Christine Johnson - Mail Order Mix-Up

That left the redhead. Pearl tried to hand back the smelling salts, but the woman’s attention was focused on something behind Pearl.

“Ladies.” A rich masculine voice rolled over Pearl’s head with the calming effect of a lapping wave. “Do you have need of a doctor?”

Without looking, she knew it was him. The hatless man. The man whose animated gestures had intrigued her. Her pulse raced. She didn’t dare look at him lest she lose her head. That would not help Amanda. So she kept her gaze focused on her friend and tried to ignore the girlish pounding of her heart.

The redhead seized the opportunity to extend a gloved hand. “We are most grateful for your assistance. This woman swooned.”

The man ignored her and peered at Amanda. “I can fetch a physician.”

“That’s not necessary,” Pearl said quickly. They could not afford the services of a doctor. “See, the color is already coming back to her cheeks.”

“She doesn’t have a fever?”

Pearl detected genuine concern in his question. “I think it was just the heat.” She left out the real cause. No gentleman wanted to hear that three women had cast themselves into the marriage market for the same man. “A glass of water is on its way.”

“You’re certain you don’t need a physician?”

Amanda managed to flutter her eyelids at him. “No, thank you, kind sir.”

That little flirtation stirred a most unwelcome feeling in Pearl’s heart. Amanda was her dearest friend. Pearl should be pleased that any man had pushed the memories of Hugh from Amanda’s mind, but why did it have to be this gentleman?

“I think it might be best to send for the doctor.” He lifted a hand to catch a porter’s attention.

“No!” Amanda shot to a sitting position.

“Opposed to physicians?” the man asked with a hint of amusement.

“Not at all,” Pearl replied. Neither of them had much money left after paying the costs of rail and ship travel from New York, even though the indirect route via Chicago proved least expensive. They would need every cent for room and board until Pearl began her new position. “Thank you for your consideration, but we will manage.”

Pearl began to stand, and he extended a hand to assist her. She hesitated, but at the redhead’s grunt of displeasure accepted his help. At his touch, a sensation like lightning shot from her hand to her shoulder. Her gaze locked on his. He lifted her like a fallen leaf. She didn’t feel her feet, couldn’t break the gaze, couldn’t think a single lucid thought.

He released her hand with a smile that took her breath away. Though dozens of passengers had boarded in Chicago, she had noticed him. Tall, dark-haired and elegant, he looked the picture of a gentleman. Now his manners proved him to be exactly that. No other man had come to their aid. Few even glanced in their direction. She became aware that she was staring again. It didn’t hurt that his blue eyes twinkled like the sapphires she’d once seen on display in a New York jeweler’s shop window.

After a final smile that dimpled his cheek, he turned to Amanda. “May I help you to your feet?”

“Of course,” she said breathlessly.

Pearl stared at her friend, whose gaze was riveted on this handsome gentleman.

He extended his hand. She put one gloved hand in his, and without the slightest effort he pulled her to her feet.

“Thank you,” Amanda gushed, gaze still fixed on him.

Pearl fought unconscionable waves of jealousy. Why should she care about Amanda’s interest in the gentleman? Amanda was the one who desperately wanted to marry. Pearl couldn’t, according to the contract she had signed. But his eyes... She struggled to draw a breath. Something about the man drew her like no other. Curiosity and intelligence and laughter danced in his eyes. He made her feel as if she had always known him, even though they’d just met.

He turned back to Pearl. “Are you well, miss?”

Pearl swallowed and found her throat dry and her voice missing. She settled for nodding.

“Can I have my salts back?” The redhead stuck out her hand.

Pearl dropped the vial into it.

The woman then turned a dazzling smile on the gentleman. “We’re fortunate that you were here, sir. I’m Miss O’Keefe, but you may call me Fiona.”

He bowed with the perfection of a diplomat. “Pleased to meet you, Miss O’Keefe. I am Mr. Decker.”

* * *

The three women stared at Roland with mouths agape. What on earth was wrong with them? The brunette had recovered sufficiently that he did not expect a repeat of the fainting spell, but they all looked as if he had just said the most shocking thing possible. Yet all he had done was introduce himself.

Behind Fiona O’Keefe a fourth woman squeaked and dropped a glass of water. The liquid splashed on Fiona’s skirts while the glass rolled over the edge and into the lake far below.

The redhead turned on a tiny mouse of a woman. “How could you be so clumsy? Do you know how much this dress cost?”

The startled young woman looked ready to burst into tears. “I’m sorry.”

Fiona O’Keefe relented, though she looked none too pleased. “I planned to wear it to dinner at the captain’s table. Now what will I wear?” She turned back to Roland. “I had hoped to make a fine impression.”

Roland stifled a groan. Clearly she intended to impress more than the captain. “I can assure you, that you cannot help but impress anyone you meet.”

That turned Fiona O’Keefe’s distress into triumph. “I hope to see you later, Mr. Decker.”

Her emphasis on his title perplexed him, as did the peculiar looks the other three women shot in his direction. The mousy woman hid behind the others as if afraid he would strike her. The brunette kept glancing between him and her friend with an almost wistful look. That friend, on the other hand, had rapidly moved from shock to confusion to disappointment. A moment later, she straightened her elegant neck, tossed back her loose chestnut locks and steeled her shoulders in much the same way Eva once had.

He choked back the bitter memory and turned his attention back to Fiona. “Perhaps we shall meet again.”

He would do his best to avoid her. Fiona O’Keefe had all the makings of a woman intent on capturing a husband, and marriage was the last thing Roland sought. Even if he was the marrying type, he certainly wouldn’t choose the fiery redhead. The no-nonsense lady who had stuck by her stricken friend was much more intriguing. From her unusual height to her lively green eyes, she was a woman worth knowing. Alas, he had no time for pleasantries, not with a potential investor at his elbow.

“Perhaps I might convince the captain to add you to our company,” Fiona O’Keefe suggested with a coy smile.

Roland wished he wasn’t already included at the captain’s table. With Miss O’Keefe present, he would not be able to conduct a moment’s business with Mr. Edward Holmes, the investor from Chicago that he was trying to interest in his plans for a glass factory. He chose his words with care. “I have been invited already.”

After warbling her delight, Fiona O’Keefe swept down the promenade deck and into the nearest door.

“I know it’s not the Christian thing to say, but that woman is insufferable,” the take-charge woman muttered.

Roland had to stifle a grin. He liked a woman who spoke her mind.

“Now, Pearl,” the brunette scolded with a touch to her friend’s arm. “She did help me.”

Pearl. Roland rolled the name around on his tongue. A pearl was a bit of sand that irritated an oyster long enough to become a gem. He had a feeling the name fit.

The brunette had settled her attention on him. “Thank you, Mr. Decker. Your assistance was most gallant.”