by Cat Cahill
Emma pushed her lips together again. She had a habit of doing that, and he hadn’t quite figured out what it meant. He wanted to learn, though. He wanted to know everything there was to know about this woman. Perhaps after their work here was finished . . . No, it was foolish to even entertain such a thought. Selfish. He’d always been selfish, and it had cost the life of one woman he’d loved already.
He couldn’t do that to Emma.
“I’ve forgotten it,” Emma said, her voice as soft as a silk pillow he’d once laid his head on. That had been at a hotel in Denver, where he’d spent every penny he had trying to kill the grief and the guilt after Colette’s death.
Monroe waited, but Emma offered nothing else. She wrapped her arms around herself, and with that one simple move, he’d never felt further apart from her.
“I should go.” She’d already taken a step toward the door. Away from him.
A great, gaping canyon opened in Monroe’s heart. “Emma.”
She paused, eyes on him but still so far away.
“Maybe . . .” he said, but his voice was full of pebbles. He cleared his throat and with it, his sense. He couldn’t give her the hope of something that couldn’t happen. “I’ll make certain Turner stays quiet.”
She gave him a brief smile, her eyes more watery than normal. When she disappeared out the door, she took a piece of him with her.
Chapter Twenty-one
Tuesday morning dawned with a bright sky and clouds on the horizon. As Emma waited out front with Mrs. Ruby, Mrs. McFarland, and the other girls, she felt that the sky accurately represented her soul. She had a bright future with the Gilbert Company, but no amount of praise from Mrs. Ruby or promise of money for her family could replace the clouds and emptiness she felt inside. They waited patiently for the train to arrive from Denver and Cañon City, carrying four new girls that Emma and the others would be expected to teach everything about the Gilbert Company way. More girls would arrive slowly over the next few weeks.
Penny could barely conceal her excitement at meeting some new faces, and even Caroline was fidgeting. Dora, however, looked as if she had something else on her mind. Emma empathized, because she did too, and it wasn’t just the loneliness she’d felt since she’d last parted from Monroe a few days ago. This train would likely carry a letter from home, and while she was eager for news, every terrible event that might have befallen her family had run through her mind. She prayed every night and every morning that her wages had been reaching them on time. And though she’d written to her sisters and her mother multiple times, she’d only received the one return letter so far.
The sound of hammers and shouts drew her attention away from the tracks on the horizon. The men had begun their day’s work on the hotel. She sighed as she watched them work on some large wooden piece lying in front of the hotel while the grand doors opened wide to show the inside of the lobby. From this distance, it wasn’t possible to tell who was who, and that was for the best.
After what had happened a few days ago with Mr. Turner, she vowed to herself that she would not seek Monroe out again. Not only because of the danger to both of them, but because that moment had made it crystal clear that anything between them simply wasn’t possible. What was it he’d said, just as she’d gathered up the courage to ask him the question she’d intended to voice before Turner interrupted them? I promise not to put you in such a position ever again. You deserve better.
With those words, she’d swallowed the one hope she had that something could work out between them. It was for the best, she’d told herself. Finding respectable work as a married woman was nigh impossible enough, and finding it when one didn’t live in a fixed place was even harder. She couldn’t expect Monroe to solve that problem for her. It was foolish to have even entertained the thought. Her first duty was to her family, and she’d do well to remember that. Monroe would finish his work here within the next month or two, and then he would move on while she served out the remainder of her contract. If the company would have her, she’d sign on for another year. Followed by another and another. And to that end, she would remain unmarried, possibly forever.
“You look so sad,” Dora whispered.
Emma nearly jumped. Dora rarely confided in her, and she had never asked Emma about anything personal. Penny had asked, of course, earlier that morning, but Emma’s sorrowful look had given her all the answers she’d needed.
“I am, a little,” Emma finally whispered back. “But I will be fine.”
Dora gave her a tentative smile. But her eyes, so dark they were almost black, looked a million miles away.
“You are too, I can tell,” Emma said.
They said nothing else, but simply stood there in mutual understanding until a whistle pierced the air and steam filled the horizon to the north.
“They’re coming!” Penny said.
Mrs. Ruby laid a hand on her arm to still her.
“Pardon,” Penny said, but she still stood on her tiptoes as she looked north, like a small child eager for her father’s return.
Emma’s thoughts wandered back to Monroe as they waited for the train to arrive. If things were different, would he have asked for her hand? She wanted to hope he would have, that perhaps he planned to do so still, once his work here was finished. He knew about her family’s situation, but she doubted he understood that their welfare would be her responsibility for years, until her brother was old enough to provide for them.
When she came out here, she was certain that this work and the freedom that came with it were all that she could ever want. But now she yearned for more. She wanted Monroe. She wanted to share a life with him, build a family with him. And the thought of staying on here after he left, alone and without him, sounded like a dismal future.
When the train screeched to its stop in front of them, Penny, Dora, and Caroline crowded around the door to the only car. When it opened, the four new girls who stepped out found themselves greeted enthusiastically.
Mrs. Ruby completed the introductions, and the new girls—Sarah, Jane, Beatrice, and Millie—seemed everything from excited to terrified. Emma hid a smile behind her hand. They reminded her so much of when she and the other girls had first arrived just six weeks ago. How much had changed since then! The new hotel actually looked like a hotel, and they’d all proven themselves to be much stronger than they’d ever thought.
As for Emma, her heart had changed in ways she’d never anticipated. She sighed and tried to push those thoughts aside as she followed the group back to the house.
Mrs. Ruby slowed to wait for her. “There is no letter, Emma. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” The words hid the worsening ache in her soul. She’d lost Monroe, and all she wanted right now were comforting words from home.
Mrs. Ruby laid a hand on Emma’s arm. “You can ask after one when you next go into Cañon City for services.”
Emma forced a smile she didn’t feel.
After a late breakfast, and after the new girls were shown the bedroom they would need to share, Mrs. Ruby assigned Emma to take Millie to fetch water and begin washing the bed linens and towels. Together they set out toward the tracks and up the slope.
“Are you happy to be here?” Emma asked by way of making polite conversation. Millie hadn’t said much at breakfast, and all Emma and the other girls had learned was that she was from St. Louis.
Millie shrugged. “It wasn’t my choice, but I suppose there were worse options.”
“Well, it really isn’t so bad. It’s hard work, but Mrs. Ruby is fair and patient. We attend services in Cañon City on Sundays. You can bring your earnings to send home then too, if you choose.” She shifted the empty bucket from one hand to the other.
Millie said nothing, and Emma wondered if she didn’t get along with her family. Perhaps her leaving had something to do with that, which could explain why she was so hesitant to speak on it. She seemed slightly older than Emma, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. But Emma couldn’t be sure i
f she actually was older, or if she simply exuded an air of greater maturity. Her bright red hair was swept up off her neck, and even the soft gray of the Gilbert Girl dress couldn’t dull its lively effect.
“May we see the new hotel?” Millie asked.
Emma shifted her bucket to her other hand. She couldn’t refuse, and she couldn’t decide if she hoped to see Monroe or if she prayed he was elsewhere. She detoured closer to the building, and Millie’s eyes lit up as she took in what was before her.
“It’s magnificent,” she said, almost breathless.
“It truly is a marvel. You should see the inside. Mrs. McFarland says it should be ready in less than a month,” Emma said. A rush of pride flooded her as she took in the majestic building.
“Sooner, if I have any say in it,” Monroe said from where he stepped out of the front doors. He doffed his hat. “Ladies.”
Emma’s throat went dry at the mere sight of him. Would he ever stop having that effect on her? Especially now that all hope they had to be together was gone.
Millie dipped her head and looked at Monroe through her lashes. Something about the look set Emma on edge. Her hand tightened around the rope handle of the water bucket, and she gritted her teeth. Only after a few seconds passed did she remember she should make introductions. “Miss Sinclair, this is Mr. Monroe Hartley. Mr. Hartley is the hotel’s builder. Miss Sinclair is one of the new Gilbert Girls.”
To his credit, Monroe merely nodded at Millie and said the standard reply about how glad he was to make her acquaintance. Then his eyes went right back to Emma. She warmed all over, reassured and feeling silly for being jealous.
Her mind whirled. I promise not to put you in such a position ever again. You deserve better. Emma had thought he had meant everything was over between them. But if that was true, why had he emerged from the hotel? Was it because she had Millie in tow? Even still, that didn’t necessitate his coming outside.
He’d come to see her.
If there had been a fence post or a wall nearby, Emma would have grabbed on to it. Instead, all she could do was root her heels into the ground and pray not to topple over as the realization washed through her: Monroe still saw some flicker of hope for them. How, she had no idea. Perhaps it was as she’d thought a hundred times since she’d last parted from him—he had no idea how long her responsibility to her family would last. Maybe the words he had spoken meant only that he would never compromise her reputation again by spending time with her alone. And when his work here was finished . . .
She wanted to grab him by his arms and demand answers.
“What have we here? Visitors?”
The sound of that voice behind Monroe immediately stopped the thoughts racing through Emma’s head. Monroe visibly tensed as John Turner joined their group.
“Miss Daniels. How nice to see you again.” His smile bordered on lecherous, and Emma wanted nothing more than to smack his leering face. But instead, she took her anger out on the bucket handle, causing the rope to dig into her palm, and made introductions again.
Mr. Turner immediately turned all of his attention to Millie. “Meeting you, dear lady, is perhaps the best thing that has happened to me since I came to these parts.”
Millie flushed a furious red, and Emma looped her arm protectively through the other girl’s. Millie hadn’t yet heard Mrs. Ruby’s lecture, and she clearly couldn’t see Turner for the louse that he was. Emma fixed Mr. Turner with a glare. “If you’ll pardon us, Miss Sinclair and I need to fetch water for the wash.”
Turner tipped his hat, and the grin he gave Millie made Emma’s stomach turn. She glanced at Monroe, whose fists were balled at his sides. As she and Millie walked away, she breathed a sigh of relief. Monroe would set Turner right. Emma only hoped he didn’t have to pay more for the privilege. The thought of Monroe giving any money to that no-good, conniving—
“He certainly was interesting. John.” Millie’s eyes were alight as they walked down toward the creek, and the fondness with which she said the man’s name made Emma’s jaw clench.
“Mr. Turner is not someone you want to know any better.” Emma dropped Millie’s arm to move the bucket to her other hand.
Millie picked her way around a large clump of sagebrush. “He was awfully charming. And . . .”
“And what?”
“He seemed to take to me. No man ever took to me at home.” The flush crept up into her cheeks again.
Emma sighed. She knew exactly what Millie meant. “He’s not worth losing your position here. Mr. Turner is not as he seems.”
Millie scrunched up her face as she looked at Emma. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t go into details. Please just trust me, Millie.”
Millie said nothing else as they traversed the wagon-wide path to the creek. They filled the buckets in silence. On the way back, Emma took them the long way, giving the new hotel a wide berth—both for Millie’s sake and her own. She couldn’t allow herself to think more about Monroe’s words and actions today until she was alone. When she glanced at Millie, the girl looked lost in thought, a little smile playing across her face.
The sight made Emma’s insides twist up. She sent up a quick prayer that Millie would come to her senses, fast.
Chapter Twenty-two
Leaning against the rough plank wall, Monroe reread the handwritten telegram that McFarland had brought back that evening.
First guests to arrive third of August. Furnishings &c on twenty-fourth of July. If complete, new offer awaits. J.G. Gilbert, Jr.
The message was cryptic. Monroe refolded the paper and placed it carefully into his pocket. It seemed as if Gilbert was pleased enough with his progress so far that he wanted to offer him new work—but only if the hotel was ready for furnishings in a week and guests soon afterward.
There had been similar telegrams for Mrs. Ruby and the McFarlands, no doubt alerting them to the hotel’s opening. Monroe wondered how Emma felt. Was she excited to begin working with the guests? To move into the real hotel? She’d been in his thoughts constantly, so much that he couldn’t resist seeing her when she came to the hotel with the new Gilbert Girl. Just seeing her again made all the possibilities in the world run through his mind. Impossible possibilities.
He should go back inside. Big Jim had dealt him out of a hand of poker. It should be finished by now. Still, Monroe made no move to reenter the rickety building. Outside wasn’t particularly peaceful, but it was better than the cramped space indoors. When he’d showed Big Jim the telegram, the larger man had clapped him on the back and offered to help him celebrate. He couldn’t say no, even though he rarely went to the mining camp.
He wondered what Emma would think of the telegram. She’d be happy for him, he was certain of that. But he could almost see a shadow behind the joy that would light up her pretty green eyes. Because she couldn’t go with him. A builder’s life—constantly on the move, never staying in one place more than a few months—wasn’t for a woman such as Emma. She needed a stable home. Some place she could fix up and raise children. He’d learned that the hard way.
Here he was, on the verge of having everything he’d wanted, and now . . .
A woman’s shrill laugh cut through his thoughts. It was an odd sound, almost jarring, in this camp. There were no women here, save for the handful of whores who came and went when the company bosses moved them along because they distracted the men too much from their work. They were gone now, a fact made obvious the second he’d walked into the makeshift gambling house. They usually bided their time for at least a week somewhere up in the mountains before venturing back into the camp again.
The laugh came again, and it made Monroe finally move from his place holding up the wall. He peered down the trampled and packed dirt that acted as a street, bordered by the occasional hastily constructed building and even more dirty white tents. A few miners, many staggering under the weight of drink, made their way back and forth, and music poured out of one of the tents, but there was no sign o
f any woman. The laugh sounded again, but this time from behind him.
Monroe turned, and there, between the wall of the gambling house and the fluttering canvas that served as the wall of the bathhouse, he spotted her. It was too dark to make out any identifying features, but two figures—one of whom was clearly a woman—stood on the narrow strip of dirt.
He took a few steps forward, the canvas concealing him, until he could make out their voices.
“I swear, I ain’t ever seen hair as pretty as yours.” Turner.
Monroe’s limbs turned to ice just hearing the man’s voice. He was the reason Monroe’s pocket was lighter than it should be, but worse than that—and worse than the fact that Monroe had ever seen a part of himself in that snake—he’d threatened Emma. It had taken every ounce of his willpower not to pummel the man when he joined them and the new girl by the hotel two days ago. Seeing him prey on this young girl only reinforced that urge.
She giggled. Turner placed his hands on her waist, and that was all Monroe could handle. He stepped out from behind the canvas and made his way toward the pair. Squinting through the darkness, he tried to make out the girl’s features. Whore or not, all he wanted was to get her away from this sad excuse for a man. But she wasn’t a whore. That much became clear the closer he got. Cherry-red hair, tall and thin . . . she was the new Gilbert Girl who’d been with Emma at the hotel.
That familiar fire tore through his veins. “That’s enough.”
Turner looked up at him. “Pardon? The lady and I were having a private conversation.” Monroe couldn’t make out his expression, but from the seething irritation in his tone, he didn’t particularly need to.
Monroe held out a hand to the girl. “The lady needs to return to Crest Stone.”
She glanced between them, Turner’s hands still on her waist and her hat askew.
“Millie?” Turner asked the question of the girl but kept his eyes on Monroe. “Do you wish to be escorted home?”