by Kristin Holt
“Have you?”
“No. Never.” He honestly hadn’t. “I learned the business from the best. My grandfather taught me, and then Adam as he grew old enough.”
“Aren’t you and Mr. Taylor the same age?”
“I am three years his senior.” He linked his hands between his knees. “I must admit I insisted on learning the business early. At age six or seven, I felt my time as a child had ended. That was irrational, but at the time it made sense in my head. My parents were dead, and that meant my grandparents could die at any time. I felt compelled to understand the workings of the empire my grandfather had built.”
“I know what it is to go to work at that tender age.” She shook her head. “But we’re talking about you. I want to know why this journey to New Mexico must happen now, and why an owner had to visit in person.”
He would far rather hear about her. But he wasn’t a coward, so he dived back in.
“My grandfather died nine months ago. Since then, I’m ashamed to admit, the business has been failing.”
“What do you mean— failing?”
“Losing profit margins, waning output from various mines, losses due to accidents and theft. We’ve suffered more casualties this year than in the five previous combined.”
Lessie’s dark brows drew together in confusion. “You believe you’re responsible?”
Of course he did— he sat in Grandfather’s chair. “I make the decisions. I bear the responsibility.” He couldn’t expect her to understand the business aspect. After all, women never talked business amongst themselves, and he’d learned long ago he must refrain from such tedious subjects in polite company, including Aunt Anna-Lisa and his young cousin Lucinda.
“Adam and I have worked together, he as my right-hand man since his twenty-first birthday. Grandfather chose to semi-retire at that time and turned over the daily operations to us. He’d tutored me heavily until that time. I learned everything I possibly could from him.”
“Was Adam also tutored?”
“Naturally.”
“And he is as vested in the success of the family business?”
So much for assuming Lessie would become bored by talk of business. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m trying to understand why Adam was the one to go to New Mexico.” She traced a fingertip over the intricate carving along the edge of the table rather than look him in the eye. “If he’s equally dedicated, I can see his urgency to pay that mine a personal visit.”
“We have two pressing matters. One must be handled locally and the other in New Mexico Territory. We flipped a coin.”
“I’m surprised.” She searched his face for some kind of an answer. “Why did you not wire the managers and have them handle it?”
“We’ve learned to trust in only ourselves. It’s not easy to have unlimited faith in employees.”
“Oh?” She looked up with obvious curiosity. “Have employees proved untrustworthy?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Thirty-five deaths in two mines. No fewer than fourteen traitors.
“Not all managers are untrustworthy. The woman who managed Brown Textile Mill where I worked was a good employee. Fair. Honest to a fault. Mr. Brown, the owner, hardly stepped foot in the door. An absentee landlord if one ever existed. He left the operations in Roberta’s capable hands.”
“If only Cannon Mining were so blessed.”
She seemed to think that over. “Help me understand why you cannot trust your managers— and if you cannot trust them, why do they remain on your payroll?”
Richard sifted through bits and pieces of reasons, finally settling on the big picture. “Trouble has slowly increased at the mines… all fourteen sites. Most recently, and most seriously, at our two highest-producing locations.” His stomach pitched with renewed helplessness and fury. “It’s not possible to fire enough people to be certain we’ve excised the culprit. Meanwhile, good men lose much-needed employment.”
What would Grandfather have done?
I don’t know.
“New Mexico Territory.” Lessie clearly comprehended the connection.
“Yes.”
A moment passed, then two, as Richard tried to decide what to disclose next, and more importantly, how to phrase it. He detested the sense of all-consuming responsibility. He had to do something to save the company his beloved grandfather had built from nothing but dirt and blood and sweat.
“Yesterday, we received word of… accidents at two mines.”
To his surprise, she waited for him to continue without interrupting. He expected further questions, or perhaps impatience.
“Both locations— one here in Utah Territory and the other in New Mexico— cost good men their lives.”
“I’m sorry.” He noted the genuine sadness dampening her lovely features. Surely she’d known industrial accidents, people lost to tragedy.
He nodded to show acceptance of her kind words. “In situations like this, we needed to pay a visit in person, express condolences to loved ones left behind, and manage risks on-site.”
“Adam and Josie are headed for the New Mexico mine.” An astute observation.
“Yes.”
Lessie leaned forward a bit in her chair. “And you’ll handle the Utah problems.”
He nodded.
“Where is this Utah mine?”
He gestured toward the mountains to the east. “Big Ezra is in a branch of Ogden Canyon. Six to seven miles, as the crow flies.”
“Is this what brought you and Adam to Utah?”
He blinked, caught off guard yet again.
“Your home is new. You mentioned living in Utah among the Mormons for only two years. I assume you were near your aunt and uncle until then. Given neither were at the weddings, I assume they live elsewhere. Am I incorrect?”
He detested how easily she read him. Did his employees see through him so easily?
“Yes. Grandfather had us— Adam and I— relocate at Junction City, Ogden, because it’s the geographical center of our operations. And we built a lead and silver smelter just outside town.”
She nodded. “When do we leave?”
Unease had him leaning forward in his chair. He still had so much he had to explain, details he had to impress upon her, make certain she understood how serious this trip was. “I want you to come along… I need you to. But it’s a rough camp and I must explain some serious conditions.”
“Adam and Josie left for New Mexico on their wedding day.” She paused for emphasis. “It’s obvious you’re facing trouble from within.”
“Yes.”
“You and Adam specifically asked for brides from the working class. You needed me for what I understand of the men and women you employ. I’m here to do whatever I might to help Cannon Mining— it’s my family business now, too. Do I understand you?”
Exactly what he’d hoped to hear, needed to hear.
“Richard— I can see the truth. Why else would one of you, the owners, travel so very far? Why not send a wire instructing your foreman to address it? It’s evident you don’t trust him.”
“I— We…”
“Why don’t you trust him?”
How had he lost control of the conversation? He nearly growled with frustration and impotence. How had Lessie, in town mere hours, guessed with accuracy? Were he and Adam so transparent?
He could only pray she could read his miners as readily.
Richard leaned forward, reached for her hand which she gave easily enough. He squeezed her fingers, held her gaze, silently begged her to understand the gravity of the situation. “This is a matter of company security, Lessie. Do you understand the necessity for discretion?”
“You think me a nitwit? I’m not foolish nor loose with confidences.”
In the glow of late afternoon sunlight streaming through the west-facing windows, her eyes seemed warmer, a milk-chocolate brown. The light caressed her glossy waves and softened the contrast. He wanted to trust her.
“I am your wife
,” she reminded him, “and my future is forever connected to yours.” She enclosed his hand between both of hers. “What can I do to help?”
The gentleness in her tone caught him unprepared. “You… We…” He cleared his throat.
“This is why you and Adam sent for mail order brides, is it not? You needed a specific kind of woman. I’m beginning to see why. Now I’d like to know the rest of it.”
Myriad reasons jumbled together, tying his thoughts into knots. She’d primed the conversation perfectly, now he simply had to spit it out. Still, admitting he needed her to help him in ways he couldn’t help himself… it fueled his sense of inadequacy.
A man was supposed to protect and provide, to buffer his wife’s exposure to the coarser elements of life.
He should ensure her ease and comfort, not place her directly within the path of difficulty.
“I need you because I don’t understand them.” His chest heaved with rising emotion. “Something is dreadfully wrong, and I can’t see it. Short of erasing my upbringing and growing up among our workers, I see one possible way to bridge the gap.”
“Wives with working class experience.”
“Yes. Adam and I need brides who could help us comprehend our employees.” He found the extended eye contact far more intimate than he’d known possible. “Can you do that? Can you help me?”
For the first time since the conversation began, she seemed hesitant to speak.
Desperation increased. “I need you.”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes,” this time louder. “I’m your wife, and I’ll do everything I possibly can.”
“Good.” Already, tension waned. He held her hand, drew a fortifying breath, and clung to her confidence. “I’m trusting you with highly sensitive information. I’m trusting you with our family business… and there is much you need to know.”
She nodded. Steady. Certain.
“More importantly, there is much you must not disclose in any way. If the miners so much as suspect—” The thought of what they might do…
He swallowed the pain, refusing to borrow trouble. He had enough as it was.
Somehow, he found the words and told her everything.
Chapter Seven
“Come,” Richard said after some time to Lessie. “Let me show you the house.” He helped her to her feet and led her through the doorway into the sitting room with its bay window and marble-framed fireplace.
She admired the furnishings, the polished hardwood floors, and cleanliness…
But when he showed her the full bathroom across the hall, she clapped a hand over her mouth… in shock? In pleasure? He’d seen this room many a time, had soaked in that bathtub daily. He was far more interested in absorbing her facial reactions.
But daylight was fading, and the north-facing window didn’t shed enough light, so he turned on the gas lighting.
She followed him inside, trailed her fingertips over the faucet taps at the sink, the highly polished paneling surrounding the inset tub.
“Perhaps you’d like to enjoy a bath tonight,” he suggested. “Soak away the day’s tension.”
“I’d like that.”
This, this… beautiful, fiery, brilliant creature was his wife.
And he rather liked the idea, the headway they’d made toward developing some sort of foundation.
And the thought of having something very special with this woman— his wife— sent a rush of heated blood through him, making his too-tight collar dampen with sweat and his hands shake.
Embarrassing, that. He was a grown man. Twenty-seven years of age.
But he liked pleasing her. Too much.
“There’s more.” He took her hand, led her further into the house. “My office.”
He watched her scan the square room, the huge double desk in the center. Masculine chairs at opposite sides. “Mine,” he indicated, “and Adam’s.”
“Ah.”
“This room is likely meant for a guest room, or perhaps an older couple’s bedroom when the stairs to the second floor become too daunting. Perhaps it will become our bedroom when we’re old.”
Her grip on his hand tightened a bit and he couldn’t help but smile. The thought of growing old with this woman sounded mighty fine to him.
“This room is boring. Come with me.” He tugged her along behind him into the other doorway into the sitting room. The fireplace made up the dividing wall along the center of the house, one passage in and out of this main room on either side. “The dining room.”
She trailed fingertips along the stately curve of a chair at the table. Apparent admiration, but what did he know of his wife’s preferences?
“If you don’t care for my furniture choices, you’re welcome to make different purchases.”
He couldn’t believe he’d offered to allow her to redo, redecorate, spend more money. The house had been professionally decorated, the furniture carefully chosen by one who knew all about it so everything matched and created a pleasing home environment. But somehow, he knew Lessie wouldn’t spend him into the poorhouse.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
He saw her take in the eight chairs around the table, the potential for dinner parties or perhaps children seated around this table with them.
“I like it just as it is.” Her smile— so genuine and real nearly knocked him onto his back.
Oh, yeah. He definitely needed to see Lessie smile more often.
“The kitchen’s through here.” He led her through the pantry with cupboards with glass-fronted doors displaying serving dishes, drawers for the silverware.
He turned on the gas lamps to give her a better view of the modern kitchen with all of today’s conveniences. Running hot and cold water at the sink. A large, beautifully finished ice box . A large and efficient range. A small table meant for intimate meals for one or two. A doorway led onto the back porch that faced south.
“Come with me.”
“All right.”
He opened the back door, stepped onto the porch and brought her with him. Crickets hummed merrily in the bushes and the cooling evening air carried with it the scent of newly cut grass. “See that new house next door?”
He eased her in front of him, clasped both of her shoulders in his hands. He liked standing this near, the fragrance of her hair and skin teasing his nose.
“I do.”
“See how these porch stairs lead to that cobbled walk?” He pointed at the walk and its eventual terminal at a mirror-image set of stairs onto the neighbor’s back porch.
The house was dark, just as it should be.
“And just around the corner,” he gestured toward the front of the house, “another exit and porch off the sitting room leads to another paved walkway to a matching door at the neighbor’s house.”
“Whose?” She turned a little, to better see him over her shoulder.
Long shadows stretched across the thin lawn, planted only two months previous. Before long, the grass would be thick enough to cut.
The lengthening shadows and fading daylight only served to remind him he hadn’t offered his underweight bride anything more to nourish herself than lemonade since their arrival at home— and that had been at least an hour earlier.
“You’re hungry. I should feed you.”
“Nonsense. Tell me whose house is next door.”
“Guess.”
She chuckled. “Let me see. Hmmm. Who have I met thus far? Our minister at the Baptist church?”
“No.” Her good humor made him smile.
“A very nice old woman who will become my closest friend.”
“No. She lives next door on the other side.”
“Good to know. Who, then?”
He took full advantage of the moment and slipped his arms about her middle, pulling her back against his chest. “That house,” he pointed, then restored his hold about her tiny waist, “is a perfect mirror image of this one. Precisely the same in every way, except for a bit of colori
ng on the outside and a few finishing touches on the inside.”
“You don’t say?”
“In fact, the builder called these twin homes.”
She laughed. A joyful, bright melody that snagged his heart and made him feel more hopeful than he’d been in a long while.
“It’s rather convenient,” he whispered in her ear, “for my Second to walk to work. It’ll be most convenient, too, I suppose, for my wife—”
She spun in his arms and before he could say another word, she’d slipped her arms about his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.
Lessie’s enjoyment of this palatial home her husband had built doubled upon realizing Josie would live next door. Josie would be nearby, enjoy the same luxury, the same convenience.
Most importantly, solid proof that Adam had every intention of returning to Ogden City with Josie.
Joy fairly vibrated within Lessie as she followed her husband upstairs to tour the grand second floor. The residence carried the faint smells of paint, varnish, sawdust. All sweet-smelling, clean, and welcoming.
“This house… it’s so big for just two of us.” She’d never imagined this kind of space, so many various rooms all with different purposes.
“It’s possible we’ll soon increase the size of our family, Lessie. We might need a nursery or two.”
Children.
Babies.
One of the reasons so many of their friends had sought the opportunity to be mail order brides. Like most of the unmarried women she knew, she did want children… eventually.
Richard turned, met her gaze, the glow of gas light shining on his wavy black hair. He really was a handsome man. Especially now that he knew his good-natured heart and all the preparation he’d gone through for her… before he’d known who his mail order bride would be.
The men couldn’t have known they’d find twins to wed, but they’d obviously meant it when they’d advertised for brides with close family ties. Who else would want matching houses with the convenience of two or three walkways between their residences?
“Look at this,” he said, gesturing to three open doorways.
