Charity House Courtship (Love Inspired Historical)

by Renee Ryan

  “See that gentleman over there—” Dupree’s voice glided past her ear “—dressed in black?”

  She focused on several possible candidates. “Would you like me to look at that tall, lanky one with the black trousers, black shirt and black coat standing to my right? Or that shorter one over there?” She jabbed her parasol toward the left side of the street. “The one with the black trousers and black shirt and, surprise, black coat? Or perhaps you mean the one with the black—” She turned back to face him. “Well, you get the idea.”

  If she wasn’t mistaken, she thought she caught Dupree’s lips twitch before he said, “I meant the one with the matching six-shooters and U.S. marshal’s badge pinned to his chest. And, would you look at that, he’s watching us in return. Or rather, he’s watching you in return.”

  Resigned, Laney centered her gaze on the man in question. The tall, imposing figure was indeed eyeing her from across the street. In fact, he made a grand show of tipping his hat at her. Even from this distance, she could tell his gaze was as sharp as a hawk’s.

  The man looked harder and more threatening than any Laney had ever met, and that included the one holding on to her wrist with the light but firm grip.

  “So you know a U.S. marshal. Is that supposed to terrify me?” She didn’t add that, of course, she was scared spitless. She had the requisite dry mouth and tongue stuck to the back of her teeth to prove it.

  “Marshal Scott is very anxious to meet you.”

  “He is? Wh-why?”

  “I told him all about how you broke into my safe last night. He was extremely interested in the particulars. Seems there’s been a rash of robberies in the area over the last two weeks.”

  “How fortuitous for me,” Laney muttered.

  Dupree’s chuckle sounded much more pleasant than the circumstances warranted. Just how well did he know this Marshal Scott? Would the lawman arrest her on Dupree’s word alone?

  “Now, we can either handle this between ourselves or I’ll call the marshal over and you can contemplate the situation behind a row of bars.”

  She nearly choked on her gasp. “Are you threatening me? That sounds like a threat. I think you’re threatening me.”

  “I am. And you’re babbling.”

  Pressing her lips together, Laney buried her panic behind a hard swallow. “Look, Dupree, I get it. You don’t want me to enter your hotel ever again. Well, I won’t. There, you have my promise. Now let me go.”

  He immediately relinquished his grip. “I knew you’d see things my way, eventually.”

  Yanking her arm back to her side, she refrained from rubbing her wrist where his fingers had been. She had some pride left, as tattered as it might be at the moment.

  Now that their conversation was over, Laney really, really needed to get home. To sit down, alone, and figure out where she was going to come up with the money to pay off the interest on her loan. “Since we have nothing more to say to each other, I’ll bid you goodbye.”

  Not waiting for his reply, she turned and started out.

  “Not so fast.” With two ground-eating strides he walked around her and then widened his stance, just as he had the night before in his back alley. “Was your meeting last night with Judge Greene truly innocent, as you claim?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you won’t tell me why he gave you the money.”

  “No.” She looked across the street. And directly into Marshal Scott’s hard, ruthless gaze. That was a very scary-looking man. One Laney had no desire to meet anytime soon.

  “You have to believe me, Dupree, the money was rightfully mine.” Panic made her voice raise an entire octave. “I just can’t give you the specifics behind the why.”

  “You can’t, or you won’t.”

  She sighed. “Both. Either. Does it matter?”

  It was his turn to sigh, in disappointment, at her. She’d let him down with her response, and that realization hurt far worse than his earlier insults.

  Would Dupree hand her over to the U.S. marshal now, for breaking into his private safe and taking back what was hers?

  Would he be that cruel?

  His next words threw her completely off guard, as did his soft tone. “Are you still in need of money, Miss O’Connor?”

  “Yes,” she admitted before she could stop the word from rushing out. Why, why did she find herself wanting to lean on this man, when she knew he was potentially dangerous to everything she held dear?

  For a long moment, Dupree stared at her, those blue, blue eyes piercing straight through her, as though he could see inside every one of her secrets. “Then I have a proposition for you.”

  A number of terrible possibilities came to mind. For the past twenty-four hours Laney had experienced nothing but fear and desperation. The feeling of falling into a pit with no way out had been dreadful, panic-inducing. Terrifying.

  Was she about to fall deeper into that pit, thanks to this man and his...proposition?

  No. She couldn’t lose hope. For the sake of the children she had to believe good would come out of this awful situation.

  “What kind of proposition are you suggesting?”

  “Come work for me at my hotel.”

  Chapter Seven

  No matter what Miss O’Connor thought of him or his motives, Marc was serious about the job offer. He put women to work in his hotel all the time, with the hope of turning them from their former ways to a life of respectability.

  No condemnation. No hidden agendas. Just an authentic chance at a new beginning.

  Yet, to witness the skepticism in Miss O’Connor’s gaze, a random passerby would suspect Marc had just made a vulgar suggestion.

  He tried to harden his heart—what did he care if she trusted him or not?—but her obvious distress touched a part of him he’d thought long dead. For the second time in less than an hour, Marc recalled better days, when he’d been a godly man who saw only the best in people.

  Now, years after his wife’s betrayal, he didn’t bother looking below the surface. He simply made a job offer, and left the rehabilitation to the individual.

  “I assure you, Miss O’Connor, this isn’t the first time I’ve asked a woman to come work for me.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.” Her words came out haughty, but he caught a twinge of hurt beneath the despair in her eyes.

  How could the woman look so guileless, when Marc knew she could crack a safe in a matter of minutes and climb out a window with accomplished ease? Such a woman could not be honest. Or trustworthy.

  So why did Marc want to believe her when she said she’d taken Greene’s money for a good reason? Why did he want to assure her he had no secret motive for hiring her, other than to offer her a second chance in life?

  A spurt of guilt softened his tone, as well as his resolve. “I promise you, Miss O’Connor. Your position at my hotel will cause you no harm.”

  “So you claim.”

  He deserved her cynicism, he knew that.

  Unable to stop himself, he touched her shoulder in a show of comfort. Her corresponding flinch cut straight through him.

  Dropping his hand, Marc let out a slow hiss of air. Perhaps he’d gone a bit overboard with the intimidating scowls and threatening comments. He didn’t want this woman to be afraid of him, just sufficiently wary. “Miss O’Connor, I—”

  She raised her hand to stop him from continuing. “What duties would I have to perform at your hotel, and what would be my pay?”

  Straight and to the point. He admired that particular quality in any person. “We can discuss the particulars on your first day of work.”

  “I prefer to discuss them now.”

  “With your speaking ability, and general comportment, you’ll be best suited at the front desk. Registration,” he clarified when she shook her head in confusion.

  “And the pay?” she asked, persistent to the end.

  Surprising even himself, Marc quoted an outrageous amount, three times the normal rate. He tried to conv
ince himself he had a reason for offering such a large sum. If he wanted to prevent this woman from starting her own brothel on The Row he had to pay her handsomely for the debatable honor.

  But that hadn’t been the only reason. He actually wanted to help her, despite everything he’d discovered about her in the last twenty-four hours.

  Caught in her own thoughts, Miss O’Connor pressed a finger to her lips. After a moment, her eyes filled with... Was that relief he saw in her gaze?

  “I suppose the salary is fair,” she said at last.

  “More than fair.”

  She acknowledged his words with a slight nod. “What would be my hours?”

  “I will expect you to work the evening shift, from six at night to two in the morning. That’s nonnegotiable.” And the best way to keep her out of the red-light district during the busiest times.

  When she didn’t balk at the hours, Marc wondered if he’d misjudged her. Why did he continue to suspect there was more to her than she was letting him see?

  “May I start tonight?”

  “Of course.”

  “Very good.” She presented him with a tremulous smile, one that made her look exceedingly grateful.

  A trick of the morning light? Or was she that in need of money?

  “Well then, Dupree, if there is nothing else to discuss I will see you this evening.”

  She turned toward the street and set out.

  Marc followed one step behind. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” The caged look she tossed him said more than her words.

  What was she hiding from him now?

  “After all we’ve been through I owe you the simple courtesy.”

  “Don’t worry, Dupree. I said I would take your job and I will. You’re going to have to take my word on this.”

  Against his better judgment, he wanted to do just that, wanted to trust that she would return to his hotel tonight as she promised.

  Or was there another reason he didn’t want to escort her home? Perhaps he didn’t want to find out she lived on The Row, and that he’d been right about her from the start.

  For a tense moment he held her gaze, trying to understand the silent appeal in her eyes, and his own unwillingness to force the issue. “All right, Miss O’Connor. I’ll see you this evening.”

  “Yes, Mr. Dupree, you will.” She set out once again. This time Marc let her go. She sidestepped her way through the morning traffic and crossed the busy street.

  The moment she was out of earshot, Marshal Trey Scott, Marc’s childhood friend, joined him on the planked sidewalk.

  “You know, Trey, I can’t help thinking things are not what they seem with that woman. She’s hiding something, something big, something that’s thrown her into a state of desperation.”

  Trey grinned, looking like the boy he’d once been rather than the man who hunted outlaws with a vengeance. “You like her.”

  Not the response Marc was expecting, nor the one he wanted to hear. “Not at all. The woman is frustrating, annoying and definitely more trouble than she’s worth.”

  “Not only do you like her, you’re attracted to her.” Trey’s laugh belied his hard exterior. “Don’t bother denying it.”

  “Yes, I find her attractive. But I wouldn’t read too much into it, if I were you. She’s a master at mesmerizing men. I only want to rehabilitate her before it’s too late.”

  “Miss O’Connor is not in need of rehabilitation.”

  “You didn’t see her in action last night.”

  “I saw the truth this morning.” Trey looked across the street, smiled when the woman in question leaned over and scratched behind a stray dog’s ears. “And you would see it, too, if you’d look past that black fog in your brain.”

  Marc bristled. “There is nothing coloring my judgment, not in Laney O’Connor’s case.”

  “On the contrary, you see everything through jaded, cynical eyes. Miss O’Connor is not your wife. Pearl was a liar and a thief. That woman across the street is neither.”

  “She’s in business with Prescott.”

  Trey inclined his head. “Perhaps. But I got a real good look at her a moment ago. My take? She’s a decent, honorable woman in a lot of trouble.”

  Pressing his lips tightly shut, Marc mulled over Trey’s words. His friend’s conclusion was too close to the one he’d struggled against ever since he’d first discovered Miss O’Connor in his hotel last night.

  But Pearl had taught him well. His wife’s betrayal made it impossible for Marc to believe in any woman, especially one who outwardly showed herself to be concerned with earning a lot of money as quickly as possible. How could such a pursuit be deemed honorable?

  “I take it she agreed to your job offer?”

  Marc nodded, his gaze still fixed across the street. He couldn’t help noticing how men of all ages stopped to stare at her as she passed them by. She was remarkable, even in that ordinary pink dress.

  “You paying her the usual rate?”

  “Three times more,” Marc admitted.

  The other man’s low whistle sent Marc’s gut tangling into a tight ball of unease.

  “Don’t worry, Trey. I plan to make Miss O’Connor earn every penny of her exorbitant salary.”

  As though hearing the remark, she wheeled around to face him directly and then released an identical two-finger salute as the one Marc had given her in the bank.

  Chuckling low in his throat, Trey ran a hand over the dark stubble on his chin. “She looks like a biddable employee already.”

  “Oh, she will be. Once I explain the rules.”

  “Right. Keep telling yourself that.” Trey slapped him on the back. “Now that I’ve witnessed the two of you together, I wonder who’s in more trouble. Miss O’Connor? Or you?”

  Marc had a feeling it was him.

  * * *

  At five minutes to six, Laney watched the sun edge behind the western peaks, trailing golden pink fire in its wake. The dusky-hewed sky added to the gloom in her heart. If only she’d stuck to Charity House’s original design a year ago, she wouldn’t have needed the extra loan from Prescott. And she wouldn’t be standing here now, facing her greatest threat yet. Marc Dupree.

  Laney must never let him find out about Charity House. The risk was too great. If he wasn’t the honorable man he portended to be, he could ruin all her plans. And then Prescott would win.

  Before leaving the orphanage, she’d done some quick calculations. If she moved a few expenses around, cut more corners and Dupree actually paid her the salary he’d quoted her, Laney would raise the remaining fifty dollars in time.

  Unfortunately, her ultimate success hinged on Marc Dupree’s honor.

  She could only pray he proved to be a man of his word. Please, Lord, let it be so.

  Drumming nervous fingers against her thigh, she turned her gaze to the spectacular building in front of her. “The Hotel Dupree.”

  She spoke the name aloud, as though the gesture alone would provide her with the much-needed courage to walk inside.

  A ribbon of light streamed out of the hotel lobby, beckoning Laney deeper into the drama she had set into motion last evening. What had she been thinking? She should have met Judge Greene somewhere else, anywhere else. With a vigorous toss of her head, she flung aside her agitation.

  This was not a time for second-guessing.

  She’d made her choices, and now she would accept the consequences. Just as she taught the children to do every day.

  Head high, shoulders back, she started forward. After a few steps, she swerved to her left and looked through the large plate glass window beside the entrance.

  Activity was high inside the lobby and her apprehension grew. Once she walked through the revolving door, she would be at the mercy of Marc Dupree. Her gaze swerved through the hotel, hunting for the tall, overwhelming man who held the children’s future in his hands—even if he didn’t know it.

  The longer she stood on the outside
looking in, the more she realized she couldn’t go through with this. She couldn’t rely on a man, any man.

  She would raise the money some other way.

  Decision made, she turned to leave and stopped midstride as her eyes connected with Dupree’s lazy scrutiny. How long had he been watching her scan the activity in his hotel? Long enough, she realized, and felt heat rush to her cheeks.

  Hoping to gain a portion of the upper hand, she swallowed several times and returned his open perusal.

  Similarly to the night before, the simple elegance of his clothing added a measure of sophistication to his chiseled features. He had the bad manners to look handsome, calm...awake.

  Worse, with the sky a rainbow of color behind him, he looked every bit like her romantic notions of a dime-novel hero.

  Cringing at the whimsical thought, she purposely filled her tone with artificial politeness. “Dupree, always a pleasure.”

  He angled his head, peering at the window behind her. “Were you planning to clean those nose prints off the glass before you ran away?”

  The temperature in her cheeks burned hotter. “I wasn’t running away.” The lie skidded past her lips in short, halting syllables.

  “Certainly looked that way to me.”

  A portion of the truth spilled out of her mouth. “If you must know, I was gathering the courage to walk inside.”

  That earned her a dry chuckle. “You may be a lot of things, Miss O’Connor, but cowardly is not one of them.” He dropped his gaze. “I see you didn’t feel the need to change your clothes from this morning. Didn’t I already remark on what I thought of that dress?”

  Welcoming the surge of irritation his question provoked, Laney scowled. “You did, in very unflattering terms.”

  He leaned against the streetlamp behind him and produced a full, stomach-bumping grin. Smiling like that, he looked so...appealing. Approachable even. For a dangerous moment, Laney forgot why she distrusted the man.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “You wore that pink concoction primarily to irritate me.”

  And now she remembered why. “You do catch on quickly.”