Chapter 23

23

Ryder lifted a fist to the thick oak door of the brownstone mansion. Then he paused, his knuckles skimming the wood.

What was he doing here? What right did he think he had, walking up the steps to Genevieve's home in New York City and knocking on her door?

He didn't belong here. Not in the city and especially not in this neighborhood of massive reddish-brown sandstone homes four or five stories high, with elaborate details, tall arched doorways, elongated windows, elegant stoops, wrought-iron fencing, and ground-floor servant's entrances.

Everything was perfect and clean and well-maintained and spoke of a lifestyle that was far removed from everything he'd ever known. The street was swept clean of the usual residue, had fancy lampposts evenly spaced, and even had a few saplings with changing leaves.

Had he made a mistake in coming? Should he get a room in a hotel for the night first? After all, it was late in the day, with the darkness of evening beginning to settle. He was grimy from the traveling and needed to bathe and change into clean garments first.

His life had been a whirlwind since that morning meeting with Mr. Andridge, Mr. Irving, and Sadie. He'd left Breckenridge and gone directly to High C Ranch to plead with Maverick to help him with his ranch while he was away—to send a couple of his ranch hands to look after the place and finish the harvest. He'd been instructing Maverick to sell a couple of heads of cattle to pay for the expenses during his absence when Tanner had arrived and joined in making the plans.

The plans had included Tanner riding east too, so that he could meet with his investigator face-to-face and visit the orphanages they'd once lived at in order to dig for more information.

Ryder could feel Tanner's gaze boring into him as he turned away from the door.

"Where are you going?" came Tanner's voice from the carriage. "You came all this way; now talk to her."

Ryder halted, one foot poised above the top step, and scowled at his brother sitting in the dark shadows of the carriage with Boone on his lap. He was grateful Tanner had insisted on coming along, but at times like this, his brother was too forward and bossy and needed to leave him alone to figure things out.

"At least let her know you're here," Tanner called.

Ryder hesitated, then pivoted and forced himself to knock, this time making contact with the door. The entire train ride, he'd done little else but think about what he would say. He'd come all this way to tell her he couldn't live without her—that he didn't just want a mother for his son; he wanted a wife.

But now, after seeing her home and getting a true picture of the reality of their differences, every word he'd planned seemed inadequate.

He was inadequate for her. Why had he ever thought he could be enough?

Before he could convince himself to walk away, the door swung open to reveal an elderly butler.

Ryder squared his shoulders.

With a stoic expression, the butler swept his gaze over Ryder. "May I help you?"

Ryder peered past the man to a long, brightly lit entryway. His body keened for the sight of Genevieve. In fact, he was suddenly desperate to see her, to hold her, to have her back. The past week and a half without her had been the longest week and a half of his life.

He wanted to shove past the butler and call out for her, but he forced himself to take a breath and answer politely. "I'd like to see Genevieve. My wife."

The butler's eyes widened.

"Please," Ryder added. Tanner had coached him all the way from the train depot on the proper manners to use and how to present himself as a gentleman. He wasn't sure how Tanner knew, but Ryder was determined to be the kind of man Genevieve could be proud of.

Of course, anyone who looked at him closely enough would realize he wasn't really a gentleman, even though he was wearing his church clothing and looked less like a rancher and more like a business owner.

After several long heartbeats, the butler backed up and waved Ryder inside.

As Ryder stepped through the door and into the narrow entry hall, he had a sense that he'd been there before—or a place like it. The stairway with the dark banister, the speckled marble tile, the high ceiling with the carved cornices—it all seemed so familiar.

His mind flashed to an image of him with Tanner, racing down a stairway and jumping into the arms of a large man. A woman holding a violin was rushing out of the double doors of a side room. "Hawthorne, darling."

"Father." The word whispered through Ryder. He could almost hear himself as a boy, saying the word as the man's arms surrounded him and hugged him tight.

Ryder tried to picture the man's face, but as with the nightmare, he couldn't see any features. Everything was all empty, like blank frames awaiting photographs that needed to be developed.

Was Hawthorne his father's name? And had his family once lived in a home like this? Was that why it felt strangely familiar?

He looked around again, trying to hold on to the memories, trying to make them come even more to life so that he could share them with Tanner. Even as the visions of the past faded, the name Hawthorne lingered. Surely a unique name such as Hawthorne would give Tanner's investigator more to go on than just Sarah, Edward, and Donny.

"Where is my wife?" He tried to keep the gruffness from his voice, but it ended up there anyway. His wife . The one word held more meaning than he'd ever thought possible. But that was what she was. His wife. And he wanted her so much that he knew he'd give up everything to be with her, including the ranch.

Yes, he loved having his own place, but that's all it was. A place on the map. Maybe all his losses in life had honed his perspective and shown him that people were more important than anything he could own. And anything she owned.

All he really wanted was her. He could make a life anywhere as long as he was with her.

"Miss Hollis—" The butler halted abruptly. "I mean, Mrs. Oakley has just left and won't be back for several weeks, perhaps longer."

Ryder's pulse slammed to a halt. "Left? Where?" The house did seem too quiet for the evening hour, the usual clatter from the kitchen and the scents of a cooking meal absent.

"She is going—" At the bang of a back door and footsteps racing up a rear stairway, the butler spun and started down the hallway.

"I have forgotten my heaviest coat," came Genevieve's call. "And I shall need it there. It was already cold when I left and will only get colder."

Without moving, Ryder waited breathlessly for his first sight of her. As she entered the hallway, he could only take her in hungrily. She was more beautiful than he remembered, with her delicate features, pale skin, and blue-gray eyes. She had on a blue gown with a back bustle that swished with each step she took. Her dark hair was coiled in loose ringlets, and an elegant hat was perched atop her head. Clearly she was getting ready to go out for the evening.

She rushed forward. "Could you help me find it, Ambrose?"

When the butler didn't respond but instead cocked his head toward the front door, Genevieve's gaze swung to Ryder.

She halted and gasped, lifting a gloved hand to her mouth as if to capture her surprise. In the next instant, her eyes glistened and tears began to slip down her cheeks.

His chest swelled, and heat stung the backs of his eyes too. He started toward her. Nothing else mattered but gathering her in his arms and never letting her leave him again.