by Pam Crooks
But the woman beside him? Well, she changed things up, for sure. Made him want to linger the whole afternoon long, just sitting outside with her. The bench needed a new coat of paint, and it wasn’t very big, but Reed didn’t mind a bit. Its size kept them seated pleasantly close to one another.
An arrangement Eleanora Cavender appeared aware of, too, considering she pressed as close to the opposite edge as she could. Reed figured it wasn’t his fault mere inches separated them, or that he was just plain bigger than she was. He was more relaxed, too, sitting with one knee crossed over the other, a lazy slouch in his posture, and it wouldn’t take much more than an arm’s reach out to touch her.
Maybe he would soon. Touch her. In a friendly way, of course. But friendlier than an attorney would be with his client. Why he’d even want to touch her would bear some more thinking on later, when he was alone in his room, but for now, he indulged in the thought.
She spoke freely, at least. Her answers to his questions were thorough, thoughtful, tinged with bitterness. Sometimes, he’d get distracted just looking at her while she talked—the fine bones in her face, the soft curve of her cheekbones, the silken blond hair she kept coiled in a bun. He had to keep from imagining what her hair would feel like hanging loose and sliding through his fingers; he had to concentrate more on what she was saying.
He didn’t much prefer that she kept her black shawl pulled tight around her shoulders, though. Had less to do with keeping warm and more to do with keeping her hands hidden. He wanted her comfortable with him. Less tense. Thanks to Tessa, he knew what happened to her hand, so why hide the injury from him?
A woman’s pride, he supposed, and who was he to expect more from her?
“Mr. Shannon? Are you listening?”
His attention snapped out of his thoughts. He scrambled up his best smile to cover his guilt. “I am.”
“You don’t appear to be.” She regarded him with some bemusement, her pretty brows puckered. “Have I gone on too long and bored you?”
“Not at all.” He thought fast. “If I appear preoccupied, it’s because I’ve been forming a strategy.”
“A strategy?”
“Call me Reed, by the way.”
She exhaled. “We’ve discussed this before.”
“And I’ll call you Eleanora.”
“Which is much too familiar, considering we’ve only just met, and you’re here as our attorney—”
“And you’re my client.”
“The miners are your client, not me.”
“Mere details, Eleanora. Inconsequential, in fact, overall.”
To his surprise, her mouth softened. “You’ve a mind of your own, haven’t you?”
And it’s overflowing with thoughts of you, Eleanora Cavender.
He frowned. She was right. This distraction of his had to stop. He had only a short time in Wildcat Ridge with plenty of work to be done before compiling his reports for James Martin.
“What else would you like to know?” she asked. “Have I left anything out?”
His thoughts organized into tidy files, the way he kept them in his Denver office. “Let’s review. You’ve told me about your husband, Darvin, and the complaints he expressed to you about the conditions at the Gold King Mine.”
“The long hours, the low pay with no consideration for the danger of their work and how Mortimer Crane turned a blind eye and deaf ear to all of it.” Her jaw set, showing her contempt for what she believed Crane had done. “Yes.”
“You’ve also informed me of the widows’ plight. How difficult it is for them to support themselves and their children.”
“As well as how imperative it is that we save our town. Mortimer Crane will dismantle Wildcat Ridge board by board if we don’t.”
“You truly believe he’ll rebuild another town near his second mine, the King 2 Mine?” Seemed farfetched, but he’d have to trust her. He’d yet to meet the mine owner.
“Yes. He’s named it Cranesville, and he’s already moved a few vacant buildings from Wildcat Ridge there. He was quite strict in his ultimatum. The man is not above treachery in all its forms.”
He paused at the harshness in her tone. “Your vehemence runs deep, doesn’t it, Eleanora?”
She glanced away, gifting him with the beauty of her profile. “Under the circumstances, can you blame me?”
Reed had learned long ago to sense when someone was holding something back. Thanks to some meticulous honing by James Martin while they worked to build cases throughout the years, Reed’s instincts screamed Eleanora was doing just that.
“If we’re to succeed in a judgment against Crane, you must be completely forthright with me,” he said, quiet enough for her to know he meant every word.
Her gaze rushed to his. “And why would you think otherwise?”
“Call it a gut feeling, but I suspect there are more to your ‘circumstances’ than you’re telling me.”
Her cheeks paled, which convinced him his barbed arrow hit a bulls-eye.
“The only circumstances you should be concerned about are those which include all of us. The widows of Wildcat Ridge,” she said.
He heaved a heavy sigh. Once again, Eleanora Cavender dug her heels in, showing a mile-wide stubborn streak.
Time to let her know he wasn’t playing her game.
“Eleanora, I only have a few days. Without the necessary information you can provide to me, your case will never hold up in a court of law.”
She blinked. “What do you mean ‘a few days’?”
“I’m catching the stage out of here on Saturday.”
“What?” Her gloved fingers flew to her mouth. “Saturday? Oh, but you can’t leave that soon!”
He stilled. Her reaction threw him off-kilter. Her panic, her absolute shock at the news.
“I have to,” he said slowly. “I have an interview with a senator in Washington, D.C., and—”
“But that’s not enough time, Mr. Shannon!” She twisted toward him and gripped his forearm with her uninjured hand, each finger surprisingly strong. “You must inspect the mine, and you have to meet with Mortimer Crane, who will avoid you at all cost, and—and you simply can’t leave!”
“Eleanora.” He frowned and patted her hand. “It’ll be time enough for me to write a report.”
“What good will a report do? You must prosecute him! You have to bring him to justice and make him pay, or he’ll get away with everything he’s done!” She swallowed, as if attempting to gather her composure again. “We need you. Without you, the widows will fall in defeat.”
Reed drew back. The shimmering moisture in her blue eyes alarmed him and shook him deep in his core. For the first time, the immensity of what she needed from him broke through the barriers of his own selfishness. Revealed in sickening clarity how he’d been so absorbed with his own life that he’d had no real concern for hers. The prospect of a new job, a better change in his life, had blinded him to the bleakness of hers and the rest of the husbandless women in this troubled little town.
She trusted him not to fail.
Ugly memories reared up of how he’d failed Myrna, his wife. He’d been selfish then, too, and unable to protect her, and because he hadn’t been there, because he’d left her to fend for herself, she’d died.
His fault then.
It’d be his fault now. With Eleanora.
She’d presented him with his biggest, his absolute worst fear, and that scared the hell out of him.
Chapter 6
From his silence, Eleanora sensed a change in him. An undeniable pulling back that plummeted her into a swirling pool of worry and threatened to drown her with the conviction the letters she’d sent had been a big mistake.
A waste of her time.
Hopeless.
What a fool she’d been.
She’d expected more of Reed Shannon. She was sure he’d be her miracle-worker, her very own sorcerer who could spin magic and transform her illusion of revenge against Mortimer Crane into reali
ty. She wanted him to make the blackmail which ruled her life go away. That because of the power he had within the Miners Association, and their dedicated battle against mine owners throughout the country, she and Tessa could have a normal life again.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
“You’ve got a visitor coming this way,” he said unexpectedly, gesturing toward the woman striding toward them.
Whatever troubled him had vanished. He appeared to bury his concerns beneath a poker face, like a gambler, hiding his true feelings without giving her a chance to define them.
Sure enough, Hester Fugit strode resolutely down the boardwalk, a sheaf of papers in her hand, a hammer in the other. It wasn’t often she came to the Crane Hotel. Eleanora couldn’t imagine why she’d come now, or what information she carried with her, but whatever her reason, it must be significant.
Even so, the last thing she wanted was to see someone. Anyone. Especially another widow who was her friend and with whom she’d have to greet, smile at and act as if her hopes hadn’t just been dashed and destroyed from disappointment.
“You know her?” he asked.
Eleanora leveled him with a pointed glare. “Of course, I know her. I know most everyone in Wildcat Ridge.”
“Who is she?”
She ignored the scrutiny in his acorn-brown eyes. The persistence in his low voice, too. Why should she tell him now that she knew he had no intention of doing anything more for her than to write a stupid report?
But she couldn’t very well ignore him, she supposed.
“Hester Fugit,” she said finally.
“Ah. The mayor of Wildcat Ridge.”
“You were listening to me, after all.”
“My dear Eleanora.” His drawl bespoke of his arrogance; the arm he placed behind her, along the back of the bench, even more so. “Please give me credit when my credit is due.”
Her spine stiffened. “I’m not your ‘dear’ anything, Mr. Shannon. Please do not assume as much.”
“A female mayor.” Clearly unaffected by her admonishment, his narrowed gaze settled on the woman drawing closer. “Unusual.”
“Which is what happens when one’s husband is killed in a terrible mine explosion. She steps in for the community and works as hard as he used to.”
He sighed. “Listen, Eleanora. I—”
“Eleanora, lovely afternoon, isn’t it?” Hester said. Her graying hair was pulled back in a bun under a small black hat with a matching feather. She halted in front of them, compelling both to tilt their heads back to see her. Though she spoke to Eleanora, Reed clearly held her curiosity.
He withdrew his arm from behind Eleanora and stood. “Reed Shannon.” He took her hand into his after she freed her grasp of the hammer, coupling it with her sheaf of papers. “Eleanora tells me you are the mayor.”
Eleanora sat forward and pulled her shawl tighter. She could well imagine what Hester must be thinking of her sitting so closely together with a man she’d barely met, his arm on the back of the bench, no less. Using her given name as freely as if they’d known each other for years.
Though, she had to concede, the mayor’s interest was decidedly more on him and less on her. The woman inclined her head, barely taking her gaze off him.
“Yes. Hester Fugit, sir. Welcome to our little town.”
“I would prefer you call me Reed.”
He smiled his charming smile, and Hester swayed ever so faintly, as if its brilliance weakened her knees.
Eleanora suppressed a sigh and stood then, too. “He’s from the union, Hester.”
“The Miners Association? In Denver?” For the first time, her round-eyed gaze landed on Eleanora. “Because of those letters you wrote?”
For all the good they would do. Eleanora didn’t have the heart to inform her the report he intended to write would do little to improve their lot, at least, not any time soon.
“Please accept my condolences on the loss of your husband, Mayor,” Reed Shannon said.
“Her son, too,” Eleanora added in a quiet voice. “She lost both in the explosion.”
He murmured his surprise, tinged with regret. The compassion he showed her, Eleanora had to admit, seemed genuine.
Hester’s expression clouded. “I won’t say it’s been easy, but we have hope things will get better. Now that you’re here, I’m certain of it.”
He frowned. “I can’t make any promises.”
“But you’re an important first step in giving Mortimer Crane his just due, and we’re indebted to Eleanora for contacting you with such diligence.” Her chin lifted. “I’m sure she’s spoken of the horrid man.”
“She has.”
“He’s determined to ruin this town. I’m determined to make it thrive again.”
“Each of us refuses to be defeated,” Eleanora added in a firm tone. “But it’s a difficult task, at best.”
“Which is why I’m here.” Hester’s shoulders squared, and her bosom puffed. “I’ve decided to have a scavenger hunt.”
Eleanora blinked. “A what?”
“And I’d like you to organize it for me.”
“Me?” Her stomach plopped down to her toes. “But—”
“I don’t want to hear any ‘buts’ from you, Eleanora Cavender. You’re the ideal one to organize it. Why, you’ve been instrumental in giving the widows something to hope for with your regular and persistent letter-writing, and everyone has been waiting to hear word of any response you’ve received from the Miners Association...” She halted, gaze swinging to the attorney standing tall and handsome beside Eleanora. “Well, they’ll be delighted to know you’ve received quite the perfect response, indeed. A union representative, right here in our little town.”
Eleanora stifled a groan. The news would spread, fast as a bird flies, and so would the widows’ disappointment when they learned the big-city attorney would do nothing more than throw words onto paper on their behalf.
Her spirits fell. She didn’t deserve the mayor’s praise. And as for organizing the scavenger hunt? The load on her shoulders couldn’t get any heavier.
“Why a scavenger hunt, Hester?” she asked. “I can’t see that it would do much good for the widows. What if no one wants to play the game? Who has time?”
“It will boost the morale around here. And it will be fun. I do declare the widows have forgotten how to have fun these days.”
Eleanora bit her lip. Words to refuse lodged in her throat, though the task would be overwhelming and the potential for failure great. What did she know of organizing a community event?
Hester shuffled her papers around the hammer and handed Eleanora several of the bills. “I’ve already had Dinky Moon print these posters.” She glanced at Reed askance. “He’s the owner of our newspaper, the Ridge Weekly. Lucky for me, he was sober as a preacher when I asked.”
She tittered, but Eleanora found no humor in her comment. The man was always drunk, which the more tolerant widows attributed to his wife running off with a tin salesman after the explosion.
“As you can see on the poster, I’ve set the scavenger hunt for Independence Day,” Hester added. “It’s several weeks away yet, so you’ll have plenty of time to figure out the particulars. Any of the widows will help you if you need it, I’m sure. Dinky has promised to print more posters when you’ve finalized the details.”
Eleanora’s mind filled with them. “What am I to do about a prize?”
Hester pulled a nail from the pocket of her skirt and strode toward a pole, directly across from the wooden bench. A few whacks with the hammer, and her announcement was in place.
“You’ll come up with something, Eleanora.” She swiveled toward Reed Shannon, listening with unabashed interest. “Will you need anything from me as you proceed with your investigation? I’m in my office every day. Stop by if you do.”
“I’d like more information on a number of items. Let’s plan on a meeting tomorrow morning, shall we? Say nine o’clock?”
“I’ll l
ook forward to it.” Hammer in hand, she managed a wave at Eleanora. “I can’t wait to hear your ideas for our scavenger hunt. We’ll talk again soon.”
Skirts swaying, she headed down the boardwalk without waiting for a response, pausing long enough to tack a poster in front of the Barber Shop before moving on to the Bath House.
Frowning, Eleanora watched her go.
“You look as dour as a wet cat,” Reed Shannon murmured. “Cheer up.”
“I think the whole idea is silly.”
He shrugged. “Could be fun, like she said.”
“The widows are too busy working and trying to survive to take part in something so frivolous, Mr. Shannon.” She headed through the hotel’s door.
“Let them decide that for themselves,” he said, following. “And call me Reed.”
She swung toward him. “What good would it do to have a scavenger hunt? What incentive would they have to play?”
“Up to you to give them one.”
She huffed in exasperation.
“Always enjoyed a good game myself,” he added.
She yanked off her shawl and tossed it onto the hotel’s desk. Her sour mood dredged up the disappointment she could barely keep in check. “Which is why you went into law, I assume? To play the game for your clients, not really caring if they win or lose?”
His expression darkened. “Pull in your claws, Eleanora. You judge me far too harshly.”
With a flick of her wrist, the handbills landed on top of her shawl. “Time will tell if I have, won’t it?”
“There’s a certain amount of strategy in winning a case, I’ll admit.”
“Of which, in ours, you only have three days to compile a preliminary report.”
His dark eyes smoldered, warm and rich and intense. “I’ll do everything I can to take care of you, Eleanora. You and all the widows. I promise.”
