CHAPTER TWO

For all his life, Ethan Garrett had been told he was odd.

To be fair, he couldn’t argue with the assessment. He was quiet, and solitary, and he was happy to let others talk around him such in most instances they forgot he was there. His mother had despaired of him, his father had been indifferent to him, and his siblings had never sought his company. As a child, he had been happiest with a shovel and a magnifying glass, digging int the dirt at his family’s country house. Not much had changed—he still dug in the dirt, only now people compensated him for it.

Currently, Mrs Alice Llewellyn employed him to survey her coal concern. Mrs Llewellyn—or Mrs Reynolds, as she was then—had written him at his previous employment in Colorado and, as that concern was winding down, he’d been glad of her boldness. Mrs Llewellyn was now his longest employer, and he’d found himself in Ironwood, Wyoming for over six years. They’d negotiated his contract to encompass the time she would spend in Paris, and so it was more than likely ten years would pass before he moved on. If he even did. He found he liked Ironwood, and it had certain benefits he would be hard pressed to find in another part of the world.

Since leaving Boston, he’d found a way to ensure that all the ways he had been told he was odd became strengths. The claustrophobic streets where dull grey buildings had blocked the sky had become wide open plains surrounded by mountains. You couldn’t turn around without bumping into someone, whereas in Ironwood he could go weeks without seeing another soul.

Although most days now he made the trek from his cabin outside Ironwood into the centre of town telling himself it was to check if any correspondence had arrived, or he needed a new shovel, or he should check on his supplies. But he knew he was lying to himself. He came into town more than he needed and spent more time at the Diamond than was wise for a mere chance of a glimpse of Pearl La Monte.

Ahead, the tall, square façade of the Diamond came into view. Painted a forest green with golden yellow accents, the saloon stood out from its neighbours.

His feet slowed, almost without his direction. Oftentimes he found himself wondering about her—too often, truth be told. Alone in his cabin, surrounded by the papers of his trade, his mind would turn to Pearl la Monte. Was she swanning through the patrons of the Diamond, charming women and men both with her flirtatious grin and teasing turn of phrase? Was she rehearsing, her voice soaring to the heavens? Or was she seated at her regular table, a slight smile on her face as she watched the results of her hard work?

All he knew was none of her smiles were from him, and to tell it true, he didn’t much blame her. He’d always handled himself poorly around her, his usually recalcitrant mouth choosing all the wrong words when he did speak, and none so much as when Jacob Wade was in town. Something about the lad rubbed him wrong, and when he turned his smarm to Pearl, Ethan couldn’t stop himself from reaction. The other night had been much the same, but he also had eyes in his head and he could see Pearl was uncomfortable with the lad’s attentions for all the lad himself couldn’t. It had nothing to do with the tightening of his gut at the thought of another man’s hands upon her.

Forcing himself away from the Diamond, he headed for the general store. The bell over the door chimed as he entered. From behind the counter, McKinnon looked up. Ethan tipped his chin in greeting.

“Here for them picks?” the shopkeep asked.

At Ethan’s sharp nod, McKinnon said no more and disappeared into the back of the shop. As he waited, Ethan cast his gaze about the store, not that he had a need for anything but it didn’t hurt to look.

The bell over the door rang again. Idly, he turned his gaze to whom had entered.

Pearl La Monte glared at him as the door closed behind her.

He straightened, automatically taking the Stetson from his head and running his hand through his hair, though he managed to stop himself from bowing as his deportment teachers had taught him. Ignoring him, she swept past, making her way to the fabrics McKinnon kept in the back.

He didn’t mind such. Gave him more of an opportunity to look at her.

Her fiery red hair was piled atop her head in a messy sort of arrangement, tendrils curling around her graceful neck. Her skin had an olive sheen but looked soft. His hands tightened on the brim of his Stetson.

Long, dark lashes hid the eyes that steadfastly refused to look at him, but he knew them to be a pale kind of green, though he’d never been close enough to determine if another colour broke up that startling gaze.

His gaze drifted down. The cold had it that she wore a coat over a high-necked gown, a royal blue scarf tucked around her neck. All of it was stylish and well-tailored, and she must have dropped a pretty penny on it.

Lifting her chin, she glared at the fabric-filled shelves before her. A small smile tugged at his lips. She wasn’t going to speak with him, and he wasn’t going to force her to something she didn’t want. Besides, he was content just looking at her.

McKinnon came back with the picks. “Anything else?” he said to Ethan.

Shaking his head, he said, “You’ll add this to my account?”

“Yeah.” McKinnon held out a letter. “Got this for you, too.”

He grunted, taking the envelope.

Pearl still stared at the fabric. With one last covert look at her, he exited the store.

As he strode down the boardwalk, he glanced at the letter. At the postmark, his step faltered and his stomach sunk to his boots.

The postmark was from Boston.

Working his jaw, he stared at the innocuous scrap of paper. He didn’t want to open it. Maybe he would return to his cabin, fortify himself with Irish whisky, and then in a day or two read its contents.

“Ethan Parkinson Garrett!”

He froze. No. It couldn’t be. He’d just gotten the letter. It couldn’t be her.

He turned, dread coiling in his gut.

The woman marching toward him was extremely well-dressed, her gown screaming wealth and importance. She wore a look of irritation and ire, and he knew it was both because of him and because she’d had to raise her voice in public.

He watched her approach, every step coiling the lead feeling in his gut tighter.

“I cannot believe you have made me come all this way, Ethan. If you would respond to letters like a normal man, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

He stared down at her, mute.

She made an impatient noise. “Well, don’t just stand there. Are you not going to greet me?”

Bending down, he touched his lips to her proffered cheek. “Hello, Mother.”

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