Instead of answering, two slender fingers pinched the edge of his wire-rimmed glasses and settled them higher on his nose. It was a move she recognized from their school days together. A move he used to stall for time.
"Well?" she asked, not bothering to suppress the brittle edge in her tone.
"I've asked Mary Wells to be my wife."
"Mary!"
Crandall pursed his lips, pointing to where a huge bear of a man stood studying a display. Ignoring the stranger, she continued.
"Why would you ask for her hand when you're courting me?"
"You're not the marrying type, Kate. You're too busy doing the work of a man, instead of behaving like you want to marry one."
A rush of feelings boiled over, leaving behind the stench of her failed dreams. She'd thought Crandall respected the life she chose to lead. That she'd been so blind to his true character hurt more than his betrayal.
Anger rapidly overtook anguish.
"How dare you judge my behavior, you lying cad!" The stranger jumped at her shout and she lowered her voice. "You believe my willingness to manage the financials after my mother's death as a hindrance?"
"Yes, and a time-consuming one." Crandall gave an unapologetic shrug. "I've found a woman who does what you wouldn't — focus on my needs and make me feel like a man."
Kate heard a snicker from across the store. Mortified, she whirled on her heel and stalked toward the stranger. He stood well over six feet tall and had to be two hundred pounds of solid muscle, neither of which dissuaded her from standing toe to toe with him.
"Shame on you for eavesdropping."
Instead of slinking away, the man swept off his hat, took a step back, and bent into an exaggerated bow. His hair was jet black, and, as evidenced in the curls at the nape of his neck, in need of a haircut.
"My apologies," he replied, insincerity in his tone.
"I hope you at least have the decency to leave," she snapped. "Now."
The interloper straightened, startling her with the brilliant blue of his eyes. "Last time I checked this is a free country, and I have purchases to make. What I can't understand is why you're so irritated with me—" his lips twitched in amusement as he nodded toward Crandall "—when he's right over there?"
As he replaced his hat and gave her a slow, lazy smile, Crandall's soft cough brought their conversation to a halt.
"Kate, if you'd let me help this gentleman we can finish our conversation in a few minutes."
Crandall gestured to a chair against the wall, and because she wanted the stranger gone she sat. But beneath her skirt, one foot tapped an angry rhythm against the wooden floor. After a glance at her shaking hands she forced herself to think of something, anything, besides Crandall's betrayal. Her eyes fell on the towering man now wasting her time with too many questions. Brooding, rugged, bold — a definite man's man, and every giggling debutante's secret desire. A stark contrast to Crandall, who her father often referred to as "delicate".
"This liniment is guaranteed to soothe, almost on contact." Crandall's voice brought Kate back to the present as he answered yet another question from the lingering stranger.
"If it'll ease a leg that aches in the rain I'm willing to give it a try." The man fished a coin from his coat pocket and tossed it on the counter.
When he glanced her way she stiffened, waiting for the inevitable compliment on her appearance. But as his eyes took in her polished shoes, freshly pressed gown, and upswept hair, she had the uncomfortable feeling he didn't like what he saw. Though what did it matter? She was there to speak to Crandall, not banter words with a drifter.
"Ma'am," he said, touching the brim of his hat. He walked away without a backward glance.
As the door closed behind the man Kate fired the first shot. "So, you believe the town trollop is the 'marrying type'?"
Crandall's face went pale, but to her growing frustration he kept silent.
"You owe me an explanation," she said.
"I do, but I won't tolerate you making a scene." He fiddled with a button on his jacket before settling his gaze on her. "Mary is expecting my child."
Furious, she lunged to slap him, but he caught her hand in midair.
"Your temper will be your downfall one day," he warned as she jerked her hand from his grasp.
"Crandall Hewitt, you are a despicable, dishonorable rat!" Kate spat out the words, wondering how she could have wasted a year of her life on such a worthless man. "You and Mary deserve each other."
Leaving him where he stood, she hurried for home and the one man she could always count on — her father.
When the line of oak trees signaling the start of their property came into view, she began her search. Oftentimes he took in an afternoon cigar on the upstairs balcony, but a glance revealed it empty. Same for the wraparound porch. Several trees stood guard across the front lawn, and the urge to hide up one and cry until the sting of disappointment faded was strong, but gardeners — hired by and loyal to her aunt — milled about the property.
The oak front door swung open and Kate nodded to their butler, Mr. Cribs, while stepping past him into the foyer. The click of her heels followed her across the marble tiles, then faded as she wandered down the carpeted hallway, peeking into doorways for her father. When she reached his study she opened the door and slipped inside, smiling as the warm, rich smells of leather and cigars surrounded her. Across one wall, floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves held hundreds of books. She'd spent many lonely evenings curled on an overstuffed chair by the fireplace, losing herself in the endless pages.
Kate checked the kitchen, the parlor, and even the stables, all with no success. Upon her return to the house she sought out a maid.
"Have you seen Father?"
The woman's eyes showed a mixture of surprise and sadness. "Today is April 5th."
Kate's hand flew to her chest. How could she have forgotten? Untouched except for weekly cleaning by the staff, her mother's dressing room had, for nine years, remained exactly the same. Once a year her father entered — on the anniversary of her death.
****
Hours later, long after Ben had fallen asleep, Kate tiptoed through her father's bedroom to a second door and knocked softly.
"Come in," said her father.
Kate turned the cool glass knob and stepped into the dressing room. Her father sat on a chair, flipping through the pages of a small, brown book. The lamplight revealed a distinguished man with a thick, well-kept mustache and eyes the color of the sea.
"Father, you didn't come down to dinner. Shall I have a plate brought up?"
Shaking his head, he continued fanning the pages of the book she now recognized as one of the guides they stocked for customers heading to Oregon Territory. Intent on leaving him to his thoughts, she headed toward the door, but when her hand touched the knob his voice broke the silence.
"Sweetheart, are you content with your life?"
She was startled to see his normally smooth forehead now marred by wrinkles.
"Of course," she assured him. "Ben is happy. You love us, and provide all we need and more. What else could I want?"
He tossed the book on the floor, ambled to the dresser, and traced his fingertip around the lid of her mother's silver jewelry box. "Would you ever consider leaving?"
"Leaving?" At her cry of surprise he crossed the room and took her hands. "What do you want to do? Buy a house in another town?" There wasn't a home within a hundred miles that could compare to theirs. The manicured grounds alone were the envy of all who visited.
"Yes." His grip tightened as his expression changed to one of joy. "In Oregon."
"Oregon!" Kate was stunned. "I know it's become the latest craze, but I never thought you would want to go." While working in the store, she'd overheard eager discussions of opportunities available out west. Lately, their patrons talked of little else.
"This isn't a whim," he insisted. "It's been on my mind since the Parkers went last year. And while I appreciate the role
you've taken in the business, the house, and with Ben, I want to see you enjoy life. I'm not sure it will happen living here."
She sank to the sofa, shaking her head in astonishment at her father's words.
"Sweetheart," he said, kneeling before her. "I'm a rich man. I never expected such success, but there was a need in this town — a need I had the opportunity, and the good fortune, to fill. On the other hand, all the money in the world cannot buy what doesn't exist."
"What?"
"Land," he said with a triumphant smile. "When your mother and I first married we spoke often of starting a horse ranch, but life got in our way. I have the time and the money, but too many people have bought up property for their orchards. However, there are acres of untouched land out west, waiting for the care of a skilled hand."
"With so many heading west each day, how long can the surplus last?" In addition to watching travelers prepare for their journey, she'd seen the ones who'd returned — beaten by the trail and their own unfulfilled dreams.
"We'll start with a general store," he continued, oblivious to her distress. "We already have the knowledge and the contacts, and with the way people are talking, the next ten years will see more people going west than ever before. After a year or two of certain profits we'll pick out a spread large enough to support a full-scale ranch. Then, we'll round up mustang stallions and start a new line with the mares we brought with us."
"It seems you've thought of everything," she murmured.
He rose, thrust his hands in his pockets, and paced the room. "New settlers will need supplies. Horses too. Horses from a ranch I can build with my own hands."
Kate leaned against the sofa, still reeling. Her father's idea, though unexpected, intrigued her. All things considered, she did lead a lonely life. Her days were spent hunched over endless piles of paperwork. Evenings passed entertaining her brother and discussing business and politics with her father. Irritating her aunt was one of her few sources of enjoyment, and one she couldn't push too far.
Then there was family, or lack thereof, to consider. All her mother's family had remained in England and her father's only sibling, Aunt Victoria, was ten years older than Father with no hope for children of her own. Kate pushed at the rug with the tip of her shoe. All the reasons to go were clear, but when it came down to it, could she leave?
"Does your hesitation have anything to do with Crandall?" he demanded. "I've held my tongue thus far, but no longer. I'm sure you've heard the rumors regarding him and Mary. Tell him to decide once and for all, or you'll decide for him."
Her father's fierce tone surprised her; he rarely lost control of his emotions. She eyed the floor, dreading her next words. What if Crandall was right and she wasn't marriage material? What if every man felt the same way?
"We spoke today on the subject."
"I didn't realize." He paused, his voice softened in uncertainty. "How did it go?"
"He's engaged to Mary."
As shame colored her cheeks, her father's strong arms surrounded her. "Sweetheart, don't worry over a man who won't give you everything you deserve, including his undivided love."
Stifling a sob, she nodded.
"Kate, I know I'm asking a lot, but I can't stay here anymore. This house, this town, anywhere, is a constant reminder of your mother and the life we once shared. I need a fresh start."
Her heart was torn. She loved her father and had watched his anguish throughout her mother's long illness. She'd witnessed his frustration and then desperation at not being able to comfort her, to save her. His panic when she'd died, leaving him with an infant son and a thirteen-year-old daughter.
"You understand, don't you?" Anxious eyes begged her to tell him she approved of his proposition.
"I'm trying." Though she was beginning to comprehend the magnitude of what he asked of her, one thing was clear — with a single, fateful decision she would either give up all she'd ever known or shatter her father's dreams.
Kate thought of the days to come. By next Wednesday, Aunt Victoria would have heard the news of Crandall's engagement, and their morning visit would be dominated by cruel assumptions of why she'd lost his interest. Nothing was ever going to change. Everything would stay the same day after day, year after year, until one day she settled down with a man who fulfilled none of her desires.
Oregon was the only way out of her predetermined life.
Before she lost the burst of courage racing through her body, she spoke the words that would change her life forever.
"Father, I'll go to Oregon."
With an exuberant shout he picked her up, swirled her around, and kissed her on the forehead.
"Kate, you won't regret this. I promise."
Praise for Along The Way Home
In Along the Way Home, author Christi Corbett unfurls an unforgettable epic romance inside of an epic Western adventure. Beautifully crafted, this debut novel is a tender journey of the heart as well as a treacherous journey of many miles. Along the Way Home is a squeaky-clean historical romance with authentic period details and deep emotion. Much danger, risk, courage and compassion will make you long for more books from this talented author. As heartwarming as Christy."
Eve Paludan, author of Taking Back Tara (Ranch Lovers Romance series)
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A breathtaking account of courage and adventure along the Oregon Trail. Travel this dangerous journey with characters you will treasure as they cope with heart-wrenching difficulties they never thought to encounter in a search to fulfill their hopes and dreams. Christi Corbett’s debut novel, Along the Way Home, will both surprise and delight.
Jillian Kent, author of The Ravensmoore Chronicles.
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A dash of action! A touch of intrigue! Loads of sweet, clean romantic promise…
Reid Lance Rosenthal, Winner of 15 National Awards, #1 Best Selling Author of the Threads West, An American Saga series.
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