Chapter Four
CLARA COULD HARDLYbreathe. Between the sudden slamming of the livery door and the tall man who stood just feet away from her, it was as if she had forgotten how to draw in air.
She somehow managed to stand as Mr. Wiley, the affable man who’d greeted her upon her arrival to Carlisle’s Livery, pulled on his hat and walked toward his boss.
“And now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I need to see to . . . something.” Mr. Wiley grinned at Mr. Carlisle, as if the entire situation amused him, before pressing past and disappearing into the stable.
Clara twisted her gloved hands together as Mr. Carlisle’s eyes found her again. The way he’d looked at her when he first saw her was unexpected. And now he looked at her that way again—curiosity and surprise mixed with something else . . . She’d seen that look a few times before, mostly from Gideon before he’d grown tired of her and turned his attentions elsewhere. It was like something barely contained, and unlike Violet, Clara never quite knew how to react.
“Pardon me, I . . .” Mr. Carlisle finally removed his hat and took a few steps toward her, letting the door close behind him. He cleared his throat again and pulled at the worn gray vest he wore. “I’d gone looking for you. I didn’t find you, and I thought . . .” He shook his head, as if chasing the words away.
He stopped in front of her, a good few inches taller, to Clara’s everlasting relief considering her own height. She forced herself to look up at him and offer a friendly smile, even as the nerves made her want to start giggling uncontrollably. Up close, he was even more handsome, with hair so dark it rivaled the night sky. Clara tried not to think about how nice he looked in his shirt and vest, but it was clear he worked hard for a living. His warm brown eyes held her gaze, and she noticed the small scar above his lips and the more recent cut nearby.
One thing was for certain: Mr. Carlisle’s advertisement had not done him justice. Clara would certainly have something to write about to Violet.
“I feared you’d forgotten my arrival date,” Clara said, her voice shaking some. She paused, swallowing and trying to steady her breathing under the intense look he pressed upon her. She’d hardly been as outgoing as Violet at home, but she’d never thought of herself as a wilting flower. So she pushed her shoulders back and kept her eyes on his. “I thought I’d come find your place of business.”
“And you did,” he said, not moving an inch.
“I did.” What was she supposed to say now? She could hardly piece two thoughts together with the way he held her eyes. In fact, she thought she might forget how to stand entirely if he kept this up.
He finally seemed to realize he’d been staring at her and looked away, rubbing a hand over his chin. “I . . . uh . . . I’m glad you arrived safely.”
Clara brightened at the memory of her journey westward. “It was long and tiring and sooty, but—oh!—I sawsomany fascinating places and people. The mountains in Virginia and Kentucky, and the wide, wide length of the plains, all of the rivers, and I couldneverhave imagined the mountains here! I’d do it all again, if I could.” She’d spent most of the trip with her eyes locked on what was outside the window. And when they stopped at various towns and cities, her fascination was fastened upon those who walked up and down the depot platforms and boarded the train. Businessmen and traveling salesmen, ladies dressed in finery, cowboys, and people so impoverished Clara could hardly imagine their circumstances.
Mr. Carlisle looked at her as if she’d completely lost touch with her senses, and then he smiled. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard a woman carry on so about days spent on a train.”
“I do thank you for the funds you paid for my travels. I . . .” Clara paused, realizing she had no idea what should come next. Surely he didn’t expect her to marry him right away, did he? Did she want him to? If she did wish for that, she’d be quite the ninny. After all, who married a man she only just met?
And yet, some wild part of her hoped he just might suggest such a thing.
Mr. Carlisle shifted his stance, clasping his hands behind his back. “You’re welcome.” He paused, looking everywhere but at her. Finally, he raised his eyes, appearing so uncomfortable Clara wished she could take his hand and reassure him all would be well.
“I must confess I don’t entirely know how this works,” he said. “But I thought it would be ideal if we took time to get to know one another first, before . . . well . . .”
“Yes, I agree,” Clara replied. But even as she felt herself relax, a disappointment crept into her thoughts. She pressed her lips together and forced it away.
“There is a boardinghouse in town, only just built. I thought you might like to stay there. I can set you up.” He paused. “Unless you prefer the hotel?”
