by Stacy Henrie
Chapter Four
If Gideon Butler were half as handsome as this brother of his— who must be a bit younger than Gideon’s professed thirty-five years— Carmela would be very pleased indeed. Although Gideon had written to her of his description, she knew that men tended to be all mouth and no trousers.
As it was, Gideon’s brother had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and the slightly long hair beneath his hat was the color of golden wheat— something she’d seen plenty of outside the train window.
She couldn’t quite make out the character of Gideon’s brother. Though, perhaps he was teasing her, or perhaps, like Gideon had said in his letter, the town was devoid of proper single women. Thus, he needed to correspond with a woman back East who was interested in marriage and in starting a new life out West.
Carmela had been interested in both. She’d written three men over the past few months as Paulo and Ruthie mooned over each other. The day after their wedding, Carmela had shown them her train ticket and kissed her nephews good-bye. Now wasn’t the time to think about the howling and clinging that had ensued. The boys will be perfectly happy with their new mother, she told herself.
She blinked up at the man before her. Though she still didn’t know his first name, that didn’t matter so much. But, why was he staring down at her with a look of utter confusion and… disgust? The intensity of his gaze caused her to take a step back and her stomach to twist itself into a tight knot.
Something isn’t right, she thought, but she had no idea what it could be.
The man cleared his throat and shifted away from her as if he could no longer stand near her. “Gideon died two days ago,” he said in a quiet voice. “I just returned from his funeral services.”
Carmela stared at him. She wasn’t sure if she had heard right. “Gideon Butler?”
“Yes,” the man said, his voice growing fainter as his face paled.
“You mean…” She brought her handkerchief to her nose. This time, it wasn’t to ward off the pungent smells of horses in too-close quarters but because she suddenly couldn’t breathe. In fact, her hands were shaking, and there was a strange noise coming from her chest. Then she realized that she was gasping.
Gideon’s brother gripped her arm gently and guided her to some sort of crude bench, telling her to sit down. Then he was pressing a tin cup into her hands and telling her to drink.
She obeyed, but what she had expected to be cool, sweet water was actually warm and foul-tasting. Carmela promptly spit it out.
“Hey, watch it,” the man said, jumping out of her way.
She wiped her mouth with her handkerchief. This can’t be happening. There must be another Gideon Butler. “Are you sure he’s dead?” she asked in a raspy voice that didn’t sound like her own. “Is there more than one Gideon Butler in Leadville?”
“No, I’m sorry,” the man said, venturing closer now that it was apparent that she wasn’t going to spit out any more water. “My brother is the only Gideon Butler in Leadville, Colorado, miss.”
A distant train whistle sounded, and Carmela snapped her head up, her pulse pounding. “Do you think there’s time to get back on the train?” She stood, although she still felt a bit shaky, and looked around for the carpet bag she’d brought. She hadn’t brought much since she didn’t have a lot and because Gideon had told her that he earned a fine wage at the mine.
“Not unless you want to go to California,” the man said.
“Oh,” she said, although it was more like a wail. She looked into the very blue eyes of Gideon’s brother. “When will it turn around and head back to Boston?”
The man drew his brows together. “I don’t know the train schedule by heart, but I figure it will be three or four days before it’s heading back this way.”
If someone had punched her in the stomach, it couldn’t have knocked any more breath out of her. “Well, then,” she began, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, and I’m…” She stopped, realizing that she had to do this right. “Would you mind so terribly taking me to Gideon’s final resting place?”
Was that a flash of annoyance on the man’s face? she wondered.
“If you can wait a bit,” he said. “I need to shoe this horse, and then, as long as there aren’t customers waiting, I can take you to the cemetery.”
Carmela blew out a breath. She felt shaken up, annoyed, hungry, and, to tell the truth, completely put out. She wanted to grieve over Gideon, but mostly she wanted to grieve for her own misfortune.
“You’re welcome to sit on the bench,” the man said. “Would you like another drink?” Both of them looked at the half-filled tin cup still on the bench. “I suppose not,” he continued with a chuckle.
Carmela lifted a brow at him, for there was nothing funny about any of this. But he didn’t seem intimidated at all by her.
“By the way,” the man said, “Name’s Samuel, Samuel Butler, kid brother of the infamous Gideon.” He turned away then, and Carmela was shocked to hear another soft laugh coming from him. This man— Samuel— had just come from his brother’s funeral, and he was laughing?
Perhaps it is a nervous habit, she thought, how he copes with tragedy.
She eyed the gray horse that Samuel had started working on. She’d ridden horses, of course, back in Italy. The horse eyed her, watching her as she was watching it. Samuel seemed to have an easy way with the horse, and Carmela couldn’t help but notice that the superb strength of the horse was quite matched by that of the man shoeing it.
Samuel said nothing while he worked, and exhaustion crept its way into Carmela. There was nothing she could do now but wait. So she pulled out from her handbag the sheaf of letters that she’d saved from Gideon. She’d read them several times on the train, and now it felt fitting to look at them once more before she going to the man’s graveside.
Gideon’s penmanship was beautiful, almost feminine in nature, and his words seemed cultured and refined. That was what had first drawn her to Gideon and had made him seem above and beyond the other gentlemen she’d exchanged a couple of letters with. She had been surprised that Gideon was a miner— with such educated writing. But she had supposed that this was where the money was out West: in mining. She’d heard stories, of course, of men striking the right vein and becoming wealthy overnight.
“What do you have there?” Samuel asked.
Carmela pressed the letters to her chest, feeling a distinct invasion of her privacy at his question. “Letters from your brother.”
Samuel shook his head and gave a half snort.
“What?” Carmela said, her face growing hot. “Not every man needs to be a romantic, but did you think I’d come all this way without knowing anything about the man I intended to marry?”
Samuel turned from his bench, facing her head on with those blue eyes of his. “I’m beginning to think that you don’t know a thing about my brother,” he said. “For starters, he was illiterate.”
It took a moment for this word to translate for Carmela. Her English was more than fine, but not every word came easily. “He couldn’t read or write?” she asked.
“Exactly,” Samuel said. “If he did write those letters…” he began to say, looking pointedly at the letters still clutched against her chest, “he must have hired someone to do it for him.”
Carmela slowly lowered the sheaf of letters. This information made a terrible sort of sense. The handwriting was very flowery, not exactly what one might expect from a man. But the words were still Gideon’s, right? I couldn’t have been duped that completely.
“Can I see one?” Samuel asked.
Carmela stiffened. “You can read? How is that you can read and your brother can’t?”
Samuel lifted a shoulder. “Gideon didn’t go to school much; I did. He was interested in other, uh, pursuits.”
What could it hurt? she asked herself. If Carmela were to properly grieve her almost husband, perhaps she could allow his brother to enlighten her on Gideon’s character.
“He calls himself ‘a man who is fiercely loyal and willing to protect his lady’?”
“Yes,” Carmela said. When she’d first read those words, they’d sent heat directly into her heart— for, was there anything more important than a loyal man?
Samuel turned back to the horse, finishing off the last shoe.
“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong with your brother’s statements?”
Samuel shook his head, which only made Carmela feel more put out. The man had asked to read the letter, and now he wouldn’t even talk about it?
Well, she could ignore him as much as he was ignoring her. Once she’d paid her respects at Gideon’s grave, she’d rent a room at the hotel until the next train came through, that is, if this town had a hotel. A knot of worry worked its way into her stomach, but she could just be hungry as well. She dreaded returning to Boston so soon. She would have to spend the last of her money for another ticket— the money that Gideon had sent to her for a new dress and a ticket. She’d found a secondhand dress in order to save some money for when she arrived in Leadville. She’d hoped that her frugalness might have impressed Gideon.
But now, there was no one to impress.
And Carmela was, once again, unattached.
Chapter Five
Samuel dreaded breaking the news of his brother’s sullied ways to the woman walking alongside him. At one point, when they had passed the taverns of questionable repute, Samuel had tucked her arm inside of his in order to stave off the gawking of several foul-smelling men.
“This place is quite wild,” Miss Carmela Callemi had murmured.
When they reached the open road just past the bakery, she immediately freed her arm from his.
So much for my gentlemanly act, he thought. At least she was generous enough to let him continue carrying her carpet bag. He was frankly surprised that she didn’t have a couple of large trunks.
Yet, Samuel could only guess at what was going through her mind. He found it quite incredible that she’d believed a man would write such elaborate prose in a letter. Samuel suspected that she must have had only trustworthy men in her life to be so taken in with one of Gideon’s schemes. He had no idea how Gideon had planned to pull off taking in a wife and keeping her happy.
In fact, an unconscious glance at Miss Callemi’s profile told him that, although she decidedly had a sharp tongue, she was frightfully innocent to be traveling all the way from Boston on her own. If Gideon had lived and had brought her home, Samuel knew that it wouldn’t have been long before Samuel would be defending the honor of Miss Callemi and punching Gideon square in the jaw.
“What are you shaking your head about?” she asked, her voice breaking through his thoughts.
Samuel startled at the sound and said, “Just woolgathering, I suppose.”
“Memories of your brother?”
Samuel chuckled. “Not exactly. More like future scenarios that I won’t have to worry about now.” At noticing the crinkle in her brow, Samuel had the oddest urge to pull her to a stop and run his finger over the lines to tell her to not worry over someone as rank as his brother. Instead, he looked up at the clouds, racing across the sky, their hurry matched by the pace of his heartbeat.
Women, he thought. He wasn’t any good around them. Never had been. He’d stayed well clear ever since Gideon had brought that hussy to their place in Boulder, and Samuel had been forced to kick them both out.
So, Samuel was more than grateful when the church house came into view— and the cemetery behind it. He could get this task over, finish out the day in his shop, and blot Miss Carmela Callemi from his mind’s list of things to concern himself over.
“Oh, it’s… quite barren here,” Miss Callemi said as they rounded the church and stopped before the cemetery. Gideon’s grave was covered over, and someone had left a handful of already wilting wildflowers on top.
A nice gesture, Samuel supposed and gave himself the tiniest prick of guilt that they hadn’t been from him.
“Leadville is more concerned with silver than with schoolhouses or churches,” Samuel said. He tugged off his hat, letting the newly cooled wind blow through his hair.
“What’s your favorite memory of Gideon?” Miss Callemi asked.
No question could have surprised Samuel more. Trouble was, it made him have to think— hard. He felt her hazel eyes watching him. And, despite the air turning cooler, his body was warming up. He had to think of something— fast— then get back to town.
“When I was about five,” he said, “I remember thinking that Gideon could do anything. A circus came to town that summer, and my parents were too busy with chores to take me. So Gideon took me, and my eyes were opened to a world that I previously didn’t know existed. He even bought me my own bag of boiled peanuts.”
Miss Callemi released a small sigh, and, for a moment, Samuel was caught up in that sigh as well. Gideon’s life had ended too soon. That was true, but perhaps Samuel could remember the good things about him. Every man has redeeming attributes, Samuel thought. Didn’t he?
“There’s that expression again, sir,” Miss Callemi said. “What are you thinking about? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man with such earnest mysteriousness as yourself.”
Samuel tilted his head and studied the brunette standing mere feet from him. Her hair had been tugged free from a couple of pins, and loose strands blew about her neck. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a busybody, Miss Callemi?”
Her mouth twitched, those pink lips that he’d thought were painted with makeup only to realize that they were part of her natural coloring. Then her lips turned up, and she lifted her chin and laughed. Laughed!
Samuel found himself smiling, quite dumbly, for he had no idea why she was laughing. But he liked it, liked it very much indeed. She took a deep breath and stepped toward him, laying her hand on his arm. Surprise shot through him at her touch. It was as if he were rooted in place, unable to speak, unable to move.
“Mr. Butler, I’ll take that as a compliment. I’ve been called much worse.”
Again Samuel’s eyes dipped to her bodice. Did she mean…? No, he decided, and he wouldn’t do her the dishonor of suspecting her of it.
“Thank you for showing me Gideon’s grave,” she said, continuing in that charming accent of hers. “Can you direct me to the closest hotel?”
Samuel nearly dropped the hat he’d been holding in his hands. If he could trust his instincts, then this was a virtuous woman. The hotel rooms across from the tavern would not be an appropriate place for her to spend even one night, let alone the three or four nights it might be until the train made its return trip to Boston.
But, what was her other option? Mrs. Smith, who rented the two rooms above the bakery to women, already had them occupied with the school teacher and the secretary of one of the mine owners. So there wouldn’t be additional room to put up Miss Callemi. He supposed that he could speak to the reverend and see if he had any ideas. And then another idea formulated in his mind. Before he proposed it, he turned his face upward toward the sky. It was windy, yes, but not a cloud in sight.
“What on earth are you doing now, Mr. Butler?” she asked, her voice cutting into his tumbling thoughts. “One moment, I think you are quite intelligent, and in the next…”
He lowered his gaze and stared at her pinked cheeks. “Continue.”
“Uh, I think I’m being too much of a busybody.” She smiled, looking chagrined. “If it’s too much trouble, I’ll just walk back into town and ask for directions there. You’ve already done enough for me, and I certainly appreciate it.” She stuck out her hand.
Samuel could only stare at her hand now. What was wrong with him? Had this woman been about to call him daft? She might be quite correct, he thought.
“Mr. Butler,” she said again. “Good-bye
and thank you again.” She turned and started to walk away.
“Wait,” Samuel said. “Your luggage.”
She rotated. “Oh, yes.”
“But—” He held up a hand, finally able to put his thoughts into words. “You can’t stay at the hotel in town.”
She said nothing and just raised that infernal eyebrow.
“I— I mean, it’s not a good place for such a fine lady as yourself,” Samuel said, walking toward her. He lowered his voice as he continued. “The tavern is directly across the street, and the men can’t be entirely trusted. Miners can be a rowdy lot. And, seeing as how it’s Saturday night and that the miners will have tomorrow off, there could be quite a bit of celebrating going on.”
Miss Callemi’s gaze remained steady upon his, but she’d clasped her hands tightly together.
“I checked the weather,” he said, glancing again quickly at the blue sky, “and it seems that it’s a good night to sleep under the stars.”
Her hands snapped to her hips. “I know we’re in the Wild West, sir, but you can’t expect me to sleep outside.”
“No,” Samuel said with a laugh. “I will sleep outside, and you will sleep inside my house.”
Her eyebrow lifted quite high at this. “I don’t think so,” she said in a slow voice. “I’ve only just met you. And, if you’re so worried about my reputation, then staying in your home seems quite inappropriate.” She reached for her carpet bag.
“Hear me out,” Samuel said, grasping her arm gently. Surprisingly, she didn’t pull away but merely waited for him to continue. “Once people in town discover that you were planning on marrying Gideon, you’ll be laughed at.”
Her face slowly bloomed red. “And, why is that?” she whispered.
Samuel hesitated, but he’d come this far, and he absolutely had to convince her to stay at his house until the train came. He admitted to himself that he liked this woman— her frankness, her courage— and he didn’t want to see her embarrassed. But he didn’t relish destroying the image she’d had of his brother.
