Her gaze landed on Gideon and stayed there.
She walked directly toward him without hesitation, which he found both impressive and irritating.
"Mr. Voss," she said.
Not a question.
"That's right."
He looked past her at the boys.
"Mrs. Whitmore."
"Clara Whitmore. Yes."
She set one bag down and extended her hand.
"I hope the drive wasn't too far. The boys have been on that train since Denver, and they're..."
"You have children."
He said it flat.
Not angry exactly.
Just stating what he was looking at because he needed a moment to confirm he wasn't somehow wrong.
Clara's chin lifted slightly.
Just slightly.
"Four sons. Yes. I mentioned them in my correspondence with the agency."
"You did not."
A pause.
Something moved through her eyes.
Not quite alarm, but close to it.
"I most certainly did. I stated clearly that I was a widow with four children and that any placement would need to accommodate them."
"The agency told me no dependents."
The silence that dropped between them was the kind you could hear.
Clara held his gaze.
Around them, the other passengers moved past.
The steam from the train drifted off into nothing, and somewhere behind her, one of the boys said something to another in a low voice, and the other one shushed him sharply.
"There's clearly been a miscommunication," Clara said carefully. "But Mr. Voss, I traveled three days on that train with four children on the understanding that..."
"On the understanding that what exactly?"
He hadn't meant it to come out as hard as it did.
Her eyes narrowed.
Not with tears.
With something considerably less comfortable than that.
"On the understanding," she said slowly, "that I was coming to be married."
The world went very quiet.
Gideon stared at her.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The agency informed me that you were a widower seeking a wife. A partner. Not just a kitchen servant."
She said the last two words with a restraint that made it clear she'd chosen them carefully.
"I was told this was a marital placement, Mr. Voss. I brought my sons because this was meant to be a home."
Gideon pulled his hat off his head and ran one hand through his hair in a gesture that had nothing to do with good manners and everything to do with the fact that he genuinely did not know what to do with what she'd just said.
"I asked for a housekeeper," he said. "That is all I asked for."
"And I was told I was being given a husband."
They looked at each other.
Behind Clara, the smallest boy had gotten bored and was now poking at a crack in the wooden platform with the toe of his boot.
The oldest, a tall kid, maybe 12 or 13, with dark eyes that didn't miss a thing, was watching Gideon with an expression that made Gideon feel uncomfortably evaluated.
"This is a problem," Gideon said.