Beauty for Ashes by Dorothy Love

nodded. “This evening.”
    So soon? Carrie felt like bawling, but she kept her voice light. “You’d better write to me. I can’t wait to hear what Sophie is up to and how Wade liked staying with his grandpa.”
    They crossed the park, climbed into Ada’s rented rig, and returned to the Verandah.
    “Good-bye, Carrie.” Ada squeezed Carrie’s hand. “Nate is a good and decent man, but all men have their limitations. It isn’t in their nature to postpone their desires indefinitely.” Ada smiled. “Don’t make him wait too long.”
    Carrie got out of the rig. “Thank you for the tart. And the advice.”
    Ada waved, turned the rig, and headed down the street to the Hickory Ridge Inn. Carrie shaded her eyes and watched her friend drive away. Was Ada right? Was she in danger of losing her chance at happiness? She tried to imagine herself as Mrs. Nate Chastain, but it was Griff Rutledge’s face that rose in her mind.
    Ridiculous. She shook off the preposterous thought and climbed the steps to the hotel.

    Griff finished a breakfast of eggs, grits, and biscuits and downed his second cup of coffee. He shaved and then donned the gray wool suit he’d sent out to be freshened. He tucked the report he’d received by wire into his pocket and descended the stairs just as an attractive woman in a stylish feathered hat entered the lobby. He nodded, then stopped short. “Well, hello. It’s Mrs. Caldwell, isn’t it?”
    She looked up, startled. “Mr. Rutledge.”
    “How kind. You remembered. Wasn’t that wedding something? I can’t remember the last time I saw such a beautiful cake.”
    “Mrs. Daly is an accomplished baker.”
    “So I gathered.” He bowed. “It was lovely seeing you, Mrs. Caldwell. Please forgive my haste. I’m late for an appointment.”
    She nodded.
    Leaving the inn, he crossed the street and hurried past Gilman’s bank, the bookshop, and the mercantile, which was already buzzing with customers. At the entrance to the Verandah Hotel, he paused to collect his thoughts. When it came to doing business with a man, he considered himself a master. Women, however, were a different matter entirely.
    He opened the door and went inside.

SEVEN
    She sat in the parlor dressed in a bright yellow frock that contrasted with her dark hair, so engrossed in her game that she hadn’t heard his approach. On the table in front of her, next to a chipped coffee mug, a deck of cards fanned out. Watching her nimble fingers flip the cards, Griff felt as if no time at all had passed since their last encounter. He doubted she even remembered.
    “Hello, Rosaleen.” His voice echoed in the empty room.
    Her hands stilled. “Griff.”
    Her head came up. Her lips curved into a sardonic smile. “I figured you’d find me sooner or later. But I didn’t expect it would be here.”
    “You didn’t make it easy for me.”
    She shrugged. “A girl has to make a living. After what happened in New Orleans—”
    He tamped down his anger. “I wouldn’t bring up New Orleans if I were you.”
    She tossed the cards onto the table. “Want some coffee? It’s bitter as sin, but—”
    “No thank you.”
    “A brandy then. I think Mrs. Whitcomb has some around here somewhere.”
    “I don’t drink in the morning. Quit stalling. You know why I’ve come.”
    “Yes, Griff, I believe I do.” She sashayed over to him and planted a firm kiss on his mouth. “Aren’t you going to say a proper hello? It’s been a long time.”
    “Yes. Much too long.” He drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “Recognize this?”
    Her eyes clouded. “You know I do. But surely you aren’t going to hold me to that silly old IOU.”
    “Why shouldn’t I?”
    “Because I’m poor as a church mouse and you have plenty of money.” She handed the paper back. “You won’t miss this paltry sum at all.”
    “I had money, but there was a war. You might have heard about it.”
    “That’s ridiculous. Your family still owns the plantation