Christine Johnson Read online

  No, she must look elsewhere. Perhaps Mrs. Gavin needed help.

  “I wonder if—” she began to ask, but the proprietress had hurried off to help Holly Sanders, the schoolteacher and Charlotte’s friend.

  “Miss Sanders,” Mrs. Gavin exclaimed. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

  “Congratulations?” Charlotte drew near her friend.

  Holly blushed furiously. “Mason proposed.”

  “He did? Oh, Holly. How wonderful.” Charlotte enveloped her friend in a hug. “I’m so happy for you.” Truly, she was, though the irony of their situations didn’t elude her. She, once married, was now a widow. Holly, who’d admired Sheriff Mason Wright for ages, would now be married.

  Holly pulled away. “Enough about me. How are you doing?”

  Charlotte couldn’t believe Holly would think of her at such a time. “I’m doing better. Having Sasha to care for helps pass the time. She’s such a dear.”

  “How is she handling it? She seemed so bewildered at first.” Holly had gotten to know all the orphans in her role as part of the orphan selection committee responsible for placing the orphans with families. She’d grown very attached to the children since their arrival in town.

  “The poor girl has seen so much death. Losing her parents, and then Charles.” Charlotte shook her head. “I had no idea his heart had weakened.”

  “No one did.”

  Charlotte fought the rush of memories. “There’s so much to take care of. I should go through his things, but I can’t bring myself to do it.”

  “Would you like help?”

  Charlotte couldn’t believe Holly would consider helping her when she had a wedding to plan. “Aren’t you busy with the wedding?”

  Holly waved a hand. “It won’t be anything fancy. Besides, we haven’t set a date yet. I can certainly manage an hour or two for a friend.”

  Then there was no escaping the task. Since Charles’s death, Charlotte had avoided the loft, the place where he’d lived his life apart from her. She’d respected his privacy when he was alive, and now that he was dead, it felt like even more of an intrusion to set foot up there. Maybe Holly’s presence would make it easier.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “I don’t know what to do with it all. Perhaps someone who lost their belongings in the flood could use the clothes, but who?”

  “I’ll ask around.” Holly smiled encouragingly and again grasped her hand. “Shall we do it Saturday morning?”

  So soon? Charlotte’s heart sank. She didn’t know if she could face the task, but it must be done. She stiffened her resolve. “Saturday.”

  “Anything else, Miss Sanders?” asked Mrs. Gavin as the busybody spinster Beatrice Ward stepped into the store.

  Considering the glare Miss Ward cast at Holly, she’d heard the news of the engagement and disapproved. Charlotte wondered if she had any reason to dislike the match, or if she simply felt no one should make major decisions in town without consulting her.

  “Not today.” But Holly’s gaze drifted toward the dress goods after Mrs. Gavin left to wait on Beatrice. “I must admit that rose-colored satin is pretty.”

  Holly’s uncharacteristic interest in fabric caught Charlotte’s attention. Of course! Holly needed a wedding dress, something that would show off the beauty she didn’t realize she had.

  “The color suits you,” she urged. “It would make a lovely gown, wouldn’t it? Oh, Holly, let me make it for you—as a gift.”

  Holly cast aside the idea. “No, no, it would be frivolous. I’ll wear the dress I wore to Newfield.”

  Charlotte couldn’t let her friend get married in a travel suit. Her vow of frugality evaporated in the face of a friend in need. She would make that dress, whether Holly approved or not. It was a gift, and gifts didn’t require approval.

  “I’ll make it in the latest fashion,” she insisted. “Mason’s heart will stop when he sees you walk down the aisle.”

  “No, please,” Holly said frantically as Beatrice Ward drifted closer. “Thank you, but no.” Her gaze darted toward Beatrice. “I should get back to the schoolhouse. I have so much work to do before school tomorrow.”

  Work. If Charlotte was going to make Charles’s money last more than a few years, she needed to ask Mrs. Gavin if the store was hiring, but she hesitated with Beatrice within earshot. The woman opposed letting any of the orphans stay in Evans Grove. Worse, she was on the orphan selection committee. According to Holly, the mayor had given Beatrice the position in an attempt to placate her, but the woman had done everything to thwart placements. If she thought Charlotte didn’t have enough money to raise a child, then she’d scheme to take Sasha away. No, she’d have to ask Mrs. Gavin about work later.

  “I’ll see you Saturday,” she said to Holly. “Eight o’clock?”

  Holly nodded. “Saturday morning it is. Say hello to Sasha for me. I look forward to having her in school after summer.”

  She darted off, leaving Charlotte stunned. Sasha in school? So soon? The summer would flit by. Why, Charlotte had barely enjoyed two weeks with her.

  She turned to retrieve Sasha from the toy display and saw the girl gazing at the expensive doll with the porcelain head and sky-blue dress. It was beautiful but far too dear. She’d make Sasha a pretty doll with black hair and big blue buttons for eyes. She had everything necessary in her sewing basket except the black hair. She eyed the ribbon. A much better use than on her bonnet.

  Sasha stood on her tiptoes, her back to Charlotte, and reached for the doll. Her fingers grazed the doll’s feet, and it teetered precariously on the shelf.

  “No,” Charlotte cried, running to save the doll from being shattered on the floor below.

  The girl turned toward her, eyes wide.

  It wasn’t Sasha.

  Charlotte’s heart stopped. The doll toppled harmlessly onto the shelf, but Charlotte no longer cared about a doll. Her daughter was gone.

  “Where’s Sasha?”

  Lynette backed away as tears rose in her eyes. “I dunno.”

  Charlotte’s heart went out to her. “Oh, Lynette, it’s not your fault.” It’s mine. A sickening feeling grew in the pit of her stomach. She should have watched Sasha more closely. She should have seen her daughter walk away from the toys. “I’m sure Sasha just went to look at something else. I’ll find her.” The words carried more confidence than she felt.

  Charlotte swept around the barrels of flour, her black crepe dress rustling as she moved through the store, checking every aisle and corner. Not in the hardware section or meandering among the groceries. Perhaps she’d gone to the candy counter. Charlotte spun around and saw only Mrs. Gavin and Beatrice Ward. Oh, dear.

  “Sasha?” Once again she swept the length of the store. Her panic escalated with every step.

  Sasha wasn’t anywhere.

  Miss Ward looked up sharply, her pinched mouth gloating in triumph. “That’s the way those filthy urchins are. It’s bred into them. I could have told you she’d run off. You can’t trust their type for an instant.”

  Charlotte blanched at the cruel words. “She’s only four and doesn’t know her way around town yet.”

  “Now, don’t you worry, Mrs. Miller,” Mrs. Gavin said calmly. “She can’t have got far.”

  But worry was exactly what Charlotte felt, along with shame and fear that washed through her in ice-cold waves. Why hadn’t she noticed that Sasha had left? She hadn’t even realized the difference between Sasha and Lynette. What sort of mother was she? Now Beatrice Ward would tell everyone what had happened, and they’d say she was unfit to raise a child.

  They wouldn’t take Sasha away, would they? Charlotte’s heart rattled against her rib cage. Sasha was all she had, her only family, the only person she had to love.

  She raced from the store, her feet barely touching the three wooden steps. She looked left. Then right. Horses. Pedestrians. A stray dog. No little girl.

  Where was Sasha?

  She ran first one way and then the other.
Sasha. Sasha. Her name beat into Charlotte’s brain in time to her pounding footsteps.

  Then she saw her. In the arms of a stranger. A tall, lean man with the piercing gaze of a hunter cradled Sasha with the gentleness of a father.

  Her steps slowed, stopped.

  Starkly handsome, the man’s dark hair swept the collar of his buckskin jacket. Dark whiskers dusted his cheeks. His eyes, shadowed under the brim of his well-worn hat, stared straight at her. He did not smile. He looked like... Charlotte swallowed hard. He looked like an Indian. Or a gunslinger. An outlaw.

  Yet Sasha clung to his neck with total trust, her head nestled on his shoulder.

  “Sasha?” The word caught in her throat.

  The man’s stony gaze swept her from head to toe. He must not have found the assessment pleasing, for his stern expression never changed and he made no move to hand Sasha to her.

  Her panic escalated.

  Who was this man, and what was he doing with her daughter?

  * * *

  Wyatt couldn’t stop staring at the woman. Sun-gold ringlets, touched with a hint of sunset, peeked from beneath the black bonnet. The heavy, black dress only made her porcelain skin look more fragile. Clearly, she was in mourning. Just as clearly, she was this girl’s mother, though the two looked nothing alike.

  “Sasha.” Her gentle voice trembled.

  Sasha? He stiffened at the peculiar name, but the girl stirred and turned to the familiar voice.

  “Mama.” The thin little arms reached for the porcelain-skinned woman, who rushed forward.

  “Where have you been? Where did you go?” In seconds the girl was out of his arms and into her mother’s. The woman kissed the girl’s dirty face and hair. “Don’t ever leave me again, understand? I was worried to death.”

  Instead of answering, the girl burrowed her head into her mother’s perfectly formed shoulder.

  The woman nodded at him, half in fear and half with gratitude. “Thank you. You have no idea how worried I...” She gulped and averted her gaze. “Thank you, truly.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  He wanted to tip that pretty face up so he could get a second look, but she kept her focus on her daughter.

  “Yes, well, I should get home to fix supper.” She backed away a step.

  “My name’s Wyatt Reed.” Now, why in blazes had he done that? He liked to keep contact with strangers to a minimum. Get in, do the job and get out. No emotional attachments.

  “Charlotte Miller.” Her gaze darted up for a moment, and her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink.

  He wanted to touch that cheek to see if her skin was as soft as it looked, but beauties like her weren’t meant for men like him. Still, he couldn’t stop staring. A man didn’t see all that many pretty women on the frontier. Who could blame him for taking an extra-long look?

  “Like I said, I should go home,” she murmured, again backing away.

  He cleared his throat, reluctant to let her go. “I don’t suppose you could tell me where to find the mayor.” It was the only thing he could think to ask, even though he already knew where the town hall was located. “Evans, is it?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Evans.” Her pretty little chin thrust out with pride.

  “Mrs.?” Baxter hadn’t mentioned that little detail.

  “Pauline Evans is a fine mayor, every bit as good as her late husband.” She started out strong defending her mayor, but with every word her certainty faltered, as if she’d lost her nerve.

  For some reason, he wanted to encourage her. He dug around for a suitable response and found none. “I have business to take care of. Don’t suppose you’d know where I can find her?”

  Again, she ducked her head. “You might try the town hall. If not there, then she’d be at home.”

  “Town hall?” He pretended he didn’t know where it was to gain a few more seconds with her.

  Her color deepened. “I’ll show you there. It’s on my way.”

  A peculiar thrill ran through him. She would willingly walk with him through town? It had been ages since any woman walked in daylight with Wyatt Reed. And this one was a beauty. She’d match up to any ballroom belle back in Illinois.

  “Let’s go home,” she whispered to Sasha.

  Home. The old ache came back, hard and furious. Wyatt Reed wouldn’t find home until he set foot in San Francisco.

  “Can you walk?” Charlotte murmured to Sasha, her face aglow with love for her daughter.

  Sasha nodded solemnly and slid to the ground. “Go home.”

  For the first time, Wyatt noticed the girl’s peculiar accent. Her voice had been too garbled by tears earlier, but now the foreign lilt was unmistakable. Sasha must not be Charlotte Miller’s natural daughter. A knot formed in his gut. That meant she could be one of the orphans.

  His simple job just got a whole lot more difficult.

  Chapter Two

  They found Mayor Pauline Evans huddled over the table at the front of the meeting hall with the Newfield banker, Curtis Brooks, at her side. Whatever they were discussing, it held their attention so thoroughly that they didn’t hear Charlotte and Wyatt enter the room.

  The mayor stabbed her finger at a piece of paper. “It’s all detailed here, if you want to read it.”

  Mr. Brooks, his dark hair lightly salted with gray, struggled to hold back a grin. “Now, Mrs. Evans, I’m not questioning how the project is being handled. That’s up to you. The bank sent me to supervise the distribution of your town’s loan—nothing more. And from what I can see, you’re doing a fine job with the chore groups and the distribution of the funds. The bank simply needs a report of expenditures, which I see you have right here.” He slipped the paper away from the mayor. “Now, as to the matter of young Master Liam.”

  “I believe we’re agreed on that.”

  Charlotte felt like she was intruding on private business. Yesterday, Liam McLoughlin, one of the orphans, had run away after Beatrice Ward called him a thief. The poor boy had hidden in a cave until Sheriff Wright found him. Since both the mayor and Mr. Brooks served on the orphan selection committee, they must be discussing what action to take against Beatrice for causing such a fracas.

  She motioned to Wyatt that they should come back later. Instead, he rapped on the door frame.

  Mayor Evans and Mr. Brooks looked up, startled.

  “Charlotte.” A smile sprang to Pauline’s lips. “What can I do for you?” The auburn-haired mayor hurried toward her with genuine warmth. “And Sasha, too.” The formidable woman’s handclasp and smile conveyed sympathy and something else. Worry? No, pity.

  Of course Pauline pitied her. She knew the pain of widowhood. Robert Evans had been a fine man, an excellent mayor and a loving husband. His death following the flood had been a harsh blow to the town. Everyone had expected him to take charge of the rebuilding. Only a woman with Pauline’s will and determination could have fulfilled his dying request to take over as mayor.

  “I’m not here for myself,” Charlotte said softly as Sasha clung to her skirts. She glanced at Wyatt, who waited in the doorway, hat in hands. “This is Mr. Wyatt Reed. He said he has business to discuss with you.”

  Pauline looked genuinely surprised. Contrary to what Wyatt had implied, she must not have been expecting him. “Mr. Reed.”

  “Mrs. Evans.” He stepped forward, his boots rapping on the plank floor. “I wonder if I might have a word with you.” He glanced at Charlotte and Mr. Brooks. “Alone.”

  Though Charlotte understood that whatever he had to discuss was none of her affair, part of her hated to leave the man. He’d shown kindness to Sasha and had proven worthy of her daughter’s trust.

  Mr. Brooks, however, took umbrage. “What is your business, Mr. Reed?” He positioned himself beside Pauline, clearly ready to defend her.

  Pauline saw it differently. “I am fully capable of handling city business on my own.” Her curt response left no room for argument. “Your bank might have loaned us money to rebuild, but it does
not have any place in council chambers.”

  Curtis Brooks, thoroughly chastened, left any protest unspoken. Bowing stiffly, he begged his leave and departed.

  Charlotte had to go, too. She cast a shy smile at Wyatt and Pauline. “I should get Sasha’s supper.” Then she left the meeting room.

  In the vestibule, she stopped to straighten Sasha’s dress. Rising, she spotted a notice tacked to the wall. In the poor light she could just make out that the orphan selection committee was meeting tomorrow. Maybe someone had stepped forward to take one of the remaining four children. If Pauline removed Beatrice from the committee, more people might step forward. At least there wouldn’t always be someone pointing out each child’s flaws.

  Just thinking of the way Beatrice had acted when families first came forward to take in the children made Charlotte fume. If only she could take in more children... But her resources were limited since Charles’s death, and she doubted even a selection committee without Beatrice Ward would entrust another orphan to her.

  “I’ve come from Greenville,” she heard Wyatt Reed say.

  Charlotte knew she shouldn’t listen, but his voice carried so clearly that she could hardly avoid hearing what he said. She glanced at the door. To leave, she had to cross the entrance to the hall, which would make it clear she’d overheard them. Best to linger here until an opportune moment and then slip away.

  “A prominent citizen hired me to find out why the orphans didn’t arrive there as promised.” His words sent a prickle of unease up her spine.

  She leaned a little forward for a better view and saw Pauline’s elbow jerk in irritation.

  Still, the mayor’s response was calm and collected. “Which prominent citizen?”

  Wyatt hesitated long enough that she wondered if he wasn’t supposed to reveal the answer. “Mr. Felix Baxter, but he’s just the one who hired me. He’s acting on the town’s behalf. They’re wondering why the children have been delayed.”

  “I believe Miss Sterling wired Greenville about the situation immediately after arriving in Evans Grove. She needed to await instructions from the New York office after the train robbery forced them to stop here.”