Kissing Comfort by Jo Goodman Page A

investments.”
    â€œWhat else?”
    â€œWell, I read and approve loan applications. Uncle Tuck and I decide how we’ll deliver payrolls to the mines. What routes, which stage drivers we’ll use, or if we’ll send the money by train. We always have to consider robbery. Uncle Tuck has a special sense for it. Not robbery,” she said quickly. “But for avoiding it.”
    â€œI had no idea,” he said. “About any of that.”
    â€œUncle Newt and I discuss investments. That has always been his strength. He can look over fluctuations in the market and know exactly what funds he wants to transfer. With the telegraph the market is no longer just local. We can make transfers with our agents in Chicago, St. Louis, and New York.”
    â€œIs he ever wrong?”
    â€œOf course. More often than he’s right. But it’s not like he’s pushing all his markers to the center of the table and betting against the house. The distribution of money over a variety of investments of varying risks helps soften the blow of a single failure. Even a catastrophic one.” Comfort realized she was rattling on about a subject that would have had Bram plotting his escape. It wasn’t fair that she’d taken advantage of her captive audience. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. It was probably every bit as painful as the stitch in your back.”
    â€œHardly.”
    She wondered if he was sincere. There was no inflection in his voice and no expression on his face to guide her.
    â€œYou’re the only woman I know who works.” He knew immediately that he’d said something wrong. Comfort Kennedy had her hackles up. Before he could determine what made her bristle, she was letting him know all about it.
    â€œThat’s not true. In this house alone there is Mrs. Deltry, Mrs. Patrick, Mrs. Eversly, and no less than seven girls employed as housemaids and kitchen help. And dare I mention your mother? She’d have something to say, I’m sure.”
    Bode was equally sure that was true. He cleared his throat and made an attempt at looking contrite. Apologies did not come as swiftly to his lips as they did to his brother’s. “Allow me to amend that. I was trying to say that you’re the only woman I know who works outside of her home—or anyone else’s for that matter.”
    She conceded the point, and she didn’t want to make another using dance hall greeters, actresses, pretty waiter girls, and whores as further examples. Comfort inclined her head, acknowledging his correction. “Men seem to have a difficult time recognizing the contributions of women.”
    â€œI never thought of myself as one of those men,” Bode said. “Until now. Consider me corrected.” He finished his tea and held out the cup and saucer for Comfort to take. The awkward stretch put his back into spasm again. He swore softly as the saucer slid from his nerveless fingers and the teacup followed.
    Comfort caught the saucer in her free hand and the cup on the toe of her shoe. Pretending she didn’t see Bode’s look of astonishment, she carefully set her own cup and saucer on the tray and then added his saucer. She bent forward and removed his teacup from the tip of her kid boot.
    â€œWhat do you do when you’re asked for an encore?”
    She made a dismissive gesture that was at odds with the amusement playing about her mouth. “I had to make the attempt,” she said. “That is your great-grandmother’s china.”
    â€œI know. I didn’t realize you did.”
    Comfort shrugged lightly. “Your mother’s shared stories on occasion. She remembers the tea service from when she was a little girl.”
    â€œShe really does like you, doesn’t she?”
    â€œI hope so. You seem surprised.”
    Not surprised precisely. Alexandra had said much the same thing to him. What he was, he thought, was