Twice a Bride (32 page)

Willow shut the door on her bedchamber and carried the package down the stairs. She’d finished the portrait yesterday afternoon, and it had finally dried after a full twenty-four hours. That meant she was cutting it close for catching Trenton before he left the studio for the day.

Stopping in front of the mirror in the entryway, she leaned the paper-wrapped canvas against a table leg. She adjusted a hatpin and brushed her cheeks. Satisfied that she looked more rested than she felt, she retrieved the package and stepped outside. When the cold air hit her, she reconsidered her decision to deliver the portrait. If her visit to the studio only concerned handing in the completed job, she’d rather perch by the fireplace in the parlor with a good book.

Sunday was coming, and for five days she’d been thinking of little else but her urgency for Trenton’s soul and the invitation she’d prayed about.

Willow held the package against her as a barrier to the cold breeze and quickened her steps. So far she’d only painted two portraits from Trenton’s photographs and colorized one. Mollie Kathleen’s portrait was in the studio window for nearly a week with her business sign. By this time, Willow had expected to have more work than she could handle. Hopefully, Trenton would have a package of photographs for her.

Praying for the right words, she strolled up the boardwalk toward the Photography Studio. The closer she came to it, the faster her mind shuffled the memories of her recent time in Cripple Creek. Trenton Van Der Veer seemed to have the biggest stack of memories. From their first meeting and seeing him alone in the ice-cream parlor, to sitting on the bench with him in front of the post office and then accepting the fudge he bought her at Carmen’s Confectionary. She blew out an unladylike breath. Entertaining such thoughts did her no good. He hadn’t given her any indication he needed or even wanted a romantic relationship or a family. And most importantly, his spiritual convictions were still in question.

The plain wooden shingle still hung over the boardwalk. If she had enough time, she’d mention her ideas for a more fashionable name for his business and
a more colorful sign. She stopped at the window to admire the advertisement one more time.

Portraits by Willow

Inquire Within

A fresh start far better than she’d imagined. Yes, she’d be forever grateful to Trenton for believing in her abilities when others would have turned her down simply because she was a woman.

She was reaching for the door handle when she caught a glimpse of Trenton behind the counter.

With a woman.

In close proximity.

Her insides twisting, Willow pulled her arm back and stepped away from the door as if it were hot. Trenton apparently wasn’t as innocent as she’d imagined him. She leaned the canvas against the metal storefront, trying to steady her racing pulse. Feeling like a spy in a dime novel, she hid behind the column framing the doorway and peeked in the window.

The blond woman in a playful purple dress caressed Trenton’s face. Willow’s own face burned, witnessing such brash familiarity. Even if it was inside his own place of business.

How could he do this?

Her left hand knotted. But what she was feeling couldn’t be jealousy. She had no cause to be jealous of this woman. She was merely Mr. Van Der Veer’s employee, and he was free to conduct his personal life according to his own …

The young woman was so elegant looking. And she touched him.

Willow shuddered. She might have admitted to a twinge of jealousy if she weren’t so disappointed. She grabbed the portrait and whirled around. She’d let Archie deliver her work.

This was her fault. Trenton hadn’t made a personal commitment to her. She’d allowed her longing for love and family to set him on a faulty pedestal.

And if that woman hadn’t just knocked him off it, she’d gladly bean him with the canvas and do so herself.

Susanna’s fingers trailed Trenton’s cheek. His skin tingled under her touch. It felt good.

But it didn’t feel right. He couldn’t trust himself to touch her hand to remove it, so he backed away. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t let Susanna ensnare him again. He’d been expecting Willow to walk through the door. That was who he’d hoped to see … wanted to see.

Susanna stood frozen in place, hurt narrowing her blue eyes.

Trenton clasped his hands behind his back and drew in a deep breath. “You have to st-stop touching me.”

“I’m sorry. I—” Her bottom lip quivered. A big tear rolled down her face. “I was just so glad to see you.” In slow motion, she raised her hand to her face and swept away the tear. “I’d hoped you’d missed me too.”

He had. The woman he’d once believed her to be, at least. He’d missed the idea of settling down with a wife and building a family.

“You can’t stay.”

“But I’ve come all this way.”

“That was your doing, not mine.”

“The way I feel about you, Trenton … I had to see you. We’d made plans for a wonderful life together.” She pressed her lips together and sighed. “We were to be married.”

“
Were
. That’s past tense, Susanna.”

She stretched the curl dangling beside her eye. “You can’t tell me you were happy with the way things ended between us.”

How could he be? She’d hurt him, and he’d turned tail and run, hoping to cause her the same kind of humiliation and pain. The guilt had ridden in the
wagon with him, following him into his new life here. And now she’d done the same.

“Are you happy, Trenton?”

“I wasn’t expecting you … this.” He buttoned his jacket. “I need some time.”

“Of course.” She pressed her reticule to her midsection and gave him a silky smile. “I’m lodging at the Downtowner Inn.”

“I’ll telephone you there. Tomorrow.”

She met his gaze and nodded. “Thank you.” She turned and sauntered out the door with the same theatrical finesse with which she’d entered.

He sank into his chair. She’d left him alone to think. An impossible task, because right now his thoughts were as untrustworthy as his senses.

S
aturday morning Trenton stopped short of Golden Avenue and glanced at the envelope under his arm. Archie had brought the Johnstones’ portrait by the studio early. What had gotten into him that he hadn’t let the courier deliver the photographs to Willow?

If Willow had wanted to see him, she would have delivered the canvas herself. Thankfully, she’d chosen not to. The thought of her walking in while Susanna was trying to rekindle their relationship made him cringe.

“Mister?” A huge, sweaty man sat atop a mule-drawn wagon hauling a load of firewood. “You gonna go, Mister?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Trenton waved at the driver and finished crossing the street.

He needed to see Susanna and pay for her return fare to Scandia, but he wanted to take care of this business first. He’d simply hand the package to the boardinghouse proprietor and be on his way. That was it. Although he’d be working during the picnic, he’d at least see Willow tomorrow. He found himself looking forward to the entire day. He knew a few of the folks, including some he counted as friends—Tucker Raines and his wife. And, of course, Willow.

The two-story boardinghouse stood at the end of a graveled walkway, looking bright and cheery in yellow with white trim. A few hardy sunflowers lingered in clay pots on the porch.

He’d stepped up to the door when it swung open. A woman with silver hair stared out at him, her mouth open and her blue-gray eyes wide. “Oh my lands. I hadn’t a clue there was anyone out here.”

“S-sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to frighten you.” He almost reached up to remove his hat, but remembered he hadn’t worn one today. “Trenton Van Der Veer.”

“You startled me some is all.” She looked him up and down. “You’re Willow’s employer.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Hattie Adams. I own this place.” She extended her hand, and he obliged her handshake. “A good, strong handshake. Says a lot about a man, you know.”

Trenton nodded, without a clue why he’d agreed with her. Or why he’d given her such a firm handshake. Given yesterday’s circumstances, he felt more like a worm.

“It doesn’t take much to put the color of beets into your face, does it?” she asked.

He laughed. “No m-ma’am, it doesn’t. I inherited my f-father’s fair skin.”

She stepped back from the door. “Most folks call me Miss Hattie. Do come on in.”

His feet leaden, Trenton held up the envelope. “Thank you, Miss Hattie. But if I could ask you to deliver this to Willow, uh … Mrs. Peterson, I’ll be on my way.”

“Don’t be silly. What if she has questions for you?”

“The note I included is qu-quite thorough.”

“I’m sure she’ll want to see you.” Miss Hattie motioned for him to join her inside. “She was in the kitchen last I heard.”

He was in no hurry to see Susanna again, despite his warring emotions. Willow, however, he wasn’t seeing nearly often enough to suit him. He closed the door behind him and followed the matronly woman through a well-appointed entryway.

Willow laid a crust over the apple pie filling and pinched the top and bottom layers together into a scalloped edge. She wiped the flour on her hands onto her apron. Despite her lack of sleep, she’d already scrubbed her paint palette clean, washed and hung her clothing, and prepared two pies.

Since no one else was around, as Mr. Sinclair and Cherise had moved in with Kat and Morgan for the time being, and Miss Hattie didn’t mind how Willow looked, she wore her plain checkered frock. She hadn’t even bothered to tame her hair in an upsweep. After what she’d witnessed from outside the Photography Studio yesterday afternoon, her overactive mind had kept her awake into the wee hours. She’d spent most of those hours writing letters to Mother, Aunt Rosemary, and Maria.

She carried both pies to the stove and slid them into the oven. While the pies baked, she’d clean the kitchen and finish reading one of the books she’d borrowed from the library. Later, she’d take a short nap. A lazy afternoon would suit her fine.

Trenton would have received the portrait last night and, hopefully, would have more work for her on Monday. If he wasn’t too busy with the woman who couldn’t keep her hands off him.

As Willow gathered the dirtied bowls and utensils, she heard the front door close and remembered Miss Hattie was on her way to the Blue Front Grocery for another chicken for tomorrow’s picnic.

“Willow, dear?” Miss Hattie called.

“Did you forget something?” Willow lifted the stack of dishes off the table to carry them to the sink.

“I met up with a visitor at the door. Someone who came to see you.”

“To see me?” Willow turned. “Who is—”

Her employer stood in the doorway, looking quite rested with his hair parted in the middle and slicked back with hair tonic. He wore brown trousers and a grass-green shirt, not his usual business attire.

“Trenton.” Why had he come to the boardinghouse?

“I should’ve waited for you in the p-parlor, but I’m glad I didn’t. I wouldn’t have wanted to m-miss this sight.” He smiled, making her wonder if flour caked her face.

She removed the apron. She doubted the blonde in his studio would ever be caught with her hands in flour.