He ought to have run that question by his mother before he left, but there hadn’t been time even to tell her goodbye. What he’d give right now to have her advice. She’d encouraged his letters to Faith, and he secretly thought she hoped to get him out of New Orleans, where he’d fallen far too easily into the habit of stirring up trouble since he’d sold his father’s business.
Beau squared his shoulders as he approached the post and telegraph office. He hoped she would be happy to see him. They’d never discussed the subject of matrimony in their letters, but thatwasthe reason Faith and the other ladies in town had placed their advertisement. Surely she expected him to offer to marry her. Why else would she have continued writing him?
Although she likely presumed he would announce his intention to travel to Last Chance, rather than simply show up one day.
He opened the door carefully, uncertain what to expect on the other side. The room was empty. No one stood on either side of the counter that spanned the width of the long room to the left. A conversational setting of chairs and a settee sat about a cold fireplace to the right. Another door stood closed straight ahead. Beau supposed that led back to the building’s living quarters, where Faith likely was at that moment.
What should he do now? Knock on that door? Wait patiently for her return? Leave and come back another time? He tugged on that blasted vest again. His first order of business after meeting Faith would be to find a clothier or tailor. It was ridiculous to keep something so uncomfortable when he could easily afford to replace it.
Perhaps he’d do that now, and then come back another day—ideally with a better-fitting suit. He had just turned when the door opened.
“Oh, hello,” a friendly feminine voice said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were here. Do you need to post a letter or send a telegram?”
Beau turned around, and there she was, even more perfect up close. He blinked at her, unable to believe what he saw before him. She narrowed green eyes that reminded him of the leaves on a live oak as he stood there speechless. Then she tilted her head just so, as if she were trying to figure him out. Faith was several inches shorter than he was, and pretty blue earbobs danced when she straightened her head again. The jewelry matched the sky blue skirt she wore with a plain white shirtwaist. But what she wore hardly mattered. This woman would be stunning in a rice sack.
Her smile turned cautious. “Did you need help?”
He swept off his hat, far too late to be gentlemanly. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to disrupt your work.”
“It’s no disruption.” She swept up her skirts in her hand and moved like a boat on still water across the room and behind the counter. “Now, what do you need? To post a letter?”
Beau swallowed, unfamiliar nerves making him feel uncertain of himself—which was not something he’d ever felt before. “I have no letter or telegram to send.”
She tilted her head again, those emerald eyes still on him. “Are you waiting on a letter, then? There’s been no mail since yesterday, and—”
He shook his head.
A cross between amusement and the beginnings of impatience lifted her lips and tightened them at the same time. “Might I ask why you’re here, then?”
“Well, Mrs. . . . Faith. I’m Beau Landry.”
