Simply Love(9)

Luke refused to feel guilty about that. He paid a better hourly rate to his employees than any mine owner in Colorado, and though he hadn’t checked, he suspected the prices in his company store were the most reasonable in the state as well. That and providing safe working conditions for his men was the best he felt he could do for the poor bastards. Given the fact that few other mine owners did as much, Luke was lauded for his munificence, which increased his workers’ productivity and made Luke money—more than enough to compensate for the above-standard wages he paid.

Once at the church, Luke made fast work of dropping the orphanage donation into the poor box. Determined not to question his action or to analyze his reason for doing it, he turned his thoughts to hurrying home, taking a long hot bath, and spending the evening toasting before a fire with a good bottle of scotch near his elbow. But as he exited the building, a cold gust of wind swept across the porch, carrying with it the faint, almost musical sound of a woman’s laughter.

Coming to a stop, Luke cocked his head to listen, drawn to that sound in a way he couldn’t understand. An angel laughing, he thought, then scowled. But instead of walking on, he found himself heading down the church steps and around the corner of the building.

Just a glimpse, he promised himself. To satisfy his curiosity.

A cobbled walkway, separating the rectory from the church, ran the length of the two brick buildings and led to the gate of the orphanage playground, which was boxed in on three sides by the rectory, the rear of the church, and the three-story convent. Roses and shrubbery grew in untamed profusion along the narrow pathway, giving Luke the feeling he was in a tunnel of greenery that led to another world. Judging by the sounds of merriment coming from the playground, which grew louder with every step he took, perhaps it did. A world far different from his own, at any rate. Luke couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard anyone laugh with such complete abandon.

At the white gate, Luke stopped and folded his arms atop the pickets, his gaze fixed on the young woman whose laughter had lured him there. Evidently oblivious to the chill afternoon wind and the ominous threat of rain, she sat on the grass, surrounded by a dozen or more children. She wore the same blue wool dress she’d been wearing two weeks ago when he’d seen her inside the church, a pathetic, threadbare garment. Yet she still managed to look so lovely that his breath caught.

His reaction took him by surprise as few other things had. As figures went, hers wasn’t the most fetching he’d ever seen. A little too buxom for a woman of her slight frame, she would have been best described as milkmaid-plump, or perhaps voluptuous. He preferred a more slender build. Her features were irregular, the nose a trifle too large, the mouth a bit too generous, her cheekbones cut a shade too sharply. Yet, taken as a whole, those features blended together to create a face so fascinating, he couldn’t look away.

Even from a distance of twenty feet, Luke was mesmerized by her eyes, which he hadn’t been able to see as clearly inside the dimly lighted church vestibule. A rare shade of dark cobalt blue, they were uncommonly large, wide set, and lined with thick sable lashes. The kind of eyes a man could get lost in, he thought, then immediately chided himself for being ridiculous. Even so, he couldn’t deny his sudden urge to smile or the feeling of warmth that came over him, almost as if the sun had broken through a cloud and was spilling over his shoulders.

In the middle of telling a story to the children, the girl appeared unaware of Luke’s presence, and since he had nothing pressing to do, he decided to linger there for the sheer pleasure of watching her. Hands in motion. Eyes sparkling. Her face animated. Her voice enriched with the faintest trace of an Irish brogue. She was, quite simply, a delight to behold.

The tale she told was about a young boy and girl who were being held captive by a wicked old witch in a large house in the woods. A silly children’s story, Luke told himself, but he was captivated. Soon he was leaning slightly forward over the pickets and cursing the wind, which made it difficult to hear her.

“Would you care to join us, Mr. Taggart, sir?”

Luke jerked and straightened. The Zerek girl’s gaze was pinned right on him.

“I…um…” He tugged on the lapels of his jacket, then shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I came to see one of the nuns. When I heard voices back here, I thought—”

She lifted an elegantly drawn eyebrow. “Oh? And which one might that be?”

“Which one what?”

Her cheek dimpled in a smile. “Which sister? I can have one of the children run to fetch her, if you’ll only give me her name.”