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careful about referring to a specific piece of clothing. As he considered his words and Miriam’s reaction, Barrett realized he should have simply said that he wanted the privilege of having her, the loveliest lady in the city, on his arm when he strolled through the park.
    Were all women this prickly? Barrett doubted that Madame Charlotte was. She hadn’t seemed that way. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman Barrett had ever seen. Other women had dark brown hair and eyes the color of Mr. Ellis’s best chocolate. Other women wore skirts that whispered when they moved, attracting a man’s attention even though the fabric covered practically every inch of skin. Other women wore soft floral perfume that hinted at a summer garden. But no other woman Barrett had met had displayed the same intriguing combination of confidence and vulnerability.
    When Madame Charlotte walked around her store andspoke of the silks, she was the consummate shopkeeper: knowledgeable, helpful, seemingly genuine in her interest in Barrett, even though he was not a customer. She’d even forgiven him for embarrassing her with his question. Question? It had been little more than a taunt. She had challenged him when she’d asked about his motives, and he’d felt the need to retaliate. Barrett wasn’t proud of that, any more than he was proud of the fact that his initial motivation for seeking office had not been as pure as he’d claimed. When Richard and Warren had first suggested he run for public office, he’d seen it as a way to prove he could do something his brothers hadn’t. It hadn’t been easy, growing up in Harrison and Camden’s shadow. They’d been big and strong, whereas he’d been small for his age, not reaching his full height until he was almost eighteen. When his brothers had called him the runt of the litter and refused to include him in their games, he’d retaliated by playing pranks and had soon earned a reputation as a mischief maker. Though he’d outgrown that and had mended his relationship with Harrison and Camden, he’d never felt completely at home in Northwick. That was one reason he’d left as soon as he could.
    It had been a challenge, building a new life in Wyoming, but he’d succeeded. He now had wealth and a social position far beyond his brothers’. Running for office would be the final proof that he was no longer the runt of the litter.
    The urge to prove that was powerful, but the more Barrett learned about his adopted home, the more he realized that he could make a difference in Wyoming—a positive difference. And so he’d told Madame Charlotte that, not his earlier selfish motive.
    She had appeared to believe him. It was only when they’ddiscussed his slogan that she had seemed to retreat into herself. Her demeanor had changed, reminding Barrett of the porcupine he and Camden and Harrison had found when they’d been wandering through the woods back in Pennsylvania. The instant the animal had spotted them, it had curled into a ball, its fiercely sharp quills protecting its soft underbelly, and though they’d stood there for what felt like hours, waiting for the porcupine to straighten out, it had not.
    Madame Charlotte was protecting something, perhaps a daughter. Though Miriam had said nothing more than that Madame Charlotte was a widow who lived above the shop, he had heard a young girl’s voice coming from upstairs. A child lived there, in all likelihood Madame Charlotte’s child. Barrett could understand that she might want to shelter her daughter, but that didn’t explain why she’d seemed so disturbed by his slogan.
    â€œTurn here.” Miriam tapped Barrett’s arm.
    He blinked, surprised when he realized they’d reached the corner of 22nd Street. The park was only one block east. Somehow, he’d traveled four blocks without being aware of it.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said