Chapter Two
Beauregard Landry tuggedon the silk vest as he stepped down the hotel stairs. This suit had never fit well, and he wasn’t certain what had gone through his mind when he’d chosen it from among others to bring here to Nebraska.
Leaving New Orleans as fast as possible, that was what had gone through his mind.
But that was all in the past. Here, in this town on the lonesome Nebraska plains, was his future. Sure, it had far fewer people than he ever could have imagined. And certainly, he’d counted only one theater. And of course, he appeared far overdressed compared to most of the men he’d seen. Yet none of that diminished his hope.
Because here in Last Chance, his wife-to-be awaited him.
Beau stepped out from the hotel door onto First Street. He could see the post and telegraph office off to the right, past the end of First Street and across Main Street. He took one step in that direction and froze.
What if she took one look at him and turned him away?
He’d spotted her yesterday, from a short distance, after he’d disembarked from the stagecoach. She’d stood outside her business—and what he presumed was also her home—speaking with another woman. He’d gaped at her like a man out of his mind.
Mrs. Faith Thornton was stunningly beautiful.
Beau didn’t know what he’d expected. After all, they hadn’t so much as described their appearances, never mind sent each other photographs. All he’d gathered from her letters was that she was approximately his age. She talked often of her work at the post and telegraph office, and so he’d surmised that one of the two ladies standing outside of it yesterday had to be her. When the other woman left, the lady who remained had to be Faith. Even from a distance, he’d been taken with her luminous skin, her light brown hair with golden strands lit from the sun, and her warm smile.
He could hardly contain himself then. He wanted to immediately introduce himself, but when the driver pointed out the nearest hotel and boarding house, Beau looked down at his dusty, wrinkled travel clothing, and realized he’d make a much better impression after a bath, a meal, and a good night of sleep.
Yet now that everything was all in order, he hesitated. It was an odd feeling. Beau hadn’t paused before doing anything in his life. He attacked every moment with certainty and conviction. Sometimes it worked, such as the idea to sell his late father’s newspaper business for a pretty penny, and other times . . . well. Those times were best not dwelled upon, particularly the one that caused his abrupt departure from Louisiana.
He glanced about at the ramshackle buildings that surrounded him and decided a walk about town was in order. He took off to the left, away from Main Street and the woman who awaited him, making his way past small homes and businesses. Beau marveled at how quickly he reached the end of the road. Beyond the few homes that lined the cross street, tall, waving prairie grasses stretched far past what he could see. Off in the distance, imposing bluffs reminded him he was no longer in New Orleans.
He turned right. It was quiet this side of town, with fewer buildings and fewer people. How remarkable it was that two places could be so entirely different. New Orleans was busy, loud with people and the jangle of music, full of energy and a languid heat that permeated every breath one took. Last Chance felt like the country’s last defense against the encroaching wilderness. And while it was warm—almost hot, even—the air felt lighter.
The walk cleared his mind and entertained him simultaneously. He nodded to various citizens, a couple here, an older lady there, a group of young women, and a couple of men who had a shady look about them.
He passed a cemetery adorned with small wooden crosses. A couple of ladies stood gathered there, clutching each other’s arms and talking quietly. A fellow outside the nearby church that Beau presumed might be the minister leveled him with a gaze that made Beau walk faster. He had the distinct feeling the man wanted to reel him into a conversation, and while normally, Beau was inclined to talk with anyone from any walk of life, something about that minister made him feel as if he ought to move along.
He turned, eying the homes and businesses that stretched down the few blocks that made up Main Street. And there, near the end and just before the depot, stood the Last Chance Post and Telegraph Office.
Beau straightened, pulled again on his vest, and ventured forward. He had nothing to gain by avoiding the place, and everything to win by finally introducing himself to Faith.
Should he call her Faith? That was how she’d begun signing her letters to him. But considering they hadn’t been introduced in person, perhaps he should address her as Mrs. Thornton? Or would she consider that a slight somehow?
