by Debra Cowan
In the bright morning light, she couldn’t tell, but thought she saw amusement in his blue eyes. “You’re wanting a different one?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “All right. I own that you probably know a lot more about decoratin’ stuff than I do.”
“So, you’ll sign the order?”
He nodded and she gave him the pencil and paper Charlie had sent with her. She watched as Russ flattened the page against the wall of the blacksmith’s shop, her attention straying to the flex of muscle in his forearms while he signed his name. “Charlie’ll probably need a deposit. He did last time.”
“I can take care of that.”
His mouth went tight as if he might argue, but he didn’t. “All right.”
Lydia started to leave, then hesitated. “We could get more done and open for business sooner if we didn’t have to wait on each other. Then you can move back home and turn your attention to your family’s ranch or whatever other business you have. And I’ll deal with running the hotel, which is why I’m here.”
“I reckon that’s true.”
When he offered nothing further, Lydia realized he didn’t intend to change the arrangement. She had to get him out of here and to do that, she needed to prove she was capable of handling things on her own. What could she do to convince him?
The glass.
Getting the windows Russ had been unable to obtain would go a long way toward showing him that he’d be leaving the hotel in her very capable hands.
“For instance, the windows you ordered. Maybe I could speak to the merchant who sold them to us.”
“He isn’t holding us up because he wants to. He can’t get the shipment, either.”
“Oh.” Lydia nodded and turned to go, but she wasn’t giving up yet.
His deep voice stopped her. “I meant to tell you that both our signatures were required on hotel orders. It plumb slipped my mind.”
He sounded sincere, Lydia thought. “It’s all right. I know now.”
“I’ll be around here if you need anything else.”
Good. You’ll be easy to find when I show up with those windows. “Naomi and I are going to Abilene. We plan to leave shortly and return tomorrow.”
“What do you need over there?”
“I’d like to look at mirrors, perhaps some dressing screens for the few rooms still lacking them. Is there anything you need?”
“Don’t think so.” Russ cocked his head. “You’re not gonna try for that glass, are you?”
Yes, I am. “You said the shipment hadn’t arrived.”
“Right.”
“Then you’d consider that a wasted effort, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.” Speculation darkened his eyes and a grin tugged at his lips. “You dodgin’ my question?”
“Good day, Mr. Baldwin.” She smiled as she walked away. He might not think she could get the glass and maybe she couldn’t, but she planned to try. She would love to see his face if she managed to come back with those windows.
And late the next afternoon, his expression was everything she’d hoped for when she rolled the wagon to a stop between The Fontaine and the blacksmith shop where Russ once again stood outside.
The merchandise was protected with blankets. Lydia braked the wagon and he was there to help her down. By the time he gave Naomi a hand and turned back to Lydia, she had the top layer of blankets pulled back.
The look of incredulity on his handsome face had a laugh bubbling out of her.
“What the devil!” He came to stand beside her, his jaw slack. “How did you get this?”
“Well, it’s not our specific order, but it will work. The supplier pointed me in the direction of a man with an unfinished house. The owner said his wife changed her mind about several things and he was willing to sell the glass. I gave him a penny more per square inch than what he paid and two nights free at The Fontaine after we open.”
“You gave him…You got the glass and you offered the man a free room.” Russ looked amazed. And slightly annoyed.
“Yes,” Lydia answered. “If you’re unhappy about my giving him a free room, I did it for advertising purposes. He can start spreading the word.”
“That was smart. Real smart.” Russ braced his hands on his hips, the movement pulling his shirt taut across his rock-hard arms and shoulders. “You planned all along to try and get that glass.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘planned.’ I didn’t know what I was dealing with until I got there.”
“I’ll be.” He rubbed his chin, still looking a little dazed.
She smiled over at Naomi, who stood quietly beside the shaded wagon, laughter in her eyes. Maybe now Russ would admit Lydia could manage fine on her own. He eyed her shrewdly. There was genuine admiration in his face.
Why couldn’t he see the wisdom of leaving the hotel management to her? “Now we’re that much closer to opening the hotel and I should be able to move in within the week. If we divided the labor between us, we’d get things done a lot quicker.”
“I reckon.” He stared at her for a long minute. “I think we should leave things the way they are for now.”
Foot! Fighting to keep her face blank, she pursed her lips as though considering his words. “Very well. It’s highly impractical, though.”
“Maybe so.” He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a piece of paper.
He took her hand and pressed a folded note into her palm. He released her, the brush of his fingers against hers sending a jolt of heat up her arm. She looked down. Another telegram.
“Tony, the telegraph operator, said you’ve been keeping him busy, what with getting one of these a day.”
Lydia went still inside. What difference did it make to Russ how many wires she received?
“If they’re about the hotel, we could go through them right now.”
This one probably contained news from Daddy or Mama about her wounded brother-in-law’s condition. The others contained information Russ shouldn’t see. Crumpling the paper in her hand, she strove to sound casual. “Oh, they’re probably not about the hotel.”
“Hmm.”
His gaze on her was sharp. Penetrating. He started into the blacksmith’s shop. “If you need me for anything, just holler.”
She didn’t need him. That was what she’d been trying to get him to realize. “Thank you,” she said drily.
“Anythin’ to help.” He grinned and tipped his hat to her.
Her hand tightened on the telegrams. They were just one more reminder that she needed to be very careful around Russ Baldwin.
It was obvious the man wasn’t going to leave the hotel, at least not for a while. If she couldn’t keep him out of her way, then she had to stay out of his. There was too much at stake.
She just beat all. A week later, Russ still couldn’t get over Lydia managing to obtain the window glass. The woman might smell like soft sweet flowers, but she was pure-dee grit. If she had shown as much stubbornness about her former fiance as she had about that glass, it was no wonder she’d won the lawsuit. Still, as much as Russ admired her resourcefulness, he was also aggravated that he hadn’t thought of doing what she’d done.
She’d moved into the hotel a couple of days earlier, but he’d seen her only in passing. They’d both been working hard, planning to open for business as soon as the second floor rooms were completed. As of yet, they hadn’t scheduled the Grand Opening. Lydia and Naomi had made up all the beds, finalized the menu and cured the pots, kettles and other cooking implements. After putting in the third floor windows and moving furniture into the guest rooms, Russ had worked with the steam heat and the gaslight systems until he felt he could fix almost any problem they might have.
Just because he knew what Lydia was doing didn’t mean he was any less curious about her. She’d received another telegram the evening before. When Tony Santos had delivered one for Russ, he’d also told him about Lydia’s. That made three since she’d returned from Abilene the previous w
eek. Who the hell got that many telegrams and why?
There was nothing wrong with it, but like most things about her, the detail stuck in Russ’s mind. Made him wonder about her. She had been in his thoughts first thing as he rolled out of bed and pulled on his trousers.
Standing in front of his washstand mirror, his eyes narrowed as he thought back to a time in his life when another woman had fooled him. Of course, he wasn’t engaged to Lydia as he had been to Amy Young.
Eight years had passed, but he still remembered the savage bite of betrayal when he’d found out his ex-fiancée had only agreed to their engagement so she could hide an affair with another man. Oh, she’d liked Russ well enough, but it wasn’t him she’d wanted at all.
Since then, he’d learned to heed little doubts that crept up, pay attention to any questionable behavior. Like Lydia Kent’s numerous telegrams. He wouldn’t say he was exactly suspicious, but he was damn sure paying attention.
Swirling his shave brush around the wet cake of soap, Russ lathered his face. He took one stroke down his jaw with the straightedge, then paused at a loud clatter outside his office. When he heard nothing further, he lifted his razor again. Sudden yelling inside the hotel nearly made him slice his cheek.
Noise like that could only mean trouble. He dropped his straightedge and rushed to the desk, toweling the lather from his face as he went. Grabbing his Colt, he jerked open the door and stepped out, gaze scanning the foyer.
The first watery light of day coming through the windows illuminated the man and woman on the other side of the room where the dining area gave way to the lobby. The woman’s back was to Russ, but he could see the man’s bearded face. And the gun he had leveled on the lady!
Not wanting to spook the man, Russ edged across the floor, his revolver pointed down against his thigh. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement. A quick glance showed Lydia and Naomi halfway down the stairs; he held up a hand for them to stay there.
“Hey, mister, what’s going on here?” Russ kept his voice low and calm. “Why don’t you put the gun down?”
“No!”
“No need for a weapon in the hotel.” He drew close enough that he could see rage burning in the man’s eyes.
The stranger wore a three-piece suit, rumpled but nicely made. The woman wore a tattered, shapeless dress, her hair hidden by a dark kerchief. She was huddled into herself, visibly shaking.
Russ tried again. “Let’s talk about this.”
The man ignored him, cajoling softly, “Minnie, I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again.”
The woman shook her head, half turning toward Russ.
“Please come home.” The stranger moved a step closer to her. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
If it hadn’t been for the marks on the woman’s temple and cheek, Russ would count this as a spat, but those bruises told a different story. He wasn’t walking away. Inching closer, intent on putting himself between the pair, he said, “That gun is no way to talk.”
“This is between me and my wife,” the man snarled, still not lowering the gun. His gaze stayed on her. “You’re coming home with me.”
He jabbed the weapon in her direction and she flinched.
Russ leveled his Colt at the man and thumbed down the hammer. “Lay down your weapon. I’ll plug you if I have to.”
“Leave us be. This is a family matter.” The man glared at Russ. The woman lunged for the staircase.
“You’re not leaving me!” he roared.
Before Russ could blink, the man pulled the trigger. A loud crack split the air. Someone screamed. The woman fell, landing on her side. In the next instant, the stranger swung his gun in Lydia’s direction.
In one motion, Russ aimed for the man’s shoulder and fired, but at the last second, the man wheeled toward Russ. The bullet hit him square in the chest. He cried out and stumbled back. Another round exploded from his weapon as he hit the floor, then he lay motionless.
The acrid smell of gun smoke tinged the air. Russ hurried over and kicked the gun away, kneeling to check for a pulse. Nothing. He checked the woman, finding the same. Blood spread across her back, sticking her dress to her.
What the hell had just happened?
“Everybody okay?” Operating on adrenaline, Russ stood and turned, his gaze dropping to the bottom step where Lydia now sat. Looking dazed, she had a hand clamped to her right upper arm. Blood covered her fingers and soaked the sleeve of her dark green wrapper.
She was hit! Russ rushed over and laid his revolver on the floor, going to his haunches in front of her. “Let me see.”
Her eyes were huge with shock. “I think it’s just a graze,” she said breathlessly.
There was too much blood for a graze, he thought. “Where are you hit? Shoulder?”
“Upper arm.” Her voice shook.
He reached for her, but she wouldn’t move her hand. “Lydia, I need to look at it.”
“It hurts.” She was pale, trembling.
“I’ll go easy.” He sent an imploring look to Naomi.
The black woman eased down beside Lydia on the step and put an arm around her waist. “It’s okay. Let Mr. Baldwin look.”
Slowly the brunette lowered her hand. Blood plastered the velvet to her skin.
When he touched her, she gave a low moan that grabbed Russ right in the gut. He pulled back. The same sick feeling that had twisted his stomach when he’d heard about Pa’s accident hit Russ again. He pushed the memory away.
“Can you get out of your wrapper? If not, I can cut off the sleeve.”
“I can do it.” Lydia fumbled with the sash at her waist and the fabric parted to reveal a white, high-necked nightgown with delicate buttons running down the front.
Naomi slipped the wrapper sleeve down her friend’s uninjured arm.
Russ studied the ashen-faced woman in front of him. Her full breasts rose and fell rapidly against the soft fabric of her gown. The scent of body-warmed lavender drifted around him. Her dark eyes were sharp with pain, the single braid of her sleep-mussed hair lying over her left shoulder. “Let’s get you in my office.”
“Oh, no!” She looked appalled. “I’m in my nightclothes.”
As if it were all right to be wearing them in the lobby where anyone could see. Russ bit back a smile. “Lydia, your wrapper needs to come off so I can look at your arm. You don’t want me to do that out here, do you?”
“N-no.” Her skin was waxy and blood still seeped steadily from the wound.
Naomi moved to help her up.
“I’ve got her.” Russ shifted to the side and scooped Lydia up in his arms, gathering the dressing gown around her.
“Oh!” She clutched at his forearm as if to keep her balance. “I can walk.”
“This will be faster.”
“Really, I can walk,” she insisted in a weak voice.
“Glad to hear it.” But he didn’t put her down.
Naomi hurried behind them like a mother hen.
Lydia didn’t argue further as she found herself sinking into the warmth of Russ’s body. Cradled against his bare hairy chest, she rested her head on his shoulder. Pain seared her arm and she could feel the hot trickle of blood. Struggling not to cry, she forced herself to focus on something else. Her gaze caught on the sculpted corner of Russ’s jaw.
Only half his face was shaved. He must’ve been interrupted by the disturbance. There was a dab of shaving soap just below his ear and Lydia breathed in the spicy scent. “I’m bleeding on you.”
“I’ll wash.” He looked down, concern in his blue eyes as he stepped into the office which also served as his living quarters.
He walked across the room and laid her on his huge, sleep-rumpled bed. She made a sound of protest, starting to sit up.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay down. You look like you could pass out any second.”
She obeyed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his shoulders blocking most of the light. Lydia felt dwarfed. The sheet and quilt were sh
oved to the foot of the bed and she could smell him here, too.
Agony drove into her flesh like needles and she felt a tear trickle down her cheek. “I don’t think it’s very deep.”
“Hard to tell,” he said.
Naomi came to stand next to her and Russ drew back, allowing the black woman to lean over and ease off the other wrapper sleeve. When she finished, she moved the garment out of the way on the opposite side of the bed. The nightgown’s sleeve was blood-soaked, clinging to Lydia’s slender arm.
“You’re still bleeding a lot.” Russ turned and grabbed his razor from the washstand behind him. “I need to cut off your sleeve.”
“No! This gown is part of my trouss—is new.”
“It’s that or get you out of it.” At her blank look, he said meaningfully, “All the way out of it.”
When she realized her choice was lose a sleeve or be naked, she nodded. “All right.”
She’d barely agreed when he made a clean slice at the top of her shoulder seam and ripped the sleeve in half down to her wrist. The crimson-stained halves dropped away from her arm, revealing dark streaks of blood. Russ closed his straightedge, setting it aside as he bent over her.
The gaslight wasn’t strong enough for Lydia to judge the extent of the wound, but Naomi lit the kerosene lamp beside Russ’s bed and held it up.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
The amber light fell over a shallow line of flesh furrowed out of Lydia’s arm. The wound slashed about four inches diagonally from her upper arm to her shoulder. As careful as Russ was in his examination, she winced.
“I don’t know if you need stitches.” He was so close his breath feathered her chin. “I’m sending someone for our nurse.”
“Naomi can take care of me. She doctored everyone back home.”
As if he didn’t hear her, he turned to the other woman. “The water in the basin should still be warm. Would you grab the clean toweling off my washstand and wet it?”
Lydia chafed while her friend did as he asked, then returned with the cloth. Russ’s head bent as he carefully placed the damp fabric over the wound. Lydia found herself staring at the nape of his corded neck, the supple sun-bronzed skin of his wide shoulders and back. His hands were big just like the rest of him, but his touch was soft as a feather.
