"I doubt it."
His scorn provided her with the impetus she needed. She was certain every muscle in her back and shoulders would ache abominably next morning, but she had the satisfaction of showing Mr. Jeff Randolph she wasn't quite useless. "I'll get some sheets and a blanket for the bed," she said when they had stacked the last trunk.
"Don't forget a pillow."
She was relieved to have a moment to herself. She felt uncomfortably hot. She knew it wasn't just from physical exertion. She couldn't understand why being around Jeff Randolph should unsettle her so. Her work had brought her into contact with so many men she had become virtually immune to their physical attractiveness.
Not so with Jeff Randolph. She'd never seen anyone with such a sculptured physique. He was reminding her quite vividly that even though twenty-nine was considered well beyond the marriageable age, it was not beyond the age of being susceptible to a virile male. She blushed to think she was behaving in such a shocking manner. Miss Settle would grow faint if she had any notion of the ideas flashing through Violet's head.
Violet was feeling a little light-headed herself. She forced herself to concentrate on gathering the things she would need to make his bed.
By the time she had climbed the stairs once again, she had herself reasonably under control.
"I need to send a message to my clerk," Jeff announced when she reached his room. He had found a desk and chair in working condition. The bed, buried under the pile of trunks, was already there. She supposed he would need a chest of some kind, but there were several he could choose from.
"Beth will bring you pen and paper and see your message is sent out. I'll make up your bed while you're gone."
He left without thanking her, but then she hadn't expected thanks. She doubted he had ever felt thankful in his life, or would have admitted it if he had. She'd hate to be part of his family and have to deal with his roughness all the time.
She spread a sheet over the mattress and began to tuck it in. Maybe she was being unfair. Just because he barked at her didn't mean he always acted that way. He was clearly out of his depth now, his routine destroyed. Maybe he was better when he was in his bank.
She began with the second sheet.
She wondered if his family knew he went about pretending he ran the bank. Of course they did. Even in a city of thirty-five thousand people, you couldn't keep a thing like that quiet for long. It was a shame he felt the need to aggrandize himself. He was quite impressive as it was.
Violet smoothed the bed sheet and felt a tremor shoot through her. Mr. Randolph's body would soon lie exactly where she placed her hand. A vision of him naked and in bed flashed into her mind. She drew back. She felt herself flush with embarrassment at her own reaction. She had to stop this. It didn't matter how handsome he was, he didn't like her and she wasn't very fond of him.
Telling herself to stop being silly -- she was too old to let a fantasy affect her like this -- Violet fluffed up a pillow and slipped it into a pillowcase. She placed a folded blanket at the foot of the bed, and headed downstairs. Somehow she felt safer there.
* * * * *
Jeff sat alone in his Spartan room, He had sent a note to Caspar Lawrence. The clerk would be here soon. He got up and paced the hall. He had never been so inactive for such a long time. It was getting on his nerves.
He looked around him. Jeff Randolph, president of the biggest bank in Denver, who had a private office paneled in mahogany and furnished with leather-covered chairs, a fireplace, a desk the size of this bed, and a dozen men at his beck and call, was to work in an attic room he'd stolen from trunks, suitcases, and discarded furniture, to sit in a ladder back chair and work on a table consigned to the attic because its legs wobbled. Instead of his comfortable house with its expensive furniture, soft mattresses, and perfectly prepared food, he was to sleep on a metal frame bed with a thin mattress, make do with no heat and a small lamp. God only knew what kind of swill would come from the kitchen.
All because that woman had forgotten to cancel his appointment. He would love to choke her, even if he did have only one hand.
Worse yet, he was going to be locked up with her for five days. Not close, by God. He would keep to his room. She could keep to hers. He shook his head in disbelief. This ought to be happening to George. They were his kids.
For a moment Jeff wondered if this was all a plan to trap him. Then he told himself not to be foolish. No woman wanted a man without an arm. How many more times did he have to learn that lesson? They wanted his money, but they didn't want him. They didn't need him either.
That was important to Jeff. His family had needed him once. He drove himself now to prove they still did.
Jeff didn't know why he was even thinking about these things. They had nothing to do with Violet Goodwin or being locking up in a girls' dormitory. Nevertheless, he would keep to himself. No telling what kind of trouble she would get him into if he didn't.
But the idea of days stretching ahead with no human contact didn't appeal to him. He always complained about having to meet people, but he didn't like isolation.
On the other hand, solitary confinement had to be better than being forced to fraternize with a Yankee female who insisted on wearing bold-as-brass colors. Her white skin and mountain of coppery hair were no excuse to flaunt herself. Nor the deep blue eyes, eyes as blue as the depths of a mountain lake.
Jeff cursed. It annoyed him she should be pretty, that he should be attracted to her. He had disliked Yankees on principle for years, but he found it hard to dislike Violet Goodwin when he kept wanting to look into her eyes.
* * * * *
Violet stopped mid-sentence. She was right. There was a man shouting somewhere outside the building. She walked to one of the windows at the back of the large room that served as a study hall for the girls. The man must be on the other side of the building. She left the room, crossed the hall, and entered an equally large room the girls used for recreation and meals during the quarantine. Three of the girls had their noses to the window. Two of them were the Randolph twins.
"What is that man doing?" Violet asked.
"He's shouting up to Uncle Jeff," Aurelia said.
"He's from the bank," Juliette explained.
The girls moved aside to allow Violet an unobstructed view of a man, his hands cupped to his mouth, shouting to the upper floors.
"This must stop," Violet said.
She climbed the two flights of stairs as fast as she could. She reached Jeff's room to find him leaning out the window. By the time she had recovered her breath sufficiently to speak, she had heard enough to understand he was instructing his clerk to set up an office in the parlor.
"Mr. Randolph, stop shouting out the window this minute. You'll have everybody in town wondering what's going on."
He finished what he was saying, closed the window, then turned to face her. "I was just telling Caspar what I wanted him to bring first thing in the morning. Got any wood? He says the parlor's cold."
"He can't use the parlor. We're under quarantine."
"He'll push everything through the door and your maid can bring it to me."
"Beth has a full load of duties already. She can't become your courier as well."
"Then you can bring everything to me."
"In case it has escaped your notice, there are sixteen girls in this building who are my responsibility. I don't intend to slight my duties to drag myself up and down those steps a dozen times a day."
"Let the twins do it," Jeff said. "Maybe it'll keep them out of trouble." His gaze narrowed. "It wouldn't hurt you though. One trip has winded you. You're out of shape. You need some exercise."
Violet had never been more nonplused. No one had ever told her she was out of shape. The few people who had dared make such personal comments had been flattering.
"My physical shape is none of your concern. I--"
Jeff eyed her quite brazenly. "Your shape is fine. It's your condition I'm talking about."
<
br /> He flashed a smile, and her knees nearly gave way. She had never seen him smile before. She was quite unprepared for how devastatingly handsome he was. Not even her acquaintance with the twins had warned her sufficiently. It was as though God had made a perfect man then taken away one arm to make him mortal.
Only Jeff Randolph wasn't perfect. He had a lousy temper and was always taunting her to see how she would respond. She didn't like being manipulated for anyone's amusement.
"You can't imagine the pure joy your approval gives me."
"Yes, I can," he replied in brazen candor. "You're ready to cut my throat. I can't spend five days locked up in this place with nothing to do. I'd murder the lot of you before Sunday morning."
"What an appropriate day."
"If you don't want anybody running up and down those stairs, move the girls up here and give me the downstairs."
"I can't move the girls just because you didn't go away like you were told."
"I'm not going over that ground again," Jeff said. "My clerk has already put a box of papers in the parlor. Have somebody bring it to me, or I'll get it myself. Can I take off my coat? It's hot in here."
"I'd rather you didn't," Violet said. "Open the window if you must, but keep your door closed. Beth and I are not cold."
"You seem damned cold to me."
Violet's palms itched to slap that arrogant frown off his face. "It's undoubtedly the effect of your charm." Flashing a grim smile she hoped was as cold as his frown, she turned and headed toward the stairs. She stopped halfway there and turned back. "I have to inform Miss Settle of your presence. I'm sure you understand it would be impossible for me to do anything else."
"Sure."
"I'm certain she'll have your office removed from the parlor."
"You let me worry about that."
"I shall." She turned and headed down the steps. She met Juliette coming up, carrying a box of papers. Aurelia followed close behind with another.
"Have you girls completed your assignments for the day?"
"Yes, Miss Goodwin."
"Then you can help your uncle this afternoon. I imagine all this will be over by dinner."
"Yes, Miss Goodwin."
* * * * *
Fern laughed so hard it hurt. "Swear you're not making this up. He really is locked up with a bunch of little girls and a spinster housemother for five days?"
"Yes, Mrs. Randolph. He's got everybody turning the bank inside out getting things ready to take over to him."
Fern turned to Daisy. "You know how he hates Yankees. The housemother is from Massachusetts. I'll bet he's mad enough to start the war all over again. I shouldn't laugh," she said, then went off into another peal of laughter, "but it serves him right. If he'd gone when I asked, none of this would have happened."
"I thought you'd like to know where he was," the nervous clerk said. "Miss Aurelia and Miss Juliette are fine. They never did get the fever."
"I didn't expect they would. I supposed Jeff will be all right until they let him out, but keep me informed. Though what I can do confined to this bed, I can't guess."
"Do you want me to go to the school?" Daisy asked after the clerk had left.
"Not with you pregnant as well. No telling what you might pick up there. Though you do look healthy as a horse. Sorry. You can tell I was reared on a farm. Nine years in Chicago and Denver haven't turned me into a lady."
"Don't say that. I grew up in the New Mexico desert. There won't be any hope for me."
"There never was for either of us according to Jeff. We weren't born in Virginia."
Both women laughed.
"Do you think he'll ever change?"
"Never! But that's enough about Jeff. Tell me about your hotel. Did you finally get everything finished? It must be even more luxurious than you and Tyler planned. Madison says you've got people practically climbing through the windows to get in."
* * * * *
The dinner hour came and went without word from Miss Settle. Violet had sent word to Mr. Randolph that dinner would be served in the social hall. He had sent back word he had too much work. Violet decided he needed a break even if he didn't need food. Besides, guilt at forgetting to notify him of the quarantine had overcome her anger. She fixed him a tray and started up the stairs. She met the twins tearing down the steps, their arms loaded as usual.
"Is your uncle still working?" she asked.
"He's always working," Juliette said.
Violet started up again, but sudden curiosity made her stop and turn back. "What does your uncle do at the bank?" she asked.
"He runs it," Juliette answered, stopping on the landing and turning to face Violet.
"You mean he's the manager?"
"No. He owns it."
Violet felt a cold chill flood all through her body. "Do you mean he's on the Board of Directors?"
The twins didn't know.
"What about the rest of your family? Do you have any more uncles?"
"Yes. Five."
"Don't they help him?"
"No. Uncle Jeff does it all by himself."
Violet experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "What's the name of his bank?"
"I don't know, but Mama says it's the biggest bank in town."
The First National Bank of Denver! He couldn't own that bank. She couldn't have the most powerful financial wizard this side of San Francisco shouting out of her upstairs window.
Good God! No wonder she hadn't heard anything from Miss Settle. The poor woman had probably fainted dead away when she got the note. She was probably petrified every important member of the Denver financial community would soon be at the front door demanding her head.
No, not Miss Settle's head. Her head.
Violet admitted to a moment of cowardice. She could go back downstairs and send his food up with the twins. She could lock herself in her room for the next five days and not see anybody at all. She wasn't cut out to be the housemother, nurse, and teacher for sixteen girls between eight and fourteen. She hadn't had as much as five hours to herself since she took the job.
And she wouldn't get them now.
Violet started up the stairs. She stopped outside Jeff Randolph's door, surprised when she heard a child's voice coming from his room. She had passed the twins on the stairs. No one else was supposed to be up here.
"Do you have to do things with all those papers?" the child asked.
Essie Brown. She was the only eight-year-old border. A small, fragile child. Lonely, too. Violet had found her crying in her sleep several times in the last three months.
"Every one of them," Jeff replied.
"But you've got so many."
"Hundreds."
"My daddy has lots of papers, too. He keeps them in a big black bag. He takes it with him everywhere."
"What does your daddy do?"
"I don't know."
"What's his name?"
"Daddy."
"Yes, I suppose it would be."
Violet could hardly believe she was listening to Jeff Randolph. He sounded human. Even kind. None of the girls had much time for Essie. She was too shy. Violet had to admit even she sometimes lost patience with the child. If she would just try to have a little gumption, she would be happier. It was hard to believe Jeff Randolph was able to push back the curtain of fear that seemed to surround her.
"What's that?" Essie asked.
"Nothing but a long column of numbers."
"Do they mean anything?"
"They stand for quite a bit of money."
"My daddy has a lot of money." Essie was silent a moment. "He says money's the most important thing in the world."
Violet didn't like to spy on people, but she couldn't help herself. She stood just close enough to the door to be able to see into the room. Jeff had set his work aside and was looking at Essie.
"What do you think is the most important thing in the world?" Jeff asked.
"I don't know."
"What do you w
ant most in the world?"
"To see my daddy."
"He can't come now because of the quarantine."
"You came."
"Yes, but I wasn't supposed to."
"My daddy never comes."
Essie started to cry. Violet decided it was time to intervene. Jeff wouldn't know what to do with a crying child. But much to her surprise, he simply reached over, put his arm around Essie, and drew her to him.
"Your father will come."
"No, he won't."
"He will now."
She looked up at him, her cheeks wet with tears. "How do you know?"
"I just do."
He glanced up and saw Violet outside the door.
She saw him withdraw into himself just as clearly as if he had closed a door.
Chapter Four
"You'd better run along now. Miss Goodwin is here to see I eat my dinner."
Essie grinned through her tears. "Can I watch?"
"No. She might spank me if I don't eat everything in my plate."
"Ladies don't spank men."
"Miss Goodwin might."
"Run along, Essie," Violet said. "You've got plenty to do before bedtime."
"Can I come back and say goodnight?"
"Sure," Jeff said. "Come any time. I hardly ever go to sleep." He gave her a little push toward the door. "And don't worry about your father. He'll come."
Violet watched Essie trudge down the hall and disappear down the staircase, but her thoughts remained on Jeff Randolph. She didn't understand him at all. She would have sworn he wasn't capable of gentleness or understanding anybody but himself, but was wonderfully gentle with Essie. She had seen it with her own eyes, heard it with her own ears. She wondered just what kind of man hid behind that callous facade.
"I hope you can make good on your promise," she said when Essie was out of hearing range. She entered the room and stood waiting for him to clear a space on his desk so she could put the tray down. "She'll be broken hearted if her father doesn't come. He never has despite several letters from Miss Settle."
"Is her father Harold Brown?"
"How did you guess?"
"She looks exactly like him. He's a real bastard, but a father ought to see his daughter. Hell, I'd visit Essie if she were my kid."
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