Eleanora (The Widows 0f Wildcat Ridge Book 8)

by Pam Crooks

  Diantha’s attention swung to Tessa at the discreet reminder, and a quick smile curved her lips. “You’re being such a good girl, aren’t you?” Her hand delved into a drawer, and when it appeared again, a wrapped caramel lay in her palm. “Do you think you should have a treat for being so good?”

  Tessa’s little face broke into a grin; she nodded so enthusiastically her braids bobbed. “Yeah.”

  “I do, too. Here you go, sweetie.”

  Tessa took the candy, and her petite fingers turned busy to free the caramel from its wrapping.

  “What do you say to Mrs. Ames?” Eleanora prodded. No matter how many times she said it, her child still needed reminding.

  Tessa peered up at Diantha through her long lashes. “Thank you.”

  “You’re quite welcome, darling girl.”

  Diantha’s gaze lingered over her, and Eleanora’s heart twisted. Even after years of marriage before the death of her husband, Diantha had no children of her own.

  A worry that troubled Eleanora. Since the mine explosions, husbands were a rare commodity. All but non-existent, in fact. How could any of the widows repair their lives after they were shattered so unexpectedly? Would any of them find happiness again?

  Her mood dipped, and she dropped a quick kiss on Tessa’s head. She couldn’t forget how blessed she was to have her daughter. Without Tessa, she’d be lost. Totally alone.

  Like Diantha.

  They, along with every other widow in Wildcat Ridge, were the reasons she would keep sending letters to the Miners Association headquarters in Denver. Every Wednesday and Saturday, week after week. Until someone got tired of receiving them and decided to do something about her demands.

  “I didn’t see you at the town meeting last night,” Diantha said, breaking into Eleanora’s thoughts.

  “I had no one to stay with Tessa,” she said. “Otherwise, I would have gone. Did it go well?”

  “Very well. Most of the widows were there. Mayor Hester is determined to beat Mortimer Crane at his own game. We discussed what we could do to bring in men so Crane wouldn’t have reason to drive us out of town.”

  “He would much rather see us fail than succeed.” Didn’t she know that firsthand? “He has no compassion for everything we’ve lost because of his wretched mine. He thinks only of himself and his greed.”

  Eleanora hated self-pity, but there were days when she all but drowned in it. She, like everyone else, had hoped a permanent solution would be found at the town meeting.

  “There’s going to be a horse auction,” Diantha said. “Blessing Odell will provide the horses and split the profit fifty-fifty.”

  Eleanora’s eyes widened. “How generous of her.”

  “Isn’t it?” Diantha nodded her dark head. “An auction will bring money into Wildcat Ridge. Of course, we can’t have a horse sale without male buyers, and we’re hoping some of them will want to stay for a while. Not all of them will be married, you know, and well, if some are looking for a wife, we have females here who desperately want a husband.”

  The news rolled through Eleanora. A horse sale had many benefits, it was true, including as a ruse for husband-finding. As calculated as that sounded, she understood.

  But she wanted no part of it.

  She’d been a widow for two full months now. Each hour had been heavy with loneliness and a future so unclear, it was like looking through a pane of dirt-caked glass. Forced employment with Mortimer Crane for a debt she could hardly fathom dulled each day with frustration. And her nights provided nothing more than a lonely bed, a lack of companionship and comfort and, in her weaker moments, threw her into a swirling void of longing for a man’s love.

  Except marriage to Darvin hadn’t been filled with the excitement and fulfillment she’d hoped for, and she wasn’t ready to risk the same with another man any time soon.

  “We need visitors, certainly.” Her glance swept the empty lobby, as empty as the Crane Hotel’s. “Unfortunately, their arrival will be short-lived, but we must take even that as a positive development for Wildcat Ridge.” Eleanor pulled a handkerchief from her handbag to wipe Tessa’s sticky fingers and the final traces of caramel left on her chin. “When is this horse auction to be held?”

  “June twenty-seventh.”

  An entire month away. Well, Eleanora wouldn’t think of it anymore. Right now, her letters provided her the most hope.

  “I’ve left Tillie McNair to watch the hotel desk while I’m gone,” she said, tucking her handkerchief away and taking Tessa’s hand. “I really must get back.”

  “Her mother is a prime example of a woman needing a husband, isn’t she?” Diantha sighed.

  “Yes. Ten children to support.” Eleanora pursed her lips. How had poor Ailsa managed it so far? How would she continue in the coming months?

  “With you hiring Tillie as a maid at the Crane, it'll provide the family a small amount of income, at least.”

  But they both knew, until business improved in Wildcat Ridge, no one was going to earn much of a wage, themselves included, which would give Mortimer Crane yet another reason to see them fail.

  “I wish it could be more.” Eleanora forced a smile. “Maybe after the horse auction.”

  “Maybe.” Diantha appeared thoughtful. “We must be optimistic.”

  They said their goodbyes, and after she left the Ridge Hotel, the word continued to swirl in Eleanor’s head. Optimistic? After the turn her life had taken? She’d tried so hard to be, but even on her best days, she’d fallen short.

  Remaining optimistic was a battle she was destined to lose.

  Not even the sun shining high and bright helped bolster her spirits on the walk back to the Crane Hotel. Nor the crisp air she pulled into her lungs. Or the prospect of warmer weather that would coax the morning glories, bluebells and violets from the ground sprawling beyond the town limits.

  Nothing, it seemed, helped.

  Eleanora kept Tessa close to her side while they strode along Front Street, past the Last Chance Saloon, the jail and yet another saloon, this one the Two-Bit. None of those establishments helped her be optimistic, either. Instead, they reminded her of how much she missed her little cabin in the country, with all its peace and beauty and openness for Tessa to run and play to her heart’s content. That living in town, managing a hotel with no salary, with railroad tracks for a front yard and surrounded by establishments not conducive to child-rearing, was simply not her idea of happiness.

  By the time she entered the Crane Hotel, she’d wrestled her melancholy into a deeper place, far enough out of sight that Tillie wouldn’t notice. The scent of linseed oil assured her the fifteen-year-old had seen to her duties while Eleanora was gone.

  “I’ve dusted each of the sleeping rooms, ma’am. I’ve just finished dusting the downstairs, too. Is there anything else you’d like done?”

  “No, thank you. What’s left, I can finish myself.” She pulled off her black bonnet. She had the whole day ahead of her; God knew she’d need something to concentrate on besides the sorry state of her life. Worse, Mortimer Crane examined her expenditures like a rat looking for a crumb of cheese. Eleanora didn’t dare increase her spending unnecessarily. He would only make her work that off, too. “But the dusting is a huge help, Tillie. It’s an endless job, isn’t it?”

  “It is, ma’am. The dirt blowing in off the streets keeps it that way.” Smiling shyly, the teen headed toward the door. “Just let me shake out my rag, then, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Eleanora removed Tessa’s hat and coat. Having Tillie as her part-time employee left her grateful. The girl was a hard worker, completely trustworthy, and she understood how it was imperative the Crane Hotel be kept clean and welcoming. One person couldn’t take care of the place, even when customers were few.

  “You can play for a few minutes while I warm up some lunch, Tessa. How about you find Mr. Kitty and see if he needs more water in his bowl?” Eleanora hung her daughter’s wrap on a hook then added her own. “And please do
n’t touch the furniture. Tillie made it all shiny and pretty.”

  “Okay, Mama.”

  She skipped out of the lobby toward the kitchen in search of the tomcat who belonged to no one, but who managed to keep himself warm and well-fed, thanks to those who found him nosing around their places of business.

  Tillie approached from the front, her dust rug shaken and folded. Taking the bottle of linseed oil, she tucked both under the lobby counter then took her own coat off the hook and pushed both arms into the sleeves.

  “I almost forgot to tell you, Mrs. Cavender,” she said, starting in on the buttons. “There’s likely an animal taking up in the place next door. There’s been some digging along the foundation, and I saw an animal what looked to me like a badger running along the railroad tracks earlier.”

  “Oh, no.” Eleanora groaned. The adjacent building had been vacant for as long as she’d been working at the hotel, and it’d become a place for vagrants and who knew what else to come in out of the cold. It wasn’t uncommon to hear scratching noises at night, when badgers were most active. Mr. Crane said he’d look into the problem, but in typical fashion, she hadn’t heard back from him.

  “I told Mr. Comer at the Bath House,” Tillie added. “He said he saw one, maybe two, so’s he set up a leg trap yonder along the tracks.”

  “Well, let’s hope that takes care of the problem quickly. I’ll speak with Mr. Comer. Badgers can be unfriendly if cornered.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Well, I’d best be going so’s Tessa can have her lunch. I’ll be back on Friday.”

  After the girl left, Eleanora headed into the kitchen and removed a bowl of vegetable soup from the icebox. When her outlook leaned on the brighter side, she couldn’t deny the obvious benefits of the hotel’s kitchen compared to the stark simplicity of her cabin’s, which was little more than a stove and table in the main living area. At the time, it had sufficed well enough. But now... from an array of utensils to more room to prepare a light meal for the occasional hotel customer, cooking at the Crane was, well, not unpleasant.

  She poured the soup into a pot on the burner. While reaching for the box of matches set high on a cabinet shelf, a scream stopped her cold. She whirled toward the window, catching a glimpse of Tessa’s braids moments before the child burst through the kitchen door.

  “Mama! Hurry! Help Mr. Kitty!”

  At Tessa’s stricken expression, Eleanora tossed the box aside. “What’s the matter with him?”

  “They’re fighting, and he might die, and Mama, you have to help him. Hurry!”

  Before Eleanora could demand what kind of fight and with whom—or what—Tessa bolted out the door again, her frantic cries compelling Eleanora to lift her skirts and run after her. Across Front Street, which Tessa had been warned quite sternly never, ever, to cross, and toward the railroad tracks, which instituted an even sterner warning, to the pair of animals locked together in vicious battle.

  Despite his hind leg being caught in the steel trap, a black-and-white faced badger held the advantage with his superior strength and size, clutching poor Mr. Kitty between his front paws in a snarling, teeth-baring wrestling match that promised there would be only one winner.

  And it wouldn’t be Mr. Kitty.

  Eleanora halted a few yards away, her hand clasped tight on Tessa’s arm. Horror held her rooted with indecision.

  Blood smeared Mr. Kitty’s matted fur; the feisty tomcat had managed to hold his own, but the badger’s long claws had inflicted great injury. How much more could the poor cat endure?

  “Mr. Kitty is going to die. Save him, Mama! Please!”

  Mr. Comer would know what to do. After all, it was his trap, and Eleanora had no experience with such a thing, but he was at his Bath House, too far away to hear her call, too far away for her to run.

  Mr. Kitty wouldn’t survive until she came back. The certainty churned in her stomach. He showed signs of tiring, of weakening, and if she didn’t get him away from the badger, he would fall in defeat while Tessa watched, wide-eyed and traumatized.

  Eleanora moved closer to the animals, slowing only to pick up a stubby stick. An inferior weapon, at best, but it was something, and holding her skirts aside, she poked the badger on his back to distract him in hopes Mr. Kitty would free himself. Too quick, before she could even anticipate it, the badger’s paw swiped at her hand, leaving the skin stinging. In the same instant, the cat arched its back, twisted and hissed and sank his pointed teeth into her fingers.

  Freed from the badger’s grip, he staggered away, and Eleanora leapt back, too. The badger snarled and growled, beady eyes fastened on her, each muscle coiled in readiness for a new attack thwarted only by the leg trap that held him.

  Tessa burst into tears. “Mama, your hand! It’s got blood!”

  Eleanora’s breath rasped with every inhalation. Fiery pain spread along her nerves. Trembling, she stared at the torn and gaping flesh, the crimson spurting across her fingers and pooling in the dirt, and a wave of nausea pushed up into her throat.

  Just when she hadn’t thought it possible, her life had gotten worse.

  Chapter 2

  The Next Day

  Denver, Colorado

  Reed Shannon had anticipated this day for weeks.

  He’d dreaded it, too.

  His boss, James Martin Wheeler, would take Reed’s news in one of two ways—with hurt or fury—neither of which would be pleasant. Even so, Reed couldn’t delay telling him any longer.

  He strode into the Miners Association headquarters at his usual hour. As one of the union’s attorneys, he kept his routine in place, doing his best to concentrate on his work and keep his eye off the clock. Finally, fifteen minutes before his appointment, he rose from his desk, walked briskly past his secretary and climbed up the three flights of stairs to James Martin’s opulent office.

  From the day Reed graduated from law school, the Miners Association president had taken him under his wing, mentored him, and celebrated his growing list of successes. He taught Reed about the mining industry, about the rights of the men they represented, and about the inevitable resistance from the mine owners. Together, they toured the innards of larger mines, learned about gold and silver and copper and a host of other ores. He enabled Reed to make a name for himself in the courtroom, and Reed absolutely owed his career to the man.

  But those had been the early years. Things had changed.

  James Martin Wheeler had changed.

  Money could do that to a man.

  “Good morning, Reed.” Seated at his desk, Francis Nelson greeted him with the aloof professionalism of a man who had been doing his job for decades and had done it well. “You’re early.”

  Reed smiled. He’d learned what that meant. “Let me guess. James Martin is busy.”

  The clerk’s pale cheeks creased from a faint smile. “He is. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “How long do you think he’ll be?”

  Francis glanced at the shiny clock at the edge of the desk. “Well, he has another twelve minutes or so with his... visitor before he’s scheduled to meet with you. You’ll just have to wait until he’s free.”

  Reed knew when he was being dismissed. He also had a pretty good idea who might be with James Martin behind the office door. Reed hid his annoyance with a conciliatory nod. “Like you said, I’m early. Not a problem. I’ll have a seat in my favorite chair.”

  “Please do.”

  This time, his smile seemed more genuine, and Reed turned from him with some cool dismissal of his own. Francis was inordinately loyal to his boss. Discreet to a fault. If Reed hoped for some shared annoyance for the situation, he wouldn’t get it from him.

  Reed settled into a leather armchair, ridiculously overstuffed and expensive, but comfortable and familiar. He’d spent his share of time in this chair, waiting for James Martin more often than usual, for one reason or another. Truth be told, all that waiting had grown tiresome.

  James Martin had gotten to taking Reed for granted,
right along with his union duties. Might be Reed was wrong and needed to change his opinion about that, but change was what this whole meeting was about.

  Minutes ticked by. He tugged on the cuff of one starched, cotton shirtsleeve then the other. Crossed his ankle to his knee. Rubbed at some dust on his newest pair of shoes. And just when he figured he might as well have that cup of coffee, after all, the door to James Martin’s office opened.

  A woman, fashionably dressed and slender, strode out. Reed never claimed to be an expert on female hair styles, but it seemed to him hers was a bit more mussed than the norm. She fiddled with a curl by her ear, fiddled with a button beneath the collar of her dress, too, and then she was gone, out of the office and into the hallway, leaving behind a trail of her perfume.

  His mouth tightened, and his gaze met Francis’s for a flash of a second before his head lowered.

  But not before Reed glimpsed disapproval.

  That disapproval reinforced his reason for being here, for doing what he needed to do, and the sooner he told James Martin, the sooner he could get out of this damned office.

  He stood, squared his shoulders beneath his best wool worsted suit and headed toward the open door. The woman hadn’t bothered to close it, such was her haste, nor had Francis bothered to stop him. Reed had known James Martin long enough, he didn’t need an invitation to go right on in.

  His boss sat behind his desk, using a hand mirror to smooth the sides of his silver-streaked hair. Seeing Reed, he dropped the mirror into a drawer and pushed it closed.

  “Running a little late this morning,” he said, righting a wooden pencil box that had toppled over, scattering pencils.

  “I noticed.” Reed indicated an upholstered chair. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Go ahead.” Pencils in place again, James Martin exhaled and laced his fingers together. A diamond ring glittered on his left pinky. “What brings you here?”

  “Used to be we could set our watches by you,” Reed said, emboldened by the purpose of this meeting. “Punctual for every appointment. Not anymore.”