by Kristin Holt
She gave a brief, slight shake of the head. “I was deeply in love, caught up in a whirlwind romance I’d trusted would culminate in marriage.” She met his gaze, held it, begging him to understand.
He nodded with perfect comprehension.
“Scarce days passed,” she said softly, “between that fateful afternoon…we were together just once…and his departure from New York. He was gone—abroad to England, Europe, Russia—long before I’d begun to suspect…the…lasting consequences.”
She paused, anger sharp on her features. “Why do I defend him to you? I don’t want to defend him. My love for him turned to ashes as weeks passed and I realized I was in trouble. Did he write me even once? No. No letters came, though I waited and waited.”
Sam wanted to reach for her, offer the comfort of a compassionate touch, but he resisted. He feared she wouldn’t welcome it.
“He went on tour, a virtuoso violinist, performing for the tsar, kings, music halls filled with nobility—” She held a hand firmly over her mouth, as it to stifle a scream. A long, long moment passed.
He simply waited, aching for the pain she’d endured as realization dawned…and the doubtless fear her parents would discover the truth.
“It’s humiliating to admit…” She twisted her handkerchief between her hands, her focus on that square of linen as if she couldn’t bear to look him in the eye.
“He never intended to marry me. I was a conquest.” Her tone hardened, shading her statement with grief and frustration and pain. “My mother told me he is married. He’d led me to believe otherwise.”
Sam felt the urge to slam a fist into this man’s face, to inflict even a fraction of the pain he’d caused Evelyn. Even better, he wanted to break his fingers…and ruin his capacity for music. Seemed like poetic justice…he’d taken something every bit as precious and treasured from Evelyn. He’d taken her innocence and her faith in mankind.
He forced back the violence. The urge to maim wouldn’t help Evelyn. She was here, now, and he had to focus on what he might do to help.
Time slipped past. Evelyn’s explanation lapsed into silence.
Sam sat in that hard chair, stunned to his very core. Hearing Miss Evelyn speak of her past and painful experiences, the impending loss of this baby she wanted, evoked comprehension…and a poignant connection to this woman he’d just met. “I’m sorry.”
He fully grasped her loss, fears, sense of rejection, and craving for trust…her desire for stability and unconditional love.
Was it possible he’d found a kindred soul in Evelyn Brandt?
Because listening to her motives, the circumstances that brought her to Colorado evoked a sense of recognition.
As if everything he’d experienced, every heartache, every disappointment, had all been to prepare him for this crossroads, this one woman, today. So he could say the right thing, do the right thing, be who she needed him to be.
He felt the urge to go to her, to take her in his arms and assure her he’d help, no matter what she needed. Whether that was help to remain forever hidden from her parents, or a ride back to the train depot to go either east or west, or someone to understand her pain—he’d be there.
How could he not?
Maybe he could be the one to give her unconditional, unwavering love. For a second time, the thought came unbidden, unwanted, and potentially self-destructive.
He’d fallen in, so deep and so fast, just like with Octavia. And look how that had turned out. He wasn’t good at relationships, especially not with beautiful, well-to-do women.
And Miss Evelyn was beautiful—and not just on the surface with a slender and impressive height, rose-gold hair, impossibly blue eyes, and skin luminescent and perfect. Her light coloring was in sharp contrast to Octavia’s dark. Like day to night.
But something about what lay beneath that superficial beauty was ever so much more within Evelyn.
As poor as he’d proved himself in courting department, they still had the same problem he’d interrupted with a fist to Pike’s jaw. The problem wouldn’t go away on its own.
He gave in to the urge to sit beside her. The bench was just the right size to hold the two of them, so long as he didn’t mind being pushed real close to her side. Good thing he didn’t mind one whit.
Before he could think overmuch, he took her slender hand in his and held it with confidence he didn’t have. “Pike isn’t the only troublemaker of his ilk. There are others. They’re on their best behavior right now, but they’ll show their true colors. I don’t like the idea of you being at their mercy.”
She lifted a slender shoulder, bumping against his arm.
She might feel helpless to stop it, but he had a plan. A plan he was determined to follow through with, if she’d allow it. “It’s up to you. Do you want to stay in Prosperity, or do you want to go?”
She looked at him then, her gaze sliding back to his hand wrapped around her own. “I don’t see how going will turn out well, not for me and my baby. I want to stay.”
“Then I have a plan, one that will see you safe here.” He pushed aside the sick knot in his gut left over from Octavia’s rejections. “First, I urge you to stick by your title of Mrs. Brandt. Can you do that?”
She nodded.
“Good. Second, and this, I believe will do you the most good.” He drew a breath for strength. “May I court you?”
She didn’t answer right away, just slid the pad of her forefinger over the back of his hand. The light touch felt amazingly good. It had been so very long since Octavia—or any female—had touched him like this.
He found himself mesmerized, captivated…and still waiting for an answer.
He’d asked if he could court her.
She might hold his hand, but she sure wasn’t in any hurry to say yes.
Just like Octavia.
He clenched his jaw and fought for calm. “Even if it’s just a front for the troublemakers’ benefit. I believe it’ll work to keep them away from you and on their best behavior.”
If he could remember their ‘courtship’ was only to protect her, surely he could keep his head on straight. He had to do something to safeguard his heart.
She stilled and seemed to think that though. “Why would you do this?”
“I want to help you.”
“You’re one of two men in this mountain valley who wants nothing to do with a courtship.”
“For you, Evelyn, I’ll do it.”
She stared at him, as if she couldn’t understand. “Pike won’t believe it.”
“Yes he will, right along with every last yahoo in camp…er, town. If I’m possessive and protective, escort you to every social event, come calling on you and we sit in this parlor and spark—”
She playfully socked his shoulder. “You don’t want to kiss me.”
“Says who?” He grinned and his gaze wandered toward her lips. He put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close, bringing her mouth within easy reach.
His stomach tumbled with that lightweight I’m-falling-to-my-death sensation that came on when his freight wagon wheels slipped off the edge of the road along the high ledge overlooking the canyon floor. He’d put himself in a real tough spot.
He wanted to taste her lips and at the same time, knew he flirted with danger.
Her mouth parted. In anticipation? He didn’t have to ask if he could kiss her…Evelyn had one powerful tell. She’d welcome it, and that scared him.
He eased back. “Maybe we ought to save the kissin’ for when we have an audience.”
She turned away, just a little. He took note of the pulse thrumming mighty fast in her neck. Was she actually disappointed? Over one little kiss?
He wanted nothing more than to cup her face and touch his lips to hers. He could imagine the pleasure of it, how that sweet connection would—
Business, he reminded himself. He wasn’t so sure his prediction wouldn’t come true—that she’d be one of the first to give up on Prosperity and return to civiliz
ation.
If he forgot himself, if he kissed her as a man and not just posing as a suitor, she’d take his heart with him when she left.
He didn’t know if he could live through that again.
“Here’s how I see this playing out. I’ll make my courtship of you evident. But this is entirely up to you. If you find someone else you like better, you can go with him. That’s fine.” He didn’t like that idea, but decency demanded he leave her an out. “If you decide it’s time to move on to California,” he puckered at the thought, “I’ll personally see you safely to the train depot in Leadville unless you choose the stage.”
“O.K.”
“If you want to contact your parents, I’ll help. If you want to return home, you’ve my support. All you need do is say so.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” A teasing smile formed on her lips.
How could she joke about her greatest pains?
“No, ma’am. Stay as long as you like.” Stay forever.
In his heart, he knew nothing would come of this, certainly not marriage. After all, this was a courtship of convenience.
She seemed to think that through for a moment, then two.
“Yes.” She squeezed his hand and smiled. “You may court me, Mr. Kochler.”
Her smile hit him squarely in the gut and knocked the breath out of him.
“Since we’re courting, Miss Brandt, may I call you Evelyn?”
She leaned closer, her cheek brushing his shoulder.
His stomach clenched. Surely she wasn’t leaning in for a kiss?
He remembered kissing Octavia. Sweet pecks of kisses on the satin of her cheek. Except for that one time—
“Only if I may address you as Sam.”
When Sam opened the mercantile the following morning, Evelyn waited for him at the door.
Given their intimate conversation, she hardly needed to measure his potential interest in her…but she still needed a maternity corset. Going without had made her posture deplorable and her back ache. In months to come, it would only get worse.
“Good morning,” he offered, sounding genuinely happy to see her.
“A pleasant morning to you.”
“Do come in. What might I help you with?” He rolled up the shades on the front windows.
She knew they were alone in the store when he took her by the hand. “It’s good to see you, Evelyn. I’m rather hoping you’re just here to say hello, and not here to buy.”
Moments like this, when he endeared himself so completely, she couldn’t help but lose a little more of her heart to him. Looking back, this very character flaw had been the route Daniel used to exploit her.
She pushed thoughts of Daniel Tracy far from her mind. “Hello, Sam.”
He smiled. “I changed my mind about needing an audience,” he whispered, drawing her close. “I think we need to practice—just so we look natural.”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He touched his lips to hers in the sweetest, briefest flash of warmth.
“There,” he said, and moved a little further away from her. “I think I could get very used to kissing you.”
So could she, unfortunately…no thoughts of Daniel, this is not the time to remember…
Heat rose in her cheeks and she decided it was a very good thing she didn’t need to assess signs of Sam’s discomfiture with her purchase, for her own captured all of her attention. A long, whispered nighttime talk with Caroline as they lay in their respective cots had solved that one—she already suspected Sam Kochler did have interest.
His kiss confirmed it. Along with his promise of a courtship of convenience and spoken promises of kisses to come.
“Sorry if I disappoint.” She twisted the handle of her reticule. “I need to place a mail order to a company in New York.”
“Evelyn—I’m not disappointed. So, business it is.”
Sam made his way behind his counter and brought out a book wherein he’d handwritten many listings of businesses that conducted sales transactions through the mail. She watched him flip past Philadelphia addresses and settled on New York.
He smoothed the book open. “Which company?”
Evelyn remembered everything Caroline had said. She should hold Sam’s gaze, present her request just as she would if she’d come in for a spool of black thread and a package of sharp sewing needles. “Ferris Brothers.”
He startled, blinked, then scanned his handwritten pages, flipping back and forth through the seven or eight sheets containing various businesses in New York City. “I, uh, don’t seem to have their address.”
“No matter. I’ve been there many times. I know it by heart.”
“Very good.” He readied his pen, muttered “Ferris Brothers,” as his flowing, perfect penmanship filled out a new entry.
“Ferris Brothers Manufacturers,” Evelyn noted, “81 White Street.”
Sam dutifully filled in the street address. “New York City.”
“Yes. Are you familiar with them?”
“Indeed.” His voice seemed measurably constricted. “I do believe their motto is ‘Good Sense.’”
“How do you know so much about…” Evelyn choked. Mentioning unmentionables, in mixed company, simply wasn’t done. Not among the Upper 500, not even among New Money. Her governess had drilled the ease of conversation about such topics out of her by the time she’d reached age ten.
Sam tugged on his collar, and for the first time since they’d met at the train station in Leadville, seemed unable to meet her eye.
Compared with the significant ease of their conversation just last night in the Quarters’ parlor, Evelyn wanted to whoop with joy. If Caroline knew men—and Evelyn very much wanted to believe her friend did—Mr. Kochler did, indeed, see her as a marriageable female.
She wasn’t merely a customer.
Nor simply a woman he’d offered a courtship of convenience.
With his attention on his book, Sam unbuttoned his collar and drew in a deeper breath. “I know a thing or two from the many years I worked in the finest fashion shops in Atlanta.”
He met her gaze then, suddenly the consummate professional Caroline had said he’d be…if he were only interested in his commission and her money.
Her smile faltered.
“I spent years catering to the elite of Atlanta’s society, both men and women. Stockings, slippers, kid boots, neckties…anything not custom-made.”
He paused. “Do you require,” his gaze slipped away—a good sign— “a custom product?”
“No. I have it on good authority that this company regularly produces what I need.”
“Very well.” He brought out a fresh sheet of paper, writing with ease and fluidity the name and address of Evelyn’s selected corset manufacturer, followed by the date and brief instructions for shipment via rail to Leadville, Colorado, and thence to Prosperity.
“’Lo there.” A man’s voice interrupted. His boots clomped on the floorboards as he entered the mercantile.
Evelyn closed her eyes and stiffened. It had been so much easier ordering unmentionables in shops staffed by sales girls. Men did not frequent such establishments.
“Morning, Jack,” Sam called, waving. “Good to see you about. I’ll be right with you.”
How could she finish this order, with more than Sam as witnesses?
Heat crawled up Evelyn’s cheeks. Sam already knew her whole sordid story—certainly knew she needed a maternity corset…but she had no interest in advertising that fact to Jack, whoever he was, and thus to the whole community.
Why hadn’t she waited until closing, and under guise of their courtship, asked him to place the order for her then?
Jack whistled a jolly tune as he approached the counter, crowding a bit too close, and leaned heavily on the bar.
Evelyn shot the intruder a quick glance. She had an impression of wavy brown hair, shoulders too wide to fit through a doorway, and a smile to match.
She nodded and flicked her gaze back
to Sam.
“Do you want to order one—”
She panicked. Surely he wouldn’t name the unmentionable, right now, with an audience.
“—or two?”
She was quick to answer. After all, she hadn’t the privilege of running a limitless account like she’d done in New York when Father paid her tabs. “One will do.”
She watched carefully as he added a notation to the paper. A graceful stroke with the numeral one, and bless him, he propped his left forearm on the counter in a smooth and graceful move that easily blocked his writing from Jack’s view.
She could’ve kissed Sam for his thoughtfulness.
Maternity Corset. Size—
He looked up, held her gaze, wordlessly asked the question with the lift of one brow.
Those expressive hazel eyes pulled her in and warmed her clear through. She panicked, just a little, feeling like the whole planet tipped beneath her feet…as she fell a little more in love with Sam Kochler.
Giving measurements of ladies unmentionable foundation garments was almost as awful as speaking of them by name. She blanched. Ridiculous, as she’d never responded thusly with female sales clerks.
The space of several heartbeats thundered past.
Here she was, responding with all the visual cues and tells Caroline had mentioned Sam would show if he were vitally interested in her. Just how much of this was Sam truly seeing? Could he read her every thought?
With an ease she hadn’t known Sam possessed, he covered the sensitive letter with his address book, retrieved a scrap of paper, and scrawled his best guess of size.
Incredibly close. The man had a good eye—and he’d apparently been looking. Flattered, Evelyn shook her head just the slightest bit.
He tried again, a slightly smaller number.
She nodded. His years in clothing shops had taught him something.
Beside them, Jack whistled on as he handled the jars of licorice whips and horehound candies, arranging them just so on the counter top.
Sam went back to the letter, transcribing their agreed-upon size, adding long, and easily noted the same price Evelyn, with all her experience, had assumed.
