The Stock Broker's Rescue (Rich Man Takes a Bride #9)

Chapter One

Albany, New York

“I’m sorry, Mr. Thomas—I don’t have the money right now. If you could give me another week or two, I’m sure everything will be fine. Please, please don’t cut off my credit. I’ll figure it out somehow—I promise I will.”

Eight-year-old Roman Kendall took a tighter grip on his little brother’s hand as he watched his mother plead with the grocer.

He could see the lines on her forehead, and he could hear the strain in her voice.

She’d always had such a lovely voice—she used to sing her children to sleep every night, and she would hum over her sewing.

It had been a long time now since there had been any music in their home.

Mr. Thomas passed a hand down his face. With his beak-shaped nose, he had always reminded Roman of a parrot he’d seen once in a picture book.

“Mrs. Kendall, I’m more than sympathetic to your situation.

Losing a husband is a terrible burden for any woman to bear, especially one with such young children.

” He nodded over to where Roman and his two siblings stood, partially hidden behind a large barrel near the front counter.

“I will extend your credit another month, but after that . . .” He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“I have bills too, as I’m sure you understand, and if I’m to keep my business afloat . . .”

She gripped the edge of the counter. “I know, and I’m sorry. But the children . . .”

“Of course, of course. One month, Mrs. Kendall. That’s the best I can do.”

“And I’m so grateful. Thank you, Mr. Thomas. Your kindness—”

He lifted a hand to cut her off. “If I were a truly kind man, I would erase your debt entirely, but I’m not. I’m a selfish man, Mrs. Kendall. Make no mistake.”

“Oh, but—”

“Good day, Mrs. Kendall.” He bent his head to the ledger on the counter, signifying the end of their conversation.

She turned to her children, a tired smile on her face replacing the frown she’d worn earlier in the day.

“Shall we go home now?” Her shopping bag dangled from her arm, barely anything in it.

Roman’s stomach twisted. He could smell the pies tucked away in the cupboard in the corner, and he wanted one badly.

But he would not ask. It would make his mother cry.

He nodded. “Yes, let’s go. I think Timothy is getting sleepy.”

She looked down at her three-year-old son, who was struggling to stay on his feet. “Yes, I believe you’re right. We’d better go before he decides to take a nap on the floor.”

Five-year-old Lacy giggled. “Oh, Mama. Who would do that?”

“Someone who’s very tired. Come on—let’s go. I bought some yeast, and we’ll make bread for supper.”

That lightened Roman’s worries a little bit. He loved his mother’s bread. It wasn’t the same as Mrs. Thomas’s pies, but someday he would be rich, and he would have all the pie he could eat.

Mrs. Kendall took Lacy’s hand and guided all the children outside.

She paused on the porch and shielded her eyes from the sun, looking up and down the road.

She seemed uncertain for a moment, but then she must have come to a decision because she turned left and moved through the bustle on the sidewalk, glancing every so often to make sure Roman and Timothy were still behind her.

Timothy’s legs could only move so fast, though, and after a while, Roman bent over and allowed his little brother to clamber up on his back.

It was a heavy burden, but at least now they were making progress down the road.

But where they were going, Roman had no idea. This wasn’t the way home.

Finally they reached a tall white structure that surely was too big to be any person’s house, and yet that’s what it seemed to be. His mother led them around the building and through the back gate, where she took a deep breath before lifting her hand to knock.

An older woman with graying hair answered the door, wiping her fingers on a dish towel. When she saw who it was, she pressed her lips together.

“Hello, Martha,” she said. “The mistress isn’t in—she’s still traveling. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. Perhaps . . . well, is there any work you could give me in the meantime? Is there anything she doesn’t need to oversee personally? I don’t mean to put you out, Beatrice. I just need something I can do.”

Beatrice sighed. The expression on her face was similar to Mr. Thomas’s.

What was it about being poor that made other people look so tired?

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll send Eddie your way with some laundry.

If you can get it all washed and ironed before Saturday afternoon, that would be one less thing for me to worry about. ”

“Oh, thank you, Beatrice. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

Beatrice didn’t seem to hear her. “But if you don’t do a good job, I won’t be able to recommend you to the mistress for regular work. Consider this a trial of your abilities.”

“I will do a good job. I promise you that.”

“I’ll send Eddie back with the cart Saturday at noon. Have everything ready to be loaded up.” She glanced at the children, and a different sort of look passed over her face. “Wait here a minute.”

Beatrice disappeared from the doorway, and Roman shifted from foot to foot. He should have put Timothy down when they reached the porch, but he wanted to be helpful. Sometimes being helpful was hard. And heavy.

Beatrice came back, carrying a wrapped bundle. “Here,” she said. “Something for the children’s supper, and expect Eddie in about an hour.”

“Thank you, Beatrice. I can’t even tell you . . .”

Beatrice gave a curt nod, then closed the door.

Mrs. Kendall tucked the package into her sack, then turned and saw Roman trying to balance Timothy on his back. The child was all knees and elbows, and Roman was losing his hold.

“Oh, goodness. Here—let me take him. You carry my bag.”

Roman was more than glad to make the trade. He looped the handles of the sack over his arm, just as he’d seen his mother do, and then he took Lacy by the hand. The family trudged out of the yard, now heading for home.

“Mother, what’s in the bag?” Lacy asked as they walked. “What did that lady give us?”

“I don’t know, but she’s a very good cook. I’m sure it will be something tasty.”

Roman’s stomach growled as he thought about all the possibilities. Maybe it was a cake—a nice raisiny cake with cinnamon and apples. Or cookies. He couldn’t wait to get home and see. Lacy gave a little happy hop, and he was sure she was thinking about it too.

But his mother didn’t seem pleased. If anything, she looked even more discouraged.

“Mother, aren’t you hungry?” Roman asked. “Aren’t you excited to see what’s in the package?”

She glanced his way and gave a small smile. “Of course. But someday . . . someday we won’t have to ask. Maybe someday we’ll simply go to the store and buy what we need. Wouldn’t that be marvelous?”

For the first time, Roman Kendall realized that his mother had hopes and dreams too, dreams about a better life and how things could be.

Maybe she dreamed about all the pie she could eat.

In that moment, his dreams grew. He would be rich enough to feed his whole family, not just to fill his own hungry belly.