Supposedly, she’d come West as a mail-order bride. But she’d quickly decided to run the general store and had, indeed, shown an aptitude for understanding business. Luke didn’t think she was the accomplice he was looking for since all the information he’d gathered through Pinkerton pointed to a male, but perhaps she’d come West to launch a new scheme with Sayer?
He’d have to play his hand carefully.
The waiter appeared to remove their first course of turtle soup and replace it with fillet of salmon, covered with creamed curry sauce, and accompanied by new red potatoes and roasted squash. Abby closed her eyes and inhaled the delicious aromas.
“This has got to be the best dinner I ever had.”
He refrained from smiling at the way she heartily dug into the food. She’d scraped her soup bowl clean, too. He appreciated a woman with a healthy appetite—it usually meant they had a healthy appetite in bed, as well…which he shouldn’t be thinking about—but he wondered about her somewhat limited comportment.
He poured her a second glass of wine. “Be sure to save room for dessert. The cherry tarts here are excellent.”
“Mmmm,” she said, scooping up some sauce with her spoon. “That sounds good.”
When he’d questioned John earlier, the man said Travis had told him his mail-order bride was a well-educated, refined lady who’d been orphaned. That didn’t match up with her behavior this evening. Although she’d been subtle, he’d noticed her gazing around the dining room with its white linen tablecloths and sparkling crystal chandeliers. That probably was not too surprising. Many people were awed at the opulence of a hotel this far West, but he’d sensed she didn’t feel at ease. She’d hesitated, too, in selecting appropriate silverware, furtively watching him and then following his lead. Again, he wondered about her past.
“You said you wanted to discuss business,” Abigail said as the waiter brought desserts. “Yet, you haven’t mentioned it once.”
That’s because he couldn’t concentrate on the general store at the moment, all too aware of the ravishing beauty across from him. He apparently had not learned his lesson from Belle Fontaine after all.
“Perhaps it can wait.” He needed to find out more information about this puzzling lady before he laid out his cards. “My apologies. My grandmother always told me it was rude to discuss business at dinner, anyway.”
Abby looked up from her tart. “Your grandmother?”
“Yes. She raised me when my parents were killed in a carriage accident in St. Louis years ago.” Luke watched her face covertly for any sign that she knew of Travis’s scam to divest the elderly of their money. All he saw, though, was sympathy.
“I’m sorry. My mother died a couple of years ago.”
That coincided with what John had told him. “And your father?”
A muscle ticked in her cheek barely noticeable. “I never knew my father.”
Luke wanted to ask why, but her expression—and his grandmother’s voice inside his head admonishing him to mind his manners—made him refrain. “That must have been difficult.”
“We managed. I am here now.” Picking up her wine glass, she smiled, although it looked forced. “To new adventures.”
“To new adventures.” As he lifted his glass, his eyes were on her mouth, her lips a lush pink from the wine. He felt himself harden.
Damn it. He needed to be concentrating on finding out who she really was, not how she’d taste if he kissed her.
Chapter Six
“How did dinner go last night?” Delia asked Abby the next morning as they met in the public room for breakfast.
“The hotel’s dining room was lovely.” Abby scooped scrambled eggs onto her plate from the sideboard, added a slice of ham, as well as a biscuit, and looked around. Since it was a Sunday morning, the room was pretty much empty, but she headed for a table in the corner to ensure privacy, anyway. From the look on Delia’s face, she was going to want a full account.
Her friend had hardly seated herself before she asked, “Did you discuss business?”
“No, actually we didn’t—”
“Aha! I knew it! He just used that as a ruse.”
“I don’t think—”
“Here’s what I think.” Delia smirked. “The man is planning to court you.”
“Don’t be silly. We’re going to business partners.”
“Which is why he said he wanted to discuss business.” Delia gave her a sly wink. “I think monkey business is more like it.”
“He didn’t mention a monkey at all.”
Delia rolled her eyes. “You know very well what I mean.”
She wasn’t really sure that she did. The Sisters of Mercy did not encourage any kind of interaction with boys. She and Ben had even been separated into different rooms for their reading and writing lessons. Suggestions from men on the streets were not anything she wished to entertain. Basically, she had no experience in the art of flirtation.
“Luke—Mr. Cameron—said it was rude to discuss business at dinner. He even apologized for bringing it up.”
“Proves my point,” Delia said with a self-satisfied smile.
“Does it?” She couldn’t recall Luke giving her any compliments. If he were attempting to flirt, wouldn’t he have at least told she looked nice in the blue gown? He had certainly given it more than a passing glance. But then his expression had changed. She’d caught what looked like a flash of anger in his eyes, but it passed so quickly she wasn’t sure that’s what it was. But then, he had appeared almost melancholy for another fleeting moment. She was pretty sure neither of those expressions lent themselves to flirtation. After that, their conversation had been superficial, and he’d been the perfect gentleman on the short ride back to the boardinghouse.
“Yes, it does. Did he sit next to you in the carriage? Did his leg brush yours? Did he linger over saying good-bye?” Delia asked. “Or did he maybe try to steal a kiss?”
Abby felt her face heat out of embarrassment. “None of those things happened.”
“Ummm.” Delia took a sip of coffee. “Well, that just proves he’s a gentleman.”
“That’s what I tried to tell you.”
Delia grinned. “Just wait until next time, though.”
“You’re incorrigible.” Not that she wasn’t just the teeniest bit disappointed. Luke had dressed in all-black attire again and looked magnificent. With his dark hair brushing his collar, along with the shadow beard and his golden wolf-eyes, more than one lady’s head had turned when they’d walked into the room. But there was also a virility and intensity about him that drew Abby in as if this man would stop at nothing to protect someone he loved. Not that she was thinking about love. She just wondered what it would feel like to have such a champion. To know that she was utterly and completely safe from the harsh reality of the world. She’d also wondered—if she wanted to be completely truthful with herself—what it would be like to have such a man kiss her. Probably not safe at all, if the strange fluttering in her stomach was an indication.
But it was a moot point. Luke had not even kissed her gloved hand. At any rate, it was definitely time to change the subject.
“Perhaps it was best we didn’t discuss business after all,” she said. “I had planned to tell Luke—Mr. Cameron—about the widowed ladies that you mentioned Travis had called upon, but maybe it was better I didn’t.”
“Why not?” Delia asked. “They’d be a perfect group to start your ladies’ club, or whatever you call it.”
“I agree,” Abby said, “but I think if it’s going to be a ladies’ group that also might want to invest, we should issue specific invitations asking them to attend a special opening once the tea imports arrive.”
Delia shrugged. “They’ll probably jump at the chance to sample tea and meet, anyway. There isn’t much of a social life for widows here.”
“That may be, but I think they should know that the potential for them to become businesswomen—sort of—in their own right.” Abby buttered her
biscuit. “That way, they won’t think we tricked them in any way.”
Delia nodded. “That’s true.”
“It would be a good way to ensure there’s good attendance, too. And…” Abby took a bite, chewed and swallowed as she thought. “It’ll be a surprise for Mr. Cameron if the ladies that show up already know why they’re there.”
Delia gave her a side glance along with another grin. “And, maybe out of gratitude, Mr. Cameron will take you to dinner again?”
“You really are incorrigible.” But Abby felt her face warm again, not from embarrassment this time, but from anticipation.
Maybe he would.
♦◊♦
Luke poured himself a healthy dose of brandy from the decanter on the small table beside the window of the room he was renting. Tossing it back in one swoop, he watched the sun setting over the bay.
For the last two weeks, as he waited for the shipment of tea and silks that he’d ordered. The Neptune Maiden was due in any day now. Meanwhile, he’d tried not to think of the evening he’d had dinner with Abigail. Fortunately—or not, depending on his mood—Abigail had maintained a strictly businesslike attitude with him since then.
For someone who needed nerves of steel to shoot fast and straight, the woman unnerved him, and he suspected it wasn’t just because, dressed as she was that night, she’d reminded him of Belle.
He’d been in Abigail’s presence nearly a month and he knew she was nothing like the Jezebel who’d forced two friends into a duel where one of them ended up dead. Abigail was kind, and not at all vain. Fortunately—or not, depending on his mood—she’d not flirted with him at all. For all of her physical beauty, he had the odd sense that she didn’t wish to call that kind of attention on herself. Which made him wonder why.
In his experience, most unencumbered women, even those not nearly so comely, vied for attention. A few, like Belle, craved power and wealth in their own right. Others simply wanted compliments and pretty words, and some prowled with the parson’s noose wrapped up in their reticules. He’d always quickly side-stepped those, preferring widows who had no desire to remarry.
Abigail was a widow, albeit it a virginal one. Damn it all, he’d like to show her some bed sport. The paradox intrigued him. Then again, maybe it wasn’t a paradox. If she had met Travis before and decided to become a partner in his scams, she might very well have consummated her marriage-by-proxy before she came West. That would make more sense than legally marrying a man before meeting him, at least.
Something was off about the whole situation. He didn’t know what it was, but his instinct was as strong as it was when he sensed an ambush. He’d asked the Pinkerton agent in San Francisco to send out an inquiry about her background, but that might take weeks to learn. In the meantime, Luke was finding it hard—not to mention finding himself in a different kind of hard situation—whenever he thought about her. Which unfortunately, was far too often.
She rarely mentioned Travis, so Luke didn’t think she’d established any real affection toward the man, but if she had married him strictly to join with him in swindling, there would be no need to grieve. Especially if she were concocting some scheme on her own. Most women didn’t decide to run a business by themselves.
Might she even know who the accomplice was?
Luke rubbed his temples, hoping to ward off a headache. Pouring another brandy, he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out if she did, but if he orchestrated his own scheme right, he would find out.
♦◊♦
“We are getting so close to being ready to open the tea room,” Abby said to Luke as she surveyed the changes in the storage area several days later.
Luke grinned. “All we need is the tea.”
“But that should be here any day, shouldn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s just a matter of when the ship left the Asian port.”
Abby smiled. “I still have a few little things to finish, so it’s just as well.”
“You’ve done a good job with the decorating. I would have been at a loss.”
She’d almost been at a loss as well although she wasn’t about to admit it. The tiny flat in her mother’s tenement barely had room for three narrow cots, a scarred wooden table, two rickety chairs and a single, small wardrobe that held all of their clothes. The lodgings at the convent after her mother died had been just as sparse.
“I’ve enjoyed doing it.” Thank heavens for Delia. Not only did the woman love to shop, she’d had her own home in Ohio before she’d come West. Consequently, the newly converted tea room now boasted a sofa of rich burgundy velvet with a long, low table in front of it that would hold a full tea service plus platters for tiny sandwiches and gooey confection sweets. A dozen chairs with dark rose, satin brocade cushioned seats and backs and curved, cabriole legs were scattered about the room with small tables dispersed between them. The walls had been papered a soft gold, striped burgundy and rose curtains hung across the single window in the room, and one wall boasted a painting of a huge floral arrangement set in a gilded frame. The oak floors had been waxed until they shone. Abby hoped to put an oriental rug in place someday, but that could wait for now.
She felt an inner twinge of excitement as she glanced around. “I’m looking forward to the tearoom’s success.”
“As am I,” Luke replied. “I hope we get a good response once people find out its open.”
“I’m sure we will.” She’d sent invitations to the widows Delia had mentioned and almost all of them had expressed an interest in attending on opening day. There were several times she had wanted to tell Luke, but then she kept reminding herself it would be a wonderful surprise for him to see so many ladies show up. “We’ll be offering not only a bit of refinement, but also a chance for ladies to invest their money independently. It’s a rare opportunity.”
Before Luke could respond, John cleared his throat behind her. She turned to see him holding a big box.
“This just arrived,” he said. “Looks like the silver set you ordered.”
“Oh, good!” Abby said as Luke took it from him and put it on the table. “I was hoping it would get here before the tea did.”
“You got your wish, then,” the shopkeeper replied and went to wait on a customer.
“He seems to be handling the idea of a tearoom rather well,” Luke said as she started unpacking the silver.
Abby gave him a wry look. “Probably because it’s been keeping me busy and out of his hair. Or maybe I should say away from his customers.”
Luke lifted a brow. “His customers? They’re the store’s customers.”
“Well, I suppose they are, but some of the men who come in always ask for him. “I guess since he’s been here for two years, they’ve become friends.” Abby placed the final pieces of silver on the table. “Once the ladies’ club becomes well-known, the place will be bustling with new customers.”
He studied her, then nodded. “One can hope.”
♦◊♦
One can also hope it fails. John finished rearranging some stock that didn’t require re-arranging, but kept him close to the doorway where the bitch and Cameron were talking.
The last thing he needed was new customers who might overhear snatches of conversation he had with his so-called friends…the men who worked as intermediaries for the opium dens. The general store had only operated as a front for more nefarious—albeit profitable—endeavors. Until the bitch arrived.
Why Travis had decided he needed a damn bride when the city was teeming with loose women was beyond him. Travis had said something about appearing respectable to lure in more marks, mainly the number of recent widows due to the mining disaster who also had money. John supposed the idea of having a wife might help ease those women into confidence…as long as the wife was biddable and didn’t have a clue as to her real purpose.
Abigail Clayton was not biddable. She’d had her nose in the accounting books—at least the legitimate ones—and taken way too much interest in the way things got done. He
’d had a devil of a time keeping her from going into the cellar to bring up stock.
At the moment, there were no barrels of opium down there since he’d had to remove them in the middle of the night, but another shipment was due soon.
If the woman were to discover it, she would have seen her last sunrise.
Chapter Seven
Thank God Delia knew how to serve tea. As Abby looked over the now-crowded storage room turned into a ladies’ club, she realized how much social training she was lacking. While the nuns—and her mother—had taught her basic manners, tea was not something that was served. They drank water. A cup of milk was allocated each morning and poured into plain tin mugs, not delicate china cups that had tiny handles not big enough to insert more than one finger into. She was almost afraid to pick one up for fear of it breaking. And the small squares of bread with what looked like a lettuce leaf that Delia called watercress along with a dab of some kind of paste had all the crusts cut off. Delia had been ready to throw the crusts out, but Abby insisted on saving them for a bread pudding. Not that she knew how to make a pudding, but she couldn’t let food go to waste. There had been too many nights when her stomach had rumbled because it was empty.
Thankfully, since she was in charge of the meeting, she could busy herself with making sure everything ran smoothly and not have to try to manage a cup and saucer or keep the lettuce concoction from sliding off the bread.
Still, apart from her lack of social skills, she was pleased with the turnout. Nearly a dozen women filled the room which had seemed so large when it was empty. From the sound level of the conversations rising, she thought everyone was enjoying themselves. They’d all remarked on what a good idea it was to have a tea room, and several already had made purchases of tea leaves that John was—somewhat less than enthusiastically—putting into small bags for them to take home.
She supposed she shouldn’t fault him for scowling when the ladies had first arrived. They’d nearly all come at the same time, decorated bonnets on, petticoats rustling beneath their Sunday-best dresses, and chattering like magpies. Even she had felt a bit overwhelmed by the barrage, and she knew by now that John preferred dealing with male customers.
Gunslinger: A Six Guns and Prairie Roses Novel Page 5
