Why Not
A Valentine Matchmakers Novella
By
Debra E. Marvin
Copyright © 2016 by Debra E. Marvin.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be resold, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Piracy is illegal. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, dialogue, incidents, and places either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements:
First, to the Lord of All Creation and the amazing beauty of our world.
Sincere thanks to my beta readers and critique partners who always take my story up a notch…or ten, and a Thank You to Cynthia Hickey and Winged Publications.
And a round of applause for the folks at our National and State Parks who try to balance protecting our natural resources with public accessibility.
Where there is strife, there is pride, but wisdom is found in
those who take advice. Proverbs 13:10
Chapter One
Grand Canyon Village, Arizona, February 1914
Façade—and exterior wall created for its outward appearance
Stone Morrison wiped sweat from his brow and straightened to release the tension in his back. After waiting a week for this load of supplies, he had five impossible minutes to empty the boxcar before the train departed on the outbound.
As he picked up another bag of mortar, a robust “How-doo!” greeted him from Mrs. Bunch’s powerful lungs.
The mortar doubled in weight in his weary arms and he rested it against the wagon’s bed. Half lumberjack, half schoolmarm, she marched toward him in men’s trousers and two layers of wool shirts. Despite her advanced age—fifty if a day—she moved like a man half her age. Surly as an old wildcat, too.
He secretly enjoyed her company.
“Mr. Morrison!”
“Yes, ma’am?” That was when he noticed a gal with a parasol scurrying along behind her. A pretty little thing, but even at two hundred paces, her gaze and the set of her jaw was as determined as Mrs. Bunch’s.
What did they want?
“Glad I caught you,” Mrs. Bunch declared, removing her straw hat and scratching at her bushy hair. “This here’s Miss Wynott. Come to meet your boss, Miss Colter. It’ll save us all a trip if’n she can ride out the Hermit Road with you.”
Stone pushed the bag of mortar farther onto the open bed of the wagon, squaring it perpendicular to the side rails before facing the women. He wiped his hand on his pant leg and—too long in the company of males, and Mrs. Bunch—almost reached to shake the girl’s hand.
“Miss.” He tipped his Homburg hat instead, eyeing the fancy coat and its white fur trim. “You’d be better off waiting at the hotel.”
Miss Wynott didn’t flinch. “My uncle, William Wynott of the Sante Fe railroad, wrote to Miss Colter. I assure you she’s expecting me.”
All business that one. “I didn’t doubt you.” The name sounded familiar, and explained how a gal dressed like a magazine cover thought she’d be anything but a nuisance around a work site. In winter, no less. “And how will you return to your hotel if I take you?”
“The boss says Dutch will be paid to fetch her where she wants to go,” Mrs. Bunch reassured him. “He’ll be out in a few hours. Right now I best get back to the store.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bunch,” the gal called after her. “You’ve been so very kind.”
“Not sure about that,” she replied, already marching away.
Stone caught Miss Fancy stealing a glance at him. What did she expect to do all afternoon? He was tired and cranky and overdressed for suddenly warm February day. “You can get up on the bench there. I’ve got a few more things to load before I head back.”
“Can I help you?”
Was she serious? Not unless she counted turning her back so he could remove his wool over-shirt.
She took the hint well enough, but stood near the front of the wagon instead of climbing up in the seat like he’d asked. Maybe she wouldn’t be much trouble. Of course his top man, Jonathan, would likely pay more attention to her than his work, and suffer a sore thumb before sunset.
Stone tossed his shirt on the wagon, noting how tattered and terminally stained his union suit’s cuffs were. He rolled them up and returned to his work, securing some reinforcement rods, the crate bearing Miss Colter’s cherished antique bell for the arch, and finished by counting his bags of mortar. He was one short.
“I’ve got to check inside the freight car. Then we’ll be on our way.”
She refocused on him, a generous curve to her mouth. “I do hate to be a bother.”
No doubt.
He crossed the distance, chiding himself for promptly forgiving her intrusion to his schedule. He grabbed the side of the boxcar, hopped up, and pulled himself inside the opened door. Empty except for the missing bag along the far wall and his sometimes dog Teddy. Her tail wagged but she never stopped watching out the opposite side for jack rabbits. Stone dragged the bag over to the edge, jumped out and hoisted the hundred pounds over his shoulder like it weighed half that. If Miss Wynott was awed by his strength, she might excuse his desperate need for a bath. The gritty bags didn’t help.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed.
He lowered his eyes, humbly dismissing her obvious admiration.
“That’s quite a load. No wonder you need such a sturdy wagon. Are those double springs?”
She was impressed after all. With the wagon.
Teddy, true to her feral nature, launched off the freight car and landed half way between Stone and a startled Miss Wynott. She shrieked, backed into the wagon, grabbing the hand brake. The normally indolent mule jerked forward like she’d been bee-stung. With no wagon below it, the bag of mortar dropped at Stone’s feet and split into a choking white cloud.
Teddy barked an ongoing alarm at the obvious mayhem.
“Teddy! Enough!” Stone coughed.
Miss Wynott trotted away with one hand hoisting her long narrow skirt. “I’m sorry,” she told Sugar who still brayed with indignity. Sugar settled and Miss Wynott had the sense to set the brake.
It would have been funny if it had happened to someone else.
Stone caught up, continuing to cough. He wiped his face with his sleeve. From what he could see, he appeared the victim of a random chalky snowstorm.
Miss Wynott offered a dainty, embroidered handkerchief while studying the now obedient beast at his feet. “I’m so sorry. I thought it was a wolf.”
He handed the hankie back. “Teddy keeps the snake oil salesmen away.” And usually, unwanted visitors.
“I’ll pay for a replacement bag,” she assured him as she reached up to wipe his face, stopped, then calmly stowed the hankie into her little stringed purse. “You do look a fright.”
He backed away. “Do I?” he growled. Stone pulled his red bandana from his back pocket and blew his nose. He gestured toward the station. “There are washrooms inside, if you’re interested. It’ll take us forty or fifty minutes to get out there.” He started walking.
“You need not apologize for…the dirt…”
He turned slowly as the implication sunk in.
Her little gloved hands made vague motions toward his person. “What I meant was, I do understand the nature of an honest day’s labor.”
“I’m sure.”
One perfect brow be
trayed her annoyance but she quickly hid it. “Maybe not. I intend to change that, and that’s why I’m here to speak with Miss Colter.”
“Are you sure she’s expecting you today?” His boss, the very same Miss Colter, hadn’t mentioned it to him, not that she needed to explain.
“This week or next.”
Before entering the depot, Stone batted away at the dust on his clothes. “Stay here.”
Miss Wynott’s brown eyes widened.
“The dog. I meant the dog.”
“Of course.” But she still hadn’t moved when he entered the depot and headed to the washroom.
The creature in the mirror surprised him. A fine coat of mortar covered everything, making his hair and whiskers gray and his skin ghostly. What he wouldn’t do for a tub bath right now. He settled for washing his face and hands.
He couldn’t risk offending the rich gal and having it get back to his bosses at the Harvey Company, or the bigwigs at the railroad. Every effort, every day was a chance to advance. Patience… The little missy’s enthusiasm wouldn’t last and she’d soon be back to worrying about which new style of hat was in vogue.
When Stone exited the depot, Miss Wynott sat in the wagon sharing the bench and her parasol with Teddy. He climbed up, reclaimed his spot from the dog and with a flick of the reins got Sugar underway. He drove around the depot, and proceeded west, trying to ignore Miss Wynott’s fidgeting as she twisted to and fro to see more of the canyon.
Her frustration grew. “Why are we heading away?”
“Trust me.”
She relaxed as they rolled on past the livery, another mess of tent cabins, and over the rail tracks west of town. Outbound in peace and quiet.
Until Miss Wynott gasped.
Stone pulled up on Sugar’s reins. “What is it?”
One gloved hand covered her mouth. “I’ve seen photographs, of course, but…”
He remembered the feeling. “Your first visit, then?”
~
Amber attempted to answer but, until she caught her breath, it was easier to point.
Mr. Morrison didn’t speak or bother with the purple, blue and brown vista making her heart race. At least that wolf-pretending-to-be-a-dog placed its paws on the seat behind her and peered over her shoulder. It nosed her cheek, and then sniffed at the light breeze rising from the vast canyon. It was much more pleasant than what she’d smelled coming from that tent camp
“Mr. Morrison, won’t you stop so I can take a look?”
“You’ll have plenty of chances along the way. It’s not going anywhere.”
She’d be happy to jump out and run, well, shuffle ahead, but her heart was already tripping along in her chest. When they reached an opening in the trees, he slowed the wagon to a stop.
He gripped her arm. “You’ll see more from the seat here, and it’s safer.”
“Very well.” She sighed. He would know. “Do you ever get used to it?”
“I don’t suppose I have.”
She felt his gaze on her. “What is it?”
“Why are you here, Miss Wynott?”
“To meet Miss Colter. Just like I said. She’s opened a whole new world for women.”
His laughter brought that old familiar tightness in her chest. She squared her shoulders; she wouldn’t allow him to ruin this moment. “My dream is to design buildings with a more natural feel. You of all people must see that as a worthy profession.”
“Of course. But...”
“You don’t think a woman—”
“I don’t think a woman has to stay at home. No. So let’s leave it at that. I have the highest regard for Miss Colter and her work. But she’s…”
“She’s what?” Amber’s temper rose.
“Uniquely gifted.”
Amber had heard that argument before. Uncle William had sent her here to teach her a lesson. Now he was waiting for her to fail. Ha! She’d prove him wrong, even if it meant dealing with this Neanderthal for a few weeks.
“I’m willing to work hard to see what I can do. I will not allow your opinions to dissuade me.”
He turned to her then, surprised. The white fur collar of her coat reflected in eyes as dark green as the scrubby pines and juniper surrounding them. She’d been leaning in front of him for a better view, and now sat back.
“Can I give you some advice?”
She nodded.
“Be careful how close you are to the edge before you jump to conclusions.” He tapped the reins lightly.
She bit her lip to keep from smiling.
As the wagon continued down the road, she studied the big, handsome man next to her. He had a pleasing profile and a fine line of dirt along the side of his neck where his quick wash up ended. According to Mrs. Bunch, Mr. Morrison was the head stonemason for both the Hermit’s Rest project and the one called The Lookout. A respected employee in the Fred Harvey Company. She needed an ally. Maybe there was a better way.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not being angry about what happened back there.” Next to her on the bench like this, he seemed to be as solid and square as the stones he worked with. Maybe more so with his pants and boots covered with grit.
“Who says I wasn’t angry?” One fetching dimple appeared in his cheek, above his still dusty beard.
Why couldn’t he be twice her age and half as good-looking?
Chapter Two
Deflection—deviation from normal position; diversion
Morning sunshine. Thank God.
Amber pushed the sheet and quilt off and waited for her heartrate to slow. Such an extraordinary dream. The one and only Miss Mary Colter—whom she’d met the previous afternoon—had been encouraging, if not chatty, and blissfully admirable. But the Miss Colter of her sub-conscience had laughed cruelly at Amber before disappearing into a swirling snowstorm. Mr. Morrison appeared, took Amber’s hand and led her precariously close to the edge of the canyon.
She’d slipped. The horrid shock in his lovely eyes must have matched hers as she tumbled down the ravine only to awake in the sunlit, silent morning of her hotel suite.
Now, wide awake, she enjoyed the memory of him glaring at her through dusty long lashes. She hadn’t spoken to him again after their arrival at his work site, but she’d seen him atop the strange roof and waved. In return, he’d pointed out over the canyon and mimicked the flight of a bird. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but what she’d watched had been a pair of condors soaring on their massive wings. On the way back to the hotel yesterday, her driver, Dutch, told her they were a common sight riding the wind. They mated for life. Fifty years or more.
Today, she’d bring her sketchbook out to the construction site. Miss Colter would be over at her other building site before heading out of town, but had encouraged Amber to study the Hermit’s Rest blueprints and ask the men any questions she may have about the construction process.
Amber shuddered, and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. She’d never met a woman like Miss Colter—one who supervised her men as if she were a man. And they in turn listened with complete respect. At least to her face.
A shrill whistle outside drew her to the hotel window. Dutch stood below where new snow covered the ground and clung to the rough pines. Yesterday, she’d been in a hurry to see Hermit’s Rest and hadn’t bothered to change out of her newest Michigan Avenue ensemble. What was worse, the hobble skirt made it impossible to climb up on the wagon without acrobatics. She’d secretly ripped stitches along the side seam before returning to the hotel, just so she could leave with her dignity.
Today would be different.
Amber opened the window. “I’ll be down in a half hour, Dutch.”
~
Stone’s legs cramped from squatting. “What’s that you’re going on about, Barley?” With a grunt, he rose to get his tool belt.
The old miner hobbled closer. “I said, I heard you had a visitor yesterday.”
“Not me, personally.”
>
“You should be so lucky. The villagers have figgered out she’s related to that blowhard from the railroad, but they don’t mind gawking at her. So respectable and all.”
“Not for long if she keeps hanging around here,” Stone replied. “Believe me she isn’t hunting for a husband.”
“Don’t tell me she’s snooty. Or is she one of them votes-for-women gals?”
Stone stretched his back. “Ask her yourself. From what the boss says, she’ll be here for a few days.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting in my way, I expect.” He grunted. “Waste of time, if you ask me.”
“Well, Miss Colter would be the last one to object, sonny boy.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Stone turned at the sound of an approaching horse and wagon. “Now’s your chance, Barley. You know as much as anyone about the canyon. I’d be thankful if you could keep her occupied.”
“Then why’d you bother getting so fancied up today?”
“I did not.” But his hand double-checked the hair at his forehead.
“No? Beard trimmed and a haircut. Clean pants in the middle of the week?”
“If you’d seen me yesterday, you’d know why.”
“I think I know why.” Barley chuckled as he sauntered off toward the wagon, hailing Dutch.
Stone went back to work.
“Stone?” Dutch, the driver, called. “John Hance caught me outside the post office. Got a package for you. Where d’ya want it?”
He brushed his hands off and approached the wagon. “Thanks.” Then, “morning, Miss Wynott.”
She appeared happy to see him. The visit to the barber had paid off.
“Where’s your wolf?” she asked, not waiting for help down from the seat.
Barley laughed himself into a cough. “Out chasing jackalope. Ever see one, miss? Body of a rabbit, with horns.”
“I’ll definitely keep that in mind. Sounds friendlier than some of the locals.”
Why Not (A Valentine Matchmaker novella) Page 1
