by Cat Cahill
And under no uncertain terms would any of that ever happen. Monroe shook his head to clear any last thoughts of that dark-haired beauty from his mind and slapped his hat back in place. She was forbidden—Gilbert had made that clear enough—if he wanted to keep this job. He turned toward the structure that was rising out of nothing and smiled with satisfaction.
The work did what he’d intended it to do. He’d barely had time to think of Colette, not with rising before dawn, organizing his men for the day, and working with scarcely even a break for the noontime meal until dusk. At night, he played cards with some of the crew and fell into bed bone-tired. No dreams, and hardly any soul-crushing sadness when he awoke in the morning.
That woman . . . She snuck her way into his mind again as he crossed the open ground between the house and the building site. It was the first time he had felt anything like that since Colette. He thought he might feel guilty, as if he was betraying the one woman he had ever loved with every part of his being. The guilt didn’t come—at least not for that particular reason—but that lurking sadness still ate at the fringes of his consciousness, waiting to take over as soon as his mind stilled.
Monroe refused to let it still.
Across the tracks, his foreman’s voice echoed. John Turner had been invaluable, even though he offered more opinions than Monroe would have liked. He kept the men in line, and that was his job, although Monroe often wondered if he should have placed Big Jim Daley, Turner’s right-hand man, in the position instead. Unlike Turner, Big Jim didn’t feel the need to tell Monroe how he would have preferred to frame the building or to start later in the morning. Turner was new to this work, Monroe needed to remind himself. He’d learn. And he excelled at keeping the men at task, which was what had earned him the foreman position.
Monroe stepped over the rails and boards that would carry passengers to Arizona and stopped to look down the tracks. To the south, they continued on and on into the horizon. According to Gilbert, the rail crews were nearing Santa Fe and should be finished within the next couple of months—the deadline Monroe had promised. No wonder Gilbert had jumped at his offer. The railroad company was already booking passage for the first trip down this new line in early August, and the hotel needed to be ready by that time, furniture and all.
If Monroe didn’t have the place built by the time the furniture arrived, he could stop dreaming of the bonus Gilbert had promised. The money he stood to gain upon the completion of the work was something he could have only imagined until now. It would be enough to buy a piece of land, build a small place, maybe purchase some cattle—if he had a mind to do that sort of thing. Settling down with a herd of cattle did not seem the least bit appealing to him. Not to mention all those empty, lonely hours he would need to fill somehow in order to keep the memories of Colette, and the guilt he felt for what he’d done to her, at bay.
Instead, he would likely bank his earnings as he moved on to more work. This hotel would put him right where he needed to be to gain the work he wanted. More hotels, businesses, large homes, factories . . . The possibilities were endless. It was much better that he stay on the move, building place after place.
The image of the dark-haired girl he’d met earlier appeared in his mind. Green eyes, blushing to the roots of her hair, an unharnessed smile when he looked at her. He wondered how she felt about cattle ranching. She looked like a city girl. No doubt she was from back East somewhere. But unlike the diminutive blonde who clung to her side, who appeared as if the wind would blow her into the cottonwoods down by the creek, this woman stood on the land as if she’d been born and bred here, as if she were a part of it.
Monroe let out a frustrated groan. There he went again, thinking of that dark-haired angel. He needed to forget about her, and fast. This work was what mattered. Finishing this job, and then moving on to find another now that he would have a reference. Days filled with a flurry of hammers, sawing, measuring, creating something useful.
And no time to think.
Chapter Five
An older woman with graying brown hair hidden under a white cap ushered the girls through a hallway and into a kitchen at the rear of the house. The woman wore a starched dove-gray dress with a pristine apron. She gestured at the table and chairs in the middle of the room. “Please, sit.”
Emma sat at the end of the table, nearest the door that was open to catch the cool spring breeze. Dora and Caroline settled in, facing each other, on either side of Emma while Penny sat in the chair nearest the stove. The older woman sank gracefully—and almost gratefully—into a chair at the head of the table opposite Emma. The kitchen was clean and welcoming, if not a bit on the warmer side, and the woman had greeted them with a smile at the door. More than ever, Emma knew she had made the right decision by taking this position. To live in this beautiful place with these friendly girls seated around her, to fill her days with meaningful work that meant her family could live comfortably back home—it meant everything. She placed her hands in her lap and tried to look as though she deserved to be here.
“Welcome to the Crest Stone Hotel and Restaurant. Such as it is, at this point,” the older woman said, resting her hands on the polished oak table that had to have come from somewhere back East. “You’ve met Mr. McFarland. He’ll manage the hotel, and his wife will keep the books. I’m Mrs. Florence Ruby, and I am the dining manager and house mother for you girls.”
Emma watched Mrs. Ruby in awe. A woman managing the dining establishment—it was unheard of. She immediately liked Mrs. Ruby, based on her smile and that fact alone.
“As you can see, our future building is underway on the other side of the tracks. It will be finished in August, when our first guests will begin arriving. More girls will come before then so we may be ready, but you are the first.”
Penny caught Emma’s eye and grinned. Emma smiled back, just slightly. She shared Penny’s enthusiasm but wanted Mrs. Ruby to know she had Emma’s full attention.
“While we wait for guests, I’ll be training you in the art of serving. You’ll learn the proper way to set a table, greet guests, tell them what we have available to eat, serve them their meals, collect payment, and attend to any other needs they may have. By August, you’ll be capable of doing all of this in under thirty minutes for guests who need to reboard their cars, but also at a more leisurely pace for those who will stay the night with us.
“For a short while, you will also be cooking meals and keeping house here. We’ll have kitchen help, busboys, and girls who will work as maids once the larger building is completed, but for now, we all have to help in every way we can. I hope this is not too much of a shock to you.” Mrs. Ruby glanced at each of them in turn, with an expression that let them know she would be highly disappointed if any of them objected.
Caroline’s face contorted into a grimace for the briefest of moments until she replaced it with a tiny, forced smile. Emma didn’t hold it against the girl. Caroline seemed quite delicate, almost as if she had been raised in the highest echelons of society. Not for the first time since she had met Caroline, Emma wondered what brought her here and how reluctant her parents must have been to allow her to come West to work as a waitress.
“We’re all happy to help out wherever we might be needed,” Penny spoke for the group.
Mrs. Ruby blessed her with a wide smile. “I’m glad to hear that. You were chosen not only because of your impeccable upbringing and manners, but also because you each have a degree of fortitude and adaptability.”
Dora smiled as if these were the nicest compliments anyone had ever paid her. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“You’re very welcome, dear,” Mrs. Ruby replied. “Now, while you’re an employee of the Gilbert Company, we expect you to adhere to the highest standards.”
Emma leaned forward to better hear Mrs. Ruby. The sounds of hammering and the shouts of the men outside had grown louder. There was laughter and she could clearly make out one man shouting directions to the others. It was him, she kne
w it. The man whom Mr. McFarland had called over to help him with the trunks. He must have retrieved them all from the wagon. She wondered if he had come inside or left them by the door. And if he had come inside, had he looked around the entryway for her? Did he wonder where she had gone?
She clasped her hands tighter in her lap. This line of thinking was pointless. Whyever was she thinking about a man who had embarrassed her before she had even set foot inside the establishment where she was to work? A man who looked rougher around the edges than any man she had ever known back home, despite his position here.
And yet . . . those eyes that had warmed her to her very core and seemed to see to every corner of her soul at the same time. Hair that badly needed a cut as it fell from under his hat. The way he was poised to laugh at such an embarrassing situation rather than fumble through apologies. Hands that betrayed how hard he worked.
Dear God, let me forget about him, she prayed, even as her face grew warm again. What she would give for a fan right now! Instead, she turned her head just slightly to catch the breeze wafting in from outside. And she tried to fixate on what Mrs. Ruby was saying.
“Decorum is essential to Gilbert Company employees, as I’m certain you were told in your interviews. Your dress and apron must be clean and starched at all times. You will receive two dresses, three aprons, and a cap. Your hair and hands must be neat. You will speak in quiet, respectful, but confident tones.” Mrs. Ruby went on, detailing all the expectations for the girls.
Emma paid close attention, mostly to ensure she did not accidentally violate some unknown rule, but also to keep her mind from wandering back to Mr. Hartley and the way he seemed to know exactly who she was just by looking at her. Hartley . . . she had presumed that must be his last name. Mr. McFarland hadn’t seemed to feel the need for proper introductions. What was his given name, then? James? Francis? William? Herbert? Emma stifled a giggle with her hand, pretending it was a cough. It couldn’t possibly be Herbert. His name needed to be like him—strong, bold, warm. A name that matched that look in his eyes. The look that made her break out in goose pimples, even while inside the house and perfectly warm.
“ . . . Most important of all.”
Those words snapped Emma’s attention back to the conversation at hand. She barely had time to be thoroughly irritated at herself for letting her mind wander back to that Mr. Hartley again, because Mrs. Ruby held each of their gazes, one at a time. Emma cleared her throat just slightly as Mrs. Ruby’s watery blue eyes landed on her own. She forced herself to sit up straight and hold Mrs. Ruby’s gaze. She prayed she projected a woman who was raised gently but with great strength. The perfect fit for the Gilbert Company.
“You are all ladies of good character, so I recognize that this most likely will not be an issue. But still, I must instruct you about it.” Mrs. Ruby folded her hands together and leaned forward. “The Gilbert Company prides itself on operating beacons of civilization in places that can be rather . . . lawless. I trust you all remember the interviews you underwent before you were hired?”
Emma nodded with the rest of the girls. To her right, Dora shifted a little in her seat. She was likely hungry. Emma certainly was. It had to be past six o’clock, and the last meal she had eaten was breakfast on the train from Denver this morning.
“Mr. Gilbert will tolerate nothing that proves to be scandalous. He wants his establishments to be of the highest class. That means anything unseemly will result in your immediate dismissal. I doubt I need to name these, but these offenses would include thievery of any sort, insolence to your superiors, a poor attitude toward guests, not abiding by curfew, any fraternization with men—be they guests or employees or otherwise, or any other behaviors that might tarnish the Gilbert name while you are under your contract here. Any courting must wait until you have served out your contract. Do you all understand and agree?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Emma said in echo of the other girls, even as her mouth went dry. She had already put her work here in jeopardy before she had even started. There could be no more musings about Mr. Hartley’s first name, much less speaking to him again. Her family was far too important to risk.
“Good.” Mrs. Ruby stood. “Let me show you to your room. While you’ll only have two girls to a room when we move to the hotel, in this house you’ll all need to share a room. You may take some time to freshen up and unpack before we begin preparing the evening meal.”
Emma followed at the tail of the group. This was the start of her new life. A life of independence and excitement, where she could meet people of importance from all over the country, marvel at the beauty surrounding her, and support her family.
All she needed was to keep her wits about her.
Chapter Six
The girl’s trunk was easy to fix. Truth be told, Monroe could have finished it an hour ago. But he was not in the mood to go with his crew to the mining encampment at the base of the mountains to drink and play cards. Being occupied was easier than saying no. And he couldn’t go back to his tent until he was bone weary. Otherwise he would lie there as images of Colette appeared, one after the other, layering that ache with the guilt over actions he’d never forgive himself for.
So instead, he had spent the past three hours on a job that should have only lasted one. He had fixed the lock quickly enough, but upon inspecting the rest of the trunk, decided the straps that held the lid to the main body needed replacing. The leather had rotted away and torn in places, leaving the lid at risk of falling off even when locked. He’d wondered why the otherwise wealthy-looking girl had such an old trunk before pushing the thought from his mind to focus on the task at hand. Leather was not the sort of thing he simply had lying around, so he opted to sacrifice one of his saddlebags. He could purchase a new one in Denver once he had finished this job.
He had just finished attaching the second strip of leather cut from the saddlebag. Now was the moment of truth. Monroe took a deep breath and tested the lid, opening it, closing it, once, twice, three times. It worked perfectly. He could almost imagine the dark-haired girl’s face when she saw it. He surmised that the trunk had most likely passed down through her family for years. Perhaps she clung to it for nostalgic purposes.
He shook his head. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this to see her happy. He’d fixed the trunk as a favor to McFarland. And as an excuse to occupy his mind for a few hours. She had nothing to do with it.
Monroe took his time putting away the remaining leather pieces and cleaning up the scraps of wood that remained from his work on the lock. When he could do no more, he picked up the trunk and left the work area next to the new building.
Then he stopped still.
He had not thought this through at all. It had been easy enough earlier to catch McFarland outside and ask him to bring the trunk out. But now . . . McFarland was likely back in his shanty with his wife. Monroe could knock on the door of the big house, of course.
Perhaps the dark-haired girl would answer.
Deep down inside, he wanted to see her again, badly. But that would be the worst thing that could happen.
He sighed, the trunk in his arms as he stood there by the tracks, the clear sky filled with stars. The breeze picked up some, and he had shed his coat and hat when he began working. The chill air biting through his shirtsleeves and numbing his nose was enough to get him moving again. It took but a minute for him to reach the door to the house. He shifted the trunk to the left, braced it between himself and the doorframe, and knocked on the white-painted door with his right hand. Just as he heard footsteps, he spit on his hand and raked it through his hair.
The older woman that ran the place, Mrs. Ruby, opened the door. Monroe’s heart sank a bit. He was being foolish. It was just as well that Mrs. Ruby greeted him.
“May I—” she began, but a shout from somewhere in the rear of the house interrupted her greeting.
“Go attend to your girls.” McFarland appeared from the kitchen, wiping his face with a soft white napkin.
Monroe chuckled as he handed the trunk to McFarland. “I understand.”
“That would’ve taken me at least a few days to get to. How’d you finish it so fast?”
“I was glad to have the work. Gave me something to do.” Monroe ran a hand over the new leather. He wished he could see the girl’s face when she saw what he’d done.
“Man who likes to stay busy.” McFarland hefted the trunk onto his shoulder, and the look he gave Monroe made Monroe think he understood entirely why a man might like to keep his mind occupied. “I’ll be certain to let her know who fixed it.” He winked at Monroe.
“No need,” Monroe said, although he felt quite the opposite. He said goodnight and walked back toward the tracks. But instead of crossing them, he headed south along the line. A good walk would thoroughly tire him out, and he would be asleep in no time at all.
He walked about a mile south, until all he could see of the house and barn and his crew’s tents were pinpricks of light coming from lanterns and lamps. Along the way he plotted the next day’s work. If they moved fast enough, they could complete the framing by midday. That would put them right on track to finish in the allotted time. Back in his tent, he had an exact plan laid out, week by week, for the entire project.