by Jo Goodman
Kellen did, but he was also feeling perverse. “No. It’s easy enough to overlook.” He picked up his coffee and sipped. “What brings you to the Pennyroyal, Mr. Jones?”
“John Paul,” he said. “Please.”
“Kellen.”
Jones nodded. “I am working for the U.S. Geological Survey. I have been assigned the eastern half of the Wyoming Territory and the southwestern portion of the Dakota Territory.”
“Isn’t that a lot of ground for one man to cover?”
“I’m here in advance of the team that will follow. I can hire locals to help with some preliminary work. The government’s interest is water and mineral resources.”
“This would be the Department of the Interior.”
“Correct.” He nursed his coffee. “What about you, Kellen?”
“Working on a story.”
“Is that right?”
Kellen nodded. “About the ranches. Ranchers. There is still a lot of interest about that life in the East.”
“There is certainly a lot of interest in it in Washington.”
Kellen merely arched a brow.
“Well,” Jones said, lowering his cup. “You know, of course, that the drought of eighty-six put considerable stress on the water sources all over the West, and then winter arrived with one blizzard after another. Add the ranchers and the farmers fighting over water rights and the land that’s fit for irrigation, if we don’t get a good survey of the region and identify sites for reservoirs and hydraulic works, there will be blood on the prairie.”
“You think the cattlemen and the farmers will do to each other what the Cheyenne and the Sioux couldn’t?”
“I think that is precisely what they will do. So does Washington. Congress just authorized this survey. Here I am.”
“Are you staying here long?”
“A month at least. This will be my base for a while.”
Kellen sat back when Emily appeared with a plate of hotcakes in one hand and a platter of everything else in the other. She dipped in front of Mr. Jones and slid the platter into place in front of him, then laid the hotcakes at Kellen’s setting. She pointed to the white pitcher that held the syrup. “Do you want more coffee?” When they both said yes, she went to get it.
Raine caught Emily with the coffeepot before the girl left the kitchen. “I’ll take it in,” she said.
“But—”
“I’ll take it in,” Raine said again, brooking no argument. “Help Mrs. Sterling with the turnovers.”
“I need her help with the dishes,” Mrs. Sterling said.
“Do whatever she wants,” Raine told her. “No fighting.” She took the coffeepot and ducked out of the kitchen before there was an exchange of words. She visited all of the tables, purposely leaving Kellen and Mr. Jones for last. All the while she was pouring and chatting, she had an ear trained to the conversation at their table. Most of what she overhead she believed she was hearing incorrectly. They could not be discussing reservoirs and dams.
“Coffee, gentlemen?” she asked.
Mr. Jones held up his cup. “Please. Thank you for sending the bath salts up to my room. Your man told me it was your idea.”
“Were they helpful, Mr. Jones?”
“Very much so.”
“Good.” She raised the pot for Kellen. “Mr. Coltrane?”
“I didn’t get any bath salts.”
Raine’s mouth flattened. “Coffee?”
“Yes.” He did not lift his cup, nor did he say please. He thought she might pour coffee in his lap, but if the thought was there, she restrained herself. He thanked her.
“Won’t you sit with us a spell, Mrs. Berry?” Jones asked.
“It’s a kind and tempting offer,” she said, smiling. “I don’t know if I—” Raine looked around the dining room. Everyone was settled and entertained. She set the coffeepot on the table. “Do you know? I think I will. Thank you.”
Mr. Jones got up and held out the chair on his left for her. It put her directly across from Kellen. He had politely risen halfway as she was seated. Now he dropped back in his seat and gave all of his attention to his hotcakes.
“You are doing well today, Mr. Jones?” she asked.
“Tolerably well. I believe I will soak my foot again after breakfast.”
“That’s probably wise. I suppose you will not be taking your regular walk this evening.”
“No, and I will miss it.”
Raine directed her next comment at Kellen in spite of the fact that he only had eyes for his plate. “Mr. Jones takes a daily constitutional,” she told him. “He is completely dedicated to it.”
Kellen’s fork was heavy with three triangles of hotcakes wet with molasses. He used it to make a gesture of salute in Mr. Jones’s direction and then managed to get it all in his mouth without spilling a crumb or a drop.
“That’s commendable,” he said around a mouthful of food.
Raine was tempted to kick him under the table, but she doubted he would let it pass. She decided to ignore him instead. “Please, Mr. Jones, you must eat. Your food will grow cold.” When he made some vague noises that were a polite protest, she insisted. “I will leave if you don’t eat.”
“Very well.” He smoothed the napkin in his lap before he picked up his knife and fork. “Did those young ruffians get home safely?”
“They did. Mr. Collins escorted them home.”
“Ah, yes. Their pap, I believe they called him. The station agent.”
“That’s right. It was fortunate, really, that they were out last night. I don’t know that I could have managed on my own.”
“You seem very capable, Mrs. Berry. I believe I was in good hands even before there were so many of them.” He speared some eggs. “The boys? Do they come here often? They seem overly familiar.”
“They are frequent visitors, yes.” She tilted her head to one side and regarded him with interest. “I believe you are not fond of children, Mr. Jones. Is that right?”
“Guilty,” he said without apology. He pressed his napkin to his mouth, and then laid it across his lap again, smoothing it just so. He picked up his coffee cup. “They have so few redeeming qualities, don’t they?”
Raine chuckled. “And yet we all passed that way.”
Kellen glanced at Jones. Every gesture the government man made was precise, perhaps even practiced. He held himself correctly, though not stiffly, and while he had a tendency to mannered behavior, he was not fussy, at least not annoyingly so. The exact part in his hair, the well-groomed mustache and beard, and the way he liked to press the napkin over his lap, all made Kellen wonder how well the Department of the Interior had chosen their leader.
He finally put his finger on what was rubbing him the wrong way. Mr. John Paul Jones had all the markings of an academic.
“Maybe John Paul spent less time as a child than the rest of us,” he said. “Did you?”
Jones laughed politely. “I am quite certain I did not. I had as few redeeming qualities as the ruffians, although I do not think I flatter myself when I say my grammar was better.”
Raine saw Kellen had something to say about that, and she spoke quickly to cut him off. “I promise that Rabbit and Finn will not pester you, Mr. Jones, but I cannot promise that you won’t see them around. They are charged with bringing trunks and bags to the hotel from the station, and I find they are useful here. I will not bar them from coming or toss them out on your account.”
Kellen waited to see what the reaction would be. He observed that Mr. Jones was properly appalled.
“I would be unhappy if you did, Mrs. Berry. It is one thing to operate an establishment with the comfort of your guests in mind, quite another to operate it according to their whims.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
Mr. Jones continued to apply himself to his meal while Kellen pushed his empty plate away and reached for his coffee.
“I was thinking I would go for a ride this morning,” Kellen said. “Can you suggest
a direction, Mrs. Berry?”
Raine assumed he meant to do more target shooting. “I believe you will find it pleasant to follow the river south and east.”
“The road that winds past the graveyard looked as if it might be promising,” Jones said.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” said Kellen. “Is that an area of interest that you mean to survey?”
“I mean to survey everything, but yes, that’s an area of particular interest.”
“You will want to speak to the Burdicks,” Raine said. “They own most of the land heading out that way.”
Jones grew thoughtful. He used a thumb and forefinger to smooth his mustache and let his napkin lay where it was. “I don’t need their permission to make a survey for the government.”
“That may be true,” said Raine, “but I do not believe the Burdicks will care.”
Kellen reached for the coffeepot and topped off his cup. “I would give Mrs. Berry’s words some heed, John Paul. I haven’t been here much longer than you, but I’ve already heard the story of how Uriah Burdick’s wife eloped with a railroad surveyor. I don’t get the sense Mr. Burdick will take kindly to you carrying your equipment onto his property.”
Jones blinked as widely and slowly as a barn owl. He turned those eyes on Raine.
She nodded. “There was also a man shot dead because someone thought he was a rustler,” she said. “He happened to be our marshal.”
Kellen spoke before Jones could. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “No one told me that.”
To Raine’s ears, he sounded convincing. It was gratifying to know that being an accomplished liar was one of his talents. “It happened several years ago.”
Jones folded his napkin and laid it over his plate. “Still, I would be foolish to ignore it. How do I arrange to speak to Mr. Burdick if visitors are discouraged?”
“You could speak to one of his sons,” said Raine. “Mr. Coltrane has had drinks with them. They come in the saloon several times a week this time of year.”
Jones turned to Kellen. “You would arrange an introduction?”
“If you like.” Kellen shrugged. “But I have to tell you, there’s no getting around the fact that you’re a surveyor. I have a feeling that won’t set right with them.”
“I cannot lie about it,” Jones said.
“No, I don’t suppose you can. You have to do your job.” He finished his coffee and returned the cup to its saucer. “I don’t pretend to know Eli and Clay well. In fact, I’m not claiming that I know them better than anyone I’ve shared a couple of drinks with, but I think if you offered something of value to the Burdicks, showed them how the geological survey could be to their advantage, they might not kill you where you sit.”
Jones pushed his lower lip forward and exhaled through his mouth. The hairs of his mustache stirred. “I should probably apply to Washington for some guidance in this matter,” he said at last.
“If you think that’s best,” Raine said. “Mr. Collins will telegraph your message.”
“I’m wondering if I shouldn’t write. This is not a situation that can be adequately explained in a telegram.” He indicated his ankle. “And I have some time. There is only so much I can do while I am recuperating.”
“Probably wise,” said Kellen. He nodded in turn to Raine and Jones and pushed back his chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my room before I head out. Good meeting you, John Paul.” He stood. “Good day, Mrs. Berry.”
Jones waited until Kellen left the dining room before he spoke. “He is somewhat abrupt in his manner, isn’t he?”
“Forgive me, Mr. Jones, but I make it a practice not to discuss one guest with another.”
“I understand. I should not have looked to you for confirmation. I could see very well that he is. He spoke little of himself, which I suppose is an excellent quality in a newspaper writer. More listening. Less talking. The seeds of a story are sown in the listening, I imagine.”
“Is that what he is?” she asked. “A newspaper writer?”
Jones chuckled. “See? That’s how little he says. Yes, I managed to get that much from him. He’s doing a story on cattlemen. It’s occurred to me that he would be an excellent addition to my survey group.”
“You want to hire him?”
“I think he might be just the man to approach the Burdicks.”
Chapter Six
After the odd exchange at breakfast, Raine thought she might see more of Mr. John Paul Jones. Instead, he asked for an exception to the Pennyroyal’s policy of not serving meals in the rooms and requested that luncheon and dinner be brought to him. Although Raine might have encouraged another guest to make the effort to come to the dining room, she did not ask it of this particular guest. Instead, she sent Emily with a tray and decided that would be his punishment. She could not make herself believe the sprain he sustained was worthy of confinement.
Kellen did not return until after lunch had been served. The dining room was empty, the dishes cleaned and put away, and Mrs. Sterling was taking a few minutes with her feet up while she contemplated what she would prepare for dinner. Raine was in her office when he arrived, so she wasn’t witness to what transpired, but she had it all from Sue, and then Emily, and they reported that Mrs. Sterling fell all over herself making Mr. Coltrane a special meal of sausages and baked apples. She also gave him both heels from a loaf of freshly baked bread when he asked prettily for them.
Raine did not know what was more difficult to believe, that Mrs. Sterling would give away both heels or that Kellen Coltrane was capable of asking prettily for anything.
According to Sue, and verified by Emily, Kellen retired to his room after that. No one saw him again until dinner.
At eight o’clock, when the Burdicks had not shown themselves at the saloon, Raine was satisfied they were not coming. She handed management of the saloon over to Walt and told Charlie Patterson in passing to keep an eye on him and Sue.
Raine paused at the entrance to the second floor on her way to the third. She did not linger long. All the rooms were filled now, and she did not want to be seen coming and going from Kellen’s, at least not without an armful of towels. She wondered what he was doing and where he had been.
Raine entered her apartments and removed her shawl. It was an afterthought that made her lock the door. She tossed the key in an empty vase on the entry table and laid her shawl over the chair at her desk. She lit one lamp in the office and another in the sitting room as she passed through. The final lamp she lit was at her bedside, and this one she carried into the bathing room while she turned on the taps.
She returned to her bedroom and began undressing, loosening the front lacings of the bodice first, then removing the brooch from her jabot and setting it aside. After she eased out of the bodice and hung it in the wardrobe, she took off the jabot, checked it for stains, and finding none, folded it and placed it in a drawer. The red dotted sateen skirt was next. She untied the ribbons at the back, fussed with the panniers and straw bustle, and finally was able to step out of all of it. The white muslin underskirt came next. She sat on the edge of the bed while she removed her red kid slippers and carefully rolled her white stockings over each knee and calf until they were balanced like small puffs of pastry on the tips of her toes. She kicked each one into the air and caught it before she tucked them both inside her shoes.
The front-laced bodice required that she wear a corset with laces at the back. She had managed to get it on that morning with a minimum of trouble, but she discovered now that the laces were hopelessly knotted. She tried to shimmy out of the corset, and for all the reasons that steel stays worked so well, the undergarment remained precisely where it was. Her attempt to twist it was unsuccessful. She began to wriggle again.
“Would you like help?” Kellen asked.
Raine spun around so fast she lost her balance and fell back on the bed, barely catching herself before she sprawled across the top of it. “Mother of God.” The hand that she pressed to her hear
t had nothing at all to do with preserving her modesty. She tried to put Kellen in his place with a sharp stare while her breathing settled.
“I suppose you think I meant to do that,” he said.
“Try to scare me to death? Why would I think that? You already assured me you don’t work for the Burdicks.”
Kellen leaned a shoulder against the jamb in the open doorway. He folded his arms against his chest. She was recovering her sass, which was a good sign, and she wasn’t reaching for anything to throw at him, which was a better one.
“So,” he asked after a moment. “Would you like help?”
“How did you get in? I know I locked the door.”
“I was already in,” he said.
“But where? I didn’t—”
“You didn’t go in all the rooms. I was sitting in the bedroom with the pink roses on the wall. I thought it was yours.”
“Ellen’s,” she said.
“I realize that now.”
“You should have told me right away that you were here. Better yet, you shouldn’t have come here without an invitation.”
“I’m sure you’re right about all of that.”
“That’s not an apology.”
“No, it’s not.”
Raine set her jaw but not so hard that it would become a source of amusement to him.
“When I heard the water running,” he said, “I was going to let myself out, but I couldn’t find the key.”
“I doubt you would have found it much of a challenge to turn the lock without one.”
“Perhaps not, but I did not need another challenge.”
“Another?”
“I was eluding Mr. Jones when I came up here. I caught sight of him standing outside my door and made a hasty retreat up the stairs.”
If it was a lie, Raine thought, it was a good one. She decided she would believe it. “The key is in the vase by the door.”
“I didn’t look there.”
“Evidently.” When Kellen did not move, she raised an eyebrow.
Kellen lifted his forefinger and pointed to the bathing room door. His cocked eyebrow mirrored Raine’s.
“The tub!” Raine leaped forward and charged for the bathing room. Kellen followed but at a slower pace. He was still in time to see her rush the tub and seize the spindle of each faucet in her hands. She turned them hard.
