That would make marrying her even more difficult than it was now.
He climbed up the steps of the hotel porch and kicked his boots against the railing before opening the door and entering. A comforting warmth from the fireplace touched his cheeks, and he wandered into the parlor as though drawn by an invisible force. He pulled off his gloves, noting that he needed to replace them, and held his hands out to the fire, enjoying the heat that radiated up into his arms.
The front door opened and then closed, and he heard rapid footsteps behind him. “Mr. Baxter?”
He didn’t respond for a moment, but then realized he was being addressed and turned around. Miss Waterford looked even more beautiful with her cheeks touched by the cold air, but she also looked angry. What was the matter?
“Yes, Miss Waterford?”
She glanced around and then took a step forward. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
“Of course.” He held out his hand, inviting her to take one of the parlor chairs, which was really quite ridiculous because she lived here and he was just a guest. She set her bundle on the table, took a seat, and pulled off her own gloves, placing them beside her.
“Mr. Baxter, I don’t believe in playing silly games, so I’ll come straight to the point, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” And that would end the mystery all the sooner.
“To say that I’m not flattered would be a lie. Of course I am—any girl would be. However, there are certain boundaries that must be maintained, and you . . . well, you’ve flounced all over them like they don’t even exist.”
He blinked a few times, not comprehending in the slightest. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”
She exhaled loudly. “The ribbons, Mr. Baxter. I’m talking about the ribbons.”
It would be pointless to pretend he hadn’t done it, so he gave up any idea of pretense. “I didn’t realize they’d upset you.”
She looked at him as if she couldn’t understand how he could be so dense. He wished she’d explain it, because he truly didn’t know what he’d done wrong. “Gifts are personal, Mr. Baxter, and giving a lady a gift of clothing or something like it—that’s even more personal. It’s presumptuous to think that we’d have any kind of relationship, and the fact that you assume that I’d accept such a . . . a personal gift . . . I don’t know what you intended by that, but it was most inappropriate.”
Heat flooded David’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Miss Waterford. I never meant to presume anything, or to give you any false impressions. I just . . . well, I meant for it to be a nice surprise. Honestly, that’s all.”
She studied his eyes for a moment, and he wondered what she saw in them. He hoped his complete humiliation was obvious—he couldn’t believe he’d done something so offensive. But then, he’d had no sisters, and he’d never courted before, so he had no way of knowing what was acceptable or expected.
Finally, she gave him a small nod. “All right, Mr. Baxter, I believe you. You don’t seem to have any ulterior motives lurking beneath the surface, and I suppose I’ve embarrassed you enough. I hope you understand, though, that I can’t accept these.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small paper-wrapped parcel.
“I do understand, now that you’ve been kind enough to explain it, and again, I apologize.” He accepted the parcel, relieved that she was so quick to forgive. Would that forgiveness extend to his lie about his name, or was he using up his one and only chance with her right now?
She rose. “I’ll be going. I only stopped by the hotel to yell at you and return your gift.” She flashed him a bright smile, gathered up her large package from the table, and left again, taking the life out of the room with her.
David came to his feet and watched her leave, then sank back into his chair. Women were complicated, with all their rules. He wished there was some sort of book or newspaper article that would spell it all out for him. He didn’t imagine there would be a list titled, “Appropriate Gifts for a Young Lady after She Has Stitched up a Wounded Horse.” That would be far too easy, and apparently, there wasn’t supposed to be anything easy about women.
The first girl he’d ever loved was a brunette beauty named Virginia Norman. He was seventeen, she was sixteen, and she knew the power she had over every young man in Kansas City, where he and his parents lived at the time. One glance over her shoulder, one flutter of her eyelashes, and the world was hers. But then she went abroad with her grandmother, and the last he heard, she’d married some Frenchman who ran a fancy hat shop. That seemed fitting, as she’d always loved hats.
Then David’s father decided to sell their Kansas City ranch and move to Wichita. He wanted more land and a fresh start, so they relocated, and David’s mother was just sure David would find the perfect wife once they were settled. She badly wanted grandchildren before she passed away—she’d had David when she was a bit older, and she felt that if he didn’t marry soon, she’d miss out on that opportunity. He’d told her she was wrong, that there was plenty of time, but the joke was on him because she was actually right. She’d died when David was twenty-three, and his father passed away from grief the following year.
Now David was twenty-six, the owner of a good-sized ranch, all alone, and apparently destined to stay that way because he was a bumbling idiot who didn’t know that he wasn’t supposed to buy hair ribbons.
Was there anything he could do to make up for that, or would he be better off heading back to Wichita?
***
Mrs. Dempsey ran a small boarding house just down the street a short distance from the Brody Hotel. Grace had said that she was more than willing to let the waitresses come over and use her sewing machine, and Camille hoped they’d have time to get a little bit of work done before it was too late in the evening. It had been such a long day and she was eager to climb into bed, but she needed to get her dresses made as quickly as possible.
Grace rapped on the door of the boarding house, and it was answered by a plump older lady with a beaming face. “Hello, Grace dear. This must be a new friend.”
“That’s right. Mrs. Dempsey, this is Camille. She’s only been with us a few days.”
“Well, do come in. I must say, I’ll be glad to hear some female chatter around here. My boarders of late have all been stodgy old businessmen, and I’m all but starved for some companionship.”
She showed the girls into the room where the sewing machine was kept, and Camille ran her fingers over the top. “My mother’s friend had a sewing machine, but she didn’t let anyone else use it,” she said. “Thank you for letting us come over, Mrs. Dempsey.”
“It’s not a problem at all. Machines are meant to be used, and I don’t do enough sewing to keep it all to myself. Now, why don’t you get started, and I’ll go make us some tea.”
Camille didn’t actually care for tea, but she wasn’t about to turn down this woman’s generosity.
“So, tell me,” Grace said as soon as the other woman had bustled out of the room. “What did Mr. Baxter say about the ribbons?” She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “You did talk to him, didn’t you?”
“I did—I caught up to him in the parlor. He admitted to it right off and apologized. I don’t think he knew what a horrible position he’d put me in—he seemed properly embarrassed.”
Grace smirked. “Properly? You mean, there’s a correct amount that he should have been embarrassed?”
“Well, of course.” Camille took the dark blue fabric from her package and spread it out on the table in the center of the room. “If he wasn’t at least a little embarrassed, he wouldn’t understand what he did wrong. If he was too embarrassed, he might never speak to me again, and that wouldn’t be good either. It’s a matter of balance, you see.”
“You seem to have this all worked out.”
“It’s important to have a plan, a system, don’t you think? It makes things so much easier. Now, would you please smooth out that side?”
Between the two of
them, the girls got the fabric laid out, then Grace handed Camille the pattern pieces one at a time. Camille had only worked with paper patterns a few times before, but she remembered how to use them, and soon, she was cutting out the first dress. The girls kept talking as they worked.
“So, you want him to keep paying attention to you, then?” Grace asked.
“Well, yes,” Camille said. “He really didn’t mean anything by it, and he’s rather handsome, and I think I should get to know him a little bit better.”
“Does the fact that he’s handsome make it easier to forgive him?” Grace handed her a few straight pins.
“It probably has a lot to do with it.” Camille grinned. “I have eyes in my head and they work perfectly well, so I think it’s only natural that I’d notice what the man looks like. Right now, though, that’s all I know about him. I think it would do both of us a disservice if I didn’t take a moment to get to know him as a person and not just a handsome face.”
“He’s been in town for one day, and already you’re concerned about doing him a disservice?” Grace chuckled and shook her head. “You’re an odd one, Camille.”
“I’m an odd one who believes in doing what’s right, and if he’s truly penitent, I should give him a chance to redeem himself. Now, where are the scissors?”
Using the sewing machine was like a dream. The needle moved up and down so fast, much faster than Camille could ever have managed on her own, and by the time her eyes were too heavy to focus anymore, they’d gotten quite a lot of work done on her dress.
“You can come back anytime, dears,” Mrs. Dempsey told them. “I don’t have anyone using this room at present, so if you’d like to leave your project as is, no one will touch it.”
“That would be very helpful. Thank you,” Camille said, and she and Grace headed out into the chilly night to walk back to the hotel. She couldn’t wait for winter to be over and spring to begin—she was so tired of being cold.
Chapter Eight
When the morning train arrived the next day, David lingered in the doorway for a moment to see which tables were Camille’s, and then he purposely chose a different one. He wanted to give her a little time, an opportunity to let her feelings settle before he approached her again. She’d said she’d forgiven him, but he knew how emotions sometimes simmered beneath the surface for a while after something unfortunate happened. He might not know a lot about women, but he did know that much.
As he walked over to the seat he’d chosen, he noticed Mr. and Mrs. Brody sitting at a table in the corner, chatting with a dark-haired woman. He didn’t think anything of it at first, but then he looked again. Was that Caroline Dupree?
Rather than continuing to his seat, he veered left and approached. Mrs. Brody looked up at him and smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Baxter. Would you care to join us for breakfast?”
“Are you sure I’m not intruding?”
“Of course not. Please, do sit down.”
“All right, then, I’d like that very much. Thank you.”
He took a seat and glanced at Caroline. She quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything.
“Aunt Caroline, this is Jem Baxter, one of our guests,” Mr. Brody said. “Mr. Baxter, Caroline Dupree.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Baxter,” Caroline replied, inclining her head.
“Likewise, Mrs. Dupree,” he returned. What on earth was Caroline doing here? Had she come to check on him? That was so like her—she’d taken him under her wing as though he was some sort of baby chick. He couldn’t say that he resented it, though. He needed to be looked after, oftentimes more than he’d like to admit.
“Caroline helped Adam start the hotel,” Mrs. Brody said by way of explanation. “But then she married and moved to Wichita, and this is her first visit back since then.”
“Do you find it much changed since you left, Mrs. Dupree?” David asked. He hoped she’d be willing to play along—what if she gave him away?
“The hotel itself is very much the same, but most of the waitresses are new to me,” Caroline replied. “How are you enjoying your stay in Topeka, Mr. Baxter?”
“It’s a very pleasant place,” he said, relieved that she’d paid attention to his assumed name. “In fact, I might stay another day or two. Would that be all right, Mrs. Brody?” He turned to address the other woman at the table.
“Of course. I’ll make a note of it.”
One of the waitresses—David believed her name was Polly—bustled up just then and delivered plates to Caroline and Mr. and Mrs. Brody. “And for you, Mr. Baxter?” she asked.
He was surprised that she remembered him. They must deal with hundreds of hotel guests every month. “I’ll take the same as Mr. Brody. It looks delicious.”
“Good choice. I’ll be right back.”
Caroline took a few bites of her eggs, then turned to David. “Tell me, Mr. Baxter. Where are you from?”
David swallowed. She seemed to be enjoying this just a little bit too much. Just what kind of trouble was she trying to stir up? “Colorado,” he finally managed.
“I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard it’s lovely country. Lots of mountains.”
“Yes. Mountains.” He nodded a few times. Why had he chosen Colorado? He’d never been there either.
“And what do you do in Colorado?”
“I’m a rancher.” At least he didn’t have to lie about that—he was pretty sure they had ranches in Colorado. It sounded like a ranch sort of place.
He was saved from further embarrassment when Polly slid his plate of griddle cakes in front of him and he was able to concentrate on eating rather than being polite. A moment later, Mr. Brody excused himself to go deal with a business matter up front, and then Mrs. Brody left to take care of something in the kitchen. David was left with just Caroline at the table.
Just as he knew she would, she immediately began asking him questions. “Mr. Baxter? David, what sort of game are you playing?”
David lifted a shoulder helplessly. “A very bad one, apparently. I thought that if Miss Waterford didn’t know who I was, I could check on her without causing her any distress. But the story has snowballed, and I don’t know how to extricate myself. I think the best thing for me to do is just leave and go back to Wichita.”
Caroline raised her eyebrow again. She seemed to do that a lot. “Wasn’t that your plan the whole time?”
“It was, but then I saw her and spoke with her, and she’s the most amazing young woman I’ve ever met. I’d be a fool to walk away.”
“And you’re not a fool for lying to her about who you are? David, I’m surprised at you. I really am.”
“I know . . . it’s all a big mess, and I keep making it worse. I bought her a gift yesterday and didn’t realize it was inappropriate, so now she thinks I’m expecting something out of our acquaintance, and I’ve made so many wrong turns, I don’t know if I’ll ever get it straightened out.” He gripped his fork tighter in frustration.
Caroline shook her head, clearly amused. “And just what did you buy her that could be so bad?”
He looked down at the table, feeling sheepish. Every time he thought about it, the whole thing became more and more ridiculous. “Some hair ribbons. I asked the store owner to give them to her anonymously, but she figured out it was me.”
“Oh, David,” Caroline said with a long-suffering sigh. “If I’d known you were going to speak to the girl, I would have given you some direction as to what to say and how to behave—you really are something of a Neanderthal, aren’t you?”
“When it comes to romance, yes,” he admitted. “If women were like horses, this would be a lot easier.”
Polly came around and refilled their coffee cups, and both David and Caroline fell silent until she moved away again. Then Caroline spoke. “They really aren’t all that different.”
“What? Are you comparing members of the fairer sex to beasts of burden? Come now, Caroline—surely you can’t mean that.” He enjoyed teasing
her just as much as she enjoyed teasing him.
“I do mean it, although not the way you think. I’ll draw you some parallels, if it will help you understand how these things work.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and placed it on the table. “First of all, how do you approach a horse if you’re preparing to ride—from the left or the right?”
What sort of elementary question was that? “From the left, of course.”
She nodded. “What happens if you try to mount a horse from the right?”
“It gets confused and skittish.”
She tapped the table with the side of her fist. “There you have it—lesson one. Always approach a woman in the correct way or she’ll become skittish.”
David chuckled. “All right. So, what is the right way?”
“Slowly. Gently. Just like you’d speak to a horse.”
He could see that, but there had to be more. “What about sharing your feelings with her? How does that translate into horse speak? I can hardly neigh at her—although, now that I think on it, that might be amusing. Ineffective, but amusing.”
Caroline reached out to the center of the table, where a small bowl held sugar cubes. She put one in the palm of her hand and held it toward him, as though she offered it to a horse. “Cover it with lots of sugar. If she wants it, she’ll accept it. If she doesn’t, she won’t. But you have to be straightforward—if you don’t keep your palm flat, the horse might bite your hand, right? It’s the same with girls. Show them everything in your hand—don’t hold anything back.”
David laughed again, shaking his head. “All right, Mrs. Dupree who was born and raised in New York City, how do you know so much about horses?”
“I’ve made a fair number of friends since coming to Kansas, and some of them are ranchers.” She gave him a broad smile. “I do pay attention to things when we visit your property, you know.”
“I hope I can learn your lessons as well as you’ve learned mine.” David placed his napkin on the table, and Polly came and whisked away all the dishes. “Can you teach me how to take back a lie?” he asked Caroline when they were alone again.
A Begrudging Bride (Kansas Crossroads Book 11) Page 5
