by Zina Abbott
Diantha smiled as she recalled how, on September first, Hank on one end of the mail case and Hilaina and she on the other end, had moved the cabinet into the old dining room. Hank had taken down the gold draperies earlier, and he carried the satchel she had given him for a container up the ladder to her storage area in the attic. Unsure how to respond to Hilaina’s question about why the draperies were gone, Hank had given her an answer which seemed to satisfy her.
Now, Hank scrambled to get his store set up before the mail arrived on the morrow. Diantha dipped her head, feeling mildly embarrassed, not for the first time, about her reaction and conduct towards Mr. Cauley the day he first arrived in her hotel. In spite of his irritation over the failure of the Post Office Department to contact her in time to know of his appointment to the position, and her rather intense response to his announcement that he came to take over a job she believed belonged to her, he turned out to be a gentleman—a very nice gentleman.
Of course, she was not the only woman in Wildcat Ridge who had taken note of him. A greater number of ladies than usual made it a point to visit the post office on Wednesdays and Saturdays, in case there was any mail for them. They lingered longer than they had been known to in the past. They spent more time than what Diantha considered necessary to converse with and learn what they could about the new young, handsome, and very eligible bachelor in town.
People still waved and called out to Diantha as they walked through the front of the lobby to enter the room with the mail case. However, they no longer stopped and talked with her like they once did.
The thought entered her head again, just as it had more than once, that if his store here failed, he would be forced to give up his postmaster position and leave. If so, he might be kind enough to allow her to take over the position again. Maybe he would recommend to whoever controlled postmaster appointments that she was the best person for the job.
Diantha dropped her head as she berated herself for allowing envy to take root within her. She had enjoyed working the postmistress position, but it rightfully belonged to Hank now. It meant less income for her, but he had made up a portion of her loss by renting the empty dining room and the small room behind the kitchen. At least, she would receive rent money when the Post Office Department paid him. To live up to her own expectations of the kind of person she wished herself to be, she must hope for his business to succeed. She must wish for him to find happiness in his new home. After all, even though she knew no man liked to admit to shortcomings, she understood from what he had shared with her his first day in town, his financial situation was not much better than hers—perhaps even more challenging.
Diantha wished she did not find Hank Cauley so attractive. Even after learning the devastating truth about her late husband, she believed it highly improper to find another man interesting so soon after Eugene’s death. However, each time she sensed Hank in the room next to the lobby, she developed a strong desire to spend her time behind the registration desk, just to be near him. While in her private room, her ears picked up the sounds of him preparing his food when he entered the kitchen during his scheduled hours. As she opened the pantry to prepare her meals each day, she seemed inordinately aware of the items he kept on the shelves she had assigned him—much more so than the awareness she had experienced regarding Nissa’s food stores when her friend rented the same room Hank now occupied. She repeatedly reminded herself she should feel no interest in him whatsoever. She knew he held no desire to socialize with women beyond being polite as part of his postmaster position or for attracting potential customers for his store. From a couple of his remarks, one spoken to Buck when he did not realize she was close enough to overhear, he especially possessed no interest in looking for a wife. Getting his business set up in hopes of it being a success in this small mountain town remained his sole focus.
So, why did she wish this man, who had created such havoc in her life, saw something more in her than merely being his landlady?
As the front door to the hotel lobby softly opened and closed, Diantha looked to see who arrived. Much to her surprise and dismay, Mortimer Crane entered her hotel. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the bulging white bandage on the side of his neck towards the back.
The gossip had reached her regarding how Mr. Crane, along with some unsavory types, had followed the assayer, Rosemary Brennan—no, she was Rosemary McGinty now—into the wilderness and attacked her. They attempted to steal a duplicate assay journal kept by Mr. Brennan before his death in the mine disaster. It would have proved Mortimer was skimming profits from his investors in his gold mining business. Unfortunately, Mr. Crane did manage to get his hands on the book long enough to put a match to it. With the book destroyed, there now was no proof that would hold up in court to prosecute him.
Mr. Crane had not escaped the incident completely unscathed, however. Rosemary’s horse bit him on the back of the neck, resulting in a large, festering wound.
Unlike the previous time when he had come full of fury over her deposits in his bank—or, more to the point, her lack of them—his face appeared welcoming. He wore the hint of a smile he no doubt thought helped him appear charming. However, it inspired a feeling of disgust within Diantha. What did the man want now?
Diantha closed the register journal and folded her hands. She struggled to keep her voice professionally polite, although she preferred to shrill like a shrew and order the man out of her hotel. “Good morning, Mr. Crane. What can I do for you?”
Mortimer Crane showed an inordinate amount of interest as he studied the blank wall behind the registration desk. “It looks much different now that the post office cabinet is no longer behind the desk, doesn't it? I hear the Post Office Department came to its senses and realized that the mail would be better handled by a competent man.”
Diantha clenched her teeth but otherwise maintained a neutral expression. She stared at him, refusing to respond to his insult. Mortimer Crane stepped forward and reached out a hand towards her. “That is neither here nor there, is it now, Mrs. Ames? Actually, I came here for a far different reason. You see, I have been unable to get you out of my mind. I wish to apologize for my rudeness towards you the last time I came. Of course, my remarks regarding your failure to deposit your funds in the Crane Bank were prompted only by concern for your well-being. Considering your reduction in circumstances…” Mortimer nodded in the direction of the room now housing the post office operation. “…it is even more important that you take steps to keep your money safe.”
Diantha raised an eyebrow but otherwise made no response.
Mortimer cleared his throat. “But I digress. You see, Mrs. Ames, I consider you a very attractive woman. Unlike most of the women in this town who are laborers’ widows of one sort or the other, whether their husbands worked in the mine or in a shop, I know that in spite of you now being forced to work as a hotel clerk, you are a lady. I appreciate the graciousness ingrained in you due to being raised in one of the better classes of families. It sets you apart from the rest, hmm? I cannot help but feel that involving you in my life would not only serve your best interests, but it would make me a better man.”
Starting in the pit of her stomach, Diantha felt the beginnings of the dread that soon spread outward to fill her. She suppressed the desire to retch. As much as she wished to run away and lock herself in her room, she knew she needed to face the disgusting man before her. If she did not put an end to his insults and attempts to gain a hold over her by involving himself in her life, he would never leave her alone.
Diantha kept her voice soft. “Why, Mr. Crane, I have no idea to what you might be referring. Although we are both part of the same community, I see no reason for us to have any more contact than is necessary, especially now, as you so eloquently pointed out, I no longer manage the mail. Any business I do with your bank can be handled by your teller.”
Mortimer spread his hands in a gesture of supplication. “It is very simple, Mrs. Ames. You are a beautiful woman. A well-manne
red woman of good taste, one any man would be pleased to have on his arm to show off to his business associates. We will need to be discreet, of course but I wish a closer relationship…a personal relationship…with you.”
Her lips parted, Diantha stared at the man in disbelief. Of all the insulting, degrading, demoralizing requests or demands she thought he might come up with, she had never expected something of this nature. She turned her head and her eyes widened as the door to the town’s post office and the soon-to-open Cauley’s Stationary and Books Store opened.
Hank stepped into the room and studied Mortimer. Diantha wished nothing more than to shrivel up into nothingness and sink beneath the floor of the hotel. Had Mr. Cauley overheard the disgusting request? She watched him approach, but, thankfully, his eyes focused on Mortimer, not her.
Hank approached Mortimer. “Good morning. I don't believe we've met.” He stepped forward with his hand outstretched, but the suspicious look in his eyes did not match the businesslike tone of his voice. “I'm Hank Cauley, the new postmaster for Wildcat Ridge. If you came to see if you have any mail, it is no longer handled by Mrs. Ames. Please step into the next room, and I will check for you.”
Mortimer, annoyed at the interruption, glowered as he turned to face Hank. “I'm not here for my mail. I have others who come and collect any mail that I might have for any of my businesses. Do you know who I am? I'm Mortimer Crane. I own this town. I'm sure you've heard of me.”
Hank studied him with a gimlet eye. “Yes, Mr. Crane, I have heard of you. It is good to know whom I am addressing. I also will take the opportunity to advise you that my inventory for my stationary and bookstore has arrived, and I am in the process of setting up my retail operation. If you and your businesses have need of such supplies, please feel welcome to stop by to see what I have available.”
Diantha’s disdain for the man increased as, with an attitude of annoyance, Mortimer waved Hank off with a dismissive gesture. “I don’t have time to be concerned with your pencils and papers, Mr. Cauley. I have other matters…more personal matters…to discuss with Mrs. Ames. Now, remove yourself to your room and respect our privacy.”
“We do not have matters to discuss. Mr. Crane is just leaving, Mr. Cauley.”
Diantha watched Hank study her for several seconds. “Mrs. Ames, I'll be right next door if you need me.” He nodded to Mortimer as he turned to walk away. “Good day, Mr. Crane.”
Diantha’s gaze followed Mr. Cauley as he departed the room. She noticed he left the door between his store and the hotel lobby open. She wondered if she could count on his assistance if she needed help forcing Mr. Crane to leave her hotel. She turned back to the man that she considered no better than a weasel, although she would never admit as much out loud to anyone except her closest, most trusted friends. “Mr. Crane, I have no interest in becoming closer with you, whether we are discreet or not. I have no idea whatever gave you the idea that I might be open to such a revolting suggestion. Now, please leave.”
Mortimer reached forward and snatched her hand before she could pull away from his grasp. “I’m not leaving yet, Mrs. Ames. Surely, you must miss your husband terribly. I am certain there are times that you wish to remember him and discuss him with someone who has a sympathetic ear. I would like to be the one to provide you with that intimate comfort your dear, departed husband can no longer see to.”
“No! Get out of my hotel, Mr. Crane.”
“Now, do not be hasty, Mrs. Ames. Believe me, I only have your best interests at heart. And, you must admit, that the situation between us would be ideal. Since it appears you are barren, if our relationship should become—more intimate, as I prefer—there would be no children to complicate our lives. It would just be you and me….”
Diantha reached across the counter and slapped Mortimer’s face with one hand as she snatched her fingers on the other free from the miscreant’s grasp. She scrunched her face into a frown of disapproval. “Mr. Crane, I consider such an offer extremely offensive. I am not that kind of woman. Leave this building at once and do not approach me regarding anything again.”
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Chapter 13
~o0o~
H ank swiftly crossed the room towards the man he overheard speak in such a disgusting manner to Mrs. Ames. In spite of the disagreements between him and his landlady, she did not deserve to be treated that way by anyone. He reached for the man’s shoulder and forcefully spun him around until they were face to face. “Mr. Crane. Did I just hear what I think I heard? Did you just proposition this woman? For shame!”
Crane glared his disapproval at Hank. “What goes on between myself and Mrs. Ames is none of your business. Now…” Mortimer raised his hand and made a shooing motion with his fingers towards the entry to the old dining room. “…go to your space and close your door. Leave us alone.”
Hank stepped closer and wedged his way between Mortimer Crane and the counter, forcing Mortimer to take a step back in order to not lose his balance. Since Hank was only an inch or so taller than Mortimer, they stood eye to eye. Diantha watched as the man who, size-wise was half of Mortimer’s girth, use his well-formed muscles that Mortimer lacked to push the degenerate away from her.
“I received the distinct impression Mrs. Ames does not welcomes this conversation, Mr. Crane. I heard her order you to leave. Considering I have been in this town long enough that your reputation regarding your dealings with women precedes you, I will throw you out if you do not go voluntarily.”
“Aha! You're after her for yourself, are you?”
Hank narrowed his eyes as his gaze bore into the miscreant before him. No, he dared not go after Diantha Ames. Until he could build up his business and feel confident that he could support a family, he could not afford to think about developing a relationship with any woman. However, that did not stop him from feeling drawn to Mrs. Ames or thinking about her more often than he should. It did not stop him from desiring to spend more time with her or wondering what she would feel like in his arms with her lips pressed against his. However, he would never burden Diantha with this knowledge. Diantha—how he wished she would agree to be on a first name basis with him like she was with most people in town. And he certainly refused to admit to Mortimer Crane the man had guessed the truth.
“No, I am not. Even if I were, I certainly would not go about it in such a crude and depraved manner.”
“Now, now—Mr. Cauley, is it? Be reasonable. There isn’t a woman in the state of Utah who would not seriously consider a liaison with me such as I am offering Mrs. Ames. Women cannot resist enjoying the status that comes with being connected to a man of power. You obviously do not understand who I am, or the position I hold in this town. If so, you would not threaten me like this.”
Hank jutted his chin out, and clenched his fists to signal he was prepared to use them as he chest-butted Mortimer. “I do know, Mr. Crane. And, from what I understand, although you may own many of the properties in this town, you don't own this property.”
Perplexed, Mortimer stepped back. “From what I understand you have only been here a matter of weeks. I find it annoying that you did not check with me first regarding rental properties. I have some available that would be far more suitable for a post office and...” he waved his hand in the direction of the open door to Hank’s new store “…whatever sort of gewgaws you intend to hawk. Setting up a shop like what you have planned in a hotel lobby is completely unsuitable.”
Hank smiled but his eyes held no friendliness or warmth. “I disagree. I come from Salt Lake City. You are known there, also.”
Mr. Crane straightened to his full height and, with a preening gesture, rubbed his palm down the front of his expensive shirt front and vest. “Yes, I have connections everywhere, especially in our territory’s capitol.”
“Be that as it may, the comments about you were more words of warning rather than adulation. Not all those who have done business with you speak highly o
f you. I am quite satisfied with setting up the post office and my retail operation inside the Ridge Hotel. Considering Mrs. Ames appears to be a very prudent business manager, I think I will do quite well here.”
Once again Mortimer scowled. “This woman? Why she was raised to hold tea parties with a bunch of silly women. The only thing she knows how to do is pour tea properly. Very desirable traits for a man who wishes a lovely ornament to grace his arm in order to advance his career. But what does she know about business?”
“Quite a bit it seems. She knows enough not to do business with you—personal or otherwise. Now, leave. Right now, your presence and insulting suggestions are a detriment to both the business of the hotel and to my future business prospects, not to mention they are highly disrespectful of Mrs. Ames.”
Mortimer shook his finger with a threat. “You do not tell me what to do. I’ll leave when I am good and ready to.”
“No, I decide when you are no longer welcome in my hotel. Mr. Crane, I again demand you remove yourself from my property immediately. Do not approach me about this or any other matter again.”
As Diantha stepped around the counter and stood in front of Mortimer Crane, Hank prepared to defend her physically.
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Chapter 14
~o0o~
D iantha had blinked in surprise when the hand appeared on Mortimer’s shoulder and yanked him away from the registration counter. As Mortimer stumbled back, and the confrontation between the two continued, she struggled to regain her composure.
She knew nothing more than how to pour tea with a bunch of silly women and decorate a man’s arm to further his career, did she? The foolish man did not understand that managing a hotel, including its business affairs, was not that much different than managing a Southern planation and its household accounts. That was what her education and training had prepared her to do. After insisting she wished nothing more to do with Mr. Crane and demanding he leave, she felt relief when Mr. Cauley stepped in once more to back her up.
