by Kristin Holt
What was wrong with Temperance that she hadn’t leapt with joy, squealed with delight, exulted in the thrill that Mr. Gideon wanted her to be his?
Felicity would have said yes. Immediately.
Pain ripped through her chest.
She’d known better than to want what she couldn’t have.
Chapter Thirteen
“Young men, do whatever you must to save yourself from wedding a woman you cannot or do not love.”
~ The Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship and Marriage
Rocky set another nail and pounded it into the support beam. This deep in the mine, temperatures hovered between cold and freezing.
“Hold it still, would you?” Short tempered, cranky, and downright irritable, he’d lost his manners but couldn’t make himself care.
“Trying, Boss.” Johansen, the gang lead, narrowed his eyes in the yellow lamplight, obviously doubting the answers Rocky had given a few hours earlier when he’d arrived at Peerless Mine and thrown himself into physical labor, desperate to evict his demons.
“Something wrong, Boss?” Johansen asked.
“No.”
“You don’t sling a pick anymore. It’s obvious something’s eating you alive.”
He glared, silently daring Johansen to continue.
“You’d tell me if we was in the financial mire, right, Gideon?”
“Johansen—”
If only this were about money.
“Somethin’ come across the wires from Washington? Silver dropping?”
No, silver’s price wasn’t going to drek. Rubbish.
A minute slipped by, then Johansen tried again. “You’d say if something bad happened, right?”
Sweat ran down his spine and thirst demanded relief. He swiped a gritty wrist over his forehead, trying to catch the rivulets before they burned his eyes.
“Fetch another. Hop to.” He dug in the pouch about his hips, stuck two nails between his lips and shouldered the stout wooden support, wedging it tight against the cavern floor and beneath the beam above.
Felicity’s laughter sparkled, dancing through his memory. He chased the music away with two fierce strokes of the hammer.
Manual labor was supposed to shove thoughts of her beyond reach. Wasn’t working. Not today, not yesterday.
He couldn’t sleep, had no appetite, and nothing he did freed him from craving Felicity’s company. He’d just proposed to her sister. What was wrong with him?
“Johansen!” Rocky’s bellow echoed off the tunnel walls, amplified in the confined space. In a temper, he threw his hammer. The tool slammed against the rough-hewn wall and clanked onto the iron rail.
His chest heaved.
He’d started this project with four men at hand, and one by one they’d scattered. Slipped away like his sanity.
Rocky swore, loudly, in English and Yiddish.
He kicked his hammer out of the way, ducked beneath a low beam, and barreled toward the entrance.
Rounding the bend, he finally saw daylight at the end of the tunnel. No sign of his gang leader hefting in more support beams. “Johansen! Did I say it’s quitting time?”
A stout figure stood back-lit by late afternoon sun. Too short and broad to be Johansen.
Koch. The foreman Rocky had put in charge of day-to-day operations because no one messed with him.
“Johansen hiding behind your skirts?” Rocky demanded of his foreman. “Run to tattle to mama, did he? Where’s the rest of the crew?”
Koch rolled a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. His grizzled beard had been trimmed, making his face even rounder. But the venomous glare in the man’s ice-blue eyes told Rocky he’d finally found a man willing to fight.
“You want to tell me,” Koch said, low but with threat, “why you run fifteen good men off the job today?”
They’d quit?
“Only four.”
“Fifteen.” Koch spat into the weeds. “Don’t have to work with you to hear the cantankerous yelling. You do realize, with that strike in Leadville, rovers ain’t gonna stay unless you give them reason to.”
“Get them back.” But Koch’s expression made it clear that wasn’t going to happen. “Offer a bonus. Ten dollars per man.” Rocky had money. He didn’t have excess miners.
Koch rocked back on his heels as if he hadn’t just received an order. From the man who paid him. To run this mine.
“You quitting too?” Steam built and threatened to spill out his ears.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Depends.”
“Spit it out, Koch. What do you want? Double the king’s ransom I already pay you?” Irritation vibrated and his mind played tricks on him again. The image of Felicity’s disappointment threatened to eviscerate him where he stood. She’d had that expression on her face as he’d said goodnight and taken his leave.
Minutes after Temperance hadn’t rejected or accepted his proposal of marriage.
As if the release valve on his temper finally, finally busted open, Rocky’s shoulders rounded. He flexed his fists, stretched the muscles in his neck…
Koch spread his boots, flexed his knees, and threw a fist with lightning speed.
And with the force of a cave-in, the source of his hostility came into focus. He’d finally traced the gold upriver to the source. After six or seven hours’ exhaustive labor, he’d found the cause of his turmoil.
Temperance.
He didn’t want the girl.
Koch’s fist slammed into Rocky’s jawbone.
“Ow!” Rocky growled, touched his jaw with a fingertip, and glared. “You hit me?”
“You threw the first punch.” Koch danced out of the way, dodging Rocky’s upper cut.
“Did not.” He ducked, barely escaping a clobber to the left ear.
“Throw a fist at me, I’ll throw one back.” Koch scuttled away, putting a safe distance between them. “I don’t care if you’re the boss. Spit it out. What’s chewing your backside?”
He’d foolishly, stupidly asked the wrong sister to marry him.
Thank God she hadn’t said yes. But she hadn’t yet responded with an irrefutable no.
Which left him in limbo.
“Lady troubles.” Rocky glared at Koch. “There! Happy now?” His jaw smarted, his heart ached, and he detested himself.
Koch tossed back his head and roared with laughter.
Rocky had heard enough. He turned his back on the foreman and headed straight for the corral and Mars.
How could he have brought this tsuris—plague of epic proportions—upon himself, willingly?
“Boss!” Koch shouted. “No wonder you have lady troubles, ornery as you are. Sweeten up, knock some sense into your attitude. And always say ‘you’re right, dear’.”
“Shut up, Koch.”
Another chorus of chuckles, this time, Koch had company. Magnificent! Who else had heard the foreman’s stupid advice?
He clenched his jaw to hold back a rock slide of curses, clear, finally, on what he must do.
As soon as possible, in the honorable and right way, as gently as he could manage, he’d leave off courting Temperance.
“Did you overhear Rocky’s proposal of marriage?”
At the kitchen sink, Felicity scrubbed a little too long on a dinner plate. She’d thought of little else in the two days since Rocky’s fateful courting visit. “I did.”
“I know it’s been coming, for a long while, now…” Temperance dried a drinking glass.
How could Felicity adore her sister and yet harbor fierce jealousy? “I’m sure he understands. You need time.”
“I told him so but he wasn’t happy.”
Because he’d wanted an immediate yes.
Temperance finished drying a serving bowl and set it in the china cabinet dominating one dining room wall. Through the doorway, Felicity watched her sister’s posture wilt, her hand resting on the shelf. “I’ve been confused, so intrigued, so…fascinated and I fear I’m falling in love.”
Of cour
se Temperance would fall in love with her beau. That was the natural order of things, the purpose of courtship. And Rocky was an easy man to love. Gentle, kind, attractive, honorable, generous.
Temperance glanced up. Was that embarrassment on her face? Because she’d been caught wool-gathering about her future husband?
Felicity doused a pot in sudsy water. If her sister witnessed regret, longing, and unrequited love surely visible on her face…their brand-new bond would be shattered. “Those emotions are natural.”
“Maybe.”
She scrubbed mashed potato from the pot’s interior. “You don’t think attraction for an appealing gentleman is normal?”
Guilt flashed in the younger woman’s eyes, followed by tears. “It just seems so…so…salacious. So wrong.”
Temperance continued muttering, going on and on about something or another.
Was this what became of ministers’ children? Prudery? Refusal of natural affection? Guilt over romantic attraction?
Perhaps Felicity’s childhood had been better, after all. “Forgive me, but nothing is wrong with falling in love with a man. Did Father say such things were indecent?”
Temperance nodded. “I’m just so…tempted. I want to do things I shouldn’t. I caught myself walking by his office last Friday morning, frantic for a…a glance. I spent most of the day desperate for another few minutes in his company though he’d invited me in the day before and I’d already spent a full half-hour during his work day—it’s so inappropriate! Father would be mortified if he knew, and Mother—I can imagine Mother’s chastisement for unladylike behavior.”
Tears ran down Temperance’s cheeks and dripped onto her bodice. She hid her face in the dishtowel and wailed.
The long, mournful cry broke Felicity’s heart. She stilled, her hands in the dishwater, her heart pounding.
She’d never seen her sister weep in their scant month together. She’d shed a tear or two, understandable in her grieving, but had remained composed. Controlled. Sensible.
Felicity wanted to understand her sister, she truly did. But the emotional devastation made no sense. So what if she flirted with her beau or sneaked a few moments together?
Felicity dried her hands and grasped Temperance’s trembling shoulders. “I’ll help you to bed.”
“No!”
“Do you need a doctor? Or a hot toddy—”
Temperance sobbed, weighted with despair, grief and guilt. All so unnecessary.
Unless Temperance and her beau had anticipated their wedding vows.
It happened. Often enough. Perhaps, as a minister’s daughter, Temperance feared damage to her reputation. Understandable, certainly. Even if the wedding had to be moved up, to occur quickly, folks tended to forgive young lovers who welcomed seven-month babies. After their marriage.
“I’ll fetch Mr. Gideon—”
“No! I can’t bear to see him.” She drew in a shaking lungful of air before making a strangled sound—half cry, half moan—and thunked her forehead upon Felicity’s shoulder.
She patted Temperance’s back, whispered soothing nonsense.
“I know you’re thinking about leaving town.” Temperance sobbed harder. “I saw the way you glanced at the depot on our way out of Pettingill’s. Don’t you know I need you?”
“You’ll be all right, sweetling.”
“I won’t, not if you go away. I need your help.”
“I’ll help you.” Temperance had more friends than any one woman could possibly keep up with and Mr. Rocky Gideon, but was gratified by her sister’s plea. “Tell me what I can do.”
“I can’t face the celebration and all those people and everyone’s questions wondering why I’m with him, why I’m enjoying myself, why I’m so h-h-happy…when Father’s been gone only a month.”
Anticipating the interminably long day, chaperoning her little sister while Rocky lavished attention on Temperance…she’d rather suffer a bout of cholera.
“I desperately want stolen moments with him, but it’s so unwise—” She’d worked herself into a paroxysm.
Ah, young love. And propriety. And a desire to do the right thing and stay out of the kind of trouble Mother had found when smitten with Cedric Cartwright. How could she fault Temperance for ensuring protection of a chaperone?
“Don’t fret. I’ll stay.”
“Promise? I can’t be alone with Mr. Gideon. It just wouldn’t be advisable. It truly wouldn’t be.”
“I promise.” For this sister, she could suffer through one day in Mr. Gideon’s company, could she not?
Temperance clutched Felicity tight. “I just…I really need you to let me…oh, I don’t know.” Temperance’s hysterics swelled. “My heart can’t be dissuaded,” she said on a sob, “I’ve been trying for six long months, since Mother’s funeral, to…to…but I just can’t! I’ve been in love with him for so long. So long.”
“I know, sweetling. I know.” It seemed the worst of it wasn’t over yet. No sense shushing a girl who needed to cry. “Let it all out.”
“Do you understand? You see how much I love him? I can’t be happy without him.”
She must have realized, since Rocky’s proposal of marriage, that her love outweighed her need for more time. Temperance wanted Rocky Gideon—and she would have him.
Loyalty to her sister must take precedence to all else. Family first, forever, and always.
Chapter Fourteen
“One out of twenty or thirty courtships proves the couple ill-suited for matrimony. Never act in haste; if, after exhaustive introspection, you determine consummation of your marriage would rain calamity upon your heads, inform her plainly. She may threaten a breach of promise suit but hold fast. Take your chances in court.”
~ The Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship and Marriage
Between halting the defection of miners to the big strike in Leadville and rebuilding his reputation with his men, Rocky had done everything possible to intercept Temperance over the past two weeks. He’d needed a private moment to advise her of his change of heart, but failed.
She’d surrounded herself with her many friends, refused to see him, been away from home, or hadn’t been where expected. Slippery woman!
Now that Founders’ Day was upon them, unless he wanted to escort her about all day—which he most certainly did not—he had to ensure she gave him two minutes…and she heard him.
Obviously, Temperance was avoiding him. Likely because she’d not been ready to hear his proposal of marriage. The poor girl was evidently terrified he’d press his suit and urge her to answer in the affirmative.
With luck, she’d be happy to learn he would no longer court her.
At least he hoped so.
If he didn’t soon corner Temperance, he’d have to wait until the raising of the flag had concluded. Poor timing for him to push through the crowd while everyone stood at attention, their hands over their hearts.
He caught sight of her wavy blond hair, tied back in a blue ribbon and headed after her—again. It seemed he’d chased her around the town green for the past five minutes.
Felicity had been at her side…until just now.
All the better. He’d rather avoid Felicity’s disapproval as he terminated his courtship of her sister. Perhaps, if Felicity didn’t witness the exchange, she’d be amenable to a future courtship herself.
Ah ha! His quarry stood at the edge of the crowd, half-hidden by a mature evergreen.
Rocky snagged Temperance’s elbow.
She shrieked even as she whirled to face him. “Mr. Gideon.”
“Good morning, Miss Temperance.” He nodded at her father’s attorney. “Mr. Stuart.” The pair had been talking, their heads together.
He’d not seen Temperance this nervous, agitated, or upset since the reading of her father’s will, and only then because of Felicity’s surprise arrival.
But this cacophony of odd behavior also included…remorse? What had she been up to that evoked guilt?
Temperance gave up tr
ying to slip from his grasp. “Please, Mr. Gideon, do unhand me.”
Mr. Gideon? She’d called him Rocky as long as he recalled.
He released her, prepared to bolt after her if she ran. “A word in private, if you will.”
“That’s not possible.” She faced him squarely, raised her chin in defiance.
“Miss Temperance,” he said, “I’ll be brief, and the topic is of utmost import—”
“Excuse the interruption, Mr. Gideon, but I only have a few seconds. I simply must explain myself before—” she glanced at the lawyer. “You see, I…”
He narrowed his eyes at the pair. “No, I don’t see.”
She sighed, a long, drawn-out breath that seemed overly dramatic. Instead of speaking, she turned to Stuart—as if he knew the workings of her mind.
Like the gentleman he tried hard to be, Rocky waited. She’d already spoken over him once, told him she could spare mere seconds. He motioned for her to continue.
“All right then. I’m very sorry, Mr. Gideon, but our courtship is over.”
He raised a brow. Had he heard correctly?
“You mustn’t fight me on this, sir. My mind is made up. I’m quite certain.”
He wanted to laugh, to whoop with joy, to grab Temperance and swing her in a wide circle…he wanted to kiss her on the forehead.
He crinkled his brow, confounded. When was the last time he’d so much as wanted to kiss her…even on the brow?
“Well, say something. Just so I know you heard me.”
He forced his face to relax. No smiling now. He couldn’t laugh—that might hurt her feelings and earn him a clip to the jaw by W.W. Stuart who seemed to be in on the revelation.
“You’ve made up your mind,” he repeated, splitting a glance between the pair, proving he’d listened.
“Indeed I have,” she concluded. “Mr. Stuart and I are to be married. Today. We’re eloping.”
That caught Rocky by surprise. He split a glance between W.W. and Temperance. So that’s what she’d been up to. Her absences from home and usual social rounds. Her indifference to long periods between his courting visits. Her refusal of his marriage proposal.
