by Cat Cahill
Gilbert struck a match. As soon as the cigar lit he sat down and fixed his gaze on Monroe. “You’re the builder, right?”
Monroe nodded. “Yes, sir. Finest builder this side of Denver.” It was only a slight stretching of the truth. He was good at the trade, after all. Never mind that his experience consisted of barns and houses and the occasional mining company office.
“My father usually contracts with folks back East.” Gilbert puffed on his cigar.
This, Monroe had prepared for. “I don’t charge back East prices. If you work with me, not only will it be more economical, your hotel and dining establishment will be completed much sooner. In fact, I could break ground within four days.”
Gilbert furrowed his considerable eyebrows. “It would take you an entire day simply to get to Denver to hire a crew.”
“One day to get there, one day to hire, one day to get them to the valley, one day to start. And that’s a promise.”
“Hmm.” Gilbert assessed him in a way that Monroe knew was in his favor. “You haven’t even seen the blueprints.”
“I can build anything.” And that was not stretching the truth. He knew he could, even if his experience was not all that extensive.
Gilbert turned and pulled a long roll of paper from the small valise on the floor behind him. Cigar clamped in his mouth, he rolled the pages out onto the table. Monroe stared at them eagerly. He could read them decently well—enough to know measurements and where windows and such went—but he’d never studied the art of building, not formally. If Gilbert got detailed with his questions, he’d need to bluff his way through them somehow.
“One main building, as you can see.” Gilbert pointed to the topmost page. “The hotel, with a dining establishment, and dormitories for the young ladies and other employees who come to work for the company, all attached. Then assorted outbuildings.” He flipped through the pages and glanced up at Monroe. “How long do you think this would take you?”
Monroe did some quick mental calculations. If the crew was large enough and he didn’t run into any trouble . . . It would have to be done at a breakneck speed. In fact, it was almost impossible, but he needed a way in—something that would make him more desirable than any firm back East—and this was it. “Two and a half months for the hotel, provided the materials are readily available. Including the outbuildings, three months.” He knew that was much faster than what any established building company would have quoted Gilbert. It would be hard work to get it built that quickly, but he also knew the only way he would get this job would be to be faster and cheaper than anyone else.
If Gilbert was surprised by the timeline, he didn’t show it. “Cost? Considering the company purchases all materials, of course.”
With a large crew working fourteen hours a day for ten to eleven weeks, and then another few weeks for outbuildings . . . He added it up as best he could and tossed out a number he knew would be lower than anyone else could possibly offer.
“You could get it done for that? All of it?” Gilbert rolled up the blueprints.
“Yes, sir.”
“What else have you built?”
Monroe drummed his fingers on the bottom of the chair. This was one he’d rehearsed in the wee hours of the morning when he couldn’t sleep. There was no way to hide the fact he’d never headed up a project of this magnitude before. He’d simply have to hope that Gilbert was still willing to take a chance on him. “A number of homes in Denver, the offices of the Tula Mining Company, an office building for the Mountain Pacific Railroad, nearly all the outbuildings at the Double Z Ranch outside Denver, and other homes and outbuildings near the Double Z. All of my customers have been satisfied with my work.”
Gilbert’s large eyebrows knitted together. “Are you certain you can handle a project of this size? My father and I expect nothing less than perfection.”
Monroe placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. “More than certain. And I am nothing if not driven toward excellence. You won’t be disappointed—in the project or in the savings to your company—if you hire me.”
“Then I think you’ve got yourself a job.” Gilbert held out his hand, and Monroe shook it gladly. “If you can keep on schedule. In fact, if you can complete the hotel building within two and a half months, I’ll personally see to it that you receive additional payment.” He paused a moment. “I’m taking quite a gamble on you. Don’t make me wish I hadn’t.”
Monroe nodded. “Thank you, sir. You won’t be disappointed. I’ll head on up to Denver and get a crew.”
“There’s one more item your men will need to understand,” Gilbert said as Monroe opened the door. “The girls are to be left alone.”
“Girls?” Monroe raised an eyebrow. Not that he had any complaint about whorehouses, although he had already found they were useless when it came to filling the empty space in his heart.
“Girls will be coming in to train as waitresses for the dining room. They’re respectable ladies from back East. My father insists on the highest standards for his facilities. Any man ruins one of those girls, and he’s gone.”
“Ah. Understood.” Monroe tipped his hat. “I’ll see you in four days.” He made his way to the stairs, itching to get started.
This job should be just what he needed. Ranch work, smaller building projects, and the odd jobs he’d taken between them had left him with too many empty moments in which to think and remember. But this building should take up all his waking hours and put him to sleep so hard he’d never see a single dream.
Perhaps once this hotel was done, he’d find peace.
Chapter Three
Crest Stone, Colorado Territory
The long grasses crunched beneath Emma’s sturdy black boots. The grass was different here—not thick and bright and carpeted as the spring grass had been at home. The long brown from the winter still held tight with bushels of green poking up here and there. Tiny blue-purple irises sprung up all over. It was as if spring arrived at a slower pace in these mountains. And the sagebrush . . . Emma still stared at it in wonder. One of the other girls she had befriended on the second leg of the journey from Denver to Cañon City had told her what the clumps of bushy silver-green were.
She took everything in as she waited for the other three girls to leave the wagon that the Gilbert Company had sent to collect them, rather than waiting for the twice-weekly stagecoach to arrive. Everything was different here. The sharp, steep blue mountains, some with snow at their peaks, rose to the west of her while smaller, rounder mountains stood farther off to the east. Meanwhile, the valley all around her stretched on and on, flat and brown and muted green. Even the sky looked different. It was larger somehow, the clouds whiter and fluffier than back home. And the air! Emma drew in as deep a breath as she could. It was cool—almost cold, really—but ever so clean. She could draw a deeper breath here than she ever could at home.
It was beautiful.
“It’s terrifying, is it not?” Caroline, a diminutive blonde Emma had met upon boarding the wagon, closed into Emma’s side. She shivered a little, and Emma wondered if it was from cold or fear.
“It’s lovely,” Emma said. She tucked an arm through Caroline’s. The girl was only slightly younger than Emma, but she reminded Emma of fifteen-year-old Grace at home. “You needn’t fear. After time, you’ll grow familiar with it.”
“I haven’t seen any of the miners,” Caroline said.
“Mr. McFarland told me some of them were a few miles from here.” Apparently silver was all the rage in this part of the Colorado Territory, and mines dotted the valley from north to south.
Caroline chewed on her lip and gazed at their surroundings, her eyes landing on the skeleton frame of what looked like a large building. Men walked to and fro, carrying beams of wood, while others knelt on the ground or stood on ladders and pounded in nails.
“Now what do you suppose that will be?” Penny asked as she joined Emma and Caroline. “And who do you suppose they are?”
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p; Emma choked back a laugh as Penny scrutinized the men doing the work. Penny had been her lively companion during the three-hour train ride south from Denver. At first, Emma hadn’t known quite what to make of the girl. She was a year younger than Emma, but acted years older and much worldlier. Some of the things she said were downright scandalous. Emma wondered how Penny had made it past the Gilbert Company’s interview. But she was glad Penny was here. Something about the girl from North Carolina put Emma at ease.
Caroline, however, stared at Penny with wide eyes. “You shouldn’t speak of men so.”
Penny laughed, and some of her golden brown curls fell loose from her hat. “It’s not as if they’re able to hear me.”
“Mr. McFarland said to make our way to that white building and ask for Mrs. Ruby.” The last of their small group, Dora, pointed to the largest completed building.
Emma shaded her eyes with her hand. The brim of her once fashionable maroon hat was nowhere near wide enough to keep out the afternoon sun. From the barn where they stood, the white house sat several feet away across a trampled yard with a few outbuildings. A small collection of older buildings—one about to fall in on itself, another nothing more than a shanty—stretched southward. Railroad tracks cut through the grasses, and then up a slight hill, the new construction towered over it all.
“This is what is left of the railroad town,” Mr. McFarland said in his Irish brogue as he joined them. He pointed to the old buildings just past the white house before hefting Emma’s trunk onto his shoulder. “The missus and me live in that little shanty. Now, ladies, if you’ll follow me.”
“I wonder if it isn’t too late to catch a train elsewhere,” Caroline murmured as she glanced back at the wagon.
Emma squeezed her arm before letting her go. “It will be fine, you’ll see.” She wasn’t entirely certain that the sentiments she spoke were true, but she hoped they were. Out here, in this wide open space, anything was possible. Her heart thumped as she walked with the other girls after Mr. McFarland. Whether it was with anticipation or fear, she wasn’t certain.
It took but a few seconds to cross the open area between the barn and the house. The constant hammering and shouts from the workmen drew Emma’s attention again as they rounded the house, and she couldn’t help but marvel at what they had created so far. That men could build something out of nothing was a miracle worth a moment’s reflection. “Is that to be the new hotel?” she asked Mr. McFarland.
“Yes’m. One of the largest the Gilbert Company’s undertaken to date, too. Seems old Mr. Gilbert believes this new railroad line from Denver to Santa Fe will draw quite the crowd.” Mr. McFarland caught the trunk as it began to slide off his shoulder.
“How many folks do you think will come down this way?” Penny asked in her slight Southern drawl.
“Mr. Gilbert said it was very popular, the idea of this new line. When he told people about it back in New York and Boston, they all got excited.”
“Boston?” Caroline asked, her soft voice sounding even more fearful.
“Yes’m. Apparently all them Northerners want to take the desert air.”
“Isn’t that where you’re from?” Penny asked Caroline.
“Yes,” was all Caroline said, and Emma was sure the girl shrunk into herself even more. Perhaps home was not the happy memory for Caroline that it was for the rest of them.
Home. Longing inched its way through Emma. She wondered what her family was doing right now. Maybe Lily was starting supper, and Grace was reading aloud while Mama worked on her needlepoint and Joseph chased the cat. She longed to be with them, but at the same time, she didn’t want to leave.
How was it possible to wish to be in two places at once?
It was selfish to want to stay, but she needed the money. So perhaps it wasn’t selfish at all. And why not enjoy herself if she had to find a way to support her family?
Emma sighed. It was the same argument she’d had with herself all the way West. One thing was for certain—no matter her own desires, nothing was going to get in the way of her earning money for her family.
“Hartley!” Mr. McFarland called to a lean, tall figure who crossed the tracks.
Emma paused with the other girls in front of the house. When the tall man grew closer, Emma gasped, audibly enough that Caroline turned to her.
“I’m fine,” Emma whispered.
But it was an untruth. In fact, her breathing came as fast as if she had run from the barn across the yard rather than walked at a leisurely pace. Her hands grew hot underneath her demure gray gloves, and suddenly she needed a glass of water. She could not pull her gaze from this man. He was nearly a foot taller than she, with hair as dark as hers, and warm brown eyes. He wore a black hat that had seen better days, and he desperately needed a shave. As he stopped in front of Mr. McFarland, he caught her staring at him. She swallowed hard and looked at the ground, uncertain what to do with her eyes in such a compromising position.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said, and when Emma dragged her gaze back up, he stared at her boldly while removing his hat. She averted her gaze to Mr. McFarland, who frowned at the man.
Mr. Hartley’s easy smile vanished. “My apologies,” he said quickly.
“Can you help me with the trunks?” Mr. McFarland asked, pointing at the buckboard near the barn. “I’ll bring these ladies inside and be out again shortly.”
Mr. Hartley nodded. As he stepped away, Emma snuck another peek at him. Sweat soaked through the back of his dark blue shirt and dirt dusted his pants.
Penny snickered. Just as Emma turned to see what she found so funny, her old trunk slid sideways off Mr. McFarland’s shoulder. With a loud thud, it hit the ground, and the lock pulled apart from the old dry leather and wood.
“Oh, no!” Emma could not keep the words inside as all her worldly possessions spilled out onto the trampled grass and dirt.
As she moved toward the mess, footsteps pounded up from behind. Mr. Hartley knelt down beside her. The man she could barely keep her eyes from began picking up the strewn pieces of clothing, books, and papers that spilled from the trunk.
Emma knelt helpless beside him as he tossed in two books and held a stack of her poetry in his hand. He glanced down at it, and her face grew uncomfortably warm. He turned and gave her a curious look before he placed the papers back into the trunk. Caroline fell to her knees on the other side of Emma to help, as Penny and Dora righted the trunk and opened it all the way.
Emma blanched as she spotted a set of her underthings lying exposed next to a snowy white nightgown. She leaned forward and reached across the ground for them—just as Mr. Hartley grabbed hold of the small pile. He glanced down at his hand, and comprehension dawned across his tanned face. Embarrassment shot through Emma like lightning, warming her from head to toe, just as Mr. Hartley broke into a grin wider than the valley itself. He held out the offending clothing with a chuckle. She snatched the bundle of white cloth from his hand. His brown eyes burned with something beyond mirth, even as his face told her he found the entire situation—and her mortification—hilarious.
That look in his eyes shot to her core and made her heart take off on its own sprint. It was as if part of her had been asleep and had finally woken up. And that smile . . . The desire to suddenly leap toward him and wrap her arms around him was so strong it almost made her forget her embarrassment.
She wadded up the underthings in her hands and fixed him with what she hoped was the meanest glare she could muster.
The result being that he laughed again even as his eyes warmed to a deeper brown.
Emma had never felt so uncomfortable yet curious about someone in her life.
“It’s all put back together,” Dora said, and Emma was grateful for the interruption.
She yanked her attention away from this man who made her body and her mind react in the strangest ways and shoved her underthings deep into the trunk underneath layers of petticoats and dresses.
Mr. McFarland held out a
hand to help her up, and all Emma could think was that she was thankful it wasn’t Mr. Hartley. She couldn’t imagine the effect his hand on hers would have when just his eyes sent her into a tizzy.
“I’ll be glad to fix the lady’s trunk for you later,” Mr. Hartley said to Mr. McFarland as Emma brushed the dust from her skirt.
“That would be most appreciated,” Mr. McFarland said. He turned to Emma. “I apologize for dropping it. I suppose I’m not as young as I once was.”
“No apology needed,” Emma said, her voice a bit wobbly. “It was but an accident.”
Mr. Hartley made his way back toward the wagon. And perhaps she imagined it, but it seemed as if he avoided looking at her before he left. For some reason, Emma was disappointed.
“Come along.” Mr. McFarland picked up her broken trunk again, and pushed open the door with his free hand.
Emma let the other girls follow him inside first. While she waited, she turned toward the wagon. The man called Hartley walked with purpose toward the vehicle.
Emma shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She needed to avoid him. There was no time for the feelings that had come over her when he was near, not if she wanted to keep her position and support her family.
She would keep away from him, that was all.
Chapter Four
Slapping his hat against his thigh, Monroe watched Mr. McFarland disappear into the house with the last trunk. A smile crept across his face as he remembered the dark-haired girl’s embarrassment when he accidentally picked up a set of her underthings. Was she ever beautiful. And she seemed the sort who didn’t know it. Those bright green eyes, skin that looked so soft his fingers had itched to touch it, a lemon scent that made him think of far-off places, dark hair piled into a cloud under her hat. He could just see himself taking that hat off and loosening her hair, running his fingers through it, pulling her to him . . .
