his eye—light reflected off a woman’s dangling gold earrings.
She spoke with the desk clerk. There hadn’t been enough time to fetch Hannah, so it couldn’t be her. This woman wore a quality deep red traveling suit that hugged her waist. A fancy matching hat, swathed with black netting and three large black feathers, hid her features, although anyone with eyes could tell she’d be a looker just by the confident way she held herself. She tapped the toe of her polished boot, obviously not pleased with what she was hearing. Rich people always thought the world spun around them.
She turned from the counter, twisting her handkerchief in front of her waist. He stopped short in the middle of blowing on his cold hands. Memories flooded him of a little girl crying over her puppy, practically strangling her pinafore. It couldn’t be...
The woman looked straight into his eyes. Beneath the black netting, her dove-gray eyes widened against pale, creamy skin. Her jaw slowly opened before she seemed to remember herself and closed her mouth. She tucked a wayward strand of blond hair over her ear and then checked the fancy twist at her neck, a move that unconsciously showed off her figure in that formfitting jacket and full skirt.
Caleb might as well have been sucker punched, the way his gut twisted into a knot. It wasn’t enough that she was rich and confident—she also had the looks to match. Like fine wine in elegant crystal, she outsparkled the chandelier. His mouth went dry. He counted it significant that he remembered to remove his hat.
It didn’t change one thing, though. He still planned to speak his piece.
And in that moment her face became a mask of perfect, controlled alabaster. Slowly, she walked across the room and stopped before him. “Mr. Houston. How good of you to come. I...I feared you might not have received my message.”
He froze—and couldn’t draw another breath. Hannah Lansing...speaking?
He’d never believed it was possible after so many years of silence. And yet here he was, hearing her voice with his own ears! The rich, cultured cadence held him mesmerized. He’d never given it much thought—her speaking like everyone else. Didn’t actually believe it would ever happen. She’d been young and not much more than a baby when she’d lost the ability to speak. How had she gotten it back? And when?
It took him a moment to come back to his senses and realize that although her words were polite enough, her tone was formal—distancing—like being doused with a bucketful of cold water. He sobered instantly. She might be talking, but she hadn’t thought enough of him to inform him. That only pounded the nail of truth deeper about their lack of any real friendship.
Now, what had she said? Something about her note?
“It came,” he said. “They both did. Just took a while to decide if I’d answer.”
That seemed to shake her up. She looked down, away from his face, and swallowed hard. “I see. Then, I thank you for deciding to come.”
“Didn’t figure we had much to say to each other after so long.”
She blinked. “I suppose I deserve that. Touché, Mr. Houston.”
He was baiting her, punishing her for the way she’d left things between them. He’d thought he was over it, that he’d buried the bitterness a long time ago, but seeing her now—well, guess it wasn’t buried deep enough after all.
She looked him over, starting at his boots. He could sense her cataloging everything as her gaze touched on him. Boots—leather, dusty. Denim jeans—worn, serviceable. His hat in his hands—a tan, weather-beaten Stetson. Cotton shirt. Leather vest. Neckerchief tucked at his collar. She stopped when she reached his face. He didn’t look his best, but he wasn’t plannin’ on changing up just because she’d ridden into town.
“Your sister will be gratified to know you are looking well.”
“I get by all right.”
She twisted the handkerchief again, obviously uncomfortable with the awkward gaps in their conversation. Guess his attitude didn’t exactly inspire small talk. He had one foot trampling on everything she was sayin’ and one foot already headin’ for the door. It wasn’t like him to be so cantankerous, but she just seemed to bring out the worst in him.
“So you’ve taken your grandfather’s name,” he said, trying halfheartedly to remedy his mood. “Where is Dorian?”
“He didn’t accompany me.”
That brought him up short. “You’re traveling alone?”
“Of course not. My valet and maid have accompanied me. However, there have been some complications. It has put my business here behind schedule.”
So he hadn’t been a thought in her head until she’d run into trouble with her schedule. Guess that told him where he stood. He chewed on that notion and grew angrier with the chewing.
“Believe me,” she continued, “this is as uncomfortable for me as it is for you.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
Her mouth pressed together in a perfect seam.
“I take it you are representing Lansing Enterprises now. Congratulations. Although I gotta admit I’m surprised Dorian eased up on the reins enough to give you a position.”
“Yes...well...he did.”
He had to know but hated to ask the question, hated to let her know that he’d wondered about her at all. “So when did you get your voice back?”
“It’s been a while.”
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
So—she’d had plenty of time to send him a letter and hadn’t. Well, what did he expect? She’d made it clear enough they weren’t friends any longer.
“I’d like you here tomorrow at nine to accompany me.”
He raised his brows. He didn’t care to be ordered about. “Now, hold on, Hannah—Miss Lansing.” The formal name didn’t roll off his tongue any easier this time, but he’d remember to use it if it killed him. No way would he forget the way she’d treated him. Calling her by her proper name would just cement the fact. “I haven’t said I’d do anything.”
“But you’re here. I thought that meant...”
“Go on. Spit it out. What’s this all about?”
The desk man approached. “Is everything all right, miss?”
She nodded. “I’m fine, Mr. Bennett.” She waited for the man to leave and then pressed her hand against her temple. On closer examination, purple smudges tinted the skin beneath her eyes. He hadn’t noticed those right off.
“Can you stay for supper?” Her eyes—surrounded with those long lashes—looked up at him all expectant and hopeful. Five years ago that look had gotten him into hot water and changed the course of his life. He didn’t relish a repeat performance.
“Caleb?” she asked again.
“I’ve
