
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