Free Waiting for Spring by Amanda Cabot Page A

mention a turret, nothing about it seemed ostentatious. Compared to some of the other cattle barons’ houses, it could almost be described as modest. “I can’t disagree with one part of your description, though. Your home is large, especially compared to my lodging.” She accompanied the last sentence with a gesture toward the second floor of the building.
    â€œThat’s right. I heard you lived above your shop.”
    â€œWith Mrs. Amos and her daughter.” Charlotte couldn’t help smiling at the irony. “Four of us live in a fraction of the space you own.”
    The instant the words were out of her mouth, Charlotte winced. Perhaps she would be fortunate and Barrett wouldn’t notice that she’d said “four.”
    â€œFour people?” It was not her lucky day. “Who’s there besides you, Mrs. Amos, and her daughter?”
    There was no way out of the predicament save the truth.“My son,” she said. Oddly, she felt a sense of relief once she’d made the admission. Barrett Landry was not the baron. She had no reason to fear him.
    Barrett frowned, but Charlotte couldn’t tell whether it was because of her words or the cloud that chilled the air and made her shiver. “You’re fortunate to have Mrs. Amos and the children. My house can be lonely, but I doubt you have that problem.”
    â€œIndeed, I don’t. David sees to that.”
    â€œDavid’s your son?”
    â€œYes. He’s a very special boy.”
    Barrett appeared intrigued, and for a second Charlotte expected him to ask her why her son was special. Instead, he said only, “Perhaps I can meet him someday.”
    â€œPerhaps.” It was the polite response, even if it would never happen. Though she had made a major step forward by admitting David’s existence to this man, she was not ready to expose her son to potential scorn. Barrett appeared to be kind, but there was no way of knowing how he would react if he learned that David was blind. As a cool breeze swept down the street, Charlotte shivered again. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to buy a few items before I turn into an icicle.” And I want to end this discussion of my son.
    Seconds later, she was inside the store. A quick glance told her there were no other customers, and so she walked briskly toward the back counter, where the proprietor greeted her with a broad smile.
    â€œI saw you talking to Mr. Landry.” No more than medium height, Mr. Yates looked smaller than that because of his thin frame and stooped shoulders. Weary was the adjective Charlotte normally applied to him, and yet this afternoonhis gray eyes sparkled with what appeared to be amusement. “Landry’s a good man. He bought shirts from me when he first came to Wyoming, and he still comes here, even though he could shop anywhere. A good man,” Mr. Yates repeated, almost as if he realized that Charlotte needed the assurance. “Now, what can I get for you?”
    â€œDavid needs new socks. I’m afraid I haven’t had time to knit.”
    Shaking his head, the man who seemed older than the sixty-five years he acknowledged reached for a box of children’s socks. “Prudence used to say that knitting relaxed her, but I don’t imagine you have time to relax.”
    â€œUnfortunately, you’re right.” She’d been busy before, but now that she was remaking Miriam’s old gowns for Mrs. Kendall’s boarders, Charlotte had even less time. Perhaps it was foolish, not telling Gwen what she was doing, but Charlotte knew that Élan’s cachet would be compromised if anyone learned she was providing gowns to the city’s less fortunate. While Gwen would never intentionally tell anyone, she might let something slip. And so Charlotte sewed in her room late at night, knowing that the light would not disturb David.
    â€œI’m not complaining,” she told Mr. Yates.