wasn’t time to fetch my rig.” He handed her a parasol and a bundle wrapped in a red-checked tea towel. “I brought you some of Miss Hattie’s fried chicken. I figured you’d be hungry.”
“Thank you. I am famished!” Leaving the parasol on the seat between them, Ada unwrapped the chicken, bit into a drumstick, and chewed with relish.
Her Boston aunt, rest her soul, would be horrified at such undignified behavior. She could almost hear Kate’s chiding voice. “That’s why you’ve never made a suitable match, Ada. You’re too forthright. Too lacking in the feminine graces.”
Well, she had made a perfect match once, but now she was alone in the world. She would do as she pleased. As the buckboard gathered speed, she devoured the second piece of chicken, polished the apple on the sleeve of her jacket, and took a bite, enjoying the satisfying and decidedly unladylike crunch.
“You are hungry!” Wyatt said. “Hollow all the way to your toes.”
Ada blushed and then chided herself for caring what he thought.
“That’s all right,” he added. “I like a woman with an appetite.”
Ada took another bite.
“So, you came out here from Boston.” His friendly demeanor seemed to have cooled a little. Not surprising in a Southern town, so soon after the war—and from his voice, Mr. Caldwell was obviously a Southerner.
Oh well. She lifted her chin a little. She could only hope to do her job and eventually win over the townsfolk.
They passed the ladies’ hotel. Two white-haired women sat on the porch. Wyatt nodded to them and touched the brim of his hat as they passed. The buckboard rattled onto a narrow rutted road that led upward into the foothills.
“Yes, Boston.” Ada wiped apple juice from the corner of her mouth. “The land of steady habits, as they say.”
He nodded. “Miss Lillian will appreciate that. She’s a stickler for order.”
She took another crunchy bite.
“Your letter said you were born there?”
“Yes. I lived there off and on for most of my life.” A wave of bitter recrimination and regret nearly brought her to tears. Determined not to dwell on the life that was lost to her, she concentrated on the play of sunlight in the rain puddles beside the road and on the soothing sound of his voice as he pointed out clumps of wild honeysuckle, their pale blossoms shimmering like ghosts.
“You’re sure a long way from home,” he observed. “Hannah placed the ad in the Boston Herald as a last resort. She was surprised to actually receive an application from so far away.”
Ada chewed slowly. “My father and my aunt died in March, and I need to make a new start. This position as lady’s companion to Mrs. Willis seemed suitable.” She turned toward him, her skirts rustling against the rough wood of the seat. “Tell me, Mr. Caldwell, do you know anything about the rest of the household staff? The cook and so on?”
“The—” He threw back his head and laughed. The horse snorted as if he, too, found her words amusing.
Something snapped inside her. “Stop this wagon!”
“Beg your pardon?”
“I said stop this wagon, Mr. Caldwell, or so help me, I will jump.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” He surveyed the empty road. “The closest outhouse is down the road a ways, at the Spencer place. But the woods are—”
“I am not in need of the out—the ladies’ facilities.”
“Then what—”
“I have no intention of spending the next several hours, or however long this dreadful journey takes, riding next to a man who laughs at me.”
“You’re right. I apologize.”
“Too late.” She stood and braced herself against the movement of the buckboard.
“Whoa!” He pulled on the reins. The horse stopped and tossed his head, rattling the harness. “Just how do you intend on getting out to Mrs. Willis’s place, if I may ask?”
“I’ll walk.”
“All that way?”
Without another word she dangled her legs over the side of the wagon and dropped to the ground, wincing as her feet made contact with the dirt road. Squaring her shoulders, she marched ahead of the wagon.
Wyatt slowed the buckboard and studied her as she set out along the road, her feathered traveling hat perilously askew, her arms swinging. A prettier woman he’d never seen, but she sure was prickly.
Miss Ada Wentworth had the fairest skin he’d ever laid eyes on. Dark-brown hair that lay in shiny waves beneath her hat. Wide gray eyes fringed with thick, dark lashes. A generous mouth that would be even lovelier if she’d smile more. But, as she was in mourning, he really couldn’t fault