Colorado Courtship: Winter of Dreams / The Rancher's Sweetheart
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The bubbles tickled her nose before she could get her lips to edge of the glass. Startled, she drew back.
Her employer lifted his glass and took a long swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the collar of his white shirt.
Violet took a dainty sip, blinked at the carbonation and then drank a swallow. The overpowering bite and syrupy sweetness took her by surprise. Her eyes watered. “Oh, my.”
Ben Charles grinned, his full mouth inching into a smile that revealed his teeth and an appealing dimple in his cheek. “Is this your first cola?”
“You must think me very unsophisticated.”
“Your reaction is charming.” He nodded toward the pantry. “Did you find the supplies adequate?”
“I’ll need a few things, but for the most part the pantry is well stocked.”
“Good. The iceman comes by every other day, and the dairy truck stops early each morning. Set the empty bottles outside the back door the night before. When you need wood replenished, leave Henry a message on the chalkboard.”
Violet noted the wood-framed chalkboard near the door. “Everything seems quite efficient.”
“Things run smoothly when they’re organized. Having you here is going to take a big load from my shoulders. I’m not much of a cook.” He finished his drink. “Can you manage supper with what’s here?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll shop tomorrow. I was wondering...”
“What were you wondering?”
“If it might be possible to keep a few chickens.”
He appeared to think for only a moment. “I don’t see why not. If you want to take care of them.”
“I wouldn’t mind. I need eggs to make good coffee.”
He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Coffee?”
“Äggkaffe,” she explained. “I learned from my Swedish father how to make coffee.”
“All right. As weather permits I’ll see about constructing a coop out of the wind.”
“What time would you prefer to have your supper?” she asked.
“We’re used to eating at six.”
She gave a nod to confirm. “Six it shall be.”
“I’ll leave you to your work,” he said. “If you need anything, Tessa is no doubt still upstairs reading and I’ll be right next door.” He set his glass in the basin, and pointed to a door she’d assumed led to a cellar. “Through there.”
He strode to the door and opened it. Violet imagined cold dank air seeping from the other side, but all she saw was a chalkboard just like the one in this room before he closed the door and was gone from sight.
A shiver ran up her spine.
A connecting door.
Everything about her new job had seemed so perfect only moments ago. But now she knew there was a door connecting the place where she’d be spending the majority of her time to the funeral parlor.
Somehow she had to learn to ignore that door and do her job. It was her only choice. Back in Ohio there were people who believed she’d started a fire that had destroyed the bakery where she’d worked.
Her employer had made it clear a year ago that he wanted her to marry his son. Wade Finney had been in trouble so many times, Violet had lost count. He constantly caused an uproar at a local establishment or came to work reeking of alcohol and stale tobacco. Sometimes his friends showed up during work hours and enticed him away from his job. Wade was trouble and she’d held no intentions of marrying him, but his father had constantly pressured her to give Wade a chance. All he needed was a good woman to settle him down, he’d say.
Wade was an only child and Mr. Finney had reminded her often that the bakery would go to his son and whomever he married. While Violet wanted nothing more than to own her own bakery, a life with Wade wasn’t an incentive.
And Wade hadn’t wanted any part of her either. He despised the bakery and everything related to it including her. On that fateful night only weeks ago he’d climbed the side of the boarding house where she’d been staying, broken her window and burst into her room.
Violet had been terrified that he’d come to hurt her. He’d been drinking, and his threats had held a tone she’d never heard before. He’d grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the window. In the moonlight thick smoke had curled into the night sky above the bakery two blocks away. “You soaked your apron with kerosene and used the matches you keep in your bin. You hate me enough to burn down the bakery.”
“I didn’t! I’ve been right here.”
“There are witnesses who saw you near the building only moments ago. My father will believe you set the fire.”
Violet’s heart had pounded in terror and confusion. “Why?”
“Get dressed,” he hissed. “Do you have a bag? I’ll send the rest of your things to the station in Pittsburgh. Send for them using the name Tom Robbins.”
Trembling, she’d taken the dress she’d pressed from a hook. “Turn around. Why are you doing this?”
While she’d dressed he had taken her clothing from the bureau drawers and had shoved it into the valise, then had held up the bag and swept the surfaces with his arm, dumping her belongings into a jumble on top.
She’d perched on the chair and hurriedly pulled on her stockings and boots.
He’d grabbed her hand and roughly shoved something into it. “I’m not going to marry you. I’m not going to be stuck in that bakery for the rest of my life.”
“I never had any intention of marrying you.”
“But you were too cowardly to tell my father that. He’d have convinced you eventually.”
“No. No, I—”
“Buy a ticket to somewhere far away. They put people who start fires in jail.”
Violet had stood in the alley behind her boardinghouse, tears streaming down her face. Lights had come on in the windows, and at first she’d thought other boarders had heard the commotion in her room and on the stairs, but as her head had cleared the sounds of people in the street had alerted her. The fire had been discovered.
And Wade was going to make sure everyone believed she was responsible. For a confused moment she’d considered staying and pleading her innocence. She hadn’t done it—surely the truth would come to light.
A window had opened overhead, and a voice had called down. “Violet? Is that you? What are you doing in the alley?”
She’d been standing in the dark with her bags packed for flight. Like a guilty person.
Violet had turned and run.
Now she had no choice but to make this work. Either make a go of it here or leave and hope for something else. She glanced around the Hammonds’ kitchen, her gaze touching on a glass-front cabinet filled with blue-and-white plates and platters. She took in the long uncovered window that let in the light, her aprons stacked on the table.
After starting the stove, she pumped water into a kettle and set it to heat for dishwater, then found a drawer in the pantry and stored her aprons.
She could do this. She would do this. She had no other choice.
Chapter Two
In his bright sunlit office Ben Charles ran his finger down a column in the open ledger on his desk. The numbers weren’t adding up today, and the problem was due to the pretty little distraction he’d picked up at the train station.
He’d prayed about hiring someone to help out after Mrs. Gable had resigned to care for her sister. The woman had been with them since Tessa’s childhood. She’d been a part of his and Tessa’s little family. He’d been sorry to see her go, and not only because of her cooking and housekeeping abilities. Her cheerful countenance had been sorely missed these past few months. Tessa needed another female around.
He’d been impressed with Violet’s replies to his ad, but after meeting her he wasn’t confident she had the maturity he’d been counting on. He had a good ten years on her, if not more. Only time would tell if she had what it took to run the place—or the stamina to stay. If God had directed her to them as he’d prayed, then Ben Charles had to believe she would work out. He and Tessa had both grown up in a home where the undertaker lived and worked. For Ben Charles it had been his father, for Tessa that figure was himself. The way they lived was normal to them. A death meant carrying out the duties required for a service and a respectful burial. There was nothing uncomfortable or repelling about it.
In his experience people appreciated his calling and stuck closer than brothers during their time of need. But as for friends and marriage prospects, they kept their distance.
Only once had he thought he’d met someone who understood his work and who would make a good companion. He’d been very young, very naive. Madeline had been interested, but only in a perversely curious fashion. He’d been an oddity, someone her friends whispered about, someone with whom keeping company drew attention, and she’d liked that.
Afterward he’d even wondered if she’d shown interest on a dare, if, after their evenings together, there had been curious inquiries. While hope had sprung to life in his heart, he’d been no more than a passing peculiarity to her. She’d married a banker and moved to Denver. And he’d learned his lesson. He stuck to business, devoted himself to his sister and his work, and didn’t aspire to be like other people.
At five-forty he closed his ledger, capped the bottle of ink and headed next door. The smells emanating from the kitchen made his stomach growl. He’d missed a meal at noon and eaten only a handful of pecans at his desk.
Violet started when he entered the room through the connecting door. “Sorry,” he said.
“I didn’t know whether to set this table or the one in the dining room, so I set that one for you and your sister, and I set places for Henry and me in here.”
He glanced at the two plates on the long wooden table. “Unless you prefer to eat in here, I’d rather you join us in the dining room.”
Her expression showed her surprise.
“Is that a problem?” he asked.
“No, sir. It’s just—well, employees eating with the family is unusual.”
“We’re an unusual family.” He dipped water from the reservoir into a small pitcher. “I’ll be back down in just a few minutes.” He climbed the narrow back stairs.
Tessa wasn’t in her favorite place at the other end of the hall near the front stairs, so he called out.
She poked her head from her room. “I’m ready for dinner.”
A few minutes later, washed and wearing his jacket, Ben Charles pulled out Tessa’s seat and waited for Violet to return and take hers. She blushed as he held her chair. “Everything looks and smells delicious.”
“It’s only scalloped potatoes and ham. Not much effort involved in opening a jar of green beans. I did make biscuits when I saw the crock of honey.”
Henry had seated himself before Ben Charles had entered the room, and his expression showed appreciation for the feast on the table.
Ben Charles reached for Tessa’s hand and she took his immediately. Henry bowed his head. Violet looked from one to the other, then followed their lead.
“Thank You for Your generous provision, Lord,” Ben Charles prayed. “We’re thankful for Miss Bennett’s safe journey and her presence here at our table and in our home. I pray her transition into this household is smooth and that she feels welcome.”
He was praying about her? The only person Violet remembered hearing pray was the reverend who performed her father’s burial service, and his stilted language had sounded nothing at all like the conversational tone Ben Charles was using to speak to God. The heat creeping into her cheeks would no doubt give away her embarrassment at being singled out.
“Keep us healthy, Lord,” he continued. “And bless the abundance of this food to the nourishment of our bodies. We humble ourselves in Your presence and rejoice in Your grace and mercy. It’s in Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”
“Amen,” Tessa and Henry chorused. Henry picked up his fork. Tessa spread her napkin on her lap. Violet was slow to raise her head, and when she did, she didn’t meet Ben Charles’s eyes. She leaned forward to serve the casserole.
Ben Charles inhaled the aroma of the steaming creamy potatoes on his plate. “Where did you learn to cook like this, Miss Bennett?”
“Both of my parents were excellent cooks,” she replied. “My mother worked for a family for years, and when I was small she took me with her. As she cooked she used to share stories about her family and her childhood. All her recipes were in her head, and she’d add a pinch of this or a handful of that as she talked.”
Tessa gave her an encouraging smile. “Those sound like good memories.”
“They are. My father was a baker. After Mama died and there were only the two of us, I helped him before and after school. Father was precise and businesslike while he measured and mixed.”
“Your parents are no longer living?” Ben Charles asked.
She set her fork on her plate and sat with her hands in her lap. For a moment he didn’t think she’d answer, but then she said, “Mother has been gone since I was small. My father became ill several years ago. He was forced to sell the bakery and I took care of him. After his death nearly two years ago I worked for the man who bought our bakery...until recently when—when it closed.”
The pain of her loss was plain in her voice and expression. “It’s always difficult to lose a parent, whether we’re children or not.” He took a sip from his water glass and glanced at Henry. “Miss Bennett will need to shop. If weather permits tomorrow, please have the carriage ready in the morning.”
“Yessir. It snowed some this afternoon, but nothing to keep us from going out.”
“Tessa, it might be nice if you joined Miss Bennett.”
His sister quirked an eyebrow. “To buy food?”
He’d had this sort of thing in mind when he’d hired Violet, and he might as well start pushing his plan now. “Maybe there’s something else you need. You might introduce her to the seamstress. You two can look at fabric and buttons or whatever it is ladies do.”
Tessa and Violet exchanged a glance. “Yes, of course,” Tessa replied.
“Do you live here, too?” Violet asked Henry.
“No, I have a place at the south end of town. Sometimes I bunk here if the weather’s bad, but not often.” He helped himself to another heaping serving of the potatoes and ham. “You’re a fine cook, Miss Bennett.”
A quick smile lit her features, bringing a new sparkle to her eyes.
Her smile was gone too soon. Ben Charles considered how to elicit one himself, and then realized what he’d been thinking. He used the opportunity sitting across from her to enjoy an assessing look. Her dark hair was sleek and shiny, and she wore it loosely contained on the back of her head, with practical tortoiseshell combs holding it away from her face behind each ear.
Her narrow brows arched gracefully above expressive dark eyes fringed with black lashes. Her ivory skin was a becoming contrast. Her appearance might easily lead one to think she was delicate, but the air of confidence and strength with which she handled herself hinted otherwise. He admired the courage she’d shown by coming to a place she’d never been to work for people she’d never met.
She lifted her gaze. “I didn’t have time to prepare a dessert. But there are jars of peaches, and I hoped one of those might do.”
“Sounds perfect,” he replied. “We can get to know each other better over coffee.” He glanced at Tessa. “And tea.”
Tessa gave him an affectionate smile that said she appreciated his attention to her preference for hot sweet tea. She spent too much time by herself, and he hoped Violet’s presence was going to change that. Though she’d kept much of her unhappiness to herself, she’d been teased and shunned in school, due to living beside the funeral parlor. Once he’d learned the extent of the cruel treatment, he’d removed her immediately and sent her to a boarding school out East.
She’d been painfully homesick and begged him to let her come home—and so of course he had. A tutor came four days a week to guide his sister with her studies.
Violet served the peaches, steaming cups of coffee, and placed a Wedgwood teapot filled with steeping tea within Tessa’s reach.
Ben Charles sweetened his coffee and turned his attention to Violet. “You must be tired after digging right in as soon as you arrived.”
“I’m thankful to have this job.”
“You said the bakery where you worked closed?”
She stood and refilled Henry’s cup, then glanced at Ben Charles’s, which was still full. “The tea should be done.”
Tessa filled her cup. “It smells good.”
Violet had changed the subject, and he surmised that closing what had once been her father’s business was an uncomfortable topic. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Is there anything you want to ask us? I want you to feel at ease.”
Her cheeks were flushed, probably from her chores and the tension of serving her first meal. At last she lifted her gaze to his. There was deep vulnerability in the dark abyss of her eyes, an uncertainty that touched his heart. The same bone-deep protectiveness he felt toward his sister reached its possessive arms toward her.
She wanted to say something, so he waited.
At last she parted her lips to speak. “What time would you like breakfast served?”
He drew on inner reserves to find a shred of detachment, which had never been his strength. “Henry and I will eat in the kitchen at six. Tessa usually wakes later, so keep a plate warm for her.”
This relationship wouldn’t work if he couldn’t keep his objectivity. He could already see the flaw in that plan.
Everything about Violet intrigued him.
Chapter Three
A night’s sleep stretched out on the comfortable bed in sublime relaxation did wonders. Violet was rested and had breakfast on the table at six. She sat to share the meal with the men, and had finished eating when a loud chime rang from the front hallway.
Ben Charles pushed back his chair and stood. “That’s the bell next door. I’ll get it.”
He returned a few minutes later. “Guy Chapman passed on during the night.”
A death.
Violet strove to keep her composure, but panic rose in her chest. A myriad of sensory images—memories—curled around her heart like a squeezing fist. She forced her body to relax and she took several slow deep breaths.
Ben Charles resumed his seat. “That was his son. I’ll need you to assist me in bringing him back this morning,” he said to Henry. He glanced at Violet. “We won’t be but an hour. Henry will return and drive you to town.”
He spoke of their chore in a matter-of-fact manner, not at all as though they were headed out to do something unpleasant. This was his work. She had to get used to it. After the men had gone, Violet did her best not to think about their task, but she happened to glance out the back window as a pair of the magnificent horses pulled a long black hearse from the carriage house. After that she avoided the windows, in case she might glimpse their return.
Tessa arrived to nibble at the bacon and a piece of toast while they waited. “Who passed on?” she asked.
It was only a conversation. She was in a warm kitchen, safe and sound. “Someone by the name of Guy Chapman.”
She nodded. “I went to school with his granddaughter.”
“Were you friends?”
Tessa poured tea into a cup. “I can’t say we were. She was one of the girls who made a show out of avoiding me as though I had a disease.”
Violet studied her with surprise. “Why did they avoid you?”
“I’m sure you can figure it out.”
Taken aback by her reply, Violet considered the girl’s words for a moment. “Because of your brother’s occupation?”
“And the fact that we live here. Some people think it’s morbid.”
“I suppose they do.” Violet thought of Tessa as a child, and tried to imagine what she’d experienced.
“They taunted us and called my father and Ben Charles hatchet men and body snatchers, things like that.”
“That’s cruel. So you don’t attend school any longer?”
Tessa shook her head. “Ben Charles removed me. He sent me to a boarding school, but I was homesick and begged him to let me come back. He rode the train all the way to Pennsylvania to get me.”
“He loves you very much.”
Tessa looked up from her cup, thoughtfully. “Yes, he does.” She shrugged. “I don’t really care what others think of us. Ben Charles is happy doing what he does, and I’m happy living here with my books.”
The connecting door opened, and Violet jumped a foot from the seat of her chair.
“The wagon’s ready,” Henry called.
“We’ll be out front in a moment,” Tessa replied.
Violet took a deep breath to calm her racing heart and stacked their cups beside the enamel dishpan. “I forgot to ask. How do I pay for the purchases?”
“We have accounts at the stores,” Tessa replied.
“I’ll just get my coat and boots.”
The sky was blustery, and the wagon offered no protection from the bitter-cold wind. Even though they huddled behind the seat, Violet tied a wool scarf over her face and Tessa held her rabbit fur muffler to her nose and mouth the entire way.
Their first stop was the mercantile, where Violet handed her list to the man who greeted them. “Ben Charles told me he’d hired a new cook,” the bald man said. “I expected you’d be older.”
Amused, she smiled. “I’m Miss Bennett. Pleased to meet you. Henry will load our items.”
She and Tessa browsed the aisles, adding a few things to their purchases. A group of white-haired men sat around a potbellied stove. “That you, Tessa Hammond?” one of them called.
Tessa introduced Violet to the gathering.
“Heard old Guy went to glory durin’ the night,” Frank Turner said with a shake of his head. “Is he out at your place?”
“Ben Charles is attending Mr. Chapman now,” Tessa told the elderly man in a comforting voice.
The old man nodded. “Yeah. Old Guy never liked the cold weather much. His bones was achin’ something fierce this winter. Think he’d a had the sense to die durin’ the summer.”
Tessa didn’t respond to that, but she nodded and said her goodbyes.
“Tell Ben Charles to take real good care of Guy now.”
“I’ll do that.”
Tessa and Violet stood near the door, pulling on their gloves and scarves. “They seem to like you just fine,” Violet whispered.
Tessa met her eyes. “They’re older. They’ve had more experience getting to know our family. And no doubt they see the inevitability of needing an undertaker sooner than later.”
Violet blinked, but after her initial surprise Tessa’s deduction made sense. “Where to now?”
“The seamstress is down a few doors.” Tessa led the way out.
Marcella Wright seemed surprised to see Tessa. “You bought a new wardrobe before you went off to school, so either you’ve grown or you’ve brought your friend for measurements.”
She made introductions. “Violet needs a few dresses.”
Violet’s cheeks warmed and her gaze skittered to Tessa’s.
“My brother instructed me to make sure you ordered several.”
“Let me have your coats.” Marcella asked Violet to step behind a screen and remove her dress, so she could measure her. Violet had purchased a few ready-made dresses, but she’d sewn the rest of her clothing, so this process was foreign.
“It’s all right,” Tessa encouraged.
Violet stood straight as the woman took measurements and recorded them in a slim journal. A fire crackled in a woodstove, keeping the little shop warm.
“Now for fabrics and colors,” Marcella said, with an excited smile. “I have ideas for combinations that will go with your lovely dark hair and eyes. What is your ancestry, dear?”
Violet touched the bolt of fabric the woman pulled out. “My father was Swedish.”
“That explains the faint accent, but not your hair or skin.”
“Well, my mother’s mother came from Ireland.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Tessa, I’m thinking of the dress we made you with the puffed sleeves and the gathered bodice. The skirt is chocolate sateen and the bodice a soft ivory. That style would look lovely on Miss Bennett, but with a spring-green skirt and a print blouse and sleeves. The tails of a faux demijacket nestled at her hips would be striking, don’t you think?”