by Debra Cowan
“Water’s fine.” Ef set the pie plate on the table then found two forks in the drawer next to the sink.
After filling a cup for the other man, Russ joined him at the wide table that would be used mostly by the help.
They ate in silence for a minute, Russ savoring the burst of sweet fruit on his tongue.
Grinning, he slid a look at his friend. “Thought you weren’t going to let the lady get a word in edgewise. Never seen you so talkative.”
Flashing him a look, Ef shoveled a piece of pie in his mouth.
“Why don’t you invite her to the Grand Opening?”
“I heard her and Miz Kent talking about Miz Jones doing the cooking that day.”
“Well, ask her to dinner or something.”
“You saw me,” the other man said after washing down the dessert. “I couldn’t get out more than two words.”
“You just need to swap more than a howdy with her.” Russ had seen the way Naomi had looked at his friend, and he didn’t think Ef would have much trouble getting her to agree to spend time with him.
The black man glanced down at his homespun trousers and shirt. “A woman who looks like that ain’t gonna give a man like me the time of day.”
“What are you talkin’ about?”
After a long moment, Ef said, “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She ain’t gonna step out with a blacksmith who has rough hands and rough manners.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with your manners. You never have any problems getting a girl in Abilene.”
Ef glared. “That’s ’cuz I pay them.”
Russ chuckled. “You have your own business. Your reputation is good and solid.”
Hope lit the man’s dark eyes. “You think so?”
“Hell, yes. You’re a good man, Ef. I trust you to have my back any day of the week.” Russ swallowed another bite of pie. “You’ll never know if you don’t ask.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t let thinking be all you do about it.”
Ef gave him a droll look and changed the subject. “Since that man from Chicago didn’t buy your share of the hotel, what are you going to do now to get the money to pay off the loan? You either need something you can sell for a big sum or something that will bring in an income.”
“Yeah, but what?”
“Dang if I know.”
“I’ll have to ponder it for a while.”
The scuff of footsteps had Russ turning to see Miguel Santos, Tony’s fourteen-year-old son, in the doorway. “Hey, Miguel.”
“Hi, Russ. Hi, Ef. My pa sent me over with this wire. It’s from the marshal in Abilene.”
“Oh, good.” Russ laid down his fork to take the message. “Hopefully the marshal knows why that carpenter has been held up.”
“I’m supposed to wait and see if you want to reply,” the boy said.
Russ nodded, gesturing at the pie tin. “Want the last of this pie?”
“Is it Miss Cora’s peach pie?”
“Yep. Get you a fork over there.” He pointed at the drawer. Russ read the note, barely aware of the boy returning to the table and cramming in the last bite of dessert. “Damn.”
“What is it?” Ef asked.
“That carpenter’s disappeared. And I’m not the only one he ran out on, either.”
“What are you going to do?”
“There’s no time to hire anyone else.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling swallowed up by worries for a moment. “I’ll have to finish those rooms out myself. Our grand opening is in less than a week.”
“If you didn’t need money coming in right now, you could postpone the start of business.”
Russ nodded soberly. It wasn’t that he minded finishing the work upstairs, but he could’ve already been doing it if he’d known the lowlife carpenter wasn’t going to show.
“I can help you some,” Ef offered.
“Thanks. I’d appreciate any little bit.”
Miguel jogged over to the sink and splashed water on his face and hands. “You want to send a reply, Russ?”
“Nah, just tell your pa thanks.”
“All right.” The boy left the way he’d come.
“At the smithy earlier, I heard some of your conversation with Miz Kent.” There was a wicked glint in Ef’s dark eyes. “You could hand the problem over to her.”
Russ laughed. He wondered what she would think if he just shucked it off on her. The notion held appeal, but that wouldn’t be right. He’d been the one to hire the carpenter so this problem was his to fix.
Besides, turning over the reins to her was exactly what she wanted and Russ just flat out wasn’t going to give in to her. In fact, he wasn’t even going to tell her.
Lydia was expecting two underground arrivals tonight. She had received a wire from her parents a week ago with an encoded message that said two parcels were en route, meaning she should expect two victims. She was going to do everything in her power to keep them from ending up dead like Minnie Dawkins. Starting with keeping Russ Baldwin upstairs until she learned from Naomi that the women were safely hidden away in the room behind the walk-in pantry.
Lydia had hoped her partner would be drunk again tonight or at least out of the hotel when the battered women showed up, but he was on the third floor, and from the sound of things, not going anywhere.
The crack and thud of hammers hitting wood had been steady for the last couple of hours. When she and Naomi had come back after supper at The Whirlwind Hotel, Russ had told Lydia there were some last-minute things to attend to. He must’ve been referring to whatever it was he was doing upstairs.
Once on the third floor landing, Lydia turned toward the rooms at the opposite end of the hall. The gaslights burned bright along the walls, giving off a sharp musty smell. Russ stood outside one of the guest rooms, holding a door in place while Ef screwed on a top hinge.
The white shirt Russ had worn earlier in the day was damp in places, down the middle of his strong back, around his collar. The fabric clung to him, lightweight enough to be almost transparent, revealing the deep tan of his back, the flex of sinew across muscles cut with definition. A funny feeling uncurled in her stomach.
He looked over his shoulder and the bold sweep of his gaze down her body told her he’d caught her staring. His blue eyes burned into hers.
Foot! She cleared her throat. “Hello.”
“Miz Kent,” Russ said.
“Ma’am.” Ef peered around the door and smiled around a screw he held in his mouth.
“Did you need me for another decision?” Russ grinned before turning back to the wood panel.
Despite his orneriness, the wicked way his mouth hitched had her thinking about the kiss they’d come close to sharing earlier that day. Lydia swallowed hard. She’d told herself she was glad they hadn’t, but ever since then, regret had pulled at her.
Regret? What a goose. The last thing she needed was Russ Baldwin kissing her. Or doing anything else physical. She had to keep their involvement limited to business. The operation was at risk enough with him being in the hotel, especially on nights like tonight when they were expecting secret guests.
Stepping closer, she caught the scent of pine and a hint of wood smoke drifting through the open windows. “Why are you hanging doors? I thought the carpenter from Abilene was going to do that.”
“It’s so close to our opening, I thought I’d give him a hand.”
She frowned. “I never saw him come in.”
“Hmm.”
Ef suddenly seemed very interested in his boots.
“Did he eat supper?” Lydia asked.
“He didn’t complain about missing it.” Russ stepped halfway into the room, studying something intently on the other side.
Suspicion crept through her. “Is something wrong?”
He pulled slightly away from the door to look at her. “What makes you ask that?”
It occurred to her that Russ hadn’t really answered
any of her questions, just given statements which caused her to assume things.
“There’s a problem with the hotel, isn’t there?” she guessed. “What is it? The plumbing, the glass, the beds?”
She heard him curse under his breath, which only stirred her suspicion more. “Russ?”
“The carpenter’s not gonna show,” he muttered, meeting her gaze. Dammit. Russ told her how the man had welshed on their deal and others, as well.
Lydia’s dark gaze shifted between him and the black man. “So, you and Ef are going to do the work?”
Russ nodded, bracing himself for what he knew was coming.
“If you’d allow me, I could take care of it, handle everything.”
And there it was. What would it take to get her to be quiet about that? He bet he could shut her up if he backed her into the wall and kissed her. Which he wouldn’t do because that would only bring him more grief.
“I’ve already handled it,” he snapped, staring flatly at her.
Hurt darkened her eyes and her mouth tightened. He told himself to ignore her wounded look.
She fingered the watch over her bodice, drawing his gaze to her breasts.
He itched to touch her and felt like hitting himself in the head with a hammer. How could he want her? The woman riled him up faster than anyone he knew.
“If I might trouble you for a minute,” she said coolly. “We need to talk about the Grand Opening.”
If she held true to her pattern, she was going to be trouble for longer than a minute. “Talk away.”
She hesitated. Did the man have to be so touchy about her offer? Lydia thought as she watched him close the door then swing it open. After an approving nod from Ef, both men moved across the room to the two empty window frames.
Lydia stepped inside, spying the narrow cut sheets of glass against the wall. She remained silent as the two men carefully lifted the window and settled it in place. “Do you think we’ll be ready by Saturday or should we postpone?”
“That gives me five days,” Russ said. “These rooms will likely be finished and if they aren’t, they’ll be close. Let’s stick with the original date.”
She nodded, wrestling with her hurt over his snapping at her. And the realization she’d had earlier that if she hadn’t asked questions about the carpenter, Russ never would’ve told her the man wasn’t coming. “All right, then. I’ll tell Mr. Prescott at the paper we don’t need to change the advertisement.”
Russ and Ef exchanged a look before Russ asked, “You haven’t had any trouble with Quentin, have you?”
“Trouble?”
“He’s a hard man. Can be mean, too.”
“So far, there’s been no problem.” Though now that she thought about it, the wheelchair-bound man hadn’t been nearly as friendly as the other people she’d met in Whirlwind.
Russ seemed satisfied with her answer. Since she hadn’t seen Naomi yet, Lydia knew she had to stay up here and make sure the men didn’t go downstairs.
“I thought we could begin the festivities at five that afternoon and serve samples from our menu.”
“Is it too late to add something to the menu?”
“No.” She dug her journal from her skirt pocket. “I imagine that will be an ongoing process. What would you like?”
“Possum pie.”
“Possum pie!” Her pencil stopped midstroke as her gaze flew to his. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”
“I wouldn’t pull anything without your leave, Lydia.”
The low timbre of his voice sent a jolt of sensation clear to her toes. Her breath caught, though she wasn’t sure whether it was because of Russ’s suggestive words or the glitter of frank male interest in his eyes. What was he about? Trying to put her off?
“If you or Naomi don’t know how to make possum pie,” he continued, “you can ask Pearl to make it.”
“I think not.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste, catching sight of his grin before he turned back to his task.
“Your idea about letting people sample the menu is good.” He eyed the window critically as Ef leveled it. “Then what?”
“At seven, we can move the tables and open the dining room and lobby for dancing.” She rubbed her injured arm, massaging the ache there. “Josie told me Cal and Jed Doyle are quite the musicians so I’ve asked them to play.”
Russ and Ef nodded their agreement.
“And I hired Zoe Keeler as a maid today. Thank you for sending her over. I think she’ll be a good worker.”
“You can count on that with Zoe.” Russ glanced at her. “Is your arm paining you?”
Lydia realized she was still kneading it and dropped her hand. “It’s just sore from unpacking crates. The washbasins for the rooms were delivered and we also received our crockery and cutlery.”
“Sounds like we’re comin’ right along then.”
“Yes.” Lydia wondered when their secret guests would arrive and hoped there hadn’t been trouble.
“I’m glad you came up,” Russ said. “There’s an idea I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Along the same lines as your possum pie?”
One corner of his mouth hitched up in a grin. “Better.”
“That’s…hard to imagine,” she said wryly.
He cast a quick unreadable glance at Ef. “Because the deal with Mr. Julius fell through, I need a way to bring in some money. Even though there might be other buyers interested, they could change their minds just as Mr. Julius did.”
“True.”
He dragged an arm across his perspiring forehead, his sleeve coming away damp. “The solution needs to be something that doesn’t take too long to get going.”
She nodded, her gaze roving over the wide shelf of his shoulders, the hard belly hinted at beneath his shirt. The enticing scents of man and pine and the outdoors slid into her lungs.
The four-button placket of his shirt was open, revealing a tuft of dark chest hair. She tracked a trickle of sweat down his strong neck to the hollow of his throat. Why did that make her stomach clench?
“I want to open a gambling room.”
“A gambling room?” She stilled. “Here? In the hotel?”
“Yes. There’s plenty of space downstairs to accommodate one. We wouldn’t need any cash to start, only cards and dice.”
“And some tables,” Ef added.
As if there weren’t enough risk to her operation already in having to get around Russ and the hotel staff. “No, I don’t think so!”
“Why the hell not?” He scowled. “It’s the perfect plan.”
“Perfect for you, you mean,” she retorted.
“Well, yeah.” He folded his arms, staring her down.
Her thoughts raced past the panic his announcement had sent through her. She knew he needed the money. She wasn’t unsympathetic, but a gambling room?
Lydia softened her voice. “Russ, that would mean men coming and going into the late hours.”
“And spending money.”
“Naomi and I live here.”
“I’d split the take with you. It’s half your hotel, too.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what are you getting at?” he growled, his biceps flexing beneath his shirt. “Spit it out.”
“Two unmarried women living in a hotel with men stopping by frequently and often after dark? Our reputations would be ruined.”
“Oh, hell, they aren’t going to come up to your rooms.”
“That’s not the point and besides, you can’t know that.”
He unfolded his arms and took a step toward her. “Listen, my sale to Julius already went bust because of—”
“Russ,” Ef interrupted quickly. “Miz Kent’s right. It would look bad. People could get the wrong impression real easy.”
Lydia was a little surprised his friend agreed with her. Russ dragged a hand down his handsome face and her heart twisted at the fatigue and frustration there. She wanted to help him, but she couldn’t agree to
this suggestion. Such an enterprise would threaten everything she and Naomi were working so hard to keep secret.
“I’m sorry,” she started, feeling like a shrew. “I know you need the money. It’s not that I don’t understand.”
He waved her off. “You’re right. There’s your reputation to consider, and Miz Jones’s, too. That didn’t cross my mind.”
“Maybe together we can come up with an idea.”
“No.” He stiffened. “This is my problem. I’ll figure out how to handle it.”
He sounded offended, which hadn’t been her intention. Couldn’t the man accept her help for anything at all? “Russ, I—”
The heavy thud of boots echoing up the stairs had her pivoting. She knew that wasn’t Naomi.
It was the sheriff, she realized, as Davis Lee Holt reached the landing. Lydia choked back a flutter of panic. She hadn’t considered someone coming upstairs, had thought only about keeping Russ and Ef from going downstairs. Foot!
The tall dark-haired lawman swept off his hat as his long-legged stride closed the distance between them. Shadows danced around him as he passed the burning gaslights. “Miz Kent, how are you tonight?”
“Fine, Sheriff. And yourself?”
“No complaints. I think Miz Jones might be looking for you downstairs.”
Hopefully that meant the women had arrived. “I should go down then.”
“Would you mind waiting a minute?” he asked. “I found something in that dead man’s saddlebags and I need to talk to you and Russ about it.”
Ef moved toward the door. “I’ll step out.”
“There’s no need,” Russ said. “Unless Lydia has a problem with you staying.”
“Not at all.” Until she knew why Naomi was looking for her, she needed to keep both men upstairs.
The black man shrugged his big shoulders and returned to sanding the window frame.
Davis Lee reached into the back pocket of his brown trousers. “Since we buried Mr. and Mrs. Dawkins, I’ve been trying to find something to tell me if the woman was deliberately headed to Whirlwind or just stopping where she thought she had the least chance of being found. Their belongings have been locked up over at the jail and since no one’s claimed them, I went through Dawkins’s saddlebag. I found a letter.”
