And it was wonderful.
“Mr. Morrison. When will Miss Colter return?” Uncle William asked.
“Saturday, I believe. We’ll be moving on to the next stage.”
“It’s quite something, isn’t it, Miss Wynott?” Mr. Eliot asked. “Have you also visited Hopi House?”
“I should like to before I leave.”
“If you’re interested, there’s a real pueblo—a town of the Hopi people—east of the canyon. I could take you for a visit.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Eliot,” Uncle William said. “I’d prefer she stay close to the hotel.”
“Thank you, Mr. Eliot. How thoughtful.” Her heart banged like an old furnace sending heated color in across her face. “If it was summer, I’d be going down to the camp at the river.” She didn’t have to look at her uncle to know his reaction.
“Amber.” Uncle William’s warning came with just one word.
She let it go unchallenged. She understood his concern, but it wasn’t reason enough to give up her dream when she’d come this far. He still had no idea what it meant to her. She’d thought her father had—always bragging about her—until he made it clear he’d never considered allowing her to go to college.
“Did you know Miss Wynott is also a talented artist?” Stone said, breaking the silence.
Mr. Eliot shifted toward her. “I hope you’ve visited our collection of Thomas Moran’s work.”
“I have yes.” But her enthusiasm waned. At least Miss Colter was on her side; she couldn’t ask for more than that.
A small dish of vanilla ice cream drizzled with crème de menthe sauce helped her through the next ten minutes. Long enough to politely excuse herself. “Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll leave you to discuss business.”
They all stood as she rose.
Stone touched her elbow. “May I have a word, please?”
“Of course.”
Mr. Morrison walked with her across the sparsely populated room until they could speak without being overheard. “I need to apologize as well,” he said, just as the fragrance of his shaving soap caught up to her.
“For?” She dropped her gaze to the floor between them.
“You only asked what any friend would, and I responded unfairly.” Stone glanced around the room. “There’s more to the story about why I don’t work for my father.”
“There always is.”
A flash of humor moved across his face before the weight of worry replaced it. He sought out her gaze. “I’ve sent telegrams to my mother and lawyer. I’ll know more in the morning.”
“Will I see you before you go?”
“I didn’t say I was leaving.”
No, he hadn’t. She half-covered her face; she wasn’t skilled at hiding her feelings.
“I should get back to the table. May I see you tomorrow?” he asked. “To explain?”
She nodded again. “Your family is in my prayers.”
Appreciation softened his face. “Thank you. Truly.”
At once she longed to tell him about the note, about her doubts. The sudden longing to be held in his arms and be reassured surprised her. She walked away, accompanied by her wild imaginings.
But had to look back.
He was watching her, and a smiling Uncle William was watching him.
Amber quickly turned away. So, this is it, then,
She hurried up to her room, closed the door and leaned on it. What madness was this? She’d just received what could be considered a threat, yet her mouth hurt from smiling. She’d allow herself some foolish thoughts tonight and try to be more reasonable tomorrow.
~
After breakfasting alone on Friday, and saying her goodbyes to Uncle William, Amber settled on a walk around the haphazard array of buildings claiming to be a village. She picked her way across thawing mud with the anticipation of a warm, sunny day and time with Stone Morrison. She’d worn her favorite day dress of emerald green wool crepe with the velveteen collar and cuffs, but may have been too enthusiastic with the hooks-and-eyes of her corset.
“That you, Miss Wynott?”
Amber waved and hurried to the porch of what the locals called The Tin House. “Good morning, Mr. Barley!”
He motioned her closer. “Come inside and get warmed up.”
“No, no,” she countered, pulling off her fur-trimmed gloves. “As a Chicago girl, this is a lovely day.”
“You know what? I believe it’s my birthday. If it’s the thirteenth.”
“You may be right. How wonderful!”
Barley took a seat on one of the porch rockers. “You going out to Miss Colter’s work site?”
“Not today.” She took the adjacent rocker and leaned toward him. “So tell me. How are you celebrating your special day?”
“Me? I never fuss over things like that.”
Not surprising, but… “Nonsense! I shall meet you here at noon, and take you to lunch.”
The rocker stopped all motion. “Why, I never… You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will.”
“You know I ain’t got nothing nice to wear, right? And I don’t take charity. You just ask my good friend, Stone. He’ll tell you.”
“Don’t worry about that either. There’s a difference between charity and a gift. This is appreciation for all your kindness.” He’d been her most considerate companion. Why, she’d buy him new clothes as well. “I’ll see you here in three hours,” she continued, assuring him she’d not change her mind.
He scratched at his beard, amused. “People don’t say no to you very often, do they?”
“I stopped listening.” Amber hurried off toward the mercantile, taking care to avoid the droppings left along the paths.
The shop stocked a bit of everything. When Mrs. Bunch followed Amber into the menswear corner, she shared her plan. “I’d like to buy Mr. Barley some new clothes for his birthday, so I’d appreciate your help.”
“His birthday? Where’d you hear that?”
“He just told me. I’ll need your help to surprise him.”
Mrs. Bunch’s already wrinkly lids narrowed. “I see. What is it you’re fixing to get?”
“Something nice. New pants and a shirt at least.”
This brought the shopkeeper’s head up sharply.
Oh dear. “That’s not very practical, I know, but I’d like to take him to lunch.” Amber glanced around the shelves. “How about a new pair of work pants and wool shirt, as well?” She leaned closer. “What if I added a new… well, you know…”
“A union suit?”
“Would that be inappropriate?”
“Nothin’ better for a bachelor in these parts. Believe me.”
“Will you package the work clothes for me, and I’ll pick them up later.”
Mrs. Bunch pondered this. “I take it money is not a concern?”
“Oh. I never spend foolishly,” Amber insisted. “But, this is a gift after all.”
Mrs. Bunch pulled up the waist of her denim trousers. “You know, not many people like you would bother with Barley.”
“I’m for a new America, ma’am, where we give and receive equal treatment.” And that went both ways.
“Sounds like city folk problems to me. Around here, we all work hard and we all stick together.” Mrs. Bunch used a step stool to reach up into a dark cubby of a shelf. She pulled down a pair of indigo denim pants with those shiny brass rivets. “Well, we used to.”
“Wouldn’t tourists be a good thing for the mercantile?”
“More tourists is not the problem, gal.” Mrs. Bunch looked at her like she didn’t have a lick of sense, then shuffled away. “I best keep my opinions to myself. Until you know more about it, you should, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Amber followed her, taking in the floor-to-ceiling shelves and cupboards filled with merchandise to better ignore the sting of admonishment. No one would burst her bubble today. The bell over the door announced another shopper. She hurried to put a hand on
the woman’s arm. “Please understand that despite…despite my advantages, I am concerned about the plight of others.”
Mrs. Bunch’s pale blue eyes considered her for a moment. “I cain’t very well blame you for what’s going on around here.”
“Thank you.”
“Not your fault you were born with money.”
An interesting way to put it. At one time, a phrase like that would have rankled Amber but her image in the mirror wore an outfit costing more than most here made in a year.
“If nothing else, it allows me the chance to do something like this for Mr. Barley.”
A gentleman cleared his throat.
They turned like mirror images toward Stone.
He tipped his hat at Mrs. Bunch, removed it and came to Amber’s side. “Barley said you needed me?”
“He did?”
“He did.”
“That’s strange,” Amber muttered.
Mrs. Bunch circled him, eyeing him like he was up for auction. “My, oh my. I forgot what a fine-looking gent you are. You sure wash up well. Ain’t that so, Miss Wynott?”
Mr. Morrison’s ears reddened. “It’s nice to get the grime off once in a while, I admit.” He replaced his tweed cap and gestured. “Continue with your shopping. I’ll wait outside.”
That wildness in her chest was back but she fought to remain casual. “I’m done here.” Then she faced Mrs. Bunch. “I’ll see to my bill at the appropriate time.”
“I’m sure you will,” Mrs. Bunch responded, walking away. “But I think you’d better see to Stone here, first.”
For that, Amber took a deep breath.
“Have you had breakfast, Miss Wynott?”
“Yes. You?”
He motioned toward the door, calling “enjoy the day, Mrs. Bunch” over his shoulder.
Amber passed in front of him through the narrow aisles and waited for him to open the door. A refreshing rush of cool air brushed her face. Why must she feel so flustered in his company? Like a girl in braids.
The colors of the canyon melted into the purple-blue of the winter sky.
He paused under the overhang. “Then Barley was wrong? You didn’t want me?”
She forced a delicate cough to cover her discomposure. “I…uhh, actually I could use your help.”
“Shall we walk, then? It’s been awhile since I strolled with a pretty girl.”
“I’m not a girl.” Even as she said it, she regretted sounding so silly. “I mean, I believe you have me all wrong. I don’t care for compliments.” She stole a glance at him. That dimple appeared again, proving he wouldn’t take her seriously. “Why are you being so nice to me now?”
He stopped walking and tilted his head with all the innocence of a puppy. “When have I not?”
She said not a word.
“Okay, the first day, and I did apologize.” He raised his head, peering down his nose at her like she was a curiosity. “Is this because I called you a girl?”
Maybe part of it. “Of course not. You don’t think I’m that foolish, do you?”
“Because I said you were pretty?”
She opened her mouth to argue.
A leathery-skinned old Indian with a white goatee, Victorian frock coat approached, and tipped a top hat.
“Good morning, Big Jim,” Stone said.
“Same to you.” After they’d passed him, Stone nudged her. “Should I repeat?”
“Repeat what?”
“Saying you’re pretty.”
“Certainly not.” But there was no way to hide her amusement. “Let’s drop the subject once and for all.”
“Let’s get back to how you needed me.”
“Your help,” she clarified. She needed him like a hole in the head.
“And what’s wrong with saying pretty?”
Impudent man. Yes. That was the word. She glanced around for eavesdroppers. “It implies it’s my best asset, and I’d rather be admired for something else. A skill. An attribute of worth. Being pretty…”
“Isn’t an attribute? An asset?”
“Why must you argue with everything I say?”
“I don’t.”
“Yet you are.” He took her arm and put it through his. “I won’t say you’re pretty. What else must I not do?”
“Oh, stop it.”
Stone slowed, maneuvering her to face him. “You seem rather distracted today. Let me again offer my assistance.” His gaze settled somewhere near her mouth.
She noticed a scar hidden in his mustache. To preserve the last bit of practicality leaching from her brain, Amber stepped back. “Mr. Barley—”
“Barley isn’t his last name. It’s just Barley.”
“Well, how am I to know?”
“I’m telling you.”
Laughter rolled up through her and joined with his. So went any sound judgement. A laughing Mr. Morrison was a dangerous Mr. Morrison. The last thing her heart needed, but oh my, it was the most delightful feeling.
He reclaimed her arm, keeping her close and resumed their walk. “You were saying?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Barley?” he offered.
“Oh yes. Mr. Just Barley told me he thought it was his birthday. I insisted on taking him to lunch at the hotel, but he’s worried about his clothes.”
“That and a few other things. While you and I can be comfortable there, a man like Barley would feel out of place.”
“I’m buying him new clothes.”
“That’s what you were doing, then?”
“Yes.”
They continued on in silence until they’d reached the El Tovar. Amber extricated her arm from his hold.
“Don’t make Barley eat at the hotel.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’d hardly force him.” She tried the disapproving stare she used on her nephew. It didn’t work.
“Did you give him a choice? Or tell him?”
“I—”
People don’t say no to you very often do they?
Amber winced, remembering Barley’s words. She was doing unto Barley as Uncle William did to her. “What do you suggest?”
“A picnic. Lots of food.” He grinned. “And a cake. He told me once he’d never had a cake for his birthday.”
“You must be jesting.”
“I never jest.”
“Then, a picnic it is. Let me go back and tell Mrs. Bunch.” Amber pulled away.
“We should invite Mrs. Bunch as well. He’s rather fond of her.”
“Barley? Mrs. Bunch?”
“What? Are they too old for love?” Stone straightened Amber’s hat. “It gets very lonely here. Long winters and all.”
She swore he moved closer. Oh yes his eyes were green. Three shades of green. “I’m also buying him new work clothes. I must be practical.” I should be.
“Another one of your assets. Kindness. Curiosity. Practicality.”
If she closed her eyes now, would he kiss her? She cleared her throat. “Thank you. We agree for once.”
“As long as I don’t use the word pretty.”
“You’re catching on.”
He snapped his cuffs in place, stepping back to put space between them as hotel guests came down the steps. After further discussion, they had a plan, and parted. “Go tell Mrs. Bunch what we’ve come up with. I’ll meet you right here in two hours and I’ll drive you out there.”
His enthusiasm was very attractive. Everything about him was attractive, but this was supposed to be about Barley and not about the urge to laugh wildly and throw her hat up in the air.
And kiss him.
Instead she nodded.
Stone Morrison admired her. He’d even stood up for her. And she had all she could do to put one foot in front of the other and walk away.
~
There was something delicious about Amber’s neck.
Stone had to keep his attention off her to keep the Dodge’s tires on the trail. Yes, he should have borrowed a horse and cart, but he�
��d hoped to impress her. On the other hand, traveling by cart would have required her to sit close enough to stay warm. Her wide-brimmed hat dipped to one side and hid her face but not the one exquisite expanse of her neck where her pulse beat.
This was not going well.
Again she mentioned the thoughtful Mr. Eliot. Eliot. Bah! The hotel manager with his soft, gentlemanly hands had designs on her but he wasn’t with whom she was spending the day.
How he longed to touch her face. Not yet.
“Here we are.”
She surveyed the spot with delight. “It’s just perfect,” she said and was out the door before he’d opened his. Thankfully she didn’t race to the edge.
“Barley has a claim or two this way,” Stone said, climbing out, “but I don’t think he’s been out here for a while. He really can’t do the work anymore.”
“We simply must get him a job with the hotel,” she told him as they both reached behind the seats for the blankets and baskets. “Can you imagine what a wonderful job he’d do as a tour guide?”
Stone looked up so quickly, he bumped his head. “That’s an excellent idea. And not without precedence. The railroad hired Captain Hance just to tell stories and entertain the tourists. He’s a legend around here.”
Her enthusiasm was catching, and the dancing light in her eyes made him feel like a very lucky man.
“And Mrs. Bunch knows where we’ll be?”
“Oh yes. She grew up around here and knows more about the canyon than Barley.” Stone set about finding a decent spot for the heavy wool blankets, laying one on top of the other to keep the damp out, and placed the food hamper in the center. After returning from a walk near the rim, Miss Wynott set out the china and silverware. She’d brought a couple packages for Barley.
“Where’s Teddy?”
“She’s tired of me, I guess, and off at one of her other haunts. No one really claims to own her.”
At the sound of hoof beats, they watched someone approach on horseback rather than the Babbitt Mercantile wagon bringing Barley and Mrs. Bunch.
Just Dutch. And Dutch didn’t wave.
Stone went to meet him with a heaviness in his chest. “What happened?”
Why Not (A Valentine Matchmaker novella) Page 5