Rich knocked on the door and waited anxiously for what would be his first encounter with Montego. Soldiering had given him the ability to act authoritatively and gave him some flair for scouting out the enemy, but spying in this capacity was something entirely new. He carried papers from Dodge for Montego, a good way to get Rich in the door, but ferreting out information after that would depend on Rich’s own wits. He was to deliver the information and await answers on some of the questions Dodge posed. It seemed a good way to keep Rich in Montego’s presence and give him a chance to examine Montego’s character.
The door opened to reveal a beautiful dark-haired woman. Rich ascertained that she could not be much past her twentieth birthday, if that, and she was clearly one of the most exotic women he’d ever seen.
She cocked her head coyly and tilted her chin upward. The pose seemed to be to her advantage, as though she’d practiced it many times and knew the effect it had on men. “May I help you?”
Rich cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, ma’am. I’m here on business from General Dodge. I’m to meet with Mr. Montego.”
She smiled and lowered her lashes. Her voice was smooth and honey sweet. “Mr. Montego is my father. He’s just stepped out, but I expect him back shortly. Won’t you come inside and wait for him?”
Rich nodded and snatched the felt hat from his head. “Thank you, ma’am. I’d be obliged.”
She swept back away from the door, her long peach-colored skirts following after her in a wave of color. “Would you care for tea or coffee?” she offered.
Rich shook his head. “No, please don’t go to any trouble. A glass of water would be just fine. I’m afraid the train was not all that accommodating on matters of keeping the grit and ash from inside the car.”
“Oh, I can well imagine, Mister . . .” she drew out the final word, then stared at him expectantly. “I’m afraid I don’t recall your name.”
“I’m afraid I was rather remiss in delivering it,” Rich admitted. “The name is O’Brian. Richard O’Brian.”
“Ah,” she said and smiled in a most enticing manner. “And I am Isabella Montego.”
The name fit her well. He thought her obvious Spanish heritage had played itself out nicely in her elegantly coiled ebony hair and tanned skin. Her dark brows were arched delicately over even darker eyes—eyes that seemed to watch him with such intensity he almost found himself blushing.
She instructed him to take a seat in the simple parlor. “I will return in a moment with your refreshment.”
Rich nodded and marveled at her graceful retreat from the room. Women were a mystery to him. How they ever managed to move about in such an agile and flowing manner while confined by yards and yards of material was beyond him. Realizing he was missing an opportunity to snoop, Rich pushed such concerns aside and glanced around the room for anything that might imply Montego’s involvement in something less than beneficial for the Union Pacific. It was hard to imagine that a friend of someone like Durant would want to do anything but make money by the railroad. That was, after all, the biggest goal Rich could see Durant involved with. Money appeared to mean a great deal to the former medical doctor turned investor.
The room held no secrets, Rich decided. Or if it did, he didn’t know what to look for. Contemplating this, he took his seat only moments before Isabella Montego returned with a silver tray bearing a glass of water and a linen napkin.
“I’m sorry, but my maid is in town shopping for our supper.”
“I’m the one to apologize,” Rich offered. “I didn’t mean to put you out. I only just arrived in town, and my instructions were to come here directly.”
“How marvelous,” Isabella replied. “Then I know my father shall insist you stay with us while you’re here in North Platte. This house, though sparsely furnished, is far better than anything you’ll find at the hotel or boardinghouse in town.”
“Thank you, but I couldn’t impose,” Rich replied, taking a long, welcomed drink as he wondered about a woman who would so enthusiastically invite a stranger to stay in her home.
“I assure you,” Isabella said, her expression most inviting, “it is no imposition. We have just come to the area. My father travels between here and Laramie, where we own a good portion of land and work with the local people to bring in settlers. With my father’s responsibilities for the Union Pacific, he is quite often traveling, and I sometimes accompany him. For this reason, he had this house built for us. Now we have a place in both towns.”
“I suppose that makes a good deal of sense,” Rich said, smiling. “But I’m a stranger and I can’t imagine your father being at ease with my spending the night.”
Just then the door burst open and a tall dark-headed man entered with a dramatic flair. “This godforsaken country will be the death of me, Isabella. Come and help me with my things.”
Instantly Rich and Isabella were on their feet.
“Father, we have company,” Isabella replied before going to her father’s side. “This is Mr. O’Brian. General Dodge has sent him. I was just telling him he should stay with us tonight rather than take a room with the rowdies in town.”
Montego’s gaze sized up Rich before he turned to his daughter. “How very kind of you. You are so like your mother.” She smiled sweetly and kissed him on the cheek before taking his satchel and hat and setting them on a hall tree. “If my daughter is extending you invitations to stay, perhaps you should state what business you have with me.”
Rich produced a packet of papers from an inside pocket. “General Dodge has sent this correspondence with the instruction that I am to await your answer.”
“I heard Dodge was in town. Where is he now?” Montego asked, stepping forward to take the papers.
“He found it most urgent to go ahead to Salt Lake City.”
“Ah, those pesky Mormons.”
“I beg your pardon?” Rich questioned.
“The Mormons are counting on the UP to come through Salt Lake, but that isn’t going to happen. They’ll no doubt raise quite a stink, and why not? Salt Lake is the biggest town between Omaha and Sacramento, at least in accordance with the proposed transcontinental line. Rightfully the railroad should probably consider their desires, but Ogden makes more sense. It’s a more direct route, especially if they decide for sure to go north around the Great Salt Lake.” He paused as if to contemplate something of great importance, then added, “And if you think this country is godforsaken, you should see that area. Alkali flats and vast barren salt beds. It’s hardly going to attract anyone to settle there, and on that you may quote me.”
Rich smiled and tried to remain polite. “I don’t particularly think this country to be forsaken by God. Perhaps your own homeland is more charmingly put together, but I find a bit to hold my attention most everywhere I go.”
Montego looked at him for a moment and nodded. “I suppose some folks feel that way. No doubt there will be someone who is charmed by the Salt Lake desert regions. But not me. I find it no better in Laramie, where I hold property. The surrounding mountains are a pleasant diversion, but they are nothing more than that. And the winters out here are unbearable. I can’t imagine how the Indians survive it, much less live to cause us so much grief.” He pulled a cigar from his pocket and extended it to Rich. “Smoke?”
“No, thanks,” Rich replied and waited for the man to clip the end of the cigar. Isabella brought him a lamp, and while Montego lit the cigar, Rich questioned him rather nonchalantly. “I understand you are good friends with Thomas Durant. Are you then originally from New York?”
Montego straightened and drew on the cigar for a moment. “I hail from Connecticut originally,” he finally replied. “My family settled there from Spain at the turn of the century. Montegos have been there ever since. It’s quite lovely back east. Have you been there?”
“Connecticut? No, sir,” Rich replied. “I haven’t had that pleasure.”
Montego nodded as if he’d expected such an answer. “Well, take my word, Mr.
O’Brian, it’s a little bit of heaven on earth.” Montego then turned to his daughter. “I expected supper to be ready, but the air bears no indication that this is true.”
Isabella nodded. “Melina went some time ago to shop for our supper. She’s not returned.”
“You don’t suppose some manner of harm has befallen the girl, do you?” Montego questioned.
To Rich’s surprise, Isabella merely shrugged, as though it were of no real concern to her either way. “I could go look for her, if you give me a description,” Rich offered.
“Nonsense,” Montego replied. “I’m sure the girl will return as soon as she can.”
“Unless she’s run off with our money,” Isabella replied.
Rich studied the beautiful woman for a moment, finding her far less appealing in her lack of concern for her absent maid.
The sound of the back door being opened caused all heads to turn toward the hall. “There, you see,” Montego replied, “she has returned. Isabella, why don’t you go and instruct her to prepare food enough to include Mr. O’Brian?”
“Of course, Father,” she replied, all hint of harshness now gone from her voice.
“Mr. O’Brian, please have a seat and we’ll get right down to business.” Montego motioned to the chair Rich had earlier occupied.
Rich complied, all the while watching the man with great interest. Dodge said no one was to be overlooked in considering the Union Pacific’s safety, and Montego was no exception. He remained silently observant as the man leafed through the papers Dodge had provided. He looked to be in his late forties, but certainly no older. His dark hair bore no sign of gray, and his frame suggested a healthy man who was still in the prime of life.
“Yes, yes,” Montego said, nodding at the papers. “I can provide answers to the general’s questions, but it will take me a few days. I’ll need access to several accounts in order to give him accurate figures. Can you stay?”
“Yes, sir,” Rich replied. “I have, in fact, been instructed to do just that.”
“Marvelous!”
“What is marvelous, Father?” Isabella asked as she returned to the room.
“Mr. O’Brian has just consented to stay with us for a few days.”
“Then he’ll be able to attend our party next week,” Isabella declared with a smile.
Rich nodded and returned her smile. “What’s the occasion?”
“My birthday. A small soiree with friends, but there is to be music and dancing.” As Isabella spoke she leaned down to position a pillow behind her father’s back.
As she did so Rich couldn’t help noticing an ample display of her womanly attributes. Quickly looking away, Rich cleared his throat nervously. “I should probably see to my horse.”
“We have a small stable in back,” Isabella offered, straightening. “I could show you. Father’s carriage man should be out there to assist you.” Again she flashed Rich a smile and gave him a look that suggested she knew very well what she’d just displayed for him.
Rich picked up his hat and stood once again. “I’m sure I can find the way by myself. I wouldn’t want you to take in too much night air.” Her expression changed to a bit of a pout, and Rich decided that was the perfect moment to make his exit. “If you’ll both excuse me. I should only be a few moments.”
He slipped quickly from the house, feeling for some odd reason as if he’d just escaped a fate worse than death. The woman was clearly flirting with him, and while he had been given ample attention from women in the past, Isabella Montego looked at him as though she had already formulated a plan for what she would do with him.
Shuddering, Rich took up the reins to Faithful and clicked his tongue. “Come on, boy. Let’s see to a proper rest for you.” Glancing up at the house and spying Isabella Montego watching him from the window, Rich gave serious thought to making his bed with Faithful. He didn’t know exactly what the woman had in mind for him, but he could tell it was probably only going to spell trouble for his assignment.
8
Jordana found traveling as a woman a benefit at times, but it greatly hampered her work as a reporter. When it came to speaking with railroad workers, she was clearly dismissed as a frivolous distraction. Supervisors refused to take her request for interviews seriously, and even when she presented copies of her stories as credentials, they scoffed and put her from the camp, declaring that building the railroad wasn’t any garden party.
By the time she’d reached Salt Lake City, Jordana had decided enough was enough. Searching throughout the growing community, she finally managed to purchase clothing for herself. She determined to cut her own hair very short and play a man’s game as a man.
Hidden inside her hotel room, Jordana took up the scissors she’d purchased and began cutting her dark tresses. Layer after layer fell to the floor, and in less than five minutes she was both pleased and shocked to see the effect of her actions.
“I look rather like Brenton when he was young,” she said to her reflection.
She studied the image a moment longer. The result was shocking, for her cut was far shorter even than when she’d been forced to cut off her hair to escape the bushwhacker. She still remained obviously feminine, but having struck on a brilliant idea while shopping for clothes, Jordana reached into her handbag and pulled out a pair of silver wire-rimmed glasses. Putting them on, Jordana felt pleased with the way they altered her appearance and gave her a more masculine air. She decided against using the fake theatrical mustache she had purchased, because the harshness of the elements out on the rail line might too easily dislodge it. Best to keep things as simple as possible.
Her new clothes helped tremendously in establishing her disguise. The brown tweed jacket and gabardine trousers were sturdy and comfortable. It felt both strange and wonderful to wear the trousers. Why hadn’t women thought of this earlier? Before she put on her linen shirt, she wrapped her bodice snugly with a long strip of cheesecloth in order to smooth out and conceal her bosom.
With a bit of brilliantine slicked on her hair and a natty tweed cap, Jordana felt certain she had adequately camouflaged her womanly identity. True, she looked more like a boy of eighteen than a man, but that should fit well with her plan of passing as Brenton’s younger brother.
An hour later she proved to herself she had done just that. Doing her best to imitate her brother’s lengthy stride, Jordana made her way to dinner. If exposed or questioned as a fraud, she would simply make up some excuse. Perhaps she could convince people she was involved in the theater and this was nothing more than a costume. She wondered silently if the highly religious Mormon community would find her actions such an abomination that they’d instantly jail her if her game were revealed.
But nothing happened. At the restaurant, she was seated and waited upon with nothing more than the perfunctory nods given most men. Then later, after dinner, she walked down the street with little concern or care for her appearance, completely confident that for all intents and purposes, she was thought to be a man.
Back in her room for the night, she started a journal of her experiences. She carved the initials “J.B.” onto the leather cover. Mostly the journal would be the insights and adventures of Joe Baldwin, but she would also comment on what it felt like to move about in a man’s world.
The next day she packed her things into a carpetbag, leaving out all her feminine apparel, which she would drop off at a mission in town. She could not risk the contents of her bags exposing her. If she should require a dress, she would purchase things as needed. She then went to wire Charlie Crocker about the changes. Standing before the telegraph operator, she considered her words carefully.
CHARLIE, MY SISTER JORDANA SENDS HER BEST. PROCEEDING EAST. WILL BE IN TOUCH. JOE BALDWIN.
She pushed the paper at the man, paid the requested amount, and waited until he’d actually keyed out the message before turning to go. Picking up her bag, she startled when the telegraph operator called out.
“Hey, mister, you want to wa
it for a reply?”
She turned around and forced herself not to smile. “Nah,” she said in as deep a voice as she could muster. “Got a stage to catch.”
The man nodded and Jordana hurried out the front door, afraid that if she lingered she might be required to further converse with the man.
As she traveled, her disguise proved to be a great success. Aboard the stage there were no masculine glances considering her every curve. She could simply sit back, tip her hat over her eyes, and doze without concern of someone trying to take liberties. Days later she managed to catch a produce freighter that was heading out to the front of the line where the UP was rumored to have created its own traveling town just east of Rawlins Springs.
Amazed at the freight cars, some with tents and crates stacked atop, Jordana found herself ushered into the world of the Union Pacific Railroad. The desolation of the land here was still far more appealing than what Jordana had left behind in Utah. At least here, sage covered the ground in a gray-green pattern that broke the monotony of the high desert plains. Rolling hills and occasional flat-topped mesas could be seen holding vigil over the camp, but otherwise the land was nondescript at first glance. However, Jordana knew the deception of this. First glances seldom gave her the information she needed. Leaving her bags, Jordana started to amble off in the direction of a small rock ledge.
“Hold up there, young man. I need to know your business. If you’re lookin’ for work,” the older man said, eyeing Jordana rather skeptically, “then you need to head up to that front car. The office is up there.”
“I’m not here for a job,” Jordana told him, trying to sound confident of her task. “I’m writing a story for the newspaper.”
“What paper?” the man asked with the raise of a brow.
“The New York Tribune, sir.”
“Ah, I thought you looked like a city fella. Well, you’ll need to be talking to the bosses. Head on up to the front.”
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