Page 11 of A Texas Christmas Carol

Inclusion was not a feeling to which Evan was accustomed. As a boy, meals had been a formal affair, children being instructed to be seen and not heard. Then, after the market crashed, he’d been excluded from society entirely. The private school he’d attended sent him away. His friends snubbed him. Excluding himself before others forced rejection upon him became his modus operandi. Work, his sole focus. No friends meant nothing to regret leaving behind as he climbed his way up from bellboy to clerk to manager to owner. But now that he had nowhere left to climb, his solitary habits left his success feeling hollow and unsatisfying.

Felicity, on the other hand, thrived on personal interaction. One moment she leaned to her left to help cut the meat on her nephew’s plate. The next, she jumped into a conversation between her sisters to add a teasing remark that made them laugh. A heartbeat later, she smoothly shifted attention to her brother-in-law across the table, asking him a question about winter squash to bring the reticent man into the conversation. Family was her lifeblood.

Prez’s words from that morning plunged into the forefront of Evan’s mind. “Family and friends are what make life worthwhile.”

Money and success might make life secure, but did they make it worthwhile? Evan had always thought so. He’d worked long and hard to earn comfort, respect, and protection against an uncertain future, all the things he’d craved since boyhood. Yet the cheerful rapport and underlying kinship evident around the Wiggins family table made him question if he’d striven for the wrong prize.

five

THE FOLLOWING DAY, Evan sat in his office, prioritizing his business details based on urgency and financial implications. He glanced at the clock sitting on the corner of his desk. It ticked precious minutes away far too quickly. Felicity Wiggins and her insistence on his physical presence during her charity endeavors was putting a decisive dent in his productivity.

After dinner last night, she’d told him to expect her at two o’clock, shaving three or four hours off the end of his workday. While some ladies might be counted upon to arrive fashionably late, he knew better than to hope for such a reprieve. She was not the type of woman to let a worm crawl off her hook. Though why she wanted him on the hook in the first place was a mystery. His presence was bound to be more repellant than enticing to area townsfolk, but none of his logic-based squirming last night had succeeded in convincing her to carry on without him. Now he had ten minutes to finish his business for the day before she knocked on his door. He’d given Mrs. Bell instructions to put her in his front sitting room, but if Felicity Wiggins possessed enough gumption to ambush him through office windows and stable stalls, she wasn’t likely to stay where he put her for long.

“Robert!” Evan gathered the weekly invoices strewn across his desk and formed a tidy pile, rapping the bottom edge against the desktop.

“One moment, sir,” his secretary called from within the small, closet-like room Evan had built off his study to allow a telegraph to be installed. “Let me finish sending this wire.”

“Hurry up. I have an appointment in ten minutes, and I need to give you my instructions for the remainder of the day.”

“Yes, sir.”

The tapping continued, steady and sure, much like the man operating the machine. Robert Olson had been with Evan since before he took up residence in Kimble County. He was the perfect assistant. Followed orders to the letter, had a thick skin, and possessed a gift for diplomacy that turned Evan’s demanding dictations into courteous yet uncompromising correspondence. Robert’s even keel proved vastly irritating, however, when Evan was pressed for time.

Restless, Evan pushed up from his chair and started pacing the room. His right knee gave a slight twinge as he planted his foot to pivot in front of his bookcase. He grimaced, more in frustration than actual pain, as he retreated to his desk to collect his silver-topped walking stick. He’d considered leaving it behind during his outing with Miss Wiggins, but that bit of vanity would have to be abandoned.

As well it should. Foolishness. All of it. Evan’s grip tightened on the cane. Did he actually think he could make himself appear more manly by walking unaided? Bah! As if he had any business trying to impress his companion. Felicity had an agenda, just like anyone else. She intended to drag him around town and parade poor unfortunate souls in front of him in the hope of eliciting sympathy and therefore a larger donation for her dratted Christmas baskets. That was all this was. Not some kind of courtship ritual.

“Sir?” Robert’s voice cut into Evan’s thoughts. “Are you ready to proceed?”

“Of course,” he blustered, ordering his attention back to the business at hand. “We need to place the orders for the kitchens. I’ve compiled a list based on the inventories reported yesterday.” He handed the stack of papers to his secretary, an itemized page for each of his twelve inns. “The Bastrop location needs a set of new china as well as foodstuffs. Dinner plates only. Seems the girl they hired to wash the dishes is the clumsy sort, leaving nearly all their dinnerware chipped and cracked after a month on the job. She should be fired as far as I’m concerned, but Ramsey said he’d try her out on maid duty first. See how she gets along with a mop and dustcloth. I’m not sure who’s washing the dishes, but I suppose that’s Ramsey’s problem.”

“Yes, sir.” Robert perused the sheets. A frown creased his brow. “I don’t see our usual beef order here.” He glanced up and met Evan’s gaze, a question in his eyes.

“The price went up three cents a pound. I’m canceling our order. The new price would put us over-budget.”

“Why not simply charge the customer more for beef?”

Evan raised a brow. Robert rarely questioned him. “I’ve studied the numbers. There is a very small window between profit and loss. Increased charging leads to a decrease in customer orders. A decrease in orders leads to spoilage and therefore a reduction in supply. Decreased supply leads to frustrated customers when that supply runs out, impacting their satisfaction and likelihood to stay with us in future. Therefore, I’ve decided to simplify the menu and cut out beef entirely. We can add it back in when prices drop.”

“But canceling a contract right before Christmas runs the risk of damaging relations with the local cattlemen. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until after the first of the year?”

Evan speared his secretary with an icy glare. “I won’t operate at a loss simply because there is a holiday arriving in ten days. If our suppliers reduce their price to an acceptable level, I will consider renewing the contract. Until then, we’re scratching the order. Besides, think how happy we’ll make the chicken and pig farmers this Christmas by increasing their orders.”

“But, sir—”

“Bob. Scratch it.”

He gave a sharp nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Evan checked the clock, and as he did, he caught sight of Mrs. Bell approaching from the hall. He turned back to Robert. “Everything else should be straightforward. I’m not sure how long I’ll be, so you needn’t wait on my return.”

Robert was always in a hurry to get home to his family in the evenings. Perhaps allowing him to leave early would smooth his ruffled beef feathers.

Although Robert’s feathers, ruffled or not, were of little consequence at the moment. The nod Mrs. Bell gave Evan told him the punctual Miss Wiggins had arrived. All thoughts of beef, inns, and budgets skittered straight out of his head. A rather singular occurrence for a man who heretofore had defined his life by his business.

Felicity strolled around the small sitting room at the front of Mr. Beazer’s grand Victorian home. Like the charcoal-gray exterior of the house, the well-appointed sitting room lacked warmth. It boasted lovely walnut furnishings, and the rich wood moldings lining the doorways, windows, floor, and ceiling exhibited skilled craftsmanship. However, the drab olive wallpaper, while obviously expensive, drained energy from the room. And there were no personal touches anywhere to be found, nothing to reflect the nature of the complex, intelligent man who made this place his home.

She itched to sew up some bright yellow pillows for the settee or maybe embroider a Bible verse sampler for him to hang on the wall. A potted fern might look nice between the windows. Perhaps some deep plum-colored curtains to warm up the green walls. She’d seen some fabric at the general store just the other day that would—