“Oh, Fred. Is she okay?” Elsa asked as she rushed into the kitchen and hurried over to where Trace stood inside the door.
“I don’t know. Trace said she fainted after receiving a telegram,” Fred said, glancing at his wife. “If you wouldn’t mind carrying her upstairs, I could run over to get Doc.”
Trace didn’t think the woman needed a doctor’s care. Something in that telegram had snuck up on her by surprise and left her off-kilter, though. He had no problem carrying her upstairs where he knew there was an apartment, but he wasn’t quite ready to relinquish his hold on the lovely woman. Instead, he plopped down on a chair with Victoria on his lap and motioned to her hat.
“Maybe we should make her more comfortable and see if that helps,” Trace said, glancing at Elsa.
The woman nodded, wiping her hands on the apron she wore before she carefully removed a hatpin followed by Victoria’s hat. She loosened the buttons on her coat and stepped back.
Trace glanced down at Victoria. Her cheeks were slightly pale, but not alarmingly so. Her long, dark eyelashes rested like fans on her smooth skin. Her lips, the color of ripe peaches, made him question if they’d taste just as sweet. And her fragrance enveloped him again, making him think any number of thoughts he knew he shouldn’t.
Yet, he couldn’t quite work up enough guilt to carry her upstairs or set her in a chair.
“Miss Carter?” he said in a quiet voice, gently tapping one cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Miss Carter? Can you hear me?”
When she didn’t stir at all, he tapped her cheek again. “Miss Carter?”
Her lashes fluttered and she drew in a long breath before she opened her eyes, staring at him as though she’d awakened from a dream. One with him as her hero from the intent way her gaze locked with his.
Realization set in and she stiffened, acting as though she planned to leap to her feet and run off.
Trace kept a hand tucked around her shoulders and the other at her waist, preventing her from escaping until her head cleared. When she pushed against his arm, he let her go and she rose to her feet, but not before he managed to steal the wadded-up telegram from her. Without giving a hint of what he’d done, he dropped it into his coat pocket then stood.
He motioned to his vacated chair. “I think you should sit down, Miss Carter. Something upset you enough that you fainted.”
“Yes, Victoria. Please sit down,” Elsa said, holding Victoria’s arm in her hand, trying to direct her to a chair.
Victoria appeared hesitant, but she slowly sank onto the chair and looked around. “I fainted?”
“Yes, out front. I saw you through the window and Fred hurried out, but Mr. Travers was there. He kept you from falling to the ground,” Elsa explained while making a cup of tea then setting it in front of Victoria. “Drink that. It will make you feel better.”
“I highly doubt it,” Victoria muttered then took a sip of the steaming liquid.
If Trace hadn’t been standing so close, he would have missed the comment. As it was, Victoria looked so upset and unsettled, he was dying to know what the telegram said.
“Would you like me to fetch the doc or Gray?” Fred asked, sidling toward the back door.
“No. That won’t be necessary, but thank you for the kind offer,” Victoria said, quickly drinking the tea then rising to her feet, as though she was eager to be on her way, to be alone. “My apologies for being such a bother.”
“You aren’t a bother at all, Victoria,” Elsa said, giving her a gentle hug, as though she half-expected her to fall apart. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do to help?”
“Nothing at all.” Victoria set her hat on her head, jammed in the pin, then nodded to Fred and Elsa. “Thank you so much for your kindness. Again, I apologize for any inconvenience I caused.”
“You did nothing that warrants an apology,” Elsa said, settling an arm around Victoria’s shoulders as they walked to the back door. “Perhaps we could take you home.”
“No, the fresh air will be welcome,” Victoria said, reaching to open the door then looking back at Trace. “And thank you for coming to my rescue, yet again.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Carter. I’m just leaving, so why don’t I walk with you, at least back out to the street.”
She nodded then opened the door, stepping out into the frigid air. The woman was likely to freeze to death in her distracted state. She hadn’t noticed her unbuttoned coat or the fact she hadn’t pulled on her gloves. He’d forgotten about the basket she carried and hurried around to the boardwalk, retrieving it from a bench near the bakery where someone passing by had set it.
“Here, you might need this,” he said, handing the basket to her as she plodded down the street toward home.
She took it with a curt tip of her head then continued on her way.
Trace kept step with her. “Is there something I can do to help you, Miss Carter? Are you certain you wouldn’t like to visit the doctor?”
“I’m certain, and thank you, Mr. Travers, for your assistance. I enjoyed speaking with you this morning. Have a pleasant day.” With that, she seemed to straighten her shoulders and spine then increased her speed as she crossed the street, heading toward the Carter place.
Trace ambled with unhurried steps to the livery where he boarded the team that pulled his heavy wagon of equipment as well as the saddle horse he’d been using since he arrived in town. Everything in him urged him to hurry as he hitched the wagon and drove out to where he’d been stringing wire east of town. Assured he was alone with no one watching, he stopped the wagon and took the telegram from his pocket.
MISPLACED MESSAGE FROM PRISON JUST ARRIVED. WENDELL ESCAPED. KILLED TWO GUARDS. APPREHENDED AND FATALLY SHOT IN JUNE. BURIED IN DISGRACE. IT IS FINALLY OVER. LOVE YOU, PAPA
Wendell was Victoria’s husband; it was no wonder the poor woman had fainted when she’d read the news. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, though. Did her distraught state result from great feelings of loss over the man’s death or overwhelming relief that he was gone?
Trace couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t relieved. It seemed odd to him that she’d resumed using her maiden name and acted as though she had no husband. Surely, if she had emotional ties to the man, she would never have come all the way to Hardman in the first place.
Then again, perhaps she was a shallow, selfish person who only thought of herself.
As soon as that thought entered his mind, Trace sent it on its way. Victoria was sweet and kind, funny and intelligent. The few times he’d had the opportunity to converse with her, he’d greatly enjoyed it.
Besides, as a man who spent the better part of each day perched high on a pole above the town, he saw a lot of things most people missed. Victoria was greeted with genuine affection, had quickly been welcomed by the town, and adored not only her little niece but children in general.
No, he couldn’t envision her as someone who would run off when the man she loved needed her support. He couldn’t help but contemplate if her marriage to Wendell was not a happy one.
Once she’d come to terms with the death of her husband, perhaps she’d not be quite so guarded and aloof.
Although, when she looked at him earlier with her eyes all soft and dreamy, aloof was the furthest word from his mind. If Elsa and Fred hadn’t been there, observing his every move, Trace might have just kissed her. It’s what her eyes begged him to do, and he would have been inclined to give in to their wishes.