Too Rich for a Bride (13 page)

Nell giggled—a sweet sound. “Don’t feel bad. I don’t either. Judson and I only married four months ago. It’s not like we’re going to be childless like poor Miss Hattie and her George. She never could bear children.”

A gasp and clanging cups drew their attention to the doorway, where Miss Hattie steadied the tea tray in Kat’s hands.

Fresh tears flowed down Nell’s face. “I didn’t mean … What’s the matter with me? I’m such a mess.”

“Yes, you are, dear.” Miss Hattie approached Nell and reached for her hand. “Love and longing can do that to a person. But there’s no reason to feel bad about what you said. It’s true that God chose to bless George and me with the care of other people’s children—most of them grown—rather than with our own.” A warm smile lit her silver eyes.

It seemed God had gifted the landlady with an uncanny way of mothering despite her barren womb. Ida took the tray from Kat and carried it across the room.

“Thank you, Miss Hattie.” Nell drew the gracious woman into an embrace then faced Kat. “I am the most selfish person on God’s green earth. But you have to know that I really am excited to be Auntie Nell.”

“I know you are.” Kat hugged Nell.

“Are you and Morgan all right?”

“We haven’t talked about that part of it yet.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, Kat.” Ida set the tray on the sofa table while the others seated themselves. “I may not be qualified to offer marital advice, but—”

“But that’s not going to stop you.” A smile tipped Kat’s mouth to one side.

“You do know me well, don’t you?” Ida sat on the sofa beside Kat. “And I know you. You won’t rest until you’ve expressed your feelings. None of us are good at holding in our emotions.”

“Ida’s right.” Her voice strong again, Nell handed Kat a teacup. “Granted, you needn’t be as transparent as I am, but if you don’t voice your concerns, they’ll fester and your health will suffer.”

Ida warmed her hands on her cup. She
was
right, wasn’t she? She hoped so. She truly wasn’t qualified to counsel either of her Cripple Creek sisters on the finer points—or on any points—having to do with marriage.

Business was her ally. Love and marriage, her foe.

TWELVE

hursday morning Ida relished the warmth of the sun on her back as she strolled down Third Street toward Bennett Avenue. She’d chosen to wear a burgundy skirt with a white shirtwaist for her first day of work. She’d pinned her hair up in a French twist and donned a new pair of calfskin shoes. She only hoped she was ready in Miss Mollie O’Bryan’s way of thinking.

She’d drunk a hefty helping of bicarbonate soda to settle her stomach. Still, bees seemed to buzz about inside her. It would help if she could shut off the memory of yesterday’s interview. Of Miss O’Bryan’s battle with Colin Wagner. Of her leaning in toward Ida, close enough that Ida could smell the scent of her lavender bath soap, and asking why she wanted to work for her. Ida shook her head to rid herself of the intimidating image. She could do this.

Turning the corner at the Imperial Hotel, she stepped up onto the boardwalk at Bennett Avenue and drew in a deep breath. This morning she was stepping into her future as a businesswoman. This was the day she’d prove the Bradley Ditmers of the world wrong.

At First Street, she pulled her mother’s pendant watch from her reticule. It was 8:50. Ten minutes early was her norm. She returned the watch to
its protected place and crossed the street to the narrow brick building two doors down from the corner.

Moistening her lips, Ida breathed a prayer for grace and wit, then reached for the doorknob, which didn’t give in the least. She’d beat her employee to work and the door was locked.

Ida turned around just in time to see a familiar man and his mule stop in front of the building.

Boney Hughes spit a brown streak into the dirt. He waved his worn canvas hat. “Hello, little lady.”

Heat crept up her neck and into her face as she forced a smile and dipped her chin. “Mr. Hughes.”

He clucked his tongue and wagged a crooked finger.

“Mr. Boney.” Ida brushed a piece of lint from her cape, remembering the two hours it took to wash the mud out of it Tuesday evening.

“You cleaned up right nice, Miss.”

“Thank you.” She glanced down at her new shoes. “My boots didn’t fare as well.”

“I’m sure sorry for your troubles.” He patted his mule’s ears and looked around as if expecting to see the ice wagon appear out of nowhere as it had on Tuesday afternoon. “I take it Mr. Raines saw you home all right.”

“He did. Thank you again for your help.”

“Happy to do it, ma’am. Just wish it hadn’t been necessary. Me and Sal hate to see a lady in distress.”

And she detested being one. Even if her rescuers were charming.

As Mollie rounded the corner at First Street, Boney bade her best wishes, and then he and Sal moseyed up the road.

After two hours of rapid-fire instruction from the tireless Miss O’Bryan, Ida was grateful her new employer had taken a telephone call in her office. Ida sat at her own desk, surrounded by files and ledgers, a telephone, and a vase full of sharpened pencils, and drew in a long, deep breath, hoping she’d be able to decipher her notes.

“You think you’re ready for your first dictation job?” Miss O’Bryan stood in the doorway of her office.

Ida nodded. “I am.”

“Good. That was Mr. Blackmer at the Olive Branch Mine on the telephone. I told him you’d be right over for a stenography job.”

Ida felt her pulse quicken. This was the opportunity she’d hoped for—learning more about the mining business. She closed the bakery ledger she’d been working on and pulled a fresh steno pad from her desk drawer.

“This is your opportunity to prove yourself.” Mollie pointed a finger at her. “Remember what I told you.”

Ida’s mind raced with all she’d learned in those first two hours.

Mollie giggled. “I suppose I did run off at the mouth a bit.”

“You gave me a lot of instruction.”

“Listen well and keep good notes on everything you hear.” Her eyes narrowed, Mollie gestured as if she were writing. “Those tasty tidbits prove profitable at the Exchange.”

Ida pulled her reticule from the drawer and three pencils from the vase. “Is that acceptable?”

Mollie chuckled. “What? Paying attention?”

Ida swallowed a bite of frustration. “I meant using information overheard while we’re being paid to take notes.”

“You do have a lot to learn.” Mollie pulled a sharpened pencil from Ida’s desk. “We have a job to do, and we do it. We listen and learn. There’s
nothing wrong with acting upon what you know. Everyone does it every minute of the day.”

She hadn’t thought of it in that way. It made good sense. “I’ll do my best.”

Ida donned her cape, and after a quick wave, she stepped out onto the boardwalk and into her bright future. Miss O’Bryan was right—she did have a lot to learn, and the sarcastic businesswoman was the perfect teacher for her.

THIRTEEN

ctober sunshine streamed through the cabin window, casting ribbons of light across the table—a glorious Saturday afternoon.

So what was her problem? Kat chewed her last bite of corn bread, then reached for Morgan’s empty plate. She’d just grasped the blue floral stoneware when her husband seized her hand and laced his fingers through hers.

“You hardly spoke a word during lunch.”

“Are you saying I usually talk too much?”

His grin deepened the dimple just to the right of his mouth. “Nice rabbit trail, but I’m not taking it.” He glanced at their empty plates, then up at her. Concern furrowed his brow. “Are you feeling all right?”

Kat nodded. “I’m doing fine.” She was. Unless Morgan had meant to include worry in his question. For three days, she’d done little but think about what her sisters had said.
“You won’t rest until you’ve expressed your feelings.”
Unfortunately, her preoccupation had proven them right. She did need to know how her husband felt about the baby growing inside her. They should talk about it, but dwelling on his past losses couldn’t be beneficial for either of them.

“Something is sitting heavy on your mind.” Morgan rubbed his forehead, then gazed at her. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Kat studied their joined hands. They’d only known one another a matter of months, but already Morgan knew her sighs and smiles and silence by heart. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, hoped she wouldn’t have to. But his past was bothering her and he deserved to know her true feelings. Their commitment to one another required honesty, but speaking it was another matter.

“Is it the writing?” he asked.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears filling them. “It’s the baby.” Her voice snagged on the last word.

“The baby?” The dimple disappeared and his grip on her hand weakened. “You didn’t want to have a baby?”

“I do.” Kat moistened her lips. “But you. I saw your face when you realized what was wrong with me the other day … why I felt so poorly.”

Morgan lifted her chin and matched her damp gaze. “It didn’t mean I’m not happy about the baby.
Our baby
. I was only caught by surprise.”

“You’re not worried that I’ll … that our baby—”