Widow’s Daughter Only Had $1 for Her Date—Millionaire Cowboy’s Son at Next Table Watched Her, Until…

Chapter 2

The note lay on the white tablecloth like a coiled snake. Kora stared at the elegant looping handwriting, recognizing Nelly Farnsworth’s perfect penmanship from the countless notes she had seen passed between desks at the academy. She read the words again, and again, as if reading them enough times would make them hurt less.

Amos is not coming, laundress. He is at the barn dance with me. We only wanted to see if a scrub girl would actually put on airs and sit with quality folks. Go back to the wash tubs.

The laughter in the restaurant seemed to swell around her, the clinking of glasses and the low rumble of conversation pressing in like a physical weight. She had been a joke — an evening’s entertainment for children who had never worked a day in their lives. Her mother had scrubbed clothes until her hands bled, and Kora was their punchline.

We do not bend in the wind.

Her grandfather’s voice cut through the roaring in her ears. She folded the note carefully, slipped it into her reticule, and straightened her spine. She would not cry. Not here. Not in front of all these people in their fine silks and polished boots.

The waiter returned. Mr. Gibbs looked at the empty teacup, then at the empty chair, and his thin smile widened into something cruel. “Miss,” he said, his voice carrying just enough to turn a few heads at nearby tables. “This table is reserved for dining patrons. If your party is not arriving, I must ask you to settle your account and vacate the seat.”

Kora’s mouth went dry as cotton. “How much do I owe you for the tea, sir?”