Heads began to nod, and Ewan’s heart ached. Oh, Win. If you could only see the impact you’ve had on my men.
“Thank you.” His voice came out scratchy, so he cleared his throat. “I can’t say it enough times. This is truly one of the best gifts I’ve received. And you all are the humblest, most hardworking men I’ve ever had the privilege to know. I thank God for each of you.”
The warmth of their commitment to him and the mine stuck with him as everyone filtered back to work and as Marcus started up the stamp batteries. When the mill thrummed to life, Ewan crossed the yard and made his way inside the office building. His men were right—everything had tried to pull his business away from him, but in the end, he’d held fast. And even though he hadn’t secured an investor, he would continue pushing his company until it thrived just the same.
Only problem was...having a successful business didn’t seem as important now that he was alone.
The door between the shop and the corridor opened, and Delia poked her head through. “Mr. Burke?”
Ewan paused. “Yes, Miss Richardson?”
“A man and woman are here to see you. They’re inside the store.”
Visitors for him? Who could they be? Following Delia into the shop, Ewan spotted Sol Star standing near the counter, a woman on his arm.
“Star?” What would the postmaster be doing here in the middle of the day?
His heartbeat rushed for a second at the sight of the woman—until he realized he’d never seen her before in his life. Winifred was gone. He knew that to be true. Why couldn’t his heart accept it?
“Burke.” Sol offered a polite smile. He motioned to the woman. “This is Jillian Morris. She’s come all the way from Lead City to meet you.”
To meet him? Ewan’s feet stuck to the threshold. His gaze moved from Sol to the woman. Young, she had pinned her dark hair neatly beneath her bonnet and wore a high collar and lace at her cuffs. Though stern faced, her eyes seemed kind and, dare he say, hopeful. What could she possibly want from him?
Suddenly, a couple of small, dark-haired children appeared from behind the folds of her skirts. They stared up at Ewan with large, dark eyes, perfectly mirroring their mother’s, and all of the mysterious pieces fell into place.
“Mrs. M.” Ewan raised his gaze back to the woman’s. “Am I right?”
A twitch on her lips, which must have been a reserved smile, told him he’d guessed correctly. His most promising mail-order bride prospect stood before him in the flesh.
“She appeared at the post office a few minutes ago, asking for you.” Sol shrugged. “I apologize, Ewan. I know you didn’t want your name known, but she came all the way here for the sole purpose of meeting you.”
“I was persistent,” Mrs. Morris said. Her voice held authority, similar to her writing. Ewan could easily see the no-nonsense side to the woman’s personality. “I confess, I grew tired of writing each other when we lived but a town apart. I determined to meet you and be done with it.”
And be done with it. Not exactly the most romantic of sentiments. Not that Mrs. Morris struck him as the romantic type. Though he imagined she had little time for it, even if she had been so inclined. Her husband had passed away this summer, leaving her with children to feed on her own. The woman had to be all about survival, and Ewan suspected the experience had only made her more serious.
His thumb rubbed along the smooth surface of his crock as he watched her. Would her joy return once she’d found security with a new husband? Because she stood there expecting to find out if he could be that man, the one who would marry her and provide for her children. The embarrassing thing was he’d already written up a rejection letter to send her. It lay in his coat pocket now. After nearly losing his mine, and actually losing Winifred, he didn’t have the heart to marry just anyone. Especially not someone so serious.
Clearing his throat, Ewan finally found his voice. Stepping into the store, he set his crock on the counter and faced the woman. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Morris. I’ll be honest with you, it’s quite surprising to see you here, so I apologize if my reactions seem stilted or abrupt...but I don’t know if we would suit.”
At first, she didn’t answer. Lifting her brows, she scanned him from shoes to forehead. Her children nestled closer in her dress folds. As her eyes searched his, he thought he recognized doubt flickering in her heart as well.
“Something has come up since I last wrote you,” he continued, trying to keep his voice gentle as he prayed for words. “I have fallen for another woman.”
“I see.” Mrs. Morris inclined her chin, as if she assessed him. “Another mail-order prospect?”
“No, actually, a woman who worked in this very store for a while. But she has since moved home to Denver.” He hesitated. “Yet even though she’s gone, I can’t bring myself to marry anyone else.”
She squinted a little. “You love a woman you cannot have.”
He tapped his fingers on the legs of his trousers. “Correct.”
It would be all wrong to invite her into his situation under these circumstances. There was so little he could offer her—even his heart was not on the list. And truth be told, her serious demeanor, the lack of sparkle in her eyes—the very things he thought he wanted—left him craving vibrancy.
At last, Mrs. Morris nodded, a proud resignation marking her expression. “I think I agree with you, Mr. Burke. And I appreciate your honesty. No matter what, the trip wasn’t a loss. I would have wasted several days wondering how you felt, waiting for your letters, when I could have been looking for another husband.”
“Thank you for taking the time to visit me.” And he truly meant it. Now he knew he’d made the right decision. “I wish you all the best as you search.”
Ewan watched Sol Star lead Mrs. Morris and her children away from the store, silently offering up a prayer for the family’s well-being. He wasn’t the man best suited to be her husband, but he ardently hoped she would find the one who was.
As he turned away, his gaze snagged on Delia. She tipped her head to one side, palms resting on the counter. “Was that true?”
“Was what true?”
“You’re in love with Winnie.”
At the risk of looking like a fool, he nodded. “Not that it matters now.”
Her forehead scrunched. “Why not?”
“Because I figured it out too late. I’ve missed my opportunity.” And that was all he wanted to say on the subject. He gave a brief nod before snatching his crock and crossing to the shop’s back door.
“It’s never too late,” she called after him as he stepped into the corridor.
Poor, sweet Delia. She had no idea. If she’d seen the hurt in Winifred’s eyes when he turned her down the night of the reopening, or if she’d experienced the hurt that ripped through his heart when Winifred walked out of his life too early, she wouldn’t spout such platitudes.
Ewan started down the hall...he thought toward the stairs, but instead, his feet carried him all the way to the kitchen. Cassandra looked up as he entered, cleaning supplies in her arms. “Ewan, honey, I wasn’t expecting you for hours. It’s nowhere near noon.”
Ewan stepped in farther, realizing grease still streaked his hands. “I finished my morning activities and thought I’d come here to wash up—may I?”
“Sure.” She motioned to the tub of soapy water perched on the preparation table. “Haven’t begun washing dishes yet...it’s all yours. I’ll get new water when you’re done.”
“Thank you.” He placed the crock on the table before moving to the tub and dipping his hands beneath the watery surface. “Nice and warm.”
Maneuvering around him, Cassandra wiped down the table with more vim than her age should allow. “I gather by that crock you’re carrying that the men gave you the money.”
Ewan smiled. So she’d known about the gift—maybe even
donated funds toward it. “Yes. Thank you, Cassandra. I can’t express my gratitude enough. I have the best employees in all of Dakota.”
“So, I’m guessing, since you accepted the gift, that you don’t plan to take your brother up on his offer?”
Ewan huffed, water sliding over his slippery skin as he recalled the telegram he’d received from Samuel yesterday. “I plan to stay with the mine. My mine. Not join up with his as a last-ditch effort to appeal to my father’s standards.”
Honestly, he held nothing against his brother for asking. Samuel simply wanted to mend family ties, as he’d attempted to do after every argument since they were children. But, for Ewan, it wasn’t about having one job over another anymore. It was about upholding the ministry he’d committed to and learning to stand on his own feet.
“I’ll write him back to explain why I declined.”
“Speaking of writing—” Cassandra bent to run her rag over the chairs “—did you end all correspondence with your prospects, or did you finally pick one?”
“I’m sending off the last of my rejection letters this morning.”
Cassandra glanced his direction, her graying brows arched in a grandmotherly manner. “Even to that widowed mother who lost her husband in the accident?”
“I actually just spoke with her in person.” Exhaling, he removed his hands from the murky water and reached for a towel. “A shame, since she appeared to be the most likely candidate. And seemed like she needed a husband.”
At this, Cassandra pivoted to face him, free hand on her hip. “But...?”
“But, she’s not a good match. My heart is elsewhere.” He met her coal-black gaze. “Surely you know that already.”
“I do.”
Ewan half smiled. “After she thought about it, she wasn’t interested in marrying me, either.” And unfortunately, the mail-order prospect he’d really wanted to meet in person never wrote back after he’d made that suggestion. Perhaps the idea had scared TD away. He should’ve known—she’d made it perfectly clear she wasn’t looking for a husband.
Not to mention, the disappointment plaguing him concerning the woman in the flesh he’d fallen for—too late.
It was a sobering thought. He hung the towel up to dry, then grabbed another rag from Cassandra’s bin of cleaning supplies. Swirling it across the table opposite Cassandra, collecting the dust caught in the cracks, seemed to ease some of his nerves. “To be honest, Cassandra, I don’t really know what the Lord has in store for me next.”
“Whatever it is, it’ll be delightful. His plans are designed for you to thrive and prosper.”
A wry chuckle climbed his throat. “I have no doubt you’re right...except sometimes I think God forgets the prospering part when it comes to me.”
“Sure.” Cassandra folded her rag in half and scrubbed a stubborn stain. “I can see how you’d think that, if you only define success by your business.”
“I’m not. I’m including a wife in there, too.” Not a proud moment, laying bare his secret plans to his cook, especially since they hadn’t amounted to anything.
“Ewan, honey, let me tell you something. Seems to me like you hang your success on things outside yourself. Your job. A wife. Your father’s support. But there is so much more—inside—that makes you who you are.”
Finishing his side of the table, Ewan folded his rag and put it back in the bin. “I know.”
“No, I don’t think you really do, or you wouldn’t accuse God of forgetting you.” Without warning, Cassandra rounded the table and wrapped him in a fierce hug. “Honey, you are worth more than all the gold in the Black Hills.” Freeing him from the hug, she placed her hands on both sides of his face. “It don’t matter if you never find a wife. If the mine never becomes a wild success. The fact is, you’re God’s child, and that is all the success you really need.” Stepping back, she poked him in the chest. “Now you just have to believe it.”
Gliding back to her rag, the old woman shot him a knowing look—again, a little too grandmotherly. “And while on the subject of success and wives, I know a vivacious brunette in Denver who suits you in every way. That is, if you feel so inclined to chase after her.”
His chest tightened. His Win was nothing like the serious, steady person he thought he’d needed in the treacherous waters of his future. Though, if he were honest, she shared his passions. For God. For people. For upstanding principles. On top of which, she’d made his days full of sunshine.
He loved her for it. When had she become so endearing?
Taking Cassandra’s supplies back to the pantry for her, Ewan realized she had been correct—sometimes love found people in the strangest places. And love had found Ewan in the throes of a failing business. Winifred was nothing he needed and yet everything he required at the same time. He fully, unabashedly loved her, even when he told himself not to.
Inside the pantry, he stuck the bin in the corner. A crumpled apron lay beside it, so he swiped it up to hang. As he lifted the fabric, an envelope slipped to the floor. He bent to grab it and froze. The back of the unopened envelope faced up, but in the corner, the extension of a penciled sketch curled around from the front.
“Couldn’t be.” He swiped the envelope from the ground. But sure enough, it was addressed to Mr. Businessman in the cursive handwriting he loved so much. How had it ended up in the pantry, beneath this apron? Had someone gone to the post office to pick it up? But Sol Star didn’t give mail to anyone but the recipient.
Breaking the seal with his thumb, Ewan breathed a grateful prayer. He’d given up hope she would respond. The folded letter slid from the envelope, revealing its beautiful pink and red floral design, and Ewan skimmed the contents like a ravenous man ate at a feast.
She didn’t want to meet him.
She had still signed it Sincerely yours, as they had each letter before it. But when he read it this time, his heart sank. She would never be his, sincerely or otherwise. His heartbeat stumbled at her words as he read them a second time. It was unfortunate. Months of searching and somehow he’d fallen in love with two women. One he had hurt, and one who’d hurt him. In some ways, they were so similar. But he’d lost both and now he was back at the beginning. Starting over.
God, I don’t know where this leaves me. I suppose it’s up to You. My entire future is up to You. I have tried to maintain control for too long—which is why I’m in this mess in the first place. Teach me to listen to You. Please guide me.
“Is that—” Cassandra appeared above him and lifted the envelope from his hands. She inspected the drawing. “Yes, I believe it is.”
Ewan flicked his gaze up. “It’s what?”
“One of Winifred’s drawings.”
“Oh, no. You’re mistaken.” Folding up the letter, Ewan stood and plucked the envelope from Cassandra’s hands. “See right here—Mr. Businessman? It’s one of my mail-order letters. Somehow it ended up in the pantry, of all places.”
A frown of confusion twisted Cassandra’s face. “That’s strange. It sure looks an awful lot like Winnie’s work.”
He shrugged. “I suppose so.” Though he couldn’t figure out why it would matter if TD’s sketches looked like Win’s. They were both excellent artists who made realistic renderings. Of course their work would be similar in some ways.
Cassandra twirled her finger. “Check for her initials hidden in the drawing. Winnie always signed her work with WS.”
He turned the envelope to the front and searched. Nothing. When he flipped it over, he nearly jumped as Cassandra pounded her finger against the paper.
“See? Right there.”
Below the woman’s finger, a neat little WS had been incorporated into the design.
Warning sounded in Ewan’s thoughts, but he pushed it back before his imagination could take over. “Do you have anything else with her handwriting?”
Together, they moved
across the room to Cassandra’s private quarters. She tugged a crate from beneath her bed and withdrew a handful of papers. “A planning list for the store’s celebration party should be in here.” The woman clucked her tongue as Ewan knelt beside her. “I know I sound crazy, but it really looks like her artwork, honey.”
Except it was impossible. Yet his heartbeat spiked all the same. After a little digging, they located the list. He held TD’s letter beside it for scrutiny.
Her list was brief. A few words mixed with numbers, but he knew that handwriting. Knew it. Even though there was no way he could know it.
“I think it’s her.” Cassandra shook her head as if no other explanation existed. “I think she’s one of your mail-order prospects. She did mail a lot of letters, come to think of it. Seems like they all had sketches on the envelope, too.”
Ewan’s throat felt coated in sand. Sure, the way her s’s curved below her other letters and the slant of her lowercase y’s and g’s looked identical to those in the letter...but Winifred was TD? That couldn’t be possible.
“I’ll be back.” After getting to his feet, he left the kitchen through the side door.
He made his way down the dusty street and didn’t stop until he popped into the post office.
“Star, you want to tell me who my mystery correspondent is?”
The postmaster looked up from the woman he was helping at the counter. A look of annoyance crossed the woman’s eyes, like Ewan had just interrupted an extremely important appointment. But mailing a letter wasn’t as important as this.
Ewan stepped forward. “Well?”
“Have a nice day, Mrs. Granger.” Sol Star gave the woman a smile as she turned and left, giving Ewan a glare as she passed. Then the postmaster turned his attention back to Ewan, confusing marking his features. “Which one? I just introduced you to Mrs. M.”
“Miss Thoroughly Disgruntled.”
He crossed his arms. “I thought you were giving up the search.”
“I have. Sort of.” He stepped closer to the counter, thankful there were no more loitering customers to hear his words. “But tell me the truth. Do you know who TD is?”
Last Chance Wife Page 21
