Colorado Dreams (Rocky Mountain Romances Book 7)

by Heather Horrocks

  Joseph just laughed. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

  The pastor’s wife wrinkled her nose, and asked, “What is that smell?”

  A second later, Emily got a whiff of burnt food. “My roast beef!” she cried. “Please excuse me. I have to go save it.”

  She raced for the stairs, only to find that it was twice as bad up there. Her shoulders slumped and she stared around the room, thoroughly discouraged. Picking up a hot pad, she opened the oven door, and pulled out the meat.

  The blackened, dried-out mess of meat.

  She closed the oven, turned it off, and sank into one of the chairs, staring at the abomination.

  “Let’s cut off the outside and make a stew,” a woman’s voice said from behind her. “Add some vegetables and some spices, and it will taste delicious.”

  Emily turned to see that Mrs. Easterwood had followed her upstairs. “How can that thing taste anything but horrible?”

  “We can fix it. You’ll see.” The woman smiled at her. “I’d be glad to help you learn to cook.”

  Gratitude welled up in Emily and another glance at the lump of ash nearly brought her to tears. “Thank you.”

  “Now come on, and let’s rescue this poor piece of beef.”

  The Most Eligible Bachelor in Town

  LATER THAT NIGHT AT THE supper table, Emily watched as the men took their first bites of the stew Mrs. Easterwood had helped her make.

  First one, then the other, tasted the stew, chewed, swallowed. She held her breath in anticipation. Had she actually managed, with the help of the kindly older woman, to turn a chunk of charred meat into something that they’d love?

  One by one, the men smiled.

  “This is good!” Henry said. “I thought you said you couldn’t cook.”

  Emily exchanged a glance with Joseph. Would he keep her secret about Mrs. Easterwood?

  He quirked his lips and winked at her, taking another bite.

  Relieved, she took a tentative bite to see for herself and closed her eyes as the deep flavors danced across her tongue. Goodness! Mrs. Easterwood really was a good cook. She’d taken a costly, dried-out piece of burnt meat that Emily would have thrown out and had created a suppertime masterpiece. And Emily couldn’t take credit for that, no matter how much she wanted to. “Okay, I didn’t actually do it by myself, or even mostly by myself. Mrs. Easterwood saved the day because I burned the roast beyond recognition.”

  The collective look of disappointment that they didn’t have a new chef in their midst would have been comical if she didn’t feel so inadequate about it.

  Joseph scooped up another bite and said, “Maybe we need to ask Mrs. Easterwood to move in with us. Trade her for Emily.”

  The others laughed, but Emily just looked at her plate, keeping her face hidden.

  Finally, Robert elbowed her and said, “He’s just teasing, Emily.”

  She looked up, her eyes twinkling. “It’s not that. If she’s moving in to cook, I want to stay,” she said. “Mr. Easterwood is on his own. But for future reference, you might rather put me in a day at the mine rather than trust me with the food.”

  That had them all laughing again.

  And then they all started eating in earnest, cleaning out first one bowl, then a second.

  When they finished the meal and were just sitting around the table, full and satisfied, Emily fiddled with her spoon, then set it down. “I’ve been thinking about what you could offer to the people of Colorado Springs that the other mercantile does not.”

  Joseph chuckled. “Your mind never stops, does it?”

  “No,” she said, glad he seemed impressed rather than irritated. Her father would have just told her to leave such things to the men. “It does not.”

  “Well, share with us, Sis,” Robert said. “What’s your idea?”

  “You said you’re tight on money, right?”

  The three men agreed.

  “And that’s why I’m working for free.”

  “For room and board, Sis,” Robert clarified. “Room and board.”

  “And I very much appreciate it, gentlemen. Thank you for letting me stay here with you and for providing me room and board.” She drew in a breath. “Anyway, I started thinking. What if you offered convenience and services to the miners? All for a fee, of course.”

  Joseph raised an eyebrow. “Most miners aren’t willing to pay for convenience.”

  “So only those who are interested will pay you for it. Many won’t, maybe, but some will.” She picked up her bowl and carried it to the sink, returning to sit with the men. “What if you charged to deliver supplies right to their mines?”

  “I don’t know, Sis. Miners are kind of stingy.”

  Apparently this idea hadn’t been as good as she’d hoped, and she sighed. “Okay. I’ll keep thinking.”

  Joseph surprised her when he said, “You’ve already made one big improvement: the sign looks great.”

  She caught his eye, flushing. “Thank you.”

  He said, “I heard that the Antlers Hotel is looking for someone to teach some classes. Maybe you could teach art there.”

  Surprised, she said, “Really? But don’t you need my help here?”

  “Sure we do,” he said, and looked around, and the other two men nodded. “I just think you might find having spending money handy since we can’t provide you with any at the moment.”

  “And if I make money, I could maybe help out here at the store by picking up some of the supplies to attract women,” she said.

  “Oh, no, Sis. We couldn’t accept your money.”

  “Sure we could,” Joseph said with a smirk. “We could use it to hire a cook.”

  Emily scowled at him. “You’re not getting a penny of my wages.”

  “Your currently nonexistent wages,” Henry said pointedly. “It’s not just you, Emily. We might all have to go to work for other people before we’re done.”

  That set a glum mood at the table.

  She knew they couldn’t afford to pay her and she didn’t expect it. But Henry was right. She did need a paying job.

  She still had the jewelry, and she shifted so the gem at her waist didn’t pinch. She was going to continue to keep those well-hidden, not even telling the men about them. They were hers to use to create her future life.

  Apparently that future included a job, so tomorrow she’d talk with someone at the hotel about teaching an art class.

  Surely the Dawsons had already moved on to the Lennox House, so she wouldn’t run into them there.

  Across the table from Emily, Joseph watched as she set her mind to a new goal. He could practically see the gears turning in her clever mind.

  She fascinated him. She was as beautiful and feminine as a true princess, only a feisty one. She brought a much-needed touch of class to their store, and would, he was sure, be welcomed at the hotel. Not just welcomed — snatched up.

  He said, “I’ll vouch for your art talent, if they want a reference.”

  She smiled at him, and her dimples and bright eyes melted him. “Thank you, Joseph. That’s very kind of you.”

  “Not kind,” he teased gently. “I really am hoping you can afford to hire a cook for us with your earnings.”

  Emily laughed. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Henry said, “I wonder if Mrs. Easterwood would apply.”

  Joseph smiled at Emily. “Only take the job if you need the cash. You don’t need to get a job. We’ll take care of you here.”

  He wasn’t her brother. He wasn’t her beau, though he wouldn’t mind trying out that role. But he was her protector.

  He couldn’t help it. The protectiveness just came welling up and he was powerless to stop it.

  The following day, Mrs. Easterwood was kind enough to give Emily a carriage ride to the Antlers Hotel, and to go inside with her. “I might try my hand at artwork, myself,” she declared.

  “You certainly have an artistic eye with your baking; it’s as pretty a
s it is delicious. I think you’d be wonderful at it.”

  “Why, thank you.” The older woman looked pleased as she climbed down out of the wagon, handing the reins to an employee of the hotel and slipping him a coin. “Take good care of my horse, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the young man said, practically jumping up into the carriage, then clucking to the team.

  As they climbed the stairs to the beautiful large building, Mrs. Easterwood gave her a bit of history on the place. “This hotel has been called Little London because of all the English tourists who’ve stayed here.”

  “Really?” Emily said. “What draws them to Colorado Springs to begin with?”

  “They want to see the amazing view from Pikes Peak. Then there’s the amazing rock formation nearby that’s called the Garden of the Gods.”

  “I had no idea,” Emily said, stopping in the grand lobby. She squared her shoulders — she could do this. She had been in the actual London last year with her father, so she would not be intimidated by a fancy hotel, no matter how intimidating it was.

  “This way,” Mrs. Easterwood said, tugging on Emily’s sleeve and pulling her toward the reception desk.

  Emily whispered, “I’d better do this on my own, don’t you think?”

  “I think giving them my endorsement would be best. I am the pastor’s wife. You’d be surprised how far that can go in a town like this.”

  Emily grinned. “Excellent point.”

  And she walked beside the older woman, who was barreling toward the counter like she owned the place.

  “George Marchand,” Mrs. Easterwood said to the gentleman at the desk, “how is your mother?”

  The tall man, who looked to be in his early thirties, smiled at them. “She’s doing well, Mrs. Easterwood. Much better. Thank you for thinking of her.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she said, then motioned to Emily. “I’d like to introduce a talented young lady, Emily Maxwell. She is of the artistic bend, as are so many of our city’s citizens. She would like to teach a class here, and I can guarantee that she would attract only the best kind of students.”

  The man looked from Mrs. Easterwood to Emily. “Let me get the manager, ma’am.”

  A moment later, a well-dressed, portly man with gray at his temples motioned them into his office — and Emily went into her charming routine, the one she’d learned at her parents’ knees. It came as second nature to her, though with Mrs. Easterwood here, perhaps she didn’t need it.

  The manager — Mr. Jeffers — asked, “Do you have a portfolio to show me?”

  “I do,” she said, though she’d had to create it over the last two days, as her artwork was still in New York. She’d painted a portrait of Joseph, almost from memory, as well as one of her cat, Lily, and then one of the interior of the store.

  Mr. Jeffers took them, one by one, and studied them. He looked impressed. Finally, he raised his eyes to her and smiled. “We would be delighted to have you teach a class, Miss Maxwell.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jeffers.”

  “And I will be the first student,” Mrs. Easterwood announced happily.

  “I will provide the necessary art supplies, but do you have a preference from where the ladies buy any additional supplies they should need?” Emily asked.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  They negotiated a wage for her class, and he said, “We will place a poster at the counter. Plan on teaching next Wednesday. I should have several other students for you by then.” She smiled and they exchanged pleasantries and prepared to leave. Before they could stand from the desk, he pulled out his wallet and handed her some cash. “Consider this an advance so that you may purchase supplies. We will deduct it from your first week’s wages.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said, placing the cash in her reticule. That was truly generous of him. She rose to leave, as did Ruth Easterwood. Then Emily turned back to the hotel manager. “Do you happen to know anyone in town who deals in gemstones and jewelry?”

  “We have a man staying with us whose occupation is exactly that. He comes highly recommended. I can introduce you, if you’d like.”

  “Does he live here?”

  “He is staying with us for an extended visit, through the summer. His name is Mr. Paulson.”

  “Then when I have need of his services, I will contact you.”

  As the manager opened the door, another man was ready to knock. “Good afternoon, Mr. Vickers. I presume you already know Mrs. Easterwood.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Easterwood and I are acquainted.” Mr. Vickers nodded. The man was tall and handsome, dressed in an elegant suit.

  “And I have someone I’d like to introduce you to. This is Miss Emily Maxwell and she will be teaching our art classes here at the hotel.” The manager turned to her. “Miss Maxwell, this is Mr. Samuel Vickers, the president of the bank.”

  Mr. Vickers reached out and took her hand. “I am so pleased to meet you.”

  Emily smiled at the man, who still held her hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Vickers.”

  He released her fingers somewhat reluctantly and asked, “Are you in town for long?”

  “Yes. I’m staying with my brother and plan to be here for the foreseeable future.”

  “Then please do me the pleasure of allowing me to escort you to dinner in the near future. I’d love to learn more about you.”

  She pulled her hand back, gently. “I very much appreciate the offer, but I am not ready for that.”

  “Then later, perhaps.”

  As the two men closed the office door to talk business, and the women walked outside, Mrs. Easterwood giggled. “He is the most eligible bachelor in town. I think you should go out with him. He’s quite a catch.”

  Emily didn’t want to “catch” him. She did, however, want to know how safe her money would be in his bank. She’d heard of bank robbers.

  Perhaps she would go to dinner with Mr. Vickers, after all, and talk about bank security.

  This Is Business Talk at a Getting-to-Know-You Dinner

  THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY, MRS. EASTERWOOD again drove her to the hotel for her class.

  They’d gone early so Emily could find the room assigned to her for holding the class, then they set up the supplies before the students arrived. She’d brought paints and brushes and canvas, which she’d had to buy at the competition, since of course her three miners didn’t carry paint supplies — yet! — with the money Mr. Jeffers had provided her.

  There were five students, all women. She had them introduce themselves and describe any art experience, and say a bit about what they wanted to do with the skills that they learned.

  Clara Westley was a young single woman about Emily’s age, who said she had always wanted to be able to draw and paint, and her father approved, so here she was.

  Emily liked her immediately.

  Mrs. Holderman, the proprietress of the Holderman boarding house, assured Emily yet again that she had a room for her if she needed one. When Emily thanked her, she said she’d come because Pastor. Easterwood had announced the class in church last Sunday. She wanted to do a piece of art to give to her husband for his birthday and she figured two months would be enough time to learn how to do something basic.

  Mrs. Easterwood said she loved learning new things and she was hoping to paint a picture for the church house.

  A few minutes later, an older, white-haired woman named Matilda Adams and her granddaughter Marie arrived together. When Matilda introduced herself, she told the class that her husband had just retired from gold mining and was driving her crazy being at the house all the time. She came just to get out of the house and be in the company of somebody who “wasn’t a grizzled old goat.” She smiled when she said it though, and her affection for her husband was obvious.

  The last woman to enter told the group she was an English professor at the college. Katherine Lee Bates said, “I want to be able to draw beautiful landscapes and scenery like the one I saw from Pikes Peak yesterday.”
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br />   “You went up the mountain?” Mrs. Holderman asked.

  “It’s one of the benefits of being a professor. They took us all up.”

  “Oh, do tell us about it,” Mrs. Holderman said. “I can hardly wait until the cog railway up to Pikes Peak is complete so I can go.”

  Katherine turned to me, and I nodded. “We went in a horse-drawn carriage until it could go no further. At the Halfway House at Glen Cove, we switched to burros for the last six miles. We only stayed on the summit for a half hour before descending, but while I stood up there, I felt as though we stood at last in front of the gate of heaven’s very own door. I gazed in wordless rapture over the far expanse of mountain ranges and the sea-like sweep of plain.” She sighed. “It was then and there, as I was looking out over the sea-like expanse of fertile country spreading away so far under those ample skies, that I had words float into my mind; a poem or perhaps a melody: O beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain, for purple mountain majesties, above the fruited plain! It was truly the most magnificent thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Emily said, awed. “It captures this wonderful country and drives me to want to see the world from that view.”

  “I went up to Pikes Peak once,” Mrs. Easterwood said. “And it is exactly as you say, the most beautiful view I ever witnessed.”

  So, then and there, Emily decided she was also going to find a way to visit Pikes Peak and then paint what she saw there.

  After two hours of instruction, the women had created a small painting each. They would improve as they continued to take classes and, even more thrilling for Emily, they were excited about continuing lessons with her.

  As she showed them how to clean their brushes and then put away their paints, talk turned — as it often does — to men.

  Eligible men.

  Mrs. Holderman started by saying, “Have you ladies met the new doctor in town?”

  “I did.” Marie Adams flushed. “He’s very handsome.”

  “And young, too, I heard,” Mrs. Easterwood said. “Barely thirty.”