Love for All Seasons Page 8

  He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize the flour stack had started to slip until it was too late. Scrambling to lower the sack in his hands as well as catch the others in the pile from sliding forward, Bram ended up kneeling in several inches of flour from three split bags.

  “Oh, my,” an older woman tsked from the other side of the store. She wasn’t the only customer either. He felt the eyes of several others on him as he surveyed the damage.

  Brushing flour from his shirt and pants, he swallowed the bite of disappointment at the ruined merchandise. There was nothing to do but clean it up.

  A knock sounded on the door he’d left open for ease of transferring the sacks inside. Bram looked up and frowned when he saw Tempest standing there.

  “Is everything all right? I saw a cloud of white billowing out the door just now.”

  He stood, gesturing at the mess near his feet. “Come to gloat?”

  Her chin tipped higher, and yet her golden-brown eyes held nothing but open curiosity and compassion. “On the contrary, I’m here to help, if I may.”

  “Help?” he echoed in surprise.

  She ignored his bewilderment. “Do you have a broom and a dustpan? I’ll clean this up while you tend to your customers.” She waved at the counter, where several ladies were already waiting to pay for their purchases.

  “You . . . will?” His confusion and disbelief were beginning to give way to genuine gratitude.

  “The broom?”

  “Right,” he said, nodding. He thumbed his finger at the storage room. “It’s in there. I can get it if you like.”

  She smiled, a slow smile that made his heart expand. “I can manage. You go attend to your customers.”

  “What about yours?”

  “Lydia is helping out for the moment.” As she brushed past him toward the storage room, he caught a scent of wildflowers. It fit her perfectly. “They’ll be fine.”

  Bram went to stand behind the counter to assist his store patrons. By the time he finished with them and helped another couple who came inside, he could see Tempest had the entire flour mess cleared away. She put the broom and dustpan back, then met him near the door.

  “Thank you, Tempest,” he said with every ounce of sincerity he could muster.

  A pretty blush painted her cheeks. “You’re welcome. After yesterday’s sermon, I’ve been thinking . . .” She glanced down at her hands, appearing embarrassed.

  “I’ve been thinking too.”

  She lifted her head. “You have?”

  He smiled. “Yes, and I’d like to call an end to this little war.”

  Tempest laughed. It was a sound as wild and bright as her hair. Bram liked it, even felt eager to prompt it again. “Agreed.” Her expression changed to one of somberness though. “I’m still going to keep my store open.”

  “As will I.” He locked his gaze with hers and was relieved to see understanding there. They could, hopefully, be friends, even if neither of them ever acquiesced their dream of a successful mercantile.

  “I should be going.” She moved to the door. “Good day, Bram.”

  “Tempest?” he called after her, an idea beginning to take shape in his mind.

  She spun around as if she’d been waiting for him to say something more. “Yes?”

  “I would like to repay you for your help.”

  Her eyes began to narrow. “That isn’t wh—”

  “Please. No strings attached. It’s simply an expression of gratitude.”

  He watched the features of her pretty face relax. “Such as?”

  “Would you agree to accompany me to the opera tomorrow night?”

  She blinked in apparent shock at the invitation. It was the same emotion racing through him at that moment. What had compelled him to invite her to do something that smacked of “courtship”? He wasn’t courting Tempest. There was no point. They’d both stated their positions. It was merely a chance to express his gratitude and possibly get to know her a little better too. Nothing more.

  “I would like that.” She offered him another smile, though this time the gesture held a trace of shyness, something he hadn’t seen in her before. “Thank you, Bram.”

  “Thank you,” he said as she swept out the door. As he repositioned the stack of flour bags to prevent another spill, he found himself whistling.

  • • •

  “You’re going to the opera with whom?”

  Tempest rolled her eyes. “You heard me, Lydia. Bram Wakeman and I are going to the opera tonight.”

  “But why?” Lydia blocked her way to the bureau mirror.

  “Because I helped him yesterday and he asked if he could thank me by joining him for tonight’s performance.”

  Lydia frowned and stepped aside. “Are you certain this is a good idea? He isn’t going to give up his store for you.”

  Tempest laughed and stuck some more pins into her artful hair arrangement. She’d taken more time than usual to wrestle it into submission. Not that it meant anything. She was simply anxious to achieve the higher standards going to an opera warranted. “Of course he isn’t. And I won’t give up mine for him. It isn’t as if we’re courting, Lydia. It’s a friendly outing between colleagues, so to speak.”

  Lydia’s arched look conveyed plenty without her uttering a single word.

  “I’m not entering the lion’s den,” Tempest defended. “And besides, this is what the pastor was talking about on Sunday. About us loving our enemies and setting aside our offenses and wrongdoings.”

  “Don’t you think you might be taking the love part a bit too far in this case?” Her eyebrows rose along with her smiling lips.

  Whirling around, Tempest stared at her friend in irritated shock. “That is certainly not true. My intentions and Bram’s are of a friendly, business-minded nature. That is all.”

  “Forgive me.” Lydia took up her hand and squeezed it. “I presume too much.”

  “Yes, you do.” But Tempest still cherished her friendship.

  “I’m only concerned. I don’t want to see you hurt by him again.”

  Tempest embraced her. “I understand. And I’ll be fine. Now, how do I look?” She fell back a step and twirled in a circle to give her friend a full view of her cream-colored dress.

  “Picture perfect.” Lydia threw her a kind smile.

  Tempest put on her gloves and hat and followed Lydia down the stairs and through the empty store. Slipping out the door, she locked it behind them. Bram stepped away from his door when he saw her.

  “Enjoy your evening,” Lydia said before waving to Bram and striding off toward home.

  Tempest waited for him to cross the street, her stomach suddenly aflutter with nervousness. He looked every inch the handsome gentleman and she was grateful she’d chosen one of her best dresses for tonight.

  “I thought she hated me,” he said, inclining his hat in Lydia’s direction as he joined Tempest.

  “No,” she said with a laugh. “She may have strongly disliked you, on my behalf. But Lydia has never hated anyone.”

  He motioned for her to begin walking. “Have you known her long?”

  “A year. She was one of the first people to come into my store when I first opened.”

  “You’ve only been here a year?” His tone revealed his surprise.

  Tempest nodded. “And one month.”

  “You seem so established. I thought you’d been here longer.” He took her elbow in hand to help her around a stack of crates, increasing the rapid trembling in her middle. “Where did you live before you came here?”

  “New York—that’s where my family still lives. During the war my widowed mother and I spent time with each of my brothers’ families to assist my sisters-in-law.” She pushed out a sigh as the cloistered feeling of the past rose inside her. “Once my brothers all, miraculously, returned home though, I felt restless and eager to do something for myself.”

  Bram fixed her with an understanding look that both surprised and pleased her. Eve
n her own brothers had questioned her judgment right up until she’d left. They had softened their stance in their letters over the last year, though she suspected they still didn’t fully comprehend her determination. “So you came out here and made a name for yourself with your store.”

  It was a statement, but she nodded just the same. “I did, and I’ve loved every minute of it. Even the ones when I’m not quite sure how the numbers will all work out.”

  “I can relate to that,” he said with a chuckle.

  “And you?” she prompted. “Where are you from? Did you serve in the war?”

  His open, kind expression vanished, replaced by tense lines around his eyes and mouth. “I’m from the West, and yes, I was a soldier. But I didn’t serve in the war as your brothers did.”

  Tempest stopped walking and turned to peer directly at him. “If you were a soldier, then you did serve.”

  Looking away, he pocketed his hands. “It isn’t the same. You’re not a real soldier in most people’s eyes if you never saw or fought in a battle.” He visibly swallowed. “They sort of look down their noses at you, even if they didn’t fight themselves.”

  She boldly placed her hand on his sleeve until he returned his gaze to hers. “That isn’t easy to swallow—the ill opinions of others. I understand that difficulty all too well. And yet . . .” Should she go on?

  “And yet?” Bram repeated.

  “Like the pastor said on Sunday, perhaps that’s their own hurt. Maybe they feel less for having not even been a soldier or helped with the war in any way.”

  After a moment, he dipped his head in a slow nod, the guarded quality fleeing his face. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  “Is that why you want your store to succeed?” she asked with sudden understanding.

  “Yes.” Bram shot her a humorless smile. “Apparently we both have strong reasons for succeeding with our ventures, don’t we?”

  Instead of answering, Tempest began walking again. A feeling of melancholy washed over her. She’d never been so honest with a man and felt that honesty returned. And yet, Bram had explained it perfectly. They both had compelling motives for digging in their heels and making their stores the best in the town.

  He caught up with her. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Should she tell him what she was really thinking? That after ten minutes in his company tonight, with their battle-axes set aside, she wanted to know everything about him. And share everything about herself in return.

  But there was no point in saying it and no point in pursuing such a course. It would only lead to one or both of them giving up their dream and independence. For so long, she’d wanted love and a family of her own. When she realized those weren’t likely to be hers, she’d turned her focus to other pursuits and fulfillments. To unbury such wishes now, on the thin chance of something happening between her and Bram, would be too painful.

  “No, Bram.” She gave him a full and sincere smile. “You said nothing wrong.” He’d simply spoken the truth.

  “If you’re sure . . .”

  “Yes,” she said emphatically, linking her arm through his, “let’s enjoy our night at the opera.”

  • • •

  The tops of the dark pine trees stretched toward the stars as Bram walked Tempest back to her store. He’d liked the opera, though he was grateful she hadn’t asked him his favorite parts. He was content to let her share what she thought of the costumes and the story.

  Honestly he couldn’t recall details of either. His attention throughout the night had been snagged again and again by Tempest. It wasn’t just that she looked extraordinary in her ivory dress with her hair pinned up off her neck. It was the expanding feeling in his chest the longer he spent in her presence. Now that they’d agreed to end the war between them, he’d quickly come to see what a compassionate heart she possessed, even as he still admired her fierceness and passion. Her own brothers had fought in the war, and yet she hadn’t condemned or belittled him for his own innocuous role. For the first time since he’d stopped being a soldier, Bram felt heard and understood. Such a thing was a new and intriguing emotion for him.

  “Did you like it?” Tempest asked when they stopped beside her door. “I’ve been prattling on about what I liked and haven’t stopped to ask you what you enjoyed.” Her light laugh coaxed a smile from him.

  “I rather like your prattling.”

  He meant it in earnest, but he realized she’d mistaken the remark for teasing when her eyes widened and she ducked her chin.

  “I know I jabber on—like a tempest, a whirlwind, my brothers’ would say. But I am—”

  Lifting her chin upward, he gazed into those lovely eyes of hers that appeared deep and dark in the moonlight. “I meant nothing unkind, Tempest. I really do enjoy listening to you talk.”

  “Thank you,” she half whispered.

  She said nothing more and Bram found his focus drawn to her slightly parted lips. Kissing her would likely be as energetic and full of feeling as the woman herself.

  An image entered his mind of a storm he’d witnessed once where even the great trees had bent to its wild strength. Asking her for a kiss, when there could be no promises between them, would be like asking the wind to give up its independence and force. He’d been given a glimpse tonight of Tempest’s deep determination and fulfillment when it came to her store. It was nearly identical to what he felt for his. And he suspected neither of them wished to relinquish that newfound freedom, even if they were now getting on quite well.

  He released her chin, instantly missing the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingertips, and stepped back. “I very much enjoyed the evening. Thank you for coming with me, Tempest. And for helping me earlier with the mess.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, giving him a tremulous smile. “I very much enjoyed the evening too. Good night, Bram.”

  Nodding good night, he waited for her to let herself inside before he crossed the street to his own building. He made his way through the shadowed store to the stairs and up to his room, where he lit a lamp. A glance out the curtains revealed a light glowing from Tempest’s room as well.

  Was he content to keep living a life that felt a bit like his store just now? he wondered as he sat on the bed and removed his tie. One that was empty and silent?

  Since meeting Tempest, it was as if a bright light had burst into his quiet, ordered existence. But he couldn’t have her and his store, could he? After what he’d learned tonight, he felt confident she wouldn’t easily give up her independence for him. And while he felt a new appeal at marrying someone, especially someone as vivacious and passionate as Tempest, there was also the fear that he would never be someone great or respected if he chose that path too soon. Maybe in a few more years . . .

  He tried to take some solace from that last thought as he prepared for bed and voiced his prayers, including gratitude for Tempest’s friendship. But deep down he couldn’t shake the realization that no matter what, his store would never, ever be his friend. Or love and respect him back.

  Chapter 5

  A week later Tempest woke with a headache and a nasty cold. It had been slowly creeping up on her for several days, but she’d ignored it, choosing instead to focus on running her store and going for walks in the evenings with Bram. She relished his company and friendship, and despite continued teasing from Lydia, she knew there was nothing more between them. There couldn’t be. Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy walking and talking with a handsome, congenial gentleman like Bram Wakeman.

  The room spun as she tried to sit up, and she placed a hand to her forehead with a moan. She couldn’t afford to keep the store closed—not for a whole day. The numbers in her ledger were still troubling, though she had hope she could hang on a while longer. But an entire day without purchases would be too much of a setback.

  Fatigue washed over her anew and she collapsed back onto her pillow. Perhaps she could simply open a little later than usual. Clinging to that plan, she d
rifted off.

  Sometime later a loud rapping at the store door jerked her awake. Tempest scrambled up, her head and heart pounding. She managed to get to her feet, throw a shawl around her nightdress, and start slowly down the stairs. The incessant knocking battled with the pain in her skull. She paused beside the counter to catch her breath, then pressed on. She could see a tall male figure through the glass in the door. Hopefully whoever the customer turned out to be, he wouldn’t mind waiting a little longer while she returned upstairs to dress. Though the thought of climbing the stairs and wrestling into her petticoat and dress felt as long and difficult as a hike up the mountains would be in her present condition.

  She opened the door a crack and drew in a sharp breath when she realized Bram stood there, looking agitated.

  Dispensing with any greeting, he explained his presence at her door. “You didn’t switch your sign to open earlier and I started to wonder if something was amiss.” His eyes went wide when she opened the door a little farther and he saw her attire. “I was right. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing that won’t be better soon, I’m sure.” She gritted her teeth against another wave of dizziness and gripped the door frame tighter. “I wasn’t feeling well, so I decided I’d sleep in before I opened the store. I’m actually going back up to dress now.”

  “You don’t look well enough for that.”

  She released her hold on the door and stepped back, waving away his concern. “I’ll be just . . . fine . . .” But her knees wouldn’t hold her up any longer. She began to crumble to the floor, when Bram leapt forward and grabbed her arm.

  “Tempest, you’re not well. You can’t possibly stand at the counter all day when you can’t even stand here.”

  Desperation crawled up her throat and spilled over into unshed tears. “I have to,” she rasped out. “I can’t afford to close the store today.”