Waiting For Spring Part 17

She nodded again. It was only when she had lit the kitchen lamp that she turned to Barrett. "Thank you for being there." A look of mild confusion flitted across her face. "I know G.o.d sent you. It had to be his hand that led you there at exactly the right time, but I don't understand why you were outside at this hour."

"I was looking for Miriam."

A quarter hour later, Barrett was still looking for her. When he'd reached Richard's house, all the first floor lights were blazing, but when Barrett knocked on the door, no one answered. He'd waited a minute, rapping constantly, but Richard did not appear. Finally, Barrett had opened the door and gone from room to room. All empty. He did not doubt that Miriam had been here, for her perfume lingered in the parlor, nor did he doubt that she and Richard had left together. What he did not know was where they'd gone. It could be anywhere. Though he hated the message he would have to deliver, there was no choice. He had to tell Cyrus Taggert that he had failed to find his daughter.

Barrett was not surprised when he saw the lights on at the Taggert mansion. Undoubtedly Cyrus and Amelia were waiting for him. He was not surprised when their butler greeted him as if there were nothing unusual about callers arriving before dawn. However, Barrett was surprised when he entered the parlor and saw Miriam and Richard seated on the long couch, his arm wrapped around her waist.

"We're going to be married," Miriam announced. Though her cheeks were stained with tears, her smile was brilliant. "Mama and Papa have agreed that we'll have a small wedding this afternoon. Will you come?"

"Of course."

19.

Did you hear the news?" Gwen was breathless as she stood in the doorway of Charlotte's workroom. "I was buying groceries, and it was all anyone could talk about."

Charlotte shook her head as she looked up at Gwen. She'd been thankful that she had no customers this morning, for it had given her time to think. And, oh, how she'd needed that. Her thoughts were as turbulent as the mountain stream she'd seen in Vermont, with water swirling and tumbling as it fought for supremacy with the boulders that tried to block its pa.s.sage.

The baron had found her. Charlotte shuddered each time she remembered the sight of the masked figure. She hadn't imagined him. It might not have been the baron, but it was difficult to believe there were two men in Cheyenne who wore hoods over their faces, two men who frequented 15th Street. Though she tried to convince herself that he might not have recognized her, for she had been careful to keep her ident.i.ty concealed, Charlotte could not dismiss the belief that the man had known exactly who she was and that he was following her. "He's a dangerous man," the prisoner at Fort Laramie had said. Charlotte did not doubt that for a second. The baron was dangerous, and he was evil.

While she trembled at the memory of those stealthy footsteps, Charlotte could not forget the comfort she had felt when Barrett had wrapped his arm around her. His strength, his warmth, his caring had helped to banish the terror. For the moments that she had been so close to him, she had felt safe and cherished. But then Barrett had admitted that he was searching for Miriam. He might care for Charlotte, but Miriam was the woman he loved. Though Charlotte did not know why he'd been looking for her at that hour, it did not matter. He loved Miriam, and if Charlotte had any sense at all, she would not forget that.

"What happened?" It was difficult to muster enthusiasm for the latest gossip when her heart felt as if it had been shredded.

"It's Miriam Taggert." Gwen put her hand on her chest as she attempted to catch her breath. "She's getting married this afternoon."

"That's nice." Somehow, Charlotte managed to keep her voice even. "I hope she and Barrett are happy together."

Shaking her head vigorously, Gwen grinned. "That's why everyone's so excited. It's not Barrett. She's marrying Richard Eberhardt."

Though Barrett doubted it was the kind of wedding Amelia Taggert had envisioned for her daughter, the simple ceremony in the Taggerts' parlor was one he would long remember, if only because of the bride and groom's palpable happiness. Richard looked as if he'd been given the most precious gift imaginable, while Miriam's smile was so wide her cheeks must have hurt. And though Amelia Taggert's smile appeared forced, Cyrus seemed genuinely pleased by his daughter's happiness.

"I trust you'll keep last night's events quiet," Cyrus said when the service ended and the few guests had made their way into the dining room for a cold collation, cake, and punch.

Barrett nodded. He had no plan to tell anyone that Miriam had gone to Richard's town house, intent on compromising her reputation so that Richard would have no alternative but to marry her. "All that matters is that they're wed."

Cyrus Taggert gave Barrett a long look. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I think the party is wrong. You'd make a fine senator. If you decide to run, you'll have my endors.e.m.e.nt."

It was more than Barrett had expected. A week ago, he might have been elated. Today he was not. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate it, but a man's got to find his place. Mine isn't in Washington."

The question remained: where was it? Barrett wanted to believe that his place was with Charlotte. The fear that he'd known when he'd heard her scream had deepened his conviction that she was the only woman he would ever love. In that moment, he had wanted nothing more than to keep her safe, to protect her and David, to create a life for the three of them. But what kind of life would that be?

Mere months ago, he'd been confident of what the future would bring. Now . . . now his world looked completely different. Barrett knew that if he was patient and listened, he would learn what the Lord had in store for him. But until that happened, until he was confident that he could create a secure future for Charlotte and David, he would say nothing. It would be wrong to promise something he might not be able to deliver. Charlotte deserved the best, and if he could not give her that, he would simply walk away.

In the meantime, there was one thing he could do for her. He had realized that when he'd entered the Taggert mansion to witness two of his friends being joined in holy matrimony. As he'd looked at the s.p.a.cious foyer of a building that was far too large for two people, Barrett had known he had at least one answer. He'd tell her tomorrow.

Charlotte had heard people say that their jaws dropped, but she had thought it was simply a figure of speech. She had been wrong. Her jaw had most definitely dropped. She stared at Barrett. "I don't understand," she said when she had managed to regain a modic.u.m of composure.

Those dark blue eyes that she envisioned even when she closed her own sparkled. "It's simple," he said as he leaned forward ever so slightly. "I want to give you my house."

"That's what I thought you said. I just didn't believe my ears." She hadn't been surprised when Barrett entered the store. She had expected him to come, if only to a.s.sure himself that she had suffered no ill effects from her fright. When he'd arrived, she had wondered whether she should broach the subject of Miriam or simply pretend that she was unaware of the wedding. Barrett had perched on the edge of the chair rather than settling back and relaxing, his expression so serious that she feared Miriam's marriage had devastated him. As Charlotte struggled to find words to comfort him, he'd shocked her by offering his home for the school.

"Are you certain?" To Charlotte's dismay, her voice cracked more than it had when Barrett had rescued her from the baron. She'd been frightened then, but now . . . now she wasn't sure what she felt other than overwhelmed.

Barrett took a quick look out the window, as if a.s.suring himself there were no customers on the doorstep. "If you think this was an impulsive gesture, I can a.s.sure you that it isn't. I've given it considerable thought. The simple fact is, I no longer need a house of that size. I'm not going to run for office, so there's no need to entertain on a grand scale. Quite simply, it's too large for one person."

Charlotte nodded slowly. Though Barrett claimed it wasn't a hasty decision, she suspected it was precipitated by Miriam's marriage. Without a bride and the possibility of children, Barrett did not need a mansion.

"I'm sorry about Miriam," she said softly. "The news must have hurt."

Barrett's eyes widened for a second. "Is that what the rumor mill is claiming, that I'm in the depths of despair because Miriam married Richard?" When Charlotte nodded, he laughed. "It couldn't be further from the truth. I'm happy for both of them. I would have danced at their wedding, only there was no dancing, so I had to be content with toasting their happiness."

Charlotte tried to make sense of his words. "Then you don't . . ." She stopped, not daring to ask such a personal question.

"If you're asking whether I was in love with Miriam, the answer is no. It's true that I considered marrying her, but for all the wrong reasons. The truth is, she loves Richard. I suspect she always has."

Of course. Charlotte smiled as the pieces fell into place. No wonder Miriam had been so concerned about Gwen's possibly marrying an older man. She had been thinking about herself and Richard. And when she'd expressed her admiration for the man who shared her love of music and literature, it hadn't been Barrett. Richard was the man Miriam loved. Richard was the one whose declaration of love had excited her. Of course.

"Then I'm glad for all of you." Charlotte was more than glad. She was thrilled, for Barrett's explanation reignited the flame of hope she'd tried so desperately to extinguish.

Barrett opened his mouth as if to speak, then shook his head. Clearing his throat, he gestured toward the flocked walls. "It would be a shame to divide this building. You'd wind up with a store and a school, but they'd both be too small. If you moved to my house, you'd be able to have more pupils and to make it a boarding school." He paused for a second before adding, "I imagine you could persuade Mrs. Melnor to stay, even if you couldn't pay her full salary. You wouldn't need much other staff initially."

Charlotte took a deep breath, trying to control her emotions. There was no doubt that Barrett's mansion would be a far better site for a school than her shop. There was no doubt that his offer was incredibly generous. There was also no doubt that she could not agree to it.

"Oh, Barrett," Charlotte said, searching for the words to make him understand. She didn't want to hurt or insult him by refusing a gift of this magnitude. "I appreciate your offer. Truly, I do. I never dreamt that anyone would offer me so much. But I can't accept."

He blinked, as if surprised by her response. "Why not? I don't believe it would be too difficult to convert it to a school."

"It wouldn't." Charlotte shook her head, remembering her first impression of his home. "I never told you, but your house reminded me a bit of the academy where Abigail and I used to teach. It has the same s.p.a.cious rooms and the feeling that a child would be welcome, even if he slid down the banister or dropped food on the carpet."

"Then what's the problem?" Barrett appeared perplexed and, though she sensed he was trying to hide it, a bit angry.

"I can't take it. It wouldn't be right."

Shaking his head, Barrett fixed his gaze on her. "Now I'm the one who doesn't understand."

How could she explain without making it sound as if she sought something more from him? It would have been difficult enough if he and Miriam were engaged-of course, if that were the case, Barrett would not be offering Charlotte his home-but now it might seem as if she was angling for marriage. "It wouldn't be proper," she said, hoping he'd understand how rigid some rules were.

Comprehension glimmered in his eyes. "Because I'm a man and you're a woman?"

"Exactly. Widows have a good deal more freedom than unmarried women, but a gift of a house would be frowned upon. There would be speculation about our . . ." Though she had intended to say "relationship," Charlotte bit off the word. "It would be seen as at least slightly scandalous, and if there's one thing a school does not need, it's any hint of scandal."

Though Barrett frowned, he did not appear discouraged. "If the gift is a problem, we'll make it a sale. I'll sell the building to you for a dollar. Warren can do all the paperwork, and no one needs to know what you paid. I imagine by now everyone's aware my fortunes are on the skids, so they won't be surprised when I sell the house."

As reports of the enormous loss of cattle had reached Cheyenne, conjecture had begun over which of the cattle barons would be the first to declare bankruptcy and leave Wyoming. Though Charlotte had tried not to dwell on the possibility, she hated the thought that Barrett might return to Pennsylvania.

"That's another reason why I cannot accept your offer. You shouldn't be giving away your greatest a.s.set. I don't mean to pry into your personal affairs, but how would you live?" While he might not be able to recoup the full cost of the house, Barrett would certainly be able to sell it for far more than a dollar.

He leaned forward and took her hand in his. "You needn't worry about me. Unlike some of my fellow stock growers, I'm not in debt. I even have some savings."

His hand tightened, and the warmth from his palm spread up Charlotte's arm. It was silly, but she felt almost light-headed. It must be the shock of Barrett's offer. Surely it wasn't the fact that this man who was so dear to her, the man who'd admitted that he cared for her, held her hand. She was reading too much into it, feeling cherished simply because he held her hand in his.

If Barrett was affected by their entwined fingers, he gave no sign of it. His expression was calm, his voice even. "When I was a boy, my father used to tell us we should have emergency funds. I can't speak for Harrison or Camden, but I took that advice to heart. My mother said it was rude to talk about money, so I won't tell you how much I have saved, but I will say that I can live for at least a year on it. Admittedly, I won't be living in a mansion, but I'll have a roof over my head, and I won't starve."

Though he'd been staring into the distance, Barrett returned his gaze to her face, his eyes meeting hers. "Tell me you'll take the house. Please, Charlotte. I want to give it to you and David. I want to help make your dream come true."

It was a wonderful offer, an almost irresistible one, from a wonderful, almost irresistible man. Barrett was kind, caring, unbelievably generous. He believed in Charlotte's dreams, and he wanted to help her achieve them. He was everything she had dreamt of. That was the problem.

"I can't, Barrett. I can't let you make that kind of sacrifice."

He shook his head, as if he didn't understand. "Why not?"

Charlotte took a deep breath. She should have told him months ago. She knew that, just as she knew she had been making excuses each time she'd postponed the discussion. Landry never lies, but Charlotte had. She could argue that she had good reasons for the deceptions, but the simple fact was, she had lied. Now it was time for the truth.

She took another deep breath, exhaling slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on Barrett as she said, "I'm not the woman you think I am."

20.

As Barrett's eyes widened, Charlotte saw shock and disbelief reflected in them. Next would come revulsion, once he understood what she'd done. She had known that was inevitable, that the man who prized honesty would want nothing to do with a woman who'd built her life on lies. That was one of the reasons she'd waited so long to tell him the truth.

"What do you mean?"

To Charlotte's surprise, she heard no condemnation in his voice, only a simple question. She rose and drew the curtains over the front windows, then turned the door sign to "closed."

Willing her hands not to tremble, she settled back into the chair across from Barrett. Though she longed for the comfort his touch had given her, Charlotte knew she did not deserve it. "I'd better start at the beginning. My name isn't Charlotte Harding." She shook her head, contradicting herself. "That's not really true. That was my name until I married Jeffrey. Then I became Charlotte Crowley."

Barrett looked at her steadily. Someone else might have missed the momentary tightening of his lips at the realization that she had lied, but Charlotte did not. It was what she had expected. Barrett would not easily excuse what she had done. When he spoke, his voice was almost harsh. "Why didn't you keep his name? Was he a cruel man?" The way Barrett clenched and unclenched his fists told Charlotte that thought disturbed him, and a glimmer of hope rekindled itself. Perhaps that was the reason he looked so somber, and it wasn't solely because she'd been less than honest.

"No," she hastened to a.s.sure him. "He was foolish, perhaps, but not cruel. Jeffrey loved me, but sometimes it seemed that he loved money more. He gambled and did some very foolish things, because he thought we needed more than his lieutenant's pay."

Though Barrett seemed to relax a bit with her rea.s.surance, his eyes widened in surprise at her final words. "Your husband was a soldier? I thought he was a farmer."

Another lie. "Jeffrey hated farming. His parents had a farm and could barely make ends meet. I think that's one of the reasons money was so important to him-he had lived with so little. As soon as he could, he escaped from the farm and went to West Point."

"A very different life."

"Yes, it was. He chafed at the restrictions and complained about the pay, but he admitted it was better than being a farmer." Charlotte managed a small smile, remembering the times when Jeffrey had seemed happy. "He was stationed at Fort Laramie. That's how I came to Wyoming."

"So you weren't lying when you said that your husband brought you here." Once again, there was no censure, merely a simple statement of fact. Charlotte felt some of the tension that had stiffened her spine begin to ebb. This was more than she had dared hope, for Barrett's reaction wasn't what she had feared.

"I tried not to lie any more than necessary, but I couldn't let anyone know I was Jeffrey Crowley's widow."

"Why not? Were you ashamed of his gambling?"

If only Jeffrey had limited himself to gambling, she wouldn't have had to lie, but he had wanted more money than gambling provided. Though she had never asked for it, Jeffrey had believed that Charlotte craved a life of luxury, and so he'd done whatever he could to pay for fancy china and silver, a Steinway piano, a cook and housekeeper. He had never asked whether Charlotte would have been happy without those things, and she'd been equally at fault, for she had never questioned the source of the money. It was only when it was too late to change anything that Charlotte had realized that if they'd talked more, Jeffrey might still be alive.

"It wasn't only gambling," she told Barrett. "Jeffrey was a thief too. He got involved in stagecoach robberies."

Barrett nodded, his expression so calm that Charlotte wondered if anything she could say would shock him. Once he'd learned that Jeffrey had not been abusive, he'd relaxed. "In its heyday, there was a lot of gold on the Black Hills line."

The coaches that used to run from the Black Hills gold mines in Deadwood to Cheyenne were famous for the cargoes they carried, and until the company added specially armored coaches, they had been prey to robberies. After that, although pa.s.sengers had been robbed of their belongings, there had been no spectacular holdups. And then, with the extension of the railroad, an era had ended. Since there was no further need for stagecoaches, the last one had left Cheyenne less than two weeks ago.

"Jeffrey never got any gold, but one of his . . ." Charlotte searched for the correct word. "Partners," she said at last. "One of his partners believes he found Big Nose Parrott's stash, and he wants it. The man has already killed at least one woman trying to find the money." Charlotte looked at Barrett, willing him to understand. "That's why I've been lying. It's not shame; it's fear. I'm afraid he'll find me and that he'll hurt David to make me give him the money." She clasped her hands together to still their trembling. "I thought we were safe in Cheyenne, but then I learned he was here. I think he was the man who followed me the other night."

"No wonder you were so frightened." Barrett's voice was warm and comforting. "Don't worry, Charlotte. We'll find him. Then you'll be safe."

She wanted to believe him. Oh, how she did. Charlotte swallowed deeply, trying to tamp down the fears that thoughts of the baron raised. "I hope that's true. I've hated living with lies, but I had to do whatever I could to keep my son safe."

Barrett was silent for a moment, and Charlotte sensed that he was trying to absorb everything she had told him. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "I understand." He paused, then added, "As well as anyone who's not a parent can."

"Then you don't hate me for lying?" The question slipped out, unbidden. She had heard no condemnation in his voice and had seen no revulsion on his face, and yet she had to be certain.

"I could never hate you. Surely you realize that. I care for you and David. I want you both to be safe and happy."

This was the second time Barrett had said he cared for her, and this time he had included David in that declaration. Warmth flooded Charlotte's cheeks, and her hands ceased their trembling.

"If you're going to be safe," Barrett continued, "we have to find out who this man is. If he's a murderer, he deserves to be behind bars until a jury can decide his fate. What does he look like?"

"I don't know. I never saw him. The woman at Fort Laramie who warned me about him only told me his name. She called him the baron." Charlotte frowned, remembering that day. She had been so frightened by the woman's words that she hadn't been thinking clearly. By the time she regained her common sense, it had been too late. "I wanted to ask her more, but she was killed that night. I think the baron was responsible. She said he was ruthless and that nothing would stop him from getting the money." Charlotte gripped the chair arms. "I don't have it, but he doesn't know that."

Barrett laid his hand on hers, and once again she drew strength from his warmth. "You'll be all right, Charlotte. We'll find the baron." Though he'd said it before, Barrett seemed to know that Charlotte needed the rea.s.surance.

"Are you sure he's actually a baron?" Barrett appeared skeptical. "We have a number of cattle barons here, but no one uses that as a t.i.tle. We've even got some blue bloods from Europe. There's a viscount and a couple earls, but no barons."

"It probably isn't a real t.i.tle," Charlotte admitted, "but he still uses it." She shuddered, remembering the stories she had heard. "I can't believe that there are two such cruel men living in Wyoming and calling themselves the baron. It has to be the same one." Quickly, she explained about how she knew that Sylvia's girls feared him. "The worst part is, no one knows what he looks like because he wears a mask."

Barrett seemed disturbed. "If this Sylvia knows he's cruel, why does she let him into her establishment? Surely the money can't be worth it."

Charlotte had asked the same question. "It's not just the money. Mrs. Kendall said he threatened to burn down the brothel with everyone inside. Sylvia believed he'd do that, and so do I. He seems to be a truly evil man."

Barrett rose and began to pace the floor. "Someone must know who he is. I'll make some discreet inquiries."

It was necessary. Charlotte knew that, and yet she couldn't help shuddering. What would happen if the baron learned that she was Jeffrey's widow before Barrett found him?

Barrett seemed to understand, for he stood next to her chair and looked down at her, his expression warm and comforting. "I won't do anything to endanger you. I'll only speak to my friends."

"Thank you." Charlotte nodded as relief settled over her like a soft blanket.