by Carol Cox
Mr. Showalter leaned back and rocked his chair, studying her intently. Catherine wanted to scream at him to go on and get it over with. She twisted her fingers together until they ached.
“You strike me as a rather opinionated young woman, Miss O’Roarke.”
Catherine swallowed hard and prayed her voice wouldn’t crack. “I’ve been told that before.” She offered him a weak smile.
“Your views on women’s suffrage, for instance.” He tented his fingers and tapped his thumbs together.
Here it came. Catherine drew a slow breath and waited for the axe to fall. Would an apology do anything to ward off the blow?
“I happen to subscribe to that view myself.”
“I’m sorry. I know my tongue runs away with me sometimes and. . . You do?”
Mr. Showalter chuckled. “I knew from your first day here I hadn’t hired a run-of-the-mill worker.”
Not knowing what to say, Catherine held her tongue for once.
“Your enthusiasm for statehood, your knowledge of current affairs, and your willingness to speak out on issues you feel passionately about. . .hardly what I’d expect to find in this office.”
Catherine closed her eyes. Now he would tell her he had no choice but to let her go.
“I must say I appreciate your candor and your ability to express yourself.”
Catherine’s eyes flew open. Had she heard him correctly? Her hands gripped the arms of her chair.
Mr. Showalter didn’t seem to notice. “Irene and Enid are quite capable of keeping up with the regular correspondence. They do a fine job of that. However. . .” He leaned forward, and the smile faded from his face. “I have correspondence of a sensitive nature, delicate negotiations I’d rather not send through the normal office channels.”
Catherine nodded, though she didn’t have the least idea what he could be talking about.
“I’ve been thinking for some time that I need someone to work closely with me, someone who understands the importance of this moment in Arizona’s history and has the vision to appreciate it.” He regarded her steadily. “So what do you think?”
Catherine stopped nodding and stared. “About what?”
Mr. Showalter threw back his head and laughed. “I’m offering you a job as my private secretary. Are you interested in the position?”
“Am I?” Catherine held back a whoop. “But I’ve only been here a short time. Surely Enid or Irene—”
“I said they were capable, but that’s as far as it goes. They’re quite adequate for the work they’re doing, but this position requires something more. With them, the mission of Southwestern Land and Investments is just a job; with you, it’s a passion.”
“Yes, but—”
“I can have the anteroom just outside fixed up so you’ll have a place of your own. It will give you more privacy, and you’ll be the one to deal with the people who come to meet with me. Would that suit you?”
“Oh, it would suit me just fine. I mean, yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Showalter. Thank you very much.” She rose and floated toward the door.
His voice stopped her. “The promotion comes with a raise in pay, of course.”
It was all she could do to keep from skipping her way back to her desk. Her former desk, she reminded herself gleefully.
Inside the office, Enid and Irene sent swift glances her way, but their fingers didn’t stop their rapid rat-tat-tat on the typewriter keys. Catherine grimaced. They’d probably gotten an earful from Miss Trautman and didn’t want to risk being tarred with the same brush as she.
Taken by a sudden fit of impishness, she slowed her steps and heaved a great sigh. From the corner of her eye, she could see Enid’s shoulders tense.
Catherine plopped into her chair and sighed again, then pulled open her desk drawers and began removing her personal effects. The rattle of typewriter keys didn’t slacken, but she heard a sniffle from Enid’s direction.
The door to the front office squeaked on its hinges, and Mattie stepped through the doorway, clutching a sodden handkerchief. Footsteps clicked along the hallway behind Mattie, and Miss Trautman appeared, a knowing smirk on her face. Catherine assumed the most subdued expression she could, then stood and gathered her things.
“I’m leaving now,” she said to the room in general. The typists’ fingers stilled at last. Everyone looked straight at her.
“I’ve enjoyed working with you,” she went on. That held true for Mattie, Enid, and Irene at any rate.
Mattie stifled a sob. “I’m so sorry, Catherine. Wherever will you go?”
Catherine tossed her head and grinned. “Why, down the hall to my new office. Mr. Showalter just made me his private secretary.”
Silence gripped the room for a moment. Then Miss Trautman uttered a strangled cry. Her face paled and her mouth worked, but no words came forth. Directing a baleful glare at Catherine, she pivoted on her heel and stormed down the hallway toward her own office.
Enid, Irene, and Mattie broke into cheers, and Mattie rushed to hug her. “That’s wonderful news. We thought. . . well, we thought—”
Catherine returned her hug. “I know what you thought. Will you forgive me for momentarily deceiving you?”
“I’ll think about it,” Mattie said, giving her a playful swat on the arm. “At the moment, I’d much rather give you a good shake for scaring us all like that.”
Seven
Arizona is ready to move into a new era. John Murphy, Edmund Garner, and Nathan Showalter are the vanguard of those ready to lead her there.
Mitch studied the final line of his article’s rough draft. His stomach twinged, and he pressed his palm flat against his midsection. He’d done that more than once this afternoon. Maybe it was the fried chicken he’d picked up for lunch at Felson’s Diner.
Or maybe it was guilt gnawing a hole in his middle.
Integrity—hadn’t that been his watchword? And he’d blithely tossed it aside in misleading Catherine O’Roarke about his interest in talking to her. It might have been more an omission of the whole truth than an outright lie, but the result was the same: He hadn’t been completely honest with her.
The memory of her pleasant look turning to one of wariness haunted him. What if he’d frightened her, turned her grand adventure in Phoenix to one of unnecessary caution and mistrust?
But it wouldn’t hurt for her to be watchful. This was the city, after all. A young girl needed to develop a degree of caution. He might have done her a favor by putting her on her guard.
Sure he had.
He shoved the papers on his desk into an untidy heap and grabbed his jacket.
One of the copyboys hustled over to his desk. “Mr. Dabney wants to know if you’ve finished that piece on the body they found in the canal.”
“Tell him I’ll have it for him before we go to press. I’m heading over to Southwestern Land and Investments.” He left the lad standing there, gaping.
Mitch took a moment at the foot of the steps outside the Southwestern building to catch his breath and straighten his tie. A few extra details from Nathan Showalter would help flesh out his article. He could use that as his excuse for showing up at Miss O’Roarke’s desk unannounced.
Making excuses again? The thought chafed at him. The profile on Showalter would be solid enough without additional information.
But it was a credible—and honest—reason for being there. More detail would surely make the piece stronger. He needed a way to get his foot in the door so he’d have a chance to explain his main motive in coming.
How he would do that still remained a problem. He’d rehearsed several opening lines on the way over but couldn’t find one that sounded reasonable.
Mitch pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his moist palms. Heavy clouds draped the sky and obscured the sun. The dismal day seemed a perfect reflection of his own mood. This felt like the first visit all over again. Was he crazy for doing this?
Maybe. But he couldn’t live with himself until he stra
ightened out the mess he’d created.
“Looks like you’re just going to have to jump right in and take whatever comes, Brewer.” He tucked his handkerchief back in place and trotted up the steps.
Once inside, his glance went immediately to the reception desk. A diminutive brown-haired woman gave him a cheerful smile.
“Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?”
Mitch halted in midstride. The greeting he had planned died on his lips. What now?
Should he turn around and leave? His hand groped for the doorknob. No, he couldn’t. He’d come this far already; he could at least talk to Showalter, make this a legitimate business call.
“I’d like to speak to Mr. Showalter, if I may.”
The receptionist consulted a book on her desk. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No.” Mitch pulled at his collar. “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in and see if he’s available.” Inwardly, he groaned. If that didn’t sound like an idiotic idea!
From the look on the receptionist’s face, she thought so, too. “Mr. Showalter is a very busy man, but I’ll see if he can spare you a few moments. What is your name?”
“Brewer. Mitchell Brewer. I spoke to him last week.”
The receptionist paused in the archway. “Brewer?” She grinned. “Wait here. I’ll see what I can do.”
Mitch shuffled his feet on the hardwood floor and wished he’d never thought up this fool venture. Without the sunlight pouring in through the windows, the office seemed dimmer than he remembered. He had a sudden urge to bolt out the door and get some fresh air.
A moment later, the brown-haired receptionist returned. “Mr. Showalter is in conference; perhaps his secretary can help you.” She gestured to the archway behind her.
Catherine O’Roarke stepped around the corner and smiled. “Good afternoon, Mr. Brewer. How nice to see you again.”
Outside, the clouds still hung heavy. Inside, the sun came out, and light flooded the room. Mitch grinned at his flight of fancy, even as he warmed to the sight of Catherine. A smiling Catherine, no less.
He smiled back but didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Some sort of connection had just established itself between them, one that rendered speech unnecessary. He felt as if he could gaze at her forever, knowing she would understand his every thought.
The receptionist cleared her throat. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just fade back into the woodwork and leave you two alone. Pretend I’m not here.”
Catherine’s cheeks turned bright pink, and she glanced around as if wondering what she was doing.
“Thank you, Mattie,” she said and looked back at Mitch with laughter dancing in those marvelous blue-green eyes.
Mitch tilted his head. Would you call her eyes turquoise? Or robin’s-egg blue? Maybe aquamarine. It would take study—lots of study. And he was more than ready to volunteer his time to the effort.
“I’m sorry,” Catherine said, “but Mr. Showalter is meeting with some investors. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Marry me. Mitch shoved his hands in his pockets. “I just needed to check a couple of facts, make sure all the details are correct before I send my story in.”
“Perhaps I can find the information for you.” She gestured toward the hallway. “Would you care to come back to my office?”
Would he! He trailed behind her eagerly, barely noticing Mattie’s quiet snicker on his way out.
Catherine led the way to the anteroom Mitch remembered just outside Nathan Showalter’s office. But what a difference! Last time he visited, the room had been empty save for a single wooden chair. Today he saw a cozy nook holding a tiny desk, a row of filing cabinets, and a trailing plant. In only a few days, Catherine had turned the vacant area into a warm, welcoming place.
The same way she’d begun to fill the void in Mitch’s heart. Whoa, there, Brewer. He shook his head to clear it. You’re just here to set things straight. Better get a rein on that imagination of yours.
Catherine swept around the small desk with a fluid motion that reminded him of a graceful deer. She leaned against the corner of the desk and looked at him expectantly.
For the life of him, Mitch couldn’t remember what he’d planned to say. So he contented himself with staring at Catherine O’Roarke.
She held his gaze, and her lips curved in a gentle smile. Time no longer existed; only the two of them in this moment.
Catherine folded her arms and tipped her head to one side. “You said you had some questions?”
Mitch felt like he had been called back from a far distance. He nodded. “Just a couple.”
Another pause. “And those would be?” Catherine prompted.
Mitch’s gaze didn’t waver from her face. “I. . .wanted to check on when he planned to break ground for the new sanitarium. There was something else. I’ll remember it in a minute.”
Catherine nodded slowly, seeming no more inclined than he to break the tender mood. She riffled through a stack of papers on her desk. “Here it is. The ground breaking is scheduled for next April.” She held the paper out to Mitch.
His fingers touched hers when he reached for it, and he froze. For a long moment neither of them moved.
He glanced down at their fingertips, fully expecting to see sparks shooting back and forth between them like sparklers on the Fourth of July. When he didn’t, he looked back up at Catherine and managed a small grin. “I guess I ought to leave. You need to get back to work.”
She blinked like a person waking up from a dream. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
Still, neither of them moved. Mitch longed to stretch his fingers out a few more inches and wrap her delicate hand in his. He started to act on his desire then remembered where he was.
He shifted his weight. Pleasant as it might be, standing here feeling like he’d found his soul mate wasn’t the reason he had come. Nathan Showalter’s meeting, just on the other side of the connecting door, could end at any moment and cut off further conversation with Catherine.
“I need to tell you something.” His voice came out in a hoarse rasp. He cleared his throat and tried again. “About the other day, when I was in here. I’m afraid I left you with a bad impression. I felt like I came across as some kind of predator.”
“Oh, no!” Catherine’s eyes widened; then she smiled. “Well, maybe a little.”
“I’m sorry about that. I guess I wasn’t acting like myself because I wasn’t being completely aboveboard with you.”
Catherine’s forehead crinkled. “What do you mean?”
“The truth is, I’m a friend of Alex Bradley’s. He asked me to—”
“Check up on me?” A wry smile twisted her lips.
“No. Well. . .maybe a little.” Mitch grinned. “He just wanted to find out how you’re doing.”
“So all this—the visit, this conversation—was set up for my benefit?”
What happened to the tender look of a moment before? Right now, her eyes were sparking like blue-green flame.
“Not at all. The profile I’m writing is legitimate. I arranged for the interview before I ever knew you worked here. When Alex wrote to ask me to look you up and said you had a job here, I decided I could kill two birds with one stone. I figured it was just a lucky break for me.” His voice thickened. “A very lucky break.”
Catherine’s lashes lowered and hid her gaze from him. Mitch watched her intently. She looked up at last and smiled. His heart warmed. “So you forgive me?”
She studied him for a long moment then nodded. “You are most definitely forgiven, Mitchell Brewer.” She tilted her head to one side. “How do you know Alex?”
“He and his father came down to Phoenix for a meeting of the Arizona Cattle Grower’s Association a few years back. I was covering the meeting and noticed him reading a copy of The House of a Thousand Candles during one of the breaks.”
Catherine laughed, a sound Mitch decided he’d like to hear again and again. “That’s Alex, all right, forever with his
nose in a book.”
“I’m afraid I have to plead guilty to the same habit. We talked about the book over lunch and found out we hit it off pretty well. We’ve kept in touch ever since. Alex is a great fellow. But I’m sure you know that already, having grown up with him.”
A tiny dimple appeared in Catherine’s cheek. “I wouldn’t always have agreed with that, but you’re right; he’s a pretty special person. It’s too bad he never mentioned you.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” An idea flitted into his mind. “Would you care to come to church with me this Sunday? We could go out for lunch afterward.”
He saw the guarded look return to Catherine’s eyes and wanted to kick himself for moving too fast. He hastened to explain. “Several of my friends—a mixed group—generally get together for lunch after the worship service. We could join them so it wouldn’t be just the two of us.”
She hesitated long enough to make him wish he’d held his tongue. Then her face lit up. “I’d like that,” she said simply.
The door behind Catherine swung open, and a heavyset man emerged. Nathan Showalter followed, looking surprised but pleased when he spotted Mitch.
“You’ve made a wise choice, Bill,” he said to his departing visitor. “You won’t regret investing with Southwestern. Let me know if you’d like to venture further with us.”
When the other man left, Showalter turned to Mitch. “Nice to see you, Brewer. What can I do for you today?”
“I needed some information, but Catherine. . .your secretary. . . already got it for me.”
Showalter glanced between the two of them. “I see. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Mitch picked up his hat and threw one more look at Catherine. “Thanks, but I believe I have everything I need.”
Eight
“Look at that gorgeous taffeta.” Mattie pressed her face so near the front window of M. Goldwater and Bro.’s department store that a puff of steam appeared on the glass. “You’d look a treat in that aqua dress, Catherine. The lavender, too.”