The Engagement Charade. Karen Kirst

      The roughness of his palm registered, as did the nicks and fine scars across the top expanse. She’d expected the slippery smoothness of a businessman’s hands. Without thinking, she traced the faded pink lines intersecting his skin. “You hurt yourself,” she murmured.

      Alexander’s lips parted. Then his jaw hardened to stone. Yanking free, he glowered at her like a bear whose honey supply had been disturbed.

      “It’s an old wound,” he gritted out.

      Cheeks stinging, she sucked in air as an alarming bout of nausea assailed her. She knew how standoffish he was. This was one of the longest conversations they’d shared. He barely tolerated her presence, and here she’d been caressing his skin. How could she have been so forward?

      “I apologize. I—I didn’t mean to...” Act with an absolute lack of professionalism? Make them both uncomfortable?

      “It’s already forgotten.”

      Striding from the room, his steps continued past the office and storage room and into the kitchen. The rear door slammed. Cringing, her stomach revolted and, hurrying to reach an empty pitcher on the hutch, she thanked the Lord no one was around to witness her humiliation—most of all, Alexander Copeland.

      Chapter Two

      He’d nearly come undone at an innocent display of gratitude. His overreaction had caused the young widow a great deal of embarrassment. Her pained expression had remained with him throughout the day, despite his best efforts to put it from his mind. Hiking through the forest at a brisk pace hadn’t done the trick; nor had sitting on the riverbank waiting in vain for the fish to bite. Alexander was convinced his brother and sister wouldn’t recognize him either by his appearance or his actions.

      A deep sigh escaped his lips as he passed the almost indiscernible outlines of the vegetable garden and modest barn behind the café. He met Flo Olufsen on the kitchen stoop. The jolly sixty-year-old had come with the purchase of the café. A jill-of-all-trades, Flo’s tasks varied from day to day depending on what Ellie required of her. While she didn’t pester him, she didn’t spare him from her dry wit.

      A circle of light spilled from her lantern. Frizzed corkscrew curls sprouted in all directions, faded strawberry mixed with gray, and her carpet-like eyebrows rested above twinkling blue eyes.

      “Evening, boss.” She grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. “The kitchen’s tidied and ready for another day of business tomorrow.”

      “Thank you. Good night.”

      His fingers had closed over the knob when her voice stopped him. “Oh, you should know Ellie’s asleep at the table. Poor thing’s all tuckered out. Said she was going to rest for but a minute before heading home. Next thing I knew she was sound asleep.”

      Alexander stared. “Why didn’t you wake her?”

      “I saw you coming along the trail. My Eugene is waiting for me. He gets out of sorts if I’m too late getting home.” Waggling her fingers in the air, she bustled around the corner and disappeared into the alleyway.

      Wonderful.

      His steps measured, he entered the darkened kitchen. Spanning the entire width of the building, the room was divided by a natural walkway to the hallway smack in the middle of the far wall. The cooking was accomplished on a pair of cast-iron stoves to his right. A square table was situated nearby for food preparation. Opposite the stoves, a waist-high counter affixed to the wall held a dry sink, carving and bread knives, spoons and other utensils. An ice cabinet sat beneath the alley window. On the left side, stairs tucked against the wall led to his living quarters. Beyond that, another, larger table was situated before a pie safe and floor-to-ceiling shelving holding cooking and serving dishes. It was at that table where he discovered his cook.

      Slumped over the surface, her face was hidden in the crook of her elbow. A single wall lamp flickered beside the hallway entrance. Her dark hair spilled in an unruly waterfall over her shoulder. Her even breathing suggested she was in the throes of sleep.

      Alexander propped his fishing pole against the table.

      “Mrs. Jameson?”

      No response.

      Frowning, he propped one hand on the chair and bent closer. “Ellie? It’s time to go home.”

      Making a protesting warble in her throat, she turned her head so that he was afforded a view of her milk-white cheek and pert nose. She looked extremely fragile to him in that moment, nothing like her usual energetic, upbeat self. Annoyance flared. He wasn’t supposed to be making personal observations about his hired staff.

      Giving her shoulder a firm shake, he repeated her name once more.

      “Hmm?” Slowly sitting up, she stretched like a cat after a nap in the sun. Her vision must have cleared, for she appeared startled at the sight of him. “Oh! Alexander... I—I mean, Mr. Copeland.” Glancing about her, she passed a hand over her face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was more tired than usual.”

      Watching her gain her feet, Alexander wondered if he was working her too hard. He experienced a pang of guilt. While he was the proprietor and could do as he saw fit, it went against his upbringing to allow others to shoulder the majority of the hard labor while he sat behind a desk balancing ledgers. The state of affairs hadn’t bothered him before she’d come around. But then his previous cook had been a stout, gruff man in his late forties who could shoulder fifty-pound sacks of flour without breaking a sweat.

      Ellie pushed her chair in, took one step toward the door and swayed on her feet. Alexander caught her around the waist. Her palms found his chest to balance against. Her mouth slack, her big doe eyes blinked up at him.

      “I’m sorry. I got a tad light-headed.”

      The scent of vanilla surrounded him like a warm hug. “Can you stand on your own?”

      She nodded. Her hands fell away, and he released her.

      “I’m fine,” she said, smoothing her hands along her skirt. Then she gasped. “What time is it?”

      “A quarter until ten.”

      “I have to hurry.” Brushing past him, she selected a kerosene lamp from an upper shelf and quickly lit it. “My in-laws aren’t thrilled about my working. They’ll pitch a fit if I come home late.”

      Alexander realized he had no idea where she lived. “How far is it?”

      “About a twenty-minute walk,” she said matter-of-factly.

      He hid his consternation. In a bustling city with lots of people around and gas streetlamps, that might not be a problem. In mountainous, sparsely populated terrain, a single woman walking alone at night courted trouble.

      “Do you have a horse? Or mule?”

      She opened the door, giving him a glimpse of the star-studded navy sky. “No. I don’t mind walking, though. Helps clear my head.”

      No wonder she was exhausted. Walking that distance after a good night’s sleep wouldn’t be a burden. However, after a full day of slaving over a hot stove, her feet had to be sore and her body begging for rest.

      “I’ll take you.”

      She twirled the reticule dangling from her wrist in endless circles. “I don’t want to trouble you. I’m accustomed to walking.”

      “No trouble.” Waving her onto the stoop, he locked the door behind him. The cooler air hinted that autumn was around the corner. “I’ll just be a moment.”

      He had the team hitched and ready in a matter of minutes. Once Ellie was settled on the high seat, he climbed aboard and listened to her instructions. They rode along the back lane past darkened businesses. His passenger fell silent. Considering her typically chatty nature, Alexander attributed it to fatigue.

      Glancing at her profile,