by Cat Cahill
“Right this way.” Monroe led the group up the hill and across the open valley to where the new hotel sat. The crew was hard at work, unseen from outside as they plastered the walls on the second floor. They didn’t have time to lose, not to mention he didn’t want Gilbert or the investors to think they were easing off work simply because they had guests.
“You’ve made a lot of progress since I was here last,” Gilbert said, his voice breathy with the exertion of the walk.
Monroe slowed down some. Spending every day outside at work, he’d forgotten how some men might not be up to the effort of such a vigorous stroll. “We’ve put in extra hours each day for the past week. My goal is to have this building completed ahead of schedule.” He couldn’t hide the pride in his voice. He wanted Gilbert to know he’d hired the best for this job.
And by the look on Gilbert’s face, he had succeeded. The man’s eyes widened as they arrived at the building. “The walls are finished, too?”
“Just about. As of this morning, there were only a few on the second floor that needed plaster. That’s what the men are working on now. We even have a few doors—the ones that arrived in the last shipment—hung.” Monroe put both hands on his hips and turned to see what the investors thought.
But it wasn’t the investors who caught his eye. A group of six women had arrived at the rear of the crowd, all dressed in their finest. Their number included one radiant young woman in a blue and purple dress and swoops of dark hair pinned up under a matching hat. The same hat that had slid down her escaping hair when they’d climbed a hill together over a week ago. Her eyes turned to Monroe, and he wondered if he would burst into flames on the spot.
“Pardon me, Mr. Gilbert, Mr. Hartley.” McFarland appeared from behind the women. “I thought these fine gentlemen and lady might like to meet the Crest Stone Hotel’s staff and the first group of Gilbert Girls.”
“We would indeed,” the lady investor said as Monroe and the other men in the group removed their hats. “I do love how you employ young women, Mr. Gilbert. There are few opportunities in this world for ladies to support their families in positions of meaning and worth.” She turned to speak to Emma and the other girls. “I admire your bravery in venturing out to this wilderness to add a touch of civility and gentleness.”
Emma beamed at the woman. Her smile reached every inch of Monroe. She was a strongly independent woman under all of her manners and good graces. While that might deter some men, it intrigued him. Colette had held similar qualities—at least while they’d lived on her family’s ranch. Maybe it was the time of day or perhaps it was the company, but the great aching loss he usually felt upon thinking of Colette was less sharp and more blurred with nostalgia.
“This is Michael McFarland,” Gilbert said to the investors after he named them one by one. “He’s to be the manager of the hotel. His wife, Mrs. McFarland, will do the books.”
After shaking hands with the investors, McFarland picked up the introductions in his light Irish brogue. “This is Mrs. Ruby, house mother to the Crest Stone’s Gilbert Girls and manager of the dining room. She comes to us from another Gilbert Company establishment north of Denver.” He moved on to the girls, each of whom inclined her head as she was introduced. Monroe could barely take his eyes from Emma. She positively glowed, and he wondered how every man in the group wasn’t as fixated on her as he was. This work suited her—entertaining folks, working hard. He dared to hope the Territory suited her too, much more than Kentucky.
“Quite marvelous to meet you all,” the tall, thin male investor said as he held his hat in his hands. The others nodded and murmured in agreement.
“If it is not a problem, we will join you all on your tour of the new hotel,” Mr. McFarland said. “The ladies have wanted to see it for quite some time now.”
“I think that’s a splendid idea,” Gilbert said. “Hartley?”
Monroe detached his tongue from its stunned position against his upper palate and managed to speak. “That’s fine by me. Shall we start at the entry?” He dragged his eyes away from Emma and led the group to what would be the front door. Reminding himself that his career depended on this tour, he swept a hand across the sage and grass-filled field in front of the door. “When all is finished, this area will have a circular drive for carriages that will be waiting for passengers at the train depot below. I believe Mr. Gilbert has plans for flowering trees and a fountain.”
“Indeed!” Mr. Gilbert said. “My father and I like each of our hotels to be nearly indistinguishable from any fine establishment you might find in New York or Philadelphia.”
The investors agreed this was for the best, and Monroe tightened his jaw to keep his own words to himself. It was ridiculous to plant trees that would need buckets of extra water to simply survive out here, not to mention constructing a fountain. That would require some type of plumbing system that led from the creek a quarter mile away.
He remained quiet and led the group through the entry that would eventually have two imposing doors. They emerged in the sprawling lobby area.
The group looked around, clearly impressed with the size of the room. As Gilbert explained how the area would be decorated in the usual Gilbert Company style with richly colored rugs, furs, and trophy heads on the walls, Monroe backed against what would become one of the large stone fireplaces that banked each side wall.
“Hello.” A soft voice reached his ears.
He glanced down next to him, and sure enough, Emma stood there, flanking the edge of her group of ladies. He smiled in a way that he hoped was not the least bit suspicious to anyone else watching. What he wouldn’t give for a moment alone with her right now. It had been too long since their climb up the hill. Since then, in the few waking moments he wasn’t consumed by work, he almost itched to feel the softness of her cheek, hear her laugh, and have her look at him with those green eyes that he could swear saw straight through to his soul. Now here she was, barely inches from him, and he could do nothing about it.
“Hartley?” Gilbert was looking at him, waiting for him to do or say something, and Monroe had no idea what that might be.
He cleared his throat to buy time and luckily noticed a couple of the investors making their way across the room to the large openings that would be two very big doors to the dining room. He increased his stride to reach the room before them and then gestured them inside.
“As you can see, this will be the Gilbert Company’s largest and finest dining room to date. The kitchen is located in the rear, and this room should hold one hundred tables once it is completed.” Monroe clasped his hands behind his back and enjoyed the looks of awe from the investors.
“Will you even have that many passengers?” the lady investor asked Gilbert.
“We anticipate so,” he replied. “The springs in and around Santa Fe are growing in popularity, and since the trains will only stop for about thirty minutes, we need the ability to seat all passengers who wish to eat in the dining room at once. A lunch counter for those traveling more economically will also be available.” He gestured toward the lobby, with its separate entrance into the room housing the lunch counter.
“These ladies cannot possibly serve that many tables on their own,” a short, squat man joked as he gestured to Emma and her friends.
“We most certainly could try,” the girl with golden-brown ringlets and an infectious smile said. Miss May, Monroe remembered from the introductions.
Mrs. Ruby tensed and laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. But the group laughed after taking a moment to let her brash outburst sink in. Emma concealed a smile behind her gloved hand, and Monroe wished with all his heart that she’d laugh out loud. He needed to hear that sound almost as badly as he needed air to breathe.
“If you please, sirs, madam,” Mrs. Ruby said, pushing her way in front of the outspoken girl. “Mr. Gilbert has informed me that we will gradually increase the number of Gilbert Girls on premises until there are approximately thirty girls. This will allow each gir
l to serve only a few tables, which will provide ample time for guests to engage them in conversation and for them to give their full attention to their customers. The last thing we want in a Gilbert dining room is a rushed, harried girl.”
“That is a most excellent plan,” the little round man said. “Gilbert, I commend you and your father on maintaining the company standards at each new property.”
They continued with the tour. Monroe led the group to the gentlemen’s lounge, the ladies’ parlor, the small tearoom, the lunch counter, and what would be the outdoor garden area on the first floor, and then commenced showing a few of the guest rooms on the upper level.
Just as Monroe was explaining plans for the guest rooms, Mrs. Ruby piped up. “Where is Miss Daniels?”
Monroe paused and looked around the group. Emma was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Fifteen
“Open, please, will you?” Emma tugged at the door again, but it wouldn’t budge on its shiny brass hinges. She sighed, the air escaping her lips in an irritated huff. This was what she got for being so curious, she supposed.
She’d only wanted to see what was behind one of the few doors that had been hung in the hotel. It led to a small room just off the tearoom. Once she stepped inside, she’d shut the door—just briefly—to get a better sense for what the room might be like when it was finished. But when she turned to confirm with Monroe that it would be a powder room, she could not pry the door open. By then, the group had moved from the tearoom into the hallway. Feeling like a fool, she hadn’t cried out for help. In fact, she was certain that all she needed to do was pull the door just so since it had no knob yet, and it would open again. She’d had no problems shutting it, after all.
But her assumption was clearly incorrect, and now she’d spent a good ten minutes pulling and prying at the door with no luck at all. “Hello?” she called. “Is anyone out there?”
No answer.
Of course there wouldn’t be. The tour group had probably moved upstairs by now, and the workers were all up there too, finishing the walls in the guest rooms.
Emma turned behind her, searching for something she might use as a lever in the hole where the doorknob would eventually go. She’d have to free herself. Now if she could just find the right tool . . .
A few pieces of discarded wood littered the edges of the room. Perhaps one of those might work. Emma selected a thin, rectangular piece. She peeled off her gloves to keep the satin from snagging, and, careful not to place the jagged edges too near her hand, she inserted the end of the wood into the hole and pushed against the other end with all her might.
Snap! The wood splintered in the middle and Emma crashed headfirst into the door. She threw the wood to the floor, harder than any gentle lady should ever throw anything. But fie on any conventions at this moment. She was alone, her forehead throbbed, and desperation was beginning to creep into the edges of her thoughts.
She forced herself to breathe normally as she rubbed the sore spot on her forehead. Scanning the bits of wood again, she spotted one more possibility. This piece was a bit thicker, and therefore less likely to snap in two. Emma set the wood inside the hole again. It just barely fit. Gathering her lower lip between her teeth, she bore down on the wood. It held. She paused, wiped the perspiration from her aching forehead, and then leaned all of her weight into the piece of wood. The door flew open.
She stumbled forward. The wood fell from her hands. She tried to catch herself, but landed hard against something solid. Hands gripped her upper arms and stood her back upright.
Trying to catch her breath, Emma looked up.
“Monroe?” she said, between breaths.
He grinned at her. “I thought you might be down here.”
“How so?” Emma tried to concentrate on what he was saying, and not the strong hands that still held her arms.
“I remembered you looking almost longingly at this door when we were in here. If I hadn’t been distracted by Gilbert’s insistence that future hotels have a tearoom attached to the dining room, I might’ve seen you disappear into here.”
Emma shifted her weight, and he seemed to realize he was still holding her. He dropped his hands immediately, but he didn’t take his eyes from hers. She swallowed hard, at a loss for words again.
“What do you think? Is it spacious enough for a powder room?” He slipped past her into the smaller space and held his arms out to the sides. “Although the dimensions aren’t mine. I might’ve made it a bit larger.”
Emma smiled and stepped forward, this time leaving that pesky door open. She ran her hand almost lovingly over the woodwork of the doorframe. It was one of the only completed pieces of interior woodwork, and her eyes had been drawn to it immediately. She doubted any blueprints specified the detail that went into pieces like this one. The carefully created swirls and arches in the frame were all Monroe’s. “It’s perfect. Or it will be, once it has tables and rugs and mirrors and a place to rest.”
“Demanding, aren’t you?” he teased.
“I’m no such thing! I’m simply informing a man who grew up outside the comforts of a real city how a powder room should be presented.” She drew herself up straight.
“Are you saying I’m some sort of ruffian?”
She could almost hear the laughter behind his words. It made her smile even as she defended herself. “You put words in my mouth, sir. All I meant was that I should know a good powder room better than a man who grew up in the Colorado Territory.”
“Uncivilized mountain man, then.” He leaned against the wall, clearly enjoying this far too much.
Emma opened her mouth to retort when she became acutely aware of how alone they were, and how dangerous this situation was. She swallowed and glanced behind her. “Where is the rest of the group?”
“Mrs. McFarland and Mrs. Ruby have led the girls back outside with the investors and Mr. Gilbert. Mr. McFarland is searching for you upstairs. You gave us all quite a scare, you know.” He stepped forward and swiped up the broken piece of wood from the floor. He held it up between them. “What is this?”
“My first attempt at levering the door open. It was stuck.”
He tilted his head as he tossed the wood to the floor, that infernal grin crossing his face again. “Are you implying my craftsmanship is not up to your standards?”
“I’m saying I got stuck in this room through no fault of my own.” She held his gaze, one hand on her hip.
He took another step forward and reached around her for the door. He pulled it shut just as she shouted, “No! You’ll close us in.”
“I’ll do no such thing. Watch.” He pushed on the door.
Nothing happened.
“See?” She looked up at him. He was but mere inches from her, so close, yet so far away.
He pushed again and cursed under his breath, so low she knew she wasn’t meant to hear it. “I hung this one myself. I must’ve not set the hinges right.”
Emma scooped up the broken piece of wood from the floor. “Lever?” She held it up in front of her face and gave him a satisfied grin.
He glanced down and laughed. Then he took the piece of wood. She expected him to do as she had and insert it into the doorknob hole. But instead, he hesitated. His left hand came up to caress her face the same way he’d done on top of the hill a week ago.
Oh, how she’d relived that moment. Over and over and over again, while cleaning dishes, while ironing dresses, while trying to sleep at night. Each time, she’d imagined the feel of his rough palm against her cheek. She’d yearned for it to happen again, all the while knowing it shouldn’t.
And now it was. She should stop it, if she had any sense. But she couldn’t breathe, her corset feeling even more snug around her ribcage than it usually did. Finally, she forced a ragged breath, just as his hand dropped to her jaw. Almost without thought, her own hands reached for his back and rested lightly against his coat. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed.
His eyes held hers, reflecting t
enderness. But there was something deeper, almost like lightning beneath the warmth, and it both terrified and excited her. Almost as if he knew what she saw, he smiled just a little and took a step closer.
Emma’s heart pounded as his hand moved to the back of her head, just underneath the knot of hair that rested beneath the narrow brim of her hat. His fingers splayed wide, so that they covered the back of her neck. She thought she could stand here like this forever. He lowered his face, keeping his eyes on hers, and she felt pinned to this place, as if she would never move again.
“Hartley? Did you find her?”
Emma’s breath burst from her throat as Monroe yanked his hand back. They each backed up, him breathing hard as she ran her hands over her face, feeling it grow warmer under her own palms.
“We’re in here. Can you let us out?” Monroe finally called back, his voice pitched slightly lower than normal.
“Where—?” Mr. McFarland stopped speaking as they heard his shoes enter the room just outside the door. He pulled on the door. “How the dickens—pardon me, Miss Daniels—did this door get jammed?”
“The hinges are hung incorrectly,” Monroe said. “If you can find a long enough piece of wood, you should be able to lever it open.”
They heard him rummaging around until finally a long square of wood poked through the doorknob hole. “I’m going to give this a try.” With a few yanks, the door finally sprung free, and Mr. McFarland stood just beyond it.
“Thank you ever so much, Mr. McFarland,” Emma said, praying she looked more composed than she felt. If she looked anything like she felt, her hair would be wild, her dress a wrinkled mess, and her face as flushed as if she’d just cleaned the entire stove back at the house. She kept speaking, hoping it would hide anything that might give her true feelings away. “I’d managed to open it when Mr. Hartley arrived. He tried the door again, and, well, now he believes there is something wrong with it.”
Monroe shot her a look, and she realized a split second too late that she’d perhaps said too much. Mr. McFarland glanced between them both, but said nothing beyond, “Come, let’s rejoin the group.” He ushered her forward.
