Family of Her Dreams. Keli Gwyn

       Chapter One

      July 1866 Shingle Springs, California

      “Look out, ma’am!”

      Tess Grimsby jumped back to avoid a fellow about fifteen pulling a baggage cart with far too much speed for the bustling rail station. She collided with a mother herding her four youngsters, causing the weary-looking woman to drop her wicker basket. Several children’s books slid across the wooden platform.

      “My apologies. I didn’t mean to bump into you.” Tess stooped to pick up the books that had landed at her feet.

      The woman made sure her children were all right, dropped to her knees and reached for a copy of Little Bo-Peep. “It wasn’t your fault.” She scowled at the baggage handler. “He needs to watch where he’s going.”

      The young man parked his cart beside the baggage car and sprinted over to them. “Sorry ’bout that. It’s my first day on the job, and my boss said to hurry. I’ve got to make a good impression.” He grinned, reminding Tess of one of the many boys she’d befriended when she lived at the orphanage.

      She smiled. “No harm was done.”

      A man with a voice as rich as Belgian chocolate addressed the teen. “Be more careful next time. Getting the baggage moved quickly is important, but Mr. Flynn wouldn’t want you to endanger our passengers, nor would I.”

      “Right, sir.” The lad left.

      “Come, children. We need to get home.” The mother took the books Tess had gathered, muttered something about troublesome teens and hustled her children across the crowded platform.

      Tess slid her satchel back on her shoulder, straightened and found herself face-to-face with a broad-shouldered, golden-haired gentleman. He was younger than any of the men she’d worked for—and far more handsome with his strong chin and arresting sky-blue eyes, currently clouded with sadness. If he was Mr. Abbott—the widower she’d come to see—she could understand.

      He held out her journal and said nothing for several seconds as he gazed at her, his expression unreadable. No doubt the tall man wasn’t used to looking a woman in the eye.

      “Sir?”

      The frown he’d worn faded, giving way to a hint of a smile that caused her breath to hitch. “I believe this is yours. It fell out of your bag during the commotion.”

      “Thank you.” She took the diary from him, its pages so full of her hopes and dreams—as well as the mementos she’d tucked between the pages—that she had to grip it tightly to keep items from falling out. She would add her train ticket to the collection of memorabilia, a symbol of the new chapter in her life she was eager to embrace. “You must be Mr. Abbott, the stationmaster.”

      His forehead furrowed. “I am, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

      She shoved the bulging book into her satchel. “Not in person, although we’ve corresponded. I’m Tess Grimsby, Polly’s friend. I’ve come about the housekeeper position.”

      “Ah, yes. She told me you’d arrive today.” He clutched a notebook with sun-bronzed hands that obviously did more than complete paperwork, and scanned the platform, where several passengers lingered. “I need to see to a few things. Could you come to my office in ten minutes?”

      “That would be fine.” She could use the time to compose herself.

      “Actually, let’s make that twenty. I need to see if anyone requires my assistance, and then we can take care of the interview.”

      He certainly didn’t sound eager to meet with her. Not that she could blame him. Hiring someone to care for his motherless children could be difficult. “Very well. I’ll see to my trunks and meet you there.” She should have time to rent a room at the hotel.

      Tess set off for the baggage area, weaving her way through those waiting to board the train for its return trip down the hill. As the end station of the Placerville and Sacramento Valley Railroad, the depot was one of the busiest in the state. While it handled a great deal of freight, a number of travelers passed through Shingle Springs, too. However, few remained there, which she hoped to do.

      People watched as she swept past them. Some even craned their heads to follow her progress. As much as she’d like to fade into the bustling throng, she couldn’t. Everywhere she went she encountered the thinly veiled surprise and outright stares of strangers. You would think they’d never seen a tall woman before.

      Peter Flynn, Polly’s russet-haired husband who worked at the station, saw her and hustled over, a smile on his tanned face. They made quick work of their introductions.

      “Polly said you were tall, but...” He tilted his head to look at her. “You could dust the ceiling at our place with the feathers on that hat of yours. Just how tall are you?”

      Most people didn’t come right out and mention her height, although she would prefer that to whispers behind fans. Polly had warned Tess that Peter spoke his mind. Since she tended to do the same, she didn’t take offense. “Six foot.”

      He whistled a note of surprise, drawing the attention of several freight men, who viewed her with curiosity and made some less than flattering remarks. Indignation straightened her spine. She wasn’t that much taller than other women. Why must everyone make such a fuss about a few inches?

      She lifted her chin and gave the workers the impassive look she’d practiced in the mirror until she’d perfected it. Once she had, she’d pasted it on whenever the sharp-tongued orphanage director maligned her, unwilling to let him see her pain. Nearly nine years had passed, but the recollection of Mr. Grimsby’s cutting remarks left a bitter taste in her mouth. Thank the Lord she’d been able to leave the orphanage the day she turned sixteen, having secured a position caring for the children of a family heading West.

      “At least you and Spencer will see eye to eye.” Peter chuckled at his play on words but quickly sobered. “And speaking of him, I’d better get back to work. I’ll have one of the boys deliver your trunks to the hotel.” He doffed his hat and returned to his duties.

      Standing on the platform in front of the depot, Tess surveyed the small town. Shingle Springs sat at the foot of the majestic Sierra Nevada mountain range, which rose up to meet the cloudless sky. The steady stream of wagons headed east had dug deep ruts in the wide main street. Most of the businesses and houses lining it were made of wood, but an impressive stone building on the south side stood out.

      She crossed the street and made her way to the Planter’s House hotel, a two-story white clapboard building with a balcony that shaded the porch below. With the temperature approaching triple digits, she would welcome getting out of the early afternoon sun.