From his place at the back of the transept, Jess scanned the crowd for friends. Something in the far back corner drew his attention—the hotel’s new waitress clung to one of the tall columns as if to a lifeline. Hemmed in on all sides, she radiated a palpable isolation. He had never seen anyone more alone.
The cold had left a hectic color in her cheeks, but her lips, which had been rosy when she’d waited on him at the hotel, were so pale as to be almost invisible. Her eyes wrenched at his heart. They were the eyes of a soul without hope.
What in heaven’s name had stricken all life from that vibrant young woman?
As the Christmas litany progressed, Jess eased his way through the crowd toward her. She never glanced his way. Never dropped her gaze at all, but stared fixedly at the altar, as if that kept her upright. Close to, he could see the tears swimming in her eyes.
And the effort she exerted to keep them at bay.
From the pulpit, the preacher announced, “Please kneel and pray.”
The people around Corrie shifted and knelt, leaving her the sole person standing except Jess. Her fists clenched as those around her tried to help her kneel.
In the silence, a soft mewling sound escaped her lips, and he increased the speed of his approach. Another minute and she would be crying. A proud woman like Corrine Webb shouldn’t have to suffer the pity of strangers. He didn’t know the cause of her agony, but agony it obviously was. Only seconds passed before he reached her side. Those pale, full lips trembled as he turned her into his embrace. Her gaze drifted past him, then locked with his, and a tear coursed down her cheek. A frightened, lost, wild animal stared out at him from her eyes.
“It will be all right,” Jess whispered, wiping the tear away. “Just hold on to me and it will be all right.”
She clutched at his coat, her fingers blanching with the intensity of her grip, and nodded. He pushed through the crowd to the door. The parishioners, apparently believing the woman to be suffering the vapors, parted before him, asking if he needed assistance.
Reassuring them that he had everything under control, he swept her out into the cold night air and around the corner, away from prying eyes. There, in the dim light through the stained-glass windows, he made her face him.
Tears streamed down her face and she trembled like a leaf in his loose embrace. A low moan issued from her lips. He’d heard that forlorn sound, years ago, and had hoped never to hear it again.
The moan became a question. “Why? Why did she leave me?”
He gathered her against his chest and rubbed her back. Dear Lord, who had done this to her? “Who left you, Corrie?”
She shook her head and burrowed her face into his lapel, repeating her anguished cry. “Why?”
Tremors shook her, shook him. Her legs seemed to collapse, and he caught her behind her shoulders and knees and lifted her high against his chest. Still wracked by sobs, she linked her hands behind his neck.
Where was he to take her? Certainly not back to his house. Her reputation would never stand against that. So where? He ticked off a short list of female friends—every one of them back there in the church.
A blast of snow-laden wind slapped him in the face. He had to find shelter for her now, not wait for the service to finish. Only one place was both public yet private enough: the police station.
Taking a shortcut across the park, he reached the station in minutes. He set her down against the door. “You keep holding on to my neck now, sweeting. Don’t go falling down,” he said against her icy cheek.
She didn’t answer him. Didn’t seem to hear him. But she kept her hands locked behind his neck as he fumbled to insert his key into the lock. Snow pelted him, melting in freezing rivulets down his collar, and he hoped his body was protecting her from the worst of it.
Finally, the door opened, and he carried her into his office where he settled her into his chair. She had stopped crying, but now her lips were blue and she shivered uncontrollably.
He was cold. She was near frostbitten.
The embers of his office fire flamed to life with little effort. The Franklin stove warmed in no time, and Jess drew her chair close to it. Chafing her hands, he kept up a steady one-sided conversation.
“Your hands are like ice. Here, let me warm them. Everything’s going to be all right, Corrie. Whatever were you thinking of back there to work yourself into such a state? Well, never mind that, you just worry about warming up. Yes, just warm up, sweeting. That’s it, just warm up. Everything will be all right. Are you feeling your hands yet? Your fingers look pinker. Just warm up these hands, my sweet girl.” He forced her fists open and held her palms up to the stove. They were capable hands with short-clipped nails and an earthy strength.
A shudder threatened to throw her from the chair, so he eased her to the floor. He removed her coat and wrapped his arms around her to share his warmth as best he could. Just so had he held his younger sisters when they had stayed too long on the skating pond.
But never had his sisters stared ahead as if seeing the depths of hell.
The town clock had struck one sometime past before her shivers ceased. Carefully, he shifted her so she leaned only slightly against his chest. He had thought her a little bit of a thing, but her form was firmer than he had expected. But soft nonetheless. A tremulous sigh signaled her return from wherever her mind had gone. Then he felt her straighten within his hold.
She croaked, “Where am I?”
“The police station. My office.” Loosening his hold, he leaned back to study her expression.
Her gaze flew to meet his. “Am I under arrest?”
“No.” Now why would she think he would arrest her?
“You’re the police chief.” Her tone accused him of unknown crimes.
“Guilty as charged,” he answered with a chuckle. His mirth faded as he noted the wild animal remained within her eyes. “My turn to ask questions.”
“I don’t have to answer anything if I don’t want to.”
Ah, the spunk he seen at the hotel was returning. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Who did this to you? Who left you?”
Her pupils dilated and her breath caught. He had hit his target dead-on.
As if aware that her eyes revealed too much, she dropped her gaze to the fire. “I don’t know what you mean.”
With one hand, he lifted her chin so she had to meet his gaze. “You were crying as if your heart were breaking and asking, ‘Why did she leave me?’ Who hurt you so much? Who left you, Corrie?”
She wrested her chin from his hold and rolled out of his embrace and onto her knees. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
“You’re no bother, but you didn’t answer my question. Who left you?”
A sigh from the bottom of her soul left her lips. “Doesn’t someone always leave?” She covered her face with her hands for a moment, then gave herself a shake. On unsteady legs, she stood, then offered her hand. “Thanks a lot, Chief. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“Corrie—”
“No . . . don’t . . . just don’t.” She located her coat and buttoned it with fingers that shook. “I have to get back to the hotel.”
“I’ll escort you.” Jess didn’t want her to leave while she was still upset, but he feared for her self-control if he forced her to stay. The only thing to do, therefore, was to see her safely home.
“You don’t have to do that.” She peered out the window. “Just point me in the direction of the train station.”
“The last train pulled out ten minutes ago.” He had her there—she’d have to accept his help now.
Her cheeks paled and she swallowed. “I’m in big trouble. Or I will be when the Major hears about this.”
“Not if we get you back soon.” A plan coalesced in his brain. Hooking up his surrey would take too long. They’d have to ride double on his big bay gelding, King.
“But it’s two miles up the mountain,” she said, an echo of her earlier wail returning.
“Come with me,” he said and guided her out the back to the stables. Saddling King took but a minute, and before Corrie had time to come up with any objections, he pulled her up behind him and set out for the Chesterfield.
A train whistle mourned down the valley as they started up the heavily treed path. Corrie lifted her head which she’d kept bent until then. With her behind him, he couldn’t read her expression.
He thought it best to assume she needed reassurance. “The train is just now arriving at the hotel station. We’re only minutes behind it.” He nudged King to a faster gait.
The truth of his statement became evident some minutes later when they approached the hotel station. Several people stood around in small groups. Laughter carried to where he had pulled to a halt in the trees.
“You had best walk from here. No one will guess you didn’t come up on the train if you head straight to your quarters.” He felt her nod and, reaching behind him, Jess helped her slide down.
As he started to dismount, she stopped him. “No, stay there.” She paused at the edge of the trees and turned around. “Thank you, Chief Garrett. You can leave now.” Then she stepped into the clearing and hurried toward the servants’ wing.
He stared after her until he saw her open the door and slip inside. King nickered as a penetrating blast of snow and wind whipped around them.
“You’re right, old boy. Time to go home.” They headed back down the mountain, but Jess couldn’t resist one final look back.
Somewhere, sometime, someone had left Corrine Webb and inflicted a devastating wound to her heart.
Absently, he rubbed the region over his heart. What sort of devil would leave a sweet child—a precious woman—like her?
Corrie raced up the stairs to her room and slammed the door behind her. Heart pounding, she closed her mind to thoughts of what had happened at the church. With Jess Garrett.
I won’t think about it. I won’t.
Her fingers trembled as she turned up the gas jet for more light and shoveled coal into the small stove where embers still glowed. Kneeling, she raised her hands to the warmth. She told herself they only shook from the cold and leaned closer.
But even when the heat made her shed her coat, Corrie continued to shake. She clenched her hands. It did no good. The cold was inside—deep in her soul. A sob tore through her, and she pressed a fist against her mouth to keep it from escaping. If she gave in to the pain, if she let the memories rise, she would be lost in them forever. No Jess would come to her rescue here.
Hot tears dropped onto her hand. No, she shouted in her mind. No, I won’t give in.
At that, she strode to the washbasin and splashed her face with the icy water. As she dried her face, she looked at her reflection in the stand’s mirror. Eyes, red-rimmed and forlorn, looked back at her.
I look like hell, she thought, then chuckled. Vanity—vanity was good. It took her mind off . . .
Enough, Webb.
She scrubbed her face with the towel and turned away from the mirror, forcing a breath deep into her lungs and exhaling a bit of the tension that vibrated through her.
“Okay, pity party’s over,” she said to the empty room. Thank goodness Bridget was staying overnight in town with friends. Corrie couldn’t have survived a sympathetic ear.
She gave herself a deliberate shake. Now to regain complete control. “Head up, back straight, breathe.” She went through the motions and the shaking eased. She repeated them and it completely—almost completely—went away.
Once again, she checked herself in the mirror. “Well, you won’t win any beauty contests, Webb, but you won’t scare any children either.”
Grabbing the pitcher, she visited the bathroom and returned without having to explain her reddened eyes and nose to anyone. After a quick sponge bath, she added coal to the stove, turned down the light, and climbed into bed.
Long years of practice clicked in to blank her mind of the memories. Whatever triggered her earlier anguish had been in the church. Nothing else, nothing more. The sense of isolation all the families had provoked in her had nothing to do with it. Nor did the fact that tomorrow was Christmas.
The loneliest day of the year.
Well, Christmas would be over after tomorrow, and she wouldn’t have to attend church since she’d gone tonight. If she didn’t return to that church, she would be safe. Safe from embarrassing herself.
Safe from remembering.
Resolutely, she pulled up the covers and curled onto her side. As she drifted off to sleep, Corrie could almost hear a deep voice calling her sweeting and assuring her that everything would be all right. She could almost feel his strong, warm arms around her, cradling her to his chest, keeping her safe. She sighed as a sense of peace settled over her.
Everything would be all right. She’d be safe.
With Jess Garrett.
“Humbug.” Corrie slapped another order into the waiting hand of the kitchen boy.
“What’s wrong, Miss Webb? Ain’t got no Christmas spirit?” the boy asked, then ducked away with a laugh as she flipped the end of her apron at him.
“Oh, I have Christmas spirit, all right.” She tapped a level hand under her chin. “Clear up to here, I have Christmas spirit.” She wiped her face with a napkin she’d stashed in her pocket and tucked her hair more firmly into its chignon. “I’ve had the blasted Christmas spirit since early this morning.”
Not only had she handled the breakfast and lunch crowd, but she’d been assigned the dinner shift as well, to allow others to set up the ballroom. Her feet hurt, her back hurt, and that damned corset was wearing a blister in a sensitive spot.
But at least Major Payne had done nothing more than harrumph at her during morning muster. “For small favors be thankful,” she muttered.
“Beg pardon, miss?” the boy asked.
“Nothing,” she answered and tried to smile. “Just passing the time.”
“Passing the time, is it?” Bridget asked from behind her.
Corrie whirled and was instantly enveloped in a lavender-scented embrace. The pleasure of it surprised her. She didn’t like being touched. So why did she return the hug just as warmly as it was given?
“Happy Christmas to you, Corrie.” Bridget released her.
Automatically, Corrie returned, “Merry Christmas to you.” Then was startled to realize she meant it. She didn’t even protest when the woman fussed with Corrie’s hair and straightened her apron.
What in the world is happening to me? Has time travel scrambled my brain?
Her order came up, and Corrie lifted the heavy tray. “Back to work,” she said with a rueful smile.
Bridget helped her by placing a fresh pot of coffee on the tray and balancing out the load. As Corrie prepared to return to the dining room, Bridget said in an excited voice, “I’ll be serving at the ball tonight. Ye simply must take a peek. It’s ever so lovely.” Her lashes fluttered as she sighed. “Magical.”
Corrie gave a sigh of her own, but hers held none of Bridget’s girlish wonder. “I’m tired, Bidgie.”
“To be sure, you’re tired. But ’tis a ball, after all.” A bell rang in the distance and Bridget turned to go. Over her shoulder, she called, “Seek me out after yer shift. There’s a place I know where we can see everything.” With that, she hurried out.
Through the doorway, Corrie saw the Major glaring at her. Quickly, she returned to her serving duties.
The dinner rush was shorter than usual because guests were eager to join the festivities in the ballroom, and Sparrow told her to take off early. Corrie didn’t have to be told twice. She whipped off her apron and climbed the stairs to her room. By this time, her hair was all but falling down, so she pulled out the pins, then collapsed on her bed fully clothed.
Faint music drifted up from the ballroom and she dragged her pillow over her head. Shortly, one foot started keeping time with the beat. Corrie glared at it from under the pillow, but no sooner had she stopped one foot from tapping the air than the other one started.
She rolled into a ball—as well as she could, given she still wore her corset—and blocked her ears.
However, this wasn’t conducive to sleep, and she soon sat up.
“I give up. I give up.” She ran a brush through her hair and gave her skirt a twitch to smooth it. “This is all an evil plot to make me meet Bridget downstairs.”
The young Irishwoman would be disappointed if she didn’t show up, and Corrie had begun to value her friendship. So what if my feet fall off?
Five minutes—ten at the outside—with Bridget would make her happy. Certainly Corrie could spare ten minutes for a friend.
A little uncomfortable and yet a little pleased at the warm reality of having a friend, Corrie made her way to the staff dining room. According to one of the bellhops, Bridget had just carried a tray of champagne glasses into the ballroom but would return as soon as she’d gotten rid of them. Corrie took a seat, propped her feet up in another chair, and closed her eyes.
“Here, can’t have you starve.”
Savory scents passed under her nose. Corrie opened her eyes. A bellhop held a plate loaded to the brim with all sorts of food.
“For you,” he said. “Looks like you could use this.”
Corrie sat up and lowered her feet to the floor. “Uh . . . thanks.” A little flustered, she cleared her throat before she said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”
“Rupert Smith, at your service.” He clicked his heels and bowed, then let out a laugh that had her smiling with him as he filled another plate and joined her. “Eat up. The Major ordered Chef Sashenka to make extra of all the good stuff on the menu for us.”
“Really? Major Payne did that?” Corrie added that tidbit of information to her observation of his kindness to Bridget—even his tolerance of her own deficiencies this morning—and concluded he wasn’t all bad.
Just saddled with a Napoleon complex.
“He’s not that terrible if you follow his rules,” Rupert said around a mouthful of veal cordon bleu. “My ma kept a tighter rein on my brothers and sisters than he does on the staff. I’m used to it.”
While Corrie tucked into her own plate, he maintained a cheerful monologue about his large, obviously poor, family in Philadelphia and his plans to make his mark in the world.
“I keep my eyes and ears open around here. Never know when one of the swells will give me a stock tip.” He polished his nails on his coat, then studied them in a worldly manner. “Own a bit of stock already, I do.”
“You’ll be living on that stock if you don’t shake a leg,” Bridget said as she snagged a potato from his plate. “Major Payne was asking after you, boyo. I told him you’d been called upstairs.”
“Gee, thanks for covering for me, Bidgie.” Rupert wished them a happy Christmas and exited the room at a rapid clip.
Corrie finished her dinner and found herself with more energy than she would have imagined an hour earlier.
“Ready to spy on the ball?” Bridget asked as she wiped her fingers. “ ’Tis truly splendid this year. The best yet.”
Corrie rose. She needed some fun, some distraction. “You’re the boss, Bidgie my girl.”
After following Bridget up into the rafters of the theater that abutted the ballroom, Corrie was ready to demote her. In jeans and hiking boots, the scramble across the second-story rigging would have been a challenge. In a long skirt, it bordered on suicidal.
“We’re here,” Bridget whispered and pulled Corrie up next to her at a window that opened into the ballroom.
What breath the climb left her whooshed out of Corrie’s chest. A Currier and Ives print had come to life.
The Christmas tree shimmered with silvery tinsel and hundreds of candles and lamps. The ladies shimmered as well, in diaphanous evening gowns and jewels. Their trains swept in sumptuous arcs as the gentlemen, clad in somber tuxedos with crisp white shirts, twirled them around and around the room in time to a waltz played by the hotel orchestra. Corrie’s eyes ached with the beauty of it.
The only thing that could have made it better would have been if she was one of that glittering company. A corset would be a minor discomfort if she could wear one of those beribboned and ruffled gowns and flirt with one of the delicate fans most of the women carried. Maybe one of the men, young and dark with eyes the blue of a Texas summer, would ask her to dance.
“Oh, Bridget, thank you. Thank you for bringing me up here.”
“I knew you’d like it,” Bridget replied. “I must be getting back. Miss Sparrow will be missing me. But stay as long as you like.”
Corrie, mesmerized by the circling couples, nodded and leaned a little more against the window. It was Cinderella come to life.
Except I’ve never lived in a fairytale.
She sighed and tried to recapture the awe, but reality had slapped her in the face again. However, she had exerted so much effort to reach this window, she might as well stay awhile longer.
There was no harm in imagining she was that pretty blonde dancing with Police Chief Garrett. She could almost feel his strong hand at her waist as he guided her through the steps of the dance, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered compliments, and his eyes warming as he flirted with her.
The dance came to an end and the blonde sank into a deep curtsy, her nose seeming to touch her knee. Corrie watched in envy as the woman held the position for two beats, then raised her head and smiled coquettishly before rising like a swan.
So much for imagining I’m that blonde. There’s no way I could ever do that. I’d land flat on my face. Or get stuck in that position.
Oh well, back to the real world, she thought and released a resigned sigh.
As if he’d heard it, Jess Garrett looked directly at her and raised a finger to his brow in salute.
Corrie scooted back. She was in for it now. The Major would can her for sure. Her knees felt like Jell-O as she inched her way to the theater floor. When she gained the main level, she retraced her steps to the staff hallway, intending to go straight to her room.
A familiar waltz sounded from the ballroom to change her mind. Just one more peek, one more glimpse of the fairytale wouldn’t hurt. She slipped down the hallway and across the lobby, then onto the veranda. Despite the cold, she continued around to the terrace and the ballroom windows. Up close, the scene was even more beautiful.
Where’s a fairy godmother when you need one?
Corrie backed away, the cold overriding the dream. She gasped as a hard form blocked her retreat. Spinning, she came nose to shirtfront with a tux.
“Good evening, Corrie,” the deep, well-remembered voice said.
His scent filled her nostrils and clouded her mind. All she could manage was to look up at his face and into those intense blue eyes.
“Ever been to a ball?” he asked, as if he met a waitress spying on a dance every day of his life.
“N-no.”
“Ever danced?” He ran his hand down her arm and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“Not like this.” A thrill of heat zinged along her veins. Her corset would burst if her heart pounded any harder. Was he asking her to dance?
“Then let me show you.” He gave her no time to protest—not that she would have—before swinging her into the triplet rhythm of the waltz. When she tried to watch her feet, he drew her closer and spun them around and around so all she saw was a blur of light and shadow.
One-two-three, one-two-three. The rhythm and the music became one with the beat of her heart. The only way she could keep from being dizzy was to focus on his face, so close to hers, and his eyes, blue as a summer sky.
Her feet barely touched the ground. She swayed in concert with Jess with a grace she never knew she possessed. She was lithe and elegant and as far removed from Chef Corrine Webb as she could be.
Just so must Cinderella have felt when her prince danced with her. Bridget had been right—the ball was definitely magical.
As long as the orchestra played, they danced. When the orchestra paused, Jess whistled a waltz under his breath. They circled and dipped and whirled, first on the terrace and then into the shadows of the front veranda, away from any prying eyes in the ballroom.
Corrie had never been to a prom. Never been asked to a dance. Now she was Cinderella and a fairytale prince swirled her in sweeping circles. Their silence—except for Jess’s whistling—was part of the enchantment.
But even Cinderella had to leave the ball.
Several couples sought to cool themselves on the terrace only a few yards from Jess and Corrie. She stumbled to a halt, suddenly afraid of the consequences of what she had done.
A prohibition against consorting with the guests hadn’t been specifically mentioned by either Sparrow or Major Payne, but Corrie figured the rule existed. The punishment could be anything, including termination.
Fear of being left without a means of support, without a roof over her head, chilled her more thoroughly than any wind could. “Let me go, Jess,” she whispered, her throat tight. “Please, let me go.”
“Corrie—”
His hold on her relaxed a little, and she didn’t wait. Twisting out of his embrace, she turned and ran away from the chattering guests. She reached the far door and glanced back. Jess stood, his arm raised as if to call her back. His eyes were shadowy, unreadable.
A tipsy voice called to him from around the corner. Jess hesitated, then lowered his arm slowly and backed away to join his friends.
The fairytale had ended.