by Kit Morgan
“I don’t blame you.” Then Felicity noticed her shivering. “We can come back – you’re freezing. Maybe Penny will be in town later this afternoon. And we could bring Chase with us to battle the rats.”
“Good idea.”
Felicity headed for the door. “Let’s go to Cobb’s and see what they have in coats.”
“Thank you,” Ophelia said as her teeth began to chatter.
They left the building and headed straight for Cobb’s. Once inside, they went straight for the potbellied stove and warmed themselves before looking at the merchandise. Felicity smiled at a pretty woman behind the counter.
“Is that one of the brides you told me about?” Ophelia asked.
“Yes, that’s Avis. We’ll speak with her later. Right now we need to find you a decent coat. Did you bring your money with you?”
“Yes, I have it right here.” Ophelia patted her reticule. “I have at least …” Her words were cut off the moment she laid eyes on Mr. Jones entering the store and going straight to the counter. She tried to look away, but couldn’t manage it.
“What’s the matter?” Felicity asked.
Ophelia craned her neck to get a better view. “Nothing.”
“Who is that?”
“Mr. Jones. My neighbor.”
Felicity giggled. “You mean the man you told us about?”
She nodded. “One and the same.”
“I wonder what he’s doing in town. He’s certainly no miner.”
“No,” Ophelia said dreamily. “He’s not.” She turned to Felicity. “What do you think he’s doing in town?”
“How should I know? Didn’t you ask when you met him?”
“No.” She returned her gaze to the handsome man. “I hope he’s not one of those confidence men your husband and the mayor talked about at dinner last night.”
“Let’s hope not. Now, about a coat?”
With reluctance, Ophelia turned away from Mr. Jones and joined Felicity near a rack of ready-made clothes.
Clint did his best not to stare at Miss Rathbone. He’d noticed her through the storefront window as he approached the door. Her eyes were bright, and those silky raven locks peeked out from beneath a silly purple hat. Her day dress was a lighter purple, setting off that hat as if it were a stage and the hat the actor commanding it. But what really got his attention were her eyes.
His heart skipped a beat when she glanced his way, and he turned his back to her and pulled his hat down. He’d best see to his business and not draw attention to himself. He wasn’t ready to reveal the reason he was in town - let them all think he was a salesman for now – and certainly wasn’t about to consort with a lady of the night, if one she was.
He studied the goods behind the counter, remembered he could do with a new comb and began to search for one. Naturally, they weren’t far from Miss Rathbone. He was surprised the other women in the store treated her and her companion like they were anyone else in town. In most places, local women snubbed whores. But here, another woman entered just after him, and the three of them were now chatting away near a rack of ready-made clothes.
He moved a little closer, unable to help himself. Miss Rathbone might not be the wholesome creature she appeared, but he couldn’t help sneaking a peek at her. There was just something there …
“Will it do?” the latecomer asked. “It is the only available building in town.”
Ahhhh, he thought to himself. Miss Rathbone had mentioned her friend was looking for a place for all of them to live. That probably included a place for them to work, too.
“Yes, quite nicely,” said Miss Rathbone’s companion. “There are enough rooms to accommodate quite a few women, especially if we put two to three in a room.”
Two to three! What sort of house of ill repute were they creating? The longer he was in Noelle, the stranger and more depraved it appeared. What would he tell his superiors? He had yet to speak with the mayor, but was wondering if he should bother? Maybe he’d best pack up and return to make his report. Noelle was as far from respectable as a town could get.
He listened to them speak about how to bring more women to town and “get them working” and decided he’d heard enough. He chose a comb, doing his best not to stare at Miss Rathbone, then went to the counter to make his purchase. He supposed he should speak to the mayor anyway, give the man a chance to tell him his plans for the town. For all he knew, the mayor had big plans, but he wasn’t going to find out what they were unless he tracked the man down.
He purchased his comb, took one last look at Miss Rathbone and the other women, and left. Maybe he could nose around a little before speaking with Mayor Hardt, but he saw little reason to. He’d seen and heard enough.
Clint stopped at the restaurant where he’d had breakfast to get a cup of coffee and think. Nacho the proprietor was wiping off a table when he entered. “Back so soon, amigo?”
“Yes. Seems I’m in need of a cup of coffee, Mr. Villanueva.”
“No, no.” He wagged a finger at him. “You call me Nacho like everyone else.”
Clint smiled. “All right, Nacho. One coffee.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nothing more,” Clint said with a sigh.
Nacho turned to leave but stopped. “Do not think I am prying. But you look like you …” He shrugged. “… lost something.”
“Lost something?”
“Si, you have disappointment in your eyes. As if you looked for something but cannot find it.”
Clint gazed at the man, stunned. He was right, that was exactly how he felt. “You’re very perceptive, sir.”
Nacho shrugged. “I feed lots of people. Some tell me things. Some don’t, but I learn to read their faces. I can tell what they are thinking and feeling after a time. I’ve seen the look you have in your eyes many times.”
“Have you?” Clint said, intrigued. “And what was it those particular men said they’d lost?”
Nacho sighed. “Ah, amigo. It was always a woman.”
Chapter Five
Clint stared into his third cup of coffee. Any more and he’d have to find a privy. Heck, he already needed to. But Nacho’s insight had him stumped, and he’d sat there and puzzled over it ever since. How could the sight of one woman get him so stirred up? He’d never thought of settling down before. His job wasn’t the type to accommodate a wife, and he’d been warned early on that marriage wasn’t a good idea, so he’d shoved it out of his mind and not thought of it since. If it wasn’t an option, why bother?
But apparently he was bothered – enough for all the world (or at least Nacho) to see. But men like Nacho did get to know people over the years, as they dealt with all kinds.
If Clint was wearing his heart on his sleeve, he’d have to think twice about his work for Wells Fargo. He was one of their top agents, had worked undercover for several years and broken up many corrupt endeavors plotted by unscrupulous employees. One would think establishing Noelle as a location prospect would be easy. But it wasn’t, not anymore. Not since he got his first glimpse of Miss Ophelia Rathbone.
Clint didn’t believe in the silly notion of love at first sight, but maybe there was something to it. His ma and pa said they’d fallen in love immediately and were married within a week, despite protests from both sets of parents. But they were of age, so there was nothing said parents could do. Maybe Grandpa Maxwell, the most opposed to the match, didn’t believe in love at first sight either. Yet, in the end, he’d accepted Clint’s father into their family, and grew to love him as his own son.
An only child, Clint didn’t have siblings to compare notes with about things like love and marriage. He supposed he could write his parents, but that would be a waste of time. As soon as he was done with this assignment, he would leave Noelle and likely never see Miss Rathbone again.
He drained his cup, paid Nacho and left. The sooner he took care of this business, the better. He returned to the Golden Nugget, cleaned himself up, then went to seek the mayor.
He approached the Noelle Mining and Smelter office and noticed the stranger with the big dog was just closing the door. He watched the pair head down the street, the dog wagging its tail as folks gave it a wide berth. He smiled at the sight and hoped they’d found accommodations. He reached the office and went inside. “Mayor Hardt?” he said to the man behind a desk.
The man looked up, training piercing blue eyes on Clint as he stood. Understandable – he was a stranger after all. “Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”
“My name is Clint Jones.”
“And?”
Clint smiled. No sense hiding anything at this point. “I’m here on behalf of Wells Fargo.”
The man’s eyes widened slightly. “Well, pleased to meet you.” He extended a hand across the desk. “Have a seat.”
Clint sat and got right to the point. “I’m here to see if Noelle fits the criteria for one of our banks to open here.”
Mayor Hardt leaned back in his chair. “And does it?”
“From what I’ve seen, no. But I’ll give you an opportunity to convince me otherwise.”
The mayor leaned forward, hands planted on the desk. “What are you looking for from me, exactly?”
Clint shrugged. “Look, Noelle is drawing a lot of attention with the silver mine. Other businesses are bound to want to open up shop here.”
“I’m quite aware.” He turned to the stove behind him. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Clint said with a wave. “What I’m saying is, respectable businesses want to do business in a respectable town. Families settle, grow, and become a business’s customers.”
“Yes, everyone knows that. So what is it you’re trying to say, Mr. Jones?”
“I’m concerned that Noelle doesn’t meet Wells Fargo’s standards of respectability.” Clint held up a hand, as Mayor Hardt had risen from his chair with some force. “I mean no disrespect. I’ve only observed the town for a couple of days, but with brothels popping up, and more whores being brought in …”
“What?” Mayor Hardt said in surprise. “What brothels? What whores?”
“Sir, I was at Cobb’s Penn, the dry goods store not long ago and overheard a group of women making plans for a new brothel.”
The mayor’s face screwed up in confusion. “What women?!”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know any of their names save one.”
Mayor Hardt leaned across the desk. “Who’s the one?”
He didn’t want to tell him. Thoughts of Mayor Hardt running Miss Rathbone out of town flashed through his mind, and whore or not, he didn’t want to see her displaced. Instead he said, “They spoke of an abandoned building. From what I heard, two of the women looked at it and thought it would do nicely for a …”
The Mayor grinned, then laughed.
“I beg your pardon?” Clint said.
Mayor Hardt continued laughing. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, opened them, took one look at Clint, and laughed some more.
“I fail to see the amusement in this, sir! Noelle already has one whorehouse, and another opening up only serves to add to the town’s notable depravity.”
Mayor Hardt stopped laughing and gaped at him. “Notable … depravity?”
Clint straightened in his chair. “Your preacher, sir, is no man of God that I can see.”
“What?!”
Clint stood as well. “With my own eyes I saw him go upstairs in the Golden Nugget to ‘take care of business,’ as he put it, with a certain lady.”
The Mayor’s eyes grew round as saucers before he burst into laughter again.
“Mayor Hardt! What is so funny?”
But he only laughed harder, and finally Clint rolled his eyes, tossed his hands in the air, and left. Clearly the mayor wasn’t taking him seriously. Maybe he’d already dealt with so many con artists that he thought Clint was just one more to throw out of town on his ear. Either that or the thought of Wells Fargo opening a bank in Noelle was so far-fetched due to the town’s fallen state that the poor man thought it a good joke indeed.
Frustrated, he stomped back to the Golden Nugget, up the stairs, and smacked right into a petite vision in a purple dress. “Miss Rathbone!”
“Mr. Jones,” she said, a little breathless.
“I’m terribly sorry – did I hurt you?”
Her hand went to her chest. “No, of course not – you just startled me. I was going downstairs for a cup of coffee.”
“Ah, well, don’t let me stop you,” he said, regretting the words the moment they were out. He did want to stop her, and ask what brought her to such a lowly state.
“Are you enjoying your stay in Noelle?” she asked, slowly making her way around him.
“Yes, very much so.” He swallowed hard. “How … how is the search going for a new place to live?”
“Live?”
“Yes, your friend and yourself? Didn’t you tell me you’d be looking for a bigger place?”
“Oh, that. It will be awhile before the parsonage can be built – we have to wait until the spring thaw.”
Clint could only stare, confused.
“Mr. Jones, is something wrong?”
His face went through a series of expressions as he tried to make sense of her words. Finally he managed, “Parsonage.”
“Yes, of course. But Mayor Hardt insists the church be built first.”
“You … you go to church?”
“Of course, don’t you?”
Actually, he hadn’t set foot in a church since childhood. “Uh …”
Her eyebrows rose delicately, making his throat tighten. She was the most magnificent creature he’d ever beheld, all beauty and innocence. But she wasn’t innocent, was she? Quite the contrary – no wonder she went to church! No wonder his observations of Noelle had sent the mayor into such hysterics! Could it be any worse? The preacher sleeping with the whores that attended his church …
Something niggled at the back of his mind but he ignored it. At the moment he didn’t know whether to be outraged or amused. Miss Rathbone stood looking at him with those big innocent violet eyes, her face curious and concerned. Was it a practiced look?
“Are you sure you’re all right, Mr. Jones?” she asked.
“Quite. I’d best not keep you.”
She solemnly nodded and proceeded down the staircase. A series of whistles and catcalls greeted her when she reached the bottom, and Clint stopped himself from racing down the staircase and taking care of the hecklers. Undoubtedly she was used to it in her profession, so why bother? In fact, why did Seamus the barkeep always put a stop to it? What did he care?
Clint turned toward his room, his heart heavy. How did it happen? How did such a woman wind up in such a state? Surely there was something that could be done for women so lost they had to resort to selling their bodies for money.
With a sad shake of his head, he unlocked his door and trudged into his room.
“Ophey,” Felicity said as Ophelia set their coffee cups on the table. “I’ve been thinking.”
Ophelia stiffened. She knew that tone of voice. “Dare I ask?”
“I believe you’ve caught the eyes of several gentlemen in town.”
Ophelia’s own eyes widened. “No. Absolutely not.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I’ve seen what sort of men have eyes for me, and I don’t care for any of them.”
“I’m not talking about the men who frequent the saloon. Someone else.”
“Who?”
“Well, I don’t really know him, but Chase met him earlier today and mentioned it to me and we thought …”
“Chase? Your husband is trying to find a man for me? Is that what this is about?” Before Felicity could answer, Mr. Jones flashed through her mind. Though their encounter in the hallway was brief, she tried to recall how he’d looked at her. Was Felicity talking about him?
“Ophelia, I’m sorry. I told Chase that you weren’t the least bit …”
“Is he new in town?�
�� she cut in.
“Um … yes, I believe he is. Don’t tell me you are interested, after all that talk your first day here?”
Ophelia sighed. “I … might be.” Her heart fluttered at the thought of Mr. Jones escorting her through town, going to church, sitting on their front porch on summer nights. Wasn’t it most young women’s dream to be married? Was she any different just because she wanted women to have the same rights as men, because she wanted to improve the lives of women no matter their background? To be married to a man who would refuse her the freedom to do so was simply not an option.
What then did Mr. Jones believe? If Felicity and the good reverend were playing matchmaker, had they already made sure Mr. Jones was right for her?
“Ophey?”
Ophelia sat, picked up her coffee and took a slow sip. “I know what I said earlier. For Heaven’s sake, I can only imagine what you and Chase must think of me at this point. But spinsterhood wasn’t a choice for me. My father handpicked men that were completely wrong. I never could have married any of them.”
“I understand that, but this isn’t Denver, and the sort of man I know you’d do well with isn’t hard to come by here. Especially now with so many strangers in town, it’s worth a look.”
Ophelia’s smile was heartfelt. “I do so appreciate you looking out for me. Thank you.”
“So … you’d like to be introduced?”
She smiled. “Does Chase know you’re telling me this?”
Felicity bit her lower lip and looked sheepish.
“Felice!”
“I told you not to call me that.”
Ophelia smiled. “Sorry. And yes, I’ll meet the gentleman. If you and Chase approve of him, he must be a decent sort.”
Felicity went around the table and gave Ophelia a hug. “We both want you to settle in Noelle, but even I have to agree that would be very difficult without a man’s protection. This is wild country, Ophey, and dangerous.”
Ophelia pulled out of her embrace to look at her. “Is it really that dangerous?”
“I’ve told you the stories, and I can introduce you to some of the brides who suffered the most. Pearl comes to mind.”