Several breaths later, it hadn’t done anything except make him wish for the fiery heat of his blacksmith’s forge. He turned, looked at the closed door, and wished he could jump over what was certain to be an awkward meeting and go directly to returning home.
“Oh, good! You’re ready!” Clara Carlisle drew her coat tighter around herself and hurried over from the livery stable her husband owned next door. Her stomach was round from the baby they were expecting that winter. She stopped short in front of him. “Oh.”
Merrick rubbed a self-conscious hand over his newly trimmed beard before moving it down to smooth down his vest. “What is it?” His words were a mix of irritation and frantic worry.
“It’s . . . well . . .” She pursed her lips as if trying to figure out how to speak what she wanted to say.
“No need to spare my feelings,” Merrick said gruffly.
“Oh, no, it isn’t anything bad. It’s only that I’ve never seen you look so . . . neat.”
His face warmed. That was a compliment, or at least it sounded like one. “Thank you.”
Clara smiled. “Now, do you want to practice what you’re planning to say when you meet her?”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Stevens. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Merrick Benton.” The stuffy words felt ridiculous coming from his mouth, and even more so when Roman Carlisle, Clara’s husband appeared at her side.
“You’ll sweep her off her feet with that charm,” Carlisle said as he barely suppressed a smile.
“Hewill.” Clara glared at her husband before turning back to Merrick. “You’ll do just fine, I know it. Remember to take a breath and to smile. Pay for someone to deliver her trunk and then offer her your arm.”
Merrick nodded. She was repeating the advice she’d given him more than once before, but he needed to hear it again. Because the truth was, the closer it grew toward Eleanor Stevens’ arrival time, the more he feared he’d forget everything, including his own name.
The first sign of gray smoke puffed up over the roof of the livery.
“You ought to go,” Clara said, wrapping her hand around her husband’s arm.
“Good luck.” Carlisle clapped him on the shoulder.
Merrick forced himself to nod, but his stomach lurched at the thought of finally meeting the lady he’d only written to once. The lady he was supposed to marry.
Carlisle paused. “Would you like us to go with you?”
“No. I’ll go. Now.” He sputtered the words before turning and making himself walk toward the depot. The train pulled up slowly alongside him on the tracks that ran down the middle of the road. Merrick glanced up and wondered if Mrs. Stevens were watching him now.
He forced away that terrifying thought and broke into a jog in order to dart across the tracks and reach the depot before the locomotive cut off easy access. It wouldn’t do to be late to meet the lady, even if he wished now he could put it off to another point in time. Next spring, perhaps. Or summer even. It was nice in Colorado in the summer. The valley was filled with flowers and blue skies, rather than the icy cold that blew in this time of year.
His breath puffed out before him as he drew to a halt on the platform. His stature made it easy to see over the small waiting crowd to the cars on the tracks.
Seconds crawled by slower than a turtle on a sunny log as Merrick second-guessed everything from his beard to his clothing to his very decision to extend an invitation to Mrs. Stevens. What had he been thinking? What lady in her right mind would takehimup on an offer of marriage? Where Roman was handsome and quick-witted, Merrick was quiet and resembled a bear. He was too tall, too broad, too anxious in the company of ladies, too—
“Pardon me, sir. My sister and I are looking for a Mr. Benton and a Mr. Whiteside. Would you happen to know either gentleman?” A pair of soft brown eyes looked up at him.
Merrick blinked, momentarily startled by the woman’s sudden appearance. Waves of auburn hair framed her face and were pulled back in some complicated style. She wore a simple blue and white dress.
“Mama, is that abear?” A high-pitched feminine voice drew his gaze away from the woman before him.
A little girl, complete with golden ringlets of hair and a round, innocent face, stared up at him as she clung to the woman standing beside the one who had spoken to him.
“Hush, Emmy, he’s a man,” another girl said.
Slowly, Merrick realized an entire family seemed to accompany the woman who had asked him a question. There were four—no, five—children, the two women, and, curiously, no man.
Which was likely why he’d been asked if he knew Mr. Benton and Mr. Whiteside.
Mr. Benton.
Hewas Mr. Benton.
