Building Forever (The Gilbert Girls, #1)

by Cahill, Cat

“Old, huh?” Mr. McFarland pursed his lips.

  “It’s true, dear,” his wife said with a grin. “Although I love you just the same.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. During the service, Emma happened to catch Mrs. McFarland, in her blue poplin dress and matching bonnet, reach for her husband’s hand. The way he had looked down on her, eyes shining with adoration, made Emma go warm with longing. It brought to mind the way her own parents had been prior to her father’s death. She’d had a hard time focusing on the rest of the service, her thoughts interspersed with memories of her parents together and how hard it had been for her mother to lose her father, and flashes of Monroe Hartley and way she had caught him watching her with something like wonder in his eyes.

  She sighed. Wishing and dreaming would do her no good when there was no prospect of such a thing for her future.

  “Emma?” Penny prodded.

  She turned her attention back to her friends. Emma didn’t see the harm in spending an extra hour or so by the creek. In fact, it sounded downright delightful. But just as she opened her mouth to say as much, a terrible cracking noise sounded from somewhere behind her, near the front of the wagon.

  Dora screeched, and Emma clung to the bench as the entire buckboard tilted backward. Caroline and Penny lurched forward, crashing into Emma and Dora. Mrs. McFarland’s scream sounded from up front. Emma fought to stay in the wagon as Dora’s weight pushed her sideways, precariously close to the edge. The buckboard stopped in its tracks.

  The horses shrieked and whinnied. “Whoa! Calm down there, boys!” Mr. McFarland called to them.

  “Girls, are you hurt?” Mrs. McFarland called from right behind Emma, her voice shaking.

  “No,” Penny finally spoke up, breathing heavily. She pushed herself away from Caroline and onto the tilted board where she’d been sitting. She reached for Dora and helped pull her off Emma before glancing at each of the girls “I believe we’re all still in one piece.”

  Emma nodded in agreement. Her hands shook from fear, but she wasn’t hurt.

  Mr. McFarland leaped from the driver’s seat and came around to the side that leaned precariously close to the ground. One by one, he helped them down. Once they were all safely on firm ground, he grabbed onto the side of the wagon and lowered himself slowly to get a better look at the wheel.

  Emma peered around him. The once round wheel had splintered apart near the top. The half that attached to the axle that ran under the wagon bowed out toward them under the weight.

  Mr. McFarland pushed himself up with a grunt.

  “Does it look like much trouble to fix?” his wife asked.

  “Can’t be done here. I need the smithy.” He pulled off a pristine gray hat Emma had never seen him wear before today. In fact, the man wore an entire suit she would have never expected him to even own. Although he was to be the hotel manager, so perhaps he had an entire wardrobe of fine clothing hidden away for the occasion.

  Mr. McFarland returned his hat to his head and reached under the buckboard’s seat for a small toolbox. “I can take it off, but I’ll have to bring it back to Crest Stone for Benton to fix proper. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

  “We’ll wait here,” Mrs. McFarland said. “The girls wanted some time alone, and so we’ll have a picnic by the banks of the creek.” She turned to Emma and the others. “How does that sound?”

  “Like heaven,” Penny said immediately.

  Emma laughed, and even Caroline and Dora joined in.

  “It’s decided, then.” Mrs. McFarland took her husband’s hand and squeezed it.

  He nodded and unhitched one horse from the wagon, saddled it with the saddle that had ridden in the rear of the buckboard, and lashed the wheel to the saddle. After anchoring the second horse, he headed south on the saddled horse along the wagon trail that bordered the empty railroad tracks.

  “I’ll bring the basket with the food,” Emma said.

  “We’ll go on and find the perfect spot, then,” Mrs. McFarland said.

  With a most unladylike whoop, Penny took off in a sprint across the open valley toward the trees that lined the creek a half mile away. Dora giggled and glanced at Caroline, then grabbed her hand and tugged her along as they raced after Penny. The sight of her two new friends suddenly letting themselves have a moment of fun lightened Emma’s spirit.

  “I may stroll along the creek a bit before bringing the basket,” Emma told Mrs. McFarland.

  The older woman nodded. “A moment alone can do a body wonders.” She pulled the horse from his anchor and led him along as she followed the girls at a more stately pace.

  Alone, Emma walked slowly back to the wagon. Here, without anyone else around, the valley felt massive, as if the grass and sage went on and on and the mountains themselves were hundreds of miles away. A chickadee chirped its tune while a magpie insisted everyone know its presence. Mr. McFarland had told her their names one evening over dinner.

  The sun warmed Emma from head to toe. She relished the time by herself. After what had happened to her at the creek, it had taken a couple of days before she could return without company. Even then, she moved quickly, turning her head this way and that and starting at every noise. There had been no more incidents. It gave her confidence, and while she still wasn’t entirely at ease visiting the creek alone, she was grateful to enjoy these few moments to herself again.

  She unfastened and pulled off the shrug that matched her blue and violet dress. It was the nicest dress she’d brought with her, the others being simpler day dresses and a travel dress. It was just as well, since most days she wore the Gilbert Company uniform from morning till night. She leaned over the tilted wagon and draped the shrug over one of the bench seats before removing her hat. Then she rummaged under the driver’s seat for the basket of food Mrs. McFarland had packed. It was stuck against the far side of the buckboard, held firmly in place thanks to a piece of wood that connected the seat to the floor. With a determined sigh, Emma pulled off her gloves and laid them on top of her shrug. Then she hoisted up her skirts in a manner she would never do had anyone been watching, and climbed carefully into the wagon, pulling herself up by the front seat. She yanked on the basket. It didn’t budge. She tried again and again. The basket refused to move.

  “By jiminy,” she whispered, then blushed immediately. But that was ridiculous—no one was around to hear her say it. “Jiminy!” she said, louder, as she leaned down on her hands and knees to better reach the basket.

  “I hadn’t pegged you as a woman who curses, Miss Daniels.” A male voice came from nowhere.

  Emma smacked her head on the edge of the seat as she tried to jump up. She fought the urge to say something even more scandalous than jiminy as she rubbed the bruise.

  “I most certainly am no such thing.” She winced again as she sank onto the wagon seat and turned to see the man attached to the familiar voice.

  Monroe Hartley. Of course it was he who had to catch her in such a compromising position.

  He reined his horse in closer to the wagon. “What happened to McFarland?”

  Out of habit, Emma peered around him. Mrs. McFarland and the other girls were nowhere in sight, presumably disappeared behind the trees by the creek. Emma relaxed just a little, until she remembered who she was talking to—and how he’d come to her grateful rescue just a few days ago.

  And how he made her heart beat faster and tied her tongue.

  And how she should not be alone with him, particularly with Mrs. McFarland nearby. Although Mrs. McFarland didn’t strike her to be nearly as strict as Mrs. Ruby.

  Her hands twisted together in her lap, a nervous habit Mama had always warned her against. She was acutely aware of her gloves, hat, and shawl lying next to her instead of where they should be. She set a hand on either side against the bench to steady her nerves and decided it couldn’t hurt to simply have a regular, polite conversation with Mr. Hartley. After all, what was she supposed to do? Ignore him and run off to the creek? That would be most impolite. No on
e could hold it against her to stay here and tell him what had happened.

  She filled him in on the broken wheel, Mr. McFarland journeying back to Crest Stone to fix it, and the fact that they were all stuck here for a few hours. “But none of us mind too badly at all. In fact, we’re all eager for a restful afternoon by the creek.”

  She probably should have stopped after she gave him the facts of the situation, but something compelled her to tell him more now that they were finally alone, with no immediate threat of Mrs. Ruby looming over them and packing Emma straight back to Louisville. It was almost as if she couldn’t stop the words as they fell from her mouth. “The work has been more difficult than any of us expected. Of course, it won’t be nearly as much once the new hotel is ready and others have arrived to handle the cleaning and the rooms and the cooking. But we have to know how to do everything because Mrs. Ruby is counting on us to train the new girls when they arrive, and to help out with training the maids and cooks and everyone else who comes to work at the hotel.” She stopped to catch her breath.

  Mr. Hartley nodded, and to her relief, he didn’t laugh. He seemed so prone to wit, she worried she might provide some without intending such. Instead, he threw a leg over his dappled gray horse and leaped to the ground, his well-worn brown boots landing in the sandy dirt. Emma sat still as an owl on the seat, her hands clutching the bench. Her head pounded from where she had smacked it earlier, and Mr. Hartley’s presence did nothing to steady it.

  He tied the horse’s reins around the wagon tongue. As his horse nickered and snuffed at the tufts of grass, Mr. Hartley strode the few steps to the wagon box, a mere foot or so from where Emma sat perched in Mrs. McFarland’s seat. He leaned against the side of the box and studied Emma as she turned to watch him.

  She fought the urge to lower her eyes. She should dissuade him from looking at her so. But instead, her breath caught hard in her throat and she met his gaze. Finally, when she thought she might burst from anticipation, he cleared his throat and shifted, laying one hand on the edge of her seat.

  “I can imagine how happy you and the other girls are to have an afternoon to relax,” he said. “Now, tell me what you were doing when I rode up. Or do you have a penchant for climbing about wagons?”

  Emma laughed, but it came out squeaky. What was it about this man that made her so nervous one minute and unable to stop speaking the next? She could only imagine how she had looked as he’d ridden up. She smoothed the front of her dress as she searched for the words to explain. “I . . . I was searching for our picnic basket. It’s caught under the seat here.” She pointed below her.

  In one swift motion, he pulled himself up into the broken buckboard. Emma twisted sideways to allow him by her, but even after he passed, he was so close that she could hardly breathe.

  “Pardon me,” he said, a bit too late.

  Emma nodded, swallowed hard, and tried to recollect her wits. Mr. Hartley knelt on the floor of the wagon and the top half of him disappeared under the seat. She looked everywhere but at him as he worked to free the basket. The bright sky, the snowcapped mountains in the distance, the clumps of trees hiding the creek, the grasshopper on the ground below, the railroad tracks and wagon trail that led into the horizon toward the house and the half-built hotel.

  “Aha!” He emerged, basket in hand.

  “Thank you,” Emma said. “The girls will be grateful you freed their meal.”

  He climbed down from the wagon, and basket in one hand, he held the other out to Emma. She hesitated, realizing that not only had she taken her own gloves off, he’d removed his when he’d gotten off his horse.

  He is merely being a gentleman, she told herself. Then she rested her hand in his. It was warm and a little calloused from his work, but when he wrapped his fingers around hers to hold her steady as she left the wagon, she felt the way she had when he’d rescued her from that man by the creek. Safe.

  It was almost as if, with that one brief touch of skin, he promised to protect her from anything that might harm her. Emma reveled in the feeling, and when he let go, she almost gasped with the sudden loss that flooded through her.

  “Are you feeling well?” he asked, his mouth curving up just a little at one corner.

  “I am, thank you.” Although that was quite the opposite, and she knew from that half smile he gave her that he knew it too. The man was far too confident in his effect on her. She busied herself with smoothing her skirt and collecting her hat. Her attraction to Mr. Hartley was undeniable, but she needed to keep it to herself. It was no use letting him believe she held any interest in his advances. She couldn’t.

  Emma paused in the midst of retying the ribbon that held her hat to her head. What if he felt nothing for her at all? What if he was simply being kind? That thought filled her with dread, even as she knew it shouldn’t matter at all.

  “Shall I leave you to your picnic?” he asked, one hand on his horse’s reins.

  Emma clutched the handle of the basket in both hands. “Thank you again for your help. Today and . . . last time.” She glanced toward the trees, giving herself time to piece words together. “Perhaps you can tell me whether the creek is more scenic to the north or to the south? I had planned to take a short stroll along the banks before joining the girls.”

  Mr. Hartley turned to survey the land. He pointed to a tall hill that rose from the ground a short distance away, to the south. “That hill is a climb, but the view from the top is truly incredible. And then there is a shortcut down the back side of it to the creek, but it’s easy to miss. Perhaps I could accompany you?” He took his hat into his hands and added, “So you don’t get lost.”

  Emma’s entire body went warm even as her heart ratcheted up like some kind of factory machine. She should say no, absolutely. Under no circumstances should she let herself be alone with a man—particularly this man—not only for her position as a Gilbert Girl but for her reputation.

  Her eyes traced his face. That teasing look he usually wore when he spoke with her was gone. In its place was something so earnest and honest, it brought to mind how she’d felt when he’d taken her hand just a few minutes ago. Safety. Trust. She could trust him, not only with her honor, but with her life.

  Feeling distinctly like Penny, Emma pondered the possibility of getting caught. It was quite low. She’d come out here for adventure, after all, in addition to supporting her family. What would it hurt to let a little of that adventure into her life now? All she had to do was keep her wits about her.

  A broad smile crossing her face, Emma nodded. “Thank you. That would be most welcome.”

  Chapter Twelve

  As he led Miss Daniels toward the hill, Monroe waffled between two warring emotions—utter happiness that she wanted him to accompany her, and sheer annoyance at his own stupidity. By the time they reached the base of the hill, the former had won him over. There was very little chance anyone would see them. They had opted to climb the hill from the south side, away from the wagon and the stretch of creek where Miss Daniels’ friends rested. Even if Mrs. McFarland or one of Miss Daniels’ friends returned to the wagon and saw his horse, he could easily explain that he had happened upon the empty wagon and went off looking for its occupants.

  He held the picnic basket in one hand as Miss Daniels told him about the work she’d done at the house. By her account, it was a wonder she had any energy left at all for a walk, much less a climb up a hill of this size. But she showed no sign of slowing down, and easily kept up with his pace. He watched her as she climbed and talked, wondering how he had managed to meet a woman like her out on this empty frontier. It was the last thing he’d expected when he convinced Gilbert to give him the job.

  “How did you arrive here?” he asked, voicing his thoughts when she paused in her account of doing laundry in a place that didn’t have a water pump.

  Miss Daniels laughed, and Monroe thought it was quite possibly one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard.

  “On the train, silly,�
�� she said. “Like everyone else. And then a wagon south.”

  “No,” he said, and he was certain he was grinning like an idiot. “I meant why. Why are you here, rather than with your family back in Louisville?”

  She stopped and grasped onto the trunk of a lodgepole pine, one of several in a small stand that stood alone on this side of the hill. The spindly tree tilted under her grip. It was the first indication she needed a rest. Monroe stopped across from her and waited.

  She looked through the trees, up toward the top of the hill, but her mind was somewhere far away. For a moment, he wished he could take back his question. Perhaps she thought him too intrusive. But then she began to speak.

  “My father died several years ago. We all loved him so. He thought ahead and left us enough to live on, for a while. He was young, and his death was sudden, so we knew he’d planned to save up more for us.” Her hand drifted down the tree’s trunk until it was at her side. “There is still some money left, but not enough. Not for our home and the expenses of living. Not for my mother’s medical condition. My mother and my sisters and brother are moving to a small apartment, but after a few months, even that will become difficult to afford.”

  “I’m sorry,” Monroe said, at a loss for words that could truly express how much her sadness resonated with him.

  “Don’t be.” She squared her shoulders and smiled at him, back in the present. “I miss my family, but I am grateful to have found this opportunity. My earnings from the Gilbert Company will go back to my family. And truthfully . . . .” She drifted off and twisted her bare hands together.

  Monroe raised an eyebrow. “Truthfully?” She couldn’t let it go at that.

  Her smile grew even wider. “I wanted an adventure. I wanted more than to grow into an old maid without ever having seen anyplace outside the one where I’d grown up. I wanted more than our lovely brick house in its fashionable neighborhood off of Broadway. I wanted to see the West and meet new people and . . . well.” Her face grew red, and he wondered what the last part of that sentence was meant to be.