They were met at the depot by uniformed soldiers. The party, it appeared, was set to take place inside the fort. Considered to be safer there than in Laramie’s wild surrounds, Jordana found herself feeling only slightly more at ease. The thought of appearing in this gathering of men, pretending to be one of them, made her especially nervous. Perhaps this time she finally had gotten in way over her head. Her mother had always chided her about leaping before she looked.
Still, considering how she would handle matters if she were found out, Jordana didn’t realize they’d reached the fort until someone called out for the procession to halt. She glanced up, observing an exchange between soldiers and immediately thought of Rich. How he would laugh if he could see her now. He would probably howl at the thought of her posing as a man. She would have to write to him and explain the situation, at least in part. She didn’t feel that it would be right to share all of Charlie’s concerns, but there certainly couldn’t be harm in asking Rich if he knew anything about the rumors of sabotage.
Thinking of Rich made Jordana feel a sudden loneliness. She missed his letters and hoped that Victoria was minding them carefully for her until she returned to California. She had determined to go as far as Omaha, or to take as long as the end of August, whichever came first. If she waited much later in the year, it would be difficult to get back to Sacramento. The Sierra Nevada were unpredictable with their snows, and even with the Central Pacific in place and several miles into Nevada, travel would be harrowing at times. Problems with avalanches and destroyed snow sheds were evidence of this. Of course, if the party proved productive, she might well find herself traveling back to give Charlie the information he so badly needed to keep his railroad in competition with the UP.
They were quickly ushered inside the mess hall, where the party was already under way. The large room had been decorated with garlands and flags and red, white, and blue bunting. The army band had just assembled and was tuning up for a promising evening of music. Jordana quickly scanned the room, noting both uniformed officers and civilian officials. Sparsely coloring the collection of men were stylishly clad ladies. Each woman, even the oldest and most plainly dressed, had more than her share of attention. The sight of these women being so openly spoiled and pampered caused Jordana to feel strange. She would normally be among their number. She could easily remember occasions back in California when she herself had been the object of such attention.
Chiding herself for being silly, Jordana allowed Casement to make introductions to several people before he slipped away into the crowd to talk to someone across the room.
“So you’re the Baldwin son who is writing stories about our railroad,” a man declared.
Jordana peered up into the face of a man who looked oddly familiar. “I plead guilty as charged,” she replied in a low, sure voice.
The man laughed. “Durant, Thomas Durant,” he said and extended his hand. “I’m the man who had the vision for this line.”
Jordana thought him rather pompous and said, “May I quote you on that?”
Durant chuckled. “Most assuredly, although there are others who would deny it. General Dodge, for one, thinks I haven’t got the line’s best interests in mind, but I am more than fixed on my point of concern. The Union Pacific must be built, and it must succeed, and it cannot be held back for any reason. If we dally, that nonsensical Central Pacific Railroad will eat our profits alive.”
“Nonsensical railroad?” Jordana raised her voice to be heard over the band, which had struck up loud introductory notes. They were calling the first dance, but Jordana wanted to hear more from Durant. Perhaps the idea of sabotage came from the highest level. “I’ve been out along the Central Pacific,” she said, hoping this might put him at ease. “I would hardly call their effort nonsensical.”
Durant eyed her sharply. “I’ve read much of what you’ve written about that bumbling line. They can’t keep laborers or entice investors. I’ll probably have to rebuild the entire line when we finally reach their efforts.”
Jordana wanted badly to comment that Durant would find the CP line in perfect order and probably closer than he wanted to believe, but she held her comments, choosing a different line of questioning instead.
“I understand the Union Pacific is making progress in Utah. Are you willing to speak on the details, sir?”
Durant nodded. “It’s no secret we have a contract with the Mormon leader Brigham Young. There are already four thousand men at work blasting out the approaches to the longest tunnel on the UP line.”
“Where will that be?” Jordana hoped to remember all the details of the conversation.
“Echo Canyon,” Durant told her, then turned to welcome another gentleman. “Ah, Mr. Baldwin, have you met Baxter Montego?”
Jordana looked up to meet the dark-eyed man’s expression. “No, I haven’t yet had the honor.”
“Mr. Baldwin,” Montego said with a nod.
“Our young friend here,” Durant told Montego, “is writing a newspaper story for the Tribune.”
“The Tribune?” Montego asked.
“The New York Tribune,” Durant explained. “He is one of the Baltimore Baldwins, the railroading family.”
Montego’s interest perked up considerably at this. “I am most pleased to meet you, sir.” He flashed an oily grin.
Jordana nodded curtly. “The pleasure is mine, sir.”
“I was just informing young Baldwin about our progress in Utah,” Durant continued. “The Mormons are an easy breed to work with. Such a difference from the hotheaded Irish rowdies.”
“How so?” Jordana asked.
“They neither drink nor gamble. They are completely devout in their faith, praying over meals and concluding their day’s work with the same. They refuse to work Sundays and spend their time in prayer and worship, but the energy they expend during the week more than makes up for the loss. I would take one of Brigham Young’s men any day over an Irishman, and you may quote me on that.”
Jordana nodded. “When a man is seeking to please God, he often takes a serious pride in his work that he might not otherwise consider.”
“It is not only a desire to please God that causes a man to take pride in his work,” Montego countered. “A man must first learn what labors are important to him—beneficial to him. There must be a sense of priority and clear vision of the future.”
Jordana eyed him seriously. “And what is your priority for the future, Mr. Montego?”
The mood seemed quite tense for a moment, but then Montego laughed and swept his arm in the direction of a stunning young woman. “My daughter, Isabella, is my priority, Mr. Baldwin. Her future happiness is most important to me. I would seek to have her happily settled with a man of means and conviction.” He looked back at Jordana and gave a wry smile before adding, “Perhaps even a man such as yourself.”
Jordana struggled to keep from laughing, but just as she thought surely she would burst into unladylike howls, she saw something that took her breath away.
Rich!
When the scarlet-clad Isabella pulled back from the man she had so possessively taken to the dance floor, Jordana could clearly see that her partner was none other than Rich O’Brian.
What is he doing here? she wondered. And what is he doing with her?
“She is beautiful, is she not?” Montego said with great pride. “A bit spirited, but in the right way. She would make a good wife to any man, but to the man who wins her heart . . . well . . . there would be no end to the joy and benefit.”
Jordana felt fixed to the spot. Staring at the couple, she knew in her heart that Montego figured her to be taken with Isabella. And why not? Dressed as Joe Baldwin, she could hardly claim to be otherwise.
“She is lovely,” Jordana finally managed to say. She despised the way the woman leaned into Rich’s lead, pressing herself against him in a bold, unsuitable fashion. And Rich! The man was smiling. Laughing and enjoying himself as if . . . as if . . . Jordana bit her lip and turned
away. She didn’t want to admit what she was sure of. He was enjoying himself. There was no other word for it. He had a beautiful woman in his arms, and she had captured his attention quite thoroughly.
Durant was now speaking to Montego in hushed tones that neatly omitted Jordana from the conversation. It was clear they wished for privacy, and while Jordana knew she should probably try to hear what was being said, she couldn’t keep herself from turning back to watch Montego’s daughter in the arms of Captain O’Brian. Jordana’s Captain O’Brian.
Why do I feel like this? Jordana questioned herself. It isn’t like the man can’t dance with whomever he pleases. But Jordana had known flirtatious women like Isabella Montego. She could tell, even from this distance, that the woman was up to no good. Never mind that Jordana knew nothing at all about her.
Jordana stood seething in silence. To all appearances, she was a young man captivated by a beautiful woman. And no matter what else happened, she couldn’t reveal herself to be otherwise. Still, she fought the urge to rush into the circle of dancers and throw the coy ninny onto her backside. Without thought for what she was doing, Jordana edged a little closer to the circle. Perhaps up close, Isabella Montego was ugly. Maybe Rich was just being nice.
She tried to convince herself that either way it really didn’t matter, but she was having no success. The music concluded and the dancers halted to applaud. Isabella possessively gripped Rich’s arm as though he might somehow blow away if she were to let go. As they neared the place where Jordana stood, panic ripped through the facade of Joe Baldwin. Quickly, Jordana retraced her steps and forced herself into the conversation with Durant.
“So what is your projection for the completion of the line?” she asked rather breathlessly.
Durant had just opened his mouth to answer when Isabella Montego’s honeyed voice called out. “Father, you really should dance. The exercise would do you good. Why, it’s even put color into the cheeks of our Mr. O’Brian.”
Jordana balled her hands into fists and held them taut at her side.
“Isabella, my dear, you may do the dancing for this family,” said Montego.
“I should go,” Jordana muttered and started to edge around Durant, but Montego took hold of her shoulder and pulled her back around.
“Don’t leave. I wanted to give you a proper introduction to my daughter.” Turning to the young woman in question, he added, “Isabella, this is Joe Baldwin. He’s a reporter for a newspaper in New York City.”
Jordana could feel Rich’s shock before turning to meet his stunned expression. Isabella smiled coyly and extended her hand in a fashion that suggested a kiss rather than a shake. Opting for neither, Jordana barely took hold of her hand and bowed over it quickly before letting go.
“I’m so pleased to meet you, Mr. Baldwin,” Isabella purred.
“I would be interested to meet you as well,” Rich said suddenly.
Jordana forced herself to meet his eyes. She saw a mixture of humor and surprise and maybe even a hint of anger in his expression. She extended her hand. “Joe Baldwin.” Her voice squeaked slightly as she spoke.
Rich gripped her hand tightly, refusing to let go. “Baldwin. That name seems familiar. I don’t suppose you know a Jordana Baldwin.” Still he held her hand. “Or perhaps a Brenton Baldwin?”
Jordana could only stand there as Rich continued to torture her hand in his viselike grip. “They are my . . . ah . . . sister and brother,” she finally managed.
He dropped his hold and smiled. “I know them both quite well. You must be one of their younger siblings. But I don’t recall them talking about you. Of course, that Jordana was usually up to her neck in some kind of trouble, and Brenton was just as busy following after to put her back in line. She was a twenty-four-hour-a-day project, let me tell you.”
Jordana gritted her teeth and fought the urge to slug him. “I’m sure she was spirited in the very best way. I happen to know my sister better than my other siblings, and she is very cautious and considerate, even when being judged to be otherwise. As for me, I’ve been busy working with my father and the newspaper he so graciously put me in touch with,” she finally replied.
Rich grinned. “Now that you mention it, I do recall them talking of a younger brother. That must be you.”
“How marvelous,” Montego declared. “Then you are all practically old friends.”
Isabella appeared intent on pitting the two potential suitors against each other and began to make contrasts immediately. “Why, I wonder if you dance as well as Mr. O’Brian.”
“I’m sure that Mr. Baldwin must,” Rich countered before Jordana could speak. “He was raised in one of the best families to grace the eastern seaboard.”
“How charming,” Isabella replied. “I do seem to recall hearing of the Baldwins, Father. Don’t you?”
“We’re a big family,” Jordana replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“But aren’t you going to dance with Miss Montego?” Rich pressed.
Isabella struck a questioning pose and smiled in an enticing way. Jordana shook her head. “Perhaps another time. I’m feeling a bit fatigued.”
“Well, that’s all right,” Isabella said, a hint of a pout on her exquisite face. “I’m sure Mr. O’Brian has enough vigor to dance all night.”
Jordana couldn’t stand the way she clung to Rich, and without thinking of what she was doing, she reached out and took hold of Isabella in a forceful manner. “Maybe just one dance.”
As she pulled Isabella through the crowd in a most ungentlemanly manner, Jordana could hear Rich’s laughter ring out from behind her. I will pay him back for this if it’s the last thing I do, she silently vowed.
Thankfully the dance went quickly, and to Jordana’s relief, it was a reel that sent her down a line of partners without much time to make small talk or endure bodily contact. When the dance ended, Jordana bid her partner a good evening and quickly ducked out through the crowd as several men came up to vie for Isabella’s attention. Reaching a line of buildings, Jordana disappeared into the shadows to regain control of her shattered confidence. The summer sun provided light well into the evening, but now as it faded beyond the horizon, the inevitable night would soon be upon them and Jordana had no idea what to do next.
Forcing her nerves to steady, she tried to imagine how she could deal with Rich and the Montegos. She began to relax and feel her breathing even out as she heard the band strike up another waltz. No doubt she was not even missed in the growing crowd.
Then, just as Jordana turned to walk farther beyond the parade grounds and people, she was stunned to find herself slammed up against the barracks wall. Without having to look up, she knew that Rich had followed her.
“For the love of money, woman! What in the world do you think you’re doing?” There could be no doubt of the worry and anger betrayed in his voice.
10
“You haven’t answered me,” Rich said, still gripping the lapels of Jordana’s tweed suit. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I’m not fawning all over that overexposed siren, like some folks I know,” Jordana replied hotly, pushing away from Rich’s hold. She was only now getting over the shock of seeing him here. Forcing herself to calm, she added coyly, “I think she has plans for you.”
Rich ignored the barb. “Why are you here? Why didn’t you answer my letters?” Glancing over his shoulder nervously, he swallowed and put several inches of distance between them.
“I didn’t answer your letters because I haven’t been home to pick them up. I wrote you and told you I’d probably be traveling for a short time.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say you’d be traveling to Laramie.”
“Well, I didn’t know it myself,” Jordana replied.
Rich appeared to calm a bit also.
My, but he was handsome. Jordana felt as if she were looking at him for the first time, and in truth, it had been such a long time that she now realized his features had begun to fade in her memo
ry. They stood out in bold relief now—very bold. Jordana liked the way he’d trimmed his mustache and slicked back his hair for the dance. She liked seeing him in civilian clothes as well.
“I guess you got out of the army without any trouble,” she commented casually.
Rich eyed her strangely for a moment, then nodded. “I’ve been out for a few weeks now. I’m working as a courier for the Union Pacific.”
Jordana perked up at this. “That’s wonderful! You can tell me all about the railroad and what’s happening.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she repeated. “Because I’m writing stories for the New York Tribune. You know very well that I’ve been doing this for some time.”
“Oh, that.”
“Rich, you sound like you have something else on your mind,” Jordana said, brushing a mosquito off the back of her neck.
“I just can’t believe you’re standing here dressed like this, and that you’ve chopped all that beautiful brown hair off again, and that you were dancing with Isabella Montego as if you’d been doing it all your life.”
Jordana grinned. “I didn’t know you thought my hair was beautiful.”
Rich moaned and looked heavenward. “You’re treading in dangerous waters, Jordana.”
“Joe. You’d better get used to calling me Joe.”
“All right, Joe—” He intoned the name through gritted teeth. “Don’t you know that the railroad is having enough trouble? There are all sorts of fools out there trying to make money off the various companies involved. There are a passel of underhanded dealings going on, and you’re standing smack in the middle of the biggest gathering of Union Pacific officials to date and acting as though it’s nothing more than a Sunday school picnic.”
“I fail to see why you’re so worked up. I’ve been doing just fine,” Jordana replied. “I’ve been living at the camp just outside of Rawlins, and the men are wonderful. A bit crude, granted, but they’re really nice. They even invited me to join them the next time they go to town to celebrate.”
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