Kate Bridges - Welcome To Wyoming

“Hmm,” he said softly, thinking of her comment, then took a swig. Not bad stuff. He preferred wine from the new vineyards of California, but he’d had a sense he needed to show off by asking for an imported bottle. It was what Ledbetter would have done.

He schemed as he twisted in his prickly wool suit and stared at the enticing person seated mere inches away. How exactly was he going to get through to this woman without arousing her suspicions to get what he wanted?

* * *

Something was off between them.

Natasha had felt it ever since his two friends had left them alone, and she and Jarrod had headed here to the hotel. She was trying awfully hard to be congenial and friendly, but something was holding her back.

What was it?

She lifted a piece of grilled fish to her mouth and tried to enjoy the meal, the restaurant, the company.

Perhaps it was a reaction to his behavior.

She had a sense that Jarrod was sizing her up rather harshly. That now that he’d met her face-to-face she wasn’t perhaps what he’d been expecting?

She wasn’t as formally educated as he was, granted, but she was well aware of the world, very well-read and inquisitive about business and jewelry. Her grandfather had taught her much about the business world, about delivering fine goods, about keeping his word on delivery times and being honest in a business deal. She hadn’t gone to Harvard, but she would love to read some of his texts to learn the finer details of economics, to be privy to what men were educated on and perhaps the economic secrets of the world.

No...she didn’t sense that he was lording over her that he had a college education and she didn’t. It was something else.

In his letters, he’d been keen to list what he wanted from her, declaring his desire of starting a family together, of bonding as husband and wife, but now in person...she sensed none of that. Every time she caught his eye, he was the one who looked away first. He had seemed open and friendly at first glance, but only to a point, for any intimate talk she was hoping for—about weddings and ministers and how many children they’d like to have—was not materializing.

It chipped at her confidence.

Was she emitting involuntary signals that she herself was hesitant of this marriage? That now that she’d arrived and met him, perhaps they were doing this too quickly?

Nothing easy is ever worth having. That was what Granddad had always said.

Perhaps she should take in the evening more slowly, not let her nerves run away with her senses. She would strive to be observant, to ensure that now that they’d met, she still did truly wish to marry him for him, and not because a stranger had simply responded to her letter.

What were her alternatives if she chose not to marry Jarrod Ledbetter?

She knew a trade. Jewelry repair. She’d read in the newspapers that many women here in the West ran their own businesses. That they even had the right to vote.

She had little money in her pocket, which was frightening on its own, but outside the train depot, she’d spotted two signs in storefront windows saying Help Wanted. She could apply for one of those positions to make sandwiches, or for a jeweler’s shop assistant, or any number of small jobs until she decided how to open her own jewelry store.

But...she was being ridiculous. Things were going as planned. She was here and her fiancé across the table was prepared to marry her. How on earth had she allowed her mind to wander off in this manner?

Because she was seeing it through the eyes of her protective grandfather, who’d always warned her not to give her heart away too freely. Any man who came into the shop and gave her a second glance got a cold stare from him in return.

Not until you’re sure of his intentions, Natasha, he’d say, should you ever allow a man to court you.

But Jarrod had given her no reason to doubt that he still intended to marry her.

“Tell me something more about yourself.” He seemed to be enjoying his roast venison and took another bite.

“Such as?”

“Anything and everything. Start from the beginning.”

“But you already know so much from my letters. I have to apologize how much I poured onto those pages.”

“Nonsense. I liked that. And now that you’re here in person, I want to hear about you all over again.” His green eyes flashed with flecks of deeper colors. His gaze lowered to linger on her lips.

Her pulse rippled. “You sure I won’t be boring you?”

He shook his head. His dark blond hair shifted about his broad shoulders, and she very much enjoyed the absurd length of it. All the cultured men in Chicago trimmed theirs short. But this was the Wild West.

“I’m mesmerized,” he murmured.

She smiled. He was definitely more charming in person than he’d been in his letters. His letters had been intense and serious. She had detected no sense of humor in them, but then, what man showed his humorous side on a page? It wasn’t as if she was marrying Mark Twain, for heaven’s sake.

“Well, as I said, I was born in Chicago. My parents died early, sadly, both from tuberculosis.” When she was fourteen and had never even heard the word before. She’d become their caregiver for a solid month, getting instructions from the doctor and learning how to make chicken soup on her own, change bedsheets with a person still in them, and sit in the darkness night after night listening to their rattling breathing and praying they’d make it. God had never answered her prayers, and it had taken her years to forgive him.

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

She frowned gently. She’d already told him that in her letters. Didn’t he remember?

He seemed to, for he corrected himself. “I mean to say—sorry to hear it in person.” His mouth twitched in genuine sympathy.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “But I had a lovely upbringing with my grandfather. We didn’t have much, just each other. We lived above his jewelry shop.”

“His jewelry shop. Tell me more about that.”

“I thought you’d be interested in his business, seeing how much it is that you and I have in common.”

A line in his cheek flickered. “My thoughts exactly.”

“His shop wasn’t big, but he had a lot of customers. At first, I’d help him by working the counter. You know, taking in the cash, putting it in the drawer, making change. A couple of years later, I helped him with the watches.”

“The watches?”

“Pocket-watch repair. Cuckoo clocks. Grandfather clocks. He wouldn’t let me do much but hold the pieces for him. But I studied what he did. Sometimes if we were behind, he’d let me do an order. Then we expanded to repair gold rings. To reset loose stones in other pieces of fine jewelry. The business got bigger and bigger.”

He frowned. “And then you must’ve...you lost it in the Great Fire?”

She nodded.

“And your grandfather passed away....” He prodded for more.

She promised herself she wouldn’t get weepy. His death was more painful to her than her parents’. “That he did, unfortunately. A few days after the fire, when things had cooled down and it was safe, we were sweeping the streets of charred debris. One minute he was teasing me that I looked like a chimney sweep, and the next he was clutching his heart and falling to the ground. Apoplexy. His speech was so slurred I couldn’t understand him. We never got a chance for another conversation.”

“That is a shame.” He reached over the tablecloth and touched her hand. His large, warm fingers pressed against her slender ones. Such a difference in size. Such pleasure in his touch.

“Then I placed the ad,” she said on a brighter note. “And here we are.”

“Yes, indeed.” He pulled his hand away. “Tell me again why you chose my letter,” he said, “above everyone else’s.”