“I’m sorry.” She averted her gaze. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“The fault’s mine. I wasn’t paying attention.”
He was apologizing? She risked another glance at the exceedingly handsome man.
His lips curved into a wry smile. “Sorry about your dresses.”
Dresses? She smoothed her skirt. Oh, dear, she’d worn a plain old dress that was years out of style and fraying at the cuffs. “I’m all right.”
“I meant the ones you dropped.” He bent, and she followed his outstretched arm to the horrifying sight of Mrs. Vanderloo’s tea gowns floating in a mud puddle.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, but it couldn’t stop the strangulated cry that shot up her throat. Already she was late, and now Mrs. Vanderloo’s expensive dresses were ruined. This could cost the shop dearly.
He lifted the gowns with one hand and brushed at the mud on them with the other.
“Stop!” she cried. “You’ll only make it worse.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late.” He turned the dresses so she could see the damage.
Her eyes blurred with tears. The ivory georgette bore a streak of dirty brown, and the mint-green lace gown looked as if an entire pot of coffee had been dumped on it. For years Mrs. Vanderloo had been one of the shop’s best customers, but lately she’d gone from ordering new dresses to bringing in ready-made frocks for alterations. Each time she complained about the bill. Each time she threatened never to bring another gown to them. This would be the proverbial last straw. The shop couldn’t stand to lose more customers.
She gulped. “They’re ruined.”
“They’re just dresses.”
“Just dresses? They’re not just dresses. They’re tea gowns. Expensive ones. What will I do?” She pressed her hands to her face, nauseated at the thought of how much this would cost.
“I’m sorry,” he said more gently. “I wasn’t thinking of their value. Let me help. Since the whole thing is my fault, I’ll replace them. Is there a store in town that sells comparable gowns?”
Ruth shook her head.
“Then let me bring you some catalogs tomorrow.”
“No!” Even though Mrs. Vanderloo had bought these from a catalog, she would insist Ruth replicate them exactly, using the same or better materials at no charge.
His forehead furrowed. “I assure you that the catalogs are from the finest stores. Select any gowns you wish. Cost doesn’t matter.”
If cost didn’t matter, then he must indeed be rich.
“I couldn’t.”
“Nonsense.” He held the unmarred sleeve of the georgette gown next to her arm. “If I may make a suggestion, I’d choose a different color. Ivory doesn’t suit your fair complexion. Rose would better bring out the color in your cheeks.”
“But—” Ruth began to protest that the dresses weren’t hers when the peculiarity of his statement struck her. Few men could tell rose from blush. To most, both were pink. Yet this stranger clearly knew the full range of colors and hues. “Are you an artist? It’s not every day that I meet a man who understands color.”
He laughed. “Who doesn’t like a little color? Don’t worry. I’ll set things right. What do you say? Will you let me buy the dresses?”
The offer was incredible, especially when Ruth was to blame. “That’s not necessary—”
“Of course it is. We’ll get two that highlight your fine features.”
“But you don’t understand. The dresses aren’t mine. You see, I’m a seamstress, and these belong to a customer. I was supposed to deliver them before five o’clock so she’d have them for her garden party tonight.” Ruth broke off, acutely aware that she’d started blathering.
The man glanced at the Fox Dress Shop sign over the door, and a look of dismay crossed his face before he reined it in with a taut smile. “Then I’ll let your client choose the replacements.”
“You would do that?” Ruth tried to wrap her mind around such generosity. “But it isn’t your fault, and Mrs. Vanderloo is quite particular.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that suggested he smiled often. “Of course she is. But together we can persuade her that it’s to her best advantage to accept the replacements.”
Together? He was going to go to Mrs. Vanderloo’s house with her?
She must have been standing with her mouth agape, because that smile of his turned into a grin.
“I ran into you,” he said. “It’s only fair that I offer the apology.” He extended an arm. “Shall we?”
Ruth couldn’t breathe. This handsome, wealthy stranger wanted to escort her down Main Street in front of everyone. No man had ever done that, and this one didn’t even know her. Such a thing was not done. Tongues would wag. Ruth pressed her hands to her hot cheeks and pretended to check her hat in the window. Behind her, the stranger still held the dresses, and inside the shop her sisters grinned like monkeys.
They thought she was flirting.
She whirled away from the window and straight into the arms of the handsome man. Oh, no! She’d done it again.
“I’m sorry.” She backed away, her face blazing hot. “I didn’t realize you were standing so close. I—I was just checking my hat.” She patted it for emphasis.
The elegant suit, the gold cuff links, the silk handkerchief. A man like him would never be interested in a wallflower like her.
“You look quite presentable.” His easy smile warmed her in the most unnerving way.
It was just a compliment, she told herself. Nothing more. She was the one who’d let reason fly away on the wind. No doubt Jen’s ridiculous marriage idea had precipitated such lunacy. He just happened to match her criteria exactly. What if...? Ruth shook her head. Instead of fantasizing about relationships that could never happen, she should concentrate on the business at hand.
Mrs. Vanderloo was her customer. Ruth should handle the situation alone, but the man’s offer of two new dresses might appease the difficult client. The dress shop couldn’t afford to lose her business. Ruth had no choice but to accept. Of course, she would pay him back for the gowns. That should settle the matter.
“All right. I accept.” She might have to concede that point, but she didn’t need to take his arm. “I’d better lead the way.”
* * *
Sam Rothenburg’s day had progressed from bad to worse. First, the train had been late. Then he’d arrived at the store to find construction days behind schedule. When Miss Harris, the secretary, told him that his father was threatening to make a progress inspection, he had to find a way to spur the out-of-town crews to work faster, or Father would yank him off the project. Sam had proposed this store. He had to make it work.
He’d promised the work crews a bonus for finishing early, and they’d sped up. Then three crewmen dropped an expensive display case, shattering the glass and snapping the oak framing. Sam had left rather than lash out at the workmen. Head down and boiling with frustration, he never saw the shy, delicate creature step out of her shop.
She looked a few years younger than him. She was slender and rather plainly attired, and her gaze fluttered this way and that but never directly at him, rather like a frightened bird. Sam had never considered himself intimidating. The thought almost made him laugh. If she only knew how powerless he was. But she didn’t know him. No one here did. Per Father’s orders, no one would until after the store opened.
So