Mona Hodgson

by Too Rich for a Bride

  Morgan gathered their menus and handed them to Maggie. “I’m sure Fred has a couple of things left in the kitchen.” He flashed that dimpled grin she loved. “Perhaps a sponge or a butter dish?”

  Feigning annoyance, Kat slapped her husband’s shoulder and looked up at Maggie, whose laugh reminded her of a train whistle. “That should be enough to get me started,” Kat said, smiling.

  Still laughing, their waitress took the menus from Morgan and darted to the kitchen.

  Kat smoothed her napkin over her lap. Curiosity ate at her, and her sisters had encouraged her to talk to Morgan about his past, so she drew in a deep breath, trying to bring some order to her questions before opening her mouth. “I was wondering … was Opal like this? Sick, then eating you out of house and home?”

  “Eggs and peanut butter with apple slices seemed to be all Opal wanted. She wasn’t sick to her stomach but for the first couple of weeks.” Morgan reached for his coffee mug and took a drink, never taking his gaze away from Kat. “Our experience—yours and mine—is different. Brand new.”

  Her eyes brimmed with unbidden tears. “That’s good.” Barely able to push the words out past the lump in her throat, Kat looked across the table at her beloved husband. “I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want you to get bored with me.”

  Morgan set his cup down and cleared the path between them. “It’ll never happen.” He reached across the table and, starting at her elbows, slid his hands down her arms until their fingers intertwined. “You’re anything but predictable, Mrs. Kat Cutshaw. And you could never be boring.”

  When Kat heard a familiar throat-clearing, she looked up. Ida approached their table with Colin Wagner at her side. Smiling, the dapper attorney held his hat in his left hand, while her older sister worried her jaw. Nervous, or just uncomfortable? Kat wasn’t sure.

  Ida smoothed a curl at her ear. “Seems my timing still needs work.”

  Kat felt her face flush as Morgan let go of her fingers and stood to shake Mr. Wagner’s hand.

  “Good to see you, Colin.” Morgan gave Ida a quick nod. “You too, Sis.” Pointing toward their booth, Morgan returned his attention to Ida’s escort. “There’s plenty of room here at our table, and I wouldn’t mind sitting beside my wife. Won’t you two join us?”

  “A generous offer, but no. Thank you.” Colin shifted his gaze to a corner table. “We have a more private table awaiting us.”

  Ida gawked at him, then she looked at Kat, her blue eyes wide, and her shoulders lifted in a shrug.

  Colin glanced down at the bowler in his hand. “Another time, perhaps.”

  “Of course.” Morgan dipped his chin in Kat’s direction. “Enjoy your evening.”

  Ida nodded as Colin hooked her elbow and guided her away from their table.

  “That was a bit surprising,” Kat whispered. “She mentioned nothing about it during our outing today.”

  Morgan sat back down across from her. “You don’t approve?”

  “I don’t know what I think.” Kat reached for her glass of milk. “He’s a nice-enough man.”

  “A man who brings her to dinner at the Third Street Café. I recall dinner here was our first private dining experience as well.”

  “He does have good taste in women and in dining establishments.” Kat winked at her husband. “I will give him that much credit.”

  “And he knows of your sister’s ambition and doesn’t seem intimidated by it.”

  Kat unfurled her napkin on her slowly shrinking lap. “I still don’t know if I like the idea of them. Is there such a thing as a man being too nice?”

  Morgan shook his head. “We men can’t win with you sisters, can we?”

  “I suppose not. We look out for one another. Is that so bad?”

  “No. But I’m not so sure Ida appreciates being looked out for.”

  “You’re right about that.” Kat peeked at the table in the corner.

  “Is that Ida’s happy laugh, or is she frowning?” Morgan moved his head to block Kat’s view.

  “Very funny.” Kat leaned back against the cushioned seat. “I just thought it’d be Tucker Raines and Ida.”

  “I like Tucker too, but ultimately—”

  “It’s up to Ida. Yes, I know.”

  Hopefully she’ll choose the right man.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  here had the month of November run to? Ida had been so busy settling into her job and watching her bank account grow that Thanksgiving Day had snuck up on her. Settling into her chair at Hattie’s table, she watched Tucker set a roasted turkey in front of Colin Wagner, who sat at the end, opposite their hostess.

  “Shall we pray?” Morgan held his hands out to Kat and Hattie, and Ida accepted Colin’s hand on one side and Faith’s on the other. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head.

  I know I have much to be thankful for, Lord, but not this.

  She knew Miss Hattie had invited Colin to Thanksgiving Dinner. He’d mentioned it during their supper with Mollie and Charles last Friday night. Sunday her landlady told her she had asked Tucker Raines to join them too since he didn’t have any family in town either. She’d seen Tucker often at church and around town, but they hadn’t really spoken beyond polite greetings—not since she’d accepted his apology. Now sitting across the table from her, he seemed bent on being more than just a friend, whether or not that was his intention.

  “Amen.”

  Faith let go of Ida’s hand long before Colin did and slipped a creased piece of paper onto Ida’s lap.

  The teacher had passed her a note? As discreetly as possible, Ida opened it with one hand and glanced at the writing. Larger, neater penmanship would’ve been nice. As it was, Ida couldn’t make out the words. Did she have sleep in her eye? A rip in her dress? What could be so important that Faith felt she had to share her message right now?

  She couldn’t read the note here without causing a scene. Not with Colin watching her every move. It would have to wait. She spread her napkin over the note to be sure she didn’t spill gravy on the handwriting.

  “Land sakes!” Hattie scanned the table. “We can’t very well have a turkey supper without my cranberry sauce.”

  Clutching the napkin, hiding the note, Ida jumped up from her chair. “I’ll get it.”

  Colin stood with her, and his gaze fastened on her napkin. Had he been watching her? “Your napkin was personalized?”

  He’d obviously seen the note. When Colin reached for her napkin, Ida pulled it down to her side. “It’s nothing.” Or something about Faith’s fascination with Tucker Raines. Either way, it was none of Colin Wagner’s concern.

  “If it’s nothing, you won’t mind if I see it.” Colin’s voice was soft as a rose petal, in sharp contrast to the severity that hardened his hazel eyes.

  Ida nodded. “I do mind.” She willed her wobbly legs to move and turned to leave the room. Before she could do so, Colin grabbed a corner of the napkin.

  When she didn’t let go, Colin peeled the napkin back from the slip of paper and read just above a whisper, “You’re making a mistake.” He yanked the note free and looked down the table at Judson. “Is this some kind of joke? You’re responsible for this, aren’t you?”

  Judson planted his hands on the table’s edge. “I don’t know anything about a note.”

  Apparently, her brother-in-law had made enemies of both Mollie O’Bryan and her attorney. But what could have possessed the otherwise poised Colin Wagner to be so rude? And why did he suspect the warning had been meant for him?

  Faith snatched the napkin from Ida and spread it out on her lap in another display of uncharacteristic courage. “The note wasn’t meant for you, Mr. Wagner.” She scooped a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto her plate.

  Ida stared down at the schoolteacher, trying to hide her surprise. This Faith wasn’t the same timid girl who’d come to Ida’s bedroom to ask her about tutoring Delos Updike.

  Colin drew in a deep breath, his features softening as he turned his att
ention to the hostess. “I don’t know what came over me, Miss Hattie. Perhaps I’ve heard too many disparaging comments about lawyers lately.” He shifted his gaze to Ida. “Please accept my apologies. All of you.”

  Hattie nodded and took the dish of spiced green beans from Morgan. “Apology accepted.”

  While the others returned to the meal, Ida dashed out of the room and into the kitchen, stopping just short of the icebox. She bit her lip, trying to quell the tears that threatened to topple her.

  If the note had come from Judson or Kat or Miss Hattie, Ida could assume the warning pertained to her work. But she knew Faith referred to her choice of men.

  “I agree with her.”

  Ida jumped at the sound of Tucker’s voice. “You would.” She didn’t bother to turn around. Instead, she opened the icebox, letting its coolness envelope her.

  “The question is, do you?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” Ida retrieved the bowl of cranberry sauce and shut the door. She moved toward the dining room, careful not to meet Tucker’s eyes or touch him as she passed, knowing full well that she’d made her decision.

  What she didn’t know was how she was going to live with it.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  he fragrant scent of mulled apple cider hung in the air as Ida studied the dining-room table in Hattie’s boardinghouse. She and her sisters had organized an array of baskets, oranges, nuts, and sacks of hard candy in groups. The table was long and the room wide—the perfect place for their Christmas project.

  “I can’t believe it’s the middle of December already.” Kat sat sideways at one end of the table. Some women didn’t show until late in pregnancy, but Kat wasn’t one of them. Everyone had a task, and Kat’s job was to string the name tags Hattie had made onto eight-inch pieces of Christmas-plaid ribbon.

  “I agree.” Faith wrapped the colorful strips of fabric around the basket handles and then passed them to Ida. “Seems like just yesterday we were all gathered here for …”

  “Thanksgiving dinner.” Ida checked the number of family members noted on the name tag, then added the appropriate number of oranges and hard candies to the package. “I’m not going to wash your mouth out with lye soap for speaking of it.”

  Tucker had been the last person to mention the note to her. Not even Colin or Miss Hattie had said any more about it. Not that she’d given either of them much opportunity.

  She set the basket at the end of the table in front of Nell, who added a handful of walnuts and pecans.

  Hattie huffed in her seat at the opposite side of the table. “You think time escapes you now. When you reach my age, time flies by like it’s plastered to the front of a speeding train.” Their gray-haired friend topped off each basket with Nell’s handiwork—a calligraphy printing of a verse from the second chapter of Luke.

  Hattie was right. Ida counted out four oranges for the next basket. Time did seem to pass much faster now than it had when she was a girl. She’d already been in Cripple Creek nearly three months, and she’d finished the last of her eight tutoring sessions with Delos that morning.

  This would be her best Christmas since her mother’s death, even if Vivian and Father wouldn’t be here. She had pursued her dream of being a businesswoman and found success. She had money enough to purchase baskets, oranges, nuts, and hard candies for twenty-five needy families, money enough to buy proper gifts for those she loved.

  Her insides quivered with anticipation. She couldn’t remember being this excited about the prospect of watching friends and family open their gifts since her mother’s last Christmas, when Ida had made her first and only lap quilt and wrapped it for her mother.

  “Ida.”

  She looked at Nell. Blond curls framed a look in her sister’s blue eyes that always meant she was up to mischief. “Nell?”

  “Kat and I saw Tucker in town this morning.”

  Up to mischief and matchmaking.

  “Is that so?” Ida counted out six oranges for the Nash family.

  “He sent his regards.”

  Ida refused to give Nell the satisfaction of having piqued her curiosity. Instead, she added candy to the basket before passing the gift on to Nell, along with a raised brow that normally gave her sister pause.

  Hattie cackled like a mother hen. “Isn’t that odd.” She smiled across the table at Ida, a twinkle in her eyes. “I saw Mr. Wagner in the Cash and Carry this morning. And he too sent his regards.”

  Hattie was obviously immune to any hints passed through raised brows, frowns, the shaking of one’s head. Even words didn’t seem to deter the woman.

  Since the note incident, they’d all kept quiet about Tucker and Colin, including Faith. Apparently, whatever matchmaking truce Ida had earned had expired that afternoon.

  “I’m not the only single woman in the room, I’ll have you know.” Ida pinned Hattie with her best “got you” grin.

  Or so she thought. Hattie waved an arthritic finger at her. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m too old.”

  Huffing, Ida faced Faith.

  “Not me either. I’m too young.” The teacher tied a fluffy bow at one end of a basket handle. “I thought Tucker might be the one for me …”

  Yes, Faith had most certainly stepped outside her shell in the past several weeks.

  “Until the concert, that is. Mr. Raines all but came unraveled seeing you with Mr. Wagner. He wasn’t too comfortable Thanksgiving Day either.”

  Imagine what they’d say if they knew what Tucker had said to her in the kitchen. He hadn’t said he was the right one, only that he believed seeing Colin was a mistake. That was probably the only reason he’d said what he did at the opera house. He didn’t approve of Mr. Wagner.

  “I suppose that settles it,” Kat piped up. “If Hattie is too old for love, and Faith is too young, that only leaves you for us to work on.”

  Shaking her head, Ida counted out six Tootsie Rolls. She knew something her matchmakers didn’t know, and it wasn’t her place to tell them they were wasting their time. Tucker wasn’t interested in marriage. Not to anyone here. His place was in California, preaching and taking care of his sister. He’d been ready to take off that day she saw him in the post office. According to Miss Hattie, Tucker had finished building the icehouse. Which meant it wouldn’t be long before he’d have the business thriving and he’d be free to leave.

  A knock on the back door set Hattie in motion. She turned and tossed words over her shoulder. “That would be the extra block of ice I ordered.”

  Tucker. Ida straightened and smoothed her dress. But it wasn’t Tucker’s voice she heard in the kitchen. Or his face she saw in the doorway moments later.

  “I offered Otis a cup of cider.” Hattie cleared a spot for the big man at the table.

  Ida looked at Kat, who gave her a knowing gaze and tapped her sealed lips. As if her not saying anything would make a difference.

  Ida sighed and nodded. She was disappointed Tucker hadn’t come, and there was no point in denying it. Especially since she seemed to be the only one avoiding the obvious—he had become much more than a mere curiosity to her.

  Faith was right. She’d made a mistake thinking she could avoid developing feelings for the brown-eyed ice man by socializing with Colin Wagner.

  TWENTY-NINE

  onday morning, Tucker climbed onto the wagon seat and directed Titan and Trojan away from the door of the boxcar. The load was lighter than normal—just ten iceboxes, no ice—but the horses still lurched through the slick, wet gravel.

  Tucker drove the company’s oldest ice wagon up Bennett Avenue, a much different experience with two feet of snow on the ground. The balmy Decembers in Stockton hadn’t given him any experience to draw on when it came to wrangling a team at an elevation of nearly ten thousand feet with snow blowing down his collar.

  Having lived in Cripple Creek for three months, Tucker could see why his father had chosen this place for his fresh start. The valley was majestic, with true changes in the seasons—autumns of go
lden aspens and winters of white nightcaps on the peaks standing guard over it.

  When he turned the horses up the hill toward the church, the wagon took a sudden slide to the left, jarring Tucker out of his thoughts. He pulled hard on the reins to keep the rig on the roadbed. How had his father managed last winter while sick? Otis hadn’t said how his father coped with the weakness of his health, probably out of respect, but no doubt the faithful employee and family friend had carried the bulk of the business on his shoulders.

  The couple who owned the haberdashery on Bennett Avenue greeted Tucker from the boardwalk, and he waved in return. They’d ordered an icebox for their home, and it was scheduled to arrive in next week’s shipment. Once Tucker and his crew—he’d hired three new employees—had finished building the icehouse, he’d spent a lot of time in town in the role of salesman. He’d been able to order iceboxes by the boxcar load with the money from the sale of additional stocks, and hoped that his new customers would be able to pay for the boxes and the continued deliveries of ice.

  If so, he’d have the accounts at both the asylum and the sanitorium brought up to date by the middle of February.

  Thank You, Lord.

  The parsonage was Tucker’s first delivery stop of the day. He’d no sooner reined the horses in at the hitching rail when Reverend Taggart stepped out the front door, wearing a knit cap that made him look like a sausage wearing spectacles.

  “Good morning, Reverend.” Tucker waved.

  “And to you.”

  After securing the reins, Tucker shook the reverend’s hand. Taggart stood at the side of the wagon while Tucker pulled out a polished oak icebox and steadied it on the hand truck.

  “I have something I want to talk to you about.” The reverend removed his spectacles. “I hoped you’d have time to sit with a cup of coffee and have a few words.”

  Tucker knew what the reverend wanted to discuss with him. Two months had passed since he and Colin Wagner had asked him to think about taking the pastor’s position in January. He’d agreed to pray about it and to read the Scriptures during the service each week since, but he hadn’t given either of the men an answer.