Chapter Two
CREST STONE, COLORADO
There were so many people waiting on the platform for the train to arrive that Maxwell Foster was inclined to grab hold of Anna’s hand.
But one look at his eleven-year-old daughter’s expression changed his mind.
Anna stood next to him, arms crossed, and a frown draping her freckled face.
She’d made it clear to him that she had no interest in a new mother.
I had a mother, she’d told him when he announced to her that Miss Cordelia Elliott would be coming to Crest Stone to marry him.
She’s dead, and I don’t need another one.
Except she did need a mother, and badly. Max was failing at being a father. He had no experience at all in caring for children, much less a headstrong, trouble-making girl like Anna.
So instead of taking Anna’s hand, he kept a close eye on her as they waited for the train to arrive. Her gaze flitted down the platform to a pair of children about her age, a boy and a girl, who were pushing each other and giggling.
“Are they friends of yours?” Max asked.
Anna shrugged.
He pressed his lips together in frustration. Trying to have a conversation with Anna was harder than talking to a brick wall. At least the wall didn’t act as if he were the most irritating person in town.
The worst part was that he was good with people.
Strangers warmed up to him quickly, and he made friends and acquaintances with ease.
It was why he’d been so good at cards in the past, and it was why he’d found an excellent position at the newest hotel in Crest Stone within a day of arriving in town.
But if anyone asked Anna, she’d describe him as a bumbling oaf of a man with no redeeming qualities whatsoever.
If anyone had offered him the opportunity to lay a bet on whether he’d be a good parent, he’d have put everything he had on the line. And then he would have promptly lost his shirt upon meeting Anna. Max had never failed at anything in his life, but fatherhood was looking to be the first.
The sigh rising in his throat died quickly when Mrs. Carlisle, the livery owner’s wife, greeted him. She had her baby girl nestled against her, and she carried a few envelopes in one hand.
“Good morning, Mrs. Carlisle,” Max said with a smile. He nudged Anna, who was looking at the ground.
“Hello,” Anna said sullenly, her arms still crossed.
Max cringed inwardly at the girl’s actions and wished for the hundredth time that her mother had paid more attention to Anna’s manners when she was alive. Perhaps then she’d at least be polite to other people, even if she still despised him.
“Good morning, Anna,” Mrs. Carlisle said, as if Anna had greeted her warmly. “Did you speak with your father?”
Anna’s gaze didn’t meet hers. Instead, she tightened her arms against herself as a warm summer breeze lifted the messy ends of her golden braids.
“Speak with me on what subject?” Max asked, thoroughly confused.
“Well . . .” Mrs. Carlisle shifted baby Thea to her other shoulder.
She waited a few more seconds, as if she expected Anna to speak.
But Anna said nothing at all. “Anna helped herself to a few apples I’d purchased as treats for the horses at the stable.
I told her I’d say nothing to you if she spoke with you about it instead. ”
The burn of embarrassment seared Max’s insides.
This wasn’t the first time Anna had taken something that wasn’t hers, and it was always food.
She’d absconded with freshly baked cookies at the general store and swiped day-old bread at the new bakery in town.
And those were only the events Max knew about.
Could he be any worse of a father? All he could hope was that Miss Elliott could bring Anna into line.
“I am very sorry, Mrs. Carlisle,” he said. “Of course I’ll reimburse you for the cost.”
Mrs. Carlisle’s eyebrows listed. “You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Foster. You didn’t steal the apples.”
“Of course. I’m sorry,” he said again before he realized he was repeating himself. “Anna?” He looked at his daughter expectantly.
Her deep brown eyes—the precise color of his—flitted between him and Mrs. Carlisle. Anna shrugged again. “Sorry,” she said without a hint of actual remorse in the word.
Mrs. Carlisle’s friendly expression flickered. “I see. Perhaps you ought to stay away from the livery for a while, Miss Foster. Have a good day, Mr. Foster.”
Max’s mouth opened and then shut quickly. Mrs. Carlisle was none too pleased with him, that much was clear.
“My name isn’t Miss Foster,” Anna mumbled.
“It is now,” he shot back, irritation lacing his words.
Anna turned her back to him, and Max ran a frustrated hand across his face. He wasn’t the sort to lose his patience easily, but Anna tried it more than anyone else he’d met in his life. She just lost her mother, he reminded himself. Then he took a deep breath and spoke more kindly.
“I can’t change the past,” he said to her back. “I would have been there if I’d known. And I know you miss your mother. But none of that is any excuse for stealing. Do you understand?”
She didn’t answer him.
Before Max could ponder what to do next, the whistle of the approaching train cut through the chatter on the platform. The crowd moved forward a little, eager to meet the train, and Max’s frustration with his daughter turned to worry about the woman he was due to meet and marry.
He clenched and unclenched his hands and then straightened his jacket and tie at least ten times as the train screeched to a stop. Steam billowed around them as people began to exit the cars.
Max stood straighter as he searched for a lady who matched Miss Elliott’s description. She’d told him she was tall in stature, with dark hair and blue eyes, and that she’d be wearing a green and white striped traveling dress.
Not less than a minute later, a lady matching that description emerged from a nearby car. Max smiled and looked down toward Anna to nudge her forward.
But Anna was gone.
A sigh escaped his throat as he looked both directions down the platform. The girl was nowhere to be seen.
More embarrassed than worried—Crest Stone was safe enough during the daylight hours and by now, most everyone in town knew Anna—Max opted to focus on meeting Miss Elliott. He could track down Anna while Miss Elliott was getting settled.
Straightening his shoulders and giving his jacket one last tug, Max stepped forward. “Miss Elliott?”
The lady turned toward him, and a smile instantly lit her face. “You must be Mr. Foster.”
Max momentarily forgot every word he knew. When she’d written that her eyes were blue, she hadn’t said they were brilliant, and she certainly hadn’t mentioned the way her skin glowed in the sunlight or how her nose turned up just a little at the end.
Miss Elliott paused, tilting her head. “I’m sorry, are you Mr. Foster?”
Max blinked at her. “Yes. Yes! Maxwell Foster. May I take your bag?”
Her smile returned as she handed him the carpetbag. “Thank you. I also have a trunk.”
“I’ll ask a porter about it.” He started to step away but paused. “Wait right here.”
He tried not to cringe at his words as she nodded.
Could he sound more awkward? It was as if he expected her to vanish the moment his back was turned.
Like Anna. Max shook his head at the thought of his daughter.
Perhaps it was best that she wasn’t here.
Arriving in a new place and meeting him for the first time had to be overwhelming enough for Miss Elliott.
He could at least let her get her bearings before introducing her to a little girl who wanted nothing at all to do with her.
He signaled a porter and paid the man to arrange to have Miss Elliott’s trunk delivered to the house he rented. Then he returned to Miss Elliott and offered her an arm.
“Do you live far from here?” she asked as they crossed the platform.
“Not at all. It’s just off the main road here, a couple of blocks to the south.” He nodded in the general direction as he tried not to think about the way her fingers rested gently on the sleeve of his jacket.
They made light conversation as they walked.
He asked her about her journey, and she told him of the interesting sights she’d seen along the way.
Her voice was pleasant, and the way she described the changing scenery and the various characters who had boarded the train reminded Max of his own journey west twelve years prior.
He’d been so young then, eager and ready to take advantage of every opportunity thrown his way.
“This is my place.” He paused outside the door, and for the first time, all he could see in the house was its flaws.
He had a moment of panic as he glanced at Miss Elliott.
While she hadn’t gone into detail in her letters about her family’s standing, it was evident from her clothing and the carpetbag he carried that she didn’t come from poverty.
This house had to be much more humble than where she was used to living.
She turned to him with a broad smile. “It’s so perfectly cozy. May I see inside?”
Heartened, Max opened the door and ushered her in. Miss Elliott dropped his arm and began to wander the small front room.
“The kitchen is through that door. I apologize for the size. I know it’s small.” Max set the carpetbag down and shoved his hands into his trousers’ pockets as Miss Elliott peered through the door into the kitchen.
“Upstairs is where I sleep.” He gestured at the steep set of stairs that led to the attic-like bedroom.
“And it appears your daughter sleeps there?” Miss Elliott pointed to the narrow bed in the corner of the parlor. It was unmade, as usual, and a plate with crumbs from Anna’s breakfast sat on the floor next to it.
“Yes.” Max quickly swept across the room to retrieve the plate.
Miss Elliott watched him, but thankfully said nothing about it.
A knock came at the door as Max was returning the plate to the kitchen. “That must be your trunk.”
The man delivering the trunk generously offered to carry it upstairs, and Max slipped him a few more coins for the courtesy. After he left, Miss Elliott stood near the stairs, looking somewhat uncomfortable as she glanced up toward the bedroom.
Max half wanted to run out the door. It was an odd feeling, one he’d only experienced when men had grown weary of losing card games to him. But just like he’d needed to then, he forced himself to remain in place. “I imagine you’d like to unpack and refresh yourself.”
Miss Elliott smiled at him again, any trepidation he thought he’d seen vanished from her expression. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”
“I . . .” He trailed off, trying to find the least awkward way of telling her they had an appointment at the church to be married at two o’clock.
But there was no beating around it. She could hardly stay here if they didn’t take themselves to the church at the appointed time.
“The minister offered to meet us at two o’clock.
If that’s all right with you, of course,” he said in a rush.
She brightened at his words. “Of course. I’ll be ready.”
“Yes. Good. That’s fine, then.” He sounded like an utter fool. “I’ll just . . . I’ll retrieve my daughter and return soon.”
And then he ran out the door, satisfying the instinct to put some distance between himself and Miss Elliott.