CLARA SAT IN THE SMALLparlor at the boardinghouse, trying in vain to keep worry and desperation from creeping in. He was twenty minutes late. And after being late to meet her yesterday, and then leaving so abruptly last night, there was no other conclusion she could reach save one.
His interest had already waned.
A sound from the boardinghouse’s entryway made hope flicker, only to be dashed once again when she saw it was one of the gentlemen who rented a room on the ground floor. Mr. Darby, Miss Darby’s sharp-eared brother, slept in a room right by the stairs, which lent comfort to the ladies staying on the second floor. And according to Miss Darby, in the two months they’d been open, he’d already thrown out a sizable number of men who couldn’t keep to the rules.
The gentleman tipped his hat to her, and Clara nodded a hello before returning to ruminating on how she’d already managed to drive Mr. Carlisle away. Was she too eager to please? Too open with her enthusiasm about being here? Or was she too dull? She never knew the reason Gideon ended their engagement—only that he’d been taken with the woman he’d ended up marrying. If only he’d told herwhy. Maybe then she could have rectified that fault in her character and she wouldn’t be sitting here alone, wondering why it seemed to be happening all over again.
She’d so been looking forward to an excursion around the town, too. She hadn’t left the boardinghouse since she’d arrived the day before, but the people and the view out her front-facing window had her eager to see all of Crest Stone.
Yesterday, she’d walked the short distance from the depot to the livery alone. Why shouldn’t she do the same now? After all, if this was Mr. Carlisle’s way of rejecting her, she’d be on a train back to Virginia soon. She’d longed for adventure, to see a world beyond the one she knew, and to return home without doing any of that was too disappointing to consider.
Well, if she wasn’t getting the marriage and new life she’d dreamed of on the train out here, she surely wasn’t leaving without at least seeing more of the town. With that in mind, Clara stood, pulled on a pair of gloves that had seen better days, straightened her hat, and picked up her reticule. She made her way to the door, thinking she might visit the mercantile she’d spotted yesterday. She wouldn’t buy anything. After all, she didn’t know yet if Mr. Carlisle would pay her fare home. She hoped he might—he seemed a gentleman, even if he didn’t wish to marry her. But if he didn’t, she’d need every spare bit of change she had to return.
She opened the door—and stepped right into a tall, familiar figure.
Clara stopped herself with her hands on his chest, just as he took hold of her arms to steady her. “Oh! Forgive me, Mr. Carlisle. I didn’t— I mean, I . . .” Heat flooded her cheeks as she realized her hands still pressed against him.
“Are you all right?” He peered down at her with a concerned gaze. His hands felt warm where they still held her arms, strong and steady.
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” she said much too quickly. Why did she still hold her hands against him? She curved her fingers and slowly pulled them away, trying not to think about how strong and solid he felt beneath them.
He let his hands linger for a moment before letting her go. Clara let out a breath, her heart beating so fast she feared he could hear it. What was wrong with her? Gideon had taken her hand before, and that had never caused her to be unable to think, much less breathe. Then again, Gideon’s grip had never been so powerful and reassuring.
Mr. Carlisle removed his hat, crushing the brim between his fingers as if he were angry with it. But his expression wasn’t angry at all. In fact, his forehead wrinkled just so, as if something worried him. “I apologize for my tardiness once again. I hadn’t meant . . . Please know it was unintentional.”
“Oh . . . All right.” Clara didn’t know what else to say. Did that mean he wanted her to stay? And after she’d just about convinced herself this wasn’t meant to be!
“I thought we might take a stroll around the town, and then perhaps stop for a late lunch?” Mr. Carlisle smiled, but it was restrained, as if something still bothered him.
Clara nodded her assent. If he was still undecided about her, she’d try her best to rectify that during their time together. Of course, he’d need to prove he was worthhertime, too. She refused to marry someone who didn’t care for her.
Mr. Carlisle held the door open for her, and Clara swept through it, her head held high. They were quiet as she walked alongside him toward the center of town.
“I feel as if I should apologize again,” he said out of nowhere.
Clara glanced up at him. He held his jaw tight even as he gave her a smile. Something was on his mind, and Clara couldn’t tell if it concerned her or not. Well, if she wanted to know the truth about whether he wanted her to stay, she might as well find out now.
“To be honest, I feared you had changed your mind about me.” Clara’s throat was dry and she almost couldn’t believe she’d spoken the words aloud.
But she was glad she had.
Mr. Carlisle paused in front of an empty lot beside the partially built saloon. Those dark eyes caught hers, intense . . . but with something else behind them. Worry, perhaps? Or was it fear? Clara couldn’t tell, but it was hard to keep her thoughts in motion when he looked at her in that way.
“I have not,” he said.
Clara’s breath caught in her throat. He wasn’t sending her home!But why had he acted so disinterested?
She wanted to shake the thought away, but it persisted. She couldn’t fall into another situation like the one she’d experienced with Gideon. Her heart couldn’t take that pain again.
“I am sorry if I made you think that was how I felt,” Mr. Carlisle went on. He took hold of her elbow and led her a few steps away from the road, into the dirt and trampled grass of the empty lot, as two fellows carrying a long cut piece of wood passed by.
Clara clasped her hands together, feeling much braver now that he’d told her he didn’t wish for her to leave. “You left so abruptly last night, and then you came late today . . . and, well . . . It appears you have something on your mind. I thought it might be something to do with me.”
He pressed his lips together and gazed out across the road, where the railroad tracks sat empty while men worked hard on a building on the other side. Then he abruptly turned his eyes back to her.
“One of my horses was stolen last night,” he said. “I spent part of the morning talking with the marshal.”
Clara raised a hand to her mouth. “That’s terrible. Do you know who took the horse?”
