Louise blushed. “When I’m walking around examining the local flora, I pay attention to where the men go after work.”
“Why? Oh, I see.” The answer was obvious and made perfect sense, given Louise’s penchant for detailed notes. “That notebook of yours has more than plants and birds in it. You’re also taking notes on prospective husbands.”
Louise’s blush deepened. “It’s not wrong to notice things here and there. That’s what a writer once urged me to do if I ever hope to write stories of my own.”
“I had no idea you wanted to be a writer.”
Louise shrugged. “A silly fancy is all.”
Except it wasn’t silly, and it had confirmed something very important about Sawyer. “You said he never goes to the saloons?”
“And he is trying to better himself, if what you told me is right. He bought the hotel.”
“Yes, he did.” But was that purchase possible only through family money? One way or another, she had to know if Sawyer had lied to her. “I need to check on something. Will you watch Mary Clare for an hour?”
She should be able to get an answer long before the ship’s three o’clock departure time.
* * *
“I haven’t changed my mind.” Sawyer glared at his father.
If the man wasn’t a customer, he would tell him to leave.
Father didn’t accept this declaration any more than he’d accepted all the other ones. He removed his gloves, one finger at a time, and then set his hat on the registration desk.
“I’m not here to ask again that you return home.”
“You aren’t?” Sawyer watched his father warily.
The man’s carefully groomed mustache and whiskers were reminiscent of the previous decade. Graying when Sawyer had last seen him, they were now snow-white. Even so, the man’s skin didn’t bear the lines of care that Mother’s did. Father didn’t worry. He forced circumstances until he got his way.
Father set his hat on the desk beside his gloves. “I returned to warn you.”
Sawyer’s defenses went on alert. Father did nothing out of concern or kindness. Whatever warning he was about to issue was bound to carry a hidden agenda, one that furthered Father’s primary goal.
Father settled his black gaze on him. “Are you going to ask me to sit? We might take advantage of the furnishings, such as they are, in this tiny lobby.”
“Since I’m working, I prefer to stand.”
Father smirked. “There are no other customers.”
The man had a way of grating on Sawyer’s nerves with every sentence he spoke.
“The day is young,” Sawyer said through clenched teeth.
“Very well. I simply thought that such news shouldn’t be taken standing up.”
Now Father had his attention.
The man somehow managed a look of concern. “I dislike bearing bad news.”
“No, you don’t.”
“In matters of business, perhaps you are correct, but when it comes to my family—” Father shook his head “—it pains me. But the hurt will be swift and soon heal.”
“Get on with it or leave.”
“Courage. That’s what I always liked about you, Paul. You could stand up to anything and anyone. That’s the sort of man I want running my company after I’m gone.”
Sawyer shot him a glare. “I thought this wasn’t about begging me to return.”
“You’re right. It’s not. It’s about your future, though.” He cleared his throat and looked over Sawyer’s shoulder as if he couldn’t bear to witness Sawyer’s reaction. “I left earlier to inquire about passage on the schooner that is heading for Chicago after it finishes loading lumber. While doing so, I happened to see a familiar face.” He paused, doubtless waiting for Sawyer to react.
He did not.
Not having gotten a reaction didn’t stop Father from finishing his tale. “Someone I met in New York City when I was there on business.” Again he gave a great sigh, as if fearing the results of what he was about to divulge.
“You should have been an actor,” Sawyer spit out.
Father’s eyes bulged. Sawyer had offended him. In Father’s view, actors rated no higher than laborers laying track.
Then he unexpectedly chuckled, though there was no warmth in it. “Funny you should mention acting. The acquaintance I’m speaking of was in nearly the same trade. A singer, she calls herself, though her talent is not great.”
Sawyer’s blood ran cold. He thought he had prepared himself for anything Father might throw his way, but he had never imagined he’d hear this. Only one woman in Singapore was a singer from New York City. He would not listen to any made-up slander about her. “Fiona’s voice is exquisite, though I wouldn’t expect you to recognize that. You never had an ear for music.”
“Fiona. Ah, yes. I see you’re already acquainted.” Father shook his head as if deeply sorrowed. “I’d hoped what I heard wasn’t true. Tell me you’re not...involved with that woman.”
Sawyer would say no such thing. “Whatever you plan to say about Fiona can stay with you. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Oh, you’ll want to hear this. You need to hear it.” Father wore that smug grin that drove Sawyer crazy. “I attended one of her concerts in New York. No doubt the theater owner, hoping to secure my patronage, pointed me out to her, because after the concert she approached me and, shall we say, suggested she could—”
“Stop!” Sawyer gripped the desk so he didn’t punch his father. “There’s nothing you can say that I will believe.”
“Believe it. Her reputation is well-known. You can ask anyone from the city. They will have heard of her.”
“Because she’s a stunning soprano.”
“Because she has been mistress to many a wealthy man.”
“Lies.” Sawyer didn’t believe anything his father said. “Nothing you say can convince me otherwise.”
“Don’t listen to me, then. Read the newspapers. Her exploits of last July were well-documented in all the New York papers.”
“I don’t place any stock in newspaper reports. They print whatever will sell the most papers.”
“Believe it or not.” Father feigned nonchalance remarkably well. “I simply wanted to help you avoid a costly mistake. She got a great deal of money from business acquaintances of mine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Where else do you think she got her fancy gowns and jewels? The middle daughter of eight from an Irish tenement doesn’t have that sort of money.”
Father knew an awful lot about Fiona. How? For that matter, why? Father only went to that level of investigation when he had a purpose in mind, but he couldn’t possibly know that Sawyer felt strongly enough about her to offer courtship. He hadn’t even written Mother about it. Was Father actually speaking the truth? Sawyer couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it.
“She earned it with her singing.” But he was less sure of that. Even if she was in the newspapers, she wasn’t famous enough to earn the sort of money that could buy the lavish jewelry she wore. Sawyer knew from the few times he played piano for hire that a musician didn’t get rich.
Father’s laugh cut through him. “Believe that if you must, but it’s not true. She’s only after a man’s money.”
Money! The truth hit Sawyer between the eyes. Father had made a big mistake in his argument, proving it completely false. This time Sawyer had it right.
“No, she’s not.” Confidence boomed with each word. “She doesn’t know I’m your son. She thinks I’m a poor lumberjack who can’t afford a new shirt. If she’s the fortune hunter you say she is, she would have nothing to do with me.”
Father tapped an index finger on the desk. “She knows. Don’t fool yourself. She knows.”
A cold br
eeze raised goose bumps on Sawyer’s arms and shattered the confidence he’d just displayed. “How?” But he knew the answer. Father had told her.
“That doesn’t matter. What you need to ask yourself is if you want to be tied to a woman who goes from man to man without settling down. You might think she’ll behave once she’s married, but that sort never does. It’s in her blood, son, and nothing you do will reform her.”
Sawyer heard a gasp. He looked toward the front door and saw Fiona, an expression of horror on her ashen face.
* * *
It was over in the worst possible way, but Fiona was not one to give people the satisfaction of knowing they’d gotten to her. So after the initial gasp, she gathered her wildly racing emotions and faced both men.
“I presume you were speaking of me.” The comment was directed at Evanston, but she watched for Sawyer’s reaction.
He flinched and looked down a moment. Color flooded his cheeks, but he looked just as determined as her not to back down.
“Miss O’Keefe,” Evanston said, false politeness oozing from each word. “How fortuitous you arrived when you did.”
“Fortunate for you.” She hoped that’s what fortuitous meant. “And for whatever you’re trying to gain.” She focused again on Sawyer. “Did he convince you that I am a wicked woman?”
Sawyer paused a moment before answering, “No.”
Her spirits lifted. “Then you trust me.”
This time Sawyer’s hesitation took much longer. His gaze darted between her and his father. Her heart sank. He didn’t know who to believe. In a fight against a parent, she would lose every time.
Sawyer cleared his throat. “Just tell me why you never mentioned what happened in New York.”
The fact that he’d asked her that question meant Evanston had told him the lies already. “The way you told me about your father?”
Sawyer looked away, his jaw working. “I didn’t think it was important.”
Evanston had the nerve to cackle, as if they were following his plan exactly. “Good. Good.”
“You’re saying that your father is not important.” She glared at Evanston, but he didn’t drop the triumphant grin. “Your family is highly important.”
“You didn’t tell me that you grew up in the tenements.”
How did he know that? Oh. Evanston probably searched that information out. She jutted her jaw. “And you didn’t tell me that you grew up in a mansion.”
There. The differences were out. She and Sawyer had always been at opposite ends of the spectrum, though not in the way Fiona had thought. In fact, quite opposite. Each had hidden the truth from the other, a fact that Evanston had used for his purposes. Fiona couldn’t let the villain steal her future again. At least he didn’t know about Mary Clare. Yet.
“It wasn’t a mansion.” But Sawyer looked guilty while claiming that. “Though it might seem like that to someone growing up in poverty.”
She was getting nowhere, and Evanston was lapping up every moment. Had she walked right into his trap? She wished she’d arrived sooner, but it had taken too long to assure Mary Clare that she would return.
“I’ve been on my own for ten years,” Sawyer added stiffly.
He had talked about enlisting for the war and the ten years that followed, but not his childhood. Now she knew why. Sawyer wouldn’t look her in the eye. Evanston, in contrast, chuckled with glee. Why didn’t the older man leave? He’d already done the damage.
She glared at Evanston, holding his gaze until he blinked and murmured that he should go to his room.
Sawyer’s jaw worked. “That would be good.”
Fiona couldn’t miss the tension between father and son, and yet Sawyer believed his father. Not her. The disappointment crushed her. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much Sawyer meant to her. Yes, the thought of leaving him hurt, but to know he didn’t believe her was somehow worse. His admiration and affection meant more to her than that of any other person.
Only after Evanston was gone did Sawyer speak. “How did you meet him?”
“Your father?”
Sawyer flinched. “Yes, my father, Winslow Evanston III, to be precise.” Animosity colored each word.
Fiona’s throat ached, but swallowing didn’t ease the pain. “What did he tell you?”
Doubtless it hadn’t been complimentary.
“I want to hear it from your lips.”
The fact that Sawyer’s expression hadn’t eased one bit frayed her nerves. “He attended one of my concerts.” She paused to watch his reaction.
“Go on.”
“He introduced himself as an admirer and after the following day’s performance, brought me flowers. The next day he brought perfume and then a silk scarf.”
Sawyer winced with every revelation. It couldn’t be easy to hear such things about one’s father.
“I was accustomed to men offering gifts,” she said slowly, making sure he heard, “and had learned how to politely refuse them and the advances that followed.” She paused. “Your father laughed off my refusal.”
Sawyer’s jaw clenched. “Go on.”
Even remembering what happened next hurt, but Fiona would not burst into tears. Her sisters might, but Fiona was stronger. Life on the stage had taught her that much.
“I let him buy my supper one night, a mistake I wish I could take back. He had acted the gentleman, and I’d let my desire to marry cloud my perception. Once I agreed to dine with him, he assumed he had broken down my defenses. Now, up until this point, I didn’t know much about him. He’d introduced himself as Mr. Evans. Ironic, don’t you think?”
Sawyer’s frown only intensified.
Fiona felt the bond between them slipping. What did the Bible say? The truth will make you free? Well, she’d had enough of hiding.
“The night he brought me a ruby necklace raised my suspicions, but I foolishly accepted it.”
“Is that how you got your jewelry? In payment for favors?”
The accusation seared through her, but she would not stop until the full truth was out. “Once I really thought about it, I realized he had told me nothing about himself. I asked around and learned Evans wasn’t his real name. I saw a newspaper story about him being in town and learned he was married with grown children.”
Sawyer’s face twisted with distaste.
She did not stop. “I returned the necklace the next day, but the damage was done. He expected something in return for his favors. I refused. Unfortunately, reporters were near enough to overhear my rather heated words. I thought I’d saved my reputation. Instead, the following day the newspapers slaughtered my reputation. The day after that, I lost my singing engagement.”
When she’d hinted before at the trauma that had forced her to leave New York, Sawyer had been sympathetic. Today, compassion battled doubt while she told the story. Just one chapter remained.
“That’s why I came here in answer to Garrett Decker’s advertisement.”
“To save your reputation.”
“To begin again.” She ached to tell him the hope of her heart. He might scoff, but she couldn’t leave without him knowing. “To have a family of my own.”
Sawyer looked shocked. “Then, you accepted Carson Blakeney’s attentions because...you needed to marry.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t love him.”
“I didn’t.”
Sawyer set his jaw again. “That’s why you gave your attentions to me too. Because you needed to marry.”
Oh, how her heart was breaking. It hurt so badly that she could barely draw a breath. “No. Not entirely.”
“Of course it was.” He paced the lobby’s threadbare rugs. “When Blakeney fell through, you needed to find someone else, so you answered the newspaper advertiseme
nt.”
She gasped. “How do you know that?”
He pulled an envelope—her envelope—from his pocket. “Because I’m the one referred to in the advertisement, not Mr. Stockton or anyone else.”
“You?” She tried to wrap her mind around this revelation. “But you don’t want to marry.”
“It was a mistake.” He threw the envelope onto the registration desk. “Pearl and Roland were teasing me. It wasn’t supposed to be published, but it got in a stack of paper that Mr. Hennigan picked up from Pearl.”
The truth slowly dawned. “Then you truly don’t want to marry. It’s all just a grand game you’re playing with other people’s emotions.”
“There wasn’t any way to take it back.”
“You could have asked Mr. Hennigan to print a retraction. You could have posted something at the mercantile. Instead you let us—me—go on believing that there was a real suitor in search of a wife.” What a fool she’d made of herself in front of Mr. Stockton. No wonder he’d thought her a maid. No wonder he hadn’t sought to introduce himself. No wonder she’d received no reply. It was all a great joke.
“But you weren’t interested in marrying me until you learned I’m heir to a fortune,” he said, lashing back.
“That has nothing to do with my decision.” Or did it? She had rejected Sawyer in favor of what she thought was a wealthier man. Too late she’d learned just how wrong that choice was.
He seemed not to hear her, instead pacing from door to registration desk and back again, over and over until it left her dizzy. “You needed a husband and a father for your niece. I was the best option left. What an idiot I was to think you might have appreciated me for who I am, not for the wealth I might have one day.”
“First of all, I didn’t know you were an heir. Second, I don’t want your money, not one cent of it.” There, she’d said it, and surprisingly it was true. She didn’t want anything that came from Winslow Evanston.
“Good. You’re not getting anything from me.”
So that’s what it came down to. For all of Sawyer’s talk about making his own life here, he still held on to the family fortune like a lifeline. “Fine. You can have your money, your hotel, your grand future. Take it all. I don’t want anything to do with it or with someone who lies about who he is.”
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