“It’s true. She deserves it.” With a sweep of his arm, he indicated the buildings in various stages of completion. “This is where I need to be.”
“What if you continue to have problems with the county commissioners? We need the railroad spur, and without their cooperation — ”
“Billy assured me that the delays will soon be a thing of the past.”
“Has he that kind of authority?”
“Billy’s opinion does carry a lot of weight in government circles. I imagine the state can apply pressure to make sure certain things happen. Have a little faith, Fagan. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”
His friend grunted.
As they walked toward the lodge, Morgan said, “Looks like we should be able to get telephone lines strung between here and town by midsummer. That will ease communication between you and me. And I’ve learned that telephone service between Bethlehem Springs and the capital city will be available by autumn.”
“Well and good. Does the need for the telephone mean you plan to remain in town even if you don’t win the election?”
“For now.”
“Plan to help the presumptive new mayor?”
Morgan turned his gaze upward, as if the color of the sky was of the utmost interest. “If she’ll let me.”
Fagan coughed.
Morgan thought it sounded more like a strangled laugh.
Gaining control, his friend cleared his throat. “Before we go into the lodge, let me show you what’s been accomplished on the chapel since you were here with the senators.”
“Good idea.”
“The men have made real progress on the second staff barrack. You’ll want to have a look at it while you’re here. But it’s time we were about hiring a larger crew, Morgan. The men we’ve got are spread too thin. We can’t keep working them as hard as we are. I’m thinking we’ve signed on just about every able-bodied man Bethlehem Springs can provide, so it’ll be time to cast a wider net.”
Morgan nodded. A year ago, he’d hoped that the spa would be in operation by this summer. He knew now that wasn’t possible, not with the delays they’d encountered. But if Billy came through on his promises, New Hope should be able to open its doors by late fall or early next spring. Guests would have to travel to Bethlehem Springs via coach or automobile until the railroad brought a spur up this way. Even the good senator couldn’t get tracks laid overnight. Especially not in these mountains.
An hour later, Morgan and Fagan returned to the automobile. Morgan had made a mental list of a number of things he must see to as soon as he returned to town. And a trip down to the capital city was probably in order within the next week. There was only so much a man could do with letters and telegrams.
“You and Christopher are doing a fine job, Fagan, managing things up here. I want you to know I appreciate it.” He pulled open the door. “Turn the crank for me, will you?”
“Aye.”
Morgan slid across the car seat, and when he was ready, he gave Fagan a nod. A minute later, he drove away from the building site, his thoughts churning along with the sound of the engine. And for a few miles, those thoughts were about New Hope and not the pretty piano teacher who’d stolen his heart.
Gwen clucked to Shakespeare, urging the gelding into a faster trot as they neared the bridge. She was anxious to reach the ranch, eager to be with her sister and father for a few hours. Being with them again would put her world aright. They had that effect on her. Perhaps it was because they wanted what was best for her and loved her unconditionally.
Why did he kiss me?
In her memory, she heard his reply, “Isnt it obvious? I have come to care for you. To deeply care for you.”
Over the years, other men had declared their devotion, but she had turned away every suitor — without a single twinge of regret. Morgan was different. She didn’t want to be courted, and yet she couldn’t bear the thought of not being with him. She didn’t want a serious suitor, had no desire to wed, and yet the idea that he might turn to another woman nearly broke her heart.
A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways, she reminded herself. And her recent thoughts and emotions certainly must be what the Lord meant when He caused James to write that verse. She was definitely of two minds when it came to Morgan.
“Lord, I need Your peace.”
As the horse’s hooves fell on the wooden surface of the bridge, Gwen remembered the day she’d first seen Morgan. If she closed her eyes, she could picture him still, the top down on his touring car. How could she have guessed what impact he would have on her life from that moment on? No man had ever made her feel this way before.
Feel what way?
Gwen drew back on the reins, stopping Shakespeare in the middle of the bridge.
Feel what way?
Excited but scared.
Lost and found.
Sad yet happy.
Perplexed.
Befuddled.
Gwen was a person who liked order. She wasn’t given to wild flights of fancy. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground.
Well, they used to be.
She slapped the reins against the horse’s rump. “Walk on, Shakespeare.”
Cleo rested her knuckles on her hips and gave Gwen a hard look. “Gwennie, it’s clear as the nose on your face. You’re falling in love with him.”
Gwen shook her head. “No, it isn’t — ”
“You may be the pretty one, but I’ll be doggone if you aren’t the silly one too. Otherwise you’d recognize your feelings and give in to them.”
Gwen sank onto one of the feed bins in the barn. “I can’t be in love.”
“Why not? Land sakes! Falling in love isn’t a disease. It’s the most natural thing in the world.” Cleo leaned against a post and crossed her arms over her chest. “So he told you he cares for you and he kissed you. Didn’t you like his kisses?”
“That’s beside the point.”
“Is it? I may not know much about these things, but I suppose liking a man’s kisses must be a good thing if the both of you are falling in love.”
“I am not falling in love.”
Cleo clucked her tongue. “You trying to convince me or yourself, Gwennie?” She leaned forward. “If you could’ve seen your face last Saturday when McKinley was talking. Land o’ Goshen! You were hanging on his every word. Like pearls were dripping from his mouth. And when he said he was going to vote for you come Election Day, there was a second there when I thought you would jump up and give him a hug right there in front of everybody.”
“It’s not true.” Gwen covered her face with her hands. “It’s not true, Cleo.”
“You know how some say the ostrich down in Africa sticks its head into a bush or the sand. I heard that’s just a myth, but it’s a good description all the same.” She pushed off from the post. “Don’t go being an ostrich, Gwennie. My guess is that Morgan is a man among men. One in a million. If he’s everything I’ve observed, you won’t have to worry about living under his thumb. My guess is he’ll love you so much that pretty soon you’ll be thinking he hung the sun, the moon, and the stars in the heavens.”
Gwen groaned as she lowered her hands, feeling miserable.
Cleo’s expression said she was losing patience fast. “I’d be happier than a fox in the hen house if I was in your shoes. And there you sit, looking like the world’s about to end. If you don’t beat all.” She grunted her disgust. “Maybe the good Lord’s got you and me mixed up. I sure wouldn’t turn a fine man like Morgan away if he loved me the way Morgan loves you.” With that, she spun on her heel and strode out of the barn.
Was Cleo right? Was Gwen falling in love with Morgan?
Oh, it was all so mixed up in her head that she couldn’t think straight. And instead of making things better, her visit to the ranch had only made things worse. She was more confused than before, and she couldn’t remember a time when Cleo had been this angry with her.
If it weren’t for tha
t kiss…
Two days later, Roscoe Finch — the gardener and handyman who worked for Morgan — delivered a note to Gwen.
Dear Miss Arlington,
I am afraid I will be unable to have my lesson next Tuesday as I have gone to Boise on matters of business and expect to be away from Bethlehem Springs until week’s end. I do, however, look forward to receiving my lesson the following week. I trust you are willing to continue to instruct me since I have heard nothing to the contrary.
Your servant,
Morgan McKinley
“Thank you, Mr. Finch.” Gwen looked up from the sheet of paper, composing her expression to reveal none of her conflicting emotions.
“You’re welcome, miss. I’m always glad to do whatever Mr. McKinley needs. He’s a good soul, giving an old man like me work and a place to live.”
“You’re not old.”
He chuckled. “You’re wrong about that. A person can’t argue with the passing of time, and I don’t mean to try. If you’re wise, Miss Arlington, you’ll take note of it now while you’re young. The years, they go by faster and faster, and you don’t want to find yourself at my age, looking back and wishing you’d done things you hadn’t or wishing you’d gone places you didn’t. You only get one time around on this here earth. You gotta make the most of life while you can.”
She acquiesced with a nod.
Roscoe tipped the brim of his hat in her direction. “Well, good day to you, Miss Arlington. I’d best be about my work.”
“Good day to you, Mr. Finch.” She watched him as he moved toward the gate, a slight limp in his walk.
Loneliness tugged at Gwen’s heart as her gaze dropped once more to the note in her hand. She wouldn’t see Morgan for another whole week. It already felt like a lifetime.
She groaned at the thought. Only yesterday she’d been determined to tell Morgan she could no longer be his piano teacher. Only yesterday she’d been convinced that putting him from her mind was the best thing to do — for both of them.
Only she couldn’t do it. She realized that now. She wanted to see him. If only for half an hour once a week, she wanted to be with him. Because despite all her denials and words to the contrary, she cared for him.
Cleo was right about her. She was a fool with her head stuck in the sand.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Morgan was strolling back to his hotel after a late lunch with William Rudyard at the senator’s private club when a female voice stopped him.
“Morgan! Morgan McKinley!”
He turned around.
A young woman with dark hair and eyes hurried toward him, smiling broadly. Who on earth? Was it — ? No, it couldn’t be.
“Daphne?” he said aloud.
His sister looked the same as she had following their mother’s funeral, and yet she was different too. More of a woman than the girl she’d been. Was it the way she carried herself or the clothes she wore or something else?
Daphne stopped in front of him, rose on tiptoe, and brushed his left cheek with her lips. “Yes, Morgan. Of course it’s me. What are you doing in Boise? You are the last person I expected to see here.”
Before he could answer, someone joined them on the sidewalk, and Morgan lifted his gaze to see who it was.
His sister looked behind her at the young man. “Morgan, this is my friend Robert Dudley. The one I wrote you about. Bob, this is my brother, Morgan.”
Robert doffed his hat. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. McKinley.”
“Likewise.”
“Daphne has told me a great deal about you, sir.”
“Has she indeed.” He looked at his sister. “I’d like to hear that myself. I trust it was entertaining.”
Daphne laughed, then asked, “Where are you staying?”
“At the Idanha Hotel.”
“That’s where Bob and I have taken rooms as well. Are you going there now?”
“Yes.”
“Then we shall walk with you, if that’s all right.”
“Of course it’s all right.” He offered his arm, and she took hold of it.
Robert fell in behind them on the sidewalk.
“You received my letter?” Daphne asked as they walked. “The one telling you I was coming?”
“Yes, I received it, but I didn’t expect you until next week. I thought you were stopping to see the sights. Have you enjoyed your trip west?”
“It’s been delightful, although we didn’t make as many stops as I’d hoped we would. Bob is anxious to reach California so he hurried us along. He wants to be rid of his obligation to me and be about the business of becoming a well-known figure on the motion picture screen.”
“Don’t believe her, Mr. McKinley,” Robert interjected . “Daphne was the one in a hurry. She was eager to see you.”
The idea pleased Morgan — that his sister wanted to be with him. He thought again of Gwen and Cleo, of how close they were despite the many years of separation. Pray God the same would happen between the McKinley siblings.
He patted the back of Daphne’s hand where it rested in the crook of his arm. “I’m glad you’ve come. It’s been too long since we were together.”
“I feel the same. And to be honest, I was weary of traveling around Europe and just as weary of staying put with Cousin Gertrude. She is a dear woman, truly she is, but I no longer need to be chaperoned as if I were a child. And the way she tries to keep men away from me.” Daphne rolled her eyes. “It’s positively medieval.”
Morgan nodded but made no comment. He knew Gertrude Anderson, an unmarried woman in her forties, had meant to protect the young McKinley heiress from fortune hunters. In fact, that was one of the things he’d charged her with doing when he’d asked her to be Daphne’s chaperone. But his sister needn’t know that.
“Morgan, you haven’t told me why you’re in Boise. I know you didn’t come to meet me.”
“I’m here on business for New Hope. I’ve got a meeting with men from the railroad later in the week, and in the meantime, I’m hiring more workers and placing orders for materials and furnishings.”
“I cannot wait to see what you’ve accomplished. For that matter, I cannot wait to see where you have settled. Who knows? Maybe I’ll decide to stay in Bethlehem Springs too.”
Harrison rode his horse down the incline to the water’s edge. About a quarter mile north of the wall of trees on the opposite side of Crow’s Creek were the pools and the bathhouse of the New Hope Health Spa. Elias Spade had promised him this was the best way to enter the grounds undetected. Maybe the only way, due to the guards now patrolling the area.
It was a risk, of course, for him to be here in the middle of the day, but he’d wanted to see for himself what Spade intended. A stick or two of dynamite, Spade had told him, was all it would take to destroy that section of the resort compound. A spa without pools and bathhouse was no spa at all. Without them, the resort couldn’t open. And maybe that would be the final straw for McKinley
Gwen’s article for the Daily Herald was due the next day, and she hadn’t managed even one sentence. She’d found a dozen other things to do besides write, including baking a cake and two pies and scouring her kitchen. The cake and one of the pies had been taken to the Goldsmiths. She would most likely eat the second pie herself. Every bite of it, unless she threw off this funk.
That was one reason she was now in her buggy, Shakespeare trotting along the road heading north. She hoped the fresh air would rid her of her bad humor and save her from that pie. Her other reason — the more important one — was to see if an idea that had come to her that morning might provide not only tomorrow’s piece for the paper but a series of them. She wanted to write articles about some of the men who were building the spa. One article about a carpenter. Another about a stonemason. One about Mr. Doyle, the site overseer. Another about… the owner.
Summoned by her thoughts, Morgan’s words repeated in her head as they had done often over the past week. “Isn’t it obvious? I have c
ome to care for you. To deeply care for you.” Would he say those words to her again if he were given the chance? Or would he withdraw them for good because of her rejection.
Sounds floated to her through the forest — hammers striking nails and wood, men shouting to one another. She was nearing the building site.
Just as Shakespeare was about to pull the buggy around a bend in the road, Gwen caught sight of a man on horseback down at the creek’s edge. She drew back on the reins. If that was Fagan Doyle —
But it wasn’t the site overseer. She could see the man’s face now as his horse picked its way across the shallow water. It was Harrison Carter. What was he doing down there?
Harrison looked up, saw her, and reined in, stopping his horse in midstream. After a brief hesitation, he waved to her. “Miss Arlington. Wait there, will you?”
It wasn’t a difficult ride from the creek up to the road, and yet Gwen thought Harrison Carter looked as if he’d traveled a mile uphill. There was a sheen of perspiration across his forehead and upper lip, and when his gaze met hers, it skittered away at once. Almost as if he were unnerved by her presence. Which made no sense to her. Harrison Carter was not the nervous type, and especially not around women.
“Visiting the resort site?” he asked, glancing toward the bend in the road.
“Yes.” She could have told him about her idea for the articles. She chose not to.
“Has Mr. McKinley returned?”
“No, I don’t believe that he has.”
He looked at her again, then down the road toward town. “Too bad. I wanted to speak with him about some concerns the board has regarding the effect the spa will have on Crow’s Creek. Once it joins the river a few miles south of here, it will become our problem.”
Gwen almost asked him what those concerns were, but a check in her spirit stopped her from voicing the question aloud. Something told her Harrison was being less than honest.
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