Abby enjoyed her visit to the fish market, in spite of the smells. Most of all, she enjoyed the fact that she could, for once, completely relax. No urgent matters awaited her. No dishes to wash. No tables to wait. No guests to avoid. Here, with Sam at her side, she could simply … be.

“You’ve gone quiet on me,” he observed. “Getting weary?”

“Not at all.” She smiled. “I’m enjoying myself so much.”

“Glad to hear it. Would you like to make a little stop on the way back? There’s an overlook I’d love to show you, one with a beautiful view of the bay.”

“Sounds marvelous. Are you sure Cookie won’t mind?”

“This is my usual fish market day, so she’s accustomed to me being away awhile. Stop fretting, Abby. She won’t scold you.” He gave her a little wink that set her heart to fluttering. Playfulness sparkled in his eyes as he added, “And if she tries, I’ll fire her. How about that?”

“I’m trying to picture the Gold Rush Inn without Cookie. Such a task is impossible.”

He laughed. “True. And I could never let her go. She’s been like a mother to me, ever since mine passed away.”

Abby’s heart went out to him in that moment. She’d never thought to ask him about his mother before. “I’m so sorry. When did you lose her?”

“Two and a half years ago, just before we left St. Louis. In fact, I’m convinced her death was what prompted Father to come west. He couldn’t abide the idea of living in the same house he had shared with her. His heart was too broken, I think.”

“That makes sense. Sometimes a building will carry memories so strong you can’t shake them.”

“You sound as if you understand.”

“I do. My memories of our home in Nottingham are precious to me. I miss that house so much. I’ve smiled and pretended to like Philadelphia too, but it’s not home to me. I’ve never adjusted, no matter how hard I’ve tried.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

The most magnificent view appeared in front of them as he turned the wagon to the right. Abby couldn’t help but gasp. “Oh, it’s wonderful, Sam. Breathtaking.”

“This is my favorite place in all of San Francisco.” His eyes took on a faraway look as he pulled the horses to a halt. “Sometimes I come here just to think.”

“I can see why.” Her gaze shifted back to the water—that glorious, magnificent water. “Now, this is a place I could become accustomed to.” Her thoughts shifted back to the conversation. “I’m not saying Philadelphia isn’t lovely. There are some scenic spots there too. But I just can’t seem to get used to it.” She allowed her thoughts to still as she took in the waters of the bay, twinkling under the midmorning sunlight. “But this? This might just be enough to win me over.”

“Then I will bring you here every day.”

His words caught her by surprise. She looked his way, heat creeping to her cheeks.

Just as quickly, her thoughts contorted. She thought of Mother, all the way up in Oregon Territory. How many beautiful sights had her mother seen … without her? Without Father? How many breathtaking overlooks? How many fish markets? How many railroad stations?

“Have I lost you again?”

She shivered, a little chill suddenly gripping her.

“It’s the breeze off of the bay.” He pulled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “This should help.”

“Thank you.” Thinking about Mama caused tears to cover her lashes. Sam handed her a handkerchief. “Please tell me those are tears of joy, not sadness.”

“Just missing Mama, I guess. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since she went away. Six months? Seven? I’ve truly lost count. I honestly don’t know how a mother can go away like that and leave her child behind. Do you?”

She turned to face him, but the somber look on his face reminded her at once of his own situation, his personal grief.

“Oh, Sam, please forgive me.” She clasped her hands to her chest as full realization set in. “I told you, I’m a spoiled, selfish girl. I’m rambling on about my mama, and you’ve lost yours. Terribly insensitive of me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. And you feel the loss of your mother keenly. I can see that every time you mention her.”

“Yes, but my situation in no way compares to yours. I can’t even picture what my life would be like if I lost Mother forever. My heart does go out to you. I just want you to know that.”

“Thank you. There are some losses you learn to bear, but there are others that leave a hole you realize will never be filled.”

“I can’t even imagine.” She rested her hand on his arm. “Still, my mother’s wanderlust hardly compares to a loss like yours.”

“Your mama’s absent from your life and you are hurting.” He gave Abby a compassionate look. “Anyone can see that.”

Abby’s eyes filled with tears, and she felt free to broach the conversation once again. “I just don’t understand her selfishness, Sam. I don’t. She puts her personal wants and wishes above, well, everything and everyone. Whenever she feels like flitting off on another adventure, there she goes, with not a care or a thought to how it will affect me.” A lone tear slipped down Abby’s cheek.

Sam slipped his arm over her shoulder and she leaned into him, feeling more secure.

“I suppose I’m grieving the mother that I wish I had,” she said. “Not the one I actually have. The type of mother who would agonize over parting with a child. A mother who would weep and wail at the very idea of such a lengthy separation. That’s the kind of mother every child deserves, not one who leaves without so much as a good-bye.”

“She didn’t even say good-bye?”

“Well, hardly a good-bye, anyway. Her bags were packed and in the foyer before I even knew she planned to leave. That was my first clue. Neville loaded them into the cab and off she went, headed for the train station.”

“But surely she writes.”

“To tell of her adventures, sure. And to ask Father to send money. And yes, there’s occasionally a little note for me, something meant to remind me that she’s still alive and well. But nothing of a personal nature. And certainly no emotional apologies for leaving or any letters stained with tears. Nothing along those lines. Maybe I’ve been a fool to keep expecting those sorts of notes from her.”

“Not foolish at all. And her behavior is certainly outside the norm. But God can change her heart. We need to pray that He does so—in His own time and His own way.”

“Yes.” Abby paused and decided to shift the conversation a bit. “I feel your mother was different from mine.” Her eyes sought out Sam’s. “Tell me about her. What was your mother like, Sam?”

Sam hated to respond, especially after hearing the painful description of her mother. But Abby looked as if she really wanted to know, so he told her.

“She was … remarkable. Very much the kind of mother you would expect. Doting. Loved to play silly games. We played hide-and-seek in the house when I was a boy.” He paused as the sting of tears took him by surprise. “Sometimes I still look for her. I wonder if maybe she’s just hiding behind the library door or in the pantry.”

“We do have that in common, as well.” Abby released a little sigh. “Many times I’ve thought I heard Mama’s voice, only to realize it was someone else. And I can’t tell you how many times I thought I recognized her in a crowd—usually from behind—a woman in a hat like hers or something like that.”

His heart quickened and he could barely speak above the lump that rose in his throat. “Same here.”

Abby’s expression shifted to chagrin. “There I go, changing the conversation back to myself again. See how selfish I am?” She sighed, and Sam found himself captivated by the curve of her face, the downward turn of her beautiful lips. Even when sad, Abby Effingham was exquisite.

“I’m looking forward to the day when we’re reunited in heaven.” Sam turned his attention to the vast waters below. “Everything will be remedied there. In the meantime, it brings a certain degree of comfort to realize she’s not suffering. There’s no more pain or sorrow for her.”

“A lovely thought.”

“Father has changed so much, though. I think the grief has turned him into someone folks back home wouldn’t even recognize anymore.”

“Maybe, but how wonderful, to have loved like that. My parents are cordial, at best. When Mama’s home, I mean.”

“Cordial is better than angry, I suppose.”

She shrugged. “Maybe, but when I marry, I want so much more than that, don’t you?”

“Of course. I want what my parents had.”

“I want a romance story, one filled with heart-thumping adventures, like in the books I read.”

“I see.”

“I want to be swept off my feet, romanced, wooed. Is that asking too much?”

“Depends. Do you mean in the beginning or for the duration of the marriage? It would be a tall order for any fella, to keep the adventure going.”

“Oh, forever. I don’t want the flame to go out.” She seemed to lose herself in her thoughts. “Don’t you see? I want to be reminded—daily, if you please—that I am loved. That the man who has won my heart would scale the highest mountain just to be with me. That no obstacle he might ever encounter would keep him from me.” She faced him. “That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“Not if you’re marrying Don Quixote.”

She giggled, and her cheeks flamed pink. “Silly. I would never marry a man who spends most of his days on a horse, traveling from place to place, especially not one who drifted from woman to woman. I want a settled man, a peaceful man.”

Ah. Now things were looking more hopeful.

“A man who enjoys spending time with a good book.”

Hmm. Perhaps not.

“A man who will sit in front of the fireplace at night while I darn his socks, a man who will share his heart with me—his ideas, his ideals, his goals, and ambitions. Don’t you see? I want someone who includes me.”

“That’s how a fella romances a woman, then?” Sam realized his arm was still draped over her shoulders. He took a chance and pulled her a bit closer. “By involving her in the ordinary day-to-day goings on?”

“Sure.”

“Might not be as complicated as I’d feared.” He didn’t mean to speak the words aloud, but there they were.

She didn’t seem to notice. “I’m not saying I would object to flowers on occasion or to jewelry, even. But give me a quiet walk by the creek, hand-holding, sweet nothings, quiet conversations about the future, visits to places such as this.” Abby grew silent as she focused on the water. “I’d be in heaven,” she said after a few moments. “Do you know what I mean?”

“I guess I do.” He realized she’d just provided him the perfect segue into a conversation about Marcus. “I suppose you’ve got your pick of any number of men here in San Francisco.”

Her nose wrinkled. “What San Francisco lacks in quality, it makes up for in quantity.”

“I’ll try not to take offense at that.” He pulled his arm away from her shoulders in playful fashion.

She slugged him on the shoulder and laughed. “Silly. I wasn’t talking about you, of course. You’re different from all the men I’ve met here.”

“I’m not big and tough like Chet and Adam. Is that what you mean? And I’m not handsome like Marcus Denueve.” He paused to gauge her reaction, but Abby never so much as glanced his way. “God made me a little …” He paused. “Less inclined to dress like a cowboy and more inclined to be an ordinary Joe.”

“Really?” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t have put it that way. I can imagine you in a cowboy hat and Levis.”

“You can?” He shook his head. “I tried the cowboy duds, when we first came here. Felt like a foreigner, as if I was trying too hard to fit in with the others. Finally decided that fitting in wasn’t what God wanted from me. He just wanted me to be myself.”

“I’m grateful you stood your ground, then.” She gave him an admiring look. “It’s one thing to change your clothing; another altogether to lose pieces of yourself to a place you barely know.”

He rested his hand on her arm. “I’m living proof that you can live in San Francisco without giving up who you truly are. It starts with spending time with the people you trust and not getting pulled into a web that could end in your demise.”

There. He’d said it. Hopefully she would take the hint.

“What are you saying?” Confusion registered in her eyes.

“Spending time with Marcus Denueve is dangerous business if you’re looking to stay the same.” Sam’s breath caught in his throat as he released the words to her ears. “That’s all.”

Abby pulled away from him. “What does my friendship with Marcus Denueve have to do with this conversation?”

“More than you know, Abby. And please don’t get angry. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“Not in San Francisco. People think that all the time, but in this place, we have to look out for each other, trust me.” He paused. “And you can trust me, Abby. That’s all I’m saying. I have your best interest at heart.”

She kept her gaze on the waters, but the next words were clearly meant for him. “Then let me make my own mistakes. If they are, indeed, mistakes, then I’ll fix them.”

“I’ve known many a fella to say that same thing over the past two years, only to reach the point of no return.”

“So, now I’m headed toward a rocky cliff?” She swung around and faced him, defiant. “Is that it?” She pointed to the ledge in front of them. “Afraid I’ll fall?”

“If you keep on with Marcus, perhaps.” Sam fought to find the right words. “You don’t know him like I do. He casts a spell over people. Some would call it manipulation. Others call it greed. Whatever name you choose to give it, it’s dangerous. He’s dangerous. And I care too much about you …” Sam’s voice cracked. “I care too much about you to let him pull you into some sort of web.”

As the words were spoken, the pounding in his heart went to double-time. For, while he’d kept those thoughts to himself, he could no longer deny the truth: his feelings for Abby Effingham were rising faster than the yeast in Cookie’s bread dough.

Abby could hardly believe the direction the conversation had turned. Why did Sam continue to see her as a child?

“I thought your lessons went well last night,” he managed after a few moments of silence.

“Is this an attempt to change the subject?”

He nodded. “Yes, and I hope it’s not too late.”

“In response to what you’ve said, yes, the first lesson went well. The men were more cooperative than I would have imagined.”

“Yes, I was pleasantly surprised.”

Her angst dissipated as she remembered how he had come to her rescue last night and participated in the class session. She gave him a tender glance. “Thanks for helping, by the way. You’re very …”

“Reliable?”

She nodded. “That’s a good word.”

“That’s me—good old reliable Sam.”

Strange, he sounded pained by his own words.

Off in the distance the church bell chimed three times. Sam startled to attention. “Time to get back to the restaurant. Cookie will be looking for us.”

“I suppose she will, though I don’t know if I can make it through another round of service today. I’m aching all over from carrying those heavy trays.”

“Maybe when your Don Quixote comes along you won’t have to work.” Sam roused the horses from their rest and nudged the wagon away from the overlook.

“What?” She could scarcely believe he’d said such a thing.

Sam clucked his tongue at the horses, never giving her a look. “I meant Prince Charming, not Don Quixote.”

There he went, treating her like a child once again. “You’re poking fun at me,” she said, her spine stiffening at the very idea.

“I’m not.”

She brushed her hands against her skirt. “Go on and ridicule. But one day Prince Charming will come along and my life really will be the thing fairy tales are made of.”

“Until then?” he asked, his gaze penetrating to her very soul.

“Until then …” She glanced away, her thoughts in a whirl. “I wait.”