wild beneath that measured calm. He’d sensed it from the start of their acquaintance and thus had made a point of avoiding her more often than not.
“Mr. Bennett, how are you enjoying this evening’s performance so far?” Mrs. Singletary asked him the question as she sat on a chair beside him, settling her skirts around her with practiced ease. “Do you not find the music lovely?”
“Lovely, no. I find it extremely haunting.”
A soft gasp came from Callie’s direction.
He ignored the sound, and the woman. “The story itself is far too tragic to be considered enjoyable,” he added.
“Isn’t that interesting?” The widow reached out her hand and accepted the plate full of tea cakes and chocolates from her companion, who for some reason looked entirely disconcerted. “Callie made those exact observations not twenty minutes ago.”
“Indeed.” Uncomfortable hearing that he and Callie shared the same opinion, Reese adjusted his stance and deflected the conversation back to the widow. “I believe you were instrumental in bringing this particular troupe of performers to Denver. What do you think of their efforts so far?”
It was the perfect question to ask. The widow set about telling him her precise opinion. In great detail.
Listening with only half an ear, he nodded at all the appropriate places. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Callie returned to the buffet table. She contemplated the offerings once again. A delicate frown of concentration spread across her brow.
She huffed out a small frustrated breath. Though it had taken her no time to decide what to pick out for her employer, she seemed at a loss when it came to filling her own plate.
Reese found himself oddly riveted.
Would she choose a soft, gooey confection? Or something with more substance? Maybe a mixture of both.
He had no idea why it would matter to him. What could her choices possibly mean in the grand scheme of the evening’s events?
“Oh, my, Mr. Bennett, that is quite the fierce expression on your face.” Mrs. Singletary’s voice cut through his thoughts. “I take it you disagree with me.”
He silently filed through the widow’s last words. “In my opinion, four duets are three too many.”
She let out a soft laugh. “You haven’t enjoyed one moment of the tonight’s production, have you?”
“No.”
His brief response seemed to amuse her further. “I see even in matters of entertainment I can count on your candor.”
It did not occur to him to be anything less than frank.
“But, truly, are you not pleased with any portion of tonight’s performance?”
“Not in the least.”
Watching Callie’s attempt to make a decision, however, enthralled him to no end.
Mrs. Singletary made a disapproving sound in her throat. “Are you considering leaving the theater early, then?”
“I am.”
“I cannot persuade you otherwise?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
He continued watching Callie hover over the buffet table. She was being so very, very careful and working so very, very hard to pick just the right confections to put on her plate. Her scrupulous process was oddly sweet and utterly adorable and Reese couldn’t bear to watch another moment more.
“Pick one of each, Miss Mitchell.”
Her responding flinch warned him his suggestion had come out harsher than he’d meant. He softened his voice. “There is no need to be particular. There is plenty to go around.”
“I... Yes, thank you.”
She began filling her plate with more enthusiasm. Halfway through, though, she looked up and stared briefly into his gaze.
Briefly was enough.
For that single moment, Reese caught a hint of something disturbingly familiar in her eyes, a willingness to push the boundaries when no one was looking. Dangerous, dangerous territory.
He knew he had a split second to make a decision before it was too late, before he forgot who this woman was and that he’d once been engaged to her sister. He could continue staring at Callie, attempting to fight off this unwanted fascination a few seconds more. Or he could turn his back on her.
He turned his back.
There. She was no longer riveting.
Reese was no longer enthralled.
Everything was back as it should be.
The following morning, Callie woke early, with gritty eyes, a foggy brain and an uneasy heart. The bright August sunlight had yet to filter through the curtains’ seams. Considering her gray mood, she preferred the muted dawn light. The events of the previous evening had left her feeling anxious and mildly out of sorts. It was as if her world had been tilted slightly off-kilter and she couldn’t seem to regain her balance.
Whenever she found herself in need of comfort, she turned to her Bible. The Psalms especially had a way of putting matters into perspective, her favorite one reminding her to lean on the Lord and not on her own understanding.
Unfortunately, her mind kept wandering back to last night, to Reese. To the time they’d spent in his opera box.
Something had shifted between them, something new and utterly perplexing.
There’d been that awkward moment when he’d leaned forward and urged her to pick one of every dessert on display. His voice had held equal parts kindness and frustration, the odd mix of emotions confusing her even more. So she’d done as he suggested and filled her plate with sweets she had no intention of eating.
After that, he’d turned his back and avoided speaking to her directly for the rest of the intermission.
She’d been relieved. Then filled with despair.
Then relieved all over again.
Sighing, she curled her fingers around her Bible and pressed the book to her heart. Reese was so handsome, and in many ways so familiar, yet she hardly knew him. For all their interactions through the years, they’d never stepped beyond polite pleasantries.
Last night had been no different. Except...
Everything had been different. Reese had been different. The way he’d looked her directly in the eyes, as if she mattered, for herself, had left a peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Had anyone ever told her that she would one day be the center of Reese’s attention, even for a few precious moments at the opera, she would have declared them quite mad. He’d barely spared her a glance before last night.
This was getting her nowhere. Callie was reading far too much into his behavior, looking for a hidden meaning where there was none. Now she was running late for breakfast.
She dressed quickly, choosing a basic gray dress and practical, low-heeled ankle boots. She secured her hair with extra pins this morning, smoothing and tugging until every stray curl had been ruthlessly tamed into submission.
Feeling more herself, she went in search of her employer.
She found Mrs. Singletary in the morning room, perusing the Denver Chronicle, which was laid out on the table in front of her. Her treasured cat, Lady Macbeth, slumbered in the bright sunbeam at her mistress’s feet. A tray with pastries, coffee and two soft-boiled eggs in enameled cups sat untouched beside the newspaper.
“Good morning, Mrs. Singletary.”
The