Beauty for Ashes Page 0,2
friends. “I knew your daddy back before the war. Used to go down to Charleston every February for Race Week. Oh, the times we had with your folks and the Venables, the Hugers, and the Ravenels. Y’all had some of the finest horses I’d ever seen.” He studied the horse tamer’s face. “I remember Charles’s boy Philip, but I declare, I didn’t know he had two sons.”
Carrie stuck out her bottom lip and blew her rust-colored curls upward. The day was heating up, her shoulder throbbed painfully, and she still needed things from the mercantile. But she stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear herself away from Griff Rutledge. Which made not one iota of sense. What was the matter with her?
Mr. Gilman went on. “What brings you to Hickory Ridge, Mr. Rutledge? I hope you’re planning to stay awhile.”
“Not long.”
The banker looked past Griff’s shoulder to the huge horse, now standing placidly in the shade of the building. “Maybe a good business proposition will change your mind. You got some time to discuss it?”
“Not at the moment.” Mr. Rutledge made a slight formal bow toward Carrie. “I knocked this lovely woman into the dirt and crushed her dress box to boot. The least I can do is to see her safely to her carriage.”
Carrie dropped her gaze. The old rig hitched to Henry’s plodding bay mare, Iris, was a far cry from a carriage. But the prospect of spending a few more moments with the courtly Griff Rutledge overcame her embarrassment.
Griff offered her his arm. “Which way, Miss . . .”
“Daly. Carrie.” She pointed. “My horse and rig are over there.”
He glanced at the dress box. “Do I understand that you’re about to be married?”
“Marr—oh. No. My brother Henry is getting married the day after tomorrow. He insisted that I get a new dress for the occasion.”
A grin split his handsome face. “Well, that’s surely a big load off my mind. There’s nothing quite so maddening as meeting the prettiest girl in town only to learn that her heart is already taken.”
Carrie blushed. Mercy, but he was forward. Were all Charleston gentlemen so outspoken?
“If your brother’s intended is half as pretty as you, he’s a lucky man indeed.”
Overwhelmed by his sheer physicality and the brush of his shoulder against hers, Carrie went mute.
“I hope your dress isn’t damaged,” he went on. “I’ll bet it’s beautiful. Wish I could be there to see you wear it.”
At last she found her voice. “You should come. We’d be delighted to have you.”
Holy hash! What would Nate Chastain say about her inviting a man to the festivities? More to the point, how would Mary Stanhope react to the news? Henry’s bride was not the most accommodating woman on the planet. And she put on airs. No doubt she’d give Carrie a blistering lecture about inviting a total stranger to a wedding. It simply isn’t done. But it would be worth braving Mary’s wrath to see this man again.
“That’s the nicest invitation I’ve received in a while,” he said, “but I couldn’t possibly impose upon—”
“It’s no imposition at all,” she said quickly. “It’s the least I can do. After all, you practically saved my life.”
“Well, when you put it that way—”
“It’s to be held the day after tomorrow at the Henry Bell farm. Just follow the main road a mile or so past the church. The wedding’s at half past ten.”
He smiled. “Half past ten. The Bell farm. Thank you most kindly, Miz Carrie Daly. I’ll see you then.”
He tipped his hat and sauntered toward the bank. Carrie climbed into the rig and flicked the reins. Iris plodded onto the road and across the railroad trestle. What in the world had possessed her just now? Everyone in Hickory Ridge knew she and Nate planned to wed . . . someday. Everyone said they were a perfect match.
Nate was a fine man, kind, hardworking and intelligent, well liked in town. Maybe he wasn’t the most exciting man in the world, maybe the sight of him didn’t exactly make her heart beat faster, but she enjoyed his company. So why couldn’t she get the image of Griff Rutledge’s handsome face out of her mind?
Halfway home she remembered she still needed flour, eggs, and sugar for the wedding cake.
Griff watched Carrie’s rig make the turn at the bottom of the street and whistled softly. What a woman. Hers was not the half-formed prettiness of a young girl, but the full loveliness of a mature woman with