"I know. At first, we thought it was a joke, but why would anyone leave it here?"
"Plus, no one had access to this room." His mind churned with possibilities. "I highly doubt either one of the Claytons wrote it."
Willow nodded. "Exactly."
"Which book was it in?"
"Here." She handed him a book.
He looked over the cover before glancing back to her, raising a brow. "How to Get the Best Yields from Your Garden?"
Willow shrugged, but eyed the book. "It could be a clue. Or it could be nothing."
At this point, he didn't think it was anything other than someone's fancy, but he also couldn't be completely sure. He read the note again, looking for more clues. "Which page was it on?"
She bit her lip, and his eyes drew to the movement. He wanted to sink his teeth right there, in that same spot.
She leaned over him toward the book, and he closed his eyes as a silky strand of blond hair caressed his cheek, the scent of lavender filled his senses. Heaven above, it was almost too much temptation to handle. His grip on the book tightened as she turned the pages, oblivious to the emotions rocking through him.
She hummed as she skimmed through the pages, finally stopping on one and pointed. "Page 57."
He tilted his head to read it. "Potatoes?"
Her eyes widened and met his. "You don't think it could be buried in the vegetable garden, do you?"
He highly doubted it, and shrugged. "It's possible. However, the garden is always replanted every year, and this legend has been around for a long time. I think if it were buried out there, someone would've found it by now."
Her shoulders deflated a fraction. "You're probably right. Although, I still think it's worth a look."
He looked down her body, and he hoped she thought he was only looking at her gown. And even though he was, he couldn't help but appreciate the body beneath. He coughed. "That dress might be a bit too fine to dig in the garden with."
Her lips curved ruefully as she looked at the China-blue, ruffled garment. "You're probably right, and this is one of my favorites."
"It matches your eyes," he said, feeling foolish once the words were out. Her gaze trailed up to his, and that breathtaking, depthless blue arrested him. "It does, though I'm not certain anyone has noticed before. At least, no one has ever mentioned it."
He leaned forward without realizing it until he was closer. Tentatively, he reached out and brushed golden strands from her face, giving him an unobstructed view. "I don't know how they haven't. The color is intriguing."
"They're blue," she said, dryly.
His lips quirked, but he didn't back away at her blunt words. Instead, he touched her chin and notched it up higher to get a better view. "They're not just blue. Maybe that's what people think upon first seeing them, but they're like sapphires. Deep, sparkling, and rich."
She flushed again, and turned her face slightly away. Her modesty was so sexy. Another odd thing for him to feel, because he'd always been annoyed by maidenly virtue. Although, he realized now, he'd been annoyed by false maidenly virtue. This was pure, unblemished sweetness, and he wanted more of it. "Does it make you uncomfortable when I say such things?"
Her eyes moved back to his and held. "A little," she said honestly. "I'm not used to such attentions."
"You haven't had suitors? I find that hard to believe." He looked at her doubtfully.
She smiled then. "As an unattached female in Promise Creek, I've had my fair share, but I'm usually too forward, too bossy for most men's taste."
He heard the unspoken question in her words. Am I too bossy for you? The fact was, he liked it. He appreciated a woman like Willow, who could take care of herself and seemingly everyone around her, as well. She wasn't a dependent. She would be a partner. "Willow, I want to kiss you."
She sucked in a breath, and those deep-blue eyes flicked to his lips. She didn't move away, didn't protest, so he slowly leaned forward, giving her ample time to stop him, if she didn't want his touch.
Her lashes fluttered closed once, and then twice—a moment before her hand met his chest. His lips were just a breath away from hers, and he yearned to close the distance, but she held him still. "We shouldn't do this," she finally said, her sweet breath feathering over his skin.
He exhaled deeply and leaned back a fraction, hoping to gain some sort of control over himself. "I shouldn't kiss you? Why?" She bit her lip, and he let out a soft, uncontrollable groan.
"Isn't it obvious?" she asked, but when he didn't answer, she expounded. "I'm friends with your sister. I'm helping her stay strong, so you don't sweet-talk her into getting your way. Plus," she said, continuing even though he wanted to argue that point. "You're leaving. You might have purchased the hotel, but you have no intentions of staying here. However, I do. I don't plan on leaving Promise Creek, so kissing would be a bad idea, because it can't lead to anything. We can't lead to anything."
Logically, he knew she was right. There was no future for them, and kissing would only end up frustrating them, or worse, hurting them both. It was better to remain apart, to not grow any closer. It sounded good in his mind, but his body didn't agree. He craved her, wanted just a little bit more. But he was honest enough to admit he'd want a little more after that, then a little more, until things were so tangled there was no way out. "You're right."
Her shoulders fell as if she were disappointed, even though it had been what she was saying all along.
"You're right," he continued as he took both her hands and raised them to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over her knuckles. The scent and feel of her skin wreaked havoc on him, charging his body with more desires, but he kept his grip on her light. "But I don't want you to be."
She sighed. "I don't, either," she said honestly.
He closed his eyes tight at her admission. Knowing she wanted a kiss just as much as he did was torture.
"Rhys?"
He shook his head before opening his eyes. "It's all right. Just hearing you want it too makes it difficult to control the urge."
She smiled and bit her lip. "I understand. I don't mean to make this harder on you."
His laugh was hoarse. "You didn't. I just find you're more temptation than I'm used to."
"Maybe it would be best if we weren't alone."
"Probably wise," he agreed, although he didn't particularly want that. And when he wanted something, he went after it. It was a novel experience to hold himself back willingly.
"Besides—" she slipped her hands from him and stepped away "—I'll usually be with Abby, so it'll make it easier."
"Yeah." He was starting to feel like an idiot, agreeing to anything she said, but he knew she needed to fill the space with words.
"Okay. Good. Good!"
"Great."
Awkward silence filled the room. She frowned. "This has become uncomfortable now, hasn't it?"
He laughed then. This woman pulled so many emotions from him, he didn't know how he was going to feel from one moment to the next. "How about we don't make this uncomfortable?" The smile he gave her was genuine, and from the way she responded, he could tell she realized that. "Why don't you tell my sister I stopped by? I probably won't get an opportunity to see her again before you leave."
"I will. But I'm sure we'll be back tomorrow. That paper—" she nodded toward the parchment on the table "—has only made us more excited. We'll continue our search soon."
He nodded and walked to the door, before turning and giving her a formal bow. "Until tomorrow, then."
She lowered her head. "Tomorrow."
He left, wondering why it sounded like a promise.
Chapter 7
By their third day of searching, Willow and Abby were exhausted.
Abby huffed and collapsed into a wingback chair in the hotel library. "There has to be another clue somewhere!"
Willow felt the same, but she had no idea where else one might be. Over the last few days, they'd searched every nook and cranny in the hotel; th
ey'd dug up the potato section in the garden and the carrots next to them for good measure. But there still weren't any clues as to where DP's hoard was. "Maybe someone found it already," Willow said. "Maybe it was that person who wrote the poem."
Abby groaned. "I can't accept that."
Willow snorted. "Accept it or not, it might be the truth. It's been years."
"I know. But I feel it in here." She placed a fist to her chest. "I feel like it's just sitting here, somewhere in the hotel, waiting for us to find it."
It was a wonderful thought. Willow was practical, and pushed for what she wanted, but she knew there were some things she couldn't force. She didn't like it, but she could accept it. "We don't have to give up. We can continue looking. Besides, your family owns the hotel now."
"My brother owns the hotel."
Willow rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. Your brother will let you go anywhere you like, whenever you like."
"He probably would. But you're forgetting—" she sat up in her chair "—he won't be here much longer. He doesn't stay and personally run each and every hotel. It would be impossible. He'll appoint a manager, and there's no guarantee they'll let us traipse around the place like my brother has. If we're going to find it, we have to do it soon."
Willow knew she was right, but she didn't want to dash Abby's hopes. So instead of agreeing, she hoisted herself from the chair, held out her hands for Abby to grip, and pulled her up. "Well, we're not going to find it right now. Not when we're exhausted and frazzled. Why don't we get a bite to eat in the restaurant, and refresh ourselves? Maybe with a little time away, we'll think of new places to look."
Abby blew out a breath. "I guess you're right. We need a break. But we're coming back and looking after our meal."
"Of course." She rolled her eyes and laughed.
They linked arms as they left the library, and made their way through the hotel. Willow was amazed at how much Rhys had accomplished already in such a short amount of time. The holes or saggy pieces of wood in the floors had all been replaced, and the planks were now being sanded and prepped for a new coat of finish. They would shine like mirrors when they were done.
The cleaning crews had been working overtime, but Willow hadn't heard anyone complain. In truth, they seemed chipper about it. Abby had explained that Rhys was probably paying them bonuses for the extra work, in order to have it completed quickly. Willow could understand why the workers were so pleased with the arrangement.
When she was in service, she would have jumped at the opportunity to earn extra. The people here were no different. Even now that she was wealthy, Willow was still interested in such a prospect.
She sighed. She might have means now, but she was still the same person she'd been in Boston. Well, perhaps not completely. She'd changed over the last year and a half, just as the other women had. But inside, she felt the same wants and needs as before. She wasn't so worried with her physical needs now, and would never worry again, but there was still so much she wanted, emotionally. Answering Ivan's mail-order-bride ad wasn't only out of desperation. When her employer had made threats against her if she refused intimate relations with him, she'd left. But he'd also withheld a reference, and she hadn't been able to find work after. She had been desperate, since no one would hire her, but she'd also realized something else she needed. Willow wanted love, and Ivan had made it seem like he was practically in love with her already. She'd had hope for a future, and she'd jumped.
But after a year and a half, hope was starting to fade. She sighed softly, praying Abby hadn't heard. She didn't want Abby's pity. Instead, she shored herself up, ready for an excellent meal. And by the smells coming from the dining room, that was exactly what they were going to get. "Smells divine."
"I can tell Rhys has already changed the menu. I wonder how much of a fight the chef put up." She snorted.
"Why is that funny?"
"Let me tell you." Abby rolled her eyes. "At our hotel in Philadelphia, we have a French chef. Rhys couldn't tell him anything, or he'd blow up into hysterical fits."
Willow wasn't too surprised. She had been in service after all, and chefs were notoriously stubborn and egotistical. "Who ended up winning the argument?"
Abby raised a brow. "Who do you think?"
Willow chuckled. "You did say Rhys was stubborn."
"More stubborn than the French chef, apparently." Abby extricated her arm from Willow's and rubbed her hands together. "I hope Rhys included some of my favorite dishes."
"Does he normally request the same menu items?"
"Not identical menus, but there are a few favorites that always carry over. Our hotels also offer local favorites and such." She smacked her lips in a rather unladylike way that had Willow chuckling.
The maître d', a recently filled position, stepped over to them at once. "Miss Winthrop, Miss Packer, it's a pleasure. Would you like a table?"
Willow had never received such treatment, so she assumed it was due to Abby's association with Rhys. There were definite perks to having a powerful brother. "We would, Mr. Brink. Thank you."
His face lit up. "Excellent. Follow me."
Willow glanced around, slightly embarrassed they were being seated while others waited. But instead of saying anything, she followed Mr. Brink and Abby to a corner table.
Abby smiled brightly. "Thank you."
"Of course. Mr. Winthrop specifically told me to leave this table empty in case either yourself or Miss Packer were hungry. Also, everything you order will be charged to the hotel."
Willow spluttered, but Abby smiled, and thanked the man as if it were no big deal. He handed them both menus, and told them a server would assist them whenever they were ready.
Willow looked unseeing at the menu, the dishes blurring together as her mind whirled from what Mr. Brink had said. Rhys had saved this table for Abby and her. Meaning, if she were hungry and ate without Abby, she would have gotten the same treatment. Quick seating at the best table, and a fully-paid-for meal no matter what she ordered. He'd taken care of her needs in this regard, and she wasn't sure how to react.
She was stunned, of course. She should probably tell him she was fully capable of taking care of herself, but Rhys already knew that. He also knew she was an heiress and could easily afford any meal she wanted. This wasn't about money. Not for either of them. It wasn't a hardship for him to give her a complimentary meal. He'd done so to care for her. Same as he had Abby.
The knowledge brought a sweet ache that wove through her body, lingering in her chest. Rhys cared. She cleared her throat and lowered the menu slightly. "So, what's good?"
Abby looked up with delight sparkling in her eyes. "The beef soup and venison pie are to die for. Also, I'm planning on having a dessert."
A surprised laugh escaped Willow. "I don't know where you'll put it all. Especially with a figure like yours." She looked at the table as though she could see through it to Abby's tiny waist.
"You might not be able to tell, but I enjoy food very much." She patted her stomach.
Willow shook her head. She had noticed Abby enjoyed meals, but she never overate. She highly doubted the woman would be able to eat all she ordered. Willow placed the menu on the table. "I'll trust your judgment, and will have whatever you're ordering."
"You won't be disappointed!" Abby signaled a man who waited along the wall. At her gesture, he immediately came over. She smiled and ordered them both the beef soup and venison pie.
"I'm not certain I'll be able to eat it all," Willow said.
Abby waved a hand through the air. "That doesn't matter."
But Willow had never intentionally wasted food before and felt a little guilty at the prospect. However, when the soup arrived, she was pleased to see it served in a cup instead of a bowl. That wouldn't fill her up too much. "Smells delicious."
"Just wait until you taste it." She looked at the table and frowned. "My soup spoon is missing. Do you have yours?"
Fortunately, Willow had been trained a
s to which was which while in service. "I don't have one, either."
"That's strange. I'll have to mention it to Rhys, so he can properly train the staff."
Willow doubted the locals would worry over such a thing, but then again, maybe they would. This was a town full of miners, but many were now millionaires. Perhaps they wanted to acquire a few polished edges to go with their new station.
Abby alerted their waiter to the problem, and he immediately left to get their utensils. Willow inhaled the tendrils of steam coming from the cup. "At least it's giving us time for it to cool off."
Abby picked up her water glass and held it up in mock salute. "There's the bright side while we die of starvation." Willow rolled her eyes and Abby snickered. "I'm only partially kidding."
"Unfortunately, I realize that." They both laughed. "So, about the treasure, I was thinking if we look in—"
A spluttering noise sounded a few tables over from them, as a man jumped from his seat and clutched at his chest. His other arm flailed and landed hard on the table, forcing the items on top to crash to the ground.
Willow jumped from her chair and ran to him. "Sir, are you all right? Sir?" He collapsed to the ground and Willow knelt next to him. "Someone get the doctor!" She screamed, and held his head on her lap as he fell unconscious. She watched his chest move up and down in rapid breaths.
Another commotion sounded from across the room, and Willow realized another man was vomiting. Soon, someone else cried out. People were screaming and running around, and she heard the unmistakable sound of others vomiting.
A cold sweat broke over her and knowledge filled her. They'd been poisoned. All these people had been poisoned. Willow's head swiveled around as she tried to find Abby, but didn't see her anywhere.
When Rhys ran into the room, with Abby trailing behind him, she realized why Abby had left.
Quickly assessing the people in the room, he knelt beside Willow and started undoing the man's neckcloth. "What happened here?"
A Mail-Order Destiny Page 5