Breathless, she pulled back and then leaned her head against him because her eyes were stinging. Drawing up her last bits of willpower, she pushed off him. “I have things to do.”
“I have to go to the office, but I want to talk with you later, now that Mrs. Conrad is here.”
She willed the tears not to come forward and nodded. Forcing her feet to walk to the door, she knew what had to happen, what she had to do now, while she still understood she wasn’t the kind of woman who could ever steal his heart in return. As she grabbed the doorknob, she sucked in air, and flinched. Her lungs felt as if someone had broken a beer glass inside them.
She turned, looked at him, and at that moment, felt her heart breaking apart, piece by piece by piece. “Bye, Karl,” she said before the ability to speak completely left her.
“Goodbye, Bridget.”
As she walked out of the room, she thought of how Mrs. Flannagan had told her at Da’s funeral that God would heal all the pieces of her heart, if she gave him all the pieces.
That couldn’t happen this time. She didn’t have all the pieces.
Chapter Fifteen
The kiss he and Bridget had shared lived with Karl all morning. She had changed his life in so, so many ways. He hadn’t realized exactly what had happened until talking with his mother last night. He’d fallen in love. Had stumbled and fallen into a world that was so unknown to him he hadn’t recognized what had happened.
How could he have recognized it? He’d never known love. Never knew what it was capable of doing to a person. Bridget did, and somehow, with little more than that first smile she’d graced him with, she’d found his heart and turned it on with some sort of magical switch.
Hands behind his head, he let out a sigh and leaned back in his desk chair. He’d never imagined he’d give marriage a thought, but he was giving it more than a thought. Much more. He’d never have believed there was someone he’d want to share his life with. Days and nights. Weeks. Months. Years. Never thought he’d want children, because children had meant a wife.
A wife.
His wife.
That’s what he wanted.
A wife and children.
It had been hard to not say something to Bridget this morning. He’d considered it when he’d asked her about being in his mother’s shoes and coming back. He hadn’t meant it as in his mother’s shoes precisely. Bridget still believed that she had to go to Chicago, complete the promise she’d made to her father. Those were the shoes he was referring to.
She’d said yes. Now he needed to figure out a way for her to see she could have her own dreams, her own wants. Coax her into seeing there was a place for her in his house. A very integral part.
Now that he knew what it was, this thing between them, this love in his heart, he was anxious to invest in it, watch it grow and protect it.
There was risk, but that too excited him. It always had.
The telephone on his desk rang, and knowing Julia would answer it, he didn’t move, just kept thinking about the places he would take Bridget, the things they would do together, the fun they would have, both while convincing her to stay, and for the rest of their lives.
Tonight, he’d take her out to dinner again. Hell, he’d even sit through another opera if that’s what she wanted. A hundred operas.
He dropped his hands and sat up at the sound of the knock on his door. “Come in.”
“Excuse me, sir, your house is on the line,” Julia said.
His heart skipped a beat, but he silently told it to settle down. Bridget wouldn’t be calling him. More likely it was Willard with a question of some sort or another. The old man was happy to have the extra help around the house and had asked for his approval of the list he’d created for the younger men to complete before he’d left for the office this morning. “Thank you,” he said, and waited for Julia to shut the door before picking up the telephone.
“Hello,” he said into the speaker.
“Sorry to disturb, you, sir,” Willard said, “But I thought you would like to know that Bridget has asked me to deliver her to the train station.”
Karl held his breath for a moment. The old Karl would have instantly become angry, but to the new one—the one who now understood things differently—Willard’s words came as no surprise. Bridget was convinced she had to go to Chicago. He just hadn’t thought it would happen today. So be it. “Pack a bag for me and deliver it to the rail station along with her.”
“Yes, sir.”
He grinned at the uptick in Willard’s voice. “I’m not sure how long we will be gone,” Karl said. He’d been trying to come up with a way to get her alone. A train ride would do that.
“Very well, sir. I’m assuming I shouldn’t mention this to Miss McGowen,” Willard said.
Karl had to grin again, at how Willard had slipped back into his formal butler mode. “No, don’t mention it to her. Thank you, Willard.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
Karl hung up the telephone and leaned back, rubbing his hands together and grinning. Time for the convincing to start. Chuckling aloud, he stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. He hadn’t been this excited about something in... Perhaps ever.
Crossing through the outer office, he said, “I’m going to be gone for a few days, at least.”
“Washington?” Julia asked.
“No. Chicago.”
If that surprised her, it didn’t show. “Very well, sir. Have a good trip.”
“I will. I’m sure of that.”
He whistled as he walked to his automobile, and had to laugh at some of the stares he received. Shocked stares. He accepted them and waved. He wasn’t known as a happy man. Correct that. He hadn’t been known as a happy man. Just as he’d never been known as someone who was concerned about those beneath him. That had all been before Bridget. As she’d said, no one was above or beneath anyone.
As he arrived at his Packard, he glanced up at the tall building with the Wingard name carved in the bricks at the very top. His father would be as shocked as those staring at him to hear him say that he believed no one was above or beneath anyone else.
Well, he wasn’t his father.
His hand froze as he gripped the door handle. It was as if he’d just been struck with something hard and heavy. It didn’t hurt. Instead it felt as if something had shattered around him. Something invisible.
He knew then what it was. The weight he’d carried. The chip on his shoulder of being Gerald Wingard’s oldest son. The man who needed to walk in his father’s shoes. Think like his father. Act like his father.
Once again, his eyes looked up at the building. At the name scrolled across the top.
He wasn’t his father.
He didn’t need to wear those shoes. Didn’t need to think, to act, to be like his father had been.
He was his own man. One who knew exactly what he wanted out of life.
Opening the door, he climbed in and started the engine, fully ready to get exactly what he wanted.
* * *
His office was closer to the train station than his home, and he watched Willard arrive, park and carry two suitcases inside the building. Karl considered approaching Bridget, who was clearly sad—tearful—but decided to wait. It was hard because he wanted to comfort her, let her know it was all going to be all right, but he had to wait until the iron wheels of the train were already turning. She was committed to fulfilling the promise she’d made to her father, and he respected that. If need be, he’d stay in Chicago, help her buy a place and run it. Just to prove that he was committed, too. To her.
He caught Willard’s eye and waved as the butler walked to the Studebaker. Bridget didn’t notice. She had her eyes closed, was wiping away the tears with a handkerchief.
Karl balled his hands into fists, forcing himself to wait a bit longer. It felt
like hours before the time finally came for him to board the train, and when he did, through the back entrance, he took a seat two rows behind her. She was wearing the tan coat and white hat she’d worn to the hospital the day they’d gone to see Sean and Catherine. From where he sat, he could hear her sniffles, and that tugged at his heart, made him draw up even more willpower to wait until the train left the station.
As soon as that happened, he rose from his seat, walked forward and stopped next to the padded bench she sat upon. “Excuse me, miss, is this seat taken?”
She went stock-still, and her head slowly notched sideways, like cogs of a clock, until she was facing him. Mouth agape, eyes wide, she stared. Then blinked. “Karl?”
Even with red-rimmed eyes, she was so very beautiful. “Hello, Bridget.” He sat next to her.
Scooting closer to the window, she eyed him cautiously. “What are you doing here?”
“Did you think you could leave without saying goodbye?” He took ahold of her hand. “I think not.”
She pulled her hand away, clutched both of her hands to her chest. “You can’t be here.”
He grinned, leaned closer. “I am.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to Chicago with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“The devil you say!” she hissed.
“Better the devil you know than the one you don’t,” he replied, using an old Irish saying he’d heard before.
She huffed out a breath and turned toward the window.
Unbeknownst to her, he could see her reflection. It was a faint, translucent image, but he saw her grin. His heart picked up speed as fast as the train was gaining speed for the long journey ahead. “I told you I’d see you to Chicago.”
Her lips were pinched together when she turned back to him. “You can’t go with me. You can’t.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding, “I can. You helped me and my family, tremendously. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”
A frown tugged her brows downward. “Return the favor?”
“Yes, I’m going to Chicago with you, and will help you pick out a boardinghouse, make sure it’s a good solid investment. One that is sure to fit your needs and give you a good return of revenue.”
“You’re going to help me get a boardinghouse?”
“Yes, that’s your dream, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“No, buts, it’s the least I can do.” He was fighting to play nonchalant as hard as he’d fought to remain in his seat earlier.
“No. The least you could do is stay in New York.”
He chuckled. “I thought you’d appreciate my help. I sincerely appreciated yours.”
Still frowning, she said, “I don’t need any help. Don’t want any help.”
He reached up, ran his fingers through the long black hair hanging over her shoulder, down her arm. “We are not so different, you and I. My father had a dream of his oldest son taking over Wingard’s. He molded me after himself, made me follow in his footsteps, so that when the day came, I knew what to do. And your father had a dream of you owning your own boardinghouse. He laid your path by saving the money to send you to America. Here we both are, following those dreams.”
She pulled her gaze off him, stared straight ahead for a time, before saying, “We are not alike, Karl.”
“We both eat, sleep, laugh...love.”
Looking at him as if he’d lost his mind, she shook her head. “Why are you doing this?”
He hadn’t lost his mind, he’d found it, and his heart, and was going to do everything he could to convince her that she didn’t need to follow someone else’s dream. That she could have her own. He also hoped, more than he’d ever hoped before, that he was a part of her new dreams. “Because I want to.”
This time, when she turned to the window and he saw her reflection, there was no smile, but a frown instead.
He laid an arm along the top of the seat behind her and stretched his legs out beneath the seat in front of them. “Might as well sit back and relax. It’s a long train ride. Over nineteen hours.”
She muttered something under her breath. A curse, or a prayer, he wasn’t sure, but would guess a curse. On him. He swallowed his laughter, kept it hidden.
“You are needed at home, Karl,” she said.
“I’ve been in Washington for a large portion of the past couple of weeks,” he pointed out.
“Yes, well, I was there then. I’m not now, so you should be.”
“And you shouldn’t be?”
“No, Mrs. Conrad is back.”
“Then why should I be there?”
She huffed out a breath. “Her foot is still in a cast.”
“That didn’t stop you from leaving.”
Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “It’s not my home. It’s yours, and you should be there.”
He wanted it to be her home too, but she wasn’t ready to hear that yet. Just like he hadn’t been ready to understand that he’d fallen in love with her until last night. “I’ll return once I know all is settled with your boardinghouse.”
“I’m not going to start a boardinghouse right away. I’ll help my cousin first, learn what I need to know.”
“What don’t you know?” he asked. “It only took you a week to start one at my house.”
She glowered at him.
He grinned and winked at her.
Tucking a clump of hair behind one ear, she asked, “Why are you really here, Karl?”
She’d missed a few strands, and he smoothed them behind her ear. “Growing up, I never had the opportunity to dream about being anything except a banker. My father took me to work with him for as long as I can remember. I passed out mail and counted change. At first, I thought it was fun, until I realized it was work, and it would be the work I would do the rest of my life.”
“Then it was no longer fun?”
He shrugged. “I learned to accept it for what it was. What I do now is different, but it’s still the same company, the work I knew I was destined to do.”
“That doesn’t sound fair.”
“It’s the same thing you are doing. Opening a boardinghouse because it’s a dream someone else had for you.”
She turned, looked out the window again. “No, it’s not.”
Figuring he’d give time for that to sink in, he asked, “Have you had lunch?”
“I wasn’t hungry.” She glanced to the floor, where a basket sat beneath her seat. “Mary sent sandwiches if you’re hungry.”
“I’m hungry.” He took ahold of her hand. “Let’s go to the dining car and have something to eat. I’m sure they are serving some sort of late lunch.”
She shook her head. “I’ll wait here.”
He stood and tugged on her hand. “I don’t want to eat alone.”
She sighed, but stood. “Let me remove my coat.”
He released her hand and helped her remove the tan coat, revealing a pale pink and white dress that merely added to her beauty. Something he truly couldn’t get enough of. He would never tire of having her next to him. With him.
She held on to his hand as he led her through the passenger car and into the dining car. White tablecloths covered the tables lining both walls. He escorted her to a table and waited for her to slide onto the bench seat, then, instead of sitting across from her, he sat down next to her.
* * *
Bridget’s heart was in a terrible state. The bench seat was as wide as the one in the passenger car, so she wasn’t crowded, but having him sit next to her here, when the bench across from them was empty, felt very intimate.
That wasn’t the only reason her heart didn’t know how to behave. She’d been preparing herself—her mind, her heart—for never seeing him again as the tra
in had pulled away from the station, when she’d heard his voice.
She’d thought she’d gone mad, hearing his voice like that, but then she’d felt him. Felt him so strongly she’d been afraid to look, fearing she truly had gone mad. Seeing him had been such a shock, she’d forgotten how to breathe, had used her last gasp to say his name.
“What would you care to drink?” he asked.
“Water will be fine.” She removed her gloves and stuffed them inside her purse.
“They have a selection of wines,” he said.
“No, thank you.” She needed to keep her wits about her. The few she had left. When he’d first sat down next to her, she’d thought for the briefest of moments that he’d come after her because he loved her, until she remembered that could never happen. She couldn’t let it. He deserved a woman from his world. A place that she would never fit.
He ordered water and coffee from the waiter, and then, holding the menu so they both could read it, he asked, “What would you care to eat?”
“I’m really not hungry,” she said.
“Please don’t make me eat alone.” He bumped his shoulder against hers. “I’ve come to enjoy having you and Elsie share the table with me.”
Refraining from stating how much she’d enjoyed that, too, she said, “I do hope you’ll speak to Mrs. Conrad about Elsie continuing to eat in the dining room.”
“You should have told her that this morning. Hmm. They have a hunter’s soup. How does that sound?”
“No, I shouldn’t have told her that,” she said. “The soup sounds fine.”
“Yes, you should have. You’ve been managing the house for weeks. Everyone respects your decisions. Salmon with hollandaise sauce sounds good, don’t you think?”
“No, I wasn’t managing the house, and the salmon sounds fine.”
“Yes, you were, and it never ran so smoothly. I truly had no worries knowing you were there, even after you turned it into a boardinghouse. How about English ribs? Would you rather have those than salmon?”
A Family for the Titanic Survivor Page 20
