“Um, if your shirt caused the problems you want me to kiss away, why are you taking off your pants?”
“The rash has spread, darlin’,” he said as he bent his head toward hers. “It spread something awful.”
* * *
Lucy placed the heavy silver fork alongside her plate, and tapped the back of the newspaper her father held in front of his face.
“Papa.”
“Um.”
“I want to ask you something.”
He lowered the newspaper and appeared to notice her for the first time. “What?”
“I want to have a Christmas Party. Something extravagant. Something that will make everyone green with envy.”
He folded the newspaper, and set it alongside his empty plate. “You can have a party if you want to, honey, but I don’t know that I want everyone to be jealous. That doesn’t seem like a nice reason to throw a party. Especially a Christmas party.”
As heat rose to her face at her papa’s rebuke, she cast her eyes down. “Nothing exciting has happened since I came back from Europe. I’ve told everyone all about my trip, the places I visited, the people I met, the clothes I had made, and my friends seemed bored when I bring it up. I need something to look forward to.”
“I guess if your mama were still alive, she would be having all sorts of entertainments.” He sighed. “I’m sorry you don’t have a woman’s influence. Maybe I should ask your Aunt Adeline to stay with us for a while.”
“No, Papa.” Lucy answered abruptly. The thought of that old, dried up witch living here, judging her every move, sent chills down her spine. It had been bad enough dealing with the older woman for the few weeks she stayed with them while Lucy planned her party. Her aunt had done nothing but criticize, even telling her papa that he’d spoiled her terribly.
“I can do the entertainments myself. I have Mrs. Flannery to help. It will be fine. Please?” Lucy stuck out her lower lip and used the cajoling voice she had perfected over the years.
* * *
Eli studied his daughter. Maybe Adeline had a point, and all the spoiling he’d done was wrong. His daughter seemed too wrapped up in herself and her possessions. It had never occurred to him the lack of a woman’s influence could damage her in some way. With his needs taken care of by a succession of widows happy with the jewelry and clothes he’d paid for, he never felt the urge to take a wife.
Perhaps he’d been wrong. Eventually Lucy would marry and possibly move far away, and he’d be alone in the big house. He mentally shook himself. His ruminations were starting to make him sound like a scared old man, not a vision he wanted of himself.
“All right, you can have your party. But let’s not try to make everyone envious.” He smiled and winked.
“Oh, Papa.” She leapt up and hugged him around the neck. “I love you so much.”
Eli rose, and then kissed her on the head. “I’m off to work now. I’ll see you tonight.”
Eli sat at the back of his restaurant, sipping coffee and going over the books. Since it was the middle of the morning, only two customers finished a late breakfast. Molly Forrester, a waitress in The Golden Buck since before he’d bought the place, wiped the tables and made trips to the kitchen with dirty dishes.
The front door opened, and a woman entered and looked around. She hesitated briefly, and then made her way to the back where he sat. He watched her approach, intrigued with her feminine walk, almost a glide.
She stopped in front of him, her hands clasped together. “Excuse me?”
Eli sat back and his gut clenched. This was some woman. She appeared to be somewhere in her mid to late thirties. And a woman he could imagine underneath him in his bed. Classy, a real beauty. Petite, probably several inches shorter than his five-foot-seven.
Her pale blonde hair was pulled back in a chignon, which emphasized her light blue eyes. She wore a stylish blue and white flowered dress, with a scrap of material on her head that she most likely called a hat. Her full bosom emphasized a tiny waist, and her slight blush and fluttering hands attested to nervousness.
Eli stood. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“Yes, you may.” She took a deep breath, pulling his gaze to her lovely breasts. “I would like to speak with the manager, if that’s possible.”
“Actually, I am the owner of the restaurant.” He bowed slightly, and said, “Eli Benson at your service, ma’am.”
The woman waved the handkerchief in her hand, and ran her delectable pink tongue around her lips. “Oh dear, I’m afraid I’m not good at this.”
Seeing her distress, his protective instincts rose to the surface. He motioned to a chair. “Won’t you have a seat, Miss . . .”
“I’m sorry. I’m Mrs. Sylvia Hardwick.”
Damn, the good ones are always taken.
“Would you care for tea, Mrs. Hardwick?” He asked politely.
“That would be wonderful.” Sylvia settled in her seat, and tugged her gloves off.
“I’ll be right back.” He went to the kitchen and had the cook prepare tea and cookies, and asked Molly to serve them as soon as it was ready.
“Tea will be here in a minute.” Eli returned to his seat. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I need a job.”
Eli’s eyebrows climbed to what should have been his hairline, but had begun to disappear years ago. The hair left on the sides and back of his head didn’t matter.
“A job?” He choked. “Does your husband approve of you getting a job?”
“I’m a widow,” Sylvia stated, “and I’m afraid my late husband left me in a poor financial state. I recently moved to Oregon City to live with my stepdaughter, Angel, and her husband, Nathan Hale. However, I would like to have money of my own, and not be beholden to her husband.”
Eli perked up at the mention of ‘widow.’ “You’re related to Nathan and Angel Hale?” Things were definitely looking up. “What sort of a job did you have in mind?”
“To be honest, Mr. Benson, I don’t know.” Her chin quivered and she burst into tears, covering her face with both hands.
The waitress arrived with their tea and glanced curiously at the sobbing Mrs. Hardwick. Molly quickly arranged the teapot, cups and saucers on the table, taking furtive glances at Eli’s guest. He nodded as she added the plate of cookies. “That will be all, Molly. Thank you.”
He pushed aside his cold coffee, and poured tea for both of them.
Sylvia stopped crying, and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I really must apologize for that, Mr. Benson. Things have been difficult for me since Mr. Hardwick passed on.”
Eli patted her hand. “Please, you must call me Eli. Now, I suggest you have your tea. It will make you feel better.”
Sniffing, Sylvia lifted the cup and took a sip. Then she smiled at Eli, tears causing her eyelashes to stick together in clumps, her delicate nose a bright pink. Eli’s heart thumped.
He shifted in his chair to accommodate his reaction to her beauty. “Have you had a job in the past, Mrs. Hardwick?” He would have bet everything he owned this woman never worked a day in her life.
“Not exactly.”
He raised one eyebrow, and waited for her to continue.
“Oh dear, no. Actually I’ve never held a job. But I know I could do just about anything.”
Eli stifled a grin as he imagined what she could do for him.
“Can you cook?”
She shook her head. “Um, not exactly.”
“Wash dishes?”
“Ah, no. I don’t think so.” She studied her hands.
“Take orders from patrons and deliver them to the table?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Probably not too well.”
“Can you do bookkeeping?”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that?”
His mind sought any number of things to keep Mrs. Hardwick in his restaurant. “I have it! The perfect job for you.”
“You do?” Sylvia sat straighter, her eyes alight.
“A hostess? What’s that?”
He leaned forward, happy to have thought of something, anything, to keep her from going away. “When customers come in to eat, you welcome them, show them to a table, and give them a menu.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve seen men do that in restaurants in New York City,” she said excitedly.
Eli released the breath he held. “Then it’s settled. When can you start?”
“Anytime at all. Will today be all right?” Her smile lit up the room and for some ridiculous reason, made him happy.
“Absolutely. Why don’t you go on home and rest a bit. Come back here around five o’clock, and I’ll help you get started.” He almost laughed at the excitement he felt. Like a young boy who’d just been given a present.
Sylvia grabbed her reticule and gloves and sprang from her chair, tea and cookies forgotten. “Thank you so much, Mr. Benson. I know you won’t be disappointed.”
He took both her hands in his. “Please, since we work together, you must call me Eli.”
“And you may call me Sylvia.” She looked as if she would hug him, but then turned and hurried to the door, a much livelier step than when she’d entered.
Eli’s gaze followed her as she walked away, her dress swaying. It had been a long time since a woman had affected him that way. Shifting to relieve the growing tightness in the crotch of his pants, he grinned, thinking about the Widow Hardwick’s hips swaying back and forth around his restaurant. He couldn’t wait until five o’clock.
16
Sylvia opened the front door, and spotting Angel standing at the sink, peeling vegetables, rushed into the kitchen.
“Angelina, you’ll never guess what I just did.” She panted from excitement.
Angel bit her lips in fear at whatever new adventure her stepmother had involved herself in. She dried her hands on a towel, and smiled at her. “No, I probably couldn’t guess, but from the look on your face, I think it’s something you’re very excited about.”
“I got a job!” She burst out before Angel could say any more.
“A job?” Angel dropped to a chair, her mouth agape. “Where, I mean, what are you . . . do you mean work?”
“Yes. I am the new hostess at the Golden Buck restaurant in Oregon City.”
“Eli Benson’s restaurant?” Angel’s eyes widened.
“That’s right. Mr. Benson himself just hired me.”
Nate had taken Angel there a few times when they managed to escape from the children. A nice, clean place, serving fairly good food. But it seemed to be much too small for a hostess. “I didn’t know you were interested in working.”
Sylvia sat and took Angel’s hand. “I’m immensely grateful, truly I am, for Nathan allowing me to stay here. But I need money of my own. You understand, don’t you? Even you have your own money from tutoring.”
Angel’s face softened. “Yes, I do understand, and actually I’m impressed that you looked for a position.” She hugged her. “And I’m proud of you, too.”
“I think I’ll lie down now. Eli—I mean Mr. Benson—told me to rest before I come to work. If I fall asleep, please wake me at four.” Head held high, with a new sense of pride, she sailed from the room.
* * *
Lucy climbed the worn stairs of the office building next to the barber shop, and proceeded down the hallway. She opened the door of Moses McNeil, Investigations, holding the note her maid had given her this morning. A runner had brought it, instructing her to pay a visit to the investigator. She’d had to cancel an appointment with the dressmaker, but if this meeting gave her the information she hoped for, it would be worth rescheduling. But she would have to impress upon the man that she employed him, not the other way around. Lucy Benson did not cancel dressmaker appointments at someone else’s whim.
The disgusting man sat at his desk, with the obnoxious cigar smoldering next to him. He looked up as she entered, and waved to the chair in front of him.
Lucy shivered, hoping this would be the last visit to this man. She held herself stiffly on the edge of the chair. “Mr. McNeil, I received word that you wished to speak with me.”
“I have information for you, but my investigation is not complete.”
She didn’t comment, but continued to stare at him, lips pressed together.
“You said this woman,” glancing at his notes, he continued, “Angel Hale, is wanted by the law. Is that right?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I said she may be. I don’t know for sure, because I know nothing about her. That is what I am paying you to find out.” Lucy ended petulantly.
Moses looked at his notes again. “Apparently your Mrs. Hale is related to someone who is also being investigated, and possibly wanted by the law.”
Lucy straightened, her eyes wide. “Who is being investigated?”
He flipped through papers and pulled out a small sheet. “My man in New York wrote me that Mrs. Sylvia Hardwick is wanted for questioning on a theft.”
“Who is she?”
“My man seems to think she’s related to your Angel Hale. Her stepmother, to be exact.”
Lucy said sat very still, her mind a whirl. Angel’s stepmother was a thief. Her heart sped up. Like mother, like daughter.
“Did he say who wanted to question her?”
“New York City Police.” He sat back in his chair and linked his fingers together over his bulky middle.
Lucy’s mind whirled. “What about Angel? Are the police looking for her as well?”
“Not as far as I know. But I’m still investigating that.”
Rising, Lucy nodded at Moses. “Thank you for that piece of information, sir. I hope to hear from you when you have something more to tell me.” Gathering her belongings, she nodded in his direction, and walked out the door, her step buoyant as she smiled at this bit of good news.
* * *
Sylvia had tried on and discarded one dress after another, fighting both excitement and nervousness. The restaurants she had patronized in New York City always had men acting as hosts, and they were dressed formally, but she didn’t think any of her formal ball gowns would do at the Golden Buck.
She finally settled on a rose velvet skirt, and a ruffled cream colored blouse. The skirt fell loosely to her soft, leather ankle boots. A flare at the bottom of the skirt, to allow for a hoop she chose not to wear, permitted her to walk freely.
After arranging her hair in a neat chignon at the back of her head, she pulled a few wisps of curls to dangle on her neck and forehead. Looking at herself in the small mirror over her dresser, she decided she looked acceptable for the first day on her new job. She took a deep breath and placed her palms against her stomach to squelch the butterflies.
“Angel’s mama, you look pretty,” Luke said, as she left her bedroom and walked to the parlor.
“And smell good too,” John added, not to be outdone.
Angel stuck her head out the kitchen door to look at her stepmother. “Sylvia, you look wonderful.”
“Thank you, dear.” She pulled on gloves, and pinned her deep rose velvet hat to her head. “Now, I think I’ll take a slow walk to the restaurant.”
Angel came out of the kitchen, still holding her stirring spoon. “Your shawl is lovely, but it won’t keep you warm, and you shouldn’t walk by yourself after dark. I’ll have Nate drive over in the buggy and pick you up when the restaurant closes.”
“That would be nice.” Then taking a deep breath, she said, “Well, I’m off.”
Angel gave her a hug. “Good luck.”
Sylvia left the house, closing the door softly. She smiled brightly as she strolled away from the house. A working woman. She actually had a paid position!
* * *
Eli frowned at his watch once more. Eight o’clock, and diners occupied every single table in the Golden Buck. Ordinarily he would be thrilled at the business, but he’d spent so much time glaring at the tables of men ogling his new hostess, h
e hadn’t time to think about the money filling the cash register.
The line of men waiting for tables snaked out the door. Sam Palumbo, his head cook, had already told Eli they were close to running out of food. It seemed every man in town wanted to watch Sylvia’s hips sway back and forth. And that blouse, emphasizing her generous breasts!
Eli’s gut clenched as he followed Sylvia around the restaurant to glower at the men who couldn’t keep their eyes in their sockets. Close to making a fool of himself, he couldn’t wait for the restaurant to close.
His hostess smiled and laughed as she ushered grinning men to tables, stopped to talk to those already seated, and beamed at Eli each time their eyes met.
He was miserable.
When Sylvia arrived in that outfit, outlining her delightful breasts, he thought his heart would stop. Why had he given her a job where she would be so visible? He wanted to tuck her into a corner for his eyes only.
No woman had ever affected him this way. He’d had a lot of invitations over the years, mostly from women who hoped to snag him into marriage, but it had always been easy to finagle his way out of reach. From the time Sylvia walked into his restaurant, he’d been smitten.
Finally, with a sigh of relief, he announced at eight fifteen the restaurant had run out of food, and they should all go home.
“What about a cup of coffee?” One of the-would be diners shouted.
“Out of that, too. Now go on home.”
Grumbling and groaning, the line of men slowly shuffled out, promising each other they would return earlier the next night.
Eli wiped the sweat off his forehead, and hurried over to Sylvia, who held audience with two mesmerized cowboys. “My dear, I think it’s time you got off your feet. You must be exhausted.”
She turned a brilliant smile his way, and Eli’s heart did a double thump. He placed his hand firmly on her lower back and ushered her to the table in the back of the restaurant reserved for him.
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