Certainly these three would have the offer of any number of beds as soon as word spread that they’d arrived. Hopeful suitors would pour into town, unmindful of the women’s profession.
“Lodging’s at a premium here, miss,” Logan began. "I doubt you'll find anything available.” He was amazed to hear himself add, “However, I have a room at my establishment which you and your companions are welcome to use for the night."
Now what in tarnation had possessed him to say that? The Nugget had five bedrooms in all, and four of them were rented at a fair rate by miners. The fifth was his own.
“Only one room? For three of us?”
"Yes, ma’am." Logan grinned and wondered if this young woman had ever heard the old saw about looking a gift horse in the mouth. “There’s a double bed, and I’ll arrange for a pallet."
He’d bunk out in the workshop with Angus. There was an extra iron cot out there.
It was the older woman who said, "And just how much are you going to charge us for this room?"
He’d guessed her occupation correctly, Logan concluded with a feeling of scorn. Madams and pimps were always conscious of money. Her words rankled, and he was sorry for the impetuous offer of his room. He had no use for these carrion who profited from the selling of human flesh. He was about to name an exorbitant sum, but something made him decide to go the opposite route.
"No charge, ma'am.”
“Why, that’s very generous of you, Mister ... McGraw, was it?”
Logan nodded. “Thank you very much, Mr. McGraw. My name's Elvira Taylor, and this is Daisy Gilmore, and that's Hannah Gilmore, Daisy’s daughter. The dog’s name is Klaus. We’re tourists from Victoria.”
Tourists? Here again was a word Logan wasn’t familiar with. He wondered suddenly if he’d made an error in judging these as fancy women. What sort of whore traveled with her madam, her mother, and a dog? He was aware that every man within hearing distance was listening avidly to the conversation. It was past time to break up the crowd. The distraction was interfering with the profits in his saloon.
Logan held up a hand to help Elvira and Daisy down from the wagon, noting that the two older women also wore outlandish trousers. “If you ladies will come with me, I’ll show you to your room."
He caught sight of one of his employees in the crowd. "Angus, unload the women's baggage and then take the horse and wagon along to Mundorf's stable."
"Yessir, boss." Angus shambled off to do Logan's bidding, and after a moment's hesitation, Elvira placed her hand in Logan's and stepped down from the wagon and into the ankle deep dust of the street. He assisted Daisy, and in the process got nipped in the arm by the evil tempered little dog.
He was aware that Hannah had ignored at least twenty-five male offers of assistance and leapt down easily by herself. She also grabbed two of the traveling bags, again ignoring countless offers of help from the crowd.
He noted that she had a sort of dignity that kept the men from being too forward despite her revealing clothing. The fact that she was an exceptionally tall, strong woman didn't hurt either.
Logan picked up the remaining three of the strange, shiny carpet bags and led the way up the steps to the boardwalk and along to the side entrance of the Nugget so they wouldn't have to go through the saloon. He was aware that Hannah was directly behind him.
He felt a surge of pride as he stood back to allow the women to enter his establishment. He'd won the Nugget in a card game shortly after his arrival in Barkerville three months before, and in the short time he'd owned it, he'd made substantial improvements to the run down establishment.
He hadn't come here to be a hotel keeper, or to relieve careless miners of their gold, although he’d done both since his arrival.
He’d come here to kill a man, but he’d arrived two weeks late. Bart Flannery had reportedly gone to Germany to bring a shipment of fresh girls back to Barkerville. He and his cargo were expected back sometime in August. His woman, Carmen Hall, was running his establishment, Frenchie’s brothel, in his absence.
Logan had been on Flannery’s trail for almost a year. He’d been bitterly disappointed and impatient at this delay, and he’d considered leaving and waylaying Flannery somewhere else, but his cash was running low and there was gold to be won at the numerous gaming tables.
Winning the Nugget had given him even more reason to stay. It had provided a welcome distraction from his dark thoughts, an opportunity to work hard physically, using the carpentry skills he'd learned as a boy.
He’d cleaned and limed the blackened, smoky walls in the hallway. He’d sanded the scarred but sturdy oak flooring and in the saloon covered it with sawdust, making certain it was changed early every morning so the place smelled fresh and clean.
He’d trained Angus to scour the tables each day, and signs on the walls forbade spitting except in the numerous spittoons located strategically around the large, low-ceilinged room.
His saloon was the cleanest in town, not that most of the patrons noticed or cared. Miners were a thirsty, careless lot, generally interested only in a good supply of liquor.
Logan cared, however. It pleased him to have orderly surroundings.
The saloon had emptied with the news of the women’s arrival, and now throngs of men were grouped at the wide double doors that opened from the saloon into the hallway. They were el- bowing one another so they could get a closer look at the women.
Logan led the way past the saloon. There was a short hallway from which another set of doors opened to a room intended for dining, which Logan used as a private gambling area. It was empty now. Tonight’s game had abruptly ended with the women’s arrival, and cards and glasses lay abandoned on the tables.
Logan stood aside so they could precede him up the narrow stairwell that led to the second floor. Here, too, he’d made improvements. He’d brought in a roll of carpeting for the stairs, and put coal-oil lamps in holders at strategic locations so the stairwell was softly lit.
In the lamplight, Hannah’s hind view drew his fascinated gaze as she climbed the stairs directly ahead of him.
He couldn’t help but appreciate her curves. Those obscenely tight denim pants outlined her body in a manner expressly designed to arouse a man. It was both a disappointment and a relief to reach the top of the winding staircase.
He opened his bedroom and lit the lamp he kept by the door, relieved that the room was tidy.
"I’ll bring you up fresh bedding, and Angus will come directly with a pallet and some clean towels."
Here, Logan had laid a patterned Turkey carpet on the rough boards beside the bed and installed a small wood stove in the corner for chilly mornings. He’d built a bookshelf and mounted it above the bed for his small, well-used collection of books; he went over to it now and took down the daguerreotype of Nellie that he kept there.
He slid it into his pocket and checked to make sure the china pitcher on the washstand was filled with fresh water, glad that he’d scoured the basin and emptied the commode that morning. Even his shaving mirror was wiped free of whiskers and spatter. He went over to the wardrobe and removed a fresh shirt and several other items of clothing, careful to give Klaus a wide berth.
Daisy had set the dog on the floor.
"I hope you’ll be comfortable. The saloon will be quieting down in an hour or so. Wake-Up Jake’s, a restaurant just down the road, serves breakfast.”
"And is the bathroom down the hall?" Elvira sank wearily down on the bed.
Logan grinned, appreciating her humor. “The privy is out in the back yard, in the right-hand corner, directly behind the saloon. Down the stairs, turn left, go through the door to the kitchen and out the back door. There’s a supply of candles on the dresser here. And the commode is under the washstand, of course.”
“Commode?" Elvira humphed and looked under the washstand. "A pot! Now that takes the cake, that does. I thought I was past emptying bedpans, but looks like I was wrong. So how do we go about having a hot bath or shower?"
> "The stove’s been out most of the day. I’m afraid a hot bath tonight isn’t possible. By tomorrow noon there ought to be enough hot water for bathing. I’ll send Angus up in the morning with a kettle."
He should have considered the complications of housing women before he got himself into this, Logan thought with disgust. Men were a lot easier when it came to such matters as hot baths. Most of the miners settled for one a week, and they took that at the bathhouse down the street.
Hannah had dumped the bags on the floor and was now staring at the calendar he’d pinned to the wall.
"July seventh, 1868?” She shook her head. "Where on earth did you ever find an antique calendar like that in such good condition? It looks almost new.”
"It is new. It’s this year’s calendar." He pointed a finger at the inscription. "Occidental Hotel, Quesnellemouth. I stayed there on my journey in to the gold fields this spring, and the proprietor kindly gave it to me.”
She looked from the calendar to him. She’d turned pale, and he saw her swallow hard. The lump on her forehead was angry-looking, raised and turning blue.
“Please, Mr. McGraw, don't tease me. It’s been a long and difficult day, and I’m tired. You know as well as I do that’s not the date.” Her voice quivered.
“Call me Logan, please.” He frowned at her, touched by her sudden vulnerability, but totally at a loss as to how to help her. Why should the exact date be such a matter of concern to her?
Finally he pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it. “You’re quite right, it’s past midnight, so the date is actually July eighth.”
With a flourish, he tore the page off the calendar and crumpled it.
“Stop being a total idiot." Her husky voice throbbed with passion. It was a relief to have her angry again.
He raised an eyebrow and waited for the rest of the tirade.
“You know darned well I mean the year, not the day. You’re about a hundred and forty some years out, aren’t you? When we left Victoria this morning, it was 2014. We didn’t exactly go through any ... any time warp. We just drove along the highway until we had that darned accident on that wooden bridge, didn’t we, Elvira? Mother?"
There was a definite note of panic in her voice. The two women looked at one another uncomfortably. They nodded and murmured agreement.
“So, Mr. McGraw, don’t stand there and lie to me about the date. I don’t find it the least amusing.”
Logan studied her. He realized she meant every word she said, and the other two women were looking at him in a questioning manner, as if they, too, expected an explanation or an apology. They were all addled. Maybe the accident they spoke of had been more serious than he’d supposed. Maybe they’d all banged their heads.
"You are confused. I assure you all, it is 1868,” he said at last, quietly and firmly. “I suggest you have a good night's rest, and perhaps by morning youll feel better.”
He strode to the door and then a new thought struck him and he turned. "Would you like me to send Doc Carroll up?" He gestured at Hannah's forehead. “Perhaps that bump on your head was more serious than you realize—"
The words seemed to be the final straw. Hannah lost her temper completely. Her hands balled into fists, and her entire body trembled with rage.
Logan wondered uneasily if she was capable of throwing something at him.
“We don’t need a doctor, for heaven’s sake!’’ she shouted. "We’re perfectly fine, it’s—it’s the rest of you maniacs that need psychiatric help, if you ask me.”
Logan decided that the wisest course was to let himself out the door. He closed it softly behind him and shook his head. He’d just given over his precious bedroom to total lunatics. And he’d noticed that Hannah was wearing a diamond on her engagement finger. Was it just an ornament, or was she affianced to someone?
He scowled and trotted down the stairs, wondering why the hell he was even curious.
The door closed behind Logan, and the anger that had fired Hannah fizzled out, leaving her as flat as two-day-old soda. With a sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh, she sank down on the straight backed wooden chair beside the wardrobe, stretching out her aching legs and kicking off her sandals.
Klaus came trotting over and sniffed her dirty toes, then ran back to Daisy, whimpering piteously.
"He has to go out,” Daisy sighed. "And I have to, too. There’s no way in the world I'm using any pot."
"I'll come with you. I don’t know how I’ve lasted this long," Elvira declared. “Good thing I had the foresight to bring my flashlight along. Imagine him suggesting we use candles. It’s a wonder someone hasn't burned the place down. You coming, Hannah?"
She shook her head, and then burst out, "How can the two of you stay so calm? You heard what he said. You can see that calendar—" She threw out a hand and pointed at it. “What he’s saying is impossible. But there’s no electricity, no telephone, no bathroom, no nothing."
She realized she was beginning to sound hysterical.
"It’s either a misunderstanding or a joke,” Elvira said firmly. “Maybe they’re making a movie up here, and having a bit of fun with us, like you said before."
Her words made sense, and Hannah calmed down. “Of course. I bet that’s it.”
Certainly Logan McGraw was handsome enough to be a movie actor.
"Whatever it is, we'll find out in the morning. But right now, I have to find a bathroom, and fast,” Elvira said.
"I’ll wait here for the sheets and the—the pallet, whatever that is,” Hannah said.
Daisy rummaged through her luggage and found a leash, which she clipped on Klaus. She came over to her daughter and put her hand on Hannah’s arm.
“Don’t worry about all this, dear. Things always look brighter in the morning. Just like Elvira says, I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
Hannah summoned up a facsimile of a smile, wondering why Daisy wasn’t hysterical.
“I sure hope so." When they were gone, Hannah heaved an immense sigh and flung herself down on her back on the bed. Privacy, even ten minutes worth, would go a long way towards restoring her sanity.
Logan McGraw had upset her with his insistence on the date. She frowned and turned her head towards the calendar again. If this was a movie set, where were the cameras? The crew? The strangeness sent her brain skittering off in a panic.
She forced herself to safer territory and focused on Logan McGraw instead of the date. He was an imposing man, that was certain. He topped her by at least four inches, which made him six foot two, and his shoulders and muscular development were impressive. His dark brown hair was shoulder-length and worn loose. It had a touch of curl, and it shone under the lamplight. He had a mustache, but he wasn't bearded, although many of the other men were. There was a steely determination in his deep-set eyes and the set of his square jaw that suggested he wasn't a man to challenge too much or too far.
What color were his eyes? She folded her hands behind her head and closed her own, and the moment she did his face was there before her, like a photograph. Very dark brown eyes. His skin was deeply tanned, his mouth generous. And she’d noticed his hands, too. They were the hands of a man who was used to physical labor, veined and scarred and very strong.
The rigors of the day had taken their toll, and weariness swept over her like a soft, welcoming blanket. Her forehead throbbed and she drifted somewhere between waking and sleep.
She thought of Brad, but it was the visual image of Logan McGraw that was more powerful, like an anchor, steadying her.
Yesterday’s Gold: Chapter Six
A knock at the door startled her, and she bolted up to a sitting position and tugged down her sweater.
“Come in.”
A young man with black curly hair, hardly more than a boy, fumbled the door open and stepped into the room. His arms were loaded with sheets and towels and a folded quilt. He ducked his head shyly and looked at Hannah from under thick eyelashes any female would envy.
> "Boss said bring these here. I’ll go get the pallet. I left it at the bottom of the stairs. I couldn’t carry it all at once." He dumped the armload on the bed and bolted out the door again.
Hannah gathered up the towels and hung them on the railing at the back of the antique washstand in the corner.
"Here ya go, lady. Where ya want I should put it?"
Hannah had already decided that whatever a pallet was, she much preferred it to the idea of sleeping with anyone.
"Here, under the window."
He arranged it where she indicated. It was a primitive futon, a mattress with thick striped ticking that seemed to be filled with straw instead of cotton.
"Ya need me fer somethin’ more?”
It was obvious he was very eager to please her, and Hannah smiled at him. "That’s just fine, thank you very much, Mr—?”
He turned scarlet and rubbed a hand through his curls. "I ain’t no mister. Just Angus, lady. Angus Percival.”
He was an exceptionally good-looking boy, short and slender, with beautiful clear blue eyes, but now that Hannah really looked at him, there was something in his manner and his speech that clearly indicated he was mentally challenged. Compassion washed over her, and she thought of Stephen, the young boy at the hospital who’d attempted suicide.
"You've been a tremendous help to me, Angus. Thank you so much." She’d tossed her purse on the bed, and she opened it now and took out her wallet, extracting a five-dollar bill and offering it to him as a tip.
It was a long moment before he reached out and took the bill from her. He held it close to his eyes, peering at it curiously, turning it over and studying the engraving on it as if he’d never seen money before.
"It's real purty. But it ain’t money.”
Hannah felt a stab of pity. He must have some particular disability when it came to numbers.
“Of course it’s money. It’s five dollars, to thank you for your trouble, Angus.”
He turned towards the door just as Daisy and Elvira came in, and his whole face lit up when he spied Klaus. "Ahhh, you gotta little pooch.”
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