by Kit Morgan
Clinton Blethyn Jones closed his notebook and returned it to the inside pocket of his jacket. The barkeep was bringing his drink, and he didn’t want him getting a gander at his report. “Thanks,” he said as the man set the glass on the table.
“Anything else, Mister?” the barkeep asked. He looked to be in his thirties, had a muscular build and an Irish accent. Clint wondered how many bar fights he had to break up on a daily basis.
“A room, if you have one.”
The Irishman looked him up and down. “Yer not a miner, are ye?”
No. But he couldn’t tell him the real reason he was there. “I’m a salesman.”
“Are ye now? And what might ye be selling?”
Clint smiled. He’d rehearsed this well. “Barbed wire.”
The Irishman scratched his head. “What kind of wire, ye say?”
“Barbed. I have some samples if you’d like to see them.”
“What’s it for?”
“Fencing. I’m here to speak with the local ranchers and whoever runs the dry-goods store.”
“Hmm … well, Liam Fulton would be the man to speak to. And I suppose there’s a few ranchers around ye could haggle with, but other than that, ye won’t have many customers.”
Clint smiled. “Thank you kindly for the information, Innkeeper.”
“Seamus. Call me Seamus. And you are?”
He saw no reason to lie about that. “Clint B. Jones at your service.”
“Aye, well, Mr. Jones, if ye were here about the silver, I’d say set yerself up at the miners’ camp outside town. But as yer a salesman, I think I can accommodate ye.” He glanced at a staircase. “I happen to have a room available.”
“I’ll take it. How much?” They worked out the details and, his room secured, Clint downed his drink. He gathered his belongings and followed the barkeep to the staircase. Upstairs they stopped at a door at the end of the hall. There weren’t many rooms, and he counted himself lucky to get one. Who knew how long it would take to complete his assignment?
“Here ye are, sir,” Seamus said as he unlocked the door and swung it wide. Clint followed him into the dimly lit space. “It’s a might dusty, but nothing a rag and time can’t fix.”
“You’ll do that for me?” Clint asked.
“No, but I’m sure ye’ll have the job done in no time. This isn’t the big city, Mr. Jones. Most men around here don’t mind a wee bit of dirt.”
Clint forced a smile. Seamus was right, judging from what he’d seen so far. The locals were a dirty, smelly, but hardworking lot. A good thing, too – Noelle would need what he had to offer soon enough, if it didn’t already – and that would take a lot of work. “Tell me, Seamus, who’s the mayor here?” he asked, though he already knew.
“That would be Charles Hardt. He owns this place too, and a few others in town. You’ll find him either up at his mine or at his office – Noelle Mining and Smelter.”
“Much obliged.”
Seamus eyed him. “I thought ye said ye were here to sell that barbed fence of yours.”
“Wire,” Clint corrected. “True, but everyone knows Noelle is booming. It’d only be wise to find out how much.”
Seamus laughed. “Step outside those saloon doors and ye’ll see how much!” He tossed the room key on the cot and left the room.
Clint shut the door behind him, went to the sole window and drew back the dusty curtains. The street below was bustling with activity, and he smiled. Wells Fargo had appointed him to find out as much as he could about Noelle, the silver mine, and their chances for doing good business there. The town had one bank already, and he needed to find out how much use it got.
Miners usually spent their findings on whiskey and women, but what about the other folks in town? A dozen brides had been brought to Noelle in December – that meant twelve respectable families, or soon to be. If more of the locals married and the town grew in that fashion, his employers were likely to open a branch here. Would there be enough customers to warrant such a venture? That’s what he was there to find out.
He unpacked his few belongings, checked to make sure his samples of barbed wire were in order, then went downstairs to see if Seamus had a rag he could borrow. The room really was dusty, and he didn’t fancy getting covered with it every time he moved.
As he returned to his room, dust cloth in hand, he heard the laughter of two women. Did the saloon keep whores? He hadn’t seen any downstairs, but it was early afternoon – maybe they didn’t start work until later. He’d better find out. He knew the town had at least one cathouse – he’d overheard some of the men downstairs talk about it. He’d take a look around before tracking down the mayor to see how many brothels the town had.
After cleaning his small room, he looked over his handiwork, then grabbed the pitcher from the washstand and took it downstairs. “Seamus,” he called when he reached the bar. “Is there a pump out back?”
“Aye. Down that hall and out the door.”
“Thanks,” Clint headed for the hall behind the bar.
“Got yer guests doin’ their own cleanin’ again?” a miner laughed.
“Quiet, you!” Seamus barked back. “I’ve no time to bother with cleaning rooms.”
“Yeah, now ‘at they’re finally getting’ used!” another heckled.
Seamus snarled at him and went back to cleaning glasses. Clint chuckled at the exchange and continued down the hall.
After filling the pitcher, he went back to his room, washed his face and shaved. He wanted to look his best when he met Mayor Hardt. No doubt the man had already dealt with an opportunist or two. He didn’t want to look too shabby, but he didn’t want to come across as just another slick conman either. The poor fellow would have enough of those to deal with. He went to the window, opened it and prepared to toss out the wash water.
“Oh!”
Clint looked to his left. “Oh,” he echoed. Not easy, considering his breath caught in his throat. Leaning out the window next door, also emptying out a basin, was the most angelic creature he’d ever seen. Raven curls framed her face, accentuating her alabaster complexion. But it was her eyes that captured him – wide open, a vibrant violet against her creamy skin – the most unusual color he’d ever seen. “Hello,” he finally managed.
“Hello,” she said shyly. “Are you … a guest?”
“Yes, I am,” he said, thankful his voice didn’t crack. “You?”
“Yes, I’m a guest. But not of the saloon, I mean.”
He smiled. She was adorable. Her voice was delicate and young. She was pure innocence in a blue dress. “No?”
She blushed. “My friend lives here. I’m her guest.”
His brow knit. Who lived in a saloon? “She lives here?” Maybe Seamus did keep whores after all.
She swallowed. “Y-yes,” she squeaked as the washbasin in her hands tilted, dumping its contents.
“Dangblast it!” a gruff voice bellowed from below. “Watch what you’re doing!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir,” she called down.
A heavily bearded – and heavily drenched – man shook a fist at her and grumbled before stalking away.
“Oh dear,” she said. “I didn’t make a friend of him, did I?”
“I should say not,” Clint said. He leaned farther out the window, dumping his own washbowl in the process.
“Ack!” came a screech from below. “Who did that?”
“I apologize,” Clint called down as his pretty neighbor gasped, then giggled. “I’m afraid I didn’t see you there.”
The man below looked up at him, at the woman, swore under his breath and stomped off.
“Oh dear,” the angel said. “Neither one of us is making a very good impression.”
“Not on those below us, anyway. I’m Clint Jones.”
She blushed. “Hello. I’m Miss Ophelia Rathbone.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Rathbone. You hang out of windows often?”
“No,” she said with a smile, her e
yes brightening. “I was just freshening up. My friend and I are going to supper.”
“I see. To one of the fine eating establishments in town?”
“No,” she said with another giggle. “You won’t find anything like that here. We’re dining with the mayor.”
Clint smiled – what luck! “Do tell? Your friend knows him?”
“Oh yes, quite well.”
“I should like to meet him myself.”
“Oh.” She ducked inside.
Clint craned his neck to catch another glimpse of her. “Hello? Miss Rathbone?”
Her head popped out the window again. “I was just putting the washbowl away. I’ll ask my friend to introduce you.”
“That’s most kind.” He smiled again, then glanced at the basin still in his hands. “Don’t go away.” He’d best put it back before he dropped it on someone’s head. He set it on the washstand, then hurried back to the window, but by the time he poked his head out again his pretty neighbor was gone.
A knock sounded at the door, causing him to straighten up – right into the window frame. “OW!” He rubbed the back of his head as he ducked inside. “Just a minute,” he said as he went to the door, opened it …
… and stopped breathing. “Hello,” the angel said. “I know this is improper, but I can’t see it’s any different from conversing out the windows.”
He managed a smile, or at least a grimace. “Indeed, I wouldn’t think so. Besides, it’s cold outside.” He straightened. “So you’re new in town?” Please let her not work here! he added silently.
“Yes, I’m visiting …” she stopped and looked away. “I mean, I’m here to work with my friend Felicity.”
His heart sank. Oh, no. But to make sure he asked, “And this Felicity, she lives here in the saloon?”
“Yes. But it’s only temporary, until there’s a place built that’s big enough for all of us.”
“Us?”
“Oh dear, I’m not explaining this very well, am I?”
He tried not to grimace. Actually, she was explaining things quite well – the town was to have another whorehouse. “No, I understand perfectly.” He took one last look at the vision before him. She had to be a new girl – she wouldn’t stay that lovely for long. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d best finish what I started.”
“Of course,” she said. “So sorry to have disturbed you. Maybe we’ll see each other later?”
He nodded and closed the door. “What a shame,” he muttered. “And such a pretty thing too.” With a sigh of dismay he went to the bed where he’d laid his jacket, picked it up and put it on. The last thing he wanted to do was to be introduced to the mayor by a couple of whores. How would that look? Wait a minute, what did she say? She and her friend were having supper with the mayor. But wasn’t he a married man?
Clint shook his head. His employers wanted to serve the respectable residents of Noelle. But how many could there possibly be when the newlywed mayor entertained whores? He shook his head, pulled his little notebook out and began to jot his current findings down.
Ophelia returned to her room with a sigh. What a handsome man – and he acted a gentleman too! But wait – what was she thinking? One of the reasons her father booted her out of the house was because she refused to marry. Okay, refused to marry his choice of a husband, but she’d still been adamant that she’d remain single if it would further the cause of women. Not that she was against marriage, she just hadn’t found the right man, one who would treat her as an equal and support the cause as ardently as she did.
Unfortunately, she’d just turned twenty-two and (according to her mother) had lost her bloom. Such a sad state of affairs for the Rathbones to have such a beautiful yet difficult daughter …
Ophelia rolled her eyes at the thought and sat on her cot. It was hard and uncomfortable, but she’d bear it for Felicity’s sake. After all, here was a rugged town full of new brides, all there to make a home for themselves and their future families. She wanted to be part of something greater than herself, something that would make Noelle the diamond of Colorado. This was perfect! She didn’t have time for men.
Though Mr. Jones did have those rugged good looks one read about in novels – chiseled features, chestnut hair, blue eyes … she sighed again, got up and went to the window. She’d had to close it on account of the cold. It was another reason she’d decided to knock on his door. A bold move, but he said he’d like to be introduced to the mayor, so shouldn’t she find out a little about him to tell Felicity?
Speaking of Felicity, how long did it take to run out back for a pitcher of water? They’d been laughing and reminiscing all afternoon, then decided to freshen up before leaving for the Hardts’ cabin. Granted that they were waiting for Felicity’s husband, the minister, who hadn’t come home yet. When he did, they’d be off.
Good. She was looking forward to meeting Mrs. Hardt. Felicity had told her stories all afternoon about the woman’s supposed bad luck after she and the other mail-order brides arrived. Some of what happened to the woman was awful, while other incidents made Ophelia laugh. Who could have such things happen to them? But when one got down to it, none of it should be laughed at, and she felt ashamed as she washed her face and fixed her hair. Then she’d gone to dump the wash water, and …
Ophelia sighed, stared out the window, and fought the urge to open it and stick her head out again.
Chapter Three
And this is Miss Ophelia Rathbone,” Chase said to the mayor.
Charlie Hardt gave Ophelia a pleasant smile. “A pleasure to meet you. May I present my wife Penny?”
Ophelia smiled at Penny. The Hardts, like Felicity and her husband Chase, lived in the accommodations the men had when they married. For Felicity and Chase, it was a room over the saloon at the Golden Nugget. For Charlie and Penny Hardt, it was a tiny cabin near his mine.
“I hope you don’t mind the cramped quarters,” Mayor Hardt said. “We’ll start building our house as soon as it thaws.”
“And what a house it’s going to be.” Chase looked at Ophelia. “Charlie here plans to build it on the hill overlooking the town.”
Ophelia did her best to picture the place, but Noelle had no shortage of hills. This was rugged mountainous country surrounded by vast wilderness – just like everywhere in Colorado outside of Denver. “And what about your church and parsonage?” she asked Chase.
“All in due time, Miss Rathbone. First we have to wait for spring, just like everyone else.”
“Seems there’ll be a lot of building going on,” she remarked.
“Indeed there will,” Penny said. “Won’t you sit down? Supper will be ready in a moment.”
Felicity and Ophelia sat in the two chairs, while Chase and the mayor used a couple of small barrels. The cabin was small but cozy, and she could see the touches Penny had managed since they’d married a month before. Either that or the mayor had already been fond of gingham curtains, lace tablecloths and the nice silverware that had been laid out. There was also a lovely quilt gracing their bed in the corner.
“Felicity has told us so much about you,” Penny said, stirring a pot on the stove.
Ophelia stiffened. Not about her falling out with her father, she hoped. No, she wouldn’t have had time – Ophelia only arrived yesterday, and she’d spent most of that time in Felicity’s company. She didn’t even meet Rev. Hammond until that morning – he’d been in the miners’ camp at the other end of town, smoothing over a disagreement between several men. When Felicity received a message via Woody Burnside that he’d be home late, she made them each a sandwich for supper.
Poor Felicity. Rev. Hammond was a busy man, being the only preacher in town. Ophelia was beginning to wonder if her friend got much time with him. Thank Heaven for this evening.
“Penny, do you need any help?” Felicity asked.
“None – it’s ready.” She carried a tureen to the table and set it down. “Charlie, the bread?”
“Oh yes, sorry.” He go
t up, went to a small sideboard and fetched a plate of sliced bread, setting it next to the tureen. “I’m slacking in my duties,” he joked.
Chase laughed. “If only my duties were bringing bread to the table.”
Charlie laughed too. “Yours and mine both. The way Noelle is growing, it’s a wonder we have time to sleep!”
“Are there really that many new people in town?” Ophelia asked. “Felicity said there were, but not knowing the numbers before I came …”
“Trust us,” Penny said as she sat. “Charlie’s silver mine has caused a boom in Noelle. We’re having to be very picky who we let invest.”
“Invest?”
“Yes,” Chase said. “For instance, Felicity and I invested in Charlie’s mine, as did the other brides and grooms I married over the twelve days of Christmas.”
“I see.” She glanced at Felicity. “The mine’s doing well, then?”
Charlie laughed. “You could say that, Miss Rathbone, yes.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t mean to be impertinent, just curious.”
“You weren’t being impertinent,” Felicity assured her. “Chase, will you say the blessing?”
The reverend clasped his hands in front of him. Everyone followed suit and, after the blessing, began to eat. Ophelia found Penny’s venison stew quite tasty. “I’ve never had wild game before. This is wonderful.”
“Thank you,” Penny looked at her husband. “How do you like it?”
He winked and smiled. “One more thing to make me love you.”
Ophelia warmed at his loving words to his wife. What would it be like being married? She’d never pictured Felicity succumbing to matrimony, but here she was, happily living with a minister in a room over a saloon in a town full of rowdy miners.
Her new neighbor suddenly popped into her head. “There’s someone in the room next to mine.”
“There is?” Chase said.
“Oh yes,” Felicity said. “Ophelia mentioned it before you came home.”
Everyone looked at Ophelia. “At the saloon?” Penny said. “Not a miner, then.”
