Too Rich for a Bride (24 page)

Nor could he say she belonged with a traveling preacher. A brother preoccupied with his traumatized sister. A son who would spend the rest of
his life trying to make up for a stupid mistake.

Setting his jaw, Tucker led Miss Dunsmuir and Miss Hattie to their seats.

Ida turned away from Miss Hattie, Faith, and the ice man who wore a poorly fitted rented suit and the schoolteacher’s hand planted on his arm. The heat Ida felt searing her face had nothing to do with the temperature in the opera house and everything to do with the unpredictable and perturbing Mr. Tucker Raines.

Fanning herself with the printed program, Ida laid her other gloved hand on Colin Wagner’s extended arm, allowing him to lead her toward the mahogany staircase. Thankfully, Mollie and Mr. Miller awaited them in the balcony and not on the bottom floor where her sisters, Judson, Miss Hattie, Faith, and Tucker had seats. After learning about Willow’s situation, Ida better understood Tucker’s sudden melancholic exit from Miss Hattie’s parlor that first day. Obviously, seeing her and her sisters had caused him to mourn his own sister’s loss anew. But she saw no good reason for his public announcement this evening.

“Quite a transformation from what you wore earlier at the creek.”

Faith’s jaw had nearly hit her chest.

The nerve of Mr. Raines saying such a thing in front of her escort. What must the urbane man at her side think? Colin wore an evening dress coat with shallow tails and a silk cummerbund, capping it off with a top hat. If she were in the market for a suitor—which she wasn’t—the attorney was clearly a much better candidate than Tucker Raines, who was a more likely match for the schoolteacher. And Ida would tell Miss Hattie so if her
landlady chose to mention seeing sparks between her and Tucker ever again.

For now, she’d let go of her frustration and enjoy her brother-in-law’s concert.

“Are you all right?” Colin’s hazel eyes sparkled in the chandelier lighting.

She nodded and ceased her fanning, gripping the polished railing on the staircase instead.

“You seem a mite disturbed.”

“As well I should be,” she muttered, stomping up the steps. She felt Colin’s arm tighten and slowed her pace. “I’m sorry, but that was rude of him.” She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and glare at the man she’d left on the ground floor. “Mr. Raines had no right to mention such a personal matter.”

Colin gave her a hand up at the landing and met her gaze. “So you being at the creek with Tucker Raines
was
a personal matter?”

Ida pressed the pointed toes of her new front-lacing shoes into the Oriental rug on the landing. “That’s not what I meant.” Why was she stumbling over semantics? Looking away, she studied a slight rip at the seam in the velvet wallpaper. “We weren’t at the creek
together
. I was alone on the bench and I didn’t expect him to join me.” She’d been glad that he had at the time, but no longer. And it was no concern of Mr. Wagner’s—they were business colleagues. That was all. “It was nothing, and he shouldn’t have behaved that way.”

“Jealousy can do that to a man.”

It felt more like bluster to her, even spite. Jealousy couldn’t be the motive behind Tucker’s comment, could it?

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m fighting a twinge of jealousy myself.”

“You’re jealous?”

Colin nodded, staring into her eyes without so much as a blink. “I enjoy working with you, but I’d like to see you more on a social level. Supper on Saturday evening, perhaps?”

Ida moistened her lips. “Let me consider it.”

Colin nodded and ushered her to her seat. Mollie and Mr. Miller stood as they approached, and Ida focused on greeting her colleagues and participating in conversation.

Once the concert began, she tried to concentrate on Morgan’s playing, but her thoughts kept wandering. She felt as if the moment she’d seen Tucker and Faith step into the opera house together she’d stumbled into a mist that fogged her mind.

Had seeing her with Colin done the same to Tucker?

TWENTY-FIVE

unday afternoon, Tucker brushed Titan’s mane. The smells of draft horses and hay blended together in an earthy barn scent that Tucker had come to appreciate since the days of childhood chores. This suited him much better than city colognes and perfumes.

Not that he didn’t enjoy a little culture. Not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed Morgan’s concert. But after he’d stuck his foot in his mouth in front of Ida and Mr. Wagner, not to mention Miss Hattie and Miss Dunsmuir, he’d been able to hear little else besides Ida’s gasp and think of nothing outside his inappropriate compliment.

“Look out below,” Abraham called from the loft. He, his brother Isaac, and their dad began tossing bags of straw over the edge, toward the ice wagon.

“Thanks for the extra help, fellas,” Tucker called back.

“Mr. Tucker.” A gentle tug pulled at his trouser leg.

Tucker looked down into the round face of Otis’s third-born son.

“I do it now, Mr. Tucker? You showed me good.”

Tucker handed Noah the pig-bristle brush and lifted him so the lad could reach Titan’s mane. “Your turn.”

Holding the brush firm, Noah took a long, slow stroke through the mane, from the roots to the tips. “Titan, buddy, you’re a real good horse,” he
whispered, then twisted around to look at Tucker. The toddler’s eyes shone. “See, I even talk to ’im nice like you do.”

Tucker chuckled and nodded. “Yes. It seems I’ve become quite the conversationalist. With horses.”

Deep laughter echoed off the barn walls as Otis swung a thick leg over the edge of the loft and climbed down the ladder. “That’s the most I’ve heard you say today.” Stopping just outside Titan’s stall, Otis swatted straw from his flannel shirt.

“I was even worse company before you all showed up.” Tucker shifted Noah to rest against his chest while the boy continued brushing the mane and chattering at Titan.

“Something on your mind?”

Someone. Uninvited. Camped in his thoughts like a squatter who refused to leave
.

“That Sinclair sister with the hatpin?” Otis grinned.

Tucker raised a brow.

“Just a guess.”

“A mighty good one.”

“My arm’s tired, Mr. Tucker.” Noah dropped his arm to his side. “Can I go play?”

Tucker lowered the boy to the ground and retrieved the brush. Noah scampered off to the sacks of straw and began standing them up against the wagon wheels.

Tucker exited the horse’s stall and joined Otis. “I went and made a fool of myself in front of Ida Sinclair at the opera house last night.”

“Forgot to change out of your mucking trousers, did ya?” Otis’s dry humor could cheer a sleepy bear.

“Worse than that.” Tucker repositioned the hat on his head. “Yesterday
afternoon, I found her on the bench out there”—he tipped his head in the direction of the creek—“and joined her. We had a real good talk about Willow and such.”

“Sounds like the two of you are drawing together.”

“I thought so too. Then I went to Morgan’s concert with Miss Hattie and Miss Dunsmuir.”

“I see.”

“As a friend. Anyhow, Miss Sinclair was there and she’d changed out of her woolen frock into a bluebird-blue ball gown. With Mr. Wagner at her side.”

Otis groaned. Tucker’s sentiments exactly, seeing those two together like that.

“I told her it was good to see her again; that she’d had quite a transformation from what she’d been wearing earlier at the creek.”

“You didn’t.”

Tucker hung his head. “I did.”

“Naomi would call that crowing from the fencepost at midnight.”

“It was supposed to be a compliment.”

“Meant to tell Wagner you too were fond of Miss Sinclair.”

“It was?”
He was
. Tucker slapped his thigh, causing a cloud of straw dust to encircle him. “What do I do? She wouldn’t even look at me at church this morning.”

“You could write her a letter. Most women will read a letter, even if they won’t hear you out.”

“Another good idea.” Tucker swished his felt hat to clear the cloud of dust away from his face. “Good thing I plan to keep you around.” He smiled. “Now that we’ve solved all my problems, what do you say we talk about you for a change?”

Otis leaned against a post. “What do ya want to know?”

“You said you were planning to have Boney Hughes invest in some stock for you. How’s that going?”

“I did. A little bit. With the extra pay you gave me. But I plan to buy a whole lot more when ol’ Boney finds the ripest opportunity, as he puts it.”

Tucker plopped his hat on his head as if it could cap his reservations. He wondered which would be the bigger adventure—Otis’s stock speculation or his own with Miss Ida Sinclair?

Alone at last.

Ida smoothed out a piece of onionskin stationery on the writing desk in her room. Despite Kat and Nell’s objections, she had managed to bow out of the after-church Sinclair family gathering at Nell’s. She wasn’t in the mood to rehash Judson’s or Kat’s concerns about her work. Or about her social life, for that matter.

Instead, she’d enjoyed a bowl of sweet potato soup and corn bread in the boardinghouse kitchen with Miss Hattie and Faith. Thankfully, not a word was said about Tucker or Colin or the opera house except that Morgan had played “Home, Sweet Home”—a favorite song of Miss Hattie’s and her George. Miss Hattie couldn’t help but make a comment about how she wished everyone could have such a home, sweet home.

In Ida’s weaker moments, she found herself wondering what that kind of love would be like. The kind that warmed Miss Hattie’s heart with fond memories years after her good-byes with George.

When she caught herself thinking like that, Ida drew on her own memory bank and remembered horrid men like Bradley Ditmer, who couldn’t be trusted, and puzzling men like Tucker Raines. A man who could endear himself to her one moment and rile her the next.

No, friendship would be challenging enough after last night’s fiasco. She had no desire for romance.

Ida dipped her quill in the ink bottle and began to write, content to hide away in her room for a few hours.

Dearest Father,

Thank you for the letter. I was so pleased to hear from you. We all were.

I shared your news with Kat and Nell, and we’re already looking forward to your visit in ’98.

If only Vivian were here. Summer didn’t seem soon enough. But if Ida mentioned her concerns about her youngest sister, Father would just tell her she’d overspent her
big-sister worries
. Ida sighed, breathing a prayer for Vivian.

To answer your question, Father, I am gainfully employed and making splendid progress in the business world. The stock exchange is exciting and quite profitable.

Ida chose to leave his other question unanswered. She’d considered telling him about Colin Wagner escorting her to the opera house and that she’d agreed to see him more on a social basis. She didn’t want Father to be concerned that she was all business, like everyone else seemed to be, but saw
no reason for them both to wallow in confusion where the men in her life were concerned.