The Bride of Willow Creek(53)

“I wanted to see your house.” Surprise lifted her eyebrows as she recognized the truth in her admission. Now she understood she hadn’t needed an excuse. He’d enjoyed showing her his work. His pride had been palpable. She touched his arm and looked into his eyes. “You’re a gifted builder, Sam.” Even her father would have had to concede the truth if he’d seen this house.

A subtle shift occurred in his expression. Her compliment embarrassed and pleased him. He cleared his throat. “Well. I’ll see you later. At home.”

“Yes.” She took her packages from his hands, careful not to brush her gloved fingers across his wrist. But she was aware of the smell of paint and sunshine, of his solid warmth and the sheer maleness of him. Aware that he looked at her with a slightly puzzled tilt to his eyebrows, as if he’d seen something in her that he hadn’t noticed before.

“The girls’ new shoes,” she explained, taking the heavy package.

“I’ll look at them later.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that. . . .” Stopping, she shook her head and smiled. The conversation felt as it had ten years ago when they couldn’t quite say good-bye to each other. “Will you be home to tuck the girls in?”

He nodded, studying her upturned face. “We’ll talk then.”

Once he was halfway across the street, Angie realized how late she was running. The twenty minutes she had allowed for this detour had long since expired, Lucy and Daisy would be wondering where she was as this was the first time she hadn’t been home when they returned from school. On the positive side, her hurried walk was downhill.

She rushed into the house, relieved to discover both girls sitting at the kitchen table. “I have your new shoes,” she said triumphantly. “Let’s . . .” Then she noticed they were not alone.

The woman sitting with them stiffened, but did not turn. Angie noted a rigid set of shoulders, a white coil of hair beneath an expensive gray hat.

Lucy raised an expressionless face.

“Gramma Govenor came to visit us.”

Laura’s mother. The air ran out of Angie’s chest.





Chapter 10

“That’s Angie. She’s Papa’s wife.”

Mrs. Govenor’s silk-clad spine straightened until only her shoulder blades touched the back of the chair. “Lucy, I should think a young lady of your age would know by now how to perform a proper introduction.”

Discovering a stranger in her house, particularly this stranger, threw Angie off balance. What could she possibly say to Laura’s mother? Surprise and dismay tumbled her mind in equal measure as she walked around the table to stand behind the girls and face Winnie Govenor.

Familiar gray eyes returned her examination. Very likely Winnie Govenor had never been as pretty as her granddaughters would be, but strong features and a determined jaw created a presence that assured she would not be overlooked. In middle age, she wore a mantle of dignity, acquired when Herbert Govenor hit pay dirt (according to Molly Johnson), that suited her well. If Angie hadn’t heard the story of Winnie selling pies out of her door during Mr. Govenor’s prospecting days, she would have believed that Winnie Govenor had been born into wealth and ease. But no amount of newly acquired dignity could conceal this woman’s iron will and fierce pride. Her determined mouth and steely gaze stated plainly she was no soft society creature.

“We’re drinking tea,” Daisy announced into the silence. “Like grown-ups.”

The girls cradled two steaming coffee cups. Mrs. Govenor drank her tea from Angie’s mother’s rose-painted teacup. Seeing that Winnie Govenor had appropriated her mother’s cup lit a small fire in Angie’s stomach. Mrs. Govenor didn’t know the cup belonged to Angie or that it was her only connection to her mother and to the civilized life she longed to restore, but still.

“Can we try on our new shoes?”

“May we try on our new shoes. Truly, Lucy. Are they teaching you nothing in your school?” Mrs. Govenor cast Angie a sidelong glance. “That’s the problem with schools in this kind of town. Skilled teachers are not attracted to rough mining camps.”

The implication found its target. If Mrs. Govenor had custody, her granddaughters would attend a larger, better school in Colorado Springs. They would have the benefit of top-notch teachers and they wouldn’t have to walk past a brothel to reach their desks.

“We’ll try on shoes later,” Angie said, slowly removing her gloves. A shaft of sunlight gleamed along her wedding ring, creating a glow like a halo encircling her finger. She had a feeling she would deserve a halo if she survived this encounter with Laura’s mother.