Colorado Courtship. Cheryl St.John
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He admired the courage she’d shown by coming to a place she’d never been to work for people she’d never met.
She lifted her gaze. “I didn’t have time to prepare a dessert. But there are jars of peaches, and I hoped one of those might do.”
“Sounds perfect,” he replied. “We can get to know each other better over coffee.” He glanced at Tessa. “And tea.”
Tessa gave him an affectionate smile that said she appreciated his attention to her preference for hot sweet tea. She spent too much time by herself, and he hoped Violet’s presence was going to change that. Though she’d kept much of her unhappiness to herself, she’d been teased and shunned in school, due to living beside the funeral parlor. Once he’d learned the extent of the cruel treatment, he’d removed her immediately and sent her to a boarding school out East.
She’d been painfully homesick and begged him to let her come home—and so of course he had. A tutor came four days a week to guide his sister with her studies.
Violet served the peaches, steaming cups of coffee, and placed a Wedgwood teapot filled with steeping tea within Tessa’s reach.
Ben Charles sweetened his coffee and turned his attention to Violet. “You must be tired after digging right in as soon as you arrived.”
“I’m thankful to have this job.”
“You said the bakery where you worked closed?”
She stood and refilled Henry’s cup, then glanced at Ben Charles’s, which was still full. “The tea should be done.”
Tessa filled her cup. “It smells good.”
Violet had changed the subject, and he surmised that closing what had once been her father’s business was an uncomfortable topic. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Is there anything you want to ask us? I want you to feel at ease.”
Her cheeks were flushed, probably from her chores and the tension of serving her first meal. At last she lifted her gaze to his. There was deep vulnerability in the dark abyss of her eyes, an uncertainty that touched his heart. The same bone-deep protectiveness he felt toward his sister reached its possessive arms toward her.
She wanted to say something, so he waited.
At last she parted her lips to speak. “What time would you like breakfast served?”
He drew on inner reserves to find a shred of detachment, which had never been his strength. “Henry and I will eat in the kitchen at six. Tessa usually wakes later, so keep a plate warm for her.”
This relationship wouldn’t work if he couldn’t keep his objectivity. He could already see the flaw in that plan.
Everything about Violet intrigued him.
Chapter Three
A night’s sleep stretched out on the comfortable bed in sublime relaxation did wonders. Violet was rested and had breakfast on the table at six. She sat to share the meal with the men, and had finished eating when a loud chime rang from the front hallway.
Ben Charles pushed back his chair and stood. “That’s the bell next door. I’ll get it.”
He returned a few minutes later. “Guy Chapman passed on during the night.”
A death.
Violet strove to keep her composure, but panic rose in her chest. A myriad of sensory images—memories—curled around her heart like a squeezing fist. She forced her body to relax and she took several slow deep breaths.
Ben Charles resumed his seat. “That was his son. I’ll need you to assist me in bringing him back this morning,” he said to Henry. He glanced at Violet. “We won’t be but an hour. Henry will return and drive you to town.”
He spoke of their chore in a matter-of-fact manner, not at all as though they were headed out to do something unpleasant. This was his work. She had to get used to it. After the men had gone, Violet did her best not to think about their task, but she happened to glance out the back window as a pair of the magnificent horses pulled a long black hearse from the carriage house. After that she avoided the windows, in case she might glimpse their return.
Tessa arrived to nibble at the bacon and a piece of toast while they waited. “Who passed on?” she asked.
It was only a conversation. She was in a warm kitchen, safe and sound. “Someone by the name of Guy Chapman.”
She nodded. “I went to school with his granddaughter.”
“Were you friends?”
Tessa poured tea into a cup. “I can’t say we were. She was one of the girls who made a show out of avoiding me as though I had a disease.”
Violet studied her with surprise. “Why did they avoid you?”
“I’m sure you can figure it out.”
Taken aback by her reply, Violet considered the girl’s words for a moment. “Because of your brother’s occupation?”
“And the fact that we live here. Some people think it’s morbid.”
“I suppose they do.” Violet thought of Tessa as a child, and tried to imagine what she’d experienced.
“They taunted us and called my father and Ben Charles hatchet men and body snatchers, things like that.”
“That’s cruel. So you don’t attend school any longer?”
Tessa shook her head. “Ben Charles removed me. He sent me to a boarding school, but I was homesick and begged him to let me come back. He rode the train all the way to Pennsylvania to get me.”
“He loves you very much.”
Tessa looked up from her cup, thoughtfully. “Yes, he does.” She shrugged. “I don’t really care what others think of us. Ben Charles is happy doing what he does, and I’m happy living here with my books.”
The connecting door opened, and Violet jumped a foot from the seat of her chair.
“The wagon’s ready,” Henry called.
“We’ll be out front in a moment,” Tessa replied.
Violet took a deep breath to calm her racing heart and stacked their cups beside the enamel dishpan. “I forgot to ask. How do I pay for the purchases?”
“We have accounts at the stores,” Tessa replied.
“I’ll just get my coat and boots.”
The sky was blustery, and the wagon offered no protection from the bitter-cold wind. Even though they huddled behind the seat, Violet tied a wool scarf over her face and Tessa held her rabbit fur muffler to her nose and mouth the entire way.
Their first stop was the mercantile, where Violet handed her list to the man who greeted them. “Ben Charles told me he’d hired a new cook,” the bald man said. “I expected you’d be older.”
Amused, she smiled. “I’m Miss Bennett. Pleased to meet you. Henry will load our items.”
She and Tessa browsed the aisles, adding a few things to their purchases. A group of white-haired men sat around a potbellied stove. “That you, Tessa Hammond?” one of them called.
Tessa introduced Violet to the gathering.
“Heard old Guy went to glory durin’ the night,” Frank Turner said with a shake of his head. “Is he out at your place?”
“Ben Charles is attending Mr. Chapman now,” Tessa told the elderly man in a comforting voice.
The old man nodded. “Yeah. Old Guy never liked the cold weather much. His bones was achin’ something fierce this winter. Think he’d a had the sense to die durin’ the summer.”
Tessa didn’t respond to that, but she nodded and