Groom by Design. Christine Johnson

with the handle of her bag. He whistled an unfamiliar tune.

      He was the first to speak. “No repercussions?”

      “Of what?”

      “Mrs. Vanderloo was pleased with the gowns in the catalogs?”

      “Oh. Yes.” Ruth couldn’t tell him how humiliating yesterday’s encounter had been. Without Sam’s calming presence, the woman had again threatened to withdraw all business until Ruth threw in a third gown at no charge. How she would pay for that in addition to the other two was beyond imagining, but, as Mrs. Simmons always said, God would provide. Somehow.

      “Good.” His tone softened and deepened. “Why don’t you show me her selections after church?”

      Ruth fixed her gaze on her sisters’ backs, afraid to look at him. Sam needed to fall for Jen, not her. Definitely not her. In the end, she would only disappoint a man like Sam Roth. Jen was right that he must come from money. His good suit was even more finely tailored than the one he’d worn Friday. The linen appeared to be mixed with silk. Silk. Goodness! Never in all her life would she be able to afford a silk garment. The closest she’d ever get to silk was smoothing her hands over the fabric she fashioned into a client’s gown.

      “I can stop by the shop,” he added, “or your home, if the catalogs are there.”

      Ruth reined in her wandering thoughts. Sam had presented exactly the opportunity she needed to get him together with Jen. All she had to do was act. No hesitation this time. Once he fell for Jen, she’d be relieved of this terrible emotional roller coaster. “We are planning a picnic this afternoon. In the park. Why don’t you join us?”

      “Your whole family will be there?” He sounded skeptical, as if he feared she was trying to trap him.

      She rushed to reassure him. “Yes, my sisters and I.”

      He grinned. “Sounds nice.”

      She took that as acceptance, and her stomach settled back in place. “Shall we say two o’clock? Near the pavilion?”

      “Two o’clock.”

      They’d reached the church steps at the same time as Ruth’s oldest sister, Beatrice, and her two children. Upon spotting Sam, four-year-old Tillie planted her hand firmly in her mouth while the two-year-old boy did his best to tug away from his mother’s grasp.

      “Ruth,” Beattie gasped, “I’m so glad to see you. Would you be willing to take Tillie? Little Branford is testing my patience this morning.”

      Naturally, Ruth agreed. Watching Tillie meant she would have to sit in the Kensington pew. That would leave Sam with Jen and Minnie.

      Jen apparently figured that out at the same time. “But you have to sit with us,” she hissed, tilting her head toward Sam.

      “You’ll be fine.” Ruth smiled at her sister’s panic. “It’s only for an hour or so.”

      Jen’s frown deepened as she watched Beattie attempt to calm her son. “Where’s Blake?”

      Beatrice’s shoulders stiffened at the same moment that Ruth’s stomach tightened. She could guess. He’d doubtless visited the speakeasy again last night.

      Beatrice, her back to them, murmured, “He’s not feeling well.”

      Jen’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe he should see Doc Stevens.”

      “It’s not serious.” But Beattie’s shoulders drooped, and Ruth ached for her sister. In such a small town, people had a tendency to think they knew what was going on and offer unsolicited advice. Ruth suspected this was not the first time her sister had heard such comments, but it couldn’t be welcome coming from family.

      “Hurry,” Ruth urged in order to break this train of thought. “The opening hymn is starting.”

      Naturally little Branford chose that moment to voice an earsplitting shriek of displeasure. Through the open door, Ruth saw the people in the last pew turn to see who was making such a fuss. Mrs. Grattan frowned until she spotted Sam. Then her displeasure turned into avid interest.

      Sam didn’t appear to notice. He swooped to Beatrice’s rescue and knelt before the unhappy little boy. “Good morning, Master Kensington. What seems to be the trouble?” His calm, respectful tone quieted little Branford at once.

      The boy, nose running and hair mussed, stared at Sam.

      “Could you show me where to sit?” Sam held out his hand.

      Branford took it, still wide-eyed.

      Ruth had to admire Sam’s calm in the midst of the storm. By giving the little boy a solemn duty, he’d distracted Branford and elevated him at the same time. She smiled her gratitude.

      “Thank you, sir.” Beatrice looked from Sam to Ruth and back again.

      She looked so worried that Ruth realized her sister had no idea who Sam was. “This is Mr. Roth. He’s a salesman and new to town. We met Friday, and he proved most helpful with a little problem I encountered. He agreed to join us at church today.”

      Beatrice’s concern eased. “You are quite the rescuing knight, Mr. Roth. Thank you again.”

      Sam bowed slightly. “Glad to be of assistance.”

      The hymn had entered the third verse. “We should find our seats,” Ruth said. “Mr. Roth, you can join Jen and Minnie.”

      Sam tapped the little boy’s hand, still firmly holding on to his. “I believe this young man has a duty to perform first. He agreed to show me to my seat.”

      “Please join us, Mr. Roth.” Beatrice looked so relieved to have Sam’s assistance that Ruth couldn’t very well drag him away from her. “You already know Ruth, and little Branford seems to have taken a liking to you. It would be a big help.”

      “Then how could I refuse?”

      Ruth tried hard to swallow as Sam showered her with one of his oh-so-charming smiles. As if released from indenture, Jen and Minnie scurried to their regular pew, leaving Ruth with Beatrice, the children...and Sam. Her perfect plan had failed.

      * * *

      Sam heard little of the sermon with Ruth and a squirming toddler nearby. When he wasn’t prying the boy from under the pew or blocking him from shooting out into the aisle, Sam peeked at the fair beauty beside him. More than once he spotted a delightful flush on her cheeks.

      Any interest on her part would vanish the moment she discovered his father was buying her family’s shop. The points he’d gained by helping her sister with her rambunctious boy would vanish. Sam found himself in a pinch. Father would never allow a dress shop next door to Hutton’s. He would raze the building and extend the department store. If Sam hoped to win Father’s confidence, he had to facilitate the purchase. But what would happen to Ruth?

      He mopped his brow. All around him, women fanned themselves and men undid the buttons on their jackets, but his discomfort came more from dismay than the heat. Four women and one sick father would soon lose their livelihood, thanks to his insistence the company open a store in Pearlman.

      It’s not my problem. He’d repeated those words often the past two days, but it sounded even less convincing in church.

      Sam was never so happy to rise for a benediction. He’d barely heard a word of the sermon. Something about doing unto others. Standard material. The moment the benediction ended, the congregation headed for the doors, where the minister greeted them before they scattered for the shade. Sam waited in line behind Ruth and her older sister, exuberant toddler still in hand.

      “I can’t thank you enough,” Mrs. Beatrice Kensington sighed as she reached for her son. “I can take him from here.”

      She’d have a struggle. The boy had found his legs and wanted to run.

      “Let’s wait until we’re outside.” Sam kept hold of the