Книга - His Most Suitable Bride

His Most Suitable Bride
Renee Ryan


THE MARRIAGE LISTNo one in Denver knows how close Callie Mitchell once came to ruin. Dowdy dresses and severe hairstyles hide evidence of the pretty, trusting girl she used to be. Now her matchmaking employer wants Callie to help find a wife for the one man who sees through her careful facade. For his business's sake, Reese Bennett Jr. plans on making a sensible marriage. Preferably one without the unpredictable emotions that spring to life around Callie. Yet no matter how many candidates she presents to Reese, none compare with the vibrant, intelligent woman who is right under his nose-and quickly invading his heart. Charity House: Offering an oasis of hope, faith and love on the rugged Colorado frontier







The Marriage List

No one in Denver knows how close Callie Mitchell once came to ruin. Dowdy dresses and severe hairstyles hide evidence of the pretty, trusting girl she used to be. Now her matchmaking employer wants Callie to help find a wife for the one man who sees through her careful facade.

For his business’s sake, Reese Bennett Jr. plans on making a sensible marriage. Preferably one without the unpredictable emotions that spring to life around Callie. Yet no matter how many candidates she presents to Reese, none compare with the vibrant, intelligent woman who is right under his nose—and quickly invading his heart.

Charity House: Offering an oasis of hope, faith and love on the rugged Colorado frontier


“We are friends, are we not?”

Reese nodded. “We are.”

“Wouldn’t you also agree that friends help friends?”

He ran a hand along his jaw. “I would.”

“I don’t mind if this puts us in close proximity.” Callie’s bow-shaped lips curved upward. “I enjoy your company.”

“I enjoy yours, too.” A little too much. And therein lay the problem. Reese really liked Callie. He especially liked this new Callie, the one who dressed in rich, bold colors that made her skin glow and her eyes sparkle.

Her transformation awed him. Her beauty stole his breath.

“If you will give me a chance—” she pulled her hand away from his arm “—I believe I can be of great assistance in your search.”

Hadn’t he already arrived at that same conclusion? “That is not the point.”

“What is the point?”

He couldn’t remember.

“I need a day or two to think this through,” he said, grasping for any reason to make his exit before he said or did something he couldn’t take back.


RENEE RYAN

grew up in a Florida beach town where she learned to surf very poorly. Armed with a degree in economics and religion from Florida State University, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling agency and a cosmetics conglomerate. She also taught high school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. She currently lives in Nebraska with her husband and a large, fluffy cat many have mistaken for a small bear. Renee’s website is www.reneeryan.com (http://www.reneeryan.com). You can also find her on Facebook and Twitter, @ReneeRyanBooks (http://twitter.com/ReneeRyanBooks).


His Most Suitable Bride

Renee Ryan






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For the Lord does not see as man sees;

for man looks at the outward appearance,

but the Lord looks at the heart.

—1 Samuel 16:7


To my amazing, handsome, fabulous husband, Mark. Because of the love and grace you show me on a daily basis, writing romance is easy for me. I just have to look at you and know happily-ever-after is real. Love you, always and forever.


Contents

Cover (#u0bc2bf49-fadd-52df-8e65-e56f0a2857d5)

Back Cover Text (#u5e327566-96f2-5e2a-a97f-7a87ab890dad)

Introduction (#u24b1c892-211d-52a3-9a97-0a413d19568c)

About the Author (#u4ecedd77-1bc9-5124-a8fb-f73288d94abc)

Title Page (#ue203c213-9767-59e0-8fb1-df4a33d4ca0a)

Bible Verse (#u4dae2995-6b30-577d-9832-0769e500836b)

Dedication (#u8ccf22c6-d860-5d84-8c04-6f11f121ec0c)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u04911a25-e76e-5d26-8597-4123190b43dc)

Denver, Colorado—1895

The Tabor Grand Opera House

Tonight should have ranked among the finest of Callie Mitchell’s life. Certainly all the elements were in place. She sat in a box seat, on a plush velvet chair, watching a world-class performance of Roméo et Juliette.

Based on William Shakespeare’s play, the popular opera consisted of five drama-filled acts with four—four!—duets between the main characters.

Callie was supposed be happy.

She was happy. Almost. But not quite.

Stifling a sigh, she took her gaze off the drama unfolding on the stage and glanced around. Horace A. W. Tabor had spared no expense in the construction of his opera house. The expert woodwork, elaborate chandelier and vibrant frescos made for a luxurious decor unrivaled by any other theater in Denver.

Perhaps therein lay the problem. Too many sights assaulted Callie, begging her to gawk in openmouthed wonder.

She was entirely too sensible for such a vulgar reaction. After all, she was the more levelheaded of the two Mitchell sisters, the boring one. Everyone said so.

Another sigh worked its way up her throat. Callie only had herself to blame for what people thought of her. She’d deliberately cultivated her uninteresting persona after her shameless act all those years ago when she’d attended school in Boston.

Fortunately, no one in Denver knew just how close she’d come to ruin. God may have forgiven her sin. Callie could not. Nor could she forget and thereby risk repeating the same mistake twice.

She closed her eyes for a moment—just one—and lost herself in the music. The heart-wrenching melody washed over her, each note more superb than the last. An urge to hum told her she was inches away from losing control.

She whipped open her eyes and focused on the woman perched on the chair beside her. A renowned beauty in her day, Beatrix Singletary’s golden brown hair held not a speck of gray. And her face barely showed that nearly two decades had passed since Mr. Singletary, now deceased, had won her hand in marriage.

Serving as the widow’s companion had come at a time in Callie’s life when she’d needed a change and a reason to focus on someone other than herself.

The music hit a crescendo.

Callie turned her attention back to the stage. This time, she did give into a sigh. The doomed Juliette had no idea the pain she would soon suffer because of love.

Callie knew. Oh, how she knew. Not only because of the incident in Boston, but also because of...him.

She didn’t dare glance in his direction, though he sat directly across the theater, in a box seat mirroring Mrs. Singletary’s. Don’t look, Callie ordered herself.

Do. Not. Look.

She looked.

The breath clogged in her throat. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Reese Bennett Jr. She knew every facet of that strong, handsome face. The full breadth of those wide, muscular shoulders. The dark, intense eyes that were the same rich color as his hair, a shade nearly as black as a raven’s feather.

He sat with his father and seemed a little too content for a man recently jilted. Not by Callie. She would never reject an offer of marriage from him. He’d proposed to someone else, and would have married that someone else had the stubborn girl not left town.

The fact that the person in question was Callie’s younger, prettier sister was a source of intense distress. Fanny had made a terrible mistake. And the longer she stayed away the harder it would be to rectify her rash decision.

Reese would not stay single for long. Not only was he a successful attorney, but he was also very masculine, so utterly appealing. Any number of women would happily take Fanny’s place.

Callie could not allow that to happen. He must remain free of any entanglement until Fanny came to her senses.

Stubborn, headstrong girl. How could she have rejected Reese? He was...so very...wonderful. Callie swallowed. Restrained another sigh. Felt her eyelashes flutter.

As if sensing her watching him, Reese turned his head in her direction.

Their gazes met. Held.

Callie nearly choked on her own breath.

Floodgates of emotion burst open, giving her no time to brace for impact. Sensation after sensation rolled over her. There was something else in the storm of feelings running through her, something truly terrible, a scorching pain in her heart. He can never be mine.

The thought itself was beyond inappropriate, perhaps even a betrayal to the sister she adored.

Pressing her lips tightly together, Callie set her hands in her lap and willed away the emotion threatening to take hold of her. A quick, sharp gasp slipped out, anyway.

“Something troubling you, my dear?”

“No, Mrs. Singletary.” Callie dragged her gaze away from Reese. Keeping her voice low enough for only the widow to hear, she added, “I...I was simply caught up in the music.”

“Ah, yes.” The widow swept a glance over the auditorium, stopping a shade too long on the box directly across from them. “Perfectly understandable.”

Callie gave her employer a faint smile, praying they were talking about the opera. Surely, she hadn’t given herself away.

Thankfully, the widow turned her head back toward the stage and studied the drama unfolding before them. After only a moment, though, she leaned back toward Callie. “I find the music quite lovely, I’d even suggest inspiring. What say you?”

Lovely? Inspiring? Were they watching the same opera? “Not really. The music is haunting and the story is...so very—” she took a quick, hitching breath of air “—tragic.”

“My dear, dear girl.” The widow patted her arm in a way that made Callie feel both young and ridiculously naive. At twenty-three, and with the incident in her past, she was neither. “One must never focus on the ending when the story has yet to fully begin.”

Had the widow not been paying attention? “Mrs. Singletary, we have come to the final moments of the third act. Tybalt is dead. Romeo has been banished for murder. Nothing but misfortune and heartache lies ahead.”

“Oh, Callie, you are missing my point entirely. No matter the outcome, we must enjoy each moment of every journey as it comes.”

The words were entirely too profound for an evening at the opera, alerting Callie that the widow, in her non-too-subtle way, was encouraging her to relax her serious nature.

It wasn’t the first time she’d let Callie know her opinion on the matter. Arguing now would be useless.

“Yes, Mrs. Singletary.” Callie inclined her head in a polite nod. “I shall try my best to heed your advice.”

“That is all I ask.” The widow settled back in her chair, but not before Callie caught a speculative gleam in her eyes.

Oh, this was bad. Very, very bad.

As if to confirm her suspicions, Mrs. Singletary ignored the performance and turned her attention back to the box across the auditorium. She held steady for one beat, two, then continued circling her gaze around the auditorium, stopping at seemingly random spots along the way.

Or, perhaps not so random.

If Callie wasn’t mistaken, the widow only paused to consider single, unattached men around Callie’s own age before moving on to search out the next section of seats.

Callie wanted to smack her hand over her eyes and groan aloud. Mrs. Singletary was hunting out suitable young men to court her.

Oh, Lord, please, no.

It was no secret the widow considered herself a skilled matchmaker. And why not? She’d made several high-profile matches in the past two years. Her most recent success had been her former companion, Molly Taylor Scott. Callie’s closest, dearest friend, Molly was now married to one of Callie’s older brothers. And—

No. Oh, no.

Mrs. Singletary was attempting to find Callie’s one true soul mate. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d made it abundantly clear she wanted no part in the widow’s matchmaking schemes, either as an accomplice or the object of a pairing.

Callie hadn’t made this declaration because she didn’t believe in love, or want to be happily settled. She did. So very much. But the one man—the only man—she wanted could never be hers.

If only he hadn’t asked another woman to marry him. If only that woman hadn’t been Callie’s sister, a woman who would come to her senses any day now and ask Reese to take her back.

The third act came to an abrupt, dismal close.

Mrs. Singletary enthusiastically applauded the performance. Callie very much doubted that look of joy on the widow’s face had anything to do with the spectacular singing and superior acting.

As soon as the lights came up, Mrs. Singletary rose regally to her feet. “Come along, Callie.” A cagey smile played across her lips. “It’s time we indulge ourselves in conversation and refreshment.”

Callie would rather stay behind. Unfortunately, that particular activity was not in her job description.

Giving in as graciously as possible, she squared her shoulders and followed the widow to the curtained exit of their box seating. Against her better judgment, she glanced over her shoulder and allowed her gaze to find Reese once again.

If only...

* * *

Reese remained in his seat during intermission, while his father left to work the crowd in the atrium. He knew he was ignoring his duty. As the new managing senior partner of his family’s law firm, Reese should be circulating among the other opera patrons, engaging in small talk with current clients and scouting out potential new ones.

At the very least he should make a point to speak with the firm’s most important client, Beatrix Singletary.

Reese couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm.

He’d already endured three acts of the ghastly Roméo et Juliette. He needed this moment alone to gather the fortitude he would need to suffer through the remaining two acts. He didn’t especially dislike opera, not in general, just this particular one. The main characters’ senseless behavior struck an unpleasant chord.

The impulsive, reckless actions of youth, the unchecked passion that overwhelmed all common sense and eventually led to needless death, it was all so...familiar.

Reese battled against the fourteen-year-old memories always lurking at the edges of his calm nature. They came stronger tonight, momentarily bringing back the fear. The helplessness. The searing pain of grief he’d vowed never to experience again.

Love was a costly proposition best avoided.

Poised between the pull of the past and a need to push toward a predictable, steady future, he looked out over the nearly empty seating below.

The din of conversation and high-pitched laughter grated on him. He kept his reaction hidden behind a blank stare.

To the outside observer he probably appeared to be enjoying this moment alone. If anyone looked closer, would they sense the dark mood beneath? Would they falsely attribute it to his broken engagement with Fanny Mitchell?

He shifted in his seat, fought off a frown.

He regretted losing Fanny, as one might regret the loss of a good friend. Her erratic behavior had given him pause, though. He’d been so careful in his choice of brides, so meticulous. Fanny had seemed a good fit. Until her sudden change of heart had revealed an inconsistency in her character that Reese had missed originally.

Though unexpected, her actions had saved them both a lifetime of regret.

Enough. Enough thinking. Enough pretending he was enjoying himself. There was nothing keeping him from leaving. He would rather spend his time pouring over legal briefs, anyway. The dry, precise language always managed to restore his tranquility.

Decision made, he stood, turned to go and...

Froze midstep.

He was not alone in the box. Two women had joined him. But when? He hadn’t heard them enter. How long had they been standing there, watching him?

The older of the two gave him a slow, significant smile, alerting him that he was staring.

He firmed his expression and opened his mouth to speak.

The widow cut him off before he could begin. “Why, Mr. Bennett, I believe we caught you on your way out.”

“You did.” He hooked his hands together behind his back. “That’s not to say your arrival isn’t a pleasant turn of events. Good evening, Mrs. Singletary.” He inclined his head in the widow’s direction. “You are a vision as always.”

He didn’t need to catalog her attire to know this to be true. She spared no expense when it came to her clothing and made sure her personal style rivaled any woman in Paris, New York or London. As a result, Beatrix Singletary was undoubtedly the best dressed in all of Denver.

“That is very kind of you to say.” She swept her hand in a graceful arc. “I believe you know my companion.”

“Of course.” Reese continued to look into the widow’s eyes another two seconds before turning his attention onto Callie Mitchell.

For a moment, they stared at one another with mutual discomfort. Reese felt the muscles in his back stiffen, and knew his reaction had nothing to do with Callie’s personal connection with his former fiancée. He always had this disturbing visceral response to the woman, a woman most looked past in order to focus on her more glamorous sister.

Reese suspected that was exactly what Callie wished people to do.

“Miss Mitchell.” Her name came out sounding oddly tortured, even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. “You are looking quite lovely this evening, as well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bennett.” Her gaze didn’t quite meet his, nor did she make a move to enter the box fully. Shadows still curtained most of her hair and face.

“Mrs. Singletary.” He addressed the widow once again, wondering at her sudden arrival. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“The theater is far too full of people milling about, even on the landings between the tiers of box seats.” She flicked a wrist in the direction of the curtain behind her. “We thought we might escape the maddening crush and sit with you a moment before the rest of the performance begins.”

Odd. The maddening crush had never bothered her before. He’d seen her happily mingling amid the largest of crowds. He couldn’t help but wonder again at her sudden presence.

“Please, come in and relax, partake in the desserts the Tabor has provided for my father and me tonight.”

Gesturing to his right, Reese stepped aside to let the woman pass.

The widow went directly to the small buffet table and studied the offerings. After a moment, she released a weighty sigh. “There are too many choices. Come closer, Callie.” She waved the girl forward. “I shall rely on you to fill my plate.”

“Yes, Mrs. Singletary.” Callie hesitated only a beat before moving, her steps surprisingly graceful for a woman of her height, a mere head shorter than his six feet two inches.

She floated along like a snowflake, slowly, smoothly and icily controlled. Eventually, she emerged from the shadows completely and Reese’s heart kicked an extra hard beat.

His stomach knotted with tension.

Did Callie know the way she’d ruthlessly secured her pale blond hair off her face displayed her arresting features in startling detail?

His stomach rolled again.

This was not a new reaction for Reese, nor was it in any way a pleasant sensation. Callie Mitchell disturbed him.

He shook aside the thought, not wishing to dwell on how she made him...feel. Yet he could not look away from those sculpted cheekbones, the perfectly bowed lips and green, green eyes the color of summer-fresh leaves.

What a picture Callie Mitchell made. So pretty. So perfectly upright. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in her gown. An image that didn’t completely ring true. The woman was too controlled, too perfectly put together.

Reese sensed she hid something a little wild beneath that measured calm. He’d sensed it from the start of their acquaintance and thus had made a point of avoiding her more often than not.

“Mr. Bennett, how are you enjoying this evening’s performance so far?” Mrs. Singletary asked him the question as she sat on a chair beside him, settling her skirts around her with practiced ease. “Do you not find the music lovely?”

“Lovely, no. I find it extremely haunting.”

A soft gasp came from Callie’s direction.

He ignored the sound, and the woman. “The story itself is far too tragic to be considered enjoyable,” he added.

“Isn’t that interesting?” The widow reached out her hand and accepted the plate full of tea cakes and chocolates from her companion, who for some reason looked entirely disconcerted. “Callie made those exact observations not twenty minutes ago.”

“Indeed.” Uncomfortable hearing that he and Callie shared the same opinion, Reese adjusted his stance and deflected the conversation back to the widow. “I believe you were instrumental in bringing this particular troupe of performers to Denver. What do you think of their efforts so far?”

It was the perfect question to ask. The widow set about telling him her precise opinion. In great detail.

Listening with only half an ear, he nodded at all the appropriate places. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Callie returned to the buffet table. She contemplated the offerings once again. A delicate frown of concentration spread across her brow.

She huffed out a small frustrated breath. Though it had taken her no time to decide what to pick out for her employer, she seemed at a loss when it came to filling her own plate.

Reese found himself oddly riveted.

Would she choose a soft, gooey confection? Or something with more substance? Maybe a mixture of both.

He had no idea why it would matter to him. What could her choices possibly mean in the grand scheme of the evening’s events?

“Oh, my, Mr. Bennett, that is quite the fierce expression on your face.” Mrs. Singletary’s voice cut through his thoughts. “I take it you disagree with me.”

He silently filed through the widow’s last words. “In my opinion, four duets are three too many.”

She let out a soft laugh. “You haven’t enjoyed one moment of the tonight’s production, have you?”

“No.”

His brief response seemed to amuse her further. “I see even in matters of entertainment I can count on your candor.”

It did not occur to him to be anything less than frank.

“But, truly, are you not pleased with any portion of tonight’s performance?”

“Not in the least.”

Watching Callie’s attempt to make a decision, however, enthralled him to no end.

Mrs. Singletary made a disapproving sound in her throat. “Are you considering leaving the theater early, then?”

“I am.”

“I cannot persuade you otherwise?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

He continued watching Callie hover over the buffet table. She was being so very, very careful and working so very, very hard to pick just the right confections to put on her plate. Her scrupulous process was oddly sweet and utterly adorable and Reese couldn’t bear to watch another moment more.

“Pick one of each, Miss Mitchell.”

Her responding flinch warned him his suggestion had come out harsher than he’d meant. He softened his voice. “There is no need to be particular. There is plenty to go around.”

“I... Yes, thank you.”

She began filling her plate with more enthusiasm. Halfway through, though, she looked up and stared briefly into his gaze.

Briefly was enough.

For that single moment, Reese caught a hint of something disturbingly familiar in her eyes, a willingness to push the boundaries when no one was looking. Dangerous, dangerous territory.

He knew he had a split second to make a decision before it was too late, before he forgot who this woman was and that he’d once been engaged to her sister. He could continue staring at Callie, attempting to fight off this unwanted fascination a few seconds more. Or he could turn his back on her.

He turned his back.

There. She was no longer riveting.

Reese was no longer enthralled.

Everything was back as it should be.


Chapter Two (#u04911a25-e76e-5d26-8597-4123190b43dc)

The following morning, Callie woke early, with gritty eyes, a foggy brain and an uneasy heart. The bright August sunlight had yet to filter through the curtains’ seams. Considering her gray mood, she preferred the muted dawn light. The events of the previous evening had left her feeling anxious and mildly out of sorts. It was as if her world had been tilted slightly off-kilter and she couldn’t seem to regain her balance.

Whenever she found herself in need of comfort, she turned to her Bible. The Psalms especially had a way of putting matters into perspective, her favorite one reminding her to lean on the Lord and not on her own understanding.

Unfortunately, her mind kept wandering back to last night, to Reese. To the time they’d spent in his opera box.

Something had shifted between them, something new and utterly perplexing.

There’d been that awkward moment when he’d leaned forward and urged her to pick one of every dessert on display. His voice had held equal parts kindness and frustration, the odd mix of emotions confusing her even more. So she’d done as he suggested and filled her plate with sweets she had no intention of eating.

After that, he’d turned his back and avoided speaking to her directly for the rest of the intermission.

She’d been relieved. Then filled with despair.

Then relieved all over again.

Sighing, she curled her fingers around her Bible and pressed the book to her heart. Reese was so handsome, and in many ways so familiar, yet she hardly knew him. For all their interactions through the years, they’d never stepped beyond polite pleasantries.

Last night had been no different. Except...

Everything had been different. Reese had been different. The way he’d looked her directly in the eyes, as if she mattered, for herself, had left a peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Had anyone ever told her that she would one day be the center of Reese’s attention, even for a few precious moments at the opera, she would have declared them quite mad. He’d barely spared her a glance before last night.

This was getting her nowhere. Callie was reading far too much into his behavior, looking for a hidden meaning where there was none. Now she was running late for breakfast.

She dressed quickly, choosing a basic gray dress and practical, low-heeled ankle boots. She secured her hair with extra pins this morning, smoothing and tugging until every stray curl had been ruthlessly tamed into submission.

Feeling more herself, she went in search of her employer.

She found Mrs. Singletary in the morning room, perusing the Denver Chronicle, which was laid out on the table in front of her. Her treasured cat, Lady Macbeth, slumbered in the bright sunbeam at her mistress’s feet. A tray with pastries, coffee and two soft-boiled eggs in enameled cups sat untouched beside the newspaper.

“Good morning, Mrs. Singletary.”

The widow looked up, frowned. “No, dear, absolutely not.”

Callie’s feet ground to a halt. “Pardon me?”

“That dress simply will not do.” The words were spoken without meanness, but the censure was there all the same.

As if to punctuate her mistress’s disapproval, Lady Macbeth cracked open an eye and studied Callie through the narrowed slit. A delicate sniff and she returned to her nap, chin resting lightly on her front paws.

Callie tried not to feel offended. But, really, dismissed by a cat? It was beyond humiliating.

Worse, Mrs. Singletary wasn’t through inspecting Callie’s attire. “That color is all wrong for you.”

Perhaps the dull gray did clash with her skin tone. But no more than it had the other three times she’d worn the dress in Mrs. Singletary’s company.

“The fit isn’t right, either.”

Callie resisted the urge to cinch the black ribbon around her waist tighter. Mrs. Singletary was correct on both points. The color was unflattering and the dress was, indeed, too large. That had rather been the point. Still, the widow’s blunt appraisal stung. “I thought you didn’t care what I wore.”

“Now, see. That is where you went wrong. Of course I care. I care a great deal.”

“You’ve said nothing before.” Head down, Callie lowered herself into a chair facing her employer. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s quite simple. You have been in my employ for precisely four weeks since I plucked you out of the Hotel Dupree kitchens where, I might add, your talents were completely underutilized.” The widow leaned forward, trapping Callie in her gaze. “You are no longer underpaid kitchen help, but my trusted companion. It’s high time you look the part.”

Callie carefully placed a napkin in her lap. She should have known this was coming, should have prepared for this eventuality. Mrs. Singletary was the best dressed woman in Denver. Of course she would care what her companion wore.

“We will begin rethinking your wardrobe today.”

So soon? “What’s the hurry?”

“As I already mentioned, how you dress reflects directly back on me.”

Well, yes. Yet Callie couldn’t shake the notion that the widow had a different reason for wanting her to dress better.

“Besides—” she smoothed her hand over the newspaper, turned the page with a flick “—one must always be prepared for the unexpected visitor.”

Something in the way the woman made this casual remark put Callie immediately on guard. “Are you expecting anyone in particular this morning?”

“No one out of the ordinary, dear.” She picked up her spoon and tapped one of the eggs perched in its enameled cup. A perfect series of cracks webbed out in every direction. “Only my attorney.”

Callie’s heart lurched. “Reese? I mean...Mr. Bennett is coming here?” She swallowed back a gasp of dismay. “Today?”

She wasn’t ready to see him again, not yet, not until she could process their odd interaction at the opera last night.

“He will be here this morning, and I should warn you.” The widow turned another page of the newspaper. “Now that Mr. Bennett is once again overseeing my business affairs, he will be around quite often, perhaps even daily.”

Callie breathed in sharply, the only outward sign of her discomfort. Her brother Garrett had handled the widow’s business affairs until he’d married Molly and left town for a position in St. Louis. It stood to reason that Reese, as the senior partner in his firm, would take over in Garrett’s absence.

If only her brother hadn’t felt the need to strike out on his own, away from family and the prominent Mitchell name. Callie missed him so much. Molly too, nearly as much as she missed Fanny.

Oh, she was still angry at her sister, but this was the first they’d been apart for more than a few days at a time. With only a year separating them in age, they’d done everything together.

Now Fanny was living in Chicago. And Callie was here in Denver working for Mrs. Singletary. Not alone, precisely, but definitely more lonely than she’d ever been in her life.

“Did you hear what I said, dear?”

Callie started. “Er...no.”

“I said I want you to change your dress before Mr. Bennett arrives.”

Again, she wondered, why the hurry? Yet she didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask the question a second time. “Yes, Mrs. Singletary, I’ll do so immediately following breakfast.”

“Very good. Something in blue would be most preferable.” The widow went back to reading the newspaper in silence.

Left alone with her thoughts, Callie picked up her spoon and gave the egg in front of her a good hard whack. The shell exploded into a hundred little pieces.

Pushing the ruined egg aside, she selected a pastry off the tray. As she ate, she silently reviewed the contents of her closet. She didn’t own anything in blue. In truth, none of her dresses were any more exciting than what she currently wore.

The green one was the most modern in fit and style. However, the color was a sort of drab olive. Better, she supposed, than gray. Decision made, she brought the pastry to her mouth once again.

“Don’t even think about putting on your green dress.” The widow made this announcement without bothering to glance up. “The color is horrid on you.”

Callie dropped the pastry back to her plate. “Surely, it’s not...horrid.”

“Horrid.”

Trying not to feel insulted, Callie pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and thought a moment. “Perhaps the yellow one with the ivory lace collar?”

“No.”

“The soft pink—”

“Not that one, either.” At last, Mrs. Singletary removed her attention from the newspaper and looked up. Her unwavering gaze bore into Callie’s. “You are far too pretty to hide behind pale, lifeless pastels and neutrals.”

As those were the only colors in her closet, Callie frowned. “Which dress would you have me wear?”

“None in your current wardrobe.” The widow placed her hand atop Callie’s. “Those we will donate to charity.”

She jerked upright, working for breath. “But if I give away all my dresses what, then, will I wear?”

A robust smile spread across the widow’s lips. “Leave that to me.”

“I find this conversation so very strange.” She pulled her hand free from beneath Mrs. Singletary’s and placed it in her lap. “You’ve never once said a word about the way I dress.”

“We were still getting to know one another. Now we are friends.”

Callie widened her eyes. Mrs. Singletary considered her a friend?

“And from one friend to another, you need to make smarter choices in your attire. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were deliberately trying to camouflage your natural beauty.”

Callie pressed her hands together in her lap and fought off a strong desire to defend herself. Once she’d attracted the wrong man’s attention and barely avoided disgrace. Better to be safe than put herself on display and risk another mistake.

“Finish your breakfast.” Mrs. Singletary leaned back. “We have much work to do before Mr. Bennett arrives.”

What did Reese have to do with—

Oh, no. Mrs. Singletary couldn’t be thinking of making Callie more attractive for Reese. A match between them was... Why, it was impossible.

Tongues would wag all over town.

The potential for scandal made the very idea ridiculous. Reese’s business would suffer, along with his reputation. And what about Fanny? Callie would never hurt her sister, not for anything in the world. And especially not over a man.

No, Callie wouldn’t dare attract Reese’s attention. Yet she couldn’t allow anyone else to so, either, not before Fanny returned home and made things right with him.

While it wouldn’t be easy seeing Reese and Fanny together again, it would be better than seeing him with someone else. Callie really hoped Fanny would come to her senses soon.

“If you are finished eating, we will begin.”

“Begin?”

“Populating your wardrobe with more suitable gowns.”

Callie could think of no good reason to refuse her employer. She set her napkin on the table and forced a smile. “I’m at your mercy, Mrs. Singletary.”

Thirty minutes later, she stood in the widow’s private dressing room, facing a full-length mirror. Two maids hustled about her, securing buttons, fluffing material in one spot, smoothing out wrinkles in another.

The dress was supposedly one of Mrs. Singletary’s castoffs. Callie had her suspicions. Who could not want this gorgeous silk creation? The color was that of the Colorado sky, a deep, rich blue that somehow brought out the green in Callie’s eyes. The fit was perfection. The silver buttons added just enough elegance without being too much for day wear.

Even with her severe hairstyle, Callie looked beautiful. She felt beautiful. But the woman staring back at her from the mirror was not Callie Mitchell. Not anymore.

Never, never again.

“Let’s have a look at you.” The widow paraded around her, considering her from various angles. “Much better.” She nodded her head in approval. “You were born to wear jewel tones.”

Once her closet had been filled with nothing but vibrant colors, Callie thought wistfully.

The housekeeper entered the room and announced, “Mr. Bennett has arrived for your meeting, Mrs. Singletary.”

“Thank you, Jane. Tell Winston to show him to my office.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The housekeeper turned to go then caught sight of Callie. Her eyes rounded with shock. “Oh, miss. Look at you. Why, you’re positively glowing.”

Callie sighed at her reflection. She was glowing.

She’d never felt more miserable in her life.

* * *

Reese gathered up the contracts he’d brought with him and stuffed them in his leather briefcase. “I’ll make the changes you requested and send over the revised versions before the end of business today.”

“That will be fine.” Mrs. Singletary sat back in her chair, eyeing him closely, her hands primly clasped in her lap.

He’d worked with the woman long enough to know she had more to say. Something he probably wasn’t going to like.

When she remained silent, he braced himself and said, “Is there something else I can do for you, Mrs. Singletary?”

“On the contrary, it’s something I can do for you.”

He stifled a groan. Despite her unconventional reputation, the widow meant well. She had a kind heart. Her charity work spoke for itself. But she was also considered a matchmaker of the first order. A terrible thought occurred to him. Surely she wasn’t thinking of making him her latest victim.

“I’m probably going to regret this, but tell me. What is it you believe I need?”

“A wife.”

Reese pulled in a sharp breath and resisted the urge to snap back, to tell her he didn’t need—or want—her input on such a personal matter.

She is your most important client, he reminded himself. One he knew well. Her meddling was never malicious and, more often than not, had a way of bringing about good rather than harm. Eventually.

Even if he suggested, oh-so-gently, that she mind her own business, all she would say was that he was her business.

From a certain angle, she would be correct. Everyone in town knew he was her personal attorney. His actions reflected on her.

Still. She was dangerously close to crossing a line. “There are many men my age still unattached.”

She smiled at this, looking quite pleased with herself, as if his response was exactly what she’d expected from him. “True. But now that your father has stepped away from daily operations of your firm, it is up to you to ensure Bennett, Bennett and Brand remains the finest in town.”

“Agreed.”

“A wife will help you achieve that goal.”

“I had a bride picked out,” he said. “She begged off.”

“A blessing in disguise. You and Fanny Mitchell did not suit one another in the least.”

He gritted his teeth. “I disagree. We were an excellent match on many levels.”

“Not on the most important point. You weren’t in love.”

No, he hadn’t been in love with Fanny. And, as it turned out, she hadn’t been in love with him, either. But they’d liked one another, found many things on which to converse. They would have had an amiable, comfortable life together. “Love is not a necessity in marriage.”

“It is if you want a happy one.”

Again, he disagreed. Happiness was fleeting, like a wave driven and tossed by the wind. Companionship. Friendship. Those were the things that lasted. The things Reese desired most. He also wanted children, a family of his own.

He needed a wife first.

“I am not opposed to getting married,” he admitted.

“I’m glad to hear it, because your image needs improving.”

He tilted his head, fought off a surge of irritation. “I always comport myself in a manner above reproach.”

“Yes, yes.” She waved this off with a graceful sweep of her hand. “You are the quintessential man of integrity.”

“This is a good reputation to have.”

“The very best. But, Mr. Bennett, may I speak plainly?”

He doubted he could stop her. “By all means.”

“You are also considered stern and overly rigid.”

He blinked. “People think I’m...rigid?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He blinked again. Valuing lists and adhering to a tight schedule merely meant he knew how to plan ahead.

“I daresay a wife will soften your image.”

“Yes, you alluded to that already. I don’t have time to court a woman, especially now that Garrett Mitchell has left the firm.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. You see, my good boy—”

“Boy?” He let out a humorless laugh. He’d left his youth behind him a long time ago, the day Miranda had died in his arms. “I’m thirty-two years old and—”

“A very busy man.” She beamed at him, as if announcing something he didn’t already know. “That, Mr. Bennett, is where I come in. I will assist you in your search for a wife.”

He didn’t like the idea of this woman meddling in his life. But this was Beatrix Singletary, a determined matchmaker. Now that the notion was in her head, she would persist. Perhaps even go behind his back. He shuddered at the thought. “Define...assist.”

“I will find your one true soul mate.”

He’d already found her, when he was eighteen years old. “I’m not looking for a love match.”

“Now, Mr. Bennett—”

“I am firm on this point.”

She titled her head at an angle, her thoughts whirling in her gaze. She wasn’t going to let the matter drop. “Perhaps if you explained why you don’t wish to fall in love—”

“If I allow you to help me...” Was he really considering this? “I will expect you to adhere to my rules.”

“That goes without saying.”

Nevertheless, it needed to be said. “I mean it. Attempt to do things your way, or act on my behalf without my knowledge, and we’re done.”

“I understand completely.”

Did she? Time would tell.

“I will draw up a list of the most important qualities I want in my future bride.” Giving her specific requirements appeared the best way to retain control of the situation. “You will stick to the list.”

“Mr. Bennett.” She looked up at the ceiling and sighed dramatically. “Finding a suitable woman for you to marry cannot be approached with studied calculation.”

He stood. “Then I will bid you good day.”

“Now, now.” The widow sprang to her feet with less grace than usual. “Let’s not be hasty.”

He paused, eyebrows lifted.

“Oh, very well.” She puffed out her cheeks. “Draw up your list, if you must. I will look it over and see what I can do.”

“Very good.” He made his way to the door.

The widow joined him halfway across the room. “You will not regret putting me in charge of your bride hunt.”

He offered a bland smile. “We shall see.”

A tentative knock on the door had him turning at the sound.

“Come in,” Mrs. Singletary called out in a cheerful voice.

The doorknob twisted. The hinges creaked. And then...

Callie Mitchell popped her head through the open slit, only her head, not any other part of her body. Odd. “You wanted me to let you know when it was noon.”

“Yes. Thank you, Callie. But my dear, there is no cause for you to hover in the hallway. Join us.”

Giving her no time to argue, the widow reached around the door and pulled her companion into the room. For several beats, the two women stared at one another. It was one of those silences far more eloquent than words. Clearly something had put them at odds.

Finally, Callie floated deeper into the room. She caught sight of him and froze. “G-good afternoon, Mr. Bennett.”

He gave her a curt nod. “Miss Mitchell.”

Breaking eye contact, she reached down to pick up the large tabby cat threading around her skirts like a black-and-white ribbon. Despite the added weight in her arms, she stood perfectly straight, her spine as unbending as a board, her lips pressed in a flat line.

While she held completely still, and silent, he took the opportunity to study her more closely. She’d pinned back her hair too tightly again. And the dull gray of her dress made her look almost sickly. All she needed was a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose to complete the masquerade of a spinster twice her age.

Reese’s lips twisted in annoyance.

Callie Mitchell was deliberately masking her beauty. A gorgeous swan draped in ugly duckling’s clothing. And she was doing so on purpose. But why?

Why did the woman wish to make herself unattractive?

What was she hiding?


Chapter Three (#ulink_825d56c4-d12f-5670-8858-de29dae1e707)

Callie held Lady Macbeth tightly against her for two equally important reasons. The first was so the cat could serve as a kind of furry shield between her and Reese. The other was a bit more practical. Holding the overweight animal gave Callie something to do with her hands.

Oh, but she desperately wanted to reach up and smooth her palm over her hair, to tuck away any stray curls. The gesture would only reveal her nervousness.

No one could know how anxious she felt in Reese’s company, least of all the man himself.

But, really, why was he watching her so intently?

His unwavering focus made her beyond uncomfortable, slightly breathless. Perhaps a little afraid.

Not of him—never of him—but of herself. Of what she might do if he continued looking at her like...like that. His eyes practically bore into her, as though she was a puzzle that needed solving. That if he looked long enough and hard enough he could uncover her secrets.

She shivered at the prospect. He could never know the terrible mistake she’d made in Boston.

If only he wasn’t standing so close, Callie might have a better chance of regaining her composure. She could smell his familiar scent, a pleasant mixture of books and leather and some woodsy spice all his own.

The man should not smell so good. The result left her poised in stunned immobility. And badly wanting to fidget.

At least he seemed equally uncomfortable. He was as self-possessed as ever, but also appeared wary. Of her? Possibly.

Probably.

No doubt her being Fanny’s sister accounted for Reese’s discomfort. But there was something else, too, something much more disquieting than their connection through his ex-fiancée.

“Mr. Bennett.” Mrs. Singletary’s voice broke through the tension hanging in the air. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss before you depart for your office?”

Jerking slightly at the question, he turned to face the widow directly. “No. Our business is sufficiently concluded.”

“I assume I can expect your list by this afternoon.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will work on it later today, as soon as I’ve revised the contracts.”

“That will be acceptable.”

Tucking his leather briefcase under his arm, he squared his shoulders. “Good day, Mrs. Singletary.” He nodded in Callie’s direction. “Miss Mitchell, always a pleasure.”

His stilted tone said otherwise.

Callie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she watched him leave the room. The moment he stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him with a determined snap, she set Lady Macbeth back on the floor.

The cat waddled over to her mistress, pawing at the widow’s skirt. Mrs. Singletary ignored the animal and fixed a scowl on Callie.

She winced. “Is something the matter, Mrs. Singletary?”

Fists jammed on her hips, the widow circled Callie, her gaze narrowing over the dress she wore. “I am waiting for an explanation.”

Callie feigned ignorance. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“You are an impertinent, headstrong young woman, Callie Mitchell.” Although she attempted a stern tone, the widow’s lips twitched, as if fighting back a smile. “If you didn’t remind me so much of myself I would be seriously displeased with you right now.”

“Your disappointment would be no less than I deserve.”

The widow’s smile came fully now. “Indeed.”

“So you are not angry with me?”

“I should be, but no.”

Best not to push the subject, Callie decided.

“Cook has several questions about the menu for Friday evening.” Callie moved casually through the room, running her fingers along a stack of books on the shelving to her left. “She seems to be confused as to how many guests will be attending. I told her twelve. She thought it was only ten.”

“Cook is right. You are wrong.” The widow wagged a finger at her. “And that was a wonderful attempt at distracting me, but it won’t work.”

“It was worth a try,” she muttered.

“You changed back into that ugly gray dress, and I want to know why.”

“It’s not ugly. It’s just—”

“Dismal, drab, dreary. All three apply equally.”

Yes, she supposed they did. “I was going to say respectable.”

“I thought I made myself clear.” Mrs. Singletary circled her again, clicking her tongue as she made a second, slower pass. “You were supposed to remain in the blue dress all day.”

“It needed several alterations.”

“Not even one.”

Callie pressed her lips together, but refrained from responding. What could she say, anyway? That she felt too pretty in the dress? That would only encourage the woman in her efforts to update her style.

“At the risk of being redundant, and I do so hate to be redundant, I will say it again. The way you dress reflects directly back on me.”

“I know, Mrs. Singletary. But my goal is to blend in with the crowd, not stand out.” She attempted a smile. “It would be unseemly of me to attract attention away from you.”

“That’s utter nonsense. With the right clothing and hairstyle you would, I think, be a great beauty, even more attractive than your sister.”

Callie felt panic gnawing at her, tearing at her composure. No one was more beautiful than Fanny. “Please don’t say such a thing.”

After the incident in Boston, Callie had made sure her sister outshone all others, including Callie. Especially Callie. She’d chosen Fanny’s dresses and steered her toward the proper hairstyles to set off her unusual amber eyes and doll-like features.

How she missed her sister. As the only two girls in a house full of brothers they’d grown up with a special bond between them. They’d had their share of arguments through the years, the majority following Fanny’s broken engagement. Nevertheless, Fanny was Callie’s favorite person in the world. She missed her so much she thought she might weep.

As if sensing her fragile state, Mrs. Singletary pulled Callie to a chair and urged her to sit with gentle pressure on her shoulders. “Why do you insist on playing down your assets?” Her gaze softened, her tone warmed. “When there are so many to highlight?”

“Scripture teaches us that we are not to focus on external adornment.” Callie lifted her chin. “The Lord doesn’t look at outward appearances but what is in our heart.”

Could she sound any more pompous, prudish and self-righteous? The moral high ground was a dangerous place for a woman like her...with her sordid past.

“I’ll not deny God doesn’t look at the things we humans look at. But Scripture also teaches that we are not to hide our light under a bushel. And, Callie, my dear, you are the very essence of light.”

Simon had said something similar to Callie when they’d first met at a theater production of As You Like It. His leading-man good looks and smooth, practiced words had turned her head. Only when it was too late had she discovered his declarations of love held no substance. He’d been playing a role with her, merely acting a part as he did on the stage.

As a result, she carried the shame of her foolishness with her every minute of every day. “There’s nothing special about me. I am a very ordinary woman.”

“Now that’s just false humility.” Mrs. Singletary all but stomped her foot in outrage. “You are anything but ordinary. I never want to hear you say such a thing again.”

Callie bristled.

Mrs. Singletary laid a gentle hand on Callie’s shoulder, her gaze holding her eyes with deep sincerity. “You are a beautiful child of God, never think otherwise.”

What a lovely thing to say. How she adored this woman. Mrs. Singletary had come into Callie’s life when she’d been at her lowest, when the three most important people in her life had left her without a backward glance.

She could have returned to her family’s ranch. But she couldn’t see herself there anymore.

She couldn’t see herself anywhere.

Where do I belong, Lord?

“Tell me, dear, why do you hide your true self from the world? What are you afraid of?”

If the widow knew what Callie had done, she would dismiss her on the spot. Mrs. Singletary may have a reputation for being unconventional in business matters. But she was an upright, faithful Christian woman who lived a blameless life. She would expect nothing less of her companion.

“I asked you a question.” The words were spoken as gently as if she was speaking to a hurting child.

She knew Mrs. Singletary meant well. The widow only wanted to help, but Callie hesitated still, fearful of relaxing her guard and thereby spilling the entire story.

Her foolishness was not something she wanted to revisit, ever. The gullible belief that she was the most important woman in a man’s eyes had nearly been her ruin. How foolish she’d been, falling for the famous actor’s ploy. But Simon had only wanted her as a temporary substitute, until he could marry the woman he truly loved.

“I dress this way because it is respectable.” Too late, an ugly voice in her head whispered. It is far too late to regain respectability now.

“What happened to you? What terrible trauma did you suffer that has made you afraid to embrace who you really are?”

“You...you wouldn’t understand.”

“You might be surprised.” The widow closed her hand over Callie’s. “I have my share of secrets and I’ve certainly made mistakes in my day. You’ll find no judgment from me, no condemnation. You can tell me anything.”

“I...I...wouldn’t know where to start.” That was certainly true. “It’s complicated.”

“Now I understand. The cause was a man.”

“Yes.” The cost of admitting that was so great tears welled in Callie’s eyes. She stiffened her spine, refusing to allow even one to fall.

“However he betrayed you—”

“I didn’t say he betrayed me.”

“You didn’t have to.”

As if sensing her distress, Lady Macbeth hopped on her lap. Callie hugged the animal close, burying her nose in the thick, silky fur.

In much the same way she would pet the cat, Mrs. Singletary ran a hand over Callie’s hair. “Whoever he was, he didn’t deserve you.”

Callie lifted her head, felt the burn of tears in her throat and dropped her face back to the cat’s neck.

“There is a man out there just for you,” the widow said. “He will love you and care for you. Even the most mundane details of your life will matter to him. He is out there, Callie, and I will find him for you. I promise.”

“No, Mrs. Singletary.” Callie’s voice hitched over the words. “Please, don’t try to match me with anyone. I—” Give her a reason. Any will do, even the truth. “I...I’m not ready.”

Crouching in front of her, the widow waited for her to look into her eyes. She studied Callie’s face longer than was comfortable, her eyes searching, boring in as if she could read the very secrets of her soul. “No, perhaps you aren’t ready,” she decided at last. “Not yet. But you will be soon.”

* * *

Reese went straight to his office after leaving Mrs. Singletary’s home and shut the door behind him. He needed privacy, craved it as badly as air.

He laid out the contracts on his mahogany desk and began reviewing the changes he’d scribbled along the margins. He lost himself in the process, managing to focus for several hours before his mind wandered back to his morning meeting across town.

What had he been thinking? Agreeing to allow Beatrix Singletary to help him find a suitable bride?

He blamed the weak moment on the melancholy he’d been unable to shake since his disastrous evening at the opera.

Now he was stuck.

If he cried off from their agreement at this point, Mrs. Singletary would only continue her quest without his assistance. He’d seen her do it before. Several times, in fact. She wouldn’t rest until she had him happily married off.

Reese wasn’t opposed to getting married again. But he’d already had his chance at happiness. It had slipped away like water through splayed fingers. A split second had been all it took. One unseen root in the ground and Miranda’s horse had gone down hard, landing on top of her after the initial tumble, crushing her delicate body.

Reese had spent the next three days at her bedside, holding her in his arms even as it tore at his heart to watch her life slip away one strangled breath at a time.

Shutting his eyes against the memory, Reese drew in a slow breath of air. He would never love again. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know how to go at it half measure. He’d learned during his brief marriage to Miranda that he was a man who felt too much, gave too much, needed too much in return. Unspeakable pain accompanied such uninhibited emotion.

Thus, he would insist the widow keep to their agreement, and only suggest women who met his specific requirements.

With that in mind, he pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began constructing his list. He came up with seven items, the number of completion.

Fitting.

A familiar, rapid knock, knock, knock had him folding the list and setting it aside. “Enter.”

The door swung open and his father’s broad shoulders filled the gap. Other than the graying at the temples and the slightly leaner frame, it was like looking into a mirror and seeing himself twenty-five years from now.

As always, Reese Sr. got straight to the point. “I need to speak with you immediately.”

Unsure what he heard in the other man’s tone, Reese pushed away from his desk. “Of course.”

He started to rise.

His father stopped him with a hand in the air. “Don’t stand on my account.”

Reese settled back in his chair.

Face pinched, his father strode through the room, then flattened his palms on Reese’s desk and leaned forward. “I’m worried about you, son.”

“There’s no need to be.”

“You left the theater abruptly last night.” He searched Reese’s face. “I need to assure myself you are well.”

“I had contracts that required my final review.”

“That wasn’t the reason you left early.” Pushing back, the older man stood tall. “I haven’t seen that look on your face since...”

He hesitated, seeming to rethink what he’d been about to say.

“Since when?”

“Since Miranda’s accident.”

Reese’s stomach took a hard roll. They never spoke of Miranda, or the accident that had taken her away from him. Now, after last night at the opera, Reese couldn’t stop thinking of her, or how he’d sat at her bedside, willing her to stay alive, begging her to come back to him, praying for God to intervene.

She’d woken but briefly, said his name in a soft, wheezing whisper and then died in his arms.

She’d been eighteen years old. He the same age. They’d had only one month of happiness together. Thirty days.

Not enough.

And yet, far too much. He knew exactly what happiness looked like, felt like and, more important, how quickly it could be taken away.

“I don’t wish to speak of Miranda.”

“You can’t run from the past.”

He had every intention of trying. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss with me? Something important?”

“This is important.”

Reese said nothing.

His father came to stand next to him. “You need to get married again. I think it will help you.”

Was the man in collusion with Beatrix Singletary? Impossible. Though they were polite with one another on most occasions, the two rarely saw eye-to-eye on most subjects. “I attempted to marry again, but—”

“You chose the wrong girl.”

Although he’d come to realize that himself, his father’s quick response gave Reese pause. “I believed you liked Fanny. You’ve been friends with her parents for years. If I remember correctly, which I do, you said you would welcome a match between myself and Cyrus Mitchell’s daughter.”

“I meant the other one. There is substance to Callie Mitchell, something far more interesting than most see when they first meet her. I thought you agreed.”

His heart gave a few thick beats in his chest. Oh, Reese agreed there was much lurking beneath Callie’s sensible exterior—a wild, perhaps even passionate streak that, if unleashed, could possibly lead to a life of recklessness.

He knew far too well how that ended.

A tap on the doorjamb heralded Reese’s law clerk. A thin young man with regular features and an eager smile, Julian Summers was detail-oriented and thus invaluable to the firm. “Mrs. Singletary’s companion is here to see you, Mr. Bennett.”

His father lifted an ironic eyebrow.

Ignoring this, Reese stood and circled around his desk. “Send her in, Julian.”

“Yes, sir.”

A handful of seconds after the clerk disappeared in the hallway, Callie appeared, head high, spine ramrod-stiff, chin at a perfect ninety-degree angle with the floor. At the sight of her, Reese went hot all over, the inexplicable sensation similar to a burst of anger.

She was the same woman she’d always been. Yet, not. The past few hours had produced a remarkable transformation. Her cheeks had gained color. Her eyes sparkled.

Her skin glowed.

Simply because she no longer wore that gray shapeless garment from this morning but a blue silk dress that complemented her lean, lithe figure and brought out the green in her eyes.

The effect was devastating. Disconcerting.

Any words of greeting vanished from his mind.

There was something unreal about Callie now, something vulnerable and highly appealing. The impact of her beauty nearly flattened him.

Confounded by his reaction to a simple change of clothes, he blinked at her. “Miss Mitchell, I...” His brain emptied of all thought. Why was she here, looking like a fairy-tale princess? “That is, I wasn’t expecting you.”

She shifted from one foot to the other, then snapped her shoulders back. Ah, there she was. The Callie Mitchell he knew. “Mrs. Singletary sent me to pick up a package you were to have ready for her this afternoon.”

He couldn’t think of what package she meant. He remained silent so long his father cleared his throat.

Still, Reese couldn’t make his mind work properly.

“Well, if it isn’t Callie Mitchell.” His father shoved around him. “How are you, my dear?”

“Mr. Bennett.” She hurried to him, reaching out her hands to clasp his in greeting. “What a wonderful surprise to see you here today.”

He smiled broadly. “You are utterly captivating.”

Her face brightened at the compliment. “What a sweet thing to say.”

“Only the truth, my dear. Only the truth.”

Until this moment, Reese had forgotten how well his father and Callie got along. Watching the two interact so easily, their heads bent at similar angles, he found himself stewing in an unpleasant rush of...

Jealousy?

Absurd. Reese couldn’t be jealous of his own father.

And yet, he had to take slow, measured breaths to prevent himself from walking over to the pair, shoving his father aside and insisting Callie pay attention to him. Only him. As if he was some sort of spoiled, selfish child with no manners or common sense.

He managed to avoid stooping quite that low. “Callie.” He barked out her name. “A word, please, in private.”

One stilted sentence and Reese had crossed several unimaginable lines.

His father’s responding grin spoke volumes. As did Callie’s reaction. Had she stiffened at the familiar use of her name? Or because of the inappropriate request itself?

Reese wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. But he made no attempt to retract his words. This conversation had been coming on for some time.

No turning back now.


Chapter Four (#ulink_e5a32c32-32f5-500d-9cb9-906000998393)

Years of practiced restraint kept Callie from gasping at Reese’s request. But...but...glory. He’d just asked to speak with her. Alone.

She couldn’t think why.

And that, Callie decided, was the primary source of her distress. Her shoulders wanted to bunch. Her knees threatened to give way beneath her. But she remained perfectly still.

Perfectly.

Still.

No easy task. Not with Reese looking at her with all that intensity. He was so focused on her she had a sudden, irrational urge to rush out of his office without a backward glance.

Callie had never been one to run from a difficult conversation. She would not start now.

Still, Reese’s command, spoken so abruptly, was out of character. Why would he wish to speak with her, alone?

Seeking a clue—any would do—she slid a covert glance over his face. His chin jerked, very faintly, a sure sign that he’d shocked even himself with his words.

“Well, then.” A corner of the elder Mr. Bennett’s mouth curled upward. “I believe that’s my cue to depart.”

Callie started. She’d forgotten Reese’s father still held her hands. Had he noticed the faint tremor in her fingers?

“There’s no need to leave so soon,” she said on an exhale. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded exceptionally calm, almost detached, with the emotional depth of a stone. Perfect. “I’m sure whatever your son has to say can be expressed in front of you.”

She hoped.

“Perhaps. But alas, I have another appointment calling me away.” With a fatherly smile, he gave her hands a quick squeeze before releasing her. “It was a pleasure running in to you, my dear. We must make this a more common occurrence.”

The kindness in his voice, as much as the sentiment itself, calmed her nerves considerably.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Bennett.” She managed to get both sides of her mouth to lift in a responding smile. “That would be lovely, indeed.”

She’d always felt comfortable around this man, as though he was a second father. Callie desperately wanted him to stay but couldn’t think of a reason why he should, other than to beg him to serve as a shield between her and his son.

Callie Mitchell was made of sterner stuff.

“Reese.” Mr. Bennett gave his son a short nod. “We will continue our discussion another time.”

A muscle knotted in Reese’s jaw as he returned his father’s nod with one of his own.

Another smile in Callie’s direction and the elder Mr. Bennett quit the room.

She remained precisely where she stood, twisting the handle of her reticule between her fingers. She hated this anxious, almost panicky sensation spreading through her. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be helped. Simply standing in the same room with Reese caused her anxiety.

She should not be here, alone with him.

She wanted to be nowhere else.

Time slowed. The moment grew thick with tension, the silence between them so heavy that Callie could hear their individual breathing.

“I don’t think this is a wise idea, Mr. Bennett,” she said, mostly to herself, and meaning it with all her heart.

“Callie.” His lips flattened in a grim line. “At this juncture in our acquaintance, perhaps it’s time you called me Reese.”

She looked at him blankly, absently noting the way sunlight from the window emphasized the dark, rich brown of his eyes, the color of freshly brewed coffee. “Oh. But I—”

“I insist.” His tone was both gentle and firm.

A dangerous pang snatched at her heart and the rebellious part of her thought, Well, why not, we’ve known one another for years?

“If you insist.” She lifted her chin a fraction higher. “Then, yes, I should very much like to call you Reese.”

His name came from low in her throat, and sounded really quite wonderful, as if she’d been meant to say his name, just that way, all her life.

She sighed. “Was that all you wished to say to me?”

“No.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Forgive me for not getting to the point sooner. I’ve spent the majority of the afternoon pouring over legal briefs and my mind is still half on the pages.”

His confession softened her guard and Callie found herself feeling a moment of deep affection for this man. “My brother is much the same way,” she said. “After a long day of pouring over contracts, Garrett is the worst conversationalist imaginable.”

Reese visibly relaxed at this. “Then you understand my abruptness earlier.”

“Indeed I do.”

A shadow of a smile played across his lips.

Callie responded in kind.

For that one moment, everything felt right between them, comfortable even, a solidarity that went beyond words.

But then...

Reese’s brow creased in thought. His brow often creased in thought, she realized, rather liking the result. The studious look made him appear half as stern as usual, twice as appealing. And so very, very handsome.

“You mentioned that Mrs. Singletary sent you over to retrieve a package from me.” His brows pulled tighter together, making him appear more confused than thoughtful. “Do you know what package she meant?”

“She didn’t give me any details.” Callie tried to shrug off her own bafflement. “She merely said that you would be expecting me before the end of business today.”

Frowning now, he glanced at his desk.

Callie followed the direction of his gaze, but saw no package, only several piles of papers, a cup of writing utensils, countless ledgers of assorted sizes and an ink pot.

“She must have meant the revised contracts.” Making a sound deep in his throat, Reese moved around to the other side of his desk. Instead of reaching for one of the larger stacks, he placed his hand over a single piece of paper. Folded from top to bottom, it looked more like a letter than a legal brief.

Shaking his head, he muttered something under his breath. Callie didn’t catch all of what he said, but she thought she might have heard something about meddlesome, interfering woman.

“Mr. Bennett...I mean, Reese,” she amended when he looked up sharply. “Is something the matter?”

He drummed his fingers atop the letter. “No.” He drew in a slow, careful breath. “Everything is in order.”

His tone said otherwise.

“You are certain?”

For a span of three breaths, he said nothing, merely held her gaze. Then, he gave a single nod of his head. “Yes.”

He looked back down at his desk, reached out and stuffed one of the smaller stacks into a leather satchel.

He started to flip over the lid then paused.

His gaze shifted to where the folded piece of paper still sat. A moment’s hesitation and, with a swift move, he picked up the letter and placed that inside the satchel, as well.

His lips were twisted at a wry angle as he came back around his desk. “Here you are. The package Mrs. Singletary sent you to retrieve.”

“Thank you.”

Their fingers briefly touched as he transferred the satchel into her care. Callie smothered a gasp as her heartbeat picked up speed. Her mouth went dry.

Every muscle in her body tensed.

Her strong, inexplicable, tangible reaction over a light brush of their hands mortified her.

Hiding her reaction beneath lowered lashes, she turned to go.

Reese’s voice stopped her at the threshold of his office. “Callie.”

She paused, looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“I still have more to say to you.”

Glory. That sounded ominous.

His footsteps struck the wood floor as he approached her from behind. Closer. Closer. He reached around her, grabbed the door as if to shut it, then quickly dropped his hand and stepped back.

Callie felt a cold rush of air sweep over her.

“I prefer not to speak to your back.”

She turned around to face him.

He leaned toward her, a mere fraction closer. “I wanted to tell you...” His words trailed off as he considered her through slightly narrowed eyes. “That is, have a nice day.”

Have a nice day? Reese had asked her to face him so he could tell her to have a nice day?

Perplexed, she gave up all pretense of control and gaped at the confounding man. If she was wise, she would turn around again and walk out the door. After, of course, she issued the same nonsensical platitude he’d just given her.

Or...

She could be a little more daring. She could tap in to the woman she’d been long ago, before a secret scandal had nearly ruined her.

“No, Reese.” She took a step toward him. “I will not have a nice day.”

A single, winged eyebrow lifted in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have five brothers,” she said in way of explanation. “Three older and two younger.”

Now both eyebrows rose.

It was a very intimidating look. Dark, brooding, slightly dangerous. Most women would be cowed. Callie was not. “I know precisely when a man is skirting around the truth.”

“Did you just call me out for lying?”

At the sound of his masculine outrage, mutiny swept through her, making her bolder than she’d been in a very long time.

“Take it however you will. But I’m not leaving this office until you tell me exactly why you really asked to speak with me—” she closed the distance between them and pinned him with her gaze “—and why you requested to do so in private.”

* * *

Reese’s chest felt odd. His pulse quickened in his veins. His throat tightened. All because this woman, a woman he’d known for years, had morphed into a completely different creature than the docile, overly polite, levelheaded wallflower she presented to the world.

The transformation had nothing to do with the clothes she wore. And everything to do with the woman herself.

Proud and defiant now, her unwavering gaze locked with his. She was clearly waiting for him to explain himself, to tell her why he’d requested a private word with her.

He couldn’t remember why. He could barely organize his thoughts beyond the shocked realization that the woman leaning toward him with a fierce scowl on her face was a total stranger.

Callie Mitchell usually drifted along the edges of most rooms, never drawing attention to herself, never making waves. At the moment, that woman was nowhere to be found.

On the surface, she’d changed nothing but her dress. Yet now, Reese saw the woman beneath the dull facade. A little wilder, a tad more dangerous, exciting and—

“Reese?”

He’d been staring too long.

He opened his mouth, then shut it again as several voices rang out from the hallway. Not wanting an audience, Reese reached to take Callie’s arm. He dropped his hand before making contact. Touching her would be a terrible idea.

The worst of all terrible ideas.

He motioned her deeper into the office with a nod of his head. He did not, however, close the door behind her.

There was privacy. And then there was privacy.

“Please, Callie, take a seat.” He indicated the set of chairs facing his desk.

She nodded, moving through the room with exaggerated dignity, her steps graceful yet carefully monitored.

Always so controlled, he thought, always hiding behind a veil of self-possession and restraint.

How well he understood.

The realization they had that in common left him vaguely disturbed.

Her posture perfectly precise, she lowered into the burgundy wing-back chair facing his desk and placed the leather satchel upon her lap.

After a moment of consideration, Reese chose to sit in the empty chair beside her.

She twisted her hands together. With all emotion stripped from her face, she nearly fooled him into thinking she was completely self-possessed. But her gaze didn’t quite meet his, landing instead on a spot just above his right eye.

She was nervous.

Good to know he wasn’t the only one feeling uneasy.

Now that he had Callie alone—mostly—Reese wasn’t sure how to broach the subject that had been nagging at him for some time now. The direct approach was always best. “We need to discuss the changing nature of our relationship.”

Her gaze whipped to his and he noted, somewhat inappropriately, that her eyelashes were long, utterly enchanting and several shades darker than her blond hair.

“I wasn’t aware we had a relationship.”

He frowned at her stiff tone, oddly irritated. “Of course we do.” It was awkward and uncomfortable, to be sure, but existed all the same. “Now that you are Mrs. Singletary’s companion and I’m once again in charge of her business affairs, our paths will cross often.”

“Mrs. Singletary said the same thing just this morning.” She lowered her gaze. “My brother taking that job in St. Louis has brought changes to all our lives.”

Before now, Reese hadn’t considered what the attorney’s departure meant to Callie. “You miss him.”

“Very much.” She worked her hands together in her lap. “I also miss his wife, Molly.”

“You two were close?”

“Oh, yes, but not as close as—” She broke off, drew her bottom lip between her teeth, looked everywhere but at him.

“Not as close as you and Fanny,” he finished for her.

She nodded. “I miss her most of all.”

“That’s understandable. You are sisters. And the only two girls in a large family of boys.” As an only child he couldn’t imagine what it was like to grow up with that many siblings.

“Fanny has always been my best friend.” She met his gaze. “We are only eleven months apart in age.”

Reese tried not to show his surprise, even as he did a mental calculation. He’d always thought Callie far older than her sister. Her maturity, her outer calm and, of course, her ability to control her emotions were qualities he attributed to a woman far older than twenty-three.

“Have you heard from your sister recently?”

“No.” She shook her head. “She has not answered any of my letters.”

“None of them?”

“Not one.”

That didn’t sound like Fanny. Then again, Reese was quickly discovering how little he knew the woman he’d once asked to marry him. How could she not respond to her only sister’s letters?

No wonder Callie appeared upset.

For a shocking moment, he yearned to pull her to him and offer what comfort he could. The urge grew stronger when she wiped secretly at her eyes and snuffled a little. The sound was practically nonexistent, and all the more sorrowful because of the restraint.

“It must be difficult,” he said, lowering his voice, “not hearing from your own sister.”

“You have no idea.” Her expression closed, but not before he’d seen the hint of misery in her eyes. “Have you heard from Fanny?”

“Of course not.”

“I’m so sorry. Oh, Reese, truly I am.” Her hand reached out and touched his forearm, as if she thought he needed comforting. “Do not despair. Fanny will come to her senses.”

Surely, Callie didn’t think he pined for her sister. For a long, tense moment, he watched her watching him with silent sympathy in her gaze.

This, he realized, was why he’d wanted to speak with her alone. They needed to sort a few things out between them. “I miss your sister, it’s true. But not, perhaps, as you may think.” He held her gaze, willing her to hear him. “I miss our friendship.”

“Your...friendship?” She said the word as if tasting something foul. “Surely Fanny was more to you than a friend.”

“At the time I issued my proposal I believed your sister and I were well suited.” An error in judgment he didn’t plan to repeat. Perhaps relying on Mrs. Singletary’s help would turn out to be a wise move, after all. What better way to avoid pursuing the wrong woman again? “I’m not what your sister wants.”

Callie flinched as though he’d slapped her. “Don’t say that. Of course you are. Fanny is going to change her mind, I just know it. And then you and she can—”

“No, we can’t.”

“But—” she blinked at him “—if she came home, wouldn’t you want to—”

“I would not.” He touched her hand briefly, once again willing her to hear him. Really hear him. “Even if Fanny changed her mind tomorrow, I would not want her back.”

Her eyes widened. Then narrowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to understand that your sister and I will never marry.” He waited for her to process his words, then added, “However, just because I’m not engaged to Fanny anymore doesn’t mean you and I can’t be...”

He paused, not sure how to continue. Even taking into account the personal nature of their discussion, this conversation shouldn’t be so difficult. He was a trained lawyer, skilled at putting words together to make his case.

“I don’t want there to be any more awkwardness between us,” he said, finally coming to the crux of the matter.

Her shoulders relaxed, just a hair, but enough for Reese to know she agreed with him. “I don’t want that, either,” she said, her eyes shining bright with emotion.

Those eyes, he thought, they were unlike any he’d ever seen. How had he never noticed the various shades of green in them, or the way thin, gold flecks wove through the irises?

He cleared his throat, a gesture he seemed to repeat far too often in this woman’s company.

“I believe you and I could be friends.” He told himself this was a necessary step if they were going to be in daily contact. But, strangely, conversely, Reese actually wanted to be friends with this woman. “I’m willing to make the attempt.”

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she angled her head. “You used the same term to describe your relationship with Fanny. Are you not concerned what she will think when she comes home and discovers we have become...friends?”

“No.”

Something flickered in Callie’s eyes. A hint of rebellion? Reluctant interest, perhaps? Either way, he had her attention. And now that he did, he decided to change tactics. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”

She abruptly straightened in her chair, her spine as stiff as a fire poker, her face free of expression. “What a ridiculous notion.”

Oh, this woman was a true master of control.

Some long-remembered defiant streak of his own wanted to ruffle her calm. Just how far could he push this woman, Reese wondered?

He leaned in closer still. “Are you afraid of me, Callie?”

She sniffed with obvious disdain. “Never.”

He’d known that would be her response. Somehow, he’d known. “Then we start anew, right now.”

“You are very persistent.”

She had no idea how persistent he could be when he wanted something. He wanted Callie’s friendship. More than he should.

More than was wise.

“What do you say?” Feeling more alive than he had in years, he reached out his hand. “Shall we be friends?”

She took his hand, her smile bolder than before and far too appealing. “I’d like nothing better than to forge a friendship with you...Reese.”

The way she said his name, low and challenging, filled his chest with dread.

What have I just done?


Chapter Five (#ulink_296e030f-1c4f-5651-b951-1d24bcd7dd4f)

Callie exited Reese’s office with purposeful strides. She could feel his gaze following her progress down the never-ending hallway that eventually spilled into the law firm’s reception area. Was he watching her departure with a smile on his face?

Or did he wear that thoughtful expression she found so appealing? She desperately wanted to glance over her shoulder to discover what was in his eyes.

She kept walking, ensuring each step was precisely placed on the floor, one foot in front of the other. Heel, toe. Heel, toe. No doubt she appeared in complete control of herself.

Not true.

Her emotions, though carefully contained, were in tatters.

Why had she agreed to Reese’s suggestion they become friends? It was true, she’d once wished to grow close to the man, perhaps even build something more than a friendship. But that had been before he’d asked Fanny to marry him.

Even if he hadn’t offered for her sister’s hand, Callie was still, well, Callie. A staid, boring, sensible woman who took no missteps, crossed no lines and certainly never befriended a man outside her own family.

Feeling confused—and so very much alone—she attempted to pray for discernment as she exited Bennett, Bennett and Brand law offices. A cool, gentle breeze caressed her face yet the words wouldn’t come, even in the privacy of her own mind. She hunched her shoulders forward and approached the waiting carriage.

“Ready to go, Miss Callie?”

“Yes, Horace.” She smiled at Mrs. Singletary’s coach driver. “I am more than ready to go home.”

Home. Where was home for her now? Mrs. Singletary’s massive house? The Mitchell family ranch?

Neither place called to her.

Another reason she felt so alone. Lord, where do I belong?

Heavyhearted, she climbed into the carriage. Once settled on the butter-soft calfskin seat, she rapped on the ceiling. The coach jerked into motion. Tightly coiled springs absorbed most of the dips and bumps along the twenty-minute journey across town. So smooth was the ride, in fact, that Callie relaxed her head against the plush squabs.

Her thoughts, however, continued to race.

Why—oh, why—had she reacted to Reese’s obvious attempt to bait her? She may be many things, but afraid? Rarely. And yet...

She was afraid now. Afraid of what came next. Afraid of what a friendship between her and Reese really meant, especially with regard to Fanny.

A sob worked its way up her throat. For an instant, just one beat of her heart, she wished her sister would stay away forever. In the most hidden part of Callie’s soul the truth rang loud.

She resented Fanny.

The girl had callously walked away from a good man, the best of them all. And now, that same man claimed he wanted to be Callie’s friend. Her friend.

No good would come from such an arrangement. Friendship often blossomed into something deeper. That was her greatest fear. Because, deep down, it was her greatest hope.

In fresh agony, she pressed her fingertips to her temples and squeezed her eyes closed. She knew the situation was hopeless—truly, she did—yet Callie yearned for something more. Something life-altering.

Something...she had no business wishing for herself.

The carriage drew to an abrupt halt, splintering the rest of her thoughts.

Thankful for the interruption, Callie gathered up the leather briefcase Reese had given her and exited the carriage.

Mrs. Singletary’s butler met her just inside the front entryway. Thick threads of silver encroached on the few strands of red left in his hair, but his broad, welcoming smile erased at least ten years from his heavily lined face.

“Mrs. Singletary is waiting for you in her office, Miss Callie.”

“Thank you, Winston.” She smiled in return. “I’ll head right up.”

Leather satchel pressed against her heart, she hurried through the cavernous foyer with its mile-high ceiling and expensive chandelier hanging from the center. The sound of her heels striking the imported marble reverberated off the richly decorated walls, where several oil paintings had been strategically placed for optimal effect.

Callie paused at the foot of the winding stairwell to study a portrait of Mrs. Singletary and her now-deceased husband. The two looked beyond happy, yet Callie felt a wave of sadness as she stared into their smiling faces. They’d had so little time together, barely fifteen years.

It should have been a lifetime.

Sighing, she mounted the stairs. At the second-floor landing, she turned left and worked her way through the labyrinth of corridors that led to the back of the house.

As the butler had indicated, she found Mrs. Singletary in her office. The widow sat in an overstuffed chair, her head bent over a book, Lady Macbeth spread out on her lap.

Neither the widow nor the cat noticed Callie’s arrival. She took the opportunity to glance around the room. Bold afternoon sunlight spread across the empty stone hearth. Bookshelves lined three of the other four walls. The scent of leather and old book bindings mingled with Mrs. Singletary’s perfume, a pleasant mix of lavender and roses and...

Callie was stalling, though she couldn’t think why.

Squaring her shoulders, she rapped lightly on the doorjamb to gain the widow’s attention.

Mrs. Singletary lifted her head. “Ah, there you are.” She closed her book and set it on the small, round table beside her. “I trust everything went according to plan.”

What an odd choice of words.

Had Mrs. Singletary sent her to Bennett, Bennett and Brand with a purpose other than business in mind?

That would certainly explain Reese’s initial confusion when she’d stepped into his office.

Then again...

He’d been buried in legal briefs prior to her arrival. He’d recovered quickly enough and had given Callie a stack of papers to deliver to her employer. Papers contained in the leather case she now held.

Papers his law clerk could have delivered, as was usually the case.

Realizing her steps had slowed to a halt Callie resumed moving through the room and addressed her suspicions directly. “I must say, Mr. Bennett appeared genuinely surprised to see me in his office this afternoon.”

The words had barely left her lips when her foot caught on the fringe of an area rug and she momentarily lost her balance. In her attempt to right herself, the satchel flew from her hands.

Callie rushed forward. Unfortunately, she picked up the briefcase at the wrong end and the contents spilled out.

“Oh, oh, no.” She dropped to her knees and began picking up the papers as quickly as possible. “I’m not usually so clumsy.”

“Not to worry, dear.” Mrs. Singletary set her cat on the ottoman in front of her chair and joined Callie on the floor. “These things happen.”

Together, they retrieved the strewn papers, placing them in a neat pile between them.

Lady Macbeth, evidently sensing a new game afoot, leaped on top of the stack and plopped her hindquarters down with regal feline arrogance.

The widow laughed. “Move aside, my lady.” She playfully poked the cat in her ribs. “You are in the way.”

The animal lowered to her belly, her challenging glint all but daring her mistress to protest.

Wrinkling her nose at the ornery animal, Callie carefully pulled papers out from beneath the furry belly. She managed to free the bulk of them when the cat gazed at the new pile with narrow-eyed intent.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Callie snatched the papers off the floor and placed them on the table next to Mrs. Singletary’s book.

Not to be deterred, Lady Macbeth went after a lone sheet of paper that had landed farther away than the rest.

Callie moved a shade quicker. “Ha.”

Swishing her tail in hard, jerky movements, Lady Macbeth stalked off toward the fireplace and curled up on a rug near the grate.

Disaster averted, Callie glanced down at the paper in her hand. There was a crease in the center of the page, indicating it had once been folded in two. Written in a bold, masculine hand, it looked like a record of some kind, an inventory perhaps.

The third item from the top captured her notice. Loves children, wants several, at least five but no more than seven.

Beneath that odd statement, was another equally confusing entry. Must come from a good family and value strong family ties.

Callie frowned.

What sort of list had she stumbled upon?

Realizing it was none of her business, she pressed the paper into Mrs. Singletary’s hand. “This is clearly meant for your eyes only.”

The widow scanned the page in silence then clicked her tongue in obvious disapproval. “That man is going to be my greatest challenge yet.”

At the genuine look of concern in the woman’s eyes, Callie angled her head. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, dear. Not just yet.” The widow refolded the paper at the crease and stowed the list inside a pocket of her skirt. “Later, perhaps, once I consider my options I shall ask for your assistance.”

Her tone invited no further questions.

Shrugging, Callie searched the floor around her. She found no more papers. “I think that’s all of them.” She sat back on her heels. “Would you like me to leave you alone to review the papers Mr. Bennett sent over?”

“Thank you, yes.” The widow nodded distractedly. “I would.”

“I’ll be in my room if you need me.” Callie rose to her feet and started for the door.

“Not so fast, dear.”

She pivoted back around. “Yes, ma’am?”

“About the dinner party I have planned for Friday evening. I should like for you to attend as one of my guests.”

Callie felt her eyes widen in surprise. In the entire month of her employment she’d attended precisely none of Mrs. Singletary’s parties. “You wish for me to attend as...as...a guest?”

“Quite so.” The widow moved back to her chair and began spreading the legal papers across her lap. “Now that one of the ladies has declined her invitation there will be too many men at the table. Your presence will even out the numbers.”

A hard ball of dread knotted in Callie’s stomach. In the span of a single day, her perfectly ordered world was no longer so perfectly ordered. But aside from direct insubordination, Callie saw no other recourse than to agree to her employer’s request.

“If you wish for me to attend your party then, of course, Mrs. Singletary, I am happy to oblige.”

“Excellent. Most excellent, indeed.”

Again, Callie turned to go.

Again, Mrs. Singletary called her back. “One final thing, dear.”

Forcing a bright smile, she turned around a second time, preparing herself for the rest. Because, of course, there was more. With Mrs. Singletary, there was always more. “Yes?”

“When Jane and I were cleaning out my closet this afternoon we came across a lovely crimson gown that isn’t at all the right color for my complexion. The garment would look far better on, say, a woman with—” the widow pinned Callie with a sly look “—flaxen hair.”

Wasn’t that convenient? Callie thought miserably, as she smoothed her hand over her light blond flaxen hair.

“I should like for you to wear the dress to the party.”

Naturally.

Callie suppressed a sigh as yet another piece of her ordered life chipped away.

“Is there anything else?” she dared to ask.

“That is all for now.” The widow waved a hand in dismissal. “You may go.”

This time, when Callie stepped into the hallway, the widow did not protest her departure. A small victory, to be sure. But with the day she’d had, one she gladly claimed.

* * *

Despite a last-minute meeting with a new client, and the onset of a thundershower just as he left the office, Reese arrived at Mrs. Singletary’s home a full minute before the designated time on the invitation. He stepped into the foyer at the precise moment a large grandfather clock began chiming the top of the hour.

As he shook off the rain, the widow’s butler stepped forward and took his hat. “Good evening, Mr. Bennett.”

“Good evening, Winston.” Reese handed over his coat and gloves next. “Am I the first to arrive?”

“You are one of the last,” the butler informed him. “The other guests are gathered in the blue sitting room.”

“Has my father arrived yet?”

“Twenty minutes ago.”

Twenty minutes? That seemed pointlessly early. Or had Reese read the invitation incorrectly? There was one way to find out. “Thank you, Winston. I’ll see myself to the parlor.”

“Very good, sir.”

Reese spared a glance at the grandfather clock in the foyer as he passed through. One minute past seven. Certain he’d arrived on time, he nonetheless increased his pace.

Pausing at the threshold of the blue parlor, he took in the scene. He counted eight people in the room already.

His father stood near the fireplace, where a small fire had been lit presumably to offset the damp air created by the rain. A woman in a red dress stood beside Reese Bennett Sr., her back to the entrance. The deep, rich color of her gown offset her pale blond hair. Twisted in one of those complicated modern styles with several tendrils hanging loose, the resulting effect was mesmerizing.

For reasons unknown, Reese could do nothing but stare in muted wonder. Then, the woman turned slightly, presenting her profile.

His stomach rolled in recognition.

His throat burned. His heart pounded. And still he continued staring, unable to look away. With the firelight brazing off her, Callie Mitchell reminded him of a lighthouse beacon calling to him, promising shelter, as if he was a floundering sailor in need of a safe haven.

Reese swallowed.

He should not be this aware of Callie. Nonetheless, a new alertness spread through him, a sublime shift from one state of being to another.

The sensation rocked him to the core.

He looked away, at last searching the large parlor.

Mrs. Singletary held court on the opposite end of the room, conversing with one of Denver’s most prominent couples, Alexander and Polly Ferguson.

Their son Marshall, a man Reese considered a friend, was here tonight as well, as were two of his seven sisters. The young women were beautiful, with golden, light brown hair and cornflower-blue eyes. He was certain he’d met them previously but at the moment found it difficult to tell them apart. To further complicate matters, he recalled each of their names started with the letter P.

Both were in their early twenties and fit most of his requirements for a bride.

Were they here for his benefit?

If so, the widow had wasted no time in presenting viable candidates for his consideration.

One of the Ferguson daughters turned her big blue eyes in his direction. Reese shoved away from the door.

He’d barely taken two steps when Mrs. Singletary broke away from Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson. “Ah, Mr. Bennett, you have finally arrived.”

At the hint of censure in her tone, he wondered again if he’d gotten the time of tonight’s gathering wrong. “I hope I haven’t kept everyone waiting.”

“Not at all.” Smiling now, the widow closed the distance between them and captured both of his hands. “There is still one more guest yet to arrive.”

On cue, there was a movement in the doorway.

“And here he is now.” The widow stepped away from Reese to greet her final guest. “Mr. Hawkins. I’m so glad you could join us this evening.”

Jonathon Hawkins was back in town?

This was the first time the new owner of the Hotel Dupree had returned to Denver since he’d offered Fanny a job in his Chicago hotel.

By giving her the position, Hawkins had provided Reese’s ex-fiancée a way to start over when the gossip over the broken engagement had become unbearable. Reese held no animosity toward the man. Fanny’s departure had been good for everyone.

Callie seemed to have a differing opinion.

Her shoulders stiffened, her chin lifted at a haughty angle. When her gaze locked on Hawkins, the barely banked anger in her eyes gave Reese a moment of hesitation. He’d always sensed Callie had a large capacity for emotion hidden deep within her. But this...

He almost felt sorry for the hotelier.

Then he remembered his last conversation with Callie and her admission to missing her sister greatly.

With this new piece of information, he absorbed her reaction with a wave of sympathy. She and her sister had been close. He wanted to go to Callie, to offer his support, but her expression shuttered closed, as if she’d turned off a switch. A slow blink, a quick steadying breath and she wrenched her attention away from Hawkins.

Her wandering gaze landed on Reese.

A moment of silent understanding passed between them. Everything in him softened, relaxed, urging him to continue in her direction. His father said something and she turned to answer.

The moment was lost. And Reese immediately came to his senses.

Tonight wasn’t about Callie Mitchell. The Ferguson daughters had likely been invited here for his benefit as the first candidates in his bride search. Reese would be remiss not to take this opportunity to know them better.


Chapter Six (#ulink_b9ee5ecd-b330-5fb2-bbd6-3a04a34d06a4)

Bracketed by Reese’s father on her left and Marshall Ferguson on her right, Callie would be hard-pressed to find more pleasant dinner companions. Both men held a vast knowledge on a variety of topics and never let the conversation lag.

Under normal circumstances, she would consider tonight’s dining experience a pleasant respite from what would have been a solitary supper tray in her room.

These were not normal circumstances.

As evidenced by the unexpected presence of the man sitting diagonally across the table from her.

Jonathon Hawkins.

Why had Mrs. Singletary invited the hotelier to this particular dinner party? True, the widow was in the process of expanding her business association with the man. Did she have to socialize with him, as well? On a night Callie was in attendance?

Swallowing a growl of frustration, she narrowed her gaze over Mr. Hawkins’s face. In the flickering light of the wall sconces, his features took on a dark, turbulent, almost-frightening edge. A man with many secrets.

She supposed some women might find his mysterious aura appealing. Not Callie. She didn’t like brooding, enigmatic types. Besides, with his glossy brown hair, steel-gray eyes and square jaw, he reminded her entirely too much of the man who’d deceived her and broken her heart.

In fact...

If she narrowed her eyes ever-so-slightly and angled her head a tad to the right, Jonathon Hawkins could pass for Simon.

Was the hotelier as equally duplicitous as the famous actor? Did he spout well-practiced lies to unsuspecting gullible women?

She knew the comparison was unfair, and based solely on her own prejudice, yet Callie felt her hands curl into tight fists. She briefly shut her eyes, battling the remembered shame of her own actions. Before her experience with Simon, she’d lived a life of unshakable faith. She’d lived with boldness, gifted by the Lord with utter confidence in her own worth.

But now, now, she had no such confidence. She felt lost, afraid and, worst of all, alone.

She had no one to blame but herself, of course. She’d made her choices and must forever live with the consequences.

Refusing to wallow over a situation of her own making, she willed Mr. Hawkins to look at her. He turned his head in the opposite direction and listened to something Mrs. Singletary said.

His rich laughter filled the air.

Callie battled a mild case of dejection.

How could the man be so blissfully unaware? Had he no shame? Did he not know—or care—about the pain his actions had caused? Were it not for his untimely job offer, Fanny would have stayed in Denver and worked things out with Reese.

Reese.

What must he be suffering? Surely, Jonathon Hawkins’s presence here tonight had to be a physical reminder of the woman he’d lost.

Callie shifted her gaze to where Reese sat wedged between the Ferguson sisters. He skillfully divided his attention, speaking to both women at well-timed intervals, taking in every word of their high-pitched chatter. He didn’t look upset. In fact, he was smiling. Smiling!

“Is the fish not to your liking, Miss Mitchell?”

She dragged her gaze away from Reese and focused on Marshall Ferguson.

“On the contrary,” she said, picking up her fork. “It’s quite wonderful.”

“Such certainty, and yet...” Marshall dropped an amused gaze to her plate. “You haven’t taken a single bite.”

“Oh. Right.” She filled her fork. “I sampled some in the kitchen before everyone arrived.”

His mouth quirked up at one corner. “Ah, well, that explains it, then.”

She took the bite on her fork, studied his handsome face as she chewed.

Still holding her gaze, Marshall sampled his own fish. Only when Reese’s father said his name did he break eye contact and answer a question about railroad stock. Which soon segued into a lengthy discussion on water rights.

With nothing to add to either topic, Callie listened in silence. The brief interlude with Marshall had given her time to recover her equilibrium and she was grateful to the man.

She glanced at him from beneath her lashes.

In temperament and in looks, he reminded her of her brother Garrett. Marshall’s tawny hair was a bit more unruly, and his brown eyes were several shades darker, but they could almost pass for brothers.

There was another glaring similarity between the two men. Marshall had once been engaged to Garrett’s wife, Molly. Did he pine for his lost love? Callie wondered.

How did one ask such a question?

One didn’t ask such a question.

Yet she’d practically done so with Reese the other day in his office.

Callie cut a glance across the table, noticed Reese was no longer engaged in conversation with either of the Ferguson sisters. Instead, he was watching her. Closely. Intently.

She looked down at her plate then just as quickly glanced back up. Reese was still watching her, just as closely, just as intently. She wished he would look away. Then, perversely, wished he would continue looking at her all night.

At least he wasn’t conversing with either of the Ferguson sisters anymore.

Why not?

They were both very beautiful, educated, came from a good family and...

Callie suddenly remembered the words written in a bold, masculine hand she’d fished out from beneath Lady Macbeth. Loves children...must come from a good family and...value strong family ties.

Qualities a man might look for in a wife.

Alarm filled her.

Was Reese actively seeking a woman to take Fanny’s place in his heart? Had he enlisted Mrs. Singletary’s assistance?

No. It was too soon. Fanny had barely left town.

“I understand your brother is practicing law in St. Louis,” Marshall said, the gently spoken question sufficiently breaking through Callie’s growing panic.

“Yes.” She rummaged up a smile for her dinner companion. “I received a letter from his wife just today.”

“You and Molly are still close, I presume?”

“Very. It was hard to say goodbye to her after the wedding, but the ever-faithful postal service keeps us in touch.”

If only Fanny would write, as well. One letter. Callie yearned for nothing more than one, short letter from her sister.

“Is Molly...” Marshall hesitated, his smile dropping slightly. “Is she happy living in St. Louis with your brother?”

How best to answer such a loaded question? The truth, she told herself. Stick with the truth. “She has settled into her new life with Garrett rather nicely. She’s even started her own millinery shop.”

“I’m pleased for her.” The relief in his eyes was more powerful than the words. “And your brother.”

“I believe you truly mean that.”

He turned thoughtful a moment, lifted a shoulder. “Though Molly is a generous, beautiful woman, she was not the woman for me. We would never have truly happy together. Content, perhaps. But not happy.”

Something sad came and went in his eyes.

Wanting to soothe, she reached out and touched her fingers to his forearm. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ferguson.”

He placed his hand atop hers and squeezed gently. “Molly and I parted ways amicably. We will always be friends.”

Friends?

There was that awful word again, spoken by another man in reference to his former fiancée. Why would anyone propose to a woman he considered nothing more than a friend?

Oh, she knew many marriages were based on far less, and were entered into for a vast array of reasons. But in her family love was the most important foundation to marriage.





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