The Final Baker Bride Page 4

  Merritt laughed. “No worse than the ruse they’re trying to perpetrate on me. That would be the one where they pretend an interest in me when it’s the Baker money they’re really after.”

  “How can you be so sure it’s not you?” At his surprised look, Tavia hurried to continue. “You’re a nice enough fellow, and you’re hardly frightening in looks.”

  “Why, thank you. Your kind words just about make me blush.”

  “Oh hush,” she told him. “I’m serious. Must you chase them all away? What if one of them is the right one?”

  He seemed to consider the question a moment and then he shrugged. “Then God will figure out a way to get past my blunder and show me His choice.” His eyes narrowed. “Since we’re on the subject, what about you? How sure are you that you haven’t chased off the right one?”

  ~

  Well, that bullet sure hit the target. Rit leaned back in his chair and watched his typist squirm. “What’s this? You don’t have an answer?”

  She smiled and his heart lurched. Oh, but he could get used to looking at that smile across the table. Who was he kidding? He had already gotten used to it.

  “Actually I do have an answer,” Octavia said. “Wouldn’t I know it if I had?”

  He waved for the waiter to bring their check. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you think if you’d already met the right one your heart would know?” She toyed with the edge of her sleeve, a gesture Rit had learned to interpret as indecision.

  “And yet the Bible tells us the heart is deceitful,” he said.

  Octavia swung her gaze to collide with his. “Exactly. So how would either of us know? How does anyone know? It’s all too much to ponder.”

  Rit handed the waiter his money and then rose to help Octavia up and out the door into the early afternoon sunshine. “Then stop pondering. You’ve got a party to prepare for. Considering the weight of those trunks, I’d guess you’ve probably already got something pretty to wear, but since this is a company expense, what say I take you shopping this afternoon?”

  She almost smiled. “I couldn’t.”

  “Why? Do you have to go back to the office and type something?”

  There came the smile. She cut those pretty eyes up at him and he just about melted. “No, but someone’s got to figure out how to operate that infernal machine. How about you?”

  Rit stopped on the banquette outside the restaurant and held out his hands to her. “Do these look like the hands of a typist?”

  Octavia reached out to touch the calluses of his right palm. “No, they look like the hands of a man who ranches. So why is it you’re stuck up in that building over there?”

  How to explain loyalty to a father no longer living to a woman running from a father who was very much alive? “That’s a story for another day. Now about that dancing frock.”

  “Thank you for the generous offer,” she said, “but I can manage.”

  “You sure you don’t need my help?” he said.

  Octavia stopped short and hauled him back to face her. “You must really hate your job if you’re begging to go with me to find a dress for that grouchy woman’s party.”

  Rit opened his mouth to disagree. Unfortunately, the lady was right.

  She tilted her head as if assessing him. “Is it the horses? Because I love horses. That I could understand. Just don’t tell me some story about loving the peace and quiet and wanting to see the stars at night. Those are not good reasons to love life on a ranch.”

  “I take it you’re speaking from experience?”

  “Sadly, yes.”

  “Well, Miss Derby, I say you need to reserve judgment until you’ve been on a Texas ranch. Colorado just won’t compare. I suppose we will have to agree to disagree.”

  “Again?” She managed a serious expression. “That’s what you said about raw oysters. And the opera you misbehaved so terribly at.”

  He grinned at the memory, not of the silliness happening on the stage but at the recollection of how frustrated Tavia had been at his refusal to pay attention to it. In the end, she’d given in to his version of the songs, sung just loud enough for her ear. And she’d laughed. Oh, how she’d laughed.

  The thought of it made him smile.

  “Honestly, Octavia,” he said as he attempted to switch to mock seriousness. “If you wanted to see a bellowing female with horns on her head, they’re a dime a dozen at Baker Ranch.” He paused for effect. “In Texas.”

  She shook her head. “You’re impossible, Merritt Baker. Now leave me to my dress hunt and go back to the office right now.”

  “I do not take orders from my typist,” he said.

  “Well, good,” she responded in a saucy tone. “Because I don’t type. Now go.”

  Rit glanced past Octavia and then gave her the signal for incoming trouble. Instantly her expression changed and she moved closer.

  “Where is this one?” she asked as she glanced around. “Is it the blonde?”

  “No.”

  She leaned in and he could smell the scent of violets in her hair. He sure could get used to this.

  “That one over there? The brunette speaking to the man with the little boy?”

  “No.”

  He allowed another moment’s snuggle right there on Canal Street and then gave her a playful nudge. “That was just a test. You did great.”

  “A test? You are incorrigible, Merritt Baker. Now go find something to do.” She gave him a playful swat and then walked away.

  What he found to do was watch her walk away. Even when he could no longer see the top of her head in the crowd, Rit kept his vigil until the feather on her hat disappeared around the corner.

  “You’re sunk, boy,” he muttered as he trudged back to the office and the work he’d rather not be doing.

  ~

  “Where is she?” Asa demanded when Rit stepped into his office. The impertinent kid had taken over his desk and his chair and seemed in no hurry to relinquish either.

  “If by she you mean Miss Derby, she is buying a dress for an event she and I are attending on Saturday.”

  “So you’re going to the gala after all.”

  “Apparently,” he said as he reached for the chair and shook it. Asa rose and stepped past him, a grin on his face. “So what are you doing in here, anyway? Last time I checked, you had your own office.”

  His little brother rested against the window ledge. In that moment, with all of Baker Shipping and the Mississippi River behind him, Rit was struck at how very much Asa reminded him of their father.

  “I was waiting for you.” He shifted positions. “What are your intentions with Miss Derby?”

  Rit leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “You get right to the point, Ace.” When his brother did not react to the use of his childhood nickname, Rit knew the conversation was about to turn serious. “All right, then. My intentions with Miss Derby are to continue to use her to intercept and disarm the Baker bride brigade.”

  “Baker bride brigade?” Asa smiled, almost. “Is that what you call them?”

  “Actually that’s what Octavia calls them.” Rit paused. “She’s very good at keeping them at bay. So my intention is to continue using her for that purpose until she returns to Denver.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “A few weeks.” He gave Asa a sideways look. “Why?”

  Asa shrugged off the question. “Just curious. So, no feelings for her? No love blooming?”

  Rit laughed. “Not that I’d tell you about. Again, why?”

  “Again, just curious.” Asa leaned forward. “Why is she here, Rit? In New Orleans, I mean.”

  The kid was asking a lot of questions about someone he was “just curious” about. Rit knew all of this had to be leading somewhere. If it was Charles doing the asking, he’d have called a halt to it already. But this was Asa. And he trusted Asa.

  “Her maid is Marie’s niece. Miss Derby and her father had a falling out over whether she
could take care of herself without Daddy’s money. The maid wrote a letter and Marie offered Octavia a job. For a month. She got on a train and here she is. So, that’s the story I know.”

  “And you believe this story.”

  “I have no reason not to. So, Asa, just get to the point, why all the questions? The real reason.”

  “I need to know if you trust her.”

  Though he was tempted to make some off-the-cuff remark, Merritt took his brother’s query seriously and thought on it a minute. “Yes,” he finally said. “I do. She showed me who she was when she didn’t know who I was. So, based on that and everything I’ve seen of her since, I’d have to say I trust her.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I trust you with my life, little brother.” Rit jumped to his feet. To Asa’s credit he didn’t flinch. “However, if you don’t tell me what’s going on here, you’re not going to like what happens next.”

  “Oh, sit down, Rit,” Asa said. “I’m long past being afraid of my big brother. Besides, you’re getting old and I’m still young. You might get the first lick in, but I’d get the last.”

  Only the twinkle in his eye showed Rit the kid was joking. Or maybe he wasn’t. He sat down all the same and waited until his brother took a seat across the desk from him.

  “All right. The truth. All of it.”

  Asa rested his elbows on his knees and took in a deep breath then let it out slowly. “Charles and Mother are meeting with potential investors at Baker Ranch in a few days.”

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now,” he snapped. “Look, sorry. I didn’t tell you because. . .” He looked around and then back at Rit. “Because the real investor is coming here in a few days.”

  “The one who wants to buy us out?”

  Asa nodded. “Or give us an influx of capital that will broaden our range of ships and offer us more flexibility and shipping options.”

  “Spoken like a true businessman.” Rit paused. “So what does this have to do with me and Octavia?”

  “I want you to keep Mother and Charles busy on the ranch.” He shrugged. “I figured you’d take any excuse to head back to Texas anyway. So helping me out just adds a little extra incentive.”

  “And you’re going to entertain this investor’s offer by yourself?” He waited for his brother to react.

  “I’m going to listen to his offer, but I’ll have Marie with me. She knows what Father would have done.”

  “That she does,” he admitted. “You know I’d opt out any way I can, but why not have Charles there?”

  Asa shrugged. “Charles has a good head for finding the best money in a deal, I’ll give him that. But. . .” He paused. “Well, this isn’t just about money. Baker Shipping is family, and I need to know that our family is taken care of. Since none of us have our own inheritance yet, we will have to do this together.”

  “Thanks to me holding out on marriage.”

  Asa smiled. “Big brother, you keep holding out until you find the right one. I’m here to tell you, she will be worth the wait.”

  Rit nodded. “So, this investor. Who is he?”

  Asa looked uncomfortable. “I’d rather keep that to myself for now, if that’s all right with you.”

  Rit studied Asa just long enough to see the begging for respect that goes with being the youngest brother. Marie was right. Asa was the future of Baker Shipping.

  “I trust you, Ace.”

  He did, of course. And yet Rit held the strong suspicion that something was up. Something more than keeping a business deal away from Charles.

  Relief washed over Asa’s features, features borrowed from Merritt Baker Sr., but softened with the slight addition of their mother’s smile. “I’ll tell you when I can.” He shifted positions. “Now tell me about your typist,” he said with a conspiratorial look.

  “Well,” Rit said as he ran his hand through his hair and tried not to see the image of that lovely lady walking away, “she couldn’t type to save her life, but she’s entertaining and smart as a whip. And she makes decent conversation, though she is infuriating when she tries to argue politics. Oh, and she claims to love horses but not ranches. I guess I’ll be testing her on that.”

  Asa fixed him with a no-nonsense look. “I’ll go back to my original question. What are your intentions with her?”

  Rit grinned. “I’ll tell you when I know.”

  Chapter 5

  Merritt Baker looked almost as breathtaking in his formal attire as he did in the casual clothing he’d worn the day she mistook him for a taxi driver. Tavia cringed as she thought of that embarrassing mistake. And yet, if she hadn’t had that day with the man she knew only as Merritt, she would likely never have known the other side of the very formal Mr. Baker.

  For it was Mr. Baker on display at the gala tonight. Mr. Baker who was the man the single young ladies fawned over. And a few who weren’t single.

  It was all so unnerving. And so understandable.

  Miss O’Shea had filled her in on the reason for all the attention, at least partially. Until Merritt Baker married, the Baker Shipping fortune was tied up in a trust executed by the two women in Merritt Baker Sr.’s life: Mrs. Baker and Miss O’Shea. While the Baker men made the daily decisions, the ladies served in an advisory capacity to see that the elder Baker’s wishes were carried out.

  She watched Rit spin around the floor with the gala’s hostess while her daughter Violet looked happy to sit in the corner and carry on a conversation with a lesser mortal. Yes, it was easy to see why the attention was on Merritt Baker.

  He caught her watching and grinned. Tavia almost looked away then thought better of it. No, let him think she was just doing her job. She’d become good enough at pretending she wasn’t thinking of him when she went home at night. The sad fact was in the ten days since she’d first climbed up into the buggy she thought was a taxicab, she’d allowed Merritt to invade her thoughts on a regular basis.

  But he was smart and funny. And entertaining. And oh, so infuriating when he was trying to talk about politics. Then there was his claim that he loved the ranch life much more than the city. The only evidence she saw of that was the calluses on his hands. Otherwise, the eldest Baker brother seemed perfectly at home in New Orleans.

  And why not, she thought as she watched yet another New Orleans beauty vying for his attention as the orchestra struck up a waltz. He certainly did not get this sort of attention on a ranch out in Texas somewhere.

  He lifted his attention from the dark-haired beauty to find her. As he set off in her direction, Tavia waited for the signal that she was needed to divert the bride brigade yet again. But no signal came. Instead, Merritt smiled and offered her his hand.

  “May I have this dance, Miss Derby?”

  Oh. Her traitorous heart lurched.

  “Of course, Mr. Baker,” she managed.

  Tavia almost hoped Merritt was a terrible dancer. Then he would not only have a fault she could focus on when she was tempted to think he was just about perfect, but it would also give her a reason not to enjoy dancing in his arms.

  But he gave her no such reason. Instead, dancing with the Baker heir felt like dancing on clouds, a terrible cliché she’d read in those novels they sold in the bookshops on Royal Street. And yet it was true. If her feet touched the ground, she didn’t feel it. Nor did she expect that Merritt would lean down to whisper in her ear.

  “You look lovely, Octavia.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “But may I mention a particular irritation I’m having with you at the moment?”

  He straightened and looked down at her with a mixture of surprise and confusion. “This isn’t about tariff policy again, is it? You know how I feel about Grover Cleveland’s stand on—”

  “Hush, Merritt. You’re wrong on that, but my particular irritation is not with your lack of understanding of politics.”

  Merritt never missed a step, but he did laugh loud enough to draw the att
ention of dancers around them. “Oh please, then, Miss Derby. Do educate me on what I am wrong about this time.”

  Tavia offered him her sweetest smile. “Rest assured there is a list, but I only wish to address the topmost item.” She paused, as if considering how to broach a topic of great importance. “All right, I’ll just come out and say it. Only my father calls me Octavia, and I surmise that is because I am named after his mother, whom no one would deign to call anything but her full name.”

  The beginnings of the dazzling Baker smile showed at the corners of his lips. “I see.”

  “Yes, well, understanding of the issue is the start of repairing it. So, you see, I must insist you refrain from calling me Octavia and call me what my friends call me.” She paused for effect and then glanced around before leaning in to whisper in his ear. Well, almost his ear. He was quite tall. “My friends call me Tavia.”

  “Tavia?”

  She offered a mock grimace. “Hush now. I wouldn’t want this to be overheard.”

  Again he laughed. Again the dancers around them stared openly. Then he leaned down to accommodate her height, his lips brushing the tender skin of her cheek as he made to whisper.

  “Have you no friends in this room tonight, Tavia?”

  She turned her face so as to respond to him alone. “I think not,” she said. “Between the bride brigade and their mamas, I’ve collected quite a few enemies in this room.”

  Merritt straightened. “Two things, then,” he said above the music. “First, to you I am Rit. That’s what people I care about call me.”

  Care about. Her heart lurched even as she held tight to his hand as they twirled beneath the glittering chandeliers.

  Well, of course he cares about you, silly woman, she told herself. I’m standing between him and unwanted advances from marriageable misses. Violet’s scowling mother stepped into view only to disappear when Rit whirled Tavia around.

  And their mamas, she added.

  Once again her companion leaned in close. “And second, if you are going to acquire enemies by your acquaintance to me, then I say we give them something to dislike.”