by Pam Crooks
Carleigh drew back in shock. A lady alone sharing sleeping quarters with strange men? “Oh, but I couldn’t do that.”
“Or you could sleep right here in the lobby. Not much privacy here, either.” He shrugged again.
Her mind raced. Both his suggestions were unthinkable. “Could you check your Registry? Perhaps there’s another woman traveling alone who would consider a roommate for the night?”
“None.” The clerk shook his head. “I’ve checked all our guests in today, and none of them have been an unescorted woman.” Disapproval for Carleigh’s own unescorted state shone in his features.
Carleigh ignored it. “A young family, perhaps? Or an elderly couple?”
“Most of our guests are men, and quite a few of them are doubling up. No families, not that there’d be room for you if there were. An elderly couple or two, yes.” His mouth pursed at that, and he seemed to consider the option.
Hope flared once more within her. “I’ll be happy to pay my share of the room fee.”
“It will take some time for me to recall the names. Of course, they must be contacted and their permission requested.”
“Of course.”
The clerk stepped away from the desk. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait. I’m very busy right now. I’ll see to your situation just as soon as I can.”
“I understand. Thank you.” The clerk did look harried and stressed from the influx of Wells Fargo passengers. Carleigh strove for patience. “Sir?”
He halted in mid-step.
“Here is my calling card. Is there perhaps a place I might sit while I wait?” Her hand extended toward him, the engraved card held between two fingers. She refrained from asking about the location of a ladies parlor. She couldn’t see one and guessed, if there wasn’t a special ladies entrance, there wouldn’t be a ladies parlor, either.
He made a vague gesture. “Over there would be fine.”
Before she could respond, he disappeared into an office beyond the desk. She glanced in the direction he’d indicated and noticed a brocade settee along the wall. Frowning, she set the card on the desk for later use. Obviously, it wasn’t the custom in Visalia for a lady to present one. Feeling sheepish and out of place, she picked up her satchel. She held Spencer close to her and settled herself on the settee for the duration.
Darkness fell outside. The lobby gradually emptied except for a few men who milled about, in no hurry to have their evening meal or retire to their rooms.
She wondered if they realized how fortunate they were to even have a room. Never would she have believed that she’d be in this situation, alone and without guarantee of a place to sleep, in a frontier town far away from home. What if no one wanted her in their quarters? What would she do?
Despite her best efforts to prevent it, her self-pity deepened. If Luann were here, or Papa, they would know what to do. Somehow, they’d find her a place to stay, if only by way of a generous offer of Papa’s money.
Carleigh never claimed to be a woman of the world. There were many things she must yet learn in life, but if there was one thing she did know, it was that people would do most anything for money.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have much of it with her. She’d left home too quickly to withdraw a large sum from her account. She took only what she carelessly kept stashed in a drawer in her jewelry box, which was barely enough to get her to Mexico.
And she wasn’t yet ready to wire Papa for more. She wouldn’t stoop so low, not when she didn’t care if she ever saw him again after he’d kept her mother from her for her entire life.
Carleigh refused to think of him further. Her bitterness and hurt ran too deep. She channeled her thoughts to things more mundane.
Like the décor of the Central Hotel. It was nice enough, she supposed, but certainly not as elegant as those she’d stayed in in Europe or the East. Certainly San Francisco had some beautiful hotels. While the floor needed a good sweeping, the rugs showed their wear, and the furniture needed a thorough polish, the Central Hotel was the nicest Visalia, California, had to offer.
And she wanted her own room desperately. The minutes had dragged into a full hour of waiting, and her stomach growled its angst from lack of food.
Spencer awoke from a light nap and yawned contentedly. Her heart swelled with love for the little dog. How could she have borne this trip and its disappointments without him? She planted an impulsive kiss to the top of his white-furred head, and he rewarded her with enthusiastic licks to her cheek and chin.
Sighing, she rose, and holding him snug against her, she paced the empty lobby. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor, an almost eerie sound in the solitude. A Wellington clock ticked in regular time on a fireplace mantle and meshed with the swish of her skirts.
Impatience built within her, step by step, as she strode to a corridor. Voices drifted toward her, and she discovered a restaurant beyond a set of double doors.
A restaurant. Every chair in the place was taken, occupied by diners intent on their evening meal and enjoying themselves after a long day of travel.
She’d been so fraught with worry on the lack of a sleeping room she’d not thought to inquire of a place to eat. She chastised herself for the narrowness of her thinking, for if nothing else, it would’ve given her something to do while she waited for the bespectacled clerk.
At the thought of him, her lips set in a thin line, and she marched back to the lobby. She’d waited long enough. How long did he expect her to be patient, to wait at his whim until he found time to help her?
Amazingly, someone else stood behind the desk.
“Excuse me,” Carleigh said. “I’d like to speak to the other clerk who is working here.”
The young man, his hair parted down the middle and slicked down with tonic, frowned. “What other clerk? I’m the only one here for the evening.” His eyes widened in understanding. “You mean Benjamin?”
“I don’t know the man’s name.” Carleigh fairly hissed the words. “He stood about this tall”—she demonstrated with her hand—“and wore thick lenses in his spectacles.”
“Benjamin.” The new clerk nodded. “I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s gone for the day.”
“What?” She gasped the word.
“Yes, ma’am. He finished his shift here and left, oh, about half an hour ago.”
“But he was helping me. I—I mean, he was going to help me. I need a place to sleep tonight.”
A frown creased the youth’s face as he studied the Registry. “We have no vacancies. Did he say that we did?”
“No, no, but he was going to find and ask an elderly couple if I might room with them.” Even hearing herself say the words, even before she saw the puzzled expression on the clerk’s face, she realized the futility of it.
“Benjamin told you that? Why, that’s most irregular, ma’am. It’s against hotel policy to disturb our guests with such a request.”
Benjamin whatever-his-name-was had lied to her. He’d told her what she wanted to hear because he was so busy, and he didn’t want to be bothered with her. And, now, he’d scurried away, and she’d waited for nothing and worst of all, the very worst, she had no place to sleep tonight.
Tears stung Carleigh’s eyes. Her breaths came in quick, frantic pants. Though she blinked profusely, she could barely see the clerk through the haze of tears, and while she did her best to strive for composure, to take the news bravely, despair welled within her in monstrous proportions.
A tanned masculine hand slid a key onto the desktop in front of her. “Give the lady my room for the night.”
Carleigh hiccupped in surprise. She whirled at the low voice and angled her head back to stare up at the man next to her. “Excuse me?”
He stood a full head taller than she, and his rugged features held raw, chiseled sensuality that sent her heart tripping inside her. A crisp black suit, white cotton shirt and string tie molded to his lean length; a black Stetson was pulled down over his forehead.
“Room 22,” h
e said to the clerk.
“There’s not a room left in town.” The clerk appeared as taken aback as Carleigh. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” His tone held a hard edge, one that brooked no argument.
“All right, then. Certainly, sir.” The young head bobbed, and the clerk reached for a pencil. “I’ll make the change in the Registry.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t—.” Carleigh bit her lip. What was she saying? Under the circumstances, any self-respecting, unescorted-and-traveling-alone woman would accept the generous offer.
“Room 22 is the nicest room in the entire hotel, Miss.” The clerk smiled in encouragement. “The best we have to offer. Your name, please?”
“Carleigh.” She reached out and tapped a finger on her calling card, still lying in the same spot she’d left it an hour ago. “Carleigh Chandler.” She turned back to the man beside her. “Are you sure about this? I feel guilty that—.”
“Don’t.”
For the first time, his gaze rocked into hers. His expression held as hard an edge as his voice. She couldn’t imagine anyone daring to cross him, and any courage she might have had to refuse his offer dissipated in a whoosh.
“Oh. Well, thank you, then. I’m eternally grateful to you. You don’t know how grateful.”
“It’s the best arrangement for the both of us.”
She blinked up at him, an array of questions forming in her brain. His comment bewildered her, for she failed to see how she could benefit him in any way, having never met the man before in her life. Fleetingly, she wondered where he would stay now that he’d given her his room, but decided a man as hard-bitten as this one could take care of himself without any worrying from her.
“Your key, then, Miss Chandler,” the clerk said, dropping the metal piece into her palm. “Room 22 is up the stairs and to your--.”
“I’ll show her the way.” The man gripped her elbow and turned her from the hotel’s desk.
“Miss Chandler?”
They both halted and turned back at the clerk’s voice.
“No pets allowed. Hotel policy.” Though he appeared apologetic, the words were spoken with implacable firmness. “I’m sorry.”
Carleigh’s spirits, just buoyed and relieved at having secured a room after all, sank again. “Why, whatever might I do with him if I can’t keep him with me?”
The very thought of leaving Spencer somewhere pulled at her heartstrings. From the first day Luann had given him to her, the little dog had slept on a cushion at the foot of her bed. She’d never spent a night without him.
“Try the livery.” The clerk shrugged. “They might let him stay there.”
“The livery!” Carleigh couldn’t keep the horror from her voice.
Spencer’s miniature size would be no match for the horses boarding there. Visions of her playful pet darting in and out of hay-filled stalls, an unwitting victim to a thoughtless kick or the heavy weight of an iron hoof, appalled her.
“You heard him, Miss Chandler. The livery.” The smooth voice of the man beside her, loud enough to carry to the hotel desk, drew her wide-eyed gaze. He nodded curtly to the clerk. “We’ll do that.”
Before she could protest, he pivoted, his grip on her elbow forcing her to walk with him across the lobby and out the doors.
The crisp, night air contrasted sharply with the warmth of the hotel, but Carleigh hardly noticed. “I don’t know who you are, sir, but if you think I’m going to leave my dog in a filthy livery, then--.”
“Just shut up and walk.”
She sputtered in outrage. No man had ever talked to her so rudely. She tugged against his grip, keeping Spencer clutched to her breast at the same time. “--then you are sadly mistaken. You can just have your room back if necessary--.”
“Walk, I said.”
She dug in her heels, but an easy tug from him forced her forward and in need of a few hasty steps to keep her balance. Their heels clomped along the wooden boardwalk past the hotel and the adjoining stagecoach office to the end of the block. They stepped into the street. A large sign with dark letters on a light background identified the Visalia Livery just ahead.
“I’ll sleep with him, if I must,” Carleigh said, adamant. “But I absolutely refuse to leave him in the livery alone.”
“To hell with hotel rules.”
She frowned and peered up at him in the dim light shed by a distant street lamp. “But the clerk said--.”
“I know what he said.”
The stranger stopped and pulled her into the shadows of the stagecoach office. Carleigh puzzled at his intent, but before she could question him on it, he scooped Spencer out of her arms with one hand and set him on the ground.
“Does he have to piss or anything?”
Spencer frolicked at their feet, a happy ball of white fur who seemed to have no need to answer nature’s call at the moment. He barked upward at Carleigh, and she knew he wanted to play. What little dog wouldn’t who’d been cooped up in a stagecoach all day?
From the shadows, the man emitted an impatient curse. “Make him go. It’s getting late.”
She didn’t dare test his temper further, and she bent toward the Maltese, giving him a gentle pat on his backside, nudging him toward a row of bushes growing alongside the stagecoach office. “Go pee-pee, sweetheart. That’s a good boy.”
Within moments of her soft command, the dog lifted his leg and left a damp stain in the dirt. Inordinately proud of him, Carleigh straightened.
“You need only be kind to him, and he’ll obey,” she said with a sniff.
The man merely grunted and scooped Spencer up again. Instead of handing him back to Carleigh, however, he opened his suit coat and tucked the little dog inside. He stepped out of the darkness and back onto the boardwalk leading to the hotel.
The man had no intention of leaving Spencer at the livery after all, Carleigh realized. A wave of renewed gratitude washed over her, of relief and humility, and her mood lightened. Clearly, he wasn’t as harsh as he seemed.
Spencer barked and wriggled against him, his paws clamoring against the white shirt in his quest to crawl higher.
A lean hand pushed him back down again. “You got something for him to eat? All this damn yipping he’s doing will land him in the livery for sure.”
“Of course.” She dipped a hand into her coat pocket and retrieved a chunk of hard biscuit. Stepping closer, peering into the dark space where Spencer huddled inside the man’s coat, she handed him the piece, her palm open while he gnawed greedily.
The man shifted his grasp, and in the motion, her shoulder brushed against him. In that single touch, she knew the solidness of his muscled chest. The power of it. His heat enveloped her, a delicious heat that contrasted with the nip in the California night, and she couldn’t help thinking of how Spencer would be surrounded by the warmth.
And that she could envy him.
She snatched her hand back, letting the dog feed on his own. Where had that thought come from? Her cheeks blazed from the audacity, that she could even think such a thing about the stranger who’d rescued her, who intended to hide her little dog from a righteous hotel clerk and the policies he was paid to follow.
She ventured a peek upward. His perusal, dark and intense, rested on her, and she couldn’t help pondering his brooding expression. That he was thinking of her, she had no question, but what did his thinking entail?
And why?
It was a course she had no right to wonder about. He was much too male, a man far too powerful for her limited experience. It was of no use, anyway, for in the morning, she would be gone from this place. From him.
And on the way to Mexico to find her mother.
The reminder vanquished her musings and hauled her back to reality, to the fact that she stood in the chilly night on an empty street near the Central Hotel with a man she didn’t know.
He took her elbow again, bringing her to his side. She fell into step with him easily now that she knew his intent. All trace
s of her animosity toward him had fled. They walked in conspiratorial silence back to the hotel. He opened the door for her smoothly, easily, without a hint of the furry baggage inside his coat.
The young clerk glanced up and smiled. Carleigh held her breath and hoped Spencer wouldn’t bark. They climbed the stairs, entered the hall and reached Room 22 without a single yip. She pulled out her key and grasped it tight in her hand.
“We did it, didn’t we?” A soft, exultant laugh escaped her, and she turned toward the stranger.
He didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm, however, but merely studied her in that dark way of his. “Keep him quiet, and you’ll get away with sneaking him in.”
He delved into his coat and pulled out her dog. She took his warm little body next to hers.
“I’ll do that.” A silence stretched between them. For the life of her, she could think of nothing more to say.
Finally, she extended her hand.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’ll always remember your generosity in giving me your room. I do hope you’ll be all right?”
His mouth quirked at her concern. “I’ll be just fine.”
But he refrained from taking her hand, and Carleigh, a bit stung from his rebuff, withdrew. “Please let me pay you, then.”
She reached into her crocheted handbag, dangling from its drawstring on her wrist.
“I don’t want your money.”
She halted at the rough-spoken words, for they would have allowed her no protest. “All right, then.” She stood a little taller. “Perhaps we shall meet again sometime?”
His hard mouth softened. “I do believe we will.”
She wondered if he’d be taking the Wells Fargo out of Visalia with her in the morning. Her heart doubled a beat at the thought.
But she asked no further questions. He spoke sparingly with her, had done so from the moment she’d met him, and she deemed it best not to pry into his private matters.
She turned the key in the lock and stepped inside the room. Just before she shut the door, another question popped into her head, and this time she dared to ask it. She opened the door wider.