Twice a Bride by Mona Hodgson Page B

The first load included the two Sisters of Mercy and Mrs. Sweeny—the poor dear who’d lost her husband today—and those passengers who’d been most severely injured. Bruises, scrapes, and frayed nerves accountedfor most of the maladies, although one man had suffered a broken leg and an older woman had swooned and cut her head.
    Hattie heard her name and turned around. Ida walked toward her beside the man Hattie had seen outside the passenger car. Ida’s hand rested on his arm while the little girl Ida had rescued clung to his other arm.
    Ida cleared her throat. “Miss Hattie, I’m pleased to introduce you to Mr. Harlan Sinclair. My father.”
    Hattie blinked and then blinked again. He didn’t fit the image she had conjured of him. “Your father?”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He reached up as if to remove a hat he wasn’t wearing. Hattie noticed the dark knot on his forehead. “We spoke on the telephone.”
    She nodded. Actually she’d done most of the speaking. “Hattie Adams.” She seemed to have to force the words out. “Please. Call me Miss Hattie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
    “This is Miss Cherise Renard.” He rested a hand on the young girl’s shoulder. “Cherise, this is Miss Hattie. We’ll be boarding in her establishment for a while, remember?”
    “ Oui . Yes, Monsieur Sinclair.” The little girl bowed for Hattie but never made eye contact.
    Hattie looked to Ida for an explanation or at least a reaction to finding her father here—and with a child in his care. Ida’s blue eyes seemed to hold only questions.
    As the stock car clunked to a stop, they all joined the line to board. Fifteen minutes later, Hattie wiped beads of sweat from the back of her neck. The car was even more crowded on the return to Cripple Creek than on the trip down the canyon.
    Ida stood nearby with her father and the young girl who had traveled halfway around the world with him. Hattie hadn’t been able to learn much, but Ida did tell her that after she’d pulled Cherise from the train car, Morgan had checked the child and Mr. Sinclair for any injuries. Mr. Sinclair’s knot was agoose egg of a bruise, enough to cause a whopping headache but nothing more serious. Morgan had stayed behind in order to return with the last group.
    While the car inched up out of Phantom Canyon, Hattie braced herself against the side slats. Why hadn’t Mr. Sinclair given his daughters enough information about his visit to help prepare them to meet his guest? Instead, he’d chosen to surprise them, which was not at all considerate. And to make matters worse, Hattie had made suppositions about his guest. His tight-lipped reservation had led her to expect Alma Shindlebower. Hattie blew out a breath of frustration. At nearly fifty years old, she should know better than to form assumptions. Thanks to her, the sisters had been expecting their aunt. But no. A French girl she guessed to be about eight years old now clung to Ida’s father like a bee to a flower.
    How did a man with grown children end up with a little girl from a foreign country? Where were her parents? Ida was sure to have at least as many questions about Cherise as Hattie did, but Mr. Sinclair’s focused attention on the child didn’t leave any room for inquiry or explanation. He should have told his daughters about the girl, warned them his affections would be divided.
    As his landlady, Hattie wasn’t in a position to pry into his personal affairs. But she was also a friend to his daughters, and Nanny Hattie so wanted to set the man straight in his priorities.
    “Grievous words stir up anger.” Hattie recalled the verse from the book of Proverbs and drew in a deep breath.
    “Mrs. Adams.”
    Turning to face Mr. Sinclair, Hattie thought about correcting him again, suggesting he call her Miss Hattie. She chose not to. Perhaps it was best they remain on more formal terms. If she considered him an acquaintance rather than a friend, she wouldn’t be quite so tempted to speak