With a nod, she unbuttoned the lightweight overgarment. “Thank you, Mr. McKinley.”
The scent of her cologne teased him as he slipped the coat from her shoulders. It was all he could do not to bring it close to his face and breathe deeply.
What had come over him lately? He was acting like… like a lovesick pup. Heaven help him! He needed to nip this behavior in the bud.
He took several long, slow breaths before turning around. Gwen had removed the scarf from her hat and now stood looking at the lodge.
Pretty didn’t begin to describe her.
He cleared his throat. “Let’s look inside the lodge first, shall we?”
Gwen hadn’t envisioned anything close to this place. Not in her wildest dreams. Not here in Idaho, outside a small town like Bethlehem Springs.
Morgan escorted her through the lodge, detailing what things would look like when finished. The elegant fireplaces. The large sitting room. The library. The modern kitchen and large dining hall. The guest rooms. In her mind, she saw it all as he described it.
Next came a tour of the bathhouse and the pools. He explained the different kinds of therapy that would be available to guests of the resort and told her there would be doctors and nurses on staff.
“And up there” — he pointed toward a draw about a hundred or more yards up an incline — “is where the prayer chapel will be.”
“A prayer chapel?”
“I learned from my mother that physical healing is not enough. My wish — and my mother’s wish — is that New Hope will be a place where people can come for spiritual healing first. And then, if God wills it, be healed of their physical ailments. Or, at the very least, their pain lessened.”
“It doesn’t sound like a profitable enterprise.”
Softly, he answered, “ ‘For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’ ”
She couldn’t argue with the familiar Scripture. Still, if enough guests — wealthy guests — didn’t come to stay at New Hope, how could the resort be of benefit to Bethlehem Springs? Without turning a profit, New Hope would eventually close its doors, the railroad would cancel the route — if it ever started in the first place — and businessmen in town would experience great disappointment. It seemed a great risk to her.
“Miss Arlington, I am not a fool.”
“I never said you were, sir.”
He cocked an eyebrow, as if to say he’d read her thoughts and knew she was being disingenuous.
Heat rose in her cheeks.
“Walk with me.” He motioned toward the draw where the chapel was to be built. Gwen fell into step beside him, knowing he shortened his strides to accommodate hers.
“Miss Arlington, my great-grandfather, my grandfather, and my father were all successful men of business, each increasing the family fortunes, each generation building upon the success of the last. My mother’s family was likewise blessed. As Providence would have it, I am the heir on both the maternal and paternal sides. And I, in turn, have had my own successes in the business world, although modest by comparison.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I don’t tell you this to impress you. There have been times when my family’s prosperity has seemed more of a curse than a blessing. After all, Jesus himself said it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. I’m ever mindful of that warning.”
Listening to him, Gwen’s heart stirred. Other than her father, she rarely encountered men who spoke about their faith outside of church.
Morgan stopped when they reached the draw. His gaze swept over a stand of aspens, leaves applauding in the breeze, a shallow brook bubbling out from beneath the underbrush. “On paper this resort undoubtedly looks impractical, but sometimes God requires us to step out in faith. You know” — he glanced at her — “like the Israelites had to wade into the water before it parted before them.”
Perhaps he wasn’t the man she’d thought him when they first met. Perhaps it wouldn’t be unwise to let herself like him. Perhaps they could become friends after all.
For a long while they stood there, looking at each other. The sounds of construction faded into the distance, as did the rustle of leaves and the gurgle of the mountain stream. Nothing seemed to exist but the two of them, alone in the late morning sunlight.
Gwen felt her body sway toward him, as if drawn by an invisible cord. Perhaps fearing she was about to fall, Morgan lifted his hands and lightly grasped her by the upper arms. Her heart hammered, blood pulsing in her ears, breath shallow and quick.
“Gwen,” he whispered.
It seemed right to hear her given name on his lips.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Those three words were like a splash of cold water on her face, waking her from some hypnotic state. She took a step back, out of his grasp.
“I… I think we should go now, Mr. McKinley.”
He looked as if he might protest, but he didn’t. “Yes, perhaps you’re right. We should be on our way. Your father and sister will be looking for your arrival.”
Wordlessly they made their way down the hillside to the motorcar.
THIRTEEN
Gwen felt a rush of relief when she saw her sister leave the main corral and walk toward the motorcar. The drive down from the construction site had seemed to take forever. That moment of temptation — when she’d nearly leaned into Morgan’s embrace — had replayed in her mind again and again. She’d felt out of breath ever since. Even now…
“Gwennie! We weren’t expecting to see you arrive this way.” Cleo grinned. “Howdy, Morgan.”
“Good day, Cleo.” Morgan hopped out and came around the front of the automobile to open the door for Gwen. “I took your sister up to the resort so she could judge for herself whether it will or won’t be good for the community.”
Cleo said, “I wouldn’t mind a look-see myself. Maybe I could ride up there someday and let you show me around too.”
“Anytime you want, Cleo. You’re always welcome. Just let me know when.”
Oh, please let’s not talk about the resort. Let’s not talk about anything that will delay his departure. Let him leave… so I can breathe again.
Gwen stepped down from the car. “Cleo, would you mind taking me back to town later? I don’t want to keep Mr. — ”
Her sister turned toward Morgan. “I reckon you’ll be staying for lunch, won’t you?”
“Well, I — ”
“’Course you will. Won’t let you go until you eat something.” Cleo linked arms with Gwen and drew her toward the house. “So tell me how the campaign’s going. Has Mr. McKinley thought of backing out yet?” Cleo glanced over her shoulder at Morgan. “Now would be a good time.”
“I’m not ready to concede as of yet,” he answered.
“Pity.” Cleo laughed. “It’s going to be mighty embarrassing for you, come Election Day.”
As the sisters climbed the steps onto the porch, their father appeared through the front doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. “There you are, Gwen. I was wondering if you’d make lunch. You’re later than usual.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. As he straightened, he looked beyond her shoulder. “Mr. McKinley, this is a pleasant surprise.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Joining us for lunch?”
What did her father and sister have against her? Shouldn’t they know she would rather he leave? Leave now!
Morgan answered, “Cleo was kind enough to invite me. If it isn’t too much bother, I’ll accept.”
“No bother at all. We like to have company, but don’t get much of it. Do we, Cleo?”
“No. Not nearly enough.”
Griff motioned toward the chairs on the porch. “Make yourselves comfortable. Cookie’s got chicken frying in the skillet, and it ought to be about ready. I’ll go check on it.”
“I’ll go, Dad,” Gwen said. “You stay and talk to Mr. McKinley.” She hurried into the house
before her father could reply.
Once inside, she drew a slow, deep breath and released it. There, that was better. Her equilibrium returned. Her feet stood solidly on the ground. It would take more than a man whispering her name to cause her to forget herself.
“You’re so beautiful.” If he d said anything but those words. If he’d seen her, if he’d seen the real Gwen, maybe…
No. She shook her head. No, that wouldn’t have made any difference. She didn’t want to become involved with him. Not with him or any man. Only as a woman alone could she accomplish her goals, live her own life, be free to pursue the paths God led her down. Hadn’t the apostle Paul written that it was better to be single so one was free of entanglements?
She stepped through the door into the large kitchen of the ranch house. Cookie, the irascible man who’d cooked for Griff Arlington’s family and ranch hands for the past thirty years, stood at the stove, turning chicken in the skillet. If anyone had ever known his real name, they’d forgotten it by now.
“Hello, Cookie. Dad wants to know how long until lunch.”
He looked over his shoulder. His cheeks were flushed, and there was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. “You’re late, girl. Chicken’s almost burnt to a crisp.”
“Sorry.” She smiled, knowing he exaggerated. Cookie would never allow food to burn in his kitchen.
“Tell Griff you can set yourselves down at the table. I’ll have the grub out in a jiffy.”
“Thank you, Cookie. I’ll tell him.”
Morgan couldn’t remember when he’d enjoyed a meal more. The fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, and creamed vegetables were delicious. But it was the people seated at the table that made it perfect. Observing the Arlington family’s affection and appreciation for one another made him miss his own family more than he had in a long while. Not that he’d ever been as close to his younger sister as Cleo and Gwen were to each other.
Daphne was ten years his junior and they’d spent only brief periods of time together since she was six or so. For most of her growing up years, he’d been away at school or traveling. Later, when he was home, she’d been off to school. Their paths had seldom crossed for long. These days, they wrote to each other, but those letters were brief — his all about the spa, hers all about her travels.
Cleo’s voice pulled him from his reverie. “So what did you think of the resort, Gwennie?”
Everyone at the table looked at Gwen. In return, she looked from her sister to her father and back again. But not once did she glance in Morgan’s direction. He wondered if that had anything to do with the moment when he’d almost kissed her. He rather hoped it did.
“I was impressed. It is grander than I’d envisioned. And Mr. McKinley seems to have thought everything through in great detail.”
Morgan leaned forward. “So you don’t agree with Mr. Carter? You don’t think New Hope is a bad thing for Bethlehem Springs?”
This question, at last, drew her gaze. Both her expression and her tone were serious as she answered. “No, Mr. McKinley. I don’t agree with him. You have convinced me that New Hope will be a boon for the community. As you pointed out earlier, you have already hired many local men. I recognized some of them today.” An unexpected smile tugged at her lips. “When I’m mayor, I shall lend you and your spa my full support.”
He was glad she no longer seemed upset with him. “I believe you are a bit premature, Miss Arlington. The election hasn’t happened yet.”
“Perhaps my comment is prophetic rather than premature.”
“Touché!” Cleo slapped the palm of her right hand against the table. “You might as well concede, Morgan. You’re never going to beat my sister.”
He chuckled. “All the same, I think I’ll leave my hat in the ring.”
“It’s a free country.” Cleo pushed her chair back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some horses to tend to.”
Morgan knew that once Cleo left the dining room, he would have to leave the ranch — without Gwen. And he wasn’t ready for that. If he dawdled, perhaps he could convince her to drive back to town with him. So he said, “Mind if I tag along, Cleo?”
“With me?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Sure. I’d like to see more of the place. I’ve never spent much time on a cattle ranch, and I’m curious about your operation.”
“Guess I’ve got no objections.”
Morgan rose. “It was a delicious meal, Griff, and the company was delightful. Thanks for inviting me to join you.” He looked at Gwen and gave her a slight bow. “Miss Arlington, it was a real pleasure showing you New Hope.”
“For me too, Mr. McKinley,” she answered softly, any hint of a smile gone.
Morgan followed Cleo out of the house, noting that her stride was almost as long as his own. Again he wondered at the differences between the sisters. Not just their physical differences but also the obvious differences in their speech and carriage and manner of dress.
“I’ve got an injured mare in the barn that needs doctoring,” Cleo said. “Doubt you’ll find much interest in watching that.”
“You might be surprised. My interests are wide and varied.”
She stopped short and looked at him, her gaze shrewd. “But I’m guessing Gwen’s what interests you now. Am I right?”
He considered his answer carefully. Should he hedge a bit or be flat-out honest? As the listener was Cleo Arlington, he chose the latter. “You guessed right. I am interested in knowing more about your sister.”
“Because she’s your opponent?”
“Not entirely.”
One corner of her mouth curved upward. “She’s got your spurs tangled, doesn’t she?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“You like her.”
“Let’s just say I’m intrigued.”
“That’s what I thought. Well, that’s fine. That’s real fine.” She motioned with her head, then continued walking, Morgan falling into step beside her once again.
Daylight from the open doorways chased the darkness of the barn into corners. The air smelled of dust and hay and animals. Cleo paused long enough to grab a cloth, some bandages, and a bottle of liniment before heading for the nearest stall. Inside it was a sorrel horse with a blazed face, sorrowful eyes, and a bandaged left foreleg.
“What happened?” Morgan asked as Cleo entered the stall.
“She tangled with some barbed wire. For a while, I thought we might have to put her down, but she’s coming along. I don’t think she’ll be any good for herding cattle, but she’ll make a good kid’s pony.”
Morgan leaned his arms on the top rail of the stall and watched as Cleo squatted next to the mare’s leg and removed the soiled bandages.
“Bet the first thing you’d like to know is how Gwen and I turned out so different from each other.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Right?”
A more direct woman he’d never met. “Yes, that would be a good place to begin.”
“When Gwen and I were two, our mother decided she didn’t want to live in Idaho, so she up and went back to New Jersey to live with her parents. She took Gwen with her and left me with our dad. Of course Dad didn’t think she would stay back there for long, but that’s how it worked out. Gwen didn’t get to return to Idaho until she was twenty-one, right after she finished college.”
“And your mother?”
“She still lives with our grandparents in Hoboken.” Cleo reached for the liniment. “And she’s still trying to convince Gwen to come back to civilization, but so far Gwennie hasn’t listened. I don’t reckon she’ll have much time for traveling once she’s mayor either.”
Morgan didn’t rise to the bait.
Cleo stood and looked at him. “My sister’s a whole lot more than beautiful and refined. She’s smart too. Don’t go thinking she’s not.”
“I won’t.”
She pointed her finger at his chest. “And don’t you hurt her. Because if you do, it’ll be me you’ll have to answer
to.”
“You have my word. I won’t hurt your sister.”
Evening had cast a soft shadow over Bethlehem Springs by the time Morgan left Gwen at her door. She stood on her porch and listened to the sound of his motorcar until it faded into silence. When she could hear it no longer, she went inside the house, dropping her hat and duster carelessly over the nearest chair.
Cookie had sent her home with a few pieces of cold fried chicken and a biscuit, but exhaustion had stolen her appetite. She put the leftovers in the icebox, then went outside to feed and water Shakespeare.
“Hello, boy.” She laid her cheek against the bridge of the horse’s nose while scratching his throat with her left hand. “Did you miss me today?”
Shakespeare snorted.
“Well, I missed you.” She sighed as she drew back, looking into the horse’s big dark eyes. “It was a miserable afternoon. I’ve never been so miserable, and Dad and Cleo were no help at all. They like Mr. McKinley. I can tell they do.” Even I like him. A little. Just a little. “Oh, I never should have agreed to ride to the resort with him in his automobile. I should have let you take me up there. Then I wouldn’t have been forced to spend a minute more with him than I wanted.”
The horse pawed at the floor of his stall.
“I know. I know. You’re hungry.”
She brought hay to the stall and dropped it into the manger, then grabbed the bucket and took it to the pump, where she filled it with fresh, cold water.
“He asked me to give him piano lessons. Can you believe that? He’s building a resort, running for mayor, and he wants to add piano lessons to the mix. And I agreed! Why did I do that? What was I thinking?” She hung the bucket once again on the hook inside the stall. “I don’t need his twenty-five cents.”
Shakespeare chomped on his hay, unmindful of her dilemma.
Gwen rested her hands atop the stall rail, then placed her chin on her wrists. “Of course, I don’t have to give him lessons. I could cancel, couldn’t I?”
Yes, she could cancel. She would cancel. First thing tomorrow, she would let him know she couldn’t give him those lessons after all.
The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection Page 10
