Waiting for Spring

by Amanda Cabot

  He’d hesitated over inviting Miriam anywhere, because it meant leaving Harrison on his own. Though he didn’t always like what Harrison said, he was enjoying his brother’s company and hated to desert him. However, Harrison announced that he’d be happy to spend the evening with Richard. “If I were a betting man, I’d wager that I’ll have a better time than you,” he had said, his lips curving into a smile that bordered on mockery. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but you’re planning to court the wrong woman.”

  He wasn’t. Harrison simply didn’t understand. Miriam was the woman Barrett needed by his side if he was going to become one of Wyoming’s first senators.

  “Thank you for bringing me here,” Miriam said softly as she handed her cloak to the attendant at the hotel. “I know it wasn’t your first choice.” She waited until they were seated and the waiter had handed them menus before she said, “Papa thought it would be good for us to be seen here.”

  Barrett glanced around the dining room. With dark wood paneling extending halfway up the walls and a matching coffered ceiling, the room was gloomier than he liked, but there was no denying the excellence of the food or the quality of the service. No one questioned the InterOcean’s reputation as Cheyenne’s premier hotel, and Cyrus Taggert was correct in believing this was a place for Barrett to be noticed. Being noticed was important, particularly when he had Miriam at his side. While it was true that Barrett preferred the intimacy of the Cheyenne Club, there were more potential voters here.

  “Your father’s a very astute man.” Barrett took a sip of water as he prepared for the obligatory compliment. “I’m the envy of every man in this room, because I’m here with you.” When Miriam said nothing, he continued. “If you don’t believe me, look around. Not a one can keep his eyes off that red dress.” It was eye-catching, and unless Barrett was mistaken, it was another of Charlotte’s creations.

  Miriam raised her eyebrows slightly, causing Barrett to expand his compliment. “A dress needs the right woman to display it to perfection. Otherwise, it’s nothing more than a collection of cloth and lace. Your gown is attractive, but you make it beautiful.” Barrett had said the same thing to customers when they’d debated which of the Landry Mercantile’s calicos to purchase and whether that extra yard of lace was an extravagance.

  Miriam’s smile seemed almost amused, as if she had realized he felt compelled to pay her a compliment. Surely he hadn’t been that obvious. “Thank you, Barrett. Papa was right. You have a gift for words.”

  Charlotte would not agree, and Barrett couldn’t blame her. When he’d seen David, he hadn’t chosen his words carefully enough. Foolishly, Barrett had spoken from his heart, and he’d hurt Charlotte. He would not let that happen to Miriam. There would be no impulsive speech where this woman was concerned, for there was too much at risk.

  The waiter appeared at the table, his hands folded behind his back, his manner more formal than Mr. Bradley’s. “Have you decided what you’d like for dinner?”

  “My mother suggested I try the roast grouse.” And Miriam was nothing if not an obedient daughter. Though Barrett suspected she had opinions of her own, she appeared to defer to others. Warren would say that was good; Harrison would disagree. And Richard? Barrett wasn’t certain.

  As if she’d read his thoughts, Miriam leaned forward ever so slightly. “Where did you and Richard first meet?”

  Two hours later, as he escorted Miriam to her front door, Barrett realized that their dinner conversation had centered on Richard. How odd.

  8

  Thou shalt not hate. Warren held the cigar in front of his nose and sniffed. He’d never seen much point in smelling a cigar, but he’d heard that was what gentlemen did, and so he made it into a ritual, even when he was alone. That way he wouldn’t forget in public and give the club’s membership committee another excuse to deny his admission. He would play by their rules so that they’d agree that Warren Duncan was a man of sterling character, eminently suited to join the Cheyenne Club. He wasn’t going to give them any reason to be like that doc back home who claimed Ma had delusions. She’d been perfectly fine. Warren knew that, but she hadn’t played by the rules those silly townspeople set, and she’d wound up in a room with a locked door and bars on the windows. That would never happen to him. He’d learned from Ma’s mistakes.

  Thou shalt not hate. The words reverberated through Warren’s brain. As far as he knew, it wasn’t one of the commandments. That must mean it wasn’t as serious as killing or coveting. Not that it mattered. He’d broken enough commandments to ensure that the pearly gates were not part of his future. But maybe he would not be consigned to fire and brimstone for hatred. After all, he wasn’t certain he hated the man. All Warren knew was that it had taken more restraint than he’d known he possessed to keep from smashing his fist into Barrett’s face. How dare the man look so surprised—so shocked—that Warren was planning to marry? Did he think he was the only one who deserved a wife and child? He’d learn. Oh yes, he would.

  Warren lit his cigar, taking a puff before he strode to the window. No doubt about it. A good cigar could soothe a man’s mood. That and the prospect of the night ahead. He grinned. Soon. Soon he’d have a far more pleasurable way to release his anger than smashing Barrett Landry’s nose.

  Though darkness came early at this time of the year, there were still too many people on the street. He’d wait another hour or two before he visited Sylvia, and even when he did, he’d take his normal precautions. No one must ever be able to connect Warren Duncan, successful attorney and prospective member of the Cheyenne Club, with the masked man who frequented the crudest of Cheyenne’s brothels.

  “Oh, Charlotte, it’s been three days, and it’s still all I can think about.” Gwen looked up from the gown she was hemming. Though normally Charlotte did not ask Gwen to help with sewing, the upcoming Christmas season had brought in more business than ever, and Gwen had volunteered her services. The help was a godsend, for it gave Charlotte a few extra hours to work on clothing for Mrs. Kendall and her boarders. Three of the four dresses she planned to take there were finished. Unless David had another restless night, she should have the final gown completed within a week.

  Gwen was a great help, but tonight, while they sat with yards of fabric draped over their laps, she appeared to have trouble concentrating on her sewing.

  “I loved Mike,” Gwen said, furrows forming between her eyes, “but it wasn’t like this. Saturday was the best afternoon I can imagine. We rode in the park and everyone waved at us and it was wonderful and afterwards he took me to Rue de Rivoli for tea and that was even better.” She paused for a quick breath. “Oh, Charlotte, Warren’s amazing. He knows everyone and everything. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have known that Rue de Rivoli isn’t really French. He said it was built by a Scottish businessman from Colorado who put his offices on the second floor and wanted good food, so he opened the restaurant downstairs. I didn’t care about any of that. I only cared that everyone treated me like a real lady because I was with Warren. He’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”

  “I’m happy for you.” It wasn’t Gwen’s fault that Charlotte’s Saturday had been so different from her friend’s. While Gwen had spent the past three days mooning over Warren Duncan, Charlotte had passed the time trying desperately to forget what had happened at Mr. Ellis’s shop. Her efforts had failed. Every time she closed her eyes, the image of Barrett’s expression when he realized that David was blind floated before her. When she smelled fresh bread, she was transported back to the bakery, and though she tried to block the memories, she was forced to relive the sight of Barrett’s pity while David searched for another macaroon. Even the simple sound of cups rattling on saucers reminded Charlotte of the afternoon that had turned out so differently from her plan.

  She could tell herself that Barrett had spoiled the day, but that wasn’t true. She should have anticipated his reaction. It wasn’t as if this was the first time someone had pitied David, and it
wouldn’t be the last. She needed to develop what Mama called a thick hide. Mama had claimed that that and the knowledge that God would never abandon her were what had sustained her through the times they’d been asked to leave a church when Papa’s outspoken beliefs had angered the congregation. Those moves with three small children must have been far more difficult than dealing with one man’s pity. Mama had survived, and so would Charlotte. She slid a length of thread into the needle, preparing to gather lace for the sleeve flounces.

  “Warren said he likes children.” Gwen continued the litany of praises. “He even said he wants to take Rose with us the next time we go riding.” She held up the gown she’d been hemming for Charlotte’s inspection. “I think he may love me. Oh, Charlotte, wouldn’t that be wonderful? Warren would be the perfect father for Rose.”

  And Barrett would be the worst possible father for David. Not that Charlotte was searching for a father for David. She wasn’t. Not that Barrett would consider her a potential wife. He wouldn’t, for he was planning to marry Miriam . . . but having him as a friend would have been nice.

  “Just be certain he’s the right man for you,” Charlotte cautioned. “It’s dangerous to marry a stranger.” Her marriage was proof of that. Perhaps if she and Jeffrey had known each other better before they married, they might have recognized their differences, but they’d been too caught up in the magic of what felt like first love to realize that marriage needed to be based on more than infatuation.

  Gwen nodded. “I know that. We’re not rushing into anything.” She gave Charlotte a self-deprecating smile. “Warren hasn’t mentioned marriage. Perhaps I’m being foolish and imagining something that isn’t there, but it seems that he cares.”

  “He would be a fool if he didn’t. You’re a wonderful woman and a great mother, Gwen. Any man who doesn’t see that doesn’t deserve you.” Gwen’s flush made Charlotte realize the woman was unaccustomed to receiving praise. She would have to change that. Gwen deserved to be recognized for her gifts.

  “I hope he does love me. I’ve been praying so hard for a father for Rose, and I’d like to think that Warren is the answer to those prayers.” Gwen’s smile faded. “The only thing that worries me is leaving you and David. What would you do if I married?”

  Charlotte pinned the lace to the sleeve, then held it up to admire the effect. “I couldn’t ever replace you,” she admitted. “I doubt there’s anyone in Wyoming Territory who could do all that you do as well as you do it, but I’d need to find someone to care for David during the day. Molly would rather work in the shop, but there must be someone else.”

  Charlotte was thinking out loud. Though she had known from the beginning that Gwen wanted to remarry and that she might have to find another person to help with David’s care, until Warren Duncan had entered their lives, Charlotte hadn’t given it serious consideration. As her needle darted in and out, attaching the lace to the velvet, Charlotte’s thoughts whirled, recalling her initial mistrust of Warren. It had seemed irrational at the time, but now she wondered if there hadn’t been a good reason for her reaction. Perhaps the fact that Warren might disrupt her life was the reason Charlotte felt so uncomfortable around him.

  “Now that David’s older, the woman wouldn’t have to live here,” Charlotte continued. “She could come during the day, or I could take him to her house.”

  “Or you could send David to a school for children like him.”

  Charlotte jabbed the needle into the velvet, trying to vent her anger on the fabric rather than her friend. “An asylum?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

  Gwen shook her head, for she knew how much Charlotte hated the very word. “A school. A boarding school.”

  The words might be different, but the effect was the same. “Not you too.”

  Gwen seemed startled by Charlotte’s reaction. “What do you mean?”

  “Someone else suggested that.” She wouldn’t admit that it was Barrett, for that would mean telling Gwen about their painful encounter at the confectionary. “I thought you’d understand because you’re a mother. Surely you can see that the best thing for David is to be with me.”

  For a long moment, Gwen said nothing. Then she raised one brow. “Is it?”

  He couldn’t stop thinking of her. Barrett took another spoonful of the pea soup Mrs. Melnor had made for lunch, knowing that it would seem as tasteless as everything had since he’d left Mr. Ellis’s store. This was ridiculous. Three days had passed, and the memory hadn’t faded. If anything, it had intensified. Meals were the worst. Though he managed to keep himself busy the rest of the day, whenever he sat down at a table, his memory was drawn back to the small round table at the confectionary. He’d been an idiot, a stupid, insensitive idiot. Charlotte didn’t deserve the treatment he’d given her, nor did David.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Harrison laid his soup spoon on the liner plate and leaned forward. “Don’t bother claiming it’s nothing. I’ve known you too long to believe that.”

  Harrison was right. There was no point in pretending. “I’ve been a fool.”

  “And that’s news?” Though Harrison’s question was light, Barrett did not smile. “What did you do this time?” his brother continued. “Forget to tell the lovely Miriam just how lovely she is?” The sarcasm that laced his words left no doubt that Harrison expected Barrett to laugh. He did not.

  “It’s worse than that. I hurt Charlotte.”

  Harrison’s grin faded. “That is serious. You’d better fix it.”

  Though he’d eaten only half his meal, Barrett rose. “I’m not sure I can fix it,” he admitted as he tossed his napkin onto the table, “but I’m going to try. Don’t be surprised if I come back battered and bloody.”

  Harrison reached for a piece of corn bread, his lips curving into a smile. “She wouldn’t do that.”

  “You don’t know Charlotte.” Barrett hoped he did.

  “What’s wrong, David?” Charlotte watched as her son cocked his head before starting to crawl toward the door. Gwen and Rose were out taking a walk, leaving Charlotte and David in the kitchen with Charlotte rolling out dough for gingerbread cookies while David played on the floor. Judging from his reaction, her son had heard something she hadn’t. It wouldn’t be the first time. Although he could not see, his other senses—particularly his hearing—were more acute than Charlotte’s.

  A moment later, someone knocked on the door. Charlotte brushed the flour from her hands before scooping David into her arms. Though he still wasn’t comfortable standing, he had learned to crawl at a speed that continued to amaze her. She wouldn’t take the chance that he’d scoot outside.

  Holding her now squirming son, Charlotte opened the door. At the sight of her visitor, she started to slam it. He had no right to be here. It didn’t matter that he was breathtakingly handsome and that his eyes were as brilliant as the Wyoming sky. Those were superficial trappings. What mattered was what was inside a man, and what was inside Barrett Landry was ugly.

  He wedged his foot inside the door. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I hope you’ll give me another chance.”

  An apology. She hadn’t expected that. That and his smile, which seemed to include David, were difficult to resist. The least she could do was listen. The common courtesy Mama had instilled in her daughters demanded that. “All right. Come in.”

  As she led the way toward the sitting area, Charlotte spoke to her son. “Mr. Landry has come to visit.” Though she doubted he would recall the name, David probably recognized the voice and scent, a combination of bay rum, cold air, and something unique to Barrett. When she’d placed David on the floor and handed him the stuffed sock that was this week’s favorite toy, Charlotte settled herself in one of the chairs and nodded toward the other. “Please have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” Barrett removed his coat, folding it over the chair back, and laid a small sack at his feet. She hadn’t noticed that he’d been carrying anything, but she’d been so surprised by
his arrival that she might not have noticed if he’d had a bolt of fabric tucked under his arm.

  Placing his hands on his knees, Barrett leaned forward, as if he sought to close the distance between the two chairs. “I want to apologize for my behavior on Saturday.”

  There was no stammering, none of the hesitation Jeffrey had shown the few times he’d apologized. Barrett’s eyes radiated sincerity, and the look he gave David was that of any man looking at any child. The revulsion and pity Charlotte had seen on his face three days ago were gone, replaced by what appeared to be genuine remorse. “My mother taught me that when a man does something truly stupid, his apology should be accompanied by a gift. What I did was stupid, and so I hope you’ll accept this.” He reached into the sack and pulled out an easily recognizable box. When Barrett made amends, he did it with style.

  Charlotte smiled. “Your apology is accepted. And so is your gift.” She looked at the pale blue box that signified a special treat. “Thank you, Barrett. I’ve heard that Mr. Ellis’s chocolates are delicious.” Henry Ellis wasn’t simply an excellent baker. He was also an accomplished chocolatier. As Charlotte opened the lid, David sat up, his nose quivering. “Yes, David, it’s chocolate. We’ll have some later.”

  Barrett’s eyes widened slightly. “Your words sounded as if you’ve never eaten Ellis chocolates.”

  “I haven’t.” There was no need to state the obvious, that indulgences like expensive chocolates were rare in this household. The mismatched chairs and the slightly frayed rug told their tale. A shiver made its way down Charlotte’s back as she thought of the luxuries she had had at Fort Laramie. Those days were over. She had left the Steinway piano, the Wedgwood china, and the fancy furniture, bringing only what she could carry in a single trunk. The rest would have been reminders of a life that had brought more heartbreak than happiness. Charlotte shivered again. If the baron could see the way she lived, he’d realize that she did not have the fortune Jeffrey was supposed to have found.