by Ann Collins
Alex felt his eyebrows lift. This had to be the infamous Mr. Chalmers. “You’re supposed to be courteous to your guests.”
“I don’t see a guest.” The weasel folded his arms over his torso.
Flexing his fingers, Alex squinted back and agreed with the doctor. Julia needed to get rid of the man. “I’m here to register.”
“There’s nothing available. Try the boarding house up the street.” He turned his back and busied himself at the wall of pigeonholes.
Alex fisted his hands. Dr. Dolan had said he wasn’t to exert himself, but teaching this weasel some manners would take no effort at all. However, he didn’t think Julia would thank him for it. She needed Chalmers more than she needed him. Besides, he’d only end up drawing attention to himself.
He uncurled his fingers. “Your insolence won’t be forgotten, Chalmers.”
The weasel’s hand paused in the act of stowing a key. He spun around.
Alex gave him a piercing look and strode away.
“Wait! Come back here! How do you know my name?”
Alex kept walking.
Chapter Three
“Julia?” Dr. Dolan dropped down beside her on the bench and squeezed her shoulder. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
She slowly lowered her hands and looked over at him, her face wet with tears of surrender. She’d lost. Phillip was hurt on account of her, and the Hotel Grand Victoria would be auctioned off to the highest bidder—Tyler Wolff or some faceless group of investors—who would take control of her beloved home and do as they pleased with it.
“Julia, you’re worrying me. I’ve never seen you like this.”
She had never felt like this, devoid of hope. She pointed at the telegram half hidden by his shoe.
He picked up the paper, read it, and sighed. “What rotten luck. But, Julia, a broken leg isn’t the end of the world. His leg will heal. You’ll have your wedding eventually.”
She shook her head and swiped the backs of her hands across her cheeks. “You don’t understand. I need a husband now. I can’t wait any longer.”
His graying brows came together. “Julia, you’re not making sense.” He lifted her wrist and held his fingers against her pulse. “You should lie down.”
She pulled her wrist away and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I don’t need to lie down. I need a husband. Anyone will do. Help me, Dr. Dolan. I can’t do this on my own anymore.”
His gaze dropped to where her arms covered her stomach. “You’re … in trouble?”
“Yes. I should have told you sooner. Both you and Mary. I wanted to, but I thought I could handle everything myself.” She laughed what wasn’t a laugh at all. “Look how that turned out.”
“Uh, maybe I had better get Mary before you go any further.”
“Yes, please. Maybe she knows an honorable man willing to marry me within the next two days.”
The doctor hopped up as quick as a well-fed rabbit and disappeared into the kitchen. He quickly reappeared with his wife, who clasped and unclasped her hands. Flour still smudged her cheeks. She smelled of apple pie, but not even that could sooth Julia’s despondency.
“Oh, my dear girl,” she said, sinking onto the bench. “I am so sorry. So very sorry. I never imagined …” She shook her head, apparently unable to finish.
Julia leaned back slightly. “Imagined what? You don’t know what’s wrong yet.”
“Of course we do. We know these things happen, even in the best of families.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The baby,” Mary answered. “Your baby.”
Julia’s mouth fell open, and she started to laugh, a high-pitched hysterical sound she had never made before. They thought she was with child? She doubled over, afraid to stop laughing for fear she would start sobbing.
“Harold, do something!” Mary’s hands fluttered in the air. “She’s gone batty.”
“Give her a minute, dear. I fear we may have jumped to a mistaken conclusion.”
Julia nodded, her hysteria ending with a hiccup. “I am not going to have a baby, Mary.”
“You’re not? Well, why else would you need a husband?”
“To save the hotel.” She explained her predicament, describing her father’s stipulation. “So you see, if I don’t marry by Saturday midnight, the hotel will be sold. I’ll be forced to leave, and there’s no telling what changes a new owner might impose on everyone. Phillip was my last hope, and he has broken his leg during his journey here.” She looked toward the door. “I must try to reach him and make sure he’s all right.”
Mary tapped Julia’s arm. “You can telegraph him later. Go on with your story.”
“Oh, uh, I was telling you about Phillip. He agreed to marry me in exchange for three thousand dollars. Once our vows were said and the papers signed, he was to return East, to his … man friends.”
Dr. Dolan eased himself onto the other end of the bench. “Well, this explains your lack of excitement regarding your wedding.”
“Well, I don’t understand anything.” Mary knuckled several loose, wispy hairs out of her face. “What do you mean by ‘man friends’? He was your childhood sweetheart, wasn’t he? Why wouldn’t he live here with you?”
“Mary, he wasn’t my childhood sweetheart. When Mother, Father, and I lived in Philadelphia, Phillip was an employee in Father’s hotel. He was a good friend, and more trustworthy than the three traveling salesmen I initially approached with my proposal. They all wanted … more than I was willing to give, including more money. Phillip agreed to the amount I offered, and since he’s not the kind of man who is attracted to women”—Julia paused during Mary’s rapid, indrawn breath—“I believed him to be the perfect candidate for a husband I didn’t want but was being forced to have.”
“Oh, my dear girl. This is truly dreadful. I had thought you were marrying for love. You deserve love, and lots of children as beautiful as yourself.” Tears slid down Mary’s cheeks, forming trails through the flour. “Your father had no right to interfere with your life this way.” She lifted her apron and dabbed at her wet face.
Dr. Dolan got up and paced the floor in front of them. His footsteps echoed through the hallway and up the stairs. “Is there no way to challenge the will?”
“None. I did try, even though Father’s lawyer told me I’d be wasting my time. The only way for me to hold on to the hotel is to marry before the deadline.”
“Then you must do exactly that.”
“Harold!” Mary stared at him open-mouthed.
“We have to be practical, my dear. Julia accepted her situation months ago and knows what must be done. The problem lies in finding the right man, and I believe I know just the one.”
“You do?” Julia leaned forward, hope returning. “Who? Someone in San Diego?”
“Yes, I met him recently when I was checking on the health of the inmates at the county jail.”
“A guard?” Julia said, knowing the doctor volunteered his services there on a regular basis.
“No, a man who was recently sentenced to hang for murder. He is scheduled to travel to the State Prison at San Quentin next week.”
She gasped. “You want me to marry a murderer?”
The doctor shrugged. “Well, he won’t make a nuisance of himself at some later date.”
“I’d sooner marry Alex MacLean. At least a drifter wouldn’t taint the hotel’s reputation.” Julia could just imagine the scandal if the newspapers discovered the heiress to the Hotel Grand Victoria married a convicted killer sentenced to hang.
Mary smoothed her apron over her lap. “That’s not a bad idea.”
Julia frowned. “What’s not?”
“Your marrying Mr. MacLean.”
Julia’s heart skipped a beat. She sat back with such force the bench shook. She hadn’t truly been serious about him as a potential husband. Besides, though she hardly knew him, she got the distinct impression he wasn’t the kind of man who would just sit back and let her do thing
s her way.
“No,” she said, “he’s not the right man.”
“Why not?” Mary asked.
The doctor tapped his chin. “Hmmm. I think Mary is onto something. Mr. MacLean could be exactly what you’re looking for—a husband who will walk away.”
His wife nodded.
Dr. Dolan went on. “He’s a drifter down on his luck, in need of money, and unmarried.”
“He’s also polite and well-spoken.” Mary brushed at a spot of flour on her apron. “But his poor face.”
His face was the least of Julia’s worries. Alex’s obvious attraction to her was a much bigger problem. If Alex MacLean married her, Julia had a strong suspicion he would want a wedding night.
Imagining herself enfolded in his arms again, shut away in her apartment with him, she shivered, the feeling not entirely unpleasant.
“No,” she said, louder than intended. “I can’t marry him. Why, he doesn’t even have references.” If she had known she might be interviewing him for the job of husband, she would have asked him more questions.
Dr. Dolan threw up his hands. “Julia, the man risked his own self to protect you. What better reference can there be?”
The doctor had a point, and yet …
He grasped her hands and hauled her to her feet. “Young lady, you are out of options. Go find Mr. MacLean and make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
* * *
Julia reluctantly cast her reservations aside and hurried along the front veranda. The doctor was right. She was out of options and had to be practical. To hold on to the hotel, she was going to propose marriage to Alex MacLean.
Inside the hotel’s entrance, a high-pitched yap stopped her. A Yorkshire terrier with a tiny pink bow on her head peered beseechingly up at her.
“Hello there.”
The dog yapped again.
She picked up the small dog and stroked her silky hair. A velvety tongue licked her hand, and she laughed softly. “You’re a friendly little thing. Where’s your owner?”
“I was wondering the same thing.”
Julia’s heart jumped into her throat. She whirled. “Mr. MacLean! You startled me.” She hadn’t expected to see him this soon. She wasn’t ready to see him. She needed time to work out how best to present her proposition.
He shrugged. “I didn’t mean to.”
When he said nothing more, such as where he’d been, what he’d been doing, or how he happened to be here the very moment she was, she said, “How do you like your room?”
“I don’t have one. Your favorite desk clerk claims the hotel is full.”
She shut her eyes a moment and blew out a breath. “We are not full, and he had no right to turn you away.” She settled the dog against her chest and eyed Mr. Chalmers across the Rotunda. The desk clerk was serving a well-endowed matron dressed all in black. A matching hat pinned over white hair was trimmed with netting that obscured her features. “I really must do something about him.”
“I demand to see the manager this instant!” came an imperious, irate voice from the matron.
Julia tried to stay calm, telling herself, One thing at a time. I can handle whatever comes if I do it one thing at a time.
The terrier squirmed and whined.
“Young man, if you won’t call the manager,” the woman said, her voice rising even higher, “I will.”
A small group of guests chatting beneath the gallery turned as one, their conversation halted. A man wearing a cutaway walking suit paused while peeking inside the door to the Crown Room, as many visitors did, to admire the large dining room. From inside came the clink of silver and china as waiters set the tables for the rapidly approaching evening meal.
“Where is he?” The matron’s foot drummed the marble floor, perilously close to the shiny brass spittoon.
Julia cringed. A guest this displeased would spread her dissatisfaction, ultimately hurting the hotel’s reputation and bank account. Her employees depended on her and the success of the hotel to pay their wages. Between mortgage payments, staffing, maintenance, food costs, and the price of a bridegroom, she could not afford to lose any customers.
She pushed the dog at Alex, giving him no choice but to take her. “Please excuse me. I need to sort out a problem.”
He handled the dog with ease, and the tiny terrier lay without complaint in the palm of his hand.
Julia strode away, but she glanced back once and would have laughed if she hadn’t been so distracted. A man of Alex’s size and build holding a miniature dog with a pink bow was an astonishing sight, one she wouldn’t soon forget. He looked so … sweet.
Arriving at the registration desk, Julia installed a professional smile on her face and stepped up to the woman, then nearly gagged when the matron’s liberal use of lilac water struck her in the face like a gust of wind.
She held her ground and glanced between the woman and desk clerk. “Mr. Chalmers, may I be of help?”
He pressed his lips into a thin line, then gestured toward the matron. “This is Mrs. Hensley, a new arrival. She insists on seeing the manager.”
“And so she shall. Mrs. Hensley, I’m Julia Fairbanks, manager of the Hotel Grand Victoria. I’m also the owner.” For the next two days anyway. “How can I be of service?”
Mrs. Hensley looked as surprised as if she had bitten into a lemon instead of a cream puff. “A woman? Well, as I live and breathe. How extraordinary!” One hand fluttered near her heart. The diamonds in her ostentatious bracelet flashed.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hensley. Welcome to the Hotel Grand Victoria. What can I do for you?”
Chalmers answered for her. “Mrs. Hensley claims she was promised an ocean-view room.”
The woman sniffed. “And that is not what I was given.”
“Oh, I am so sorry about the confusion,” she said in a sympathetic tone, knowing full well that none of her desk clerks ever promised a particular room unless she approved of it first. Only so many west-facing rooms existed. “Mr. Chalmers, what room is registered to Mrs. Hensley?”
“Two twenty-eight,” he brusquely answered.
“Why that’s a lovely room, Mrs. Hensley.” She honestly believed the woman would be happier there, and she intended to persuade her to stay put. “Did you notice how it overlooks the park on the northwest side of the hotel? Not only that, it’s one of the few rooms with a private bath and outside balcony.”
The woman gazed off in the direction of her room.
Julia lowered her voice conspiratorially and, despite the cloying smell permeating Mrs. Hensley’s clothing, leaned toward her. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but when trying to sleep in a room overlooking the Pacific, the surf can be a trifle disturbing to anyone who wakes at the slightest sound. And in the late afternoon, the lowering sun can heat those rooms until they are stifling unless the doors are left open.”
“Oh my, I am a light sleeper,” she whispered back. “And I don’t do well in too much heat.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll stay where I am.”
Julia smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be comfortable there. And, as I hope you’ve been made aware, your room has a wall safe for the security of your jewels.” She darted a brief look at the woman’s bracelet. “Or you’re free to use the safe here at the desk, which is manned twenty-four hours a day.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” Mrs. Hensley peered around at the floor. “Now where has my little Muffie gotten to?”
“Would Muffie happen to be a Yorkshire terrier?”
“Yes. Have you seen her?”
She located Alex and beckoned to him, trying not to think how at home he appeared in her lobby.
He strode toward them, the dog lying peacefully on his hand, which he held at his waist.
“Oh, there’s my baby.” Mrs. Hensley folded the netting up on her hat.
Alex’s step faltered, and his expression froze.
Julia swept an inquisitive glance between him and Mrs. Hensley.
“Thank
you, sir.” Mrs. Hensley reached for the dog, barely sparing Alex a look. “Come here, Muffie. Come to Mother.”
The terrier sneezed delicately as Alex gently relinquished her. His expression remained frozen, his attention riveted on the woman. Julia felt a little frozen herself. Even if Alex knew the woman, why would his seeing her cause such a disturbing reaction?
Mrs. Hensley scratched the dog’s ruff and made cooing noises to her. “Since my husband’s death, Muffie is my only companion and such a comfort when I’m a long way from home.” She raised the dog, turning her so they were nose to nose. “Aren’t you, baby?”
Muffie yipped and licked her owner’s nose.
Mrs. Hensley laughed and finally looked at Alex, his scar taking her aback for a moment. “You must be very good with animals, sir. Muffie isn’t usually so trusting of a stranger.” Mrs. Hensley tilted her head, then leaned forward as Alex took a step back. “Goodness, you so remind me of someone back home, though I can’t think who.” She let Muffie rest against her ample bosom. “Of course, whoever it is doesn’t have, well, a scar. I would have remembered that. Perhaps you’re a relation of someone I know. Where are you from?”
“I move around a lot.”
When he said no more, Julia wondered at his reticence. “Mr. MacLean recently arrived from Los Angeles,” she inserted, ignoring the narrowed look he sent her way. “He is my guest here at the hotel, and Mr. Chalmers is registering him into a room this very minute. Aren’t you, Mr. Chalmers?” Her unwavering gaze dared the clerk to defy her.
“Yes, Miss Fairbanks,” he said, squeezing the words from between uneven teeth. Chalmers flipped open the large register, spun the book around, and jabbed a finger at the blank line. “Sign here, Mr. MacLean.”
“MacLean. MacLean.” Mrs. Hensley stroked Muffie’s back and peered into the dog’s dark brown eyes. “I am sure we’ve heard that name before, haven’t we, baby? But from where?”
Alex turned away from the woman, grabbed the fountain pen from its holder, and signed the register.
Julia stared in fascination at the vein in his temple. It pulsed like a raging river pushing at its banks. If Alex was acquainted with Mrs. Hensley, why not admit it?