by Cat Cahill
Penny expertly flipped the cakes off the pan, as if she’d been doing this all her life instead of only six weeks. “In my experience, girls who look as you do right now are hung up on a beau.”
Emma nearly choked on her own tongue.
“Of course,” Penny said, glancing at her, “we Gilbert Girls don’t have any beaux, do we?” The corner of her mouth turned up in just such a way that Emma knew for certain she could trust Penny with anything. Even the secret that could cost her everything.
“No, but . . .” Emma trailed off as she tried to figure out how to tell Penny about what existed between herself and Monroe.
“It’s the fellow we met the first day, isn’t it? The one who fixed your trunk?” Penny ladled in the last of the water to create more batter.
Emma’s face warmed. “It is,” she said carefully. “But it isn’t as if anything—”
“What do you want?”
“I’m sorry?”
Penny stopped stirring and looked Emma square in the eyes. “If there was nothing standing between you two—if you were free for him to court you—what would you want to happen?”
Emma blinked at her. She hadn’t let her thoughts get that far. She hadn’t dared. Except . . . she had. Late at night, just before fully waking in the morning, bored while hanging laundry, her mind wandered. Images of a life with Monroe as her husband flickered behind her eyes, like photographs brought to life. The places they would see together as they moved from town to ranch to railroad depot—the freedom such a life would bring would make it feel as if she’d lost none of her newfound independence. Monroe, creating buildings from nothing as she tried to capture it all in poetry. Children dashing from a hastily put-together cabin to their father’s latest half-finished project. Her mother and siblings perhaps moved somewhere nearby.
The realness—the utter, absolute happiness—of it all unnerved her so much that she had to grab on to the wooden countertop to keep from toppling over backward.
“I’d want it all,” Emma said, her voice quiet.
Penny smiled knowingly at her. “Then there’s your answer.”
“But—”
Penny held up a finger. “No excuses. If you know what you want, you find a way to make it happen. Trust me, it’s the best thing you can do for yourself.”
Emma scrunched up her eyebrows, trying to read the meaning in between Penny’s words. But the other girl seemed to have drifted off into her own thoughts. Emma moved across the room on shaky legs to retrieve the breakfast dishes.
What did she want? That was clear enough. But she also wanted security for her family. And that couldn’t happen if she followed what was in her heart.
Could it?
Emma stood staring at the cabinet, the plain white dishes looking back at her.
If you know what you want, you find a way to make it happen.
Her contract with the Gilbert Company was only a year. If Monroe felt the same way about her, surely he would agree to wait for her. It would give him time to finish his work here, too, without fear of reprisal from Mr. Gilbert. The only problem that remained was how to care for her family if she no longer had this position. There had to be a way, even if she couldn’t think of it right now. But perhaps if she told Monroe—if he knew that was the real reason she pulled away—he might be able to help her figure out what to do. Maybe he knew of work she could do as they moved. She wasn’t too proud to take in laundry or do mending or cook meals. If anything, being a Gilbert Girl had taught her that she was capable of nearly any task put to her.
Her entire demeanor lifted with hope, so much that Mrs. Ruby had to ask her twice during breakfast if she remembered how to best appease a guest who disliked the dish he ordered. Penny gave her a smile, and Emma didn’t even mind having to ask Mrs. Ruby to repeat herself.
After they’d finished breakfast and hung the laundry, Dora and Caroline took charge of cooking the noon meal, Penny went for tutoring with Mrs. Ruby on what she called “conversation starters,” and Emma found herself with a dilemma. She had one hour until she’d be needed to serve the meal. Mrs. Ruby expected the girls to use these short breaks to review the dining protocols they’d be using in the hotel or to catch up on unfinished tasks. Emma’s best dress was in sore need of ironing, and it wouldn’t hurt her to review, but the door to the house seemed to pull her outside, toward Monroe.
If she could just speak with him for a few minutes and tell him what she’d realized that morning, maybe he could be of help. If he knew that was the only thing holding her back, perhaps . . .
Emma’s smile nearly touched her ears as she moved quickly across the sage and grasses. Summer in this valley was the most beautiful scene she had ever laid eyes on. Some of the snow had melted off the mountains to the west, but a lot of it still remained. The peaks set a stunning backdrop to the greens and yellows of the valley. Large white clouds moved lazily across the sky, and a bee buzzed past Emma’s nose. She swatted it away absentmindedly as she kept her eyes on the structure straight ahead. Once over the tracks, she climbed the hill until the hotel lay spread out before her.
There was still much to be done inside, but it was hard to know that from the outside. Soaring windows, lofty eaves, and wide, welcoming doors made this a place weary travelers would be glad to visit. Emma could almost hear the planned fountain gurgling out front as she stood still and admired the place that Monroe had created. It was but a skeleton when she’d arrived, and now it was an almost-whole building.
She felt so proud of him that she wanted to run and find every person in this valley and show off what Monroe had made out of nothing at all.
“Miss Daniels, do you need some help?” A tall man, red-faced from the sun with dark blond hair slicked under his hat, had emerged from around the corner of the building.
“No, sir. I’m simply admiring your work.” Emma smiled out of habit, but then drew it back when she realized he’d said her name. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
He pulled off his hat and ran a hand over his hair to smooth it. “I’m afraid not, but I remember you from the investors’ tour.” He paused for a moment, almost as if he expected her to apologize. Although for what, she had no idea. “I’m John Turner, the foreman.”
Emma pushed her lips together, searching for any memory of the man. When she came up short, she gave him her kindest smile and said, “I’m so sorry, I don’t remember you being there.”
“I wasn’t,” he said shortly. Then he softened. “But I saw you and the other ladies from a distance. I don’t forget true beauty when it crosses my path.”
It was a compliment, and Emma nodded to accept it, although there was something about the way he said it—or maybe it was the way he looked at her—that made gooseflesh rise on her skin.
Mr. Turner took a step back. “I apologize. I’ll let you go on your way.”
Emma swallowed. She was being silly. Monroe’s foreman wouldn’t harm her. She was simply shaky from her experience down at the creek weeks ago. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Turner.” With that, she moved on shaky feet across the sandy dirt and flattened grasses toward the corner of the hotel. When she looked back, Mr. Turner had disappeared around the other corner.
Emma paused to catch her breath. From here, just a few feet away from the open windows—and they were real glass windows!—of the hotel, the echoes of voices and hammers created quite a din from inside. Emma moved slowly around the building, taking in everything that had changed since she’d last been here. Around the back, she spotted the one person she’d hoped to see. He was alone, scratching out something with a pencil on a scrap of paper. She stood there for a moment, simply watching him. That was safe. No one who happened upon them could suspect anything with them at this much of a distance from each other.
He scrunched up his face and his lips moved as he wrote while standing. At one point, he pushed his hat back a little and scratched at his forehead. He was in his usual work clothes—dark gray pants, a white shirt, a black vest
, and the same scuffed boots. He looked so handsome, just standing there, figuring up whatever it was he was working on, that Emma had to remind herself to breathe.
He paused, and she wondered if it was because he knew she was there. When he looked up, a wide, lazy smile crossed his face. Then it was almost as if he remembered what they’d last discussed. The smile disappeared, and he scanned the area before letting his eyes come to rest on her again.
“I need to speak with you,” she said.
Monroe’s eyebrows rose, and that devil-may-care smile slowly returned. He folded the paper he’d been writing on into a neat little square and slid it into his pocket before gesturing toward the nearest door to the hotel, which was propped open.
Emma hesitated a moment. Wasn’t his crew inside the hotel? It wouldn’t do to have anyone happen upon them. No—she needed to trust him. He wouldn’t take her anywhere someone could find them, after all. He was much too careful for that.
She scurried forward and slipped through the door. He was waiting for her just inside. She shut the door firmly behind her and glanced down the hallway.
“No one is down here,” he said. “We’re working upstairs today.”
Relief flooded her chest. As she looked up at him in the dim light, she wondered how she managed to find someone so right for her all the way out here in the wilderness of Colorado. It was almost as if she came here because of some divine intervention.
Monroe stood a foot away, hands in his pockets, every inch the gentleman. “Emma?” he prompted. “Is everything all right?”
She twisted her hands together, and she could almost hear her mother scolding her for fidgeting. She pulled them apart and looked up into his eyes. Eyes she could drown in. Which wouldn’t help her at all, considering what she needed to ask him.
Asking him. She’d been so caught up in the idea of Monroe having the answer, and so excited about the possibilities that might create, she hadn’t really thought through how she would ask him. I’ll marry you if you know of some way I can earn money while we travel from place to place didn’t quite seem the right way, considering he hadn’t proposed.
He stood there patiently, watching her search for the right words. “Was there something you wanted to ask me?”
Emma nodded. “I . . . if . . .” Why hadn’t she thought this through?
Monroe’s lips quirked up into that smile—the one that was teasing, the one that put her almost beside herself that first day she’d met him. “Do you need help with your poetry again? I can’t say I’m any sort of poet, but how about His eyes were like dewfall on the dirt / white and brown just like his shirt?”
Emma almost snorted with laughter. “And why do you think I’m writing poetry about you?”
“I didn’t say those exquisite lines were about me.” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you writing poetry about me? Because I’d be quite honored.”
Her cheeks went warm. He lifted a hand and rested his fingers gently on her cheek. She closed her eyes. It was as if his hand and her face were the only things that existed in the world. His thumb caressed her jawbone, and a sigh escaped her throat.
“The way you smile . . .” He ran his thumb over her lips, and she thought she might melt from his touch. “It reminds me . . . I never thought such a memory could be anything but tainted, but you’ve proven otherwise.”
She opened her eyes, expecting to see a tinge of sadness on his face. But there was none. Instead, he smiled slightly, and his eyes were even darker than usual. She needed to ask him—to find out if any of this was possible. The right words didn’t matter, only the answer he might have. “Monroe.” Her voice came out strangled with emotion.
“I know.” His hand lifted just a fraction from her face, but she caught it with her own, pressing it back against her cheek and resting her palm on the back of his hand.
“I was wondering—”
A thump and the sound of the door flying open took the words from her mouth.
Chapter Twenty
“Boss?” John Turner stood there in the doorway, a dark figure outlined by the bright sun. His eyes went directly to Monroe’s hand on Emma’s face, just a split second before Monroe dropped it.
Monroe backed away, for all the good it did. It was too late, and all he could hope was that Turner was not the sort of man to turn tail and tell McFarland or Mrs. Ruby. Especially after all that Monroe had done for him. “What do you need?” The words came out short, and Monroe inwardly wished he could take them back.
“Well . . .” The man drew the word out as he leaned against the doorframe. A smile played across his lips as his eyes roved over Emma. He removed his hat and held it lazily against his thigh. “Miss.”
Monroe stepped in front of her, blocking her from Turner’s perusal. His heart thumped out a warning. Something felt very wrong. “Did your men finish the molding?”
Turner nodded. “We did. I came to let you know Daley’s crew is finished with the south side, but now something else has my attention.”
Monroe’s fingers tapped out a rhythm on his legs. “Something with which you don’t need to concern yourself.”
Turner smiled even wider as he crossed his arms. “See, Boss, it is, though. If you’re off cavorting with one of them Gilbert Girls, how are we supposed to finish this work on time?”
Bile rose in Monroe’s throat as heat flooded his entire body. Behind him, Emma placed a hand on his back, almost as if she could tell he was teetering on the edge. He’d been a fool, convincing himself to trust this man. What he really wanted to do was punch Turner in his grinning face, but instead, he concentrated on Emma’s hand and said, “Are you going to run off and tell McFarland? Ruin everything we’ve worked for?”
Turner shrugged. “It don’t much matter to me who I’m working for, so long as I get the money promised when we beat that deadline. It’s you—and her—whose positions are at stake. But I could remain quiet.” He left the word hanging.
Monroe grunted. He didn’t trust himself with words, and he had more than an inkling about what was coming next.
“I could be persuaded.”
“You could.” Monroe’s voice was flat. “Dare I ask how?”
“You know, we don’t make much in the way of coin here.” Turner paused and ran a hand over the fine woodwork on the doorframe as if he actually cared about the work. “A body tends to run out near the end of the week and has to forgo spirits and all manner of entertainments over at the mining camp. Pardon me, miss.” He ducked his head toward Emma.
She stilled behind Monroe, but kept her hand on his back. That wave of heat rose through him again. He’d see Turner run out of camp before he could do anything that would hurt Emma. “And?” he said, fire igniting the word.
“And a little more in the way of pocket money might go far in keeping my mouth shut.”
Turner was blunt, Monroe gave him that. He stared the man down for a moment as he fought to control the inferno that threatened to overflow. “How much?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about you make me an offer?” Turner stood up straight, one hand in his pocket and the other replacing his hat.
Monroe dug his teeth into the insides of his lips. The last thing he wanted to do was give this waste of a man his own hard-earned money. But if it protected Emma and kept him here to finish his work and get the reference he so badly needed, he’d do just about anything. He held out a couple of bills.
Turner’s eyes widened. “That’ll do just nicely, I think.” He pocketed it. “You know this’ll be gone by Friday next?”
“Right.” Monroe growled out the word.
“I believe I’ll tell Daley to take his men to work on the north wing.” Turner doffed his hat to Emma and disappeared past them into the hallway that led to the front entrance and the grand staircase.
Monroe was quiet for a moment before stepping forward to shut the open door. He could barely comprehend what had just happened. The man he’d seen a little of himself in had just weaseled his w
ay into taking Monroe’s money to keep quiet. Turner was nothing like him, nothing at all. He should’ve trusted his instincts, especially after Turner had shown who he truly was in front of the investors. But instead, Monroe had forced himself to interpret Turner’s impatience and constant peacocking for attention as the same ambition Monroe had felt when he’d first started building.
It wasn’t even remotely the same. That he could see, now that it had smacked him in the face.
“He’s blackmailed you.” Emma looked up at him, her eyes filled with a fire that matched his own.
“I know,” Monroe said shortly, then immediately hated himself for taking his frustration out on her. “I’m sorry. I’m angry—with him, and with myself for giving in to him.”
“What are you going to do?” Emma asked. She clutched her arms to her stomach, and he wondered if it was from fear or anger.
“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t see that we have any other options, though. I need to finish this project and secure a reference, and you need to keep your position and your reputation.”
Emma pushed her lips together, and he softened.
He reached for her hand. “I apologize for putting you into this situation. For not remaining true to what I promised.” His eyes drifted from her face to her hand in his. He shouldn’t be holding it. He shouldn’t have touched her at all. He should have sent her away the second she stepped foot behind the hotel.
“It isn’t your fault.” She gave him a sad smile. “I came here of my own free will.”
Monroe found her eyes again. He could lose his very soul in those eyes. “I promise not to put you in such a position ever again. You deserve better.” You deserve a man who will give you the life you want, who won’t force you to move from town to ranch to mining camp, who will make you happy. He gently pulled his hand from hers.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, but she didn’t say a word.
“You wanted to ask me a question, I believe?”