The Heirloom Brides Collection (53 page)

Seated on the sofa across from him, Jaya and Julia both looked at Jocelyn. It seemed the role of spokesman fell to the oldest. Jocelyn lifted her chin. “We think you made a big mistake.”

Nicolas drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I think I did, too.”

“You do?” Sunlight played across the freckles on Jaya’s nose.

“Yes, I do.”

Surprise creased Jocelyn’s brow. “We’re talking about Miss Darla.”

“That’s who I’m talking about.”

“You’ve been sad ever since she left.”

He nodded. “Yes. I have.”

Julia’s little shoulders slumped. “We have, too.”

“Papa.” Jaya straightened. “We like Miss Darla.”

“I like her, too.” Admittedly there was more to his feelings than that, but before divulging them, he’d have to find out if there was even a chance she would speak to him.

Darla ran her fingers across the embroidered cotton mull. She and Mother used to stitch, but she hadn’t sewn since starting her nurse’s training. If she did take up stitching again, it would be fun to sew dresses for little girls. Her fingers strayed to the next bolt. The solid blue chambray would make a nice shirt for Nicolas.

She sighed. It would only be fun if the man were speaking to her. Since ten days had passed without a word from him, that didn’t seem likely.

She slipped her hand into the pocket of her afternoon dress. It was high time she thought of something else.
Someone else.

“Miss?”

Startled by the gruff voice, Darla spun around, nearly colliding with the beak-nosed owner of the dry goods store.

“Did you want me to cut some fabric for you?”

“Yes, please.” Darla let her fingertips touch the various fabrics she’d admired. “I’d like three yards of this cotton mull with the yellow embroidery. Three yards of the green plaid. Three yards of the blue calico.” She pointed to the bolt directly in front of her. “And two yards of the chambray beside it.”

Her purchases made, she continued walking up Bennett Avenue, slowing her steps in front of Russell’s Grocery and Produce. Clutching her paper-wrapped bundle of fabric, she wandered from the barrel of carrots to a gunnysack of yellow onions, then past trays of mushrooms and garlic. Cherise had shared her grandmother’s recipe for chicken fricassee. But for the same reasons Darla didn’t need the fabric she’d purchased, she had no need of groceries for a French cooking lesson. This time, she’d resist the temptation. The material she could use for other purposes. But living at the boardinghouse, she had no cause to cook. Not when Hattie and Cherise did such a fine job of it.

Since she had nothing better to do on her day off, she decided to stroll down to First Street, then make a loop up to Golden on her way back to the boardinghouse.

The small building that had belonged to the clock maker was devoid of any signs, so she stepped up to the windows. The shop was empty. What a shame. It would make a good workshop and store for another craftsman. A photographer. A silversmith. A cobbler.

Or… an artist who made wainscoting and rocking chairs and carved trinkets his daughters enjoyed and bas reliefs that captured her imagination. The empty shop would be perfect for Nicolas.

If he didn’t want to return to the mine. If he was interested in making a business out of his whittling. He was a courageous man. Something she’d seen in those first several visits in his home.

Darla shook her head. She probably needed to see to her own business before sticking her nose into someone else’s. Someone who had dismissed her. Her diary wasn’t where she’d left it, and the contents could turn up when and where she least expected, claiming her job and the place she was building for herself in Cripple Creek.

While her thoughts collided with one another, she stepped away from the building and turned to continue on her way.

“Miss Taggart!”

She turned back toward the center of town, where a young man waved from the corner. It was the postmaster’s son, Archie. Perhaps a letter from Mother or Aunt Cora awaited her? The teenage boy rushed toward her with one hand hidden behind him.

“My father said he’d seen you walking west on Bennett.”

Cripple Creek was still a small town if the postmaster could track one’s moves on a busy street. “You were looking for me?”

“Yes, ma’am. My father received a message for you. And a gift.”

“He did?”

A grin bunched the freckles across his cheeks as he presented his other hand like a platform, holding a small cloth sack and a folded slip of paper.

Who would be sending her a gift? Perhaps Zachary had second thoughts about his behavior in Hattie’s parlor.

“They came from Nicolas Zanzucchi.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name. “They did?”

“Well, his girl Jocelyn delivered them to the post office. But she made us promise to make sure you understood the note and the present were from her papa.”

Darla squeezed her eyes shut for a second to reject unbidden tears, then leaned over his hand and pulled the drawstring sack open. Her breath caught, a breath sweetened by the scent of several chocolates. Creams. Truffles. Mint patties. The teenager appeared as light-headed over the gesture as she felt. “These are from Rosa’s Confectionary. You’re sure they’re meant for me? From Mr. Zanzucchi?”

Archie nodded, slowly and deliberately. “I think he’s sweet on you.”

She might have used the note to fan herself except that she wanted to maintain the appearance of composure, even though her insides were doing flips. Smiling, Darla reached into her leather pocketbook for a coin for Archie and tucked the sack of candy into her skirt pocket. “I suppose I should read the note and see what is necessary.” She unfolded the page and began reading, silently:

Nicolas was sorry for thinking the worst of her… for sending her away. No, he was remorseful. He’d missed her, too, she was sure of it.

Darla blinked. Two words had been erased from the end of the sentence. She held up the paper for a closer look.
“And affection.”

“Yep, he’s sweet on you, all right,” Archie said.

Oh dear, she’d read that last part aloud.

She nodded, then pressed her lips together and returned her gaze to the page.

With all sincerity,

Nicolas Zanzucchi

When she heard herself sigh, she folded the note and pressed it into her pocketbook. She handed the coin to Archie.

“Thank you.” He reached up and slid it into his shirt pocket. “Did you need me to deliver a response to Mr. Zanzucchi?”

“No. Thank you.” She’d see to it herself.

The boardinghouse could wait. She needed to return to Russell’s Grocery and Produce.

P
apa, do you think Miss Darla will come?”

Nicolas crowned his first king, then looked across the checkerboard at Jaya. “I hope so.”

Julia bounced onto her tiptoes beside the table where he and Jaya played checkers. “We really want her to come.”

He’d wanted to deliver the note and sweets to Darla personally but thought it best to leave the choice to see him up to her.

“She will come. You’ll see.” If only he shared Jaya’s childhood confidence.

“If she does come, who is going to open the door?” he asked.

“You are.” Julia pointed at him.

“That’s right.” He captured her finger, rewarded with a little-girl giggle.

“We won’t forget.” Broom in hand, Jocelyn bent and pressed the dustpan to the floor.

“We’ll wait in our bedroom until you say to come out.” Jaya jumped two of his game pieces, then looked up at him. “I know she’ll come because she really likes us.”

Sighing, Jocelyn stepped out onto the stoop and emptied the dustpan onto the ground below. She practically floated through the door with a grin brightening her face. “Miss Darla will come because she
really likes
Papa.”

Embarrassment warmed his neck. When had his daughters become matchmakers? “I don’t want you girls to be too disappointed if things don’t turn out the way you want them to.”

“She’ll come. You’ll see.” Jocelyn returned the broom and pan to the corner. “A girl just knows these things.”

“A ten-year-old girl?”

“I turn eleven in two months.”

Nicolas sighed. He had allowed himself to believe that Darla might be developing an affection for him. When he’d learned that she’d stayed at his bedside until she was sure he was on the path to recovery, he’d found it even easier to imagine.

He and his girls were all hopeless romantics. And he couldn’t help but pray that Darla was, too. And that she liked chocolate.

When Nicolas swung the door open, Darla nearly lost her footing and dropped her packages. He’d shaved and trimmed his mustache. Dressed in fresh trousers and a forest-green shirt, he also wore a smile that could melt the truffles in her pocket.

“You came!” His enthusiasm matched that she had received from his girls on previous visits. Girls she didn’t see or hear. “Where are the girls?”

“They’re in their room doing schoolwork. I arranged for us to have some privacy.”

Darla let a few seconds pass before breaking the silence. “Thank you for the chocolates and the note.”

“You’re welcome.” He looked down at the two sacks. “You brought groceries?”

“I promised Jocelyn a French cooking lesson.”

“Ah, yes. Please come in.” When he reached for the sacks, his thumb brushed her wrist, sending a warming tingle up her arm.

She set her bundle of fabric on the chair near the door, then followed him to the kitchen table, where he set the sacks.

“Are these favorable to sitting for a few minutes?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

It was good. Because the last thing she wanted to do was to deal with groceries, cook a meal, or even turn her gaze from this brown-eyed man who had invited her back into his life. Nicolas had a healthy glow about him, and his eyes sparkled with vitality.

“I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” Darla said.

“I am. Thank you.” He glanced at the kettle on the stove. “I brewed some mint tea. Would you like a cup?”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

He carried a steaming teacup and saucer to the sitting room and set it on a small table beside the rocker she’d sat in the night she’d kept watch over him. When she seated herself, Nicolas went to the spindle chair across from her.

“Thank you for this chance to redeem myself, to tell you why I so abruptly asked Dr. Cutshaw for a replacement.” He reached up and brushed his hand through the rich brown curls cascading over his forehead. “When you showed up here for the first time, I was hesitant to accept the arrangement for you to be my nurse.”

Darla nodded. She started to reach for her teacup but decided against it. “You said I was too young. But I thought you’d moved past that hesitation.”

“I had.” He drew in a deep breath. “Until Zach arrived and your breath caught at the mention of his name.”

Her mouth suddenly dry, Darla moistened her lips.

“Despite my best efforts, I had begun to care for you. But you were my nurse, and you’d only seen me injured, sick, lying on a cot. Not nearly as appealing as a man who is strong and runs his own business.”

Darla leaned forward. “Admittedly, there was a time when my interest in a man ran shallow, but that is no longer the case.”

“I know that now.” He blew out a deep breath. “But
that day,
I could tell from your reaction to him and his to you that the two of you were, or had been, close. I assumed you were interested in pursuing a future with him. I didn’t want to interfere, so I thought it best to let you go.”

A noble gesture that had caused her to lose sleep. “I was at supper with Zachary that night to sort out and resolve my feelings. Any closeness he and I shared was in the past.”