Eleanore Page 4

  Eleanora abruptly drew back, so quickly, the peppermint jar knocked into the cinnamon one, and both jars clattered sideways, sending candy sticks scattering onto the counter and floor.

  And broke promptly in half. Tessa dropped to her knees to pick the pieces up. The stranger hunkered down to join her, and just as Mrs. Tweedie took a sack and hurried to help, too, Eleanora halted her.

  “Forgive my clumsiness,” she said, her voice trembling with dismay. “Please figure what I owe you.”

  “You weren’t clumsy at all,” the kind proprietor said. “It could’ve happened to anyone.”

  Eleanora took the paper sack and handed it to Tessa, clearly enjoying an impromptu game of pick-up-the-candy with the stranger.

  “Put the pieces in there, Tessa. Quickly.” She turned back to Mrs. Tweedie. “It’s only right, and I’m happy to pay. Just tell me how much.”

  She’d have to make a trip to the Crane Bank for another withdrawal from her account to make up for the loss, though Mrs. Tweedie was clearly reluctant to take her up on her offer. Indeed, the woman acted completely incognizant of Eleanora’s fluster.

  But the fluster had grown to such intensity she couldn’t remain in this mercantile a moment longer, having displayed her ineptness in front of all the customers, but especially the tall, handsome stranger. She had to escape him. Immediately. Eleanora emptied her handbag of all the money she had with her, and the pitifully few coins spun on the counter.

  She grabbed Tessa’s hand clutching the sack full of broken candy, and, in complete and abject mortification, fled from the mercantile.

  Chapter 4

  Reed paused on the boardwalk in front of the Crane Hotel, lit a cheroot and shook out the match. After exhaling a plume of smoke, he slid a thoughtful glance along the empty railroad tracks running beyond Front Street then the street itself, up one side, down the other.

  Big change from Denver, this little town. Quiet, almost deserted. No bustle of noisy rigs. No people strolling in and out of establishments. Only a few horses hitched in front of the nearby saloon, the Two-Bit.

  That’s what a mine explosion did to a town and the folks who were left behind. Seemed to Reed Wildcat Ridge’s days were numbered, and wasn’t that a shame? He didn’t have much experience with frontier settlements, having lived most of his life in a big city, but in his work for the union, he’d visited his share. At least, this settlement had a fighting chance. Far as he could tell, it’d had a good start before the Gold King Mine explosion slashed the number of its occupants and left behind mostly widows and children, all struggling to survive.

  Couldn’t be easy, but then, that’s why he was here. To do what he could to help. He didn’t have much time, but he could compile a report of his observations and recommendations and send both to James Martin. After that, his focus would be on Washington, D.C., where he could help in a different way.

  Traveling more than three hundred miles to Utah Territory had forced him to postpone his new job interview with the D.C. senator. Reed had chafed at having to do so, but the politician had been agreeable. Now that Reed was here in Wildcat Ridge, well, he’d use every trick up his sleeve to make the delay worthwhile.

  “I’ve set your trunk in your room, sir.” A young boy of eleven or twelve years appeared, closing the hotel door behind him.

  Reed took a final pull on the cheroot and ground the stub into the boardwalk with the toe of his shoe. He withdrew a coin from a small leather pouch and dropped it into the boy’s palm.

  “Appreciate your help, son.”

  The boy gaped at the money he held, and his eyes lit up. “Wow, sir. Thank you, sir.” He stuffed the gratuity in the front pocket of his dungarees. “Might you need anything else?”

  “There is one thing.” The image of a slender, blond woman dressed in widow’s weeds, with skin like alabaster and eyes as blue as a peacock’s feather, loomed vivid in his mind, warming his blood. “Do you know if Mrs. Cavender is inside?”

  “Yes, sir, she is.” The boy’s shaggy head bobbed, tilting his cap lower onto his forehead. He righted it again with a grimy hand. “She’s in the kitchen. Making coffee, smelled like. I’m supposing it’s for you, bein’s you’re just off the Wells Fargo stage and all, and she don’t have any other guests.”

  “Mighty kind of her. I could use a cup.” Reed smiled and meant it.

  “She’s a nice lady, for sure. My sister works for her now and again. Speaks real high of her. Reckon most folks do.”

  Reed filed the information away. At least, his client was likable. Not all folks who demanded the services of an attorney were.

  “Well, sir, I’ll be on my way. You gonna be in town long?”

  “Afraid not. Leaving on the next stage in a few days.”

  “Yes, sir. Let me get the door for you.”

  He hurried to perform the service, and Reed added good manners to his list of Wildcat Ridge’s attributes. He wasn’t accustomed to youngsters opening doors for him, but it showed the boy knew how to respect his elders.

  He strode inside. Sure enough, the scent of brewing coffee wafted across the lobby. Its carpet appeared thin but free of stains; the furniture gleamed and, while far from expensive, was laid out in a tasteful arrangement. Even a bouquet of wildflowers graced an accent table, giving the area a welcoming touch.

  In her letters, Eleanora Cavender had described herself as manager of the Crane Hotel. As far as first impressions went, she seemed to be doing a good job of it.

  He halted at the hotel’s desk. On top, an open ledger revealed more blank spaces than names of guests, but his was there, in similar handwriting as the letters.

  Beside the ledger was a silver bell, and Reed reached over to give it a quick jangle. Almost immediately, footsteps sounded from the direction of the kitchen.

  He turned, a slight hum in his veins at the prospect of seeing her again. And then, there she was in her widow’s dress, her cheeks a soft pink, black gloves sheathing each hand.

  Odd that she wore them.

  Before he could explore the thought further, she froze in mid-step with an audible gasp. What pink had been in her cheeks drained straight away; her eyes widened, and her jaw lagged from the shock of her recognition.

  Of course, she hadn’t known who he was in Tweedie’s Mercantile, no more than he’d known her, at least not at first, but she’d know him now.

  He’d always enjoyed the element of surprise.

  Amused, he inclined his head. “Mrs. Cavender. We meet again.”

  A gloved hand pressed to her bosom. “You—you’re the one—” Her chin jerked upward. “What are you doing here?”

  As if a sudden thought struck her, she took a quick step to the ledger and glanced down at the open page. He hadn’t thought her cheeks could pale further, but they did.

  Her glance lifted. “Shannon? Mr. Reed Shannon?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “Oh, my,” she whispered. Her throat moved. “At Tweedie’s, if I would’ve known...” She exhaled. “Please forgive me. I don’t normally speak to a Crane Hotel guest the way I spoke to you there.”

  Her guilt stirred up some of his own. “I wasn’t a guest yet, was I? You couldn’t have known.”

  “You could’ve told me.”

  “You didn’t give me a chance.”

  She glanced away. “I suppose not.”

  He paused before bringing his point home. “Most people don’t react to spilled candy the way you did.” She’d all but run out the door, leaving both Mrs. Tweedie and him to stare after her. There’d been a reason for her flight. Something that made her hurt inside. “Hence our lack of introductions.” He cocked his head. “Are you better now?”

  Meeting his gaze, she pinned a smile on her lips the way a woman pinned a brooch on her dress. “Of course.”

  “Good.”

  Not that he believed her. But then, who was he to expect her confidence? He was a stranger to her, nothing more.

  But damned if he didn’t want
to know more about her. What upset her and why. And if he could make it go away.

  “Would you like some coffee, Mr. Shannon? I’ve made a fresh pot.”

  She’d slipped into her role of Crane Hotel manager with a coolness that put the appropriate distance between them. Made Reed want to warm her up for reasons he hadn’t yet had time to identify.

  “Call me Reed.”

  “I hardly think that’s wise, Mr. Shannon. It’s not my place, besides.”

  Well, hell. The woman was not only beautiful but stubborn too. Best to get everything out in the open and inform her of why he was here in her hotel. Not that his identity was a secret, but the longer he kept from telling her, the more she’d resent him for it.

  Most important, the sooner she got to know him, the sooner he could finish up the last of his union duties before he traveled to Washington, D.C.

  “I’m with the Miners Association, Mrs. Cavender. I suspect we’ll have many conversations in the coming days. I prefer to set aside the formalities. Easier, don’t you think?”

  Her gloved fingers flew to her mouth, and she breathed the name of the union in her surprise. Moisture shimmered in her eyes, darkening their blue hues.

  He gave her a moment to regain her composure. Her hands lowered, and her shoulders squared.

  “Did you not see fit to inform me of who you were when you wired a reservation for your room?”

  “Do your guests usually reveal their occupations and places of residence when they do?”

  Her perfectly-shaped mouth thinned. “You’ve read my letters, then.”

  He nodded. “I have.”

  “Because you knew who I was in the mercantile.”

  “I did.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “It only took a couple of clues, and I pieced together the evidence.”

  “Of course, since you were listening in on a conversation that had nothing to do with you.”

  “I was, indeed.” Unapologetic, he inclined his head. “Where is Tessa, anyway?”

  She hesitated, as if debating the merits of telling him, then finally strode to a small dining room off the kitchen. The hotel’s restaurant, arranged with a dozen square tables, all empty except for one along the wall. There Tessa sat, engrossed with her sack of candy, playing with the pieces she’d scattered onto the starched tablecloth as if they were make-believe dolls.

  Her thin legs swung back and forth to a tune she sang to herself. Thick stockings kept those little legs warm above her high-top shoes, and wisps of blond hair escaped her messy braids. But there was no denying she was Eleanora Cavender’s child. Same delicate cheekbones, softly curved chin, and pert nose.

  A beautiful child.

  As beautiful as her mother.

  Reed’s gaze swung toward Eleanora and met those peacock blue eyes watching him. It startled him, the intensity of her stare. Made him wonder what she was thinking.

  “Cute kid,” he muttered, for lack of anything better.

  “She means the world to me, Mr. Shannon. She’s all I have.”

  No other children then. Her husband lost. Her town dying a slow death.

  Motive for writing all those letters.

  “We’ll talk,” he said quietly.

  Her chin lifted, just a fraction. “Yes.”

  “Until then, does your offer for coffee still stand?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Bring two cups,” he said. “I’d like you to join me. We’ll sit with Tessa.”

  And before she could refuse him, he strolled into the dining room and formally introduced himself to her daughter.

  Chapter 5

  Eleanora clasped her hands in her lap to keep from smoothing the strands of hair floating around Tessa’s temple. Doing so would only draw attention to the black gloves she forced herself to wear.

  Already, she hated them. No working woman wore gloves indoors and certainly not in the kitchen. Not only were they eccentric, they weren’t practical and were impossible to keep from getting soiled. Or wet. Or torn.

  Would she ever get used to them?

  The one covered her scarred hand, the other simply served as its mate, and for that reason only, she must tolerate them. In time, she would learn to accept the inevitable curiosity from others around her. Those who knew of her injury would understand, and those who didn’t, well, covering the scars was better than revealing them.

  But she’d seen the faint frown from Reed Shannon. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed the ugliness when she reached for the candy sticks at Tweedie’s Mercantile. The jars had fallen quickly, and the mess she made happened even quicker. The broken candy had been a distraction, but in hindsight, proved an unexpected godsend. She’d fled before he could even guess why.

  Now, sitting at the table with the union lawyer and her daughter, she kept her hand hidden and allowed herself to relax. Which allowed her to watch this Mr. Shannon, too, surreptitiously.

  His interaction with Tessa gave her pause; he had a way with children, a knack for engaging them in conversation, and Tessa thrived on his attention.

  She missed her papa, of course, and Eleanora’s heart squeezed. Darvin had been a good father and Tessa the apple of his eye.

  “Did you offer Mr. Shannon a piece of your candy, Tessa?” Eleanora asked.

  She shook her head but promptly extended her arm, a much-handled chunk of peppermint between her fingers. “Want one?”

  He smiled. “No. Never cared much for sweets. Appreciate you asking, though.” He indicated the scattered pieces on the table. “You don’t have many left. Did you eat the rest?”

  “Uh-uh. Mama said I had to give some to Tillie and all her brothers and sisters, ’cuz Tillie stayed a long time while Mama went to the doctor, and ’cuz Tillie’s mama don’t have much money.”

  The attorney’s glance swung toward Eleanora; he raised his brow in question.

  Eleanora nodded. “Ailsa McNair is a widow with ten children to support, Mr. Shannon.”

  “Ten.” He slid a slow whistle between his teeth. “Her husband was killed in the explosion, I gather?”

  “He was. Her son, Sean, delivered your trunk to your room. Tillie works part-time as a maid here at the hotel. The children do what they can to bring in income.”

  “Doesn’t leave them much time to be kids, does it?” Sympathy furrowed his dark brows.

  “Precisely my point in contacting your union.”

  He inclined his head. “Point taken.”

  “I hope so. I could give you plenty more examples here in Wildcat Ridge.” She slipped her gloved finger into the delicate handle of her coffee cup and lifted to take a sip of the cooling brew, but she misjudged the weight of both as her healing fingers were quick to attest, and the cup tipped. Coffee plopped onto the tablecloth, and before she lost the entire contents, Reed Shannon’s hand covered hers, steadying the dish.

  “How clumsy of me,” she murmured, cheeks warming as she pulled from the boldness of his touch, however helpful it was intended. She set the china down with a clatter. It was the second time today she’d made a mess, and she dabbed at the tablecloth with a napkin. “Forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” he said, drawing back. Watching her. “I’m sure there’s a reason you’re compelled to wear gloves, Mrs. Cavender.”

  “There is.” Clearly, he expected her to explain. She avoided meeting his glance, turning toward her daughter instead. “It’s past time for your nap, Tessa. Pick up your candy, and I’ll take you to our room so you can lie down.”

  To her credit, Tessa didn’t raise her usual fuss but began putting the pieces into the sack, one at a time.

  “Mama got scratched by two aminals,” she said, matter-of-factly. “That’s how she hurted her hand.”

  Reed Shannon appeared taken aback. “Two?”

  “Uh-huh. A badger was trying to eat Mr. Kitty, and Mama tried to get him away.”

  His glance slid toward Eleanora. “That was brave of her.”

  “But Mr. Kitty died.”

&nbs
p; He frowned at Tessa. “I’m sorry to hear that. Was he your pet?”

  “No. He didn’t belong to no one, but I played with him sometimes, and Mama fed him, so he liked to come here to visit us.”

  “I see.”

  “Doctor Spense had to cut off part of Mama’s fingers ’cuz some ’fection came.”

  Mortified, Eleanora rose. “Tessa, that’s enough.” She picked up the last peppermint and tossed it into the sack herself, crushing it closed in a noisy rush. “Mr. Shannon doesn’t want to hear you jabber on.”

  He stood, too. “On the contrary. It’s important to learn more about you since we’ll be working together.”

  She avoided looking at him and helped Tessa out of her chair, though the child was quite capable of sliding off herself.

  “My injury will have nothing to do with your purpose in being here, as you well know,” she said, finally straightening and meeting his gaze head-on, one so shrewd she was certain he could delve deep into her thoughts and find her worst fears. She would have to be stronger with him, so he couldn’t. “Is there anything you need? Otherwise, I’ll see to my daughter.”

  “I’m sure I can find my assigned room without a problem.”

  “Each is clearly marked with its number. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

  She pivoted, a gloved hand holding Tessa’s, but there his grasp came again, this time on her elbow, as warm and steady and just as bold as before.

  “Meet me in twenty minutes, Mrs. Cavender, on the bench in front of the hotel. We can enjoy the outdoors while we discuss your concerns over the Gold King Mine.”

  Her pulse leapt. A traitorous reaction, given the man only intended what he’d traveled so far to do. A journey she’d demanded in her letters.

  So why did the prospect of being with him fill her with a rush of unexpected—and forbidden—excitement?

  Except for the Moose Mountains in the distance, Reed couldn’t find much appeal in the view the Crane Hotel provided. The establishment was located on the northernmost part of town and surrounded by more vacant buildings than occupied ones. The railroad tracks and a dusty street left plenty to be desired, too, especially for a newcomer accustomed to a sophisticated, bustling city like Denver.