refuse her care of his wound. That baffled him. He’d only been trying to protect her sensibilities. Why should that make her angry?
He broke a stem of hay that was poking him in the ribs and closed his eyes. Why was Callie not out front greeting guests in her aunt’s hotel? One look and men would vie for the chance to court her. Wealthy men. He should know. She had certainly drawn his interest. And not only because of her beauty, but because she was different than the young society women he knew—all of whom were eager to marry his money. Or was she different? Was the beautiful Miss Conner as unaffected as she seemed, or was it simply that she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to marry a wealthy man?
He opened his eyes and stared at the shadowed darkness. He’d made this visit to Pinewood to free himself from those sort of doubts, to spend a few weeks among people who did not know him so he would not have to weigh every word and action to determine if someone liked him, or was merely trying to curry his favor in order to secure a loan from his bank or gain a position of note in one of his companies. Why should he let the robbery and Johnny’s treachery ruin the plan?
He tugged the blanket closer around his neck to stop the cold air sneaking beneath it from chilling his back and closed his eyes. It would be pleasant to get to know the prickly Miss Callie Conner better. Much more pleasant than dodging the sycophants back home. If he could talk Mrs. Sheffield into keeping him on as a stable hand to pay for his room and board, he’d hold off on writing that letter to Tom.
Chapter Three
Her eyes burned from her sleepless night. Callie tied her apron on, stepped to the fireplace and lifted the large bowl of risen bread dough off the warm hearth. She squeezed her eyes shut to bring moisture into them, dumped the dough out onto the floured worktable and gave it a punch to deflate it. Hopefully, Sophia wouldn’t notice the faint circles under her eyes.
She separated the dough, shaped and slapped it into the pans she had waiting and covered them with a towel. Sophia would welcome her into her home permanently if she asked, but, in spite of Willa’s reassurances last night, it was not that simple. The words she’d overheard her father speak to her mother three years ago haunted her.
“My dear Mrs. Conner, we have produced an exceptionally beautiful daughter, and the young men in Pinewood are noticing. I believe it is time we moved to Buffalo and introduced Callie to the social circuit. One of those wealthy men will pay handsomely for her hand and our financial future will be secure.”
She sighed, shook down the ashes in the stove and added kindling and wood to the embers to heat the oven. Were her parents in financial stress? It didn’t seem so, but how could she know? She had learned from overhearing bits and pieces of conversations between the wealthy businessmen who traveled in the social circuit that things were not always as they appeared. And then there was the rift between her mother and Sophia to consider. She did not want to cause greater estrangement between the sisters.
She adjusted the damper on the stove, walked to the door, put on her cape and stepped out onto the porch. Moisture dripped from the eave, but it had stopped raining. She crossed to the rail and looked up at the still dark sky. “Most gracious and loving God, I do not wish to be selfish in my actions or disobedient to You or to my parents, yet my heart—” She closed her eyes to hold back a rush of tears. Her heart was not to be trusted. It wanted its own desires. She took a breath and forced out the words she dreaded to say. “May Your will be done, dear God. Amen.”
She sighed and opened her eyes. There was a dull gleam of yellow light visible at the small window of the equipment room in the barn. Ezra Ryder was awake. Joe would be bringing him for breakfast soon.
She laid her problems aside and headed for the kitchen to make batter for griddle cakes.
* * *
Ezra fingered the three-day growth of beard on his face, scowled and ran his thumb along the edge of the hoof trimmer. If he could get hold of some soap—
“Kinda desperate, are ya?”
He turned and gave Joseph a wry grin. “You might say that.”
The elderly man nodded and limped toward the end wall. “There’s somethin’ over here that’ll serve yer need.”
Something to help him shave? He frowned and trailed after the groom.
“Lift that stuff aside.”
He stared down at a scarred chest piled with stable paraphernalia. Clearly, Joseph had misunderstood his intent for that hoof trimmer. What was the man thinking? Well, his was not to reason why. He was here at the largess of Mrs. Sheffield, and Joseph was his boss. He eyed the gnawed corner of the chest lid, slapped at the pile of burlap bags on top of an old, torn buggy seat to scare off any mice, then lifted the seat to the floor.
Joseph opened the chest, leaned his stooped body over and began rummaging through the contents. “Now where— Ha! There it is!” He hauled a wood case out of the chest and closed the lid. “One of Mrs. Sheffield’s guests left this a couple years back. I put it in here to keep, but he never come for it. I reckon you might as well have the use of it.” A chuckle rumbled out of the groom’s sunken chest. “It’ll save ya cuttin’ yer face up tryin’ to shave off them whiskers with that hoof trimmer you was eyein’.”
Ezra smiled and took the polished case into his hands. “It would have been an awkward, bloody affair all right, but to be rid of this itching on my face would have been worth it.”
He balanced the case on his flattened palm and flipped the latch. The lid opened a crack, and a faint scent escaped. He sniffed. Witch hazel? He shoved the top up and gaped at the items in the case. A shaving cup, brush and soap, straight razor, strop and mirror, the corked bottle of witch hazel, small towels, scissors, a comb and a pair of silver-backed hairbrushes that rivaled the ones on his washstand at home, all tucked neatly away in their own compartment. His mouth slanted into a wide grin. Queer how circumstances changed your perspective. It felt like he held the riches of the world. “Thank you, Joseph.”
“Joe’s good enough.” The elderly man headed for the stalls ranged along the side wall. “I heat water for washin’ on the old brick forge in my room at the other end of the barn. There’s still some in the pot. You’d best hurry with your shavin’, it’s ’bout time for breakfast.”
* * *
Callie jerked her gaze from Ezra Ryder back to the worktable and wielded the knife she held in a crisscross pattern, dicing the apples she’d peeled and cored. He’d caught her staring. Foolish of her, but gracious the man was handsome without those dark, stubbly whiskers hiding half of his face. And he was younger than she’d thought.
She stole another look at him through her lowered lashes. He had a sort of stubborn-looking chin, but a nice mouth. And truly lovely eyes. The corners crinkled a little, like he was ready to smile. Heat spread across her cheekbones. Just what was she doing, admiring Ezra Ryder’s good looks? She hated it when people did that to her.
She buttered a deep bowl, tossed in enough of the chopped apples to make a thick layer, sprinkled them with sugar and a dusting of cinnamon, then added a layer of the diced bread.
“There any more coffee, Callie?”
She laughed, dusted the bread crumbs from her hands, and turned to lift the coffeepot from the back of the stove. “One of these mornings I’m going to surprise you and say no, Joe.”
She grinned at his answering
