Running From Forever

by Cat Cahill

  Penny nodded. “You do know I was the first person Emma told about her Mr. Hartley? I kept her secret for weeks. I would’ve kept it forever, if she’d needed me to.”

  Caroline blinked in surprise. She’d planned to give vague answers to Penny’s questions in order to keep Thomas’s identity hidden. But perhaps Penny was better at keeping secrets than Caroline had realized.

  As if she’d read Caroline’s mind, Penny said, “When it comes to the truly important things, I’m like a safe in the bank.” She undid her long braid as she said this, and now she finger-combed her golden brown curls as she waited for Caroline to speak.

  “Well . . .” Caroline trailed off, trying to figure out where to begin. “His name is Thomas. He’s tall and . . .” She blushed as she thought of his ocean-colored eyes on her, his sun-lightened hair curling over his collar, the warmth of his hand on her wrist. “Nice. He’s very nice.”

  “Nice?” Penny fixed her with an indignant look. “I was hoping for something more like dashing, or dangerous, or rich—” She was cut off as Caroline tossed a pillow at her face. She laughed and slung it back at Caroline, who caught it and dissolved into giggles herself.

  “All right! Please, though, do me one favor,” Penny said when she caught her breath. “Be discreet.”

  They were quiet for a moment. Caroline knew exactly what Penny meant. Emma had been dismissed over just such a situation.

  “I will. Besides, it’s nothing like that. I’m simply helping him with a problem he has.” Caroline flattened her pillow behind her, but even out of the corner of her eye, she could see Penny raise her eyebrows. A part of her heart ached in an unfamiliar way, as if she wished there was something more to her conversations with Thomas. Heat crept up her neck as she remembered the way he’d touched her face last night. Why had he done such a thing? More importantly, why had she let him? She shouldn’t have, and not just because she wanted to keep her job. “And anyhow, I want to keep working as a Gilbert Girl. I’m going to be named head waitress.”

  Penny grinned. “And to think that when we arrived here, I was certain you’d be on a train home by midsummer.” She paused. “You’ll get the title. Dora, Millie, and I will do everything we can to help you.”

  Caroline flushed with warmth. She was so grateful to have made friends such as these. Penny quickly dressed and pinned up her hair, claiming she was famished. Caroline took her time. In truth, she wanted a few moments to herself to parse out her thoughts.

  After Penny left, Caroline sat at the small dressing table, brushing her long hair. It glowed in the sunlight from the window, gold and white-blonde. Her mother had told her such a shade of hair was a blessing, and she should use it to her advantage. The advice nearly made Caroline laugh out loud now. All the practice she’d had at attracting men, all the advice about acting just coquettish enough to draw their attention, but not so much as to make them think her ill-bred—all of it was for naught. What was the point of sending a man a small smile over the top of a fan when her father had already chosen the man she would marry?

  And that man was nothing like the man she’d imagined marrying. He was much older, gruff, balding, and had a pot belly. But it wasn’t his looks so much as his demeanor—and the rumors that followed him—that had terrified Caroline into fleeing the only home she’d ever known. Her mind flitted back to the creek yesterday, when Thomas had found her and held her as she cried. He hadn’t laughed, hadn’t pried or told her she was acting ridiculous. He’d been tender and caring. And when he spoke of his family last night . . . Losing both of his parents, even if his mother was still alive somewhere, had left him scarred somewhere deep inside. She could see that much just in his eyes. He was a different person than she’d assumed he was when she’d first met him. And when he’d brushed her face with his hand while tucking that piece of hair behind her ear . . .

  She wound her hair into a chignon and pinned it into place. Instead of thinking about how kind he’d been or how hurt he was or—even worse—his hand on her face, she needed to focus on helping him prove his innocence. And to do that, she needed to speak with him again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Thomas set the hammer down. He’d spent the day repairing the hinges on the door to the smithy shop, then nailing shingles to its roof, and now he was building more shelving. He’d never built so many shelves in his life as he had in the past few days. He’d set up his work behind the smithy rather than his previous spot behind the hotel to make it easier to install the finished products.

  The smithy clanged away on a set of horseshoes as Thomas studied the shelf he’d just finished. He was improving, at least. Working on the hotel all summer had given him a set of skills he’d never possessed, and now, working on even finer pieces, he was honing those skills. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be a carpenter, but for now, he was grateful for whatever work he could do to survive and stay hidden.

  “Thomas.” His name was a whisper on the cool wind that blew down from the Sangre de Cristo Mountains at his back.

  He looked up, and there, standing behind the smithy shop, was Caroline. She wore her usual gray and white garb, her sunshine-colored hair pinned up behind the matching hat. It was a warm enough afternoon to go without a coat. Her face was pink from the wind, and her smile . . . It could cheer up even the grumpiest of men. She was happy to see him, and that small fact alone made Thomas feel as giddy as if he’d just slung back a shot of whiskey.

  He glanced around. No one was nearby except the smithy inside his shop. This side of the tracks was largely abandoned now that the hotel was open. But still, they could be none too careful. He pointed to the large white house that sat several yards away. It had been where the first Gilbert Girls stayed while the hotel was built, but it stood empty now.

  Caroline retreated across the grass and sage. He waited a few moments before setting down the shelf he was pretending to examine and joining her.

  She was leaning back against the rear wall of the house. “I’m sorry to interrupt your work. I’m between trains, and I hoped I could steal a few moments to ask you some questions.”

  He raised his eyebrows as he leaned a hand against the building. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll think you too forward?”

  “About your . . . incident. Not about you. You think much too highly of yourself, Mr. Drexel.”

  “Oh, are we back to formalities? In that case, I’ll have to say I’m quite disappointed, Miss Beauchamp. Here I’d thought you pulled me away from my duties to find out my favorite food, or ask me my favorite scent.” Her cheeks went even pinker, and he couldn’t help but smile.

  “On the contrary, I prefer to keep my position here. I’m well on my way to head waitress.” She drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin.

  “That’s quite impressive.” It reminded him of that day by the creek, when she’d told him her job meant everything to her. He’d assumed she’d meant that she needed to keep her position for practical reasons, and he knew she worked hard to do so. But she looked so proud right now, after telling him about her chances for moving up. All he could do was stand there and blink at her, like a man rendered mute. True love for her work wasn’t something he’d imagined mattered to a woman with a background like Caroline’s. According to his father, his own mother was appalled at the idea of taking in laundry or mending to help earn money. Caroline must have been raised similarly, letting others do everything for her. It made no sense—nothing about her did—and suddenly, he needed to know. “How did you come to be here?”

  She laughed. “I answered an ad, the same as every other girl here.” She continued to smile at him, and he almost forgot his name. Her smile was all-consuming, as if no other woman had ever smiled before.

  He finally dragged his eyes away from her lips and glanced at the bent grasses below his feet in order to pull his thoughts together again. “I meant you specifically. You strike me as a woman who comes from a well-to-do family. You told me you didn’t wish for anyone to know you’re here. How d
id you ever find yourself in this place?” Her smile faltered, and he wondered if he’d pushed too far. “Forgive me, I’ve asked too much.”

  “No.” She clasped her hands in front of her and closed her eyes for a moment. “I mean, you have. But it’s nothing the girls don’t already know.” When she looked up at him, her sky-colored eyes were watery, as if she were holding back tears again. He wanted to reach out, take her in his arms once more, and tell her nothing would hurt her here.

  Get a hold of yourself, Drexel. Those kinds of thoughts would lead to nothing but trouble. The last thing he needed was to end up like his father, working his fingers to the bone for an ungrateful woman. Except . . . each time he spoke with her, Caroline seemed less and less like a spoiled rich girl and more like someone who valued hard work.

  “My family is well-known in Boston society. We—they—own a shipping and import company that my grandfather founded. I have a brother, Quentin, who will inherit it all. I was expected to marry well.” She looked away for a moment, searching across the valley toward the dark Wet Mountains to the east, as if she’d find resolve buried somewhere in the pine trees that dotted the landscape or the small hills that rose before the mountains. She turned back to him, her eyes meeting his own. “My father chose someone for me. I . . . didn’t care for him. So I left.”

  “You gave up your entire life and your family because you didn’t care for the man your father wanted you to marry?”

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t that simple. I’d been led to believe I could choose my own husband. But I wasn’t given a choice. I . . ” She pressed her lips together. “I’m much better off here.”

  “Surely there were other avenues you could have taken instead?” Thomas asked, although he couldn’t blame her for running in such a situation.

  She crossed her arms. “None that would’ve let me disappear so thoroughly. I know what you’re thinking. How could a pampered, society-minded girl who’d never done anything more difficult than needlepoint adapt to hard work in an environment such as this?”

  He could’ve laughed, if it had been appropriate. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

  She tilted her chin up and a proud smile crossed her face. “I’m much stronger than I look, even if I didn’t believe it myself when I arrived here. I thought of giving up so many times last summer, but I didn’t. I kept trying, and I succeeded. And now here I am, very close to convincing Mrs. Ruby that I deserve to be head waitress.”

  She looked at him with such fierce pride, it could’ve knocked him down. It made him want to know everything about Caroline Beauchamp, as dangerous as it was to both their positions. And somehow—maybe by the way she watched him or the way she continued to seek him out—he thought she might feel the same way.

  “How about you, Thomas?” she asked.

  He was certain he’d never tire of hearing her say his name. “What do you mean?”

  “What do you want? I wanted the ability to make my own decisions. And now I do.”

  He slid his hand off the wooden siding and into his pocket. What did he want? He hadn’t asked himself that question in a long time. “Right now? Freedom.”

  “And after that?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  She kept staring at him, the shadow from the house covering her face and making those tiny freckles disappear into the rest of her skin. He wanted to reach up and trace them so badly he had to clench his hands in his pockets to keep them in place. His fingers burned with the memory of brushing against her cheek last night. He didn’t know what had possessed him. At least he hadn’t scared her off.

  “Surely there’s something you wanted from life before you had to go on the run,” she pressed.

  There was, but he hadn’t thought about it in months. Not when his primary concern was simply staying alive. “I’d like to run my own business. A mercantile, perhaps. It’s . . . something my father always wanted, but never had.”

  Her smile was blinding. “That’s wonderful!”

  Her enthusiasm caught him off-guard. He faltered a second before returning her smile. He decided he wouldn’t quite mind standing here, behind this old house in the long afternoon shadows, forever.

  A shout from across the tracks made them both start.

  “It’s McFarland,” he said. “I’d better return to my work.”

  “Oh! But I didn’t ask you what I’d intended.” Caroline smoothed her dress and straightened her hat, never mind that neither had gathered a single wrinkle from simply standing in one place.

  “Then you’ll have to find me again later.” He doffed an imaginary hat at her, his real one having been left behind the smithy’s, and shot her a rakish grin before turning his back and striding across the broken grass.

  When he glanced back, she was watching him. And this made him happier than he could have ever imagined.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “That man’s sermons are still remarkably dull.” Penny clasped a hand to her old scarlet hat as the wind kicked up.

  “I thought it was informative,” Caroline said as she picked her way around mud that had accumulated on the wooden planks that lined the sides of the street in Cañon City. “Just because he tempers his voice and chooses to avoid speaking on hellfire doesn’t mean the sermon is dull.”

  “If you say so.” Penny’s attention had shifted to the windows of a dry goods store.

  Caroline paused as her friend examined the fabrics and ribbons on display in the large window. The sermon had been awfully long, but they still had a few hours to spend in Cañon City before Mr. and Mrs. McFarland would expect them and the other girls who’d had this overcast Sunday off back at the livery to return home. Since the train only ran twice a day—once in each direction—they were still dependent on buckboards if they wanted to attend services.

  “Do you want to go in?” Caroline asked Penny.

  Penny sighed, her breath fogging the glass. “No. I need to send all my earnings home this month. Mama wrote and told me she’d been ill and hasn’t been able to work for a couple of weeks.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope she’s feeling better.”

  Penny smiled through the far-off look in her eyes, the one she always got when speaking of her mother. “But I am willing to part with some of it for dinner.” She pointed to a small establishment across the muddy street.

  “Mrs. Smith’s Home Cooking,” Caroline read from the sign affixed to the front of the building. While most of the shops and businesses along the street were nondescript, Mrs. Smith had painted her restaurant in a cheerful yellow. It looked like a welcoming sort of place.

  The girls stepped carefully across the street, dodging horses and wagons and trying in vain not to step in dung or muddy their shoes too badly. Inside, the single room was simply decorated, but comfortable and inviting. A tiny spray of flowers sat in a glass jar on each wooden table, and a rose-patterned paper covered the walls. The room was full, but Caroline and Penny found one last empty table.

  A girl no older than sixteen arrived to greet them and take their orders, while a boy who looked just like her peeked out from the kitchen.

  “It’s nice to be the one sitting at the table for a change,” Penny said.

  “It certainly is.” Caroline relaxed into her chair and enjoyed simply being off her feet at a mealtime.

  They were nearly finished with plates of pot roast, carrots, and fluffy potatoes when the front door to the restaurant burst open. A man lurched inside, his hat askew. He was several steps into the restaurant before he seemed to realize he should remove it from his head. He stopped near Caroline and Penny as he searched the room for an empty table, of which there were none to be had.

  “Pardon me, ladies,” he said, his breath ripe with drink. “There don’t seem to be any free tables. How’s about I join you for dinner?” He promptly sat in one of the free chairs at their table and leaned forward on his elbows.

  Caroline recoiled. She was about to tell him he was quite unwelcome
when Penny spoke first.

  “Sir, you are drunk, and you need to remove yourself from our table.” Penny’s voice was firm but quiet.

  “That’s not very neighborly of you, Miss . . .” His eyes roved over Penny. Penny stiffened. “I’m gonna call you Lillian. ’Cause you look like a Lillian. And you . . .” His gaze swung to Caroline and lingered there as it turned into a leer.

  It made her stomach feel as if it was about to lose all the good food she’d just eaten. “You need to leave, immediately. Before we need to call for assistance.”

  “Clara,” he declared. “That’s what I’m gonna call you. Now, Lillian, Clara, which of you ladies might like to accompany me back to the saloon?”

  Caroline gasped. How dare he imply they were so improper? Her entire body went hot, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d stood, lifted her hand, and smacked the man hard across the face.

  Penny stared at her in shock before a smile lifted her lips. Caroline’s eyes dropped to her hand, which was shaking. When she looked up, the man was also standing, his hard-lined face ruddy with more than just drink. He reached out and clumsily grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her through the fabric of her sleeve.

  “Now I like ’em feisty, Clara, but that’s about gone too far.”

  Caroline pulled away, but he held tight. “Let me go.” Her voice betrayed her, shaky instead of sounding firm.

  “You need to learn some manners, missy,” he said.

  “No, you’d better unhand her before I hit you so hard, you’ll think you see Heaven itself.” Penny stood, her hands on her hips. “And don’t think I can’t do it. I’ve hit plenty of men before.”

  The man laughed, a guffaw that silenced the restaurant patrons who weren’t already watching them. “Maybe you should both come with me then. I do like the girls who cause trouble.”

  “Let the lady go,” a male voice said from across the table.