by E. E. Burke
He met Val’s amused gaze over the siren’s head an instant before she turned to look at him. Her incredulity made him wonder if perhaps some drool had dribbled down his chin. He wiped his hand over his mouth, just in case.
Her lips twitched as if she found something funny and was trying not to laugh. “No, it’s not new. I’ve had this walking suit for several years. You’ll notice it doesn’t have a bustle.”
Ross experienced a sudden, urgent need to see her backside. He was certain that asking her to turn around would earn him another smack. “I assume you didn’t stop by to model your dress.”
“No. I wish to speak with you about…” She clasped her hands in front of her and frowned at him. “Your note.”
A devil on his shoulder urged him to pretend ignorance, despite knowing exactly what note she referred to. Several times over the past week, he’d stopped by the hotel to talk to her. First, to apologize for his bad behavior on the day they’d met, but also, to impress upon her the need to make a speedy decision in selecting a husband. Each time he was told she was indisposed. Frustrated, he’d left a terse message. The threatening tone of it had apparently been enough to flush her out of hiding.
“Wonder what time it is? I should check on my wife.” Val, who’d interpreted the awkward moment as his cue to leave, retrieved his hat and tipped it before putting it on his head. “Good day, Mrs. Braddock.”
“Good day to you, Mr. Valentine.”
As he walked out the door, the alarmed look that flashed across Susannah’s face wasn’t hard for Ross to interpret. It was simply more proof she didn’t wish to be alone in his company, which bothered him more than it should.
She finally turned and faced him with her head held high, which still only put her at chin level. “Mr. Hardt, I am here on behalf of Miss Waverly and Miss Bodean, as well as myself. We cannot be held to a two-week deadline. We need more time to find suitable husbands.”
“You need more time…” This had been her refrain from the moment she’d stepped off the train. He had to wonder why she’d signed up for the railroad’s matchmaking program, unless all she’d wanted was a free ride. If so, why come to the least desirable location for a woman of refined tastes? “You’ve had six weeks. There are over a hundred eligible men to choose from. Pardon me if I find it hard to believe that you can’t find a suitable husband.”
“Please refrain from glaring at me.”
He hadn’t realized he was glaring.
“Sir, you appear to be a…gentleman.” Considering the effort it took for her to say it, he didn’t think she believed it. “Put yourself in my position for a moment. If you had to choose from among these men, how quickly would you be able to find someone suitable?”
His gaze slid to the window. Across the street outside a saloon, two settlers engaged in fisticuffs. Street fights weren’t an uncommon sight. Loud curses, though faint, could be heard, along with the jeers of a growing crowd. Well, hell. This was the frontier, after all.
“What kind of men did you expect to find out here?”
He didn’t get an answer, likely because she refused to admit her eastern-born ignorance. She was a puzzle to him. On one hand, she paraded around like a fine lady. But on her application, she’d put down that she was a seamstress and had worked in a factory. He couldn’t unify the two images, other than to assume she was a gently bred woman down on her luck, perhaps left widowed by the war, with only a small pension.
If not for the settlers’ unrest and his own obligations, he might have given in to compassion and offered her all the time she needed to find what she sought. Given the situation, he couldn’t afford to be that generous. Besides, not every man in the territory was a ruffian, and she had her pick. All she had to do was crook her finger.
“You have two weeks to find a husband. I can’t give you more time.”
A flush rose into her face, and guilt tweaked him for behaving like an unfeeling bastard.
“If I don’t find a husband within that time frame, will you…send me back?”
“Send you back?” The question surprised him, yet it seemed to confirm the suspicion that she’d only wanted free fare in order to immigrate west. The railroad couldn’t afford to tolerate freeloaders—even beautiful ones. “Why would I do that? If you renege, you’ve agreed to repay your fare and expenses.”
She clutched her reticule so tightly he wondered how the beads didn’t come off in her hands. Her despair washed over him in waves. An urge he’d thought long dead welled up, an absurd desire to wrap his arms around her and offer his protection.
Madness. He had a job to do, which didn’t include coddling a woman who hated him. Had they met under different circumstances, he wouldn’t have hesitated to pursue her. In spite of the obstacles, if he thought he had a chance…
“Very well,” she said curtly. “I’ll let the others know of your decision.”
Before she could turn to go, he nabbed her arm and she jerked away as if his touch burned. Fair enough. He had been, out of necessity, unkind. Still, he had to know what she’d hoped to accomplish when she had signed that contract and boarded the Bride Train.
“Why did you come out here, Mrs. Braddock?”
She lifted her chin, and her eyes flashed with anger and a challenge. “For one reason, to find an honorable man who would be a good father to my son. That is still my goal, but I won’t be forced into a bad marriage. If you refuse me the time I need, I vow I will come up with the money to repay the railroad.”
Hannah help him, she was magnificent. She had more grit than most men. Even her stubbornness was to be admired. In addition to being brave and beautiful, she was also loyal to her friends and kind to everyone—with one exception. And he couldn’t blame her for resenting him, despite the fact that he was only doing his job.
“Can you come up with the money in two weeks?” He hoped she had a plan.
Her stricken expression gave him the answer. “What will you do if I can’t?”
The question stumped him. He hadn’t imagined it would come to that, supposing she would surrender and he wouldn’t have to finish the battle.
Ross moved to the desk to give himself time to come up with a reply. If he did nothing, it would make him appear weak and ineffectual. A useless figurehead was exactly what the hotheads needed to convert more men to their cause in opposing the railroad. His other choice was to take her to court, which would make him look like a bully and turn his few supporters against him. Not only that, but he had no stomach for treating ladies like criminals.
He picked up his father’s letter. There was another option. He could pay back the money she owed the railroad. In part, that would make up for how he’d treated her earlier. But it would also free her to consider other men—him, for example.
She’d as soon spit on him as take his charity, and he hadn’t yet earned the right to woo her.
On the other hand, if he could win her, he would get a woman he wanted and a wife to take home to Texas. He planned to marry anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt his cause to bring home a lady like Susannah; downing two birds with one stone seemed a logical move.
“Mr. Hardt, before you decide on a course of action please consider the fact that I have a young son.” Her tone wasn’t pleading—she wouldn’t beg, not her—but he could sense her desperation. That might work in his favor.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m aware of that.” He turned to face her. Two weeks, that’s all he had. He’d set the deadline himself and had to stick to it. How could he free her from her obligation to become one of the settlers’ brides, but at the same time, keep her close enough to woo her?
Offer her a chance to earn her freedom. She would be far more amenable to a discussion about marriage if not forced into it. He understood that about her, and felt much the same way.
“Is your handwriting legible?”
Her angry frown dissolved into puzzlement. “My handwriting is exemplary. Why do you ask?”
“You might be interested in a job, it pays enoug
h to cover your fare and expenses.”
Her woeful expression transformed into one of hopefulness, which made her appear younger and achingly innocent. An illusion. She’d been married and had borne a son, so she was hardly innocent. What did it matter? Unlike Olivia, who had claimed to be innocent, Susannah didn’t put on airs, and she didn’t pretend feelings she didn’t have. He could expect honesty from her, and that was the most important quality in a wife.
“What is this job? When can I start?” She took a step in his direction, no longer wringing her hands. In fact, she appeared willing—even eager—to work her way out of her predicament, just as he’d expected.
“You can start right now…as my assistant.”
Chapter 2
“Your assistant?” Susannah repeated what she’d heard, because she was certain she had heard wrong. Mr. Hardt hadn’t just offered her a job. He wouldn’t do that. He would take her to court and see her locked up, or he’d have her thrown out into the street. He wouldn’t ask her to work for him. Or would he?
She studied his face. As usual, his implacable expression told her nothing about what was going on in his mind. The insufferable man made a game out of tormenting her. He seemed to be around every corner. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was following her.
“Do you…do you mean to offer me a job…working…for you?” She’d never had a problem with stammering before she’d met him.
“I do mean it. I need an assistant”—he gestured at the clutter on the desk—“to get this organized and help me catch up on correspondence. It would be a temporary position, but I could pay you enough to cover what you owe.”
Who was this man? She’d never seen him before. The Ross Hardt she knew wouldn’t be stricken with compassion. He must have an ulterior motive, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what it might be. Her unforgiving father had been easier to fathom.
“What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Organize files. Write letters. Keep the office tidy.”
That sounded easy enough.
Susannah approached the desk, trying to ignore the fluttering in her chest. She’d felt the same reaction the day she’d arrived on the train and he had taken her hand to assist her, welcoming her to Centralia in a low drawl. Then he’d whisked her and the other ladies off the platform and had immediately tried to pawn them off on strangers. He’d disappointed and infuriated her, and since that day they’d been adversaries. She should’ve gotten over this nonsensical attraction by now. How galling to be drawn to the one man charged with marrying her off, and whose only requirement for a suitor was that he be male and breathing.
“What do you say, Mrs. Braddock? Do we have a deal?”
Standing next to him, she felt a kinship to Red Riding Hood. The wolf had pretended kindness, too.
Despite his fancy suit, Mr. Hardt appeared more wild than tame. Rugged was a word that fit. He was tall with broad-shoulders, and his face—more compelling than handsome—was made up of harsh, angular lines. Even his broad hands, with tufts of dark hair on the back and on his square-tipped fingers, looked hard. There was nothing soft about him, except perhaps the color of his eyes—deep velvet blue, framed by long black lashes.
Oh dear. She was coming up with poetic images to describe his features now? Taking this job might not be a good idea.
On the other hand, she couldn’t afford to turn down such a generous offer. She had to think about her son and do what was best for him, which meant finding him a good father. This job would give her the freedom to consider other men besides the ones the railroad agent would select for her.
“Yes, we have a deal.” She didn’t put out her hand. His touch would be too disconcerting. “I’d be able to come over in the afternoons. Mornings I help out at the Lagonda House.”
“They employ you?”
“We clean rooms and cook in exchange for room and board.”
His eyebrows, which had a slight arc like a bird’s wing, lowered in a thoughtful frown. “You should be paid for your work. You aren’t a slave.”
How simple he made it sound. For men, perhaps it was. Women weren’t in a position to make demands, and their choices were limited. “What do you know about slavery, Mr. Hardt?”
“More than you do, I’d wager.”
Based on what she had heard, Ross Hardt hailed from Texas, a former Confederate state. His family might’ve owned slaves. Yet, he’d fought for the Union. What had compelled him to choose that side? She was curious but had no business probing into her new boss’s personal life.
“I worked in a garment factory. Believe me, I know a great deal about slavery.” She turned over a few of the papers on his desk. “None of this makes sense to me. You’ll have to tell me what it is if you want me to organize it.”
“Easily done.”
What good fortune had befallen her? She’d arrived with the hope, at best, to convince an immovable object to move just a little. Instead, her adversary had given her the means to be free. She didn’t understand why, but wouldn’t waste time looking a gift horse in the mouth.
Her friends might not be so lucky. She’d promised to plead their case, too. Poor Hope had set her cap for the preacher, who wasn’t even on the list of eligible settlers. Delilah distrusted men in general. So much so, it was surprising she’d agreed to marry, and it would take a special man to draw her out of her shell. Both women needed an extended period of grace. But they were too intimidated to approach the unbending railroad agent.
“Miss Bodean and Miss Waverly may not be able to meet your deadline.” She glanced over, hoping she hadn’t depleted the ogre’s good will. The message he’d left stated that all three of them had only two weeks to choose husbands before being declared in breach of contract.
He drew a folded letter out of an envelope and perused the contents before handing it to her. “Board correspondence… I’m counting on your help in finding them husbands.”
Susannah took the letter, her mouth hanging open. “You want my advice on matchmaking?”
“Who else is more qualified?”
Not a hint of sarcasm. He had to be ill—nothing else would explain this reversal in his attitude.
“You weren’t interested in my ideas before.”
“I changed my mind.”
“You do that often?”
“Upon rare occasions.”
She was surprised at his dry wit, having thought he was humorless, and felt ridiculously pleased that he would trust her opinion.
He lifted a stack of official-looking documents and set them in front of her. “Land claims. Unapproved.”
Susannah jerked her attention back to the desk. For heaven’s sake, he hadn’t asked her to a dance, he’d offered her a job, so she had best pay attention. She knew enough about the ongoing land dispute to assume the large stack wasn’t a good sign. The settlers were anxious to resolve their claims, and the railroad was just as anxious to get their money for the land. The problem stemmed from a disagreement over price. Men who agreed to the price set by the railroad, and took a bride in the bargain, were given priority. “Where are the claims you’ve approved?”
He pointed with an ink-stained finger at a much smaller stack. How had he managed to get ink all over his hands and shirtsleeve? Earlier, she’d nearly burst out laughing when he’d rubbed his hand over his face and left behind a smudge.
She picked up his pen and examined it, before placing it carefully into a crystal inkwell housed in a cast iron holder. The instrument didn’t appear to need a new nib. Perhaps he wasn’t careful to shake off the excess ink. “You…you have a spot of ink…there, by your mouth.”
“Where?”
Susannah caught his wrist before his stained fingers reached his face, snatched a handkerchief from his vest pocket and wiped his chin. “You’ll make a mess. Your fingers are dirty—”
She realized what she’d done about the time his expression shifted from dispassion to disbelief. She thrust the handke
rchief into his hand and stepped back. Cleaning his face wasn’t part of the job. “You’ll want to wipe your hands.”
His heated gaze seared a path through her chest. He held her in that hot stare for another breathless moment before wiping his fingers with jerky motions.
In spite of the warm temperature, Susannah shivered. What was she thinking? She wasn’t thinking. Motherly instincts. Oh come now, that had nothing to do with motherly instincts. One would think she’d learned her lesson after being so foolish once before. Desire was dangerous, and it would lead her quite literally down the path to hell. Thankfully, Mr. Hardt hadn’t taken advantage of what any other man would consider a blatant invitation. She was embarrassed—yes—and humbled, but her reputation remained intact.
“I am sorry.” She owed him an apology, at the very least.
“No need to be,” he said curtly.
“I’ve angered you.”
“No. You haven’t.” He glanced at her briefly, another heated look, but then turned away and went to retrieve his hat from a coat rack near the door.
Her chest grew tight. He might’ve changed his mind about hiring her after she displayed such a wanton lack of propriety. “Are you leaving?”
“I must speak with Captain Goldman about an urgent matter.” He ran his fingers through his thick black hair, before securing the wide-brimmed hat on his head. “There’s an extra key in the top drawer, lock up when you leave. We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll see you just after noon.”
As the door clicked shut, Susannah released a pent-up breath. To say she’d escaped by a hair would be understating the danger. Having some knowledge of men, she’d recognized the carnal interest that had appeared in his eyes. To his credit, he hadn’t acted on his impulses. She must give him no reason to do so.
Susannah returned to the desk, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to tidy up a bit. He’d left the handkerchief he had used to clean his fingers. The cloth smelled of ink and the vaguely spicy cologne he favored, which he’d been wearing when he’d sat beside her at church just to be annoying, or so she’d thought. The scent intrigued her, as did many things about him. Even though she would never admit to anyone she found anything about Ross Hardt intriguing. This inexplicable fascination would remain another one of her dark secrets.
