Too Rich for a Bride (27 page)

“I agree.” Faith wrapped the colorful strips of fabric around the basket handles and then passed them to Ida. “Seems like just yesterday we were all gathered here for …”

“Thanksgiving dinner.” Ida checked the number of family members noted on the name tag, then added the appropriate number of oranges and hard candies to the package. “I’m not going to wash your mouth out with lye soap for speaking of it.”

Tucker had been the last person to mention the note to her. Not even Colin or Miss Hattie had said any more about it. Not that she’d given either of them much opportunity.

She set the basket at the end of the table in front of Nell, who added a handful of walnuts and pecans.

Hattie huffed in her seat at the opposite side of the table. “You think time escapes you now. When you reach my age, time flies by like it’s plastered to the front of a speeding train.” Their gray-haired friend topped off each basket with Nell’s handiwork—a calligraphy printing of a verse from the second chapter of Luke.

Hattie was right. Ida counted out four oranges for the next basket. Time did seem to pass much faster now than it had when she was a girl. She’d already been in Cripple Creek nearly three months, and she’d finished the last of her eight tutoring sessions with Delos that morning.

This would be her best Christmas since her mother’s death, even if Vivian and Father wouldn’t be here. She had pursued her dream of being a businesswoman and found success. She had money enough to purchase baskets, oranges, nuts, and hard candies for twenty-five needy families, money enough to buy proper gifts for those she loved.

Her insides quivered with anticipation. She couldn’t remember being this excited about the prospect of watching friends and family open their gifts since her mother’s last Christmas, when Ida had made her first and only lap quilt and wrapped it for her mother.

“Ida.”

She looked at Nell. Blond curls framed a look in her sister’s blue eyes that always meant she was up to mischief. “Nell?”

“Kat and I saw Tucker in town this morning.”

Up to mischief and matchmaking
.

“Is that so?” Ida counted out six oranges for the Nash family.

“He sent his regards.”

Ida refused to give Nell the satisfaction of having piqued her curiosity.
Instead, she added candy to the basket before passing the gift on to Nell, along with a raised brow that normally gave her sister pause.

Hattie cackled like a mother hen. “Isn’t that odd.” She smiled across the table at Ida, a twinkle in her eyes. “I saw Mr. Wagner in the Cash and Carry this morning. And he too sent his regards.”

Hattie was obviously immune to any hints passed through raised brows, frowns, the shaking of one’s head. Even words didn’t seem to deter the woman.

Since the note incident, they’d all kept quiet about Tucker and Colin, including Faith. Apparently, whatever matchmaking truce Ida had earned had expired that afternoon.

“I’m not the only single woman in the room, I’ll have you know.” Ida pinned Hattie with her best “got you” grin.

Or so she thought. Hattie waved an arthritic finger at her. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m too old.”

Huffing, Ida faced Faith.

“Not me either. I’m too young.” The teacher tied a fluffy bow at one end of a basket handle. “I thought Tucker might be the one for me …”

Yes, Faith had most certainly stepped outside her shell in the past several weeks.

“Until the concert, that is. Mr. Raines all but came unraveled seeing you with Mr. Wagner. He wasn’t too comfortable Thanksgiving Day either.”

Imagine what they’d say if they knew what Tucker had said to her in the kitchen. He hadn’t said
he
was the right one, only that he believed seeing Colin was a mistake. That was probably the only reason he’d said what he did at the opera house. He didn’t approve of Mr. Wagner.

“I suppose that settles it,” Kat piped up. “If Hattie is too old for love, and Faith is too young, that only leaves you for us to work on.”

Shaking her head, Ida counted out six Tootsie Rolls. She knew something her matchmakers didn’t know, and it wasn’t her place to tell them they were wasting their time. Tucker wasn’t interested in marriage. Not to anyone here. His place was in California, preaching and taking care of his sister. He’d been ready to take off that day she saw him in the post office. According to Miss Hattie, Tucker had finished building the icehouse. Which meant it wouldn’t be long before he’d have the business thriving and he’d be free to leave.

A knock on the back door set Hattie in motion. She turned and tossed words over her shoulder. “That would be the extra block of ice I ordered.”

Tucker
. Ida straightened and smoothed her dress. But it wasn’t Tucker’s voice she heard in the kitchen. Or his face she saw in the doorway moments later.

“I offered Otis a cup of cider.” Hattie cleared a spot for the big man at the table.

Ida looked at Kat, who gave her a knowing gaze and tapped her sealed lips.
As if her not saying anything would make a difference
.

Ida sighed and nodded. She was disappointed Tucker hadn’t come, and there was no point in denying it. Especially since she seemed to be the only one avoiding the obvious—he had become much more than a mere curiosity to her.

Faith was right. She’d made a mistake thinking she could avoid developing feelings for the brown-eyed ice man by socializing with Colin Wagner.

TWENTY-NINE

onday morning, Tucker climbed onto the wagon seat and directed Titan and Trojan away from the door of the boxcar. The load was lighter than normal—just ten iceboxes, no ice—but the horses still lurched through the slick, wet gravel.

Tucker drove the company’s oldest ice wagon up Bennett Avenue, a much different experience with two feet of snow on the ground. The balmy Decembers in Stockton hadn’t given him any experience to draw on when it came to wrangling a team at an elevation of nearly ten thousand feet with snow blowing down his collar.

Having lived in Cripple Creek for three months, Tucker could see why his father had chosen this place for his fresh start. The valley was majestic, with true changes in the seasons—autumns of golden aspens and winters of white nightcaps on the peaks standing guard over it.

When he turned the horses up the hill toward the church, the wagon took a sudden slide to the left, jarring Tucker out of his thoughts. He pulled hard on the reins to keep the rig on the roadbed. How had his father managed last winter while sick? Otis hadn’t said how his father coped with the weakness of his health, probably out of respect, but no doubt the faithful employee and family friend had carried the bulk of the business on his shoulders.

The couple who owned the haberdashery on Bennett Avenue greeted Tucker from the boardwalk, and he waved in return. They’d ordered an icebox for their home, and it was scheduled to arrive in next week’s shipment. Once Tucker and his crew—he’d hired three new employees—had finished building the icehouse, he’d spent a lot of time in town in the role of salesman. He’d been able to order iceboxes by the boxcar load with the money from the sale of additional stocks, and hoped that his new customers would be able to pay for the boxes and the continued deliveries of ice.

If so, he’d have the accounts at both the asylum and the sanitorium brought up to date by the middle of February.

Thank You, Lord
.

The parsonage was Tucker’s first delivery stop of the day. He’d no sooner reined the horses in at the hitching rail when Reverend Taggart stepped out the front door, wearing a knit cap that made him look like a sausage wearing spectacles.

“Good morning, Reverend.” Tucker waved.

“And to you.”

After securing the reins, Tucker shook the reverend’s hand. Taggart stood at the side of the wagon while Tucker pulled out a polished oak icebox and steadied it on the hand truck.

“I have something I want to talk to you about.” The reverend removed his spectacles. “I hoped you’d have time to sit with a cup of coffee and have a few words.”

Tucker knew what the reverend wanted to discuss with him. Two months had passed since he and Colin Wagner had asked him to think about taking the pastor’s position in January. He’d agreed to pray about it and to read the Scriptures during the service each week since, but he hadn’t given either of the men an answer.

Seven weeks had passed since the scene at the opera house, and Tucker still couldn’t erase the image of the attorney in tails and a top hat looking like he owned Ida Sinclair. But it was the man’s fixation on Miss Dunsmuir’s note to Ida that troubled him the most.

“Tucker?”

“Sorry. A bit distracted today.”

Taggart nodded.

“I still don’t have an answer for you, but coffee sounds real good.” Tucker pushed the hand truck up the slushy walkway and into the kitchen, where the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee was enough to fight the chill in his bones. Once he’d set up the icebox, he and the reverend carried steaming mugs to the parlor. Between the rich warmth of the brew and the heat from the well-stoked parlor stove, Tucker found he wasn’t at all anxious to head back outside. He settled into a floral armchair across from the reverend and lifted the mug to his mouth.

“As you know, I’ve been called to another church.” Taggart set his cup on the side table between them. “I understand you’re not convinced taking over the church here permanently is in God’s plan for you.”

Tucker nodded, then took a long drink of coffee.

“But I hoped I could talk you into filling in for me on the twentieth.” The pastor sat back in his chair with his fingers intertwined above his belly and looked directly at Tucker. “I need to finalize my housing arrangements in New York this week, and I can’t be here for Sunday services.”

“This coming Sunday?”

“I realize that’s not much time to put together a sermon, but—”

“You haven’t even heard me preach.”

“But I do know your former landlord in Stockton.” A grin lit Taggart’s blue eyes.

“You know Pastor Bill?”

“Bill Hutchinson and I went to seminary together at Auburn.” The reverend retrieved his cup. “And my sister heard you preach at camp meetings in Watsonville this past spring. The way she raved about you made me a little jealous. She never goes on about my preaching like that.”

“I wouldn’t feel too bad. Sisters are that way. Willow never seems all that impressed with my oratory skills either.”

Tucker realized he’d referred to Willow as if nothing were wrong with her. The three reports he’d received from the asylum had actually convinced him she was on the mend.

“I’ll do it.” Tucker set his empty mug on the table. He missed preaching much more than he missed the lower elevation, the docile winters, and the traveling from town to town, and filling in for Reverend Taggart this Sunday would give him the opportunity to preach without having to commit to a steady pastorate. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “You mind if I ask
you
something?”

“Fire away.”

“How long have you known Colin Wagner?”

“First met Colin at the Third Street Café, summer before this last one. That’s when I invited him to church. He’s been pretty regular ever since. Became a deacon after the first of the year.” The reverend drained his cup. “Why do you ask?”

Tucker breathed a prayer and leaned forward, hoping the concerns he was about to share were unfounded.

THIRTY