Substitute Montana Bride: Bear Grass Springs, Book Thirteen Page 4

  “Ye keep lookin’ to the door, like a heartsick lover,” Ewan commented with a raised eyebrow, as he teased Tobias.

  “I’m hoping Frederick and Sorcha will arrive. I’ve missed seeing them.” Tobias took another sip of his punch, as he hoped Ewan would accept his excuse and would not see through to the truth—that he was waiting for the schoolteacher’s arrival.

  “Ah, Cailean received a message that a few hands might come in this year,” Ewan explained, “but that they’re too busy at the ranch for any more of ’em to come in. I ken how upset Sorcha will be, as she loves a good dance.”

  “Aye, and a chance to catch up on the gossip,” Cailean said with a chuckle, as he joined them. His gaze was on the MacKinnon women and their animated conversation.

  Leaning toward Ewan, Tobias murmured, “What has the women agitated?”

  Ewan waved the men closer. Soon all the men had formed a circle. Alistair stood near his brothers, while Ben and Bears were near Tobias. Warren flitted between the two groups, concerned about Helen, who was only a few months away from giving birth to their first child.

  “One of them had the wild idea of attempting to be a matchmaker,” Bears muttered, with a smirk.

  “Ye’d think they’d find better ways of spendin’ their time at the bakery, aye?” Alistair muttered, although his eyes glowed with amusement.

  Shrugging, Cailean said, “I imagine this is entertaining for them.” When Tobias shook his head in confusion, Cailean spoke in an even softer voice. “They believe Miss Damon should marry and remain here in Bear Grass Springs. For now, their focus is on Atkins.”

  “Atkins?” Tobias gasped, flinching when they hissed at him to keep his voice down. “He’s a pompous buffoon.”

  Alistair laughed. “Aye, but he’s successful, an’ she’d have no’ risk of livin’ in poverty after giving up teaching.” He frowned. “Although I’m still mad at the man for how he treated Leticia and Hortence, ye ken?”

  Everyone nodded, although most of Alistair’s dislike had faded to a bland disgruntlement when the man’s name was mentioned, as enough time had passed to ease the depth of his bitterness. Few MacKinnons had anything to do with the man and his hotel.

  Cailean shrugged. “Perhaps all the man needs is a decent woman to rid him of his obnoxious tendencies.”

  Ewan rolled his eyes and raised his glass in honor of the man, although he wasn’t present. “Nae, brother, he’ll be annoying ’til the day he dies, aye?” He shivered. “Thank God his roof is fixed, an’ I no longer have to hear him complainin’ about that.”

  Tobias stared at them in horror, as he continued to focus on what he considered the topic at hand. “Atkins wouldn’t know how to make her happy.”

  Bears watched him intently, as the other men rolled their eyes or laughed at his protestation. “But you would, Tobias?” When Tobias merely flushed, Bears nodded and sidled up closer, ignoring the others, who were discussing when they thought the first snow would occur this year. “Have you managed to yet?”

  Tobias stared at Bears with furrowed brows, as he puzzled through his question. “Managed what yet?”

  Bears glanced over Tobias’s shoulder to see his wife, Fidelia, laughing and enjoying herself as she interacted with her family. “You remember when I courted Stitch. We spoke in your store.” He waited, as he stared into Tobias’s eyes. When Tobias gave a jerk of his head, Bears spoke in a soft voice. “You have to forgive yourself first, if you hope to share your future with someone else.”

  Tobias’s eyes glowed with regret, and he cleared his throat. “I’ll be alone forever, Bears. I know that.”

  “Then you’re a coward,” Bears said. “Anyone can see the schoolmistress doesn’t deserve a man like Atkins. But she might just end up with him, which would be a tragedy.”

  Tobias stood on the periphery of the MacKinnon group, lost in thought. He couldn’t recall an interaction with Alvira that hadn’t led to frustration and annoyance. With a sigh, he admitted to himself that she made him feel alive. Alive like he hadn’t felt since Ada.

  Staring at the dance floor, he froze at the sight of Alvira, smiling and laughing, as she danced with a miner. Her aloof demeanor momentarily lost, she was vibrant and animated and far too appealing for his own good. Forcing himself to stand still, he fought every instinct he had not to march toward them and cut in, demanding she dance with him. That would be uncouth and attract far too much attention. She would resent and despise him even more than she already did.

  With a sigh, Tobias took a gulp of punch, as he tried not to glare daggers at the man dancing with the woman who fascinated him.

  * * *

  Alvira’s dreams of being a wallflower at the dance and slipping away after thirty minutes were dashed, as the men of the town and the mining camp asked her, over and over, for dances. She realized so few unmarried women were in town that the men were desperate for any female companionship.

  One man, Mr. Katowski, spoke with a thick accent, but was an excellent dancer. During a lively dance, he spun her around the floor, holding her close as she twirled, momentarily losing her inhibitions as she laughed out loud at the joy of the moment. At the end of the dance, she waved away the men clamoring for another dance, moving to the punch bowl, as she attempted to catch her breath.

  Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes filled with delight, while tendrils of hair slipped from her severe bun. She scanned the room, flinching when she saw Tobias Sutton staring at her intently. Unsure if his expression was one of disgust, she faced away from him, relishing this tiny moment of freedom. Her usual self-admonishments would not come today, and she instead relaxed and enjoyed the moment.

  “Miss Damon, if you aren’t a picture,” said a man in an obsequious voice, standing by her elbow.

  Attempting a smile, Alvira took a sip of the punch, unable to hide her grimace at the overly sweet beverage. It would do nothing to quench her thirst. “Hello, sir. I fear we have yet to be introduced.”

  “A true travesty,” the man said. “I’m the hotelier in town, Anthony Atkins.”

  Bobbing her head, Alvira forced a smile, although the delight in her gaze dimmed, as she astutely recognized this man desired more than a dance from her. “Hello, sir. I’m Miss Damon.”

  He clasped her free hand, raising it to kiss her knuckles. “What a pleasure it is to have a refined woman in town.”

  Clearing her throat and subtly yanking on her hand to free it of his firm grip, she smiled impersonally. “As I glance around the room, I see many refined women. I fail to see how my arrival has elevated the elegance of the women in town.” She took a step away, as though hoping to evade the man.

  He gripped her arm, causing a small amount of punch to slosh onto her pristine jade skirts. Ignoring her gasp of distress, he murmured, “Dance with me.”

  “I’ve had enough dancing just now, Mr. Atkins.” She forced a smile, although her gaze was filled with distaste. “I plan on enjoying my punch …” She paused what more she would have said when he guffawed with laughter.

  “Ah, beauty and wit,” he said, with an indulgent smile. “I knew we would be a wonderful pair.”

  Alvira started to protest, stiffening when she heard Tobias’s voice calling out to Mr. Atkins. “Mr. Atkins, please. We are not a pair. We are not a couple. I just met you.”

  Tobias approached, sipping at his cup, although seemingly pleased with his beverage. Not for the first time, Alvira wished women and men were allowed the same freedoms, as she would enjoy anything other than this punch the women were expected to imbibe. “Mr. Sutton,” she said, attempting to hide her discomfort, her flush now from embarrassment at her interaction with Mr. Atkins, rather than delight from her dance.

  “Forgive me for interrupting,” Tobias said, with a bright smile and a hint of mischief in his gaze. “I was standing with the MacKinnon clan, and we were commenting on what a fetching couple you make.” His smile brightened at the dagger-filled glare she sent his way.

  “I was ju
st saying the same,” Atkins proclaimed. “Miss Damon has generously agreed to dance with me and to partake of dinner at my fine hotel this week. As I informed you before, Tobias, we will be a most enviable couple.”

  Gasping in distress, Alvira looked beseechingly at Tobias. They shared a long look, and Tobias sighed.

  “I fear you will be disappointed, Anthony,” Tobias said, ignoring Alvira’s exclamation in dismay. “Miss Damon is promised to the MacKinnons for dinner on Thursday this week.”

  Alvira let out her breath and smiled her thanks at Tobias, as she set down her cup of punch. Clasping her hands together, she admonished herself silently not to wring them together in her agitation, as she was not proficient at deceit. “Yes, that’s true. They were gracious in extending an invitation …” Atkins ignored what more she would have said as he spoke over her.

  “That is no matter. Every evening is a delightful evening to have a guest at the fine hotel restaurant. Wednesday will be agreeable, won’t it, Miss Damon?”

  With a quivering smile, Alvira stuttered, “I look forward to it.” When Atkins reached for her arm to drag her to the dance floor, Alvira threw herself in Tobias’s direction. “Thank you for asking me to dance, Mr. Sutton.”

  Tobias grunted, barely avoiding dumping his half-filled mug of punch on her as he caught her. “I agree, Miss Damon. It’s too lively a song to miss.” He winked at her, set aside his cup, and led her to the dance floor.

  After twirling her into motion, Alvira glared at him. “How could you?” she hissed.

  He stared at her incredulously. “How could I approach you and ensure you were well, after he sloshed punch on your beautiful dress? How could I invite you to a MacKinnon family dinner in an attempt to aid you?” Tobias raised his brow in challenge. “Yes, how terrible of me to believe you were worthy of assistance.”

  She gripped his shoulder and arm, clinging to him like a burr, so he couldn’t storm off the dance floor and leave her at the mercy of Mr. Atkins. “No, stay, please don’t leave me,” she whispered, flushing as the up-tempo song slowed to a lilting ballad. Shivering as his arms tightened around her waist, she stared into his gaze. “Mr. Sutton, forgive me.”

  He shook his head, his gaze filled with uncertainty and disappointment. “I understand I’m not the sort of man you dreamed of meeting, but I deserve as much courtesy as the miners and ranch hands you danced with earlier.”

  Alvira flushed and ducked her head. “Of course,” she whispered, her hold on him loosening. “Thank you for helping me. I’ll detain you no longer.” When she moved to back away and release him, he tugged her to him, holding her close.

  “I want this dance,” he rasped in her ear, earning a shiver.

  Nodding—as she found herself unable to speak—she swayed with him, breathing in deeply. The enticing scent of sandalwood cologne mixed with sweat and spices caused her to close her eyes, as she relaxed in his arms. His warm hand on her back subtly moved up and down her lower spine, evoking goose bumps. How did she feel so safe in this man’s arms?

  What was happening to her? She couldn’t feel this way again. Not after losing everything already. As the final strains of the song played, she backed away and kept her head ducked. “Thank you for your solicitude,” she stammered, before spinning on her heel and racing out the door.

  Once outside, she gulped in lungsful of the crisp fall air, focusing on the scent of woodsmoke, as she attempted to banish the memory of being in Tobias’s embrace. Of his addictive scent. Of the subtle strength in his arms.

  Walking home with a purposeful step, she berated herself for feeling anything. For years, she had prided herself on her ability to feel nothing more than a mild interest or a vague acquaintance with those around her. Now the people of this town were proving how weak she truly was. They taunted her with how much she yearned for friendship. Kinship. And everything else she refused to admit to herself.

  With a sigh of relief, she entered her home, locking the door securely behind her, as though she could just as easily bar her unwanted desires.

  Chapter 5

  On Wednesday evening, Alvira entered the hotel, noting the fine woodwork and paneling in the entrance hall. To one side was a parlor suitable for ladies, and on the other side was a smoking room for gentlemen. A carpeted staircase led to the rooms above, while the hallway appeared to lead to the dining room.

  When no one emerged to inquire about her presence, Alvira walked to the entrance of the rear room, her suspicions confirmed when she saw a scattering of patrons seated at tables with fine china and linen. A door at the rear of the room led to what she suspected was the kitchen.

  The conversation was low and muted, and nothing like the lively debates and shared camaraderie she had witnessed at the café, when she had eaten there a few times. Everything seemed quite proper and restrained. She hoped the food was as good as the café.

  When Mr. Atkins burst out the rear kitchen door, she pasted on a smile and clasped her hands over her waist. Tonight she wore her navy-blue wool dress with matching shawl. When she saw the appreciative glint in his eyes as his gaze raked over her, she wished she’d worn her most dowdy dress. The lilac with the sagging bosom that always made her think of mourning and matrons eighty years old.

  As it was, she forced herself to stand tall and to meet his assessing stare.

  He strode toward her in an immaculate black pinstripe suit with a cranberry waistcoat and a watch in the front pocket. She wondered that he didn’t itch from all the starch used to stiffen his collar. Unbidden, an image of the attractive rough-around-the-edges Mr. Sutton flitted through her mind, and she forced it away.

  “Miss Damon,” Mr. Atkins said, as he approached, grasping her hand to kiss it. “How wondrous a day it is to have your presence among us.”

  Astutely discerning no reply was needed, she merely followed, as he led her to a nearby table. Rather than the pristine white china used on the other tables, this china had a fine rose pattern and seemed far more delicate than anything she had ever dined on before.

  “Mr. Atkins, this is too much for me,” she protested.

  “Nonsense,” he said, preening, as he sensed she was overwhelmed with his display of success. “I wanted to show you what a man in my position can offer a woman in yours.”

  Flushing with indignation rather than pleasure, Alvira sat. She snapped her starched linen napkin and stuffed it on her lap, certain that, if she had accidentally hit someone with it, she would have done bodily harm. However, she had no idea how she would calm her irritation with this presumptions man.

  “Mr. Atkins,” she said again. “I thank you for the honor of inviting me to dinner in your fine hotel. However, I caution you not to believe there is anything more to this meeting than dinner between two very distant acquaintances. We’ve barely said more than hello to each other.”

  He scoffed as he sat, setting his napkin on his lap in a practiced manner that allowed the ironed seam to lay peaked on his lap. “Oh, you protest too much, my dear Miss Damon. I suspect your true nature is attempting to overcome your reticence, and you are as overwhelmed as I am at our good fortune.”

  “Good fortune?” she parroted.

  “Yes,” he said, as a soup tureen was set on the table. He waved away the waitstaff with a flick of his wrist. “How fortuitous that we are in the same town, at the same time, before either of us formed an unfortunate alliance.”

  Alvira took a deep breath, as flashes of startling blue eyes and blond hair that glittered in the sunlight danced in her memory a moment, before she focused again on the man in front of her. Rather than Bradford, who sparkled with energy and delight from within, this man only had a patina of his allure. “I beg your pardon,” she murmured, as she attempted to explain away her absentmindedness.

  Atkins puffed out his chest, as though it were normal for a woman to be rendered speechless in his company. “Oh, I understand what you are experiencing, Miss Damon. To realize, at our late stage of life, that two souls, such as our
s, have finally united.”

  Alvira rose, her napkin dropping to the floor. “I beg your pardon,” she said again. “I have to …” She mumbled something she hoped would suffice for an excuse, as she rushed from the hotel dining room, before she raced down the hallway and outside. Once outside, she clamped a hand over her mouth, as she attempted to stifle a wholly unacceptable burst of laughter. “Oh my,” she gasped. “Oh no.”

  Taking in gulps of air, she looked across the street and held a hand to her rumbling stomach. She adroitly walked into the café, hopeful Mr. Atkins hadn’t seen her enter here. She didn’t have the patience or the energy to evade him again tonight.

  When she saw Mr. Tompkins stare at her in confusion, she flushed.

  “Weren’t you having supper at the hotel?” he asked in a low voice, as he approached her. A tall attractive man, he and his wife had recently taken over the running of the café for his grandparents. Although Alvira had yet to meet Harold and Irene, she had heard plenty about them.

  “Does everyone know everything in this town?” she whispered indignantly. At his shrug, she huffed out a breath and nodded. “It didn’t go as planned.”

  Peter placed a hand on her elbow, steering her into the kitchen and to a small table there. “Sit here. If he comes looking for you, he can’t see you here, and you can chat with Mena, while you eat.” He winked at her. “When it has calmed down, I’ll walk you home.”

  Alvira sat at the kitchen table, expecting an awkward silence to descend. Instead she felt comfortable in the kitchen, as the delicious scents of the evening’s meal wafted from the stove. Flushing as her stomach grumbled again, she met the gaze of the woman standing near the stove. “Would it be rude to eat my supper in here?”

  The woman laughed. “Of course not. I expect Peter thought you needed a bit of privacy.” She rubbed a hand over her swelling belly and arched her back, before reaching for a bowl and a spoon.

  “May I help in some way?” When Philomena laughed and shook her head, Alvira asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, when is your baby due?”