by Stacy Henrie
“Mr. Butler,” she said. “I asked you a question, and you’d better stop toying with me.”
Now it was his turn to redden. He hadn’t meant to toy with her. Releasing her arm, he said, “My brother was an unscrupulous and immoral man.” Samuel rushed on, trying to get it all out in a few breaths. “The women at the tavern all know him by name, and he probably owes gambling money to most of the men. He hasn’t been sober for more than a few hours for as long as I can remember. And, if anyone in town knows that you arrived here as his mail order bride, I’m afraid they’d never let you live it down.”
Her lashes lowered as she looked away from his desperate gaze. “I understand now why you laughed at me when I showed you Gideon’s letter.”
Samuel could only nod because, in truth, his chest hurt from the ache that was growing there. His brother had wronged this woman, and now, it was Samuel’s responsibility to make it up to her. One more thing, he thought, to clean up after my brother. But, at least this will be the last of it.
She lifted her head, her cheeks stained with the embarrassment that Samuel had hoped to prevent. “I will stay in your home, Mr. Butler. And, when that train arrives, I will leave and never look back.”
Chapter Six
At first, the drops of rain sounded like a faint melody upon the roof above Carmela’s head. And then, the melody crashed together into a full symphony, drowning out all of the comfortable night sounds of the ticking clock and the low, crackling fire, which Samuel Butler had built before heading outside.
Carmela jolted upright as the tempo of the rain increased. Suddenly, the small bedroom flashed bright like a noonday sun, followed moments later by a boom of thunder. Carmela shrieked and pulled the covers over her head. It was strange enough to be sleeping in a man’s bed, let alone inside his house, and now, this wild storm had awakened her.
Samuel! He was outside, having sworn that the weather would hold long enough for him to spend the night beneath the sky.
Setting her mouth into a grim line, Carmela threw her covers off and grabbed the robe she’d laid at the foot of the bed. Pulling it on, she headed for the door that Samuel had told her to bolt after he left. The man seemed quite protective, if Carmela had to say so herself, not that she had minded. It reminded her of something that her brother might do.
She pulled open the door and stared out into the driving rain. The wind was pushing its drops nearly sideways. Carmela searched in vain for a light or any sign of Samuel. She had no idea if he’d gone behind the house or, perhaps, to the lean-to, which looked like it had been built for a horse, although any beast was absent now. There was only a hen house with a couple of chickens.
Then another dagger of lightning threaded the sky, lighting up the homestead for a few short seconds. But this was long enough for Carmela to catch a glimmer of white beneath the lean-to.
“Samuel!” she cried out. “Get in the house! You’re going to get soaked!”
Miraculously, he must have heard her, even over the now rumbling thunder. The white figure moved, and, before she knew it, the man was running toward the house. Carmela stood aside, holding the door, and Samuel brushed past her, coming to a halt in the entry way.
Too late, she thought. He was completely soaked. His white undershirt was plastered to his chest and arms, while his hair dripped, dark with water.
Without thinking too much about it, Carmela shut the door, turned to Samuel, and grasped his arm. “You’re wet all the way through,” she said. “I thought that you said it wasn’t going to rain.”
Samuel rubbed his hand over his wet face then shook his head, sending droplets flying.
“Ah!” Carmela said as she stepped back, out of the way. “Just because you’re soaked, doesn’t mean that I want to be too.”
“Sorry,” Samuel said, although he didn’t sound too sorry.
It was then that Carmela noticed that he was trembling with cold. How long had it been raining before she’d awakened? And, how long had he been soaking in the rain? Her instincts from taking care of two motherless boys took over.
“You’ve got to get out of these wet clothes,” she said. “I’ll stoke up the fire and heat up some water. Do you have tea or coffee around here?”
“I’ll be fine,” Samuel said, his deep voice filling the small space between them.
Carmela met his gaze, his blue eyes looking dark in the dim light of the open hearth. Then he drew back and sneezed.
“Oh! You will not be fine, sir,” she said, her hands on her hips. “Get out of those clothes now, and let’s get you warmed up.”
He wiped his face again and sighed. “All right, Miss Callemi.” His tone might have sounded serious and contrite, but Carmela didn’t miss the upturned edges of his mouth.
“Very well. You change while I see to the fire and the tea,” she said, turning away, feeling that this room couldn’t possibly seem smaller.
“Can you bring me a pair of dry trousers from my bedroom?”
His voice stopped her, and she felt the heat rise in her neck. “Of course.” She hurried to the bedroom, forgetting to light a candle and bring it in with her. So, instead, she shuffled through the bureau, feeling her way along his clothing, trying to determine which items were shirts and which were trousers. Then she realized he’d need both, grabbed what she could find, and returned to the front room.
Stopping dead, she clamped her mouth shut. He’d pulled off his wet shirt and stood there, the light of the fire dancing along his muscled chest, as if this were the most ordinary occurrence. Something bubbled in Carmela’s stomach, telling her that this was far from ordinary. Samuel Butler was a handsome man with a strong physique. Naturally, it was a bit surprising to see him partially clad, but she shouldn’t be caught staring.
With a determined exhale, she stepped forward, staying as far away from him as possible while extending the dry clothing toward him. “I’m not sure what I grabbed. The bedroom was dark.”
Again, the sides of his mouth lifted, and Carmela turned away with haste, sure that her cheeks were aflame. She busied herself with stoking the lazy orange flames while one part of her was listening to Samuel’s movements as he changed his clothing. He is in the same room… undressing, Carmela thought.
If Carmela had been a cursing woman, she would have cursed at herself, if only to steel her mind against the image of Samuel’s bare torso. As it was, she let one tiny curse slip into her mind. Thankfully, this seemed to jolt a bit of sense into her mind, and she said, “You didn’t answer my question about the tea or the coffee.”
“Both.” Samuel’s voice rumbled from the other side of the room. “The tea might be quite old, though.” He gave a soft chuckle. “You can turn around, Miss Callemi. I’m decent now.”
There were two ways to read into that comment, but Carmela decided she wouldn’t read into it at all. She turned from the now well-kindled fire, which had brightened the room. Samuel was indeed dressed in dry clothing: another white shirt, she saw, and dark trousers.
“I’m surprised that you wear so much white out here in the country,” she said before she could think better of it. Well, it isn’t like my nosiness comes as a surprise any longer.
“I was sleeping in my undershirt,” Samuel said, his eyes capturing hers, even from all the way across the room. “And this is my Sabbath shirt.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Carmela said immediately. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right,” Samuel said. “I haven’t been to church in a while. It’s about time I put this shirt to good use.”
He hadn’t buttoned it all the way, Carmela noticed, and the sight of the exposed triangle of his upper chest brought back the memory of his full torso.
“I can go find another,” she said.
Samuel took a step toward her. “This is fine. I’m more interested in that tea you keep mentioning.”
She was very aware that they were alone together in the house and that it was the middle of the night as the rainstorm pou
nded the windows and roof all around them. The fire and Samuel’s presence heated up the room well enough, and Carmela didn’t need to add any of her additional thoughts— of Samuel being a handsome and considerate gentleman— to the warmth inside the place.
And, she realized, she was in her robe. Although it was plenty modest, her robe was still her sleeping attire and not meant for public viewing. And Carmela certainly considered Samuel as part of the public.
She walked past him, ignoring her thumping heart. “Sit by the fire. I’ll have tea ready soon. It will warm you right up.” Was he chuckling again? she wondered. If he was, she decided to ignore it.
Not much later, she had the water boiling over the fire and two teacups ready. Samuel had leaned back in his chair and had closed his eyes, which was a good thing so that Carmela didn’t have to deal with his blue-eyed gaze as much. Another flash of lightning, followed by thunder, sent her heart skittering again. It wasn’t that she was entirely afraid of storms but that this house felt so exposed on such a large bit of property.
“Are you all right?” Samuel asked.
Carmela opened her eyes, unaware that she’d flinched and closed them. Samuel stood not two steps from where she clenched the tea tin in her hand.
“I am,” she said. “I suppose I’m not quite used to—”
Lightning jagged across the room, followed immediately by thunder so loud that it vibrated the wooden floor beneath her feet. “Oh!” she cried out, practically leaping at Samuel.
Thankfully, he was sturdy, and, instead of knocking him off balance, he grabbed onto her and wrapped his arms around her.
“Sorry,” she whispered, still feeling the thunder’s quake throughout her body. But she didn’t pull away; somehow she couldn’t. Samuel didn’t release her either and kept his arms around her, strong and comforting.
Her head rested against his warm chest, and her heart seemed to thump in time with his. She didn’t want to move, but she knew that the longer she stayed in his arms, the harder it would be to draw away.
Another roll of thunder sent a shudder through her body, and Samuel tightened his hold, for a moment, then released her.
“Here,” he said. “Sit by the fire.” She let him lead her there then accepted the teacup he gave her. Finally, he draped a quilt over her shoulders.
“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” she murmured. “You’re the one who was soaked in the rain.”
But Samuel merely sat across from her, the fire burning merrily next to them. Thankfully, the thunder had subsided, growing more distant with each occurrence, although the rain kept up its pounding on the roof.
“Does it rain like this often?” she asked.
“We get some pretty good storms in Leadville,” Samuel said. “I hear that Boston has quite fierce winters.”
“I haven’t experienced one firsthand,” Carmela said. “We sailed over in April. Gideon said that you get quite a bit of snow here too.” She hadn’t meant to bring up Gideon. But, this time, Samuel didn’t refute what his brother had said. Perhaps Gideon hadn’t deceived her about everything.
“Tell me about your homeland,” Samuel said, peering at her from his chair.
So Carmela did. The coziness of the room, with the fire’s orange glow while it rained outside, made her feel like the outside world was far away and that she could easily talk to Samuel. She told him of the vineyard her father ran, how her brother had wanted a new start in America after his wife had died, and how she’d decided to travel with him to help with his two boys.
Samuel told her of his experiences growing up in Boulder and how he was always like an older brother to Gideon, even though Gideon was older in years. He also told her of his dreams of running his own business and how he loved to work with horses.
Carmela didn’t know how long they talked into the night, but she couldn’t ever remember speaking to a man like Samuel, who actually seemed to listen to every word she said.
Chapter Seven
Samuel hated to wake Carmela, but dawn had come and gone, and he had to get to his blacksmith shop to be ready for business. He pushed open the bedroom door where Carmela slept, a streak of sunlight falling across the bed. Her dark hair tumbled about her face, and her long lashes rested against her cheeks, making her look like a dark-haired angel with her creamy complexion and rose-colored lips. It was a marvel to see her so peaceful and quiet. The Carmela he’d gotten to know was not one to shy away from giving her opinion or asking any question that sprang to her mind.
He smiled as he recalled their conversation from the night before. He’d learned a lot about her, and he surprised himself by sharing quite a bit about his own life. He’d never been so talkative with a woman before— or with a man, for that matter. And Samuel had been more than content just being his own man.
All of a sudden, Samuel realized that Carmela had opened her eyes and was now staring at him.
“Oh, sorry,” Samuel said, straightening from where he was leaning against the doorframe. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, merely blinking a couple of times. Then she gave a little gasp and tugged the quilt high against her neck. “How did I get here?” she asked, looking about the room then back to him, her dark eyes wide.
Samuel felt his neck heat up. “You fell asleep in the chair, so I… carried you in.” She stared at him, and he raised his hands. “I slept out in the other room,” he explained.
Carmela exhaled, looking relieved. “I didn’t mean to take over your house,” she said, and her face pinked. “Thank you for taking care of me last night.” She pushed up onto one elbow. “How are you doing? Did you ever warm up?”
“I did,” he said. And he was plenty warm now, in fact. “I… uh… need to get to the shop, but I didn’t want to leave you here by yourself. So you’re welcome to come with me. Although, I’m not sure that you will want to face the questions from the townspeople that are sure to come by.”
Carmela stifled a yawn. “I would prefer to stay here.”
Samuel nodded. “Help yourself to whatever you need. The food pantry isn’t as well stocked as it probably should be, but there are plenty of apples out back.”
“Thank you,” Carmela said, a smile lighting up her face.
Samuel took a step back, knowing that the sooner he left, the better, or he might be tempted to stay here and spend the day with her, learning more about her home country and listening to her talk about her family.
So he bade her farewell and hurried out of the house. The rain had stopped that morning, but the mud was unavoidable. He trudged along the muddy road that lead into town. As the sun broke through the clouds, he thought of what might have happened if Carmela had arrived just one week earlier. She could have been married to Gideon already, and she would have become his widow. It was strange to think that his brother might have been married to such a hardworking, beautiful woman.
Samuel had never envied his brother anything. But, if Gideon had lived and if Carmela had become his wife, Samuel realized that he would have envied Gideon one thing: Carmela. He shook these thoughts away. Gideon hadn’t married Carmela. Gideon wasn’t even around anymore. But, it was hard to reconcile this reality yet. Samuel half expected his brother to stagger out of one of the taverns as he passed or to show up at the shop today, asking for a few cents.
A customer was already waiting for him as he reached the shop. Samuel hurried to help Mr. Kirkpatrick. The man was tall, thin, and wore spectacles. But his poor eyesight didn’t prevent him from being an astute horse dealer. He’d probably sold most the miners in Leadville their horses.
“Sorry to hear about your brother, Mr. Butler,” Kirkpatrick said, as always, erring on the formal side by calling Samuel by his last name.
“I appreciate it,” Samuel said, then closed the topic. “What are we doing today?” He grasped the reins of the horse Kirkpatrick had brought in and began to stroke the top of her head.
“She needs a shoe adj
ustment,” Kirkpatrick said. “You know, Mr. Butler, Mr. Christensen backed out on purchasing this mare.”
“Oh?” Samuel said, stopping mid-stroke. He wasn’t entirely surprised that Christensen had backed out. The man was the jovial type and rarely serious.
“I told you I’d give you a fair deal,” Kirkpatrick continued.
“Thank you,” Samuel said. “I’ll think about it.” He resumed stroking the mare’s head. She was a fine horse, muscled and healthy. It would save him time in a lot of things, especially when he started expanding his homestead. His stalwart stallion had died just a few months ago, and he hadn’t had time to purchase another animal.
As he began shoeing the mare, Samuel wondered if Carmela rode horses. Surely she had, if she’d grown up in a vineyard. He imagined bringing the mare back to his house today and showing her the horse. Maybe he’d ride with her for a bit if she were skittish about it. He was sure that the woman would make a pretty form riding a horse— her hair flowing behind her, the wind tugging at her clothing…
“Where did you go?” Kirkpatrick said, cutting into Samuel’s thoughts.
Samuel looked up from his task. “Sorry?”
Kirkpatrick chuckled and raised his brows above his spectacles. “Didn’t know where you went for a moment. Woolgathering, I suppose?”
He was waiting for an answer, but Samuel wasn’t going to provide his true thoughts. “Didn’t sleep much with the rainstorm, I guess.”
“That thunder was something else,” Kirkpatrick agreed.
Samuel straightened and looked over at Kirkpatrick. “How much for the mare?”
A slow smile started on Kirkpatrick’s narrow face. “A year of shoeing all the horses I bring to you, and she’s yours.”
Samuel stuck out his hand. “You have a deal,” he said, and they shook hands.
The rest of the morning passed quickly as customers came to him with their horses and for wagon repairs. The clouds had dispersed as if last night’s rainstorm had never happened, and the sun seemed to have baked away every last water droplet, for his shop was plenty hot.
