Tall, Dark, and Determined (40 page)

“How thoughtful.” Her lips pursed in that pinched look again. “I'm certain Cora would be delighted to do that.”

Did he imagine the slight emphasis on her friend's name? Perhaps … but Chase knew he'd pricked a nerve at the thought he might want to venture into her brother's presence.
Good. When people are flustered, they're more likely to make mistakes
.

“You wouldn't want to take it to him yourself?” he pushed. “I've noticed that his fiancée spends far more time with your brother than you typically manage, since you have the store.”

“To be frank”—she started walking, leaving him the choice to either get moving or collide with her—”you're not in town for the greater part of the day, Mr. Dunstan, and you are not privy to what I do with my time, nor whom I visit.”

Chase resumed walking rather than let her run him down, but was aggrieved that he could no longer read her expressions. “My mistake. I'd simply thought you kept so busy you might welcome the chance to brighten your brother's day. The picnic is something everyone involved is looking forward to, and it might soften the sting if he takes exception to our chosen location.”

“How very diplomatic of you.” She sounded as though she gritted her teeth. “I'm surprised by how talkative you are, Mr. Dunstan. It makes for quite a contrast to earlier in the day.”

Irritating, isn't it, when someone utterly ignores the fact that you might not be enjoying their company and conversation?
Chase kept the jab to himself—provoking her further wouldn't get him any new information. He'd already discovered what he needed to know.
She's determined to hide her brother. But why do I get the sense Miss Lyman herself would rather avoid him?

Put together with her earlier comments about falling short and facing judgment, Chase could easily believe Lacey Lyman's strong sense of guilt stemmed from something to do with her supposed brother.
Maybe Braden wasn't supposed to be in the mines that day
. His mind raced at the implications of that. Unmarried, she'd need a man to maintain ownership of the land for any considerable length of time.
Maybe her Braden did die, as was first reported, but she needed him as the figurehead
.

It all came back to his suspicion that the hidden invalid in Hope Falls wasn't the real Braden Lyman.
She might have found a survivor and cooped him up in a room to pose as her brother
. It wouldn't work for long though. Eventually the man would either recover or pass away, and she'd be in the same position.

Unless she found a husband
. It felt as though all the air in the mountains had suddenly been sucked away. Chase couldn't seem to breathe properly. In the past few weeks, he'd decided the woman had no real intention of marrying any of the men. But what if he'd read the situation wrong? Her friend Miss Thompson snagged Granger right off the bat—maybe they were serious.

Wanted:
3 men, ages 24–35
.
Must be God-fearing, healthy, hardworking single men with minimum of 3 years logging experience
.
Object: Marriage and joint ownership of sawmill
.

The words swam in his memory, the outrageous ad that sparked his suspicions to the point he'd sent Kane to Hope Falls. Back then Chase disregarded the post as a distraction to cover up the sabotaged mine. He still thought the whole plot interwove somehow with the destroyed mine, but now Chase wondered if the ad wasn't genuine. Miss Lyman couldn't hold the land indefinitely. She needed a man to keep her claim legal—and a husband with sawmill experience would be doubly useful.

What was it she'd said when they first discussed her plans for Hope Falls?
“No cost can be too great to gain one's dream
.” Back then he'd suspected it referred to the lives lost in the cave-in. But maybe Miss Lyman referred to the price
she'd
pay to keep her goals aloft. The notion wasn't reassuring. If the woman was ruthless enough to marry for money—and force her closest friends to do the same—she'd be unscrupulous in other ways.

The picture became clear.
Too bad I don't like what I see
.

    THIRTY-THREE    

W
hat are you looking at?” Cora walked into the parlor to find Lacey tightly curled into a wingback chair, catalog balanced on her knees and pen in hand as she perused the page.

Her friend looked up, nibbling on her lower lip. “Shoes.” The single word explained her intense focus.

“Are you finally going to purchase some sensible boots?” Naomi came in from the opposite entrance and settled herself on the settee. “You won't be sorry once you feel the difference.”

“After today, I can no longer ignore the fact that my Louis XV turned heels simply aren't practical for long-distance walks in the woods.” Lacey wiggled the toes peeking out under the edge of her skirts. “I don't believe I've ever ached more than I do now,” she confessed as she pulled her foot back to hide her shocking dishabille. Mr. Lawson had gone to the McCreedys' house to confer with the senior bull-of-the-woods over beginning the flume, but they couldn't be sure when he'd return to the house.

“You seemed so excited earlier.” Cora remembered it well because when she'd seen Lacey burst into the kitchen, flushed with victory over her successful partridge hunt, she'd had to tamp down a spurt of jealousy.
She'd
spent the day with Braden.

“Excitement wears away more quickly than soreness.” Naomi angled behind Lacey's chair to get a better look at the page. “Bloomingdales, then? Montgomery Ward has some good options.”

“I already looked in that one.” Lacey gestured to a stack of catalogs on a nearby table. “To make a good comparison, you know. But I've always felt Bloomingdales carries the best footwear options when one can't have her boots custom-made.”

Although perfectly pleased with her own boots, Cora moved to stand at Lacey's other side and get a better look at the catalog. “Have you seen any that will suit your needs?”

“Those look practical.” Naomi pointed to a picture of a low-heeled lace-up model with short ankle rises. “Comfortable.”

Cora didn't understand how Naomi could think Lacey would ever wear low-fashion, sturdy lace-ups. She smiled at her friend's stricken glance as Lacey tried to come up with a way to refuse the dowdy boots without offending Naomi. Their friend, of course, wore sensible, low-heeled, long-wearing lace-ups.

“I simply can't see Lacey in Old Ladies' Shoes.” Cora came to her rescue by reading the name above the picture itself.

“How can you call them that?” Naomi bristled visibly.

“She didn't.” Lacey ran a fingertip beneath the print. “They're actually listed that way in the catalog itself!”

“They're shown under the Ladies Common Sense Boots column.” Naomi squinted at the print atop the page—print referring to the picture just below it, rather than the next image of her favored Old Ladies' Shoes. “You see?” She ran her finger down and hitched on the protested title. “Oh dear.”

Lacey giggled as Naomi snatched her hand back as if burned. “It's an easy mistake to make,” she consoled her cousin.

“Those Common Sense Boots are much better,” Cora commented. This model showed a modest blocked heel and side-fasten buttons.

“Oh, those aren't bad at all, Lacey!” Naomi transferred her attention immediately. “And the name promises what you need.”

“It's between those or the ones pictured here.” Lacey pointed to the bottom of the page. “Look at the name: Waukenphast. When you say it, it sounds like ‘walking fast.' “

Cora evaluated this other pair of side-buttoned boots. Another stacked heel, but this one straighter than that of the Common Sense version. “Oh, look at the description! ‘The most comfortable shoes manufactured.' ” She read it aloud for Naomi.

“Yes.” Lacey sounded decisive. “These are the ones for me. I'm also going to try one of these.” Her voice lowered, and she darted glances about to make sure Mr. Lawson hadn't returned.

“What are you three up to?” Evie strolled over. Heeding Cora's warning of a finger over her lips, Evie didn't say a word. She simply watched as Lacey flipped through the pages and came to rest in the section entitled Corset Department.

Lacey pointed to the Pivot Corset and began to read in a very hushed voice. “ ‘Has an expanding hip and bust, yielding to every movement of the wearer, constantly making an easy and elegant fit … which preserves the perfect contour of the figure.' ”

No wonder her friend first looked about to make sure no man burst into the room! Evie looked at the picture, which didn't seem much different from any of the other corsets on the page. “What a find! It would be so much easier to walk and sit and cook and do just about anything if we weren't encased like sausages, unable to bend. I believe I'll place an order, too.”

In fact, all four of them did. Lacey, who boasted the neatest penmanship, wrote up the order but left room along the bottom. “Thumb through and make sure there's nothing more you'd like. By now we've hit the maximum for freight charges anyway.”

Maybe I'll find something to shake Braden from his doldrums
. As they each sat down with a different catalog, Cora took the Bloomingdale's Brothers when Lacey finished with it. Turning pages, she came across a sketch of a woman lying in a hammock strung between two shady trees.
He might be able to use a hammock soon. Once we're able to move him from the bed, it would be good to go outside. The fresh air might work wonders for his disposition
. She turned down the corner of the page.

Nothing more caught her eye until she turned to the section of advertisements taking up the last several pages. Everything from electric curlers to pocket watches to dumbwaiters and dress shields jumbled together with no rhyme nor reason. Cora began reading, stopping when she spotted a box with no pictures.

S
CIENCE OF A
N
EW
L
IFE TO
A
LL
W
HO
A
RE
M
ARRIED
, proclaimed the ad in bold capitals. Slightly smaller beneath it added O
R
A
RE
C
ONTEMPLATING
M
ARRIAGE
and went on to declare the book recommended by both medical and religious critics and worth its weight in gold. In miniscule print, they ran the table of contents along the bottom, just above its ordering information. Cora pulled the page close to her nose. Some of the print smudged, and she could only make out some of the chapter headings.

Several of the middling titles were hopelessly obscured, prompting Cora to give up and skip ahead to the last two.

Sorely tempted by the final chapter, Cora considered whether or not the book itself, containing more than four hundred pages and one hundred illustrations, would be worth three whole dollars.

Then she caught sight of the offer running just beneath the title.

Thoughtfully, Cora took up Lacey's abandoned pen and began jotting down the address. If the description pleased her, she'd buy the book and read the first and final chapters. A mischievous smile spread across her face as she decided.
After I'm finished, I'll make it a special gift to my fiancé
.