will.” Jack rubbed his thumb meditatively over his lower lip. “But my father-in-law might not.”
* * *
Jack strode around the perimeter of the Grand Hall of Union Station, jostled along by hundreds of fellow travelers. The sunlight streaming in from the stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors onto the faces of the passersby. His mouth was dry and his brain feverish. If only Ada would hurry up. But she had insisted on taking time to change and arrange her hair in one of the station dressing rooms.
“Well, why can’t you dress here?” he had demanded, waving his arm at the ridiculously luxurious private car.
“I want to look my best, and there is no full-length mirror here,” she had stated flatly. “I need to see the overall effect of my costume. After all, we have one opportunity to impress your father-in-law.”
So here he was, pacing the crowded station, as Ada primped and preened. He should be happy that she was working so hard to be presentable to his father-in-law. As it was, his anger at having to dine with the old man and meet with his approval yet again was galling.
He took out the souvenir he had purchased for Laura from one of the peddlers in the station. It was a little doll, dressed in silk and lace. A banner wrapped diagonally across her middle read “St. Louis.”
A ten-year-old would still play with dolls, wouldn’t she? He stuffed it back in his pocket.
The clock tower, a massive structure that rose majestically to the ceiling, tolled the hour. Out of habit, he checked his pocket watch to make sure it was keeping accurate time. It was. Both clocks showed that unless Ada hurried up, they would be late to meet Edmund St. Clair.
He circled back around to the ladies’ waiting area and dressing rooms, and as he grew closer, Ada stepped out. She was swaying against the press of humanity swirling around her, but in the midst of utter pandemonium, she was an oasis of calm. He caught his breath a little, looking at her. She was stunning, as pretty as the society debutante she had been raised to be. She had changed into a violet dress trimmed with black ribbons, the dark colors setting off her pale complexion and vivid blue eyes. A wide black hat trimmed with purple feathers was settled atop the waves of her black hair.
He’d grown so used to seeing her in simple housedresses that he didn’t realize how lovely she could be.
He’d have to guard his heart carefully with this one. He had been turned by a beautiful face before, and it had ended in disaster. There was no sense in repeating the process.
“Jack,” she called, raising her voice over the din.
He held up his hand in greeting and made his way over to her side.
“I declare, I’m not used to crowds any longer,” she gasped with a little laugh. “Though I’ve only been in Winchester Falls a short time, it seems to have rubbed off on me already. This seems quite daunting.”
“It’ll be fine. We only have a little ways to go. St. Clair is meeting us at the train-station restaurant.” He tucked her arm into his elbow and ventured out into the milling throngs of travelers. Somehow, he felt calmer now that Ada was with him. So many times he had argued with his in-laws alone. Now he had someone on his side. True, she was somewhat forced to be on his side, but it was comforting, anyway.
He steered them over to the restaurant. St. Clair stood at the entrance, leaning on an ebony walking stick. The old man was as immaculate as always in his Savile Row suit, with a carnation in his buttonhole and his gray hair brushed sleekly back from his head. The old man took in Ada, surveying her from the crown of her hat to the tips of her boots peeking out from beneath her skirt.
“My dear,” he enthused, his thick Southern accent making it sound as though he said mah deah. He came closer and held his hand out to Ada. “You must be Miss Westmore.”
“Mrs. Burnett,” she corrected him, giving him a graceful smile. “Mr. St. Clair, I believe?”
“You believe correctly,” he replied, kissing the back of her gloved hand. Then he turned his gaze to Jack. “Burnett,” he barked.
“Sir,” Jack replied. There was no shaking of hands, and no politeness in their meeting. There had been too much ugliness between them over the years.
St. Clair turned his attention back to Ada. “Come, my dear. I’ve reserved a table for our party.” He offered her his elbow.
With a puzzled glance at Jack, Ada broke free of his hold and took St. Clair’s elbow. Jack followed behind them into the restaurant, already beginning to seethe. The old man knew exactly what it took to enrage him, and already he was making progress.
St. Clair held Ada’s chair for her. Once she was settled, the two men sat. The glasses on the table were filled with water and lemonade, and no menus awaited their perusal.
“I hope it’s all right, Mrs. Burnett, but I presumed to order our meal,” the old man drawled. He cast a malicious glance in Jack’s direction. “If I let your husband order, he might make us eat a bowl of chili con carne with cornbread muffins.” He chuckled in appreciation of his dig at Jack.
Jack would not be riled. Too much was at stake. “Yup,” he responded, keeping his tone light. “There’s nothing like a good bowl of chili and corn bread.”
Ada was smiling, but it was a smile he had come to know as being one of tremendous strain and not of genuine good feeling. She took a sip of her lemonade. “I’m sure that any meal will be quite fine, Mr. St. Clair. In fact, I relish this opportunity to know you better. I understand that your daughter was married to Mr. Burnett.”
“Yes, my only daughter, Emily. She was a rare creature, Mrs. Burnett, as blond as you are brunette. I have no idea what such a gentle, sweet child saw in Jack Burnett, I can tell you that.” St. Clair flicked an appraising glance at Jack. “He came out to our home in Charleston to buy a few of my horses, and they fell in love, I suppose. They eloped and he carried her back to Texas. Emily died only a few years later.”
“I am sorry to hear it.” Ada looked at a loss for words. She glanced at Jack, as though appealing to him to help carry the conversational load.
Although he’d like to rebut the older man’s story—and many detestable remarks hung on Jack’s tongue—he wouldn’t do it. Instead, he fisted his hands on his lap and gritted his teeth to keep his thoughts from spilling forth. Anything he said would make St. Clair angrier and more stubborn. Ada had a job to do. It was up to her charm and wit to bring Laura home. He had tried too many times in the past and failed.
St. Clair nodded as the waitress approached their table, bearing a tray of toast rounds and caviar. Jack despised caviar. He had never understood why such a disgusting thing was considered a delicacy. But if he refused, St. Clair would start ribbing him about being a backward cowboy, and he could only take so much of that before he snapped. So he helped himself to two, ready to choke them down.
“So, Mrs. Burnett, you are of the Westmore family in New York. I knew of your father, Augustus. I never met him personally, but one hears of such a powerful man, you know.” St. Clair took a careful bite of his caviar. “Tell me, did the scandal surrounding his memory have a basis in truth? The word is, he was trying to fix a local election.”
Ada grew pale and pushed her toast round away. “I never had a chance to ask him, Mr. St. Clair. He died before I could learn what really happened. Of course, I
