Last Chance Wife Page 7

  Silence hung between them as he collected his bearings. He hadn’t expected this level of intimate conversation with Miss Sattler, and frankly, he wasn’t prepared for the way his heart began to stir. “Of course. I won’t bring it up again.”

  Dipping her chin, she went back to pulling weeds. He followed suit. It was none of his business what sorts of events had taken place in Miss Sattler’s past. If she’d wanted to share, she would have.

  “All the same,” he continued, “I’m glad you’re all right and that you are on your way home. No woman deserves to be taken advantage of or deceived.”

  She remained quiet. When he lifted his focus, he found her staring at him. Wide-eyed and brow slightly pinched. So vulnerable. What sort of hurts lived in her past? The breeze caught wisps of her hair again and brushed them across her forehead and cheeks. His gaze traveled her face, and his chest swelled at his sudden awareness of their silent communication, connecting his heart to hers in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

  Since Marilee.

  Terrible news. Very terrible news. Talkative, lively girls drew him in like a bee to honey, but they were bad for him. Oh, were they bad for him. He didn’t need, couldn’t afford, a distraction—not for his business and not for his heart...and as much as he hated to admit it, Miss Sattler had the potential to become a distraction for both.

  “Mr. Burke,” she whispered, “how pleasant your mine would be if you showed your workers this side of you instead.”

  The trance surrounding him dropped. “Pardon?” He blinked, listening to her words again in his mind. “What do you mean, instead? Instead of what?”

  “Instead of being so grouchy all the time.” She offered a small smile, but he didn’t see the mirth in her comment. And here he’d started to enjoy himself. She tucked a strand behind her ear. “Maybe then your workers would have more faith in the company.”

  Her statement walloped him like a hammer. He drew back. “More faith in the company?”

  Miss Sattler’s brow began to crease again. “Yes, doubt and discouragement are written all over their faces. Mr. Brennan, Mr. Danielson—”

  “Danielson is a worrier and a complainer. Don’t take anything he says seriously.” Ewan got to his feet. He’d have to talk to that man tonight about curbing his speech, the way he spouted off the doubts and fears spurred by his insecurities as if they were gold-plated truth. “Faith in my company.” He scoffed, tugging at his vest beneath his coat. “Danielson is a gossip and enjoys the excitement of spreading rumors. Does that interest you, too?”

  “No, I—”

  “Then hear me, Miss Sattler. I care about my workers. And they respect me in return.”

  “Respect you?” She, too, scrambled to her feet. “Or are they skittish around you? Which is the more accurate picture, Mr. Burke?”

  Her fists landed on her hips to match her glare. But he could match it, too. “What a ridiculous assumption. You make me out to be a tyrant? I tore myself up over that accident the other night. These people are my responsibility. No one else’s. I would give my life for each one.”

  “Then smile once in a while!” Miss Sattler stamped her foot on the boardwalk. Actually stamped it. “Laugh. Tell them you care. Encourage them to continue working as hard as you do. You’re only as strong as your weakest link, and if you don’t change something, weak links will start popping up all over the place.”

  He narrowed his eyes, her words cutting through him in ways he didn’t understand. “Don’t yell at me like that—” But Miss Sattler cut off his statement by whirling on her heel and marching back inside the store, shutting the door a little too hard behind her.

  Jaw clenched, he stared at the door. Gripped and released his fingers. How dare she? Miss Sattler had been here all of a week. No way did she understand how his operation worked or how he felt toward his workers better than he did, himself. Or how they felt toward him.

  But beneath his singed pride, her words continued to burn. A few of his men had already quit because of doubt. He’d hoped the urgency of that issue had passed. But what if it hadn’t?

  The question continued to barrage him throughout the day as he took care of paperwork in his office. Then again as he made rounds through the mine and outbuildings to check production. This time, he closely watched his workers’ reactions to him, and they were exactly as Miss Sattler had implied. How had he missed it before? They followed his orders, certainly, but many acted stiff and guarded, leading him to believe they showed respect out of fear, not admiration.

  Why would they fear him? He’d never given them a reason to think he would be cruel—but doubt that the mine would stay open...he saw that fear in nearly everyone’s eyes. Again. Their zeal to continue pushing forward waned, and he had no idea how to fix it.

  * * *

  “Mr. Burke?” Winifred slid sideways through the closing side door, somehow managing to keep the pie from toppling out of her hands. “Please—wait for me.”

  As the afternoon heat faded from the air, Mr. Burke turned to face her. His hat shielded his face from the sun, casting intriguing shadows across his sharp features.

  No. Not intriguing. Interesting? No.

  Winifred slowed when she reached him, lifting her chin so she could look into his face. Angular. Yes, uninterestingly, not-at-all-intriguingly angular shadows ran across his sharp features. And she mustn’t get started on how his suit coat, simple as it was, hung on his confident shoulders like it’d been made for his very curvature.

  Honestly, she shouldn’t be thinking about it. Any of it. Bad enough that she’d felt a connection this morning with him while pulling weeds that caused her mind to stick on him throughout the day. The hushed tone of his voice, his passion for the well-being of women. These surprising aspects of his personality overwhelmed her, moved her. And when he’d promised not to ask about her experience in Spearfish with Mr. Ansell, protecting her privacy in such an earnest way...he’d made her feel welcomed here, like she might find her sense of purpose in this place—something she had never found while growing up in the luxury of Aunt and Uncle’s privileged lifestyle.

  Then, of course, she’d had to ruin their openhearted conversation.

  Now, the gray of Mr. Burke’s eyes took in her pie before glancing at her and then the door. His ever-permanent seriousness materialized in a frown. “What are you doing?”

  That was apparently the question of the week.

  Winifred cleared her throat. “Granna Cass said you were visiting Mr. McAllister tonight, so she wanted me to bring this along. She would have come herself, but it’s nearly dinnertime, and she has to feed the miners.” And since the time was nearly five o’clock, Winifred hadn’t needed to close the store too terribly early to fill in.

  “Well, here.” He extended his hands. “Let me save you a trip and take it myself.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t allow you to do that.” She tucked the dessert closer to her middle, feeling a bit slighted that he might not want her along...proving how she really had hurt him earlier today. “I promised Granna Cass I wouldn’t let this pie out of my sight.” A smile wavered on her lips, hoping it would draw a truce. “I couldn’t help Mr. McAllister the night of his injury—I’d like to offer at least this small gesture.”

  Mr. Burke seemed to consider it. Then he nodded his understanding, and with an inclination of his head, they turned toward the trail he’d been walking a few minutes ago.

  Sunlight winked through the evergreen boughs as her feet shuffled over a blanket of fallen pinecones and brown needles. She stumbled on a root but righted herself before anything could happen to the pie. Her heeled shoes weren’t exactly suited to hiking.

  The trail seemed nearly nonexistent. Winifred followed Mr. Burke past ferns and through wildflowers as he led her farther from the claim. The scent of creek water mixing with soil caught her senses.

  “Are you sure you
know where you’re going?” She sidestepped a spray of lovely white flowers that reminded her of dainty lace.

  “Of course I know.” A hint of irritation circled in his tone. Irritation probably left over from that morning’s spat.

  Winifred cringed. “About this morning... I’m sorry for sounding like I was accusing you of not caring about your workers.”

  “You didn’t sound like you accused me. You did accuse me.”

  “That wasn’t my intention.” She hastened to keep up with the man’s long strides. Couldn’t he slow down? “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She exhaled. “It’s just that I seem to cause trouble every time I’m with you, and—oh!”

  Her heel caught in a snarl of underbrush and down she went. The pie flew from her fingers, landing somewhere in the flowers just before Winifred’s torso made impact with the ground.

  The sudden collision stole her breath, stung her joints. Blinking, she was still trying to fathom what had happened when Mr. Burke rustled through the flowers toward her and two hands hoisted her to her feet.

  “Are you all right?” This time no irritation hung in his tone. Without warning, he plucked a pine needle from her hair and brushed dirt from her shoulders and arms.

  Winifred swallowed. He was so intent on the process of tidying her up, she doubted he realized how close he stood. Hadn’t kept her from noticing. “I’m fine.”

  He made a final dusting over her shoulders and swiped a strand of hair from her face, then he finally froze. Stared at her, slightly slack jawed. A trace of something burning and tentative sparked in his gaze. A gaze she could lose herself in...

  Mr. Burke squeezed his eyes shut and stepped back. “We’d better check on that pie.”

  Ducking her head, Winifred found capacity in her lungs again, then made a move to walk forward. But when she took a step, her right ankle wobbled beneath her on shifting ground. Or deep mud. Whatever it was, she sank in clear to the sole of her shoe. Except when she looked down, she realized she hadn’t sunk in at all. Worse than that—she had completely broken off the right heel of her shoe instead.

  “Fiddlesticks.” Bending, she swiped her broken heel off the ground and held it up for Mr. Burke to see. “See what I mean? Trouble. Everywhere I go.”

  The man pressed his lips together. A corner of his mouth turned upward, and he pressed his lips firmer.

  Winifred narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Burke...are you trying not to laugh at me?”

  “Never.” His mouth wobbled a bit more before he finally released a chuckle. A genuine, bona fide chuckle—which had a nice ring to it. “All right, fine. I tried not to laugh. Didn’t work so well.” Still chuckling under his breath, he walked away from her and knelt in the flowers. “Good news. The pie survived.”

  Exhaling her relief, she covered her face with one hand. “Thankfully! I did not want to walk home and tell Granna Cass that I ruined her pie.”

  “Like you ruined your shoe.”

  His grin was widening now. So much so, she might have wished to wipe it from his face if the sight hadn’t been so unfairly appealing. Fighting her own grin, she feigned disgust and shoved his shoulder as she passed him on an uneven gait. “Come on, quit wasting time. And for that laugh, you get to carry the pie the rest of the way.”

  “Mmm...not sure that’s a good idea.” Plants rustled as he caught up with her, his movements easy now. “If I’m in charge of food, McAllister may not have a pie by the time we reach his cabin. What kind is this?”

  “Rhubarb.” She glanced his direction, saw his eyes still glittering and brushed more loose hair from her forehead. “Granna Cass says there’s a wild patch growing just beyond the office building.”

  Bringing the pie close to his nose, he inhaled. “One of my favorite flavors.”

  “I don’t care much for it.” She kept her weight on the ball of her right foot, hopefully not hobbling so noticeably. “Too sour for my taste.”

  “I suppose you like the really sweet, fruity flavors, like raspberry or strawberry.”

  “With ice cream, of course. What girl doesn’t like sweet things?”

  Her foot landed on a stone, causing her to lose her balance again. But this time, she caught herself before tumbling to the ground.

  “Do you need me to carry you the rest of the way?” His voice came from behind. “Because if you sprain your ankle, you’ll be left without a leg to stand on.”

  “Au contraire, I’d still have at least one leg.”

  He laughed.

  Winifred whipped around. The sound of that laugh—not just a chuckle this time but a real, sustained laugh with his head thrown back—was like water running over rocks, filling her heart with warmth.

  Her heartbeat stalled. Ewan Burke had a sense of humor after all.

  He stumbled closer, his laughter fading as he rubbed one eye. Then her gaze caught his, and his smile softened. How was this the same man she’d worked alongside this entire week? Her breath came shallowly as she lifted her chin, gaze moving around his face. Mere inches separated them in the seclusion of the forest. A strong desire built within her to connect, to continue what they’d begun while pulling weeds. She reached out and touched her fingers to his where they hung limp at his side.

  But as the heat of his skin permeated hers, he drew away.

  Inhaling, he dropped his gaze to the ground. A myriad of emotions crossed his face as he stepped back and ran his trembling hand over his forehead. Emotions Winifred couldn’t decipher. Even with a good three feet between them now, she could still feel the memory of his fingers. She should say something. Anything. But her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her left hand clutched her broken heel tighter as the shadows clouded his features.

  “Mr. Burke, I—”

  “Don’t.” Holding up his hand to silence her, he brushed past and continued down the trail, pie in the crook of his arm. “Perhaps you’d better go back to the mine.”

  Jaw slack, she watched him go. Her right hand grasped her arm above the elbow as the muscles tightened along her spine. “I didn’t mean—”

  Turning, he met her gaze with a wintry cold that made her shiver. “Go on. We won’t speak of this again. See to the shop, and I’ll see to the workers, just like before, and that’s it between us. Understand?”

  Had she so gravely misunderstood their connection? Her eyes began to sting. “I’m sorry.”

  The muscles moved along his jaw, something akin to hurt hanging around him.

  Swallowing hard against the lump forming in her throat, she turned and hobbled back to the office building.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to last two minutes in Granna Cass’s presence before the old woman dropped two fists on her narrow hips and eyed Winifred with a motherly look. “What happened?”

  Winifred sank into a chair at the preparation table, surrounded by the scent of fresh bread and corned beef as the cook made sandwiches. “I don’t want to talk about it.” In fact, she scarcely knew what words could describe the evening. Had she been looking to make Mr. Burke her friend? More than that? All she knew was that he’d awakened something inside her. Dared her to believe she could be appreciated. Cherished. Could be important enough not to be tossed aside. And she hadn’t wanted to let go of it.

  Until, of course, he made it clear he was only interested in tolerating her at a distance.

  One of Granna Cass’s gray eyebrows popped up. “You’re back mighty fast for having delivered a pie all the way to McAllister’s.”

  “I... I broke the heel off my shoe. After that, Mr. Burke took the pie the rest of the way. He—we—felt it best I head back.”

  With the woman’s brow raised like that, Winifred gathered she hadn’t been all that convincing. She half-heartedly waved the shoe in question, wishing that was the whole of the issue. But it was
n’t, and she couldn’t very well explain the rest of the evening in detail. Mortification would swallow her whole.

  Winifred exhaled, the reality of her behavior hitting her full force again. What had she been thinking? He’d laughed, that was all. But somehow, knowing he could tease and laugh as well as care about the deeper things in life had her heart tangled in knots. Her response had happened so fast, she hadn’t known how to stop it.

  “You two ain’t getting along so well.” Granna Cass wrapped a sandwich and dropped it in a pail. “I can tell something happened between you two out there in the woods.”

  Releasing a soft groan, Winifred dropped her forehead onto her hands on the table. “Things have been rocky between Mr. Burke and me from the start.”

  “Don’t want to tell me what happened, fine. None of my business anyhow. But it sure is God’s business, and He knows exactly what happened out there. You can go to Him with your concerns about it.”

  As tears burned her eyes, Winifred didn’t lift her head off the table. Instead, she listened to the fire crackling in the hearth. “Sometimes I wonder if God’s tired of hearing about my faults by now. I have so many.”

  “Never.” The final sandwich landed in the pail with a light clang. “God made you, just like He made each star in the sky. He can’t get tired of your worries and troubles. It’s not in His nature.”

  Winifred lifted her head, finally able to blink the tears back. “Thank you, Granna Cass. I’ll pray to Him about it.”

  Suddenly, she had the desire to share her frustration...with one other person. Mr. Businessman might not be looking to her as a wife, but that was fine. He’d warmly opened the invitation for her to send him her frustrations, so that’s exactly what she would do. She’d never meet the man anyway. What did it matter if she wrote him once, maybe twice more?

  She left the table and sat down on her pallet behind the bedroom partition. From her valise, she swiped up a clean sheet of stationery.