Too Rich for a Bride (8 page)

High cheekbones and pronounced chins, times three. “It’s my pleasure, ladies.” He met Ida’s gaze. “I’m pleased to see that you were able to reattach your hat.”

She nodded, and then, apparently aware of him staring at her bobbing hat, abruptly grew still. “Perhaps I could have done a more thorough job of pinning it.”

“These fine gentlemen are joining us for a little refreshment.” Hattie sat on the sofa, leaving space on one side for Ida and Abraham, and on the other for Tucker and Otis. When the other women sat down, Tucker and Otis did the same.

Abraham, however, remained standing before them like a showman. “Miss Sinclair, did your hatpin really fall and stick in Mr. Tucker’s boot?”

“It did indeed, Abraham.”

“I tell jokes. Would you like to hear one?”

Her half nod was all the encouragement the boy required.

“What did the hatpin say to the big toe?”

Ida glanced over at Tucker, her lips pursed as if she were about to burst into laughter. She looked up at Abraham and shrugged her narrow shoulders.

“I’m stuck on you.”

Amidst a wave of giggles, Otis motioned for his son to sit down. “I think that’s more than enough jokes for one day.”

While Abraham seated himself beside Ida, Hattie poured hot cocoa into the mugs and handed them out. “Kat, dear, Tucker told me your Morgan is the doctor who treated his father.”

“Then I’m sure he received the best care.” Her brown eyes shimmering, Mrs. Cutshaw leaned forward in her chair. “I’ve worked with Morgan some.”

Miss Hattie lowered her cup. “Actually, that’s a fun story too. They met in a birthing room.”

Abraham giggled. The doctor’s wife blushed. And the heat rising up Tucker’s neck told him he had too.

Ida leaned forward on the sofa, looking at him. “My sister had gone in to help a stranger, and he assumed she was a midwife.”

Sister
.

The word made Tucker’s heart ache for Willow. For all she’d lost. The children she and Sam would never have.

A smile tilted Mrs. Cutshaw’s mouth to one side. “He’s a fine doctor.”

Tucker recognized the lilt in her voice, the shimmer of pride in her eyes, the buoyancy in her movements. She was obviously a happy newlywed. He remembered Willow having the same glow about her after she and Sam had married nearly four years ago. Suddenly, the air left the room and he jumped to his feet. “I can’t stay, Miss Hattie.”

Her cup rattled in its saucer. “But you didn’t even—”

“I’m sorry. You must excuse me, ladies.” He glanced at the sisters without really looking at the two across from him. He still couldn’t bear to witness the joy his actions had cost Willow.

Ida was the first to stand. “Of course.”

“Another time?” Concern darkened Miss Hattie’s eyes to a gray blue.

He nodded and left the room, hoping there would be another time but dreading the explanation that next meeting would require.

SIX

uesday afternoon, Ida carried two teacups to Kat’s table and sat in the chair that faced the one glass window. Last night she had enjoyed a family dinner at Nell and Judson’s modest home. Then this morning her sisters had given her a tour of the town. She’d never seen so many evocatively attired, brash-mannered females. But then, she’d never been out West before. Now she knew Tuesday was the morning designated for the
other women
to do their shopping.

The morning also included seeing Kat and Morgan’s new home, still under construction, and the telegraph office, where she’d sent a wire to Aunt Alma and her sister Vivian to let them know of her safe arrival. Ida, Kat, and Nell enjoyed lunch with Morgan and a couple of the Sisters of Mercy in the hospital dining room, and then Nell parted company with them to go tend to a widow’s children.

Ida had been torn between needing a rest and wanting to see Kat’s infamous miner’s shanty. After vowing to tend to her own need for peace and quiet that evening, she had agreed to make the trek up the hill to see the Cutshaws’ temporary nest. Now she’d glimpsed both sisters’ new lives here, and tomorrow she would take long strides into her own.

Kat set a plate of cinnamon-topped oatmeal cookies on the table in front of Ida, then sank into the chair across from her.

Nodding, Ida lifted the cup to her mouth, breathing in the memorable scent of peppermint—their mother’s favorite. “This was a good idea.”

“I couldn’t send you off without spending a few more minutes with you.” Kat tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, then drizzled a stream of honey into her cup and stirred it. “I didn’t think I would … I was sure I wouldn’t, actually, but I like having a man in my life.”

Ida glanced around the one-room cabin. Lace curtains hung at the window. The True Lover’s Knot patterned quilt Aunt Alma made for Kat was spread across the bed. And a man’s razor and strop lay on the washstand in the corner. Ida might have that one day, but for now marriage wasn’t in her plans.

“Morgan seems good for you. Marriage suits—”

“And what about you?”

She hadn’t expected this from Kat. Nell had always been the hopeless romantic in the family.

“You don’t want love in your life?” Kat had never pressed her about such matters.

Ida studied a gouge in the plank flooring near the door. “I have my sisters. You three provide enough love for me.”

Kat laid her hand on Ida’s. “It’s not the same, Sis.”

“I know that.” She might never have experienced romantic love before, but she’d seen enough of it in the people around her to know love could be distracting. Something she couldn’t abide. Not now.

Ida took another sip of tea. “Did I tell you how proud I am of you—writing for
Harper’s Bazar
?”

“You told me last night over veal and sweet potatoes.” Kat’s smirk formed soft ripples at the corners of her mouth. “I think what you plan to do is pretty exciting myself. Not many of us would want to brave the world of business. The world of businessmen, I should say.”

“It may be a challenge, but I think I’m ready for it. Right now, I’d best go. I’m sure you have writing to do.” Ida rose from her chair and carried her empty cup to the cupboard. “Thanks for the tour and the tea.” She pulled her wrap from the peg by the door and slipped into it.

“I do have an article to finish.” Kat retrieved Ida’s reticule from a side table and handed it to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow after your interview. Nell and I will be at Hattie’s at four o’clock.”

“I should be back by then.”

Kat walked out to the porch with her and pulled her into a hug.

After the warm embrace, Ida took the gravel path to the road. The weariness of the past two days tugged at her eyes as she walked to the corner on Pikes Peak Avenue, then down Florissant. She needed a little solitude—time to untangle her thoughts. A leisurely stroll to the creek would help her do just that.

Riding in on the train, she’d seen a strand of water weaving across the bottom of town. She headed that direction, and it looked as though First Street could get her there. Crossing Bennett Avenue in late afternoon proved a challenge, but Cripple Creek seemed to buzz with activity at all times of the day and night.

Once she had crossed seedy Myers Avenue and broken free from the chaos in the center of town, Ida slowed her steps to enjoy the more artistic aspects of her surroundings. The panoramic mountains that encircled the valley rose up like green and golden yellow feathers on a Sioux chief’s headdress. Father had indeed chosen a breathtaking place for his daughters to relocate, and this had been the perfect time of year for her to come—autumn. Winter wasn’t far off, but in the meantime, she’d enjoy the patches of sunflowers and the earthy scent of fallen leaves and drying grass.

Ida continued down First Street until she caught sight of a burbling creek through the brush. She followed the dirt path toward the water’s edge,
hoping to find a rock she could rest on for a spell of tranquility. Before she reached the water, she heard twigs snap and boots crunching on gravel upstream.

Perhaps coming down here alone hadn’t been her best idea. She’d just turned back toward town when a motley apparition of a man stepped out of the brush in front of her.

“Well, I’ll be … one of the ladies done come to see us.”

“Only one?” Two other beastly-looking men emerged from the undergrowth behind her.

“I only came to see the creek.” Her words squeaked out on ragged breaths.

“Well, then”—the man clamped his hand around Ida’s forearm and spun her back around—“I say we be good hosts and show it to ya.” Her head swam in the nauseating stink of his breath.

“Let me go!” Ida pounded her fists into his chest. When his grip tightened, she blindly tried to stomp his foot.

Holding her as she squirmed, he called her insulting names that made her skin crawl almost as much as his touch did. He pushed her through the brush and into a clearing cluttered with bedding, hard hats, picks, and shovels.

Ida kicked his shins and dug at his ears with her fingernails. He snarled like a wounded badger and covered his ears, freeing her arm from his grip. Seizing the opportunity, Ida turned and ran toward town. The men’s sneers and retorts propelled her up the path. She heard at least two running after her for a few moments, but the sound soon fell away. Perhaps the heartbeat pounding in her ears had only drowned out their pursuing footfalls. She needed to press on.

As Ida came up over the rise, she tripped and landed face first in a surprisingly deep, offensively odorous puddle left by the recent rains.

Shivering from the cold water, she lifted her head to wipe her face with her sleeve. A snort startled her, and she looked up into the large snout of a drooling mule.

“That’s Sal, ma’am. And we’d be right pleased to help you.”

Ida looked past the mule at a wiry man with unruly gray hair.

“No, thank you.” She rose to her knees and studied him and his mule. Picks, shovels, and every sort of tool hung from the man’s animal.
Another miner
.

He spit a brown streak into the dirt behind him. “You need to know we’re not all the same, ma’am. When I saw you runnin’, I figured you come across those no-accounts down at the creek. Thought you could use a friend ’bout now.”

She could do with a friend, but …

He reached out his hand, giving her a chance to grasp it. Given her circumstances, she could fight him off if necessary once she was out of this mire. And the sooner, the better.

The miner gently lifted Ida out of the muddy mess. What a frightful sight she must be. She took some comfort in the fact that she didn’t know many people here yet, and those she did know were mostly family.

“Name’s Boney Hughes.” He pulled a canteen from Sal’s side and removed the cork. Then he pulled a clean handkerchief from his shirt pocket. “You can rinse your face, if you like.”

Ida poured water onto the handkerchief and blotted her face. “Thank you, Mr. Hughes.”

The man winced. “Mr. Hughes would be my daddy, if he were alive. Folks ’round here call me Boney.”

His stare made her even more uncomfortable than she already was in her wet clothes. She needed to stop shaking.

“You look a lot like two sisters I know,” he said.

“You know my sisters?” Ida regretted the condescension she heard in her voice, but Boney didn’t seem the least bit offended by it.

“That’s it—you’re a Sinclair. You’ve got Kat’s darker hair. Nell’s blue eyes. And the same high cheekbones.”

“Yes, Miss Ida Sinclair.”

They moved to the side of the road to let a wagon by. When Ida looked up, she felt a sudden additional humiliation, as if this all hadn’t been enough. The wagon was emblazoned with Raines Ice Company and was being driven by Tucker Raines.

Could this day get any worse?

“Miss Sinclair, is that you?” Tucker leapt off the seat of the wagon, approaching them with a bluster she’d only seen before a fistfight. “What is going on here? What is this man—”

Ida raised her hand, waving the soiled kerchief. “Mr. Boney Hughes, I’d like you to meet Mr. Tucker Raines.”

Tucker stopped short, but maintained his fighting posture, his jaw tight. He regarded her muddy appearance.