Building Forever (The Gilbert Girls, #1)

by Cahill, Cat

  Caroline nodded, seeming to understand exactly what Emma wanted—to draw attention away from a subject that Dora seemed to want to avoid. And a subject Emma would prefer to avoid herself, given the sheer joy and fluttering nerves that flew through her entire body every time she even thought of Mr. Hartley.

  As Caroline demonstrated and Penny sighed in boredom, Emma fought to keep her attention where it needed to be. Yet her thoughts kept wandering to the man with the dark hair and mischievous smile whose sole purpose in life seemed to be embarrassing her.

  How could she want so desperately to see someone, yet at the same time pray for such a thing to never happen again?

  Chapter Eight

  All the next day, Monroe found his attention wandering from placing siding to the white house across the railroad tracks. Each time, he grew more frustrated with himself for the distraction. Near the end of the day, he was almost thankful for the crew that had moved around the rear of the hotel. He joined them, pounding nails and trying to drive thoughts of Miss Daniels from his mind.

  As the sun sank behind the mountains, Monroe gestured to Turner to call the day. After the crew collected the supplies inside the large, hastily constructed shed that served to protect them from rain, some moved toward the encampment while others climbed onto horses or went on foot to the mining enclave for a night’s entertainment.

  “I asked Ramirez and his men to begin work on the lath in the morning.” Turner appeared like a ghost.

  Monroe forced himself to take a deep breath before he spoke. The man had confessed he got ahead of himself sometimes, but he was learning. Just as Monroe was about to remind him that they needed to finish the siding first, movement from behind Turner caught his eye.

  It was a woman, a basket hanging over her arm, making her way along the wagon tracks that ran between the hotel and the crew’s tent encampment toward Silver Creek. Dark hair, soft gray dress and white apron, and a stride that looked as if she walked on the clouds.

  “Boss?”

  What did it matter if a small group of men started the lath tomorrow? They were nearly finished with the siding. The rest of the men would need to begin either the lath or the floors tomorrow anyhow. Monroe yanked his eyes from Miss Daniels. “That’s fine, Turner.”

  Turner blinked at him before allowing his face to spread into a smile of victory. “You headed over to the mining camp, Boss?”

  “Not tonight,” Monroe said, busying himself with angling a wheelbarrow just so against the shed wall. It was better than gluing his eyes to the woman nearing the trees that lined the creek.

  “You ought to. Does a man good to spend time in the company of women and drink.”

  Drinking and whores and losing his shirt in a card game were useless when it came to quieting his mind. Somehow, he felt even worse after the dreamless sleep whiskey brought on. But he appreciated the thought. He clapped Turner on the back. “Maybe another night.”

  Turner nodded and made his way to the corral where the men lucky enough to own horses kept them.

  Monroe inspected the interior of the shed and, satisfied, began his own trek toward the tents. But as he crossed the wagon tracks, he found himself looking down them toward the creek.

  Silver Creek was only visible through the opening created by the wagon tracks. Cottonwoods and aspens, trees happy to find a source of water in the otherwise dry valley, obscured most of the creek. Monroe stopped, then shook his head with how strong the pull was to stride down the hardened dirt ground to catch a glimpse of Miss Daniels.

  Restraint, Hartley. He needed to find some. As much fun as his banter with Miss Daniels had been, and as attracted to her as he was, it could—and it would—go nowhere. Not if either of them wanted to keep their places here. It was selfish of him to have any thoughts otherwise, after what had happened to Colette.

  With every bit of determination he could muster, Monroe dragged his eyes from the trees and forced himself to move forward to the camp.

  Chapter Nine

  The water rushed fast and cold around Emma’s hand. She withdrew it from the creek and stood up straight. Excursions to the creek to retrieve water or items from the springhouse were truly one of Emma’s greatest joys in this place. She closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh air, concentrating on the beauty around her and not on the man she’d spotted behind the partially built hotel as she’d made her way down the wagon trail to the creek.

  The air smelled of pine and wet sand and some sweet floral she couldn’t identify. Birds sang to each other in the trees above. One day, she’d learn their names, the way she’d learned to recognize the birds’ songs at home. Part of her was tempted to set aside her work for the evening and remain by the creek, composing poems, until it was too dark to see.

  The air whispers, hums across my skin—

  A rustling sound from behind nearly made her drop the bucket she carried. She whirled around and scanned the line of trees through the stand of aspen where she stood. A split second later, a man emerged from between the trunks and leaves.

  He walked slowly, straight toward her. He was young, about her age or perhaps even younger, with a crop of thick chestnut hair, a tanned face, and an easy smile. “Good evening, miss.”

  Emma swallowed. Her tongue suddenly felt three sizes too large for her mouth. She clutched the handle of the basket so hard, the woven wood fibers dug into her palm. Something about this felt wrong.

  “Good evening,” she forced herself to say. Perhaps all he wanted was a drink of the cool water. That was much more likely than the other scenarios racing through her mind right now.

  But he stopped just short of the creek. And right next to her.

  “Pardon me,” she said, almost short of breath, as she backed away. “I need to get my butter.”

  He smiled again, but there was something about it that didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, those roved over her, tracing her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

  Emma held the basket in front of her, almost as if it could protect her from his gaze.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  When she didn’t reply, he added, “I’m Henry.”

  He didn’t take off his hat. It was such a ridiculous thing to notice, but every gentleman she’d ever met in her life had removed his hat upon first meeting her.

  Penny had offered to accompany her to the creek, but Emma turned her down in favor of the solitude. Why was she so hardheaded? Penny would have had the words to make this man scurry back into the hole from which he came.

  “You’re awful quiet.” He didn’t take another step toward her, yet somehow his presence grew even larger.

  Emma drew herself up as straight as the aspen next to her. She had to do this without Penny, sick feeling in her stomach or not. “I’m no such thing. Now, if you please, allow me to finish my chore.” She forced herself to look straight into his eyes. They were brown, like Mr. Hartley’s, but held none of the warmth or humor of his.

  The man laughed. “I like a woman with spirit. All I want is a bit of companionship. It’s lonesome out here. Can’t a good Christian woman take pity on a man like me?”

  Every hair on Emma’s body raised with the realization of why this man was here.

  He took another step forward.

  And she screamed.

  Chapter Ten

  Monroe was steps away from his tent when a scream sounded from the trees. It was small, almost too quiet to hear, but it was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. None of the men milling around the tents seemed to have even heard it. Monroe raced down the wagon ruts toward the creek. Glancing left and right, he took a moment before spotting her. She was almost hidden in a stand of aspen that overhung the small springhouse a little ways down the creek to the right.

  Monroe’s fists curled when his eyes also caught a glimpse of a man. He couldn’t make the man out clearly, but Miss Daniels stood with her basket clasped to her chest, her head shaking a vigorous no.

  He crossed
the distance in no time at all, the scene becoming increasingly clearer. The man had placed his hands on her arms and was attempting to draw her closer.

  “Please, stop.” Her voice was laced with fear.

  It propelled Monroe even faster. He burst through the trees and aimed his fist straight into the side of the man’s jaw. The young man fell sideways into the spindly trunk of an aspen. “What is the meaning of this?” Monroe barked at him.

  “I . . .” The man trailed off, red coloring his face, his eyes fixed on the ground as he rubbed his jaw. Monroe recognized him from Denver. He was young, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Henry, his name was.

  “Don’t you move,” he ordered the kid.

  “Miss Daniels, are you all right?” He tempered the anger in his voice when he spoke to her.

  She still clutched the basket to her chest as if it would save her somehow. She was breathing hard and her eyes were wide. The urge to take her into his arms and promise her no one would ever hurt her again surged through him. Of course, that was likely the last thing she wanted right now. He kept his hands clenched at his sides, ready to knock Henry sideways again if need be.

  “I’m . . . fine.” Her voice was nearly a whisper, choked on the edges.

  It made him want to pummel the kid. But instead, he fixed him with a glare. “Pack your bag. You’re leaving.”

  “Tonight?” Henry asked, his hand still rubbing at his jaw. “I don’t have a horse.”

  “Now,” Monroe growled. “You knew the rules. You can walk, for all I care.” He took a step forward and grabbed the younger man by his shirt collar. “I don’t tolerate men like you on my crew, rules or not.” He let go and stepped back. “Go. I don’t want to see you around when I get back.”

  Henry scrambled up and darted away toward the wagon tracks.

  Monroe watched until he disappeared from sight. Then he turned back to Miss Daniels, who had finally let the basket fall to her side. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

  She ran a hand over her pinned-up hair. “I . . . I think so. Just frightened.”

  Her words ate through him. “I’m frightened,” Colette had said. “The way the men leer at me. And there are no women here at all. I don’t want to leave the tent.” The memory seared his vision, as if she were standing before him again, and it took him a moment to shake it away.

  Miss Daniels studied him, her green eyes bright in the orange light of the setting sun. “Truly, Mr. Hartley. I’m fine. He gave me a good scare, but I’m not hurt. Thank you for arriving at just the right time.”

  “I apologize for him,” Monroe finally said. “If you like, I can inform Mr. McFarland about what happened and arrange an escort for you and the other girls each time you need to come to the springhouse.”

  “I’m sure that’s not necessary,” she said. “Besides, I enjoy the time alone. I love to walk, and this creek with the trees and the mountains behind us . . . it’s simply magnificent. I’m sure another incident like that won’t happen again. If Mrs. Ruby finds out, I fear she won’t let us come down here any longer.”

  Monroe gazed at her in wonder. The woman was just attacked, and the thing she feared the most was losing her independence? It made no sense, and yet . . . He was intrigued, suddenly possessed by the desire to know everything about this Miss Daniels.

  “It is beautiful here,” he said instead of asking the nine hundred questions that had entered his mind. “I grew up mostly in Denver, so I fear I take it all for granted at times. I spent my youngest years in Kansas City. I doubt I could ever return there, as I’d almost certainly long for the way the peaks seem to touch the sky here.”

  She gifted him with a soft smile. “That’s quite poetic, Mr. Hartley.”

  “Is it? Then I offer it to you to use in one of your poems.” He held out his hand as if he were presenting her with jewels.

  That made her laugh, and the sound coursed through his body, lighting him up from the inside out. All he wanted in that moment was to make this woman laugh, make her smile, and keep her safe from men like Henry. “Tell me, did you leave behind a city, rolling farmland, or perhaps some tropical paradise to come here?”

  “I’m from Kentucky.”

  “Horse country. Does that make you a fine horsewoman, then?”

  She laughed again, and all he wanted to do was laugh with her. “Not particularly. My family lived in the city. Louisville. And yes, I can ride, but only well enough to keep my seat and not tumble off onto my head.”

  “Perhaps that’s something I’ll get to see. You on a horse, that is, not falling on your head.” As soon as those words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. He was being too forward, and he knew it.

  She fought a smile. “I need to collect my butter and return. The girls will be worrying after me.” She opened the springhouse door, retrieved what she needed, and placed it in the basket. Then she straightened and took a tentative step forward.

  He extended his arm as a sign she should go first. “I need to ensure that someone has left Crest Stone. But first, please allow me to escort you back to the house.”

  She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Hartley, but I’ll manage on my own. I don’t wish to place either of our positions at risk.”

  Monroe nodded. “If you’re certain.”

  She took a step forward, then stopped and turned back to him. “Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t arrived when you did.”

  “Don’t think on it,” he replied. Although to think of it himself made him want to put his fist into a tree trunk. Or better yet, Henry’s face. “I assure you, most of my crew is honorable.”

  “I’m certain they are.” She shifted her basket to her right hand and began to walk again toward the wagon tracks.

  “Good evening, Miss Daniels,” he called after her. If nothing else, he hoped she would relent and offer her given name.

  But instead, she looked over her shoulder and only smiled at him before disappearing behind the trees.

  That smile carried him toward the encampment and occupied his thoughts so thoroughly he almost walked right past his own tent.

  He couldn’t get this girl out of his mind. She was lemons and sunlight and happiness. This girl, he reminded himself, who could get him fired if he didn’t stay away. This girl whose reputation he’d ruin if he persisted. This girl he had barely said more than a handful of words to. This girl he had no business speaking to at all given what he’d done to Colette.

  Despite all of that, she danced in and out of his thoughts the rest of the evening. She even kept the blackness from consuming him before he fell asleep.

  And he didn’t even know her name.

  Chapter Eleven

  Raising her face to the sky, Emma clamped a hand on her straw bonnet as the buckboard wagon jerked to and fro. She wondered, yet again, how such a place as this could exist. The new grasses were more brilliant than they had seemed a week ago, the sky was perfectly clear, and birds sang in the few trees that dotted the valley. Now that it was late June, it was warmer than it had been so far. She marveled at how different this place was from home, where it would already be suffocatingly hot. This valley, the clear, glittering Silver Creek, the mountains on either side of her—it was truly magnificent. When she contemplated how she could’ve been shut away in a factory back home, she was more than thankful for this opportunity.

  “That was a lovely service,” Caroline said from where she was perched on a board nailed across the wagon. She sat next to Penny, who shrugged at the statement.

  “Awfully dull, if you ask me,” Penny said. “Back home, the preachers speak with more fire. What about you, Dora? How’d that compare to Chicago?”

  Dora smiled, but tensed her hands in her lap. “It was similar,” she said.

  Emma watched the olive-skinned girl for a moment. The two of them sat together facing Penny and Caroline and the rear of the buckboard. Of her three new friends, Dora
was the one about whom she knew the least. Perhaps she was shy. Emma hadn’t wanted to push her, but she wished the other girl would find herself comfortable enough to share more about her life at home. By now, Emma knew everything about Caroline’s stuffy existence in Boston as the child of a prominent family, and Penny’s lively stories about her escapades in Wilmington and how they’d bothered her mother to no end—although none of them had discussed what had brought them to Crest Stone.

  “I think we should stay a spell by the creek,” Penny said, her hand clamped onto her hat to keep it from flying off each time the wagon bounced—which was quite often.

  “We brought nothing to eat,” Caroline said. “And Mrs. Ruby is expecting us.”

  “It’s our day off, isn’t it? Once the trains begin coming through, we may not get the same days off. We should take advantage of this opportunity while we have it.” Penny’s eyes were alight with mischief, a look Emma had gotten to know well ever since Penny had suggested they each try the cooking brandy their first week at the house. “And if you ask me, it’s a welcome relief not having someone looking over my shoulder every second.”

  “Penny!” Caroline scolded. “Mrs. Ruby only wants to see us succeed.”

  “And train the new girls coming in a couple of weeks,” Penny parroted. “Yes, we all know. But isn’t it nice to feel free for a few hours?”

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Dora said.

  Penny shot her a winning grin. “I knew you were one for adventure, Dora.”

  “Fine by me to stop for a while,” Mr. McFarland said from up front where he was driving the team, his wife perched beside him. “Just so happens, Mrs. McFarland thought to bring a hunk of cheese and some bread. Figured you girls might want to make good use of the time on your own.”

  “You’re a dear old man, Mr. McFarland,” Penny teased.