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  Sawyer reached the door first and held it open for Fiona. “I enjoyed working with you.”

  “And I with you.” If only it wasn’t over. “I could come up with ideas for the other rooms, if you want.” “Maybe later.” Sawyer opened the door and extended his arm. “I’ll walk you to the boardinghouse.”

  She threaded her arm around his and drew near. The winds still cut through her cloak, and she was grateful for his warming presence.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what? I always walk you home.”

  Home. A pang of sadness wove through her heart. For years now, one boardinghouse after another had become her home. None echoed with the joy and laughter of family.

  “I hope to have one someday.”

  “One of what?” he asked.

  She didn’t realize she’d spoken her thought aloud. What did it hurt to say it to Sawyer? He was a friend. “A real home. A house.”

  “Instead of the bright lights of the theater?”

  “Those lights may be bright, but they don’t keep you company at night or encourage you when your spirits are low.”

  He didn’t reply for a while. “I suppose you’re right. I spent many a lonely night while on the march during the war. There were men all around, but I’d never been so alone.”

  “You understand.”

  He nodded, and her heart warmed. No one had ever understood before. They figured a mention in the newspaper was far better than an ordinary life. But she’d come to crave the ordinary.

  “We always want what we don’t have,” she murmured.

  “True.” He stopped at the base of the boardinghouse steps. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to reach for our dreams.”

  She caught her breath. Was he reconsidering what he wanted, or was he talking about the hotel? “Even when those dreams change?”

  “Especially when they change.” He stood close, holding her hands. “Sometimes it’s for the better.”

  “Yes.” She could barely get the word out.

  He was so near that she felt each word whisper against her cheek. His touch warmed her from fingers to toes. In that moment, all the wealthy gentlemen who had sought her attention vanished into the recesses of her memory. There was only Sawyer, and she was beginning to feel things for him that she’d never felt for any man.

  “Good night,” he whispered so close to her lips that it felt like a kiss.

  “Good night,” she whispered back, eyes closed, hoping against hope that he would kiss her. Every man who greeted her after one of her concerts tried to seize that opportunity.

  Sawyer did not.

  He stepped back, still holding her hands. “Until tomorrow?”

  She opened her eyes, disappointed. “Tomorrow?”

  “Rehearsal for our next concert.”

  She let out her breath. “Of course. Tomorrow.”

  Only then did he let go of her hands, and the chill made her shiver. Still, he turned back to look at her and shout out, “Tomorrow,” before hurrying along the boardwalk to his cabin.

  “Tomorrow.” Never had the word carried more promise.

  Chapter Twelve

  Never had Fiona so needed rehearsal. That morning, she learned Stockton had hired a buggy and left for Holland at dawn. No one knew if he would return. The similarity to Carson’s departure couldn’t be ignored. Though relieved for the moment, his departure made her situation more desperate. Rather than indulge in self-pity, she plunged into the day’s work.

  Still, she couldn’t avoid the speculation that raced around the boardinghouse. Some thought Mr. Stockton had gone to the larger town to make arrangements before declaring himself. Others believed he wasn’t the advertised groom at all, though those people couldn’t come up with another prospect. For Fiona, every mention of the man’s name sent a wave of dread over her. She, Amanda and Louise had come to Singapore hoping to marry a man none of them had met. The six ladies were going to Harmony to marry men they’d never met. Fiona had even more cause to marry. Then why now wish for love from a man, Sawyer, who refused to give it?

  The rest of the morning, she kept to the kitchen to avoid Clara and Dinah, who were in foul moods and stomped about the boardinghouse like petulant adolescents. After the midday meal, Mrs. Calloway chased her out of the kitchen, saying she had done quite enough. Since the young ladies were ensconced in the parlor receiving instructions from Mr. and Mrs. Adamson, Fiona went to the writing room to work out several sketches of the hotel lobby.

  About the time she finished, Dinah dragged herself into the room with Linore on her heels. The two plopped into chairs drawn close together to facilitate conversation, but Dinah’s long face indicated any talk would be of the melancholy sort.

  Fiona reviewed her designs for the lobby. One sketch was as elegant as Sawyer had described, but that would be beyond his means, so she did two other sketches in more affordable styles.

  “What will I do?” Dinah wailed from across the writing room.

  “Forget him,” Linore counseled. “He’s not worth the trouble.”

  “But I don’t want to go,” Dinah whispered loudly, likely so neither of the Adamsons would overhear. “I can’t go there.”

  Linore shrugged. “Then go back home.”

  “I can’t.” This time Dinah’s cry was accompanied by tears.

  Fiona would have ignored the histrionics if she hadn’t suffered through similar anguish when she’d endured her first crushing defeat in the singing world.

  “I know it’s not polite to listen to other people’s conversations,” she began, “but you need to have faith that everything will work out for the best. If you don’t want to go to Harmony, then tell Mr. or Mrs. Adamson that.”

  Dinah’s eyes rounded. Then she looked side to side to ensure no one had heard Fiona. “I don’t got no other choice.”

  “There’s always a choice when marriage is involved.” Fiona ignored the fact that she had placed herself in virtually the same position as Dinah. “Marriage is final. The time to turn back or change your mind is now.”

  “But what would I do?” Dinah’s lip quivered.

  That was the question. If only Fiona had the boarding school of her dreams. Then she would truly be able to help the girl. Now, she could only give advice. “Seriously consider who can help you, and then reach out to them.”

  The poor girl looked petrified. “Mr. Joyce—he’s my new pa—would tan my hide if I showed up back there.”

  “Would Mrs. Joyce?”

  Dinah shook her head. “But she can’t do nothin’ when Mr. Joyce is in one of his rages.”

  “Would he truly throw you out?” Fiona’s family would take her in at any time. She was the one who couldn’t bear to return to the tenements.

  Dinah hung her head. “No, but it ain’t no kind of life.” She nibbled her lip. “I was hopin’ for more. A real house with a fence and a pretty porch.”

  Fiona felt the tug in her own heart. “Keep praying for it. Get down on your knees and ask God to show you the way.”

  Dinah stared. “God will give me a husband?”

  “If you trust Him, He’ll lead you to the right man.”

  Listen to her, giving advice she didn’t follow herself. Fiona scooped up her drawings and shoved them in the sketchbook.

  “Where are you going?” Dinah asked with surprise.

  “To my room.”

  It was time she got on her knees.

  * * *

  Sawyer fingered Fiona’s letter and tucked it in his waistcoat pocket rather than leave it in his trunk. Maybe it was time to tell her that he was the one who’d placed the advertisement. She hadn’t backed away when he drew close last night. Oh, he’d been tempted to kiss her. The desire nearly overwhelmed him. That flowery scent she w
ore, the sweep of her coppery hair, the long eyelashes. It was almost more than he could bear. Then he recalled her bitterness at men who thought she would agree to anything they wanted in order to further her singing.

  He wanted to punch the louts who’d done that to her.

  Chances were he’d never meet any of them. Fortunate for them. Sawyer couldn’t stand the idea of any other man near Fiona. She was too good for the sort who came through Singapore. She deserved the best, better than he could give her. Stockton? Sawyer couldn’t imagine Fiona with the man. He was a cold businessman, a lot like Sawyer’s father. His money could give her the big house she longed for, but she’d soon learn that some things were more important than comfort and fine furnishings.

  Sawyer’s thoughts flitted to his mother, alone now in the large house with a man who gave her none of himself. He couldn’t imagine Fiona settling for that sort of life, but he had nothing to offer her in return except debt and a family divided.

  Sawyer took a deep breath and finished knotting his tie. He couldn’t offer marriage, not yet, but he had to warn her about men like Stockton. He slipped on his Sunday jacket. Fiona seemed drawn to well-dressed men. If he hoped to convince her, he had to put his best forward. If only she could wait... She would be good for the hotel. Together they would create a warm, welcoming place known up and down the lake. Her elegance and beauty would be the perfect counterpoint to his practicality and business sense. Folks from Chicago might visit on hot summer days to spend time at the lakeshore. The possibilities were endless.

  Except she felt that she had to marry now. For her niece. What could he offer her? Employment? A promise of the future? He wasn’t sure, but he had to try.

  Sawyer took one last look in the mirror. Freshly shaved, hair trimmed and dressed in his Sunday best. Tonight, Fiona wouldn’t see a lumberjack when she looked at him. She’d see a gentleman who would soon own and operate a hotel. Perhaps that would be enough.

  Nervous, he whistled as he strode down the boardwalk and climbed the boardinghouse steps. At his knock, Mrs. Calloway ushered him in with an appreciative sigh.

  “Don’t you look fine tonight, Mr. Sawyer.”

  “Is Fiona ready?”

  Mrs. Calloway chuckled. “Have you ever known a woman to be ready on time? She’ll be down right soon, I imagine.”

  “Now, Mrs. Calloway,” Fiona purred as she swept into the front hallway. “I’m only late when—” She gasped softly and then gulped. “Is there a concert tonight?”

  Sawyer fought the smile that threatened to drag up the corners of his lips. “Just rehearsal. We can have the hotel dining room, since it’s past the supper hour.”

  She breathed out what looked like a sigh of relief, since they usually rehearsed in the boardinghouse lobby or the ice-cold church building. “Well, then, I will need my cloak.”

  Sawyer assisted her into the fur-trimmed cloak and waited for her to pin on a hat and pull on gloves. Then at last they were off and away from prying ears. Mrs. Calloway would never admit it, but gossip spread quickly from the boardinghouse to the rest of town.

  “This is a luxury, practicing at the hotel,” she murmured. “If I’d known, I would have brought my sketchbook.”

  “Oh?”

  “I put together some ideas for the hotel lobby.”

  “Wonderful.” He drew closer as they strolled together along the boardwalk. “You can show me another evening. Perhaps tomorrow?”

  She laughed. “Sawyer Evans, are you trying to monopolize all my evenings?”

  “Is it working?”

  “I’m afraid it is.”

  “I do have a selfish reason, though,” he added.

  “The hotel.”

  “No.” He squeezed her hand. “The company.”

  She didn’t pull away or give him a scathing look. Though her hand trembled on his arm, she kept it there. “In that case, I can’t possibly object.”

  Each step felt as light as air. She didn’t object to spending time with him. At one time he’d never thought to hear words like that from her. She’d always been careful to tell him their relationship was professional only.

  He helped her up the steps and opened the front door for her. Once they’d both entered the lobby, he took her cloak and gloves to the coatroom. After he removed his coat, he patted his waistcoat pocket. Yes, the letter was still there. Perhaps this was the time.

  He glanced out at the lobby. Fiona was examining the wall fixtures and decor. Mr. VanderLeuven stood at the hotel registration desk. Since the paperwork hadn’t been finalized, the VanderLeuvens still ran the hotel. Sawyer planned to ask them to stay on as employees for a week or so after the sale closed.

  Now would not be a good time to tell Fiona the truth. Later. After rehearsal.

  He reentered the lobby and extended his arm. “Are you ready?”

  “Of course.” She took his arm the way she always did during a concert, as if they were partners in life as well as on the stage.

  Sawyer was beginning to think that would suit him just fine.

  Tonight the dining room was empty. The oil lamps burned low. The VanderLeuvens wouldn’t want to waste oil without customers. It didn’t make any difference to Sawyer. He’d never used music. Couldn’t read the notation. Since he was young, he could pick up an instrument, practice on it for a week or so and play it. His mother had put him in lessons, but, impatient at being kept indoors, he refused to follow the instructor’s directions or play a single song for the man. The instructor quit, and Mother never tried that again.

  “Which songs should we do?” he asked.

  It was always better to let Fiona pick them since only she knew what her voice could and couldn’t handle.

  She named several tunes, and they ran through them with few adjustments.

  “I believe we are ready,” she stated after the last one.

  Now was the time. They were alone, and she was in a good mood. His heart beat wildly. What if she thought he was interfering? What if he’d completely misread her, and she wasn’t growing interested in him?

  He stood. Too quickly, for he knocked into her music stand and sent her sheet music flying. She jumped back and lost her balance. He caught and held her. Close. Too close. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes wide. In the past she might have chided him, but tonight she looked deep into his eyes. He could hardly breathe, couldn’t think of a single word. Her lips softened, and before she could say anything, he kissed her.

  Briefly.

  Then he stepped back, shocked. What had he done? He’d acted like a cad, taking what she hadn’t offered.

  “Forgive me,” he choked out. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “You didn’t mean to kiss me?”

  “No. Yes.” What was he supposed to say? That he fought the urge every time opportunity presented itself? “I, uh, don’t want you to think I’m a callous lout. I should have waited.”

  Her brow pinched just above her nose. “Until when?”

  Sawyer was digging a deep hole. “A gentleman is supposed to declare his intentions and get confirmation from the lady before, well, before he does anything.” Yet he hadn’t followed that progression in the past, except with Julia, who preferred to keep her distance.

  Fiona looked like she was trying to stifle a smile but with little success. “Are you a gentleman, Sawyer Evans?”

  “I, uh, well...” No answer got him out of trouble. If he said that he was, then he had no explanation for his behavior. If not, then he didn’t belong in the lady’s company. “I hoped to act like a gentleman. Forgive me for falling short.”

  She gave up any attempt to hide her amusement. “Don’t look so disheartened. I appreciate the effort.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded.

  Sawyer felt a rus
h of something relatively foreign to his experience. Delight. Yes, that was it. Her approval delighted him.

  One of her eyebrows arched. “Of course I must consider my niece’s well-being first. She is my responsibility.”

  That was the big obstacle that stood between them. “That’s why you came to Singapore, to marry Garrett Decker.”

  “I had hoped to do so.”

  “And now that you expect your niece to arrive any day...” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

  She knew. “Mary Clare needs a home—and a father.”

  A father. Not just a provider but a father who loved and cared for the little girl. What was Sawyer thinking? He had no idea how to be a good father. He’d only experienced the type of father no man should be.

  He cleared his throat. “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  She looked so hopeful that it broke his heart to not give her what she wanted. He was growing to like her a great deal, but he couldn’t take the step that she demanded. He scoured the other possibilities that had crossed his mind of late.

  “I could hire you—once the purchase is complete.” He would delay renovating the west wing in order to pay her. Would she be willing to cook? At her frown, he choked back asking.

  “Hire me?” The words came out in a screech.

  Now he had truly offended her. “It would help you provide for your niece.” Even to his ears that sounded weak.

  She stiffened. “I can provide, Sawyer Evans. I’m looking for a man courageous enough to be a husband and father.”

  By that measure, he was failing miserably. But the thought of her settling for someone like Stockton, just because he was wealthy, made him ill.

  “Don’t trade love for a big house.”

  Her eyes pierced through him. “Are you offering me love, Sawyer Evans?”

  Was he? He wanted to spend time with her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to spend each day exploring the mystery that was her life. But marry and raise a child? “I would like to get to know you better.”

  “We have talked and sung concerts for eight months. How much more do you need to know?”