Waiting for Spring (19 page)

“‘And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.'”

While the wind howled outside, blowing the light snow that had fallen earlier, Barrett settled back in the pew. Surely he could relax as the minister read the familiar passage from St. Luke. Though Barrett had heard the story so often that he had memorized it, it never failed to move him, and yet tonight he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of what would happen when the service ended. Another gift. A diamond ring could in no way compare to the gift of the Son of God, and yet the moment it was on Miriam's finger, Barrett's life would be changed forever.

The changes had already begun. For the first time, he had come to church with the Taggert family. For the first time, he was seated with them in the second pew. For the first time, he was sharing a hymnal with Miriam. Though their betrothal was not yet official, his presence in this particular
pew was tantamount to an announcement. It should have come earlier today. Barrett had seen Mrs. Taggert's disapproval when he'd escorted Miriam to dinner and there had been no ring on her finger. She had obviously hoped that her daughter's engagement would be the highlight of the evening. It should have been. Barrett had the ring. He'd rehearsed the words he'd use to ask Miriam to join her life with his. But when the moment he had chosen came, he found he could not pronounce the words. Tonight was Christmas Eve. This was a time that should be spent in contemplation of the greatest gift the world had ever received, not in celebration of an earthly event. And so Mr. Mullen's box would remain in Barrett's pocket. When the service was over, he and Miriam would ride back to her parents' home for a midnight supper, and before they reached the Taggert mansion, Barrett would give Miriam her Christmas gift.

“‘And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.'” The minister continued reading.

Barrett closed his eyes for a second, trying to imagine the scene in that stable so many years ago. A newborn child, clasped in his mother's arms. Though St. Luke said no more, Barrett imagined Mary had been filled with wonder. Was that how every new mother felt? Was that what Charlotte had felt the first time she cradled David in her arms?

Compelled by an instinct he could not ignore, Barrett opened his eyes and glanced behind him. The church was filled, every seat occupied, and yet he saw her. She sat in the last pew, her son in her arms, an expression of pure joy on her face. And in that instant, Barrett knew what he must do.

 12 

M
erry Christmas, Mr. Duncan, ma'am. Your table is ready.”

Warren looked down at the woman whose grip on his arm tightened as they followed the formally dressed man into the dining room of the InterOcean Hotel. She had done something different to her hair—it seemed fancier than normal—and she was wearing a blue dress that rustled softly as she walked. To the maître d'hôtel, she probably looked like every other woman who dined here, well-groomed and confident, but Gwen wasn't like those other women. She was different. The way she clutched his arm proved that. Though Gwen had no way of knowing it, that involuntary gesture touched a chord deep inside Warren, for it told him that no matter how calm she tried to appear, she was nervous. And that aroused his protective instincts.

He hadn't expected that. Truth be told, he hadn't wanted it. The last woman he'd tried to protect was Ma, but that meddling doc claimed Warren didn't know what she needed,
that she'd become dangerous to herself as well as to others. Warren took a deep breath, pushing aside the memories of the last time he'd seen his mother. Ma was gone; Gwen was here. Pretty, nervous Gwen. He'd chosen her because she was perfect for his plans, but she had soon become more than a means to an end. Now she was his Gwen, and he'd do whatever was necessary to make her happy. He hoped that once she overcame her nervousness, being here today would accomplish that.

Seen from Gwen's view, the dining room must appear impressive, with its dark paneling, snowy white tablecloths, and the clink of silver on fine china. Warren had always enjoyed eating here. The food was predictably excellent. Some folks claimed it was the best in Cheyenne, which was the reason he'd brought Gwen here. She deserved the best. The only thing wrong with the InterOcean was that anyone could eat here. Anyone with enough money, that is. As a public hotel, it wasn't exclusive the way the Cheyenne Club was. But if Warren played his cards right, next Christmas he and Gwen would be dining there.

When the maître d'hôtel had seated them and handed them their menus, Warren leaned across the table to place his hand on Gwen's. It might be too familiar a gesture for a public place, but he could see that she was still trembling, and he needed to reassure her. “Having you with me is making this the best Christmas I can recall.”

That sweet smile that tantalized his senses softened her face. “It's very special for me too. I always wondered what this room looked like.”

“You've never been here before?” Though he'd suspected that she hadn't eaten here, Warren knew that many people
would wander into the hotel, merely to say that they'd been inside.

She shook her head. “My husband was a corporal. Even before Rose arrived, his pay barely covered our food and housing. Afterwards . . .” She let her voice trail off. “There was nothing left for luxuries.”

And if anyone deserved luxuries, it was Gwen. As the waiter approached to take their orders, Warren withdrew his hand, clenching it as he laid it in his lap. The money had been important before. Now it was vital. He had to find it, for it was the only way he could shower Gwen with the expensive clothing, furs, and jewels that should have been her birthright.

When they'd placed their orders, he leaned forward, keeping his voice pitched low enough that no one would overhear. “You may not have had a lot of money, but I envy you.”

Warren saw the shock in her eyes as his words registered. “Why would a successful man like you envy me? You have everything.”

That was what most people thought. Indeed, it was what he wanted them to think. The truth was different.

“You have a family,” he said simply. “I'm fifty-one years old, and right now my life feels empty. I want a home that's more than a few rented rooms. I want a wife and at least one child.” He paused, smiling as he said, “A daughter would be nice. I want . . .”
You
. But he couldn't say that. Not yet. It was too early. And so he turned the tables. “What are your dreams, Gwen?”

She was silent for a moment. “Probably simpler than yours. I don't mind rented rooms for myself, but I want more for Rose. I wish I could give her a house outside the city with lots of space so she could have at least one pony.”

Warren tried not to frown. He'd planned to build his
mansion on 17th Street, a block or two east of the club. That was the perfect location for him, but it appeared that it would not be perfect for Gwen. He thought quickly, then smiled. There was no reason why he couldn't have two homes. They'd live in the city during the week and spend Saturday and Sunday on the ranch.

Warren nodded briskly as he reached for his water goblet. “Rose should have all that.” He took a long swallow, keeping his eyes focused on Gwen. Her hands no longer trembled, and she'd lost that scared rabbit look. It appeared that she was finally relaxing.

“Do you have any other dreams?”

For a second, he thought she would shake her head. Instead, she started to nod. “I would like . . .” She hesitated, color staining her cheeks. Warren hadn't known that women her age still blushed, but once again the simple reaction aroused his protective instincts.

“A father for Rose?” he suggested.

She nodded.

“It's a good dream. Rose deserves a father, and you deserve a husband who'll cherish you.” As he spoke, Gwen's blush deepened, leaving her face almost cherry red. His own pulse began to race as he considered the reason for her blushes. This woman cared for him.

Warren stretched his hand out, covering hers with his. “In only a week, the new year will begin. I've never put much stock in fortune-tellers, but if I were one, I'd predict that 1887 will be the year our dreams come true.”

Gwen smiled and turned her hand over so that he could clasp it. “I hope you're right.”

He would be.

Charlotte sipped a cup of tea while she watched David and Rose playing. Though Rose was entranced with the wooden top Mr. Yates had given her for Christmas, David's favorite toy remained his ball. He was rarely more than a few feet from it and continued to insist on carrying it to bed.

“Look, David.” Rose put his hand on the top so he could feel it moving. “Spin.”

Rose was so excited by their neighbor's gift that she hadn't protested when Gwen left to dine with Warren at the InterOcean, wearing the midnight blue gown that Charlotte had altered by adding a lace fichu to make it more suitable for dinner at the hotel. Gwen's invitation was the reason she and Charlotte had held their Christmas dinner yesterday. Though he'd protested that he didn't mind being alone, Charlotte had been adamant that Mr. Yates join them for both dinner yesterday and breakfast and an exchange of gifts this morning. Now he and Gwen were gone, leaving Charlotte to entertain the children.

She took another sip of tea as Rose spun the top again. Though she'd probably lose interest soon, for the time being, Rose was having fun. Charlotte hoped Gwen was too. She'd been flushed with pleasure this morning as she'd donned the gown and the matching gloves that had been one of Charlotte's Christmas gifts to her and had declared that she would be the best-dressed woman in Cheyenne. Charlotte sighed. It took so little to please Gwen, and yet she couldn't help worrying about her friend, for she feared that in some ways Gwen was still innocent. She saw the best in everyone, whereas Charlotte was more realistic.

“Baw.” Apparently tired of playing with Rose's top, David scrambled across the floor, searching for his toy.

“No, David! Play with me!” Rose shrieked her protest.

Five minutes later, after she'd convinced Rose that her doll would like to watch her spin the top, Charlotte drank the last of her now-cold tea.

She hoped—oh, how she hoped—that Warren wasn't trifling with Gwen's affections. There was no doubt that Gwen was infatuated, perhaps even in love, with the older attorney. Gwen believed he was the man she'd been searching for ever since Mike died, the one who would be a good father to Rose. Though Charlotte wished that were true, she couldn't dismiss her concerns. She was unable to pinpoint the reason, but the fear that Warren was more like Jeffrey than Gwen realized niggled at her.

Perhaps that was why, though the sun was shining, making yesterday's snow glisten like diamonds, Charlotte was unable to chase away her doldrums. It was surely that and not the fact that Barrett and Miriam's betrothal was official. Charlotte had seen them sitting together at church last night. That might mean that the announcement had been made at the Taggerts' party beforehand, but even if Miriam hadn't received her ring until Christmas Day, by now her parents would have begun to tell friends, and soon, perhaps even Monday, Miriam would ask Charlotte to design her wedding gown.

She would do it, of course, and not simply because an order for a new, elaborate gown and a full trousseau would be good for her business. She would do it because Miriam was more than a customer; she was a friend. And that friend was in love.

Charlotte knew she ought to be happy about Miriam's engagement, and yet she wasn't. Just as she worried about Gwen, she worried about her other friends, Miriam and
Barrett. They were both wonderful people, but try though she might, Charlotte could not picture them together. That was absurd! They were adults. They knew what they wanted, and they wanted each other. It was only Charlotte's imagination that they would be happier with someone else.

She frowned, realizing that she needed a change of pace, a change of scenery, anything to take her mind off Barrett and Miriam.

“I think we should take a walk,” Charlotte announced to the children as she rose. “What do you two think?”

“Yes!” Rose, her disposition once again as sunny as her mother's, clapped her hands. “I pull wagon. David ride.”

He wrinkled his little nose. “Walk.”

If only he could. But he still refused to try. Though he'd shrugged off other minor injuries, David seemed to remember the day he'd bloodied his nose attempting to walk. “We'll take the wagon,” Charlotte said firmly. “Now, let's get you dressed.”

When they were bundled into their winter clothes and David was seated in the wagon, Charlotte decided to head east on 18th Street. She would not—she absolutely would not—pass by Barrett's house, for there could be festivities in progress there. Seeing the Taggerts' carriage hitched in front would only cause her to worry about the wisdom of Miriam and Barrett's engagement. Monday would be soon enough for that.

“Cold.” Rose jumped up and down as they crossed Ferguson.

Yes, it was, but the day was also beautiful. A few white clouds drifted across a sky that was as deep a blue as Barrett's eyes. Charlotte inhaled deeply as she tried to corral her
thoughts. She didn't want to think about Barrett, his beautiful blue eyes, or his upcoming marriage. Nothing was gained by that. Instead, she focused her attention on the children. This was Christmas Day, a day that ought to be special for them. They'd had a fancier than normal breakfast and gifts, and now . . . Charlotte wished she had a horse and carriage. If she did, she could take David and Rose to City Park. The park was lovely at any time, but frosted with snow, it would be spectacular. Unfortunately, it was too far for Rose to walk and farther than Charlotte could pull the wagon with both children in it. They'd have to stay closer to home.