by Amanda Cabot
Her nervousness returning at the thought of love, Charlotte tried to keep her voice even as she said, “I’m sure Mr. Yates appreciated the sale. He’s been worried that dwindling business will make it more difficult for him to find a buyer for the store.”
“I know.” Barrett sounded almost as if he were laughing, but that wasn’t possible. Barrett was not a man who would take pleasure in another’s distress. “He’s a nice man.”
“That he is. Even David seems to agree.” Charlotte turned slightly so she could watch Barrett’s expression. “I hope you won’t feel slighted, but David bowls with Mr. Yates.”
As she had expected, Barrett’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really?”
“I couldn’t believe it myself. Gwen and I invite Mr. Yates to join us for supper occasionally. One time he saw the blocks arranged and asked what they were for. When we explained, he said the word bowl. That was all David needed. He ran for his ball and rolled it toward Mr. Yates, even though the blocks were on the other side of the room. I don’t know who was more surprised, Mr. Yates or me.”
Barrett shrugged. “Perhaps he thinks bowling is something only men do.”
“I don’t know, but we tried it again. When Gwen called to him, he refused to play, but when Mr. Yates did, it was just as if you were there.”
“I’m not sure whether or not I should be flattered by being compared to a man who’s close to seventy.” A chuckle accompanied Barrett’s words, telling Charlotte he found the prospect amusing.
“Well,” she said, affecting a slow drawl, “I can see where David might be confused. After all, you both wear trousers and have deep voices.”
“And the similarity ends there.” When he’d handed the reins to one of his servants, Barrett helped Charlotte out of the carriage, then opened the front door to his home. “Shall we see what Mrs. Melnor has in store for us?”
It was a delicious meal. A delicate fish soup was followed by succulent roast beef and all the trimmings, and though Charlotte didn’t think she could eat another bite, when Mr. Bradley set a piece of chess pie in front of her, she couldn’t resist. It would have been the most wonderful meal of her life, had it not been for her nervousness and the fact that Barrett seemed equally apprehensive. His hands didn’t tremble the way hers did, and his voice never quavered, but she sensed a hesitancy in him. Perhaps that was why, although he had said he wanted to discuss something, he kept the conversation light while they ate. He spoke of spring, of Miriam and Richard’s wedding, of David’s progress. But not once did he venture into any serious subjects.
When they had finished their dessert, Barrett smiled at Charlotte. “Shall we go into the parlor?” He pulled out her chair, placing his hand on the small of her back as they walked across the hallway to the front parlor. As the warmth of his hand penetrated her clothing, Charlotte’s smile broadened. No matter what he wanted to discuss, she would always remember how good it had felt to be walking like this.
Gesturing toward one of the tapestry-covered wingback chairs that flanked the stove, Barrett waited until she was seated before he settled into the other. Though his expression remained calm, Charlotte saw a telltale vein throbbing on his neck. It was what she had thought. Barrett was as nervous as she.
“The first time I met you, I asked for your honest opinion,” he said. “I’m asking for that again.”
Her opinion. Gwen had been wrong. Barrett wasn’t planning to ask her to marry him. He wanted to discuss something far more mundane. Charlotte tried to bite back her disappointment and forced herself to smile as she said, “Of course.”
“Thank you. I knew I could rely on you.” Barrett cleared his throat and looked away for a moment before turning his gaze back to Charlotte. “I’ve reached a crossroads in my life,” he said, his voice solemn. “My plans to run for office are gone. My life as a cattle baron is ending. I needed to find a new direction, and I believe that I have.”
Charlotte took a deep breath, trying to keep the smile fixed on her face. Oh, how she hoped he was not going to tell her he was returning to Pennsylvania. Even if Barrett didn’t love her and didn’t want to marry her, she didn’t want to lose his friendship.
“I would say it was a coincidence,” Barrett continued, “but you and I both know there are no coincidences. This was part of the plan.”
As Barrett recounted his experience helping Mr. Yates’s customers, Charlotte watched his face. The hesitancy she had seen before was gone, replaced by more enthusiasm than she’d ever seen. His eyes sparkled, his lips curved in easy smiles, his voice rang with sincerity. When he’d finished, Charlotte laughed, imagining Mr. Yates’s reaction to the announcement. “You told them delivery was a new policy Mr. Yates was considering? What did he say?”
Barrett’s smile broadened. “He was concerned until I told him I wanted to buy his business.”
“Buy his business?” Though Charlotte hadn’t thought Barrett could surprise her, he had. Whenever he’d spoken of his parents’ mercantile, she’d had the impression that he disliked working there, and when she’d mentioned Mr. Yates’s dilemma, Barrett had claimed he had no interest in running another store. Something had obviously changed, for there was no denying his enthusiasm. “You want to stay in Cheyenne and take over Mr. Yates’s business?”
Barrett nodded. “I realized that I enjoyed serving those two ladies more than almost anything I’ve done in years.” He leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. “When Harrison was here, he told me he thought I belonged with people, not cattle. At first I didn’t agree. I thought he was just being Harrison, my bossy oldest brother. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he was right, and that no matter how much money I made raising and selling cattle, it wasn’t particularly fulfilling. Politics seemed like the answer. It involved people, so I told myself that’s what I should do. It wasn’t.”
Barrett raised his gaze, meeting Charlotte’s. “Being a shopkeeper might not be as glamorous as being a senator, but I feel it’s what I was meant to do.” He paused, his expression once again serious as he asked, “What do you think?”
This was the opinion he wanted. This was the reason he’d arranged that wonderful dinner. Gwen had been wrong. Charlotte managed a small smile, though her heart ached at the knowledge that she’d been as mistaken as Gwen.
“Your face tells me everything,” she said firmly. “When you talked about the customers, you looked happy and excited. Even when you spoke about water rights, there wasn’t the same enthusiasm. I know you felt deeply about that, but this is different. This seems as if it’s part of you.” Charlotte took a deep breath as she thought about Barrett in the shop next to Élan. He’d be so close that she could see him every day, perhaps more than once. It wasn’t the future she’d dreamt of, but it was still good.
As she started to nod, a thought assailed Charlotte. “You said the shop couldn’t be profitable unless it was larger.”
“That’s true.” Though he’d been leaning forward, Barrett settled back in the chair. “That’s the real reason I wanted to talk to you tonight.”
Of course. This was why Barrett had seemed so apprehensive. He hadn’t been certain she would agree to sell him her store. After all, until they found the baron, they had both agreed it would not be safe for Charlotte to open her school. In the meantime, she needed the income from Élan to pay her expenses. The prudent course would be to tell Barrett he would have to wait until she had the school established, but Charlotte wasn’t feeling prudent. She didn’t want to do anything to destroy Barrett’s happiness. If she had to, she could run her business the way she’d heard some dressmakers did, by conducting all the meetings and fittings in her clients’ homes. It wouldn’t be as convenient as having a showroom, and she’d probably lose some sales, but it was a small price to pay for Barrett’s happiness.
“You want my shop.” She made it a statement, not a question as she tried to tamp down her disappointment. It wasn’t Barrett’s fault that she had hoped for a diff
erent outcome from tonight.
“Yes, but—”
She wouldn’t let him apologize. She wouldn’t let him rationalize. Friends didn’t do that to friends. Before he could continue, Charlotte said, “You may have it.”
Though she had expected to see relief reflected on his face, Barrett appeared almost annoyed. That was undoubtedly her imagination. She had just given him what he wanted. Of course he was not annoyed.
“You haven’t heard everything,” he said.
“I’ve heard enough. It’s a fine idea, Barrett. An excellent one.” When he looked as if he were going to say something, Charlotte continued to outline the reasons Barrett’s plan was ideal. “Mr. Yates will be able to move to Arizona, you’ll have the future you deserve, and the citizens of Cheyenne will have a newly expanded place to buy their dry goods.” If only she didn’t feel so horribly empty inside, everything would be perfect.
Barrett said nothing, and the silence stretched between them, an awkward silence as Charlotte wondered why he wasn’t responding. Hadn’t she said what he wanted to hear? What more did he want from her?
At last he cleared his throat. “Now may I tell you why I invited you to dinner?”
Blinking in confusion, Charlotte stared at him. “You already have.”
He shook his head. “That was the prelude. Yes, it’s true that I would like to buy Mr. Yates’s store. It’s also true that I would like to expand it by incorporating what is now Élan, but none of that matters unless I have what I want most in life.”
Pausing for a moment, Barrett stretched his hands out, capturing hers in his. “I’m supposed to be the man with the golden tongue,” he said, his lips twisting with irony. “Folks say I can convince anyone of anything. Now, when it matters more than ever before, I feel like a tongue-tied schoolboy.”
He cleared his throat again. “You know what a difficult winter this has been. I’ve been like everyone else in Cheyenne, waiting for spring. I told myself that everything would be better then, and it will be, if you . . .” He stopped abruptly. “There I go, getting ahead of myself.” Though he shook his head in apparent self-disgust, his eyes sparkled.
Charlotte stared at Barrett, her breath catching at what she saw in his eyes. When he’d spoken of buying the dry goods store, she had seen enthusiasm. When he’d recounted the story of helping the customers, she had seen satisfaction. But now his eyes reflected something softer and yet stronger than either enthusiasm or satisfaction. Love.
Barrett raised her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss on them. “I love you, Charlotte. I love you with all my heart, with every breath in my body.”
She started to smile. This was what she had hoped for. This was what she had dreamt of. She tugged Barrett’s hands and turned them over, slowly raising them to her lips so that she could return the kiss he had given her, but he shook his head. “Please let me finish.”
As she nodded, Barrett’s lips curved into a smile. “The store is important, but if I were there alone, it would be meaningless. I need more. I want more. I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you and David. That’s what is important to me. Will you do it, Charlotte? Will you make my life complete? Will you be my wife?”
Her heart pounding so furiously that Charlotte feared it would break through her chest, she nodded. “Yes, Barrett, I will.”
Dreams did come true.
25
His dreams were coming true. He could feel it in his bones. Slowing the horse as he reached the outskirts of Cheyenne, Warren grinned. He’d ridden harder than normal, but there’d been no choice, not unless he was willing to waste another day, and that was something he wouldn’t do. Though he didn’t like to abuse good horseflesh, he didn’t want to wait until morning. That was why he was still riding, though it was well past sunset. He might be tired, the horse might be winded, but he was here.
He had it all planned. The red-hot fury he’d felt when he’d realized that Widow Crowley had tried to outsmart him had faded, but in its wake, he’d found a new resolve. She would pay for the time he’d waited for the money. She would pay, and so would that brat of hers.
Two days ago, all he’d wanted was the money. Now he wanted more. He deserved more. It was no longer enough to send her a demand for the money or to wear his mask when he confronted her. Now he wanted to see her face when she realized who he was and what he intended to do. That was why he’d decided that he needed to visit Charlotte tonight.
Her shop would be closed, so he wouldn’t run the risk of encountering any of her customers. He didn’t want anyone—especially Gwen—overhearing their conversation. That was why he’d tell Charlotte they had business to discuss and that it would be best if they went to the store. She’d agree. Just as she’d agree to tell no one of his demands. Of course she would, for Warren was a most persuasive man. He’d make sure she knew that her son’s life was at stake. Silly Charlotte wouldn’t realize that he had every intention of killing both her and the boy. That was the only way he could ensure her silence. Besides, if Charlotte were dead, the victim of an unfortunate accident, Gwen would have no one to turn to but him.
Warren’s grin widened. By tomorrow, he would have the money—his money. And the next day he would ask Gwen to marry him. His grin turned into a chuckle. In less than forty-eight hours, his future would be secured.
Once he’d hitched the horse, he climbed the steps leading to the second floor apartment and knocked on Charlotte’s door. The time of reckoning had arrived.
“Warren?” Gwen’s eyes widened in surprise as she opened the door. “I didn’t expect you,” she said as she ushered him into an immaculately clean kitchen. “Did Barrett send you? Has something happened to Charlotte?”
Warren stifled a curse. This wasn’t going the way he had planned, for Jeffrey’s widow was not here.
“Where is Charlotte?” His words came out harsher than he’d planned, causing Gwen to flinch. Careful, Warren, he admonished himself. You don’t want to lose control now. Gwen must never know what you’ve done and what you intend to do. Sweet, innocent Gwen would not marry a murderer and a thief.
“She’s having dinner with Barrett.” Gwen tilted her head to one side in the gesture he found so endearing. “At his house. I don’t know what came over me. Of course there’s nothing wrong. It was foolish of me to think otherwise. I was just so surprised to see you.”
Warren’s mind began to whirl. Though there would be an unfortunate delay, perhaps he could turn it to his advantage. He might be able to learn something from Gwen, and even if he didn’t, he’d have the pleasure of her company.
“May I stay for a few minutes?”
Gwen started to nod, then shook her head, her indecision apparent. “I’m not sure it would be proper, since we have no chaperone.”
“Didn’t you say Charlotte was with Barrett at his house?”
“Yes,” she admitted, “but there are servants there. No one’s here but Rose and David, and they’d hardly qualify as chaperones, even if they were awake.”
Her protests only heightened his determination. Everything she did and said underscored what a perfect wife she would be. Once they were wed, no one, not even the most persnickety member of the committee, would question Warren’s suitability for the Cheyenne Club.
“Please, Gwen. I missed you while I was gone. No one will know I’m here.” Warren’s thoughts flew to the horse that was hitched in front of the store. It was a gray, and grays were not common in Cheyenne. That had been part of the gelding’s appeal. It was also the reason he never rode to Sylvia’s. That was one place where he could not afford to be recognized. This was another. He hadn’t expected to be here long enough for anyone to notice his horse, and so he hadn’t taken his normal precautions, but now . . . Warren tossed caution aside. “I’d like to spend some time with you,” he told Gwen.
She hesitated again, then nodded. “All right. Come in.”
As she led him into what appeared to be the parlor area of the apartment, War
ren saw that she was wearing house slippers. Perhaps that was another reason she was so reluctant to invite him in. A lady like Gwen would feel uncomfortable entertaining a man in her slippers. But soon, if everything went the way Warren planned, he would see her house slippers every day. He grinned at the prospect of sharing a house and a life with this woman.
While Warren waited until Gwen seated herself, he looked around the room. Since he’d been inside Mr. Yates’s store, he was familiar with the basic dimensions of the apartment. He’d known it would not be large, but to Warren’s surprise, there was no sign of wealth. To the contrary, the furniture was well-worn, and though a table had been placed over it, he spotted a hole in the carpet. Apparently Charlotte had not lavished any of Big Nose’s gold here. It made no sense. If he had all that money, he wouldn’t be living in a small apartment with used furnishings, but he didn’t pretend to understand the workings of a woman’s mind. Perhaps Charlotte had a conscience and knew the money wasn’t hers.
As he settled himself on the chair Gwen indicated, Warren nodded. That must be the case. Hadn’t Jeffrey mentioned that his wife’s father was a minister? It figured that a parson’s daughter would have scruples. Warren almost laughed out loud. Charlotte’s scruples meant more money for him.
Tiny furrows appeared between Gwen’s eyes. “Are you certain nothing is wrong?”
“Why would you think anything is amiss?” Plenty was wrong, but Warren didn’t want to worry Gwen.
“Your expression when you were looking at the room. I never saw you look quite like that.”
Warren shrugged as he feigned nonchalance. He hadn’t realized Gwen was so perceptive. He’d have to be careful after they were married, especially on the days when he planned to visit Sylvia’s. Whatever else he did, he couldn’t let Gwen learn about that side of his life.
