Last Chance Wife. Janette Foreman

the wall with his flame.

      She followed close, her footsteps light. Removing her bonnet so it hung down her back, she watched the surety with which he carried himself. “So, why will your shop be closed for the week?”

      “My clerk quit this afternoon.”

      Quit? Winifred quickened her steps. “You mean you have a job opening? I’d love to have it. Temporarily, of course.”

      Mr. Burke glanced back at her. “Why would I hire temporary help, Miss Sattler?”

      “To get you through the week, naturally.” She shrugged. “Or longer, if needed.”

      Hopefully her request wasn’t too forceful. A temporary clerk job would help her purchase a stagecoach ticket home. When she’d chosen to accept Mr. Ansell’s romantic—albeit hasty—proposal, she hadn’t gained Uncle’s approval. Only after much discussion had he and Aunt let her go...with the understanding that she would pay her own way. Which, of course, meant finding her own way home, too.

      Mr. Burke seemed to consider her offer. “Unfortunately, there are other factors I must take into account, but I’ll give you my answer in the morning.” He led her to a door and knocked. “Cassandra?”

      The door opened swiftly, revealing a wiry woman whose brown skin glowed in the candlelight. “Yes, Mr. Burke?”

      “This is Miss Winifred Sattler, who is to share your room tonight.” The man motioned for Winifred to step closer. “And this is Cassandra Washington.”

      “But everyone calls me Granna Cass.” With a grandmotherly smile, the woman guided Winifred inside. “Everyone except Ewan. He can’t stand to call people by their nicknames.”

      Winifred glanced back at Mr. Burke, who joined them inside before shutting the door.

      “Thank you for letting me stay here.” Heat blasted Winifred as she entered a kitchen, complete with stove and preparation table. Various cooking tools hung along the walls, and in the back corner, a section had been partitioned off for what appeared to be Granna Cass’s sleeping quarters.

      “Come on in, child.” Leaving Winifred’s side, the woman zipped back to the table, where several small pails sat side by side. “Ewan, help yourself to soup on the stove while I finish the lunch pails. Miss Sattler, fill them with me while I get to know you.”

      Mr. Burke crossed to the stove and ladled soup into a bowl, his movements efficient and sure. Winifred rushed to the woman’s side and followed her lead as she constructed sandwiches and wrapped them in paper. “Pardon me, but did you say lunch?”

      “For the night-shift workers.” Granna Cass set one sandwich into a pail and had a second one half made before Winifred finished her first. “Miss Winnie, tell me your story.”

      “My story?” Winifred couldn’t help but glance at Mr. Burke as she placed a chunk of corned beef between two slices of bread.

      Turning from the stove with his soup, he met her gaze. In the stronger light, his hair had a coppery tint. Hardened lines etched his facial features, like he always had something on his mind and didn’t stop to laugh and joke very often. Such a sad way to live. He seemed so stern, like he couldn’t be bothered with charity work—which had basically become her situation, at this point.

      Her cheeks began to warm. “What do you want to know?”

      The elderly woman chuckled. “Whatever you want to tell me.”

      That wouldn’t be much, then, at least not with Mr. Burke staring at her like that. “I was born in Kansas and moved to Denver with my aunt and uncle when I was six.”

      “Ah, chasing gold?” Granna Cass’s skilled hands moved like lightning. “Ewan’s family works in Colorado. His brother has a successful gold mine, doesn’t he?”

      Mr. Burke cleared his throat, then sipped his soup, not commenting further.

      Winifred slipped another sandwich into a pail. “My uncle invests in entrepreneurs. We moved to Denver so he could find businesses to help.” Mr. Burke’s gaze narrowed again. Her chest tightened at his obvious disapproval of her. Sure, she’d shown up unannounced tonight, but was that any reason to glare at her so harshly?

      “Miss Winnie, you’d better have some of that soup, too. Not much left. The boys already had their supper.” Granna Cass moved to the large pot perched on the stove.

      “The boys?”

      “The miners.” Mr. Burke’s voice held a guarded edge. “Many of my men eat here during the shift change. It’s a benefit I will not compromise.”

      Winifred blinked as she tried to make sense of his defensive explanation. Did he expect her to disapprove of his offering food to his employees?

      No sooner had she slipped a sandwich into the pail than a commotion like a thundering herd approached the kitchen door.

      “There they are,” said Granna Cass. “Right on time.”

      In quick motion, the kitchen door flew open. Men barreled inside, their boots clomping along the hard floor. Dirt clung to their clothes. Winifred pushed against the wall as they encircled the table like wolves surrounding prey. They plucked their pails from the table with big hands and acknowledged Mr. Burke’s presence with a solemn nod before trudging back out, circling wide rather than getting too close to their employer.

      One man inspected the contents of his pail. “Corned beef again, Granna Cass?”

      “Yes, sir.” The woman shot him a knowing smile, propping a fist on her hip and raising her graying eyebrows. “Just like every day before.”

      The man looked like he wanted to say more, but he glanced at Mr. Burke and seemed to decide against it, then gave Granna Cass a cautious smile and left with the others.

      When the door shut and silence took over the room again, Winifred thought about what the miner had said. “Does he not like corned beef?”

      “Those boys, I tell you.” Granna Cass shook her head and handed Winifred a bowl of soup. “Always wanting something more. Last week, that same boy asked if we could have mutton in the sandwiches. Mutton. Sure, I’d love to fix it for them, mutton, goose, fish...”

      “Why don’t you?” Winifred licked a bit of soup off her spoon, and her eyes widened at the explosion of flavor cascading over her tongue.

      “Because this is a business,” Mr. Burke cut in. “Funds are limited. Cassandra, that reminds me, I have an investor coming tomorrow, if you can add an extra serving to your noon meal.” Mr. Burke placed his bowl and spoon on the table. “I’m heading out. Thank you for supper.” He turned his stare on Winifred again. “I’ll give you my answer on the clerk position in the morning.”

      Winifred forced a nod. “Of course.”

      Mr. Burke left, his footfalls fading down the hall.

      She took another bite. “You’re quite the cook, Granna Cass.” But even as the delicious soup coated her throat, she wrinkled her nose and glanced at the door. “Mr. Burke strikes me as the pragmatic type.”

      “Which tells me you’re not.” Granna Cass didn’t hide the grin spreading her brown cheeks. “Yes, Ewan Burke is the pragmatic type. But underneath that practical exterior, he’s got one of the warmest hearts I’ve ever known. You’ll see.”

      Winifred doubted it. “I’m afraid I’m only in town long enough to earn coach fare back home.” She’d leave Deadwood long before she could witness whatever Granna Cass believed about Mr. Burke.

      Funny how a man could be handsome and yet as stuffy as a freshly starched collar.

      Not that she cared how handsome he was. Or about the striking sense in his eyes. Her only interaction with this man would center on her temporary arrangement and nothing more.

      After putting away the sandwich materials,