Chapter One
Brookfield, Kansas 1914
Three days. Not a moment longer. She would attend to business first thing Monday morning, and by Tuesday afternoon she would be on her way back home to San Francisco.
Back home where she belonged.
Linn Sparks shuddered as she looked around her. She’d been gone from Brookfield for seven years, and in all that time, nothing in this sorry excuse for a town had changed. Farm wagons still clattered down Main Street—the only street in town deemed worthy of a name—and the hooves of the mules and horses still kicked up the same thick red dust. Familiar storefronts on either side of the rutted road looked as weary and woe-begone as the day she’d left.
How had she endured growing up here? Brookfield lacked anything that even faintly resembled civilized society.
No couture dressmakers’ establishments with their luxurious bolts of fabrics and thrilling counters filled with lace, ribbons, and fancy appliques. Only Mary Ann Clement’s tired little shop at the back of her drab little house.
No elegant restaurants serving fine cuisine. Just Ledbetter’s Corner Café. The broken sign at the entrance still dangled precariously, threatening to cause severe bodily harm to some unlucky patron. Elmer always swore someday he’d get around to fixing it. Apparently, he’d not yet found the time.
No delightful candy shops offering sweet chocolates and delicious bon-bons. Linn could buy penny candies at the mercantile, but those hard, sugary candies couldn’t begin to compare with the rich, sumptuous taste of Ghirardelli’s dark chocolates melting in her mouth.
Worst of all, Brookfield lacked art and culture…unless one counted Miss Tabitha Ann Collier. Was the crotchety old bitch still alive? Instinctively, Linn whirled around to gaze at the neat little house surrounded by its lovely white picket fence. Memories stirred, bringing a wistful smile to Linn’s face. She loved Tabitha Ann. She hated Tabitha Ann. Linn owed everything good in her life to the woman.
“That’s all of it now, Miss Sparks.” The driver she’d hired in Wichita gestured toward the leather-trimmed valises and the stiff hatboxes he’d unloaded from the rear of the motor coach—a fancy Winton Six model touring car. With his dapper gray uniform and neat starched cap, the fellow added an air of importance to her arrival. Linn liked attention. She enjoyed impressing people.
Grinning at her, the fellow held out a hand. “You sure brought a lot with you. Must be planning to stay a while, I suppose.”
Her spine stiffened. By pointing out how much effort he’d expended on her behalf, he meant to encourage a sizable tip, but how dare he suggest she would even think of staying a while in a wretched place like Brookfield, Kansas?
She opened her leather handbag and took out a few pennies. He’d get no more from her.
“Somebody coming to meet you?” The driver glanced around.
As she’d instructed him to do, he’d deposited her—and her belongings—across the street from the livery. Even at this early hour of the morning, the smell of horse sweat, axle grease, and manure hung thick and heavy in the sultry summer air. Linn coughed. She opened her handbag again, jerked out a lace-edged handkerchief, and pressed it to her nose.
“No, I’ll be fine. I can make it home—” Linn bit back the word. Brookfield was not her home. “My parents have a farm close by. I’ll hire a wagon at the livery.”
“All right, then.” The driver doffed his cap, muttered something under his breath, and walked away, returning to the automobile without another word.
Linn gaped at the valises and hatboxes the driver had left stacked at her feet.
Summertime 