A Matter of Marriage

by Ann Collins

  “You ought to get rid of him,” Dr. Dolan said, moving around Alex’s side. “He thinks he’s better and smarter than you. Not to mention the rest of us. I know he covets your position as manager.”

  “I can be tough with him if necessary, but it would be a shame to lose him. He’s fast, efficient, and adept at using the telephone. He knows how everything works, and he’s been here long enough to become acquainted with the returning and long-term guests. He knows their idiosyncrasies—the little things they want and expect during their stay.”

  At the doctor’s prompting, Alex raised his arm. “Your Mr. Chalmers sounds like a prime suspect,” he said. “Anyone else?”

  “What about that fellow who tried so hard to buy the hotel a couple of months back?” Dr. Dolan asked.

  “Tyler Wolff.” A well-spoken, self-made man only a year or two older than her twenty-five years. She believed she must have seen his picture in the newspaper, because Mr. Wolff had looked familiar to her when they met the first time he tried to purchase her home. “He wasn’t the only man who tried to buy the hotel after my father’s death, but he was the most insistent. I was more insistent, however. I rejected all offers. The Hotel Grand Victoria is not for sale.” And it never would be once she and Phillip said their marriage vows. She wished he would hurry up and get here. He had boarded the train in Philadelphia several days ago. “Mr. Wolff has not contacted me in three or four weeks. I assume he gave up and returned to Boston.”

  “Maybe.” Alex rubbed his whiskered jaw, his fingers rasping over the stubble. “It’d be worth checking. He could have hired someone to try and push you out of the picture. What about former suitors who’ve heard you’re about to marry?”

  Suitors? She stifled a laugh. Despite the male interest she had received over the years, she never took any of those men or their proposals seriously. They had wanted her for the way she looked, as an adornment to their life. Or they wanted her because of the hotel they assumed would one day pass to her. None of them would have wanted a woman who preferred running that hotel to attending society outings in the finest silk and lace.

  “The only … suitor who has never given up hope of an alliance with me is Coronado’s marshal. And he would never hurt me.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t count him out.” Creases dented the length of Alex’s broad forehead. “For a bride on the eve of her wedding, you don’t strike me as being very excited about your imminent nuptials.”

  “Julia,” Dr. Dolan said, pushing a hand through his gray-streaked hair, “I have to admit I’ve been thinking the same thing. Mary and Kate are more excited about your wedding than you seem to be. It is strange.”

  She stared at the spotless floor, feeling cornered. Never a proficient liar or actress, she regularly kept things to herself, just as she had done with the reading of her father’s will. Only when her vows were said did she intend to tell the Dolans the truth about her sham of a marriage.

  “Very strange.” Alex must have shifted on the examining table, because it creaked under his weight. “My wife was spinning like a top before our wedding.”

  She jerked her head up, shocked to feel a stab of … jealousy? “You’re married?” He hadn’t seemed married to her. He had arrived alone.

  “No.” He stared at the eye chart. “My wife is dead.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.” She ignored the unseemly wave of relief moving through her, relief she had no right to feel on the eve of her wedding day. She should be feeling sad for him and the loss he suffered. Alex was young to be a widower, in his early thirties, she guessed. Was his wife’s death the reason for the sorrow she had seen in him? Had he loved her the way Julia could only dream of being loved?

  Dr. Dolan cleared his throat as the silence lengthened. “My condolences as well.” He shuffled around in front of Alex. “I’ve finished my exam, and the prognosis is good. Your ability to breathe doesn’t seem to be too affected, so I think I can safely say you didn’t break or crack any ribs. You’re a very fit specimen, and I see no need to wrap you up.”

  “Good. Thanks.” He eased off the cushioned table.

  Julia stood. “I’m glad you’re going to be all right.”

  “I knew it wasn’t serious,” he responded.

  Dr. Dolan handed Alex his shirt and leaned his head back to meet his patient’s eyes. “Serious or not, your bruises will take on some interesting hues, none of them pretty, and the area will be tender for a good while. You’ll need to take it easy.”

  “Mr. MacLean has come to the right place for that. I mentioned to him before that the Hotel Grand Victoria is a favorite place for recuperation.”

  “That’s the truth,” the doctor said as Alex slipped on his shirt. “We have all the necessities. Even a barber, if you’re looking for a haircut or shave. I go to him myself.”

  Alex scraped a finger along his jaw. “Are you trying to tell me something, Doc?”

  Dr. Dolan raised his hands in mock innocence. “Me? No. I would never presume to tell a man what to do with his whiskers.”

  “Sure you would.” Alex fastened the last of his shirt buttons. “As for recuperating, I already told Miss Fairbanks I’m not a guest here.”

  “Only because you haven’t registered yet,” she said.

  “No, because I came in answer to an ad I read in a Los Angeles newspaper.”

  “An advertisement?”

  “The one seeking carpenters. It was in the paper a few days ago.” He frowned. “You are hiring, aren’t you?”

  “Yes! Yes, I am,” she said, trying to overcome her confusion. She had assumed from his behavior and manner of speech that he was a well-educated gentleman, not a laborer. Of course she could not deny his roughened hands and the power she’d felt in his arms. He obviously used his body in a physical way. And his clothing was not in the best of shape, but she had learned over the years that you couldn’t always judge a person’s wealth by the clothes he chose to wear.

  Dr. Dolan rolled down his sleeves. “Julia is always looking for carpenters. This place needs an army of them. It’s the largest wooden structure west of the Mississippi, and the salt air plays havoc with it. But don’t you go sawing wood, lifting heavy boards, or hammering nails just yet, young man. Not with those bruised ribs.”

  “I haven’t been hired, Doc. That’s up to Miss Fairbanks.”

  “So it is,” the doctor said, sending her a pointed look.

  She squirmed, lifting and lowering one shoulder, then the other. Alex deserved a job, more than a job, after what he’d done for her, but her unanticipated attraction to him and her more-than-in-passing curiosity about him worried her. If she hired him, she feared she might start looking for him everywhere she went in the hotel. She might even seek him out, which she mustn’t do as a married woman.

  “Are you sure you want to work for a woman, Mr. MacLean?” she asked.

  “I don’t care who the boss is, as long as I’m paid a fair wage.”

  Julia liked that he wasn’t bothered by her gender. “Do you have any references?”

  “Sorry. I haven’t stayed anywhere long enough.”

  She exchanged glances with the doctor. Alex had just given her a reason not to hire him, but he had also been honest with her, and she valued honesty. “I appreciate your candidness. Where have you been?”

  “Los Angeles, Colorado Springs, Omaha, to name a few. I’ve gotten as far north as Canada and as far south as Texas.”

  “You’re a drifter then.” Had his wife’s death led him to a life on the road?

  He shrugged. “That term is as good as any.”

  She felt an inkling of relief. She could do what was right and hire him, knowing he wouldn’t be around long enough to cause her any trouble or embarrassment. But would she have enough time to help him ease the sorrow she’d seen in him? “How long do you intend to stay?”

  “I don’t know. Probably until I have enough money to move on. Miss Fairbanks, I’m a good carpenter and a hard worker, and I’d be proud to work
on a structure as beautifully designed as the Hotel Grand Victoria. I can promise you, no matter how long I stay, you’ll get your money’s worth.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Mr. MacLean.” Though she barely knew him, she believed him, trusted him.

  “Do I have a job then?”

  “Yes, but you won’t start until Dr. Dolan allows it. While you are recuperating, you’ll be my guest in the hotel. Once you are fit, you can move to the boarding house up the street or into one of the employee rooms on the top floor of the hotel, should one become available.”

  “I’ll move into the boarding house today.”

  Dr. Dolan glanced from one to the other and muffled a laugh.

  She pursed her lips. “Mr. MacLean, I want you to be my guest. You put yourself at risk for me this afternoon, injuring yourself in the process. I intend to compensate you for that as best I can.”

  “Hiring me is all the payment I need.”

  “But it is not enough to satisfy me.” She gripped the folds of her skirt. “Mr. MacLean, as you can imagine, I have a great deal on my mind right now. I would really appreciate it if you’d let me do this one small thing for you. If you don’t stay here as my guest, I will worry that you’re not taking care of yourself.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t want you to worry, Miss Fairbanks.”

  “So you’ll stay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled at him, feeling a giddy happiness she was afraid to dissect. “I’ll show you to the lobby so that you can register.”

  “Appreciate it.” Alex turned to Dr. Dolan and shook his hand. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll be seeing you soon, and you’ll pronounce me fit to work.”

  “I’ll make that pronouncement when it’s time, and no sooner. Perhaps four or five days from now,” he said as Julia opened the office door. “But it’ll be longer if you do anything to exacerbate your injuries. In the meantime, hot baths should ease some of the stiffness you’ll be feeling.”

  Preceding the men into the hallway, Julia heard a rapping at the cottage’s front door. She opened it to Tilden, one of her bellboys. He stood as stiffly as an army officer. His dark hair, shot through with gunmetal gray, was impeccably groomed beneath his uniform’s pillbox hat. His personality was as formal and sober as Theo’s was lively and cheerful, but in the nine months he had worked at the hotel, he’d shown himself to be a dutiful employee.

  “Does someone need the doctor, Tilden?”

  “No, ma’am. This telegram came for you.” He handed her an envelope. “Mr. Chalmers instructed me to deliver it immediately.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What is it, Julia?” Dr. Dolan asked, coming up behind her.

  She turned. “A telegram. Hotel business, no doubt, and probably important. Mr. MacLean, would you mind letting Tilden take you to the lobby while I stay behind and read this?”

  “Only if you promise to keep an eye out for falling flowerpots.”

  She understood his meaning perfectly, and she found herself basking in the blanketing warmth of his concern for her. She smiled up at him. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

  “Then I’ll be going,” he said, a huskiness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

  But he didn’t go. He stood over her.

  She gazed up at him, her heart thumping faster and louder. Alex’s current preoccupation seemed very different from his earlier lapses.

  “I will look for you later,” Julia heard herself say. “I always like to check on my guests.”

  He tipped his head to her, twice. “Until later then.” He finally turned away, reluctance in his movements.

  She watched as he motioned Tilden onto the shell path ahead of him. He glanced back once, his gaze dropping to the telegram in her hand. Questions had returned to his eyes.

  Dr. Dolan shut the door behind them. “Nice fellow, and good looking if you can see past the scar. Not much for smiling, though.”

  Now that the doctor mentioned it, Julia realized she had not seen Alex smile. He hadn’t laughed either, not even when Dr. Dolan brazenly commented on his need for a barber.

  “He sure enjoyed looking at you,” he went on, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his pants. “Too much, now that I think about it. I expect your future husband would not approve. Mr. MacLean should probably move on sooner rather than later.”

  “You may be right.” Though Phillip wouldn’t care about Alex’s interest in her, she would be a married woman with a reputation to uphold. “Now I had better take a look at this.” She waved the envelope and sat on the bench.

  “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He shuffled down the hallway.

  She opened the envelope, extracted the telegram, and started to read.

  BROKE LEG IN FALL FROM TRAIN DURING TRANSFER IN DENVER STOP WILL NOT GET TO CALIFORNIA STOP SORRY STOP PHILLIP

  Julia gasped. Her hand shook, rustling the flimsy paper. Phillip was injured, badly enough that he couldn’t travel. He wasn’t coming. He wasn’t coming.

  This was a disaster. Her concern for him warred with the devastation of what his injury meant—she would lose her home. She’d done everything possible to comply with her father’s stipulation. But it wasn’t enough. Even if she could board a train this very minute, it would not get her to Denver in time for her to secure a marriage license and meet her father’s deadline. She didn’t even know where to find Phillip. The poor man, and his poor leg. She felt responsible. If it weren’t for her and the money she offered him, he would never have left Philadelphia.

  Tears blurred her eyes, and a sob escaped her throat. She was going to lose the Hotel Grand Victoria. Everyone and everything she loved would be at the mercy of new owners.

  The telegram slipped through her fingers, fluttering to the floor as she buried her face in her hands.

  * * *

  Alex fell into step beside the bellboy, his mind still on his hostess and her enchanting smile. For a moment there, he’d lost himself in that smile, in the way Julia Fairbanks made him feel cared for and special. He even forgot the past three and a half years of his life.

  But he couldn’t forget for long. The losses and injustices he’d suffered had been carved more deeply into his soul than the scar etched into his face.

  He pushed his hands into his pockets and thought of Julia again. Hopefully, she really would be careful. Whoever had thrown that flowerpot probably wouldn’t try again right away, but there was no telling.

  Tilden glanced back him, as if to make sure he hadn’t lost his charge.

  “I’m still here,” Alex said, looking forward to settling in. He might even lie down and sleep for a while to rest his ribs. However, he’d likely end up dreaming about Miss Fairbanks. Not that he would mind dreaming about her—just looking at her made his body react like it hadn’t in a long time—but he did not welcome dreams of the impossible. She was his employer. Worse yet, she belonged to another man, their wedding only a day away.

  Alex discovered he didn’t like thinking about her with another man, especially when he conjured up images of her on her wedding night. He pictured her lying in the center of a wide bed, her glorious, silvery-blond hair cascading over the pillow. Some of it draped her naked breasts, the myriad fine strands strategically veiling …

  Alex shook the arousing image away. Maybe a nap wasn’t such a good idea. “Tilden,” he said, trying to think about something else, “who was the Hotel Grand Victoria’s architect?”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir. That question hasn’t been asked of me in the months that I’ve been here.” He picked up the pace. “I’m sure Miss Fairbanks could enlighten you.”

  “I’ll ask her then.” Though it’d be hard to concentrate on architectural details when Julia was doing the describing.

  At the hotel’s entrance, wheels crunched over the drive as a carriage pulled up bearing two stylishly dressed couples. A wagon piled high with trunks and cases followed. The horse tossed his head, and the harness j
ingled.

  “Will you excuse me, sir?” Tilden said. “I must see to the new arrivals. You’ll find the registration desk inside.”

  “Thank you.” Alex left the bellboy and entered the hotel’s Rotunda, a large, elegantly appointed lobby with marble tile flooring and tall ormolu sconces. Huge vases of fresh-cut flowers—yellow daffodils, purple iris, and green foliage—decorated ornamental Chinese sideboards. Seating areas included plush, back-to-back red velvet banquettes and a grouping of dark wicker chairs.

  Coquettish giggles made Alex look up to a second-floor gallery. Two young women paraded there, both of them smiling down at him—until they saw his face clearly. Their smiles froze, and their fans halted in mid flutter.

  He ground his teeth, then remembered Julia’s reaction to her first sight of his entire face. She had not been repelled by his injury. She didn’t even ask about it, as many people did, giving in to their morbid curiosity. In the doctor’s office, Julia barely noticed it once he removed his shirt. He chuckled at the memory, enjoying himself. He could not deny how good it had felt to attract a beautiful woman’s attention for the right reasons.

  He dismissed the women staring down at him and strode to the registration desk, his step lighter. He shoved aside the distinct feeling that his hostess might have unintentionally claimed a corner of his tortured heart.

  The clerk, a sallow, weasel-faced man around his own age, was speaking into the telephone. Alex had seen a few telephones before, but the idea that people could hear each other over a wire still amazed him.

  While he waited for the clerk, he ran a hand across the desk’s smooth finish and finely carved oak trim. When the clerk finished, he said, “This is a fine piece of workmanship.”

  “It serves its purpose.” The clerk’s haughty, disapproving gaze slid over him, landing on his dusty, faded shirt.

  Alex again ran his fingers over the woodwork.

  “Do you mind?” The clerk huffed out a breath. “This is not a museum open for public inspection. I suggest you be on your way.” He waved his arm toward the front entrance.