by Patti Berg
“I don’t know. I guess I’d have to know the circumstances.”
“Well, if you find anything out, make sure you let me know. He stole every town record, too, and, even today we still have property disputes that could be solved if only the paperwork showed up.”
“I don’t think I can solve some hundred-year-old crime, but I like the story. It might be fun telling my guests about it late at night. When I get a chance, maybe I’ll do some research. What did you say the fiancé’s name was?”
“Alexander Stewart.”
“And your great-grandmother’s?”
Jon smiled and shook his head. Elizabeth was going to be just like his grandfather—telling tall tales to anyone who would listen.
“Her name was Amanda,” he told her. “Amanda Dalton.”
Chapter 7
Amanda.
Alex whispered his lover’s name once again. Oh, how he missed her. And Oh, how she must have suffered at the hands of the man he hated, a man who would kill for money and ignore his own son.
But she must have hated Alex, too—for professing his love, then leaving her; for being hoodwinked by a man who'd been branded with horrible names.
Thief!
Murderer!
Anger swept through him as he swooped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his attic room, sending dirt and dust motes flying helter-skelter through the air. Jonathan Winchester’s words had angered him as no other words had. Alexander Stewart, a thief and murderer? Never! He wouldn’t stand for such language, such balderdash, not in his house.
Jonathan Winchester would pay for his words and pay handsomely.
oOo
For one long week Jon tinkered with plumbing and electrical wiring. He patched holes in walls, stripped wallpaper, sanded oak windowsills and banisters, hauled trash to the snow-filled dump, and ran errands for Elizabeth. There was still a good month’s worth of work to do just to make the place habitable, but the kitchen glistened after hours of scrubbing, they’d laid tile on the counter-tops, and clean, fresh water flowed through the pipes and down the drains.
Things might have been perfect, except he’d also spent the entire week suffering the pranks of a mysterious unseen entity. One day his hammer disappeared and he found it embedded in the chocolate soufflé Elizabeth had made. The hell of that was, he had to pretend to an outraged woman that he’d gotten hungry and dug into the thing while she was at the cafe trading baking secrets with Libby. A bucket of nails had been dumped in Elizabeth’s lingerie drawer, and once again he’d been caught in the act of retrieving his things. Explaining why he was fingering a lacy red bra hadn’t been easy. He’d gotten tongue-tied and felt like he was having hot flashes as he’d told her he’d been looking for rags to wipe down the woodwork in her room. She hadn’t believed a word, and he didn’t blame her a bit.
Whoever was haunting the hotel was making Jon’s life a virtual hell.
The other hell he was living through was his relationship with Elizabeth. They hadn’t shared a close moment since they’d talked of his grandfather. Of course, there wasn’t much time for conversation. He’d never known a woman to dream up so many chores, or a woman to work from sunup till sundown without growing tired.
She had a fresh pot of coffee brewing each morning when he arrived. Sometimes there’d be muffins or cookies, and always a big bowl of fresh fruit. Every afternoon she’d go across the street for coffee and lunch with Libby, and she always insisted he leave by three because she was sure that as mayor he had other, more pressing matters to deal with.
Just when he thought she didn’t like his company, didn’t want him around, he’d see her standing in a doorway, watching him. He’d smile, and she’d smile back and usually walk away.
Jon wondered if this was the way it was between married people, spending too many hours together and rarely talking.
On the eighth day he had business of his own to attend to and she actually seemed disappointed when he told her he’d be in Denver the next two days.
“What’s in Denver?” she asked.
“An art show.”
She looked surprised at his words.
“It’s what I do when I’m not playing mayor or attempting to be a handyman.”
“You’re an artist?” she asked.
He wanted to tell her. He wanted to share, but still he held back. That employee-employer relationship had settled between them, and they weren’t the best of friends. He wished he had faith in her, and he wanted to get close; unfortunately, he’d seen her with Matt Winchester one too many times to trust her completely with his secrets.
“I’m a dealer,” he finally answered. It wasn’t a total lie.
“I never would have guessed,” she said. “Of course, we haven’t talked about what you do when you’re not here or being mayor. I figured you must be independently wealthy—or a crook.”
Jon laughed. “Some people might think I’m a crook, considering the prices I charge for artwork. But I’m not.”
“Do you enjoy what you do?”
“Most of the time.”
She smiled. “I haven’t been to an art show in ages. I used to go whenever I had a chance.”
“You could go with me,” Jon said, and wondered why. It didn’t seem right to encourage a relationship that had no chance of going anywhere. But for some reason, none of that mattered. He liked being with her, whether he trusted her or not, whether they talked or yelled or spent a day together saying absolutely nothing.
“Thanks for the invitation,” she said, “but I’d better pass. This time, anyway.”
He was suddenly disappointed, and his days in Denver were more than lonely. He missed her smiles, her frowns, her laugh. He missed her amber eyes and her ebony braid, and he couldn’t wait to get back home.
When he returned, he drove into town and saw Elizabeth standing on the porch, talking to Matt. Floyd Jones was with him, too.
He gunned the engine of his pickup and headed for home without bothering to stop. He slammed the truck door behind him when he got out of the vehicle, slammed through the kitchen door, stomped up the back stairs, slammed through his studio door, and spent that night pounding his fist into clay. The next day he spent at Schoolmarm Gulch, sketching anything and everything that crossed his path.
Why had she been with Matt? She didn’t like him, or so she’d said. She said she wasn’t involved in his business, either. He’d tried to convince himself of those two things; unfortunately, the moment he was out of sight, she was fraternizing with Matt—again.
oOo
Elizabeth stood at the front window, watching the snowfall. That’s what she convinced herself she was watching when in reality she was waiting for Jon, wondering if he’d ever come again.
It was nearly seven P.M. He should have been there at eight that morning, but after seeing him race down the street yesterday afternoon when Matt had stopped by to ask her a few questions about her plans for the hotel, she sensed Jon might not return. When the snow fell harder and the wind picked up, she turned away from the window and walked toward the parlor, stopping when she heard boot-steps on the porch. She listened closely. They didn’t sound familiar. They didn’t sound like Jon’s.
But she hoped she'd soon see his smile.
She opened the door and disappointment ripped through her body at the sight of Matt.
“ ‘Evenin’, Liz. I had some advertising copy drawn up. Thought you might like to see what I’ve put together.”
“Why don’t I drop by your office tomorrow and take a look?” She didn’t want him around, not when there was a possibility Jon might come by. Actually, she didn’t want Matt around at all—at any time.
“There’s a chance I won’t be in town for a few days,” Matt said. “I need you to look at this tonight.” He brushed past her and hesitantly looked about the room as he unbuttoned his black wool coat. “You need wallpaper in here. I hope you realize that.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes as she closed the door.
“Thanks for the suggestion.”
“I’m sure I could make others.” He stuck his head through the doorway into the parlor. “You’ve got a hell of a long way to go, Liz. Are you sure you want to tackle this place?”
“We’ve already tackled the worst of it.”
“We?”
“Jon and I. He’s done most of the hard stuff.”
“Yeah, he’s a man of many talents.” Matt handed his coat to Elizabeth without a word of thanks. Typical!
She heard boot steps again out front; she heard the heavy knock. She closed her eyes and sighed, right before she opened the door.
“Sorry I wasn’t here this morning,” Jon said, looking straight into her eyes. “I—” He must have seen Matt standing near the parlor. He must have seen Matt’s coat in her arms. “I guess I picked the wrong time to come by.” He pivoted on his boot heels and started for the stairs.
Elizabeth stepped into the cold and slammed the door behind her. “Don’t go, Jon. Please.”
He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. “I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I don’t.”
‘Then why’s he here?” He gripped the railing on the porch and faced her.
“Business. That’s all.”
“What about yesterday? Floyd Jones was here, too. Has he become part of this partnership?”
Elizabeth sighed and leaned against the door. “They wanted to know how things were going with the hotel. They wanted to know when they could start lodging people here—that’s all.”
Jon only glared.
“Please. Don’t go.”
The door opened and Matt stepped onto the porch, draping his arm around her shoulders. “Is he bothering you, Liz?”
Elizabeth watched Jon’s right hand double into a fist, his arm draw back, then hesitate.
“Ah, hell!” Jon exploded, and shoved his fist into his pocket. “Go inside, Elizabeth. It’s cold out here. In fact, I think it’s the coldest it’s ever been.”
Jon didn’t even bother tipping his hat goodbye; he just walked away.
Matt drew her back inside, but she shrugged away from his arm as soon as he closed the door, “I really don’t want you here, Matt. We can talk about the advertising some other time.”
“I’m here now, Liz. I can’t see any reason to leave.”
She didn’t have the energy to argue. She threw his coat over the rack and walked into the parlor.
“Do you have some wine?” he asked.
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she went to the window and looked out at the snow once more. Jon’s reaction at seeing Matt inside the hotel didn’t surprise her, but the fact that he wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t stay when she asked, did. It hurt, too.
Obviously, he didn’t care. Not enough, anyway. Maybe it was time to just give up on him. Maybe she should settle for Matt. He didn’t care about anything but himself, so she’d never have to worry about offending him.
When she turned from the window, Matt was walking around the room, inspecting the furniture, the ancient crystal, ceramics, and silver. He was absolutely gorgeous; he was also insufferable.
Maybe he was just what she needed—tonight.
“I’ve got a ’79 Cabernet that should be pretty good,” she said, going to the table where she’d set it earlier, along with two glasses, when she thought—hoped—Jon might come by.
“French or Californian?” he asked.
“Does it matter?”
He shrugged, paying her very little attention as he walked to the chesterfield and ran his hands over the cushions. He carefully inspected his fingers, apparently for dust, then sat down and stretched an arm along the back. “I sensed a little tension between you and my cousin. I take it things aren’t going well between the two of you.”
He wasn’t totally oblivious to everyone but himself. Elizabeth popped the cork on the bottle and poured wine into the glasses. “He works for me, that’s all,” she lied. “We seem to have rather frequent disagreements.” She handed Matt the glass and sat in a chair across from him.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Matt swirled the wine about and sniffed the bouquet before taking his first sip. “I suppose that leaves the field wide open for me.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Only if I wanted you.’
He toasted her with his glass. “You’ll want me, Liz.”
“You’re a bit sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Always.”
He looked about the room again, at the stripped walls, the sanded wood paneling that needed to be stained and varnished, the curtainless windows. “From the looks of this place, it could be summer before you have rooms to rent. If that’s going to hurt you financially, we might be able to work something out.”
“What? Do you want me to help you out in one of your poaching expeditions?”
She couldn’t believe she’d said those words. She expected Matt to fire something equally vile at her, but all he did was smile.
“You wound me, Liz. You’re becoming as vindictive as Jon. Surely I don’t deserve that from you.”
Maybe he didn’t. “I’m sorry. That was rude.” She took a long sip of wine and curled up in the overstuffed chair, thinking seriously about getting rip-roaring drunk.
Directly across from her, she could see, again, the snow falling. Didn’t it ever let up? She was so cold right now. She’d been cold ever since Jon had gone to Denver, and she had the horrible feeling she might not be warm again until June.
“I don’t know how anyone survives here during the winter,” she said, facing Matt again. “Isn’t your income hampered by the weather?”
“I let very little hamper me, Liz, especially the weather. My outfitting business takes up most of my time in late summer and fall. In between times, I purchase and sell a lot of property. You’d be surprised how many greenhorns come here in the summer to buy up hundreds of acres of land under the ‘Big Sky.’ They get these grand notions of settling down in God’s country and being gentlemen ranchers. Then the first snow hits and they hightail it for much warmer climes.” He laughed. “They buy high, they sell low.”
“And I take it you’re there for the killing?”
Matt swirled the deep burgundy liquid around in his glass. “I’ve been known to make a shrewd investment or two.”
He downed the rest of his wine and set the glass on the table in front of him. Slowly, he rose from the sofa and walked behind Elizabeth’s chair. “You seem a little tense tonight, Liz.” She felt his fingers on her arms, felt them move over her shoulders and along the base of her neck. “I could relieve some of that tension for you.”
Elizabeth pulled away. It was Jon she wanted to touch her. It was Jon she wanted to kiss. Not Matt, in spite of her earlier insane thoughts. “I’m not the least bit tense, Matt.” She rose and poured more wine into her glass. “Would you like some more?” she asked, but Matt shook his head. Why on earth hadn’t she kicked him out? Why had she given him wine? Why had she offered him more when she just wanted to be left alone?
Matt leaned against the doorframe between the parlor and dining room, his arms folded across his chest, and watched her sip her wine. “Y’know, Liz, if you’re interested in real estate, I could find you a good deal or two.”
“But I already got a good deal from you. This hotel was a steal at the price I paid.”
“I take it the noises haven’t bothered you?”
“You mean the floorboards, the windows, the things you warned Eric about?”
He nodded.
“I’ve heard lots of noises, Matt. But it’s not the house.”
“No?” His eyes narrowed.
“No.” She could see his shoulders tense, and she knew without a doubt that Matt Winchester thought the place was haunted. He might have told her brother that it was just floorboards and windows, but deep down inside Matt Winchester believed a spirit roamed the rooms.
She finally felt a little better about Jon’s abrupt desertion. He was angry, bu
t there was always tomorrow. As for Matt, he was a pretentious fool. He thought he’d sold her a piece of goods—he’ was wrong, of course, but that didn’t matter.
He was obnoxious and rude, and she wanted to get even for him putting his arm around her and making Jon mad.
Maybe it was time for him to be a bit tense, too.
“I’m convinced there’s a ghost here somewhere,” she teased. “If you stick around long enough, it might appear.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“Not exactly. It’s more a feeling I get when I’m alone at night.”
The crystals on the chandelier tinkled. It swayed slightly. She watched for any other motion, but the only thing that moved was Matt’s gaze, drifting to the hanging lights.
She smiled. “Things like that happen all the time for no apparent reason. This could be a great advertising gimmick.”
Matt faced her again and grinned, but she couldn’t miss his deep, difficult swallow. “Like I said, Liz, it’s only the house making noises. If you’re afraid—” He walked toward her, slowly, quietly, as if he were stalking his prey. He pinched her chin between cold, hard fingers.
Elizabeth wrenched away, but his hand swiftly wound around the back of her neck and he lowered his mouth. She felt the pressure of wet lips against hers as she struggled.
Spitooey!
Matt jerked away. “What was that?”
Elizabeth used the moment to back out of his grasp. She wiped her fingers across her mouth, removing remnants of Matt’s kiss from her lips. “What was what?”
“That sound.” He looked about the room, his face scrunched into a frown. “Like someone spitting.”
“Oh, that.” Elizabeth shook her head, brushing off the comment as if the noise was of no import. “It’s the blasted pipes. They’re filled with air and make noises day and night.” She shrugged. “You get used to them after a while.”
“Maybe you should get them fixed.”
“All in good time, Matt.”
Maybe he’ll leave now, Elizabeth hoped.
“Why don’t we get some dinner?” he asked, obviously not ready to dispense with her presence. “I’ll take you into Helena again tonight.”