Groom by Design. Christine Johnson
Читать онлайн книгу.
moment made her feel more and more awkward until she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Are you the older or younger?”
His eyebrow quirked at her abrupt question. “The older. Harry is several years younger than me.”
That made Sam the heir. Even more impossible, but maybe Jen stood a chance. If the Lord wanted them together, He would make the seemingly impossible possible.
She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “Did your brother come here with you?”
“No. He’s in college.”
“During the summer?” The handful of collegians from Pearlman always returned in the summer months.
“He wants to finish his graduate studies early.” Again he cast her a smile that melted her determination to stay reserved.
“I see.” She looked toward the passing storefronts so she wouldn’t have to see that unnerving smile. “When did you arrive in town?”
“This afternoon. The train was late. I should have known then that everything was going to go wrong today.”
Everything. Such as their collision and his resulting offer to patch things up with her client. “You must be terribly busy. You don’t need to come with me.”
“Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily, Miss Fox. I’ll have you know that I’m more stubborn than the proverbial mule. Besides that, I can’t get much done with a shattered—” He suddenly stopped, as if he’d just remembered something. “There was a little accident, and I need to find a good carpenter. I don’t suppose you know one.”
“Peter Simmons is the best in Pearlman. He made the bookshelves and counter at the bookstore.”
“Peter Simmons,” Sam repeated. “Related to the woman you spoke with earlier?”
She nodded, pleased that she could help the orphaned boy. “You won’t be disappointed.”
“I’ll take your word on that.”
Ruth allowed a brief smile while she considered how to get Sam and Jen in the same room. A simple introduction would tell if they were compatible. They would certainly make a fine-looking couple. Ruth’s energetic sister was the only one of them with Daddy’s dark hair, and Jen wouldn’t disappoint Sam in the honest-expression department. All Ruth needed was a reason to bring them together.
The church secretary stepped out the front door and waved. As Ruth waved back, she realized the answer was right in front of her.
“Would you care to join us for Sunday-morning services? We attend the church across the street.”
Sam glanced at the prim white building with its plain glass window. “I don’t know....”
“I could introduce you to everyone in town. As a newcomer, you’ll want to meet people.”
If she weren’t mistaken, he looked decidedly uneasy. “I’ll have to let you know tomorrow.”
That was a quick side step if she ever heard one, and she wasn’t about to get Jen involved with someone who wasn’t a Christian. “Not a churchgoer?”
“On the contrary. I simply don’t know how long I’ll be in town.”
“But today is Friday and you only just arrived. Surely you wouldn’t have to leave tomorrow.”
His cheek ticked. “You’re right, of course.” A pause. “I’d be glad to join you.”
“Good.” Ruth breathed a sigh of relief. Her plan would still work. “You can meet us in front of the dress shop. The service starts at ten o’clock.”
“Fine, but if something comes up, don’t wait for me.”
Before she could continue the conversation, he started whistling a tune. At the end of the street, they turned left and wound up Elm Street into Kensington Estates.
She pointed to the ocher-colored Victorian with dark green trim that was half-hidden behind a tall cedar hedge. “That is the Vanderloo house.”
She stopped at the gated walkway, intimidated as always by the turreted three-story home. Already cars lined the lawn, meaning Mrs. Vanderloo’s party was under way. This would not be pleasant.
“After you.” Sam opened the gate and motioned for her to precede him.
She summoned her courage and stepped ahead. In passing, his hand brushed her sleeve. A thrill ran through her, like one got from going too fast in a motorcar or running the rapids in a rowboat. She gasped at the unfamiliar sensation.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She swallowed hard and shook her head.
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle everything. Let me do the talking.” His casual smile would have set her at ease if not for his hand on the small of her back. “I know how to smooth things over with irate women.”
Women? Plural? How many women had he managed to infuriate and why? Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to introduce him to Jen after all.
* * *
Sam couldn’t help noticing that Ruth’s eyes were the most delicate shade of blue, like winter ice. If she hadn’t lifted her gaze in surprise, he would never have seen how perfectly they matched the blue of her hatband. Her pale brows arched above her glasses, and her lips pursed into a question that was never uttered.
When she again ducked her head, he realized he’d put that badly, made it sound as if he was a scoundrel around women.
“I meant female customers,” he added hastily. “In my business I often deal with complaints.”
Her brow only furrowed deeper. “Are you in sales, then?”
It was the question he’d been dreading and avoiding. He refused to outright lie, and since Father insisted no one know that a Hutton’s Department Store was opening in town, he’d avoided all but necessary contact with the locals. Crashing into Ruth had ended that tactic.
So he rushed past a full answer. “I do have a lot of experience working with customers. Please, allow me to take the lead.”
The question mark vanished from her lips and the furrows from her brow, replaced by determination. “Thank you for your offer, but Mrs. Vanderloo is my customer.”
“And this—” he waved at the dresses “—is my fault. I trust we don’t have to go over that again.”
After a brief internal battle that played out on her lovely face, she acquiesced with a quick nod. They set off for the house. For such a small town, the home was fairly sizable, rather like a country house for a wealthy New Yorker. A circular driveway cut through the lawn, and several automobiles lined its edge, their headlamps and windshields reflecting the late-day sun. Tall oaks and maples dotted the property while crimson geraniums spilled from large clay urns on either side of the front door.
He let Ruth drop the heavy brass knocker against the thick oak door. Once its dull thud faded, the faint clink of glasses and murmur of voices drifted past on the afternoon breeze.
“She must be in the garden,” Sam said.
“Her housekeeper should answer.” Ruth knocked again.
Sam’s arm had begun to ache from holding the dresses for so long. He draped them over his other arm, drawing a critical look from Miss Fox.
At last the door opened, and a trim socialite stared up at him. The perfectly coiffed hair and expensive summer suit left no doubt he was looking at Mrs. Vanderloo.
“I’m sorry. It’s an inconvenient time.” The woman began to close the door.
She thought he was a peddler, a door-to-door salesman!
Sam caught the door before she fully closed it.