by Cat Cahill
RUNNING FROM FOREVER
The Gilbert Girls, Book Two
by Cat Cahill
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at:
http://www.catcahill.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Cat Cahill
Cover design by EDH Professionals
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1096652977 (paperback)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Epilogue
Books in The Gilbert Girls series
About the Author, Cat Cahill
Chapter One
Crest Stone, Colorado Territory – 1875
Thomas Drexel was lucky.
Or at least he had been lately. He was lucky that Monroe Hartley had hired him back in Denver, when all he needed was to get out of town as fast as possible. He was lucky the work paid well. He was lucky hardly anyone ever came to this hidden valley. And even when the hotel burned up all his hard work over the summer, he was lucky they needed to rebuild and kept him on.
He hoped his luck would hold now. It was either that or go to California or Mexico—someplace no one would ever think to look for him. He pulled off his hat, smoothed down his sun-streaked hair, and knocked on the door of the McFarlands’ apartment.
Mrs. McFarland answered, rosy-cheeked and smiling as always.
“Good morning, ma’am. I work—or worked, really—on the building crew. I’m Thomas Drexel. I’m wondering if I might have a word with your husband?”
“You must be hungry,” she said by way of inviting him in.
“No need to trouble yourself.” He inched in, feeling six kinds of awkward in her well-kept home. Thomas hadn’t seen the inside of it since he’d helped install the wood trim a few weeks ago. As the hotel manager and the bookkeeper, Mr. and Mrs. McFarland were appointed a three-room apartment on the first floor of the hotel.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. McFarland said with a warm smile. “Do sit. I’ll fetch Mr. McFarland and some hotcakes and bacon.”
Thomas’s stomach rumbled at the very mention of bacon. The building crew usually made do with a stew of venison or rabbit and, if a man had enough time to make a trip to Cañon City, some cheese or bread. It had been nonstop work since the hotel had burned in early August. Now, finally, it was all completed and due to open to guests tomorrow.
“Thomas!” McFarland entered the room. He had seemingly transformed overnight from a grizzled bear of a man who’d worked on everything from repairing the existing buildings across the tracks to fetching supplies in town to a gentleman with slicked-back hair, neatly trimmed beard, and, of all things, a suit.
Thomas blinked for a moment, trying to sort out what he saw. “Good morning,” he said a bit stiffly.
McFarland laughed. “Surprised how I cleaned up?” he asked in his Irish brogue.
“No, sir.” Thomas recovered quickly. He had a large favor to ask, and insulting the man wasn’t exactly the best way to begin.
Mrs. McFarland arrived at that moment with two plates of hotcakes and bacon and two mugs of steaming coffee. It was perfect timing, both for the potential awkwardness of the situation and for Thomas’s stomach.
After they’d both eaten their share of breakfast and discussed the state of the new hotel, Mr. McFarland asked, “What brings you to see me? Aside from my wife’s cooking, that is.”
Thomas drew in a breath. “I’m hoping that after the crew is dismissed today, I might stay on. I could do any sort of work. Carpentry, as you know. I’m good with horses and livestock. I can repair just about anything. I can fetch necessities from town. Anything you might need.”
“Can you cook?” Mr. McFarland asked.
Thomas nearly choked on his tea. “I . . . well, I can learn. I’m a quick study.”
McFarland laughed again. “I’m joking. We have enough kitchen boys.” He set his coffee on the lovely hand-carved low table. “You’ve been a good worker, Thomas. I could certainly find something for you to do here, but I’m curious why. You could find better-paying work with the building boom up in Denver, especially now that you have experience.”
Thomas wasn’t prepared for this question, but he quickly formulated an answer. “I like this place, this hotel. I feel at home here.” He hoped that was enough to avoid any more questions.
McFarland nodded. “I’ve been here a while myself, since the days of the railroad camp. There’s something about this valley.”
Thomas murmured in agreement, even though he hadn’t really thought of it that way. He just needed to stay here, out of sight, tucked away in this valley where no one knew who he was.
McFarland was watching him. “Of course, I was also sweet on this girl whose family had a small ranch a few miles away.”
Thomas’s thoughts instantly flicked to the pretty blonde girl he’d first noticed at Hartley’s wedding a couple of months back. Since that time, he’d seen her now and then—fetching food from the springhouse at the creek behind the hotel; making her way across the railroad tracks and the hill that stood between the new hotel and the old white house where she’d been living with the other girls; laughing as she entered the rebuilt hotel for the first time. He swallowed. The last thing he needed was McFarland suspecting him of breaking the rules with one of the Gilbert Girls, especially when he’d never so much as spoken to her. The hotel’s restaurant waitresses were strictly forbidden, if a man wanted to keep his position with the Gilbert Company. “There’s no girl.”
The man kept his eyes on Thomas a moment longer, then nodded. “All right. If you want, you can start right away. The head chef has already requested more shelving in the pantry. Speak to him and find out what he wants.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Thomas shook McFarland’s hand and made his way back through the hotel toward the kitchen.
The large hotel lobby was mostly empty, save for a couple of new men behind the front desk and a more travel-weary man in front of it.
&
nbsp; “Sir, I don’t know if we’re allowed to post those,” one of the new hotel employees said.
“Then I’ll wait for your boss.” The dusty man in front of the desk dropped the saddlebags from his shoulder to the floor. He must have traveled all night to get here so early.
Thomas slowed his pace, eyes fixed on the front doors of the hotel but ears trained on the conversation at the desk.
“Go on,” the traveler said to the man behind the desk. “’Lest you prefer scofflaws and murderers roaming free.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas could see one of the desk clerks move quickly toward the wing that housed McFarland’s apartment.
Scofflaws and murderers.
Thomas swallowed hard and yanked his hat down farther over his eyes before sliding out one of the imposing front doors into the sunlight.
His days here might be more numbered than he’d thought.
Chapter Two
Crest Stone, Colorado Territory
Caroline Beauchamp surveyed the hotel’s dining room for the millionth time that morning. She wanted to ensure each table was at least two feet away from its neighbors, the floor was spotless, and the tablecloths showed not a single wrinkle. Somehow it calmed her to do things such as this. Speaking of the tablecloths . . .
She pinched a corner of cloth and examined it a bit more closely. These would need to be pressed again today. She’d be certain to let Mrs. Ruby know after the morning meeting. One by one, the other girls streamed into the dining room, some yawning, others almost bursting with excitement. Penny and Dora, two of Caroline’s first friends upon arriving in Crest Stone, made their way through the newer girls.
“Can you believe it’s nearly here?” Penny’s eyes sparkled and her entire body hummed with an excitement Caroline could feel.
“What if we make a mistake?” Dora asked. She twisted her hands together.
Caroline took one of her hands. “You won’t. You’ve been training for this for months now. And it isn’t so different from bringing the guests sandwiches onboard the train.” Since the hotel and restaurant had caught fire in early August, which had delayed its opening, Mrs. Ruby had decided it would be most efficient and welcoming to make sandwiches and deliver them onboard the train cars to the waiting passengers as they traveled south to Santa Fe and north to Cañon City.
Dora shook her head. Dark tendrils of hair wisped around her smooth, olive-skinned face. “It’s not the same. This is so much more . . . formal.”
“Don’t fret about it,” Penny said. “You know what you’re doing. Now these other ninnies, I’m not so sure . . .” She waved a hand at the larger group.
Caroline scanned their faces. She spotted Millie and the three girls she’d arrived with halfway through the summer. And then there was a sea of exactly twenty-three other girls, most of whom had come just before the fire. Since that time, the newer girls had been living in canvas tents, which the building crew had kindly vacated until the Gilbert Company had sent a shipment of canvas. Caroline and her friends were the lucky ones—they’d been able to remain in their rooms at the old house. But last week, all the girls had moved into their dormitories inside the finally completed hotel. There was only one girl missing from the group.
“I wish Emma were here,” Dora said quietly.
“As do I,” Caroline said. “But I wouldn’t take her happiness from her.”
“She’s off having grand adventures.” Penny’s face nearly glowed, as if she wished she were in Emma’s place.
“I don’t know how adventurous the California desert is,” Caroline said. Emma had arrived with the three of them in late May, making their foursome the first Gilbert Girls in Crest Stone. But she had since married Monroe Hartley, the hotel’s builder, and after staying to oversee the reconstruction of the Crest Stone Hotel, they had moved on just a couple of days ago to build another Gilbert Company hotel in California.
“Oh, but it is,” Penny said. “Just think! Snakes, outlaws, scorpions, no water for miles and miles.”
“That sounds horrifying,” Caroline replied.
Dora nodded in agreement.
“You wouldn’t know adventure if it knocked you in the head, Caroline Beauchamp. Why—” Penny’s words stopped when Mrs. Ruby walked into the room.
“Good morning, ladies.” Mrs. Ruby’s voice boomed across the large room. “This is a day of last-minute preparations. I want you all to inspect your clothing, check your stations, and ensure the tables are spotless. Now that the hotel will be opening, twice-daily trains will begin stopping tomorrow at noon and six p.m. If you feel the need to practice serving today, then by all means, please do so.
“Please note that I’ll be observing all of you over the next few days to select a head waitress and an assistant head waitress. In those positions, you will be privy to all decisions made regarding the dining room, you will be consulted regarding the hiring of new girls, you’ll be in charge of the dining room when I am not present, and—of course—your pay will reflect your new role. You are dismissed.”
The girls immediately began chattering among themselves as they broke off to attend to their duties.
“Excuse me,” Caroline said to her friends, who were already talking about who they thought could be named head waitress and assistant head waitress.
Mrs. Ruby was just finishing up answering a question for one of the newer girls when Caroline approached her. “Miss Beauchamp?”
“Mrs. Ruby, I was examining the tablecloths before you came in, and I believe they may need to be pressed again. They seem to have acquired a fair amount of wrinkles.” Caroline reached for the nearest cloth and held up the end to show Mrs. Ruby.
The older woman squinted at the material and nodded. “Excellent work. The housemaids will need to press those before morning. I’ll alert them.” She paused and looked Caroline over from head to toe before nodding in satisfaction. “I trust you were paying attention to my announcement?”
Caroline nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You have continued to prove yourself worthy of the Gilbert name. I see a great future for you in this company.” With that, Mrs. Ruby moved faster than one would suspect a woman of her size could toward a group of girls congregated near the door to the kitchen.
Caroline’s entire face went warm. Could Mrs. Ruby have been suggesting Caroline might be named head waitress? The thought made her arms and legs feel almost too light to work. Never had she thought she would come this far. When she’d arrived here in May from Boston, she’d felt like a tiny, timid mouse about to be buried under the sheer emptiness of this wild place. Everything had frightened her—Mrs. Ruby, the men building the hotel, the miners a few miles east, the sharpness of the mountains to the west, the way the sky seemed to go on and on, the lack of any comfort she’d had in the city. More than once, she had determined to resign herself to what awaited her if she returned to Boston, because at least that was familiar, even if it was what she’d run away from.
But she’d been lucky to make quick friends here. At first, Penny, Dora, and Emma didn’t know why she’d left Boston without telling a soul. What they did see was a girl who was capable of living up to the work expected from a Gilbert Girl. With their encouragement, Caroline worked and worked and worked, until she’d become proficient at chores she never would have even contemplated at home.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she wondered what her delicate older sister and her prim mother would say if they knew she could serve a table in under thirty minutes or wash her own clothing or—even worse—start a roaring fire to stay warm. That latest skill was newer, now that the nights had turned particularly chilly. Even the days had grown cool enough to require a coat on occasion. Snow had already come to the mountains above them, and according to Mrs. McFarland, it wouldn’t be long until snow found its way to the valley as well.
Caroline didn’t mind snow. She had learned she didn’t mind hard work either. She felt useful here, unlike at home. There, she’d often
imagined herself a prized sow to be trotted out at dinners and parties to eligible young men. Here, at Crest Stone, in this little valley surrounded by friends, she felt . . . alive. Free. Capable of providing for herself. Able to make her own decisions. She would never give that up.
All she had to do was remain hidden here.
Chapter Three
Thomas bit down on the nail between his teeth as he lined up the notches he’d cut in the two pieces of wood. If he was honest, he’d admit he’d never made shelving before. But surely it couldn’t be that hard. After all, he’d helped build a hotel—twice.
The notches didn’t line up. He spat the nail at the workbench he’d dragged out of the shed behind the hotel. He needed a break before his annoyance boiled over into anger.
Although if he were being completely honest, it wasn’t just the shelving that was fouling his mood. It was the man from earlier, the one with the wanted posters.
Thomas reached for the dipper in the bucket of cool water he’d pulled from the creek before he started working. While there was a chill in the air, the sun was still bright, and something about that made him thirsty. Or maybe it was the fear that his face was on one of those posters inside the hotel lobby right this moment. Or the guilt at what he’d done that ate at him if he thought too much about it.
He pulled off his hat, reached for another ladle of water, and dumped this one over his head. Dropping the dipper back into the bucket, he rubbed at the cold liquid trickling its way through his hair and into his eyes. That did the trick. His mind sharpened just enough to remind him that he didn’t necessarily know there was a sketch of him in that sheath of paper. After all, wouldn’t one of the front desk employees have recognized him and sent McFarland after him? Although it hadn’t even been an hour yet . . .
A woman emerged from the kitchen door, interrupting his worried thoughts.
And not just any woman. She was the one who’d caught his eye more than once since Hartley’s wedding.
Her arms were filled with a wooden crate of glassware, and she kicked the kitchen door shut with her foot. She set the crate down next to one of the fussy wrought-iron chairs that someone had pulled from the nearby garden. Then she settled herself onto the equally fussy floral cushion and reached into the crate. She pulled out a piece of stemmed glassware and began rubbing at it with a cloth.
