Beauty for Ashes (9 page)

Nate glanced around the cluttered bookshop. “You could help me out here,” he blurted.

“What?”

“Since Mrs. Whitcomb can’t hire you, I’ll pay you to assist me.”

“Nate, I—”

“Just look at this place. It’s a disgrace. If folks had another bookshop close by, they’d never darken my door.” He set down his pipe. “Not that too many folks have been coming around lately anyway. If this depression doesn’t end soon, I don’t know that I can continue to hang on.”

She saw how much that prospect hurt him. Books were his passion.

“What about your college accounts?”

“Barely keeping me afloat for now. The locals don’t come around anymore. Nobody has money for extras like books. And with only three trains a week, the business I’m getting from travelers is not enough to take up the slack.”

“Then I can’t let you spend money on me. I’m grateful, from the bottom of my heart. But I wouldn’t feel right, taking your money at a time like this.”

He drew her to her feet. “I must go. I’m expecting a shipment of books this afternoon. Meanwhile, I hope you’ll reconsider my offer of employment.”

Carrie stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, but I’ll get by.”

He sighed. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing, going off on your own like this.”

She blew out a long breath. “So do I.”

He walked her to the door and opened it, jingling the little bell. Somewhere far off a dog howled with such mournfulness that Carrie was assailed with doubt and longing. She missed the farm and the life she’d left behind. And now she’d turned down a chance to earn her keep. Had she made the right decision?

SIX

Carrie woke to sun pouring in her window and the sound of hoof beats in the street below. Leaving her bed, she crossed to the window and peered out in time to see Ada Caldwell emerging from her rig.

She dressed and grabbed her straw hat, hastily pinning up her hair as she descended the creaky staircase. She glanced into the kitchen, where Rachel and Rosaleen sat at the table. The smells of boiling coffee and burned biscuits filled the air. Torn between happiness at seeing Ada and complete mortification to be found living in such a shabby place, she hurried along the threadbare carpet and opened the door for her friend.

“Carrie?” Ada swept into the parlor and peeled off her gloves. “I stopped by the farm this morning, only to be told that you’ve moved here.”

Carrie nodded. “The Verandah isn’t much to look at, but the other residents are kind. Not a one of them has tossed a snake into my face, punched me in the stomach, routed me from my own bed, or ordered me about like a servant.”

“Oh my dear, was it really as bad as all that?”

“I’m afraid so.”

A burst of laughter from the kitchen punctuated her words.

Carrie fiddled with the ribbons on her hat. “I’d offer you some coffee and biscuits, but I’m afraid they aren’t very—”

“Nonsense.” Ada looped her arm through Carrie’s. “Let’s buy something decadent from the bakery and go to the park. I haven’t been there in ages.”

Carrie hesitated. A morning in the park with her friend was much more appealing than sitting in the parlor watching Rosaleen deal her cards, each one falling onto the table with a little slapping sound. But her finances didn’t allow for bought baked goods.

“My treat,” Ada said. “Come on.”

They left the hotel and crossed the street to the bakery. Ada chose a couple of small strawberry tarts, and they set off. The bright spring sunshine and Ada’s company acted like a tonic on Carrie’s spirits. She laughed along with her friend as Ada described her son’s antics and Wyatt’s efforts at teaching Sophie to fish.

Ada tethered the horse at the rail and led the way across the pale grass to the gazebo. Opening the bag, she handed Carrie a tart, then bit into her own. “Now, tell me,” she began, “what’s holding up your nuptials to Nate Chastain?”

Carrie blinked. Had Ada always been so blunt? Maybe that was what life on a rough-and-tumble ranch did to a person. She brushed crumbs from her skirt. “I’m not sure I can put it into words. I have prayed to know whether Nate is the one God has in mind for me, but I honestly don’t know the answer.”

“Does Nate love you?”

“I think so, in his own fashion. But sometimes he seems so keen to be married that I think any woman will do.”

“Do you love him?”

“I thought I did—until Mr. Rutledge arrived. But now I am more confused than ever.”

Ada’s lovely gray eyes widened. “Surely Mr. Rutledge hasn’t declared himself already?”

“Good heavens, no. I’ve spoken to him only twice . . . well, three times counting the day he saved me from being trampled. But there’s something about him, Ada. I think about him more often than I should. I can’t explain it really.”

“What does your brother think of all this?”

“I haven’t spoken to him since the day I moved out.”

“Oh, Carrie. I understand Mary Stanhope can be most difficult, but I hate to see anything come between you and Henry.” Ada placed a hand on Carrie’s arm. “Can’t you forgive Mary and make your peace with the situation? Our Lord requires—”

Carrie nodded. “I know what I’m supposed to do, but it isn’t that easy.” She bit into her tart and watched a noisy blue jay darting in and out of the trees. “I don’t blame Henry. He’s entitled to a life of his own. And he’s caught in an impossible situation, trying to please both Mary and me. I’m not angry with him. But I can’t go home and allow Mary and her rude children to rule my life either.”

“Of course not.” Ada polished off her tart and wiped her fingers on her handkerchief. “Perhaps after some time has passed, you can have a talk with them. Give Mary another chance.”

Carrie shrugged.

“Does Nate know about all of this?”

“Yes. He hasn’t said much, but I feel he disapproves too.” Carrie got to her feet. “It’s all a big mess. I don’t know what’s right anymore.”

“I know how you feel. When Wyatt first proposed I was terribly confused, even though I loved him more than anything.” Ada put an arm around Carrie’s shoulder. “I nearly lost him because of my own fears. Pray about this, my dear, and then have the faith to act.”

“I have prayed about it. But I feel more uncertain than ever.” A gust of wind loosened the ribbons on her hat, and she reached up to retie them. “Maybe I’m asking God the wrong questions.”

“Sometimes I feel that way too,” Ada said. “That’s when I pray the prayer that never fails: Thy will be done.”

“Maybe.”

“It would break my heart if you lost your chance at happiness.”

Carrie swallowed the hard knot in her throat. What would bring her true happiness? Would she even recognize happiness if it came calling?

Ada consulted the tiny gold watch she wore in a chain around her neck. “I should get back. I promised Wyatt I’d be packed and ready by four o’clock.”

“You’re leaving today?”

Ada nodded. “This evening.”

So soon? Carrie felt like bawling, but she kept her voice light. “You’d better write to me. I can’t wait to hear what Sophie is up to and how Wade liked staying with his grandpa.”

They crossed the park, climbed into Ada’s rented rig, and returned to the Verandah.

“Good-bye, Carrie.” Ada squeezed Carrie’s hand. “Nate is a good and decent man, but all men have their limitations. It isn’t in their nature to postpone their desires indefinitely.” Ada smiled. “Don’t make him wait too long.”

Carrie got out of the rig. “Thank you for the tart. And the advice.”

Ada waved, turned the rig, and headed down the street to the Hickory Ridge Inn. Carrie shaded her eyes and watched her friend drive away. Was Ada right? Was she in danger of losing her chance at happiness? She tried to imagine herself as Mrs. Nate Chastain, but it was Griff Rutledge’s face that rose in her mind.

Ridiculous. She shook off the preposterous thought and climbed the steps to the hotel.

Griff finished a breakfast of eggs, grits, and biscuits and downed his second cup of coffee. He shaved and then donned the gray wool suit he’d sent out to be freshened. He tucked the report he’d received by wire into his pocket and descended the stairs just as an attractive woman in a stylish feathered hat entered the lobby. He nodded, then stopped short. “Well, hello. It’s Mrs. Caldwell, isn’t it?”

She looked up, startled. “Mr. Rutledge.”

“How kind. You remembered. Wasn’t that wedding something? I can’t remember the last time I saw such a beautiful cake.”

“Mrs. Daly is an accomplished baker.”

“So I gathered.” He bowed. “It was lovely seeing you, Mrs. Caldwell. Please forgive my haste. I’m late for an appointment.”

She nodded.

Leaving the inn, he crossed the street and hurried past Gilman’s bank, the bookshop, and the mercantile, which was already buzzing with customers. At the entrance to the Verandah Hotel, he paused to collect his thoughts. When it came to doing business with a man, he considered himself a master. Women, however, were a different matter entirely.

He opened the door and went inside.

SEVEN

She sat in the parlor dressed in a bright yellow frock that contrasted with her dark hair, so engrossed in her game that she hadn’t heard his approach. On the table in front of her, next to a chipped coffee mug, a deck of cards fanned out. Watching her nimble fingers flip the cards, Griff felt as if no time at all had passed since their last encounter. He doubted she even remembered.

“Hello, Rosaleen.” His voice echoed in the empty room.

Her hands stilled. “Griff.”

Her head came up. Her lips curved into a sardonic smile. “I figured you’d find me sooner or later. But I didn’t expect it would be here.”

“You didn’t make it easy for me.”

She shrugged. “A girl has to make a living. After what happened in New Orleans—”

He tamped down his anger. “I wouldn’t bring up New Orleans if I were you.”

She tossed the cards onto the table. “Want some coffee? It’s bitter as sin, but—”

“No thank you.”

“A brandy then. I think Mrs. Whitcomb has some around here somewhere.”

“I don’t drink in the morning. Quit stalling. You know why I’ve come.”

“Yes, Griff, I believe I do.” She sashayed over to him and planted a firm kiss on his mouth. “Aren’t you going to say a proper hello? It’s been a long time.”

“Yes. Much too long.” He drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “Recognize this?”

Her eyes clouded. “You know I do. But surely you aren’t going to hold me to that silly old IOU.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because I’m poor as a church mouse and you have plenty of money.” She handed the paper back. “You won’t miss this paltry sum at all.”

“I had money, but there was a war. You might have heard about it.”

“That’s ridiculous. Your family still owns the plantation on the river and that beautiful old house in Charleston, not to mention all the money you earned from—”

“Why, you little minx. How is it that you know so much about my holdings? Have you been checking up on me?”

“No. Well, maybe a little. But, Griff, don’t be mad.”

He laughed. “I’m not mad. I admire your acumen. But the fact remains that you owe me money. Quite a lot of money. And now I need it.”

“Well, I don’t have it.” She swept one arm around the room. “Do you think I’d be living here if I could afford anything better? And you’ve obviously been checking up on me too.”

He didn’t deny it. “What in the Sam Hill are you doing in a town like Hickory Ridge? Far as I can tell, there’s not a gambling house between here and Nashville.”

She sent him a mysterious smile. “There is if you know where to look.”

“Nevertheless. I know you. You didn’t come all this way to cheat the good people of Hickory Ridge out of a few dollars. There’s some other reason you’re here.”

She glanced away. “What if there is? It has nothing to do with you.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” He caught her chin in his hand. “All I want from you is my money. And soon.”

“All right. I’ll get your blasted money.” She grabbed a handful of cards and flung them at him. “You’re certainly no gentleman, Griff Rutledge.”