Was she doing the right thing, putting herself in front of the entire town like this? It was bound to produce gossip and notoriety. It would increase the odds of Mortimer learning she was here. He'd come storming into the hotel, demanding to know her purpose in being here. She would much rather not bring that about until after Owen had him served with divorce papers.
That day wouldn't be far away either, according to Owen.
“Everything's ready to go, Ophelia,” he'd said yesterday when he visited her. “The divorce has been filed with the courts, and I expect Mortimer to receive notice within a week or so.”
The very idea filled Ophelia with dread.
Judging from the crowd visible in front of the opera house, every resident in Wildcat Ridge had come to attend the meeting. Few children could be seen which eased Ophelia's nerves a bit. She wouldn't have to compete with the ruckus they could raise.
Ophelia slowed to a stop.
“Are you nervous?” Brody asked.
“Terrified.” She put a hand to her chest, feeling her heart thump against her ribcage.
Brody slipped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her gently to his side. “You'll do fine, Ophelia. You'll win them over. I bet when they imagined Mortimer's wife over the years, they envisioned a hag with a bitter face, wild hair and a frown that dipped to the ground. You'll be a big surprise for them.”
Ophelia laughed, and a bit of her jitters faded.
“Instead,” Brody continued, “they'll see a beautiful, graceful woman, with a good heart who shares many of the same fears and hopes they have. They'll love you.”
“Oh, Brody. You are a true gentleman. Thank you for kicking my courage in the rear. I think I can go on now.” With her arm hooked through his elbow, they sauntered toward the crowd and a strong sense of Déjà vu struck her.
She glanced at him. Had they walked this way together once before?
Owen and Hester met them at the end of the block before they reached the building.
“I suggest we enter through the stage door,” Owen said. “Otherwise, it will take you an hour to reach the stage because of all the questions thrown at you before you're ready to answer them. Would you like me to be with you up there, Ophelia? For moral support or to explain some of the finer points of your ownership of Wildcat Ridge?”
“Ownership?” Mrs. Dobbs gasped. “You own the town, not just the hotel?”
“You'll learn about it soon, madam,” Owen assured her. “Why don't you join the others waiting for the doors to open? Brody, are you joining Ophelia for moral support as well?”
He glanced at her and it hit her that she wanted him there badly. “Yes, he is.” She stared into his eyes. “Please?”
“Of course.”
“You too, Hester.” Ophelia could see Mrs. Dobbs felt hurt and left out, so she added, “Would you stay as well, Angie?”
The woman smiled, and Ophelia knew she'd won a friend.
Brody chose to stand in the wings with Marzda and Mrs. Dobbs to watch Ophelia present her speech. He couldn't help wondering what she had to say, other than that she had somehow become the owner of the Crane Hotel. The audience was noisy, chatting and gossiping while they waited for the show to begin. Excited and curious, Marzda couldn't seem to remain still for long.
At last, Owen stepped out onto the stage. He held up his hands for silence. “Good evening, folks. May we have quiet, please?”
When the noise dropped a decibel or so, Owen motioned for Ophelia to join him. She walked onstage with a straight back, raised chin, determination and a deal of gumption.
“Ladies and gentlemen of Wildcat Ridge, may I introduce you to Mrs. Ophelia Crane, wife of Mortimer Crane, who has something of importance to say to you all.”
A pin dropping now could have been mistaken for a stick of dynamite.
With a pat on Ophelia's back, Owen left her there and moved to the side, just within sight. She cleared her throat and shifted her feet. Brody wanted to go to her, put his arm around her, and try to lend her some courage.
“Good evening,” she said, loud and clear. “I'm sure most of you have already heard I was in town and are wondering why. I'm here tonight to tell you.”
Again, her feet shuffled slightly beneath her long skirts. She'd worn purple silk tonight, which brought out her amethyst eyes and complemented her narrow waist.
“I'm aware of the ill feelings in town toward my husband, Mortimer. And I don't blame any of you for that. I may have married him, but I'm not blind to his faults, which is why I am filing for divorce.”
Gasps and whispers rippled through the large room.
Owen stepped farther out onto the stage and motioned for silence once more. Ophelia gave him a nod and proceeded. “I want you to know that I am here not as Mrs. Mortimer Crane but as Ophelia Crane, soon to be Ophelia Corrigan, my maiden name. I also wish you to understand that I am not here to represent my husband. I am here because I have sold my home in Salt Lake City and, having heard many glowing reports of the beauty of Wildcat Ridge and of the friendliness and kindness of its residents, I decided to relocate here.”
More whispers.
“Now that I'm here,” Ophelia continued, “I can see its reputation is well deserved. I'm honored and thrilled to become part of this community, and I hope you can accept me apart from my marriage. Mortimer was a good, honest man… once. Wealth has made him greedy. Greed and selfishness made him cruel. I'm sorry for that.”
Observing the crowd's reactions amazed Brody. Many of the women remained stone-faced, but others had relaxed and seemed to be accepting Ophelia. The expressions on the men's faces showed fascination and admiration. He wondered if any had fallen in love with her. It would do them no good, he'd see to that. Brody had waited too long for another chance with Ophelia. He wouldn't give her up easily.
“Owen Vaile is here with me tonight as my attorney and, as such,” she said, “I have asked him to explain to you my current circumstances which could affect yours. Owen?”
The crowd sounded like a hive of bees, buzzing to each other.
Owen went to stand beside her, hands upheld. “Folks…” He grinned. “What we have here is a semi-hostile takeover.”
Ophelia joined the people in gasping at that. Brody smiled, accustomed to the attorney's sense of humor. Hester, beside him, giggled.
“Forgive my little joke,” Owen said. “But, in truth, Wildcat Ridge is undergoing a change in ownership. You see, seven years ago, to avoid losing everything he owned in a lawsuit, Mortimer Crane put his property, including the mine and this town, under his wife's name. Whether he forgot this little detail or what, I can't say.”
He paused, likely for effect or to make sure he had everyone's attention. “What it means to you, is that she owns Wildcat Ridge. Always has. She simply didn't know it. All the money Mortimer gained from this town and its mine should, by law, have been hers, or at least half hers. Now that she knows, she is here to claim what is due her. Because of this, all rent or mortgage payments owed need to be paid to her. Not Mortimer.”
Heads bobbed as folks discussed that. Brody enjoyed the scene. Being an employee of Mortimer's had won him no friends in this community, which he had regretted greatly. Mrs. Dobbs had it better since she'd always lived here. He hoped that now, he and Ophelia would be accepted.
This time, she raised her hands in a bid for silence.
“Because I learned of all this only recently,” she said, “I have little knowledge of my husband's dealings here. Mr. Vaile is doing his best to learn who owns what. I trust you to be fair with me as I promise to be with you. It will take time for the paperwork on mortgages and leases to be changed and straightened out. Please bear with us on this. We will get it handled as soon as humanly possible. Meanwhile, save your pennies for your next payment. If it's past its due date, there will be no fine.”
Her nerves and indecision had vanished. It seemed as if she had transformed into a new being right before his eyes. Who was this strong, indep
endent woman who faced this unfriendly crowd? He hardly recognized the shy dove he'd loved two decades ago.
She coughed into her hand and swallowed hard, no doubt becoming a little hoarse from having to almost scream to be heard. Brody searched the premises for something liquid. He found a glass but had to go to the town well outside for water. When he returned, he walked onstage and handed the glass to Ophelia. With gratitude in her eyes, she murmured her thanks and took a drink. He returned to his place offstage.
While he'd been gone, Marzda had wearied of the entire show and fallen asleep on a cot in a dressing room. Brody laid his coat over her and returned to his place stage left.
“As I was saying,” Ophelia continued. “If anyone needs an extension on a lease or mortgage, please advise Owen.”
Someone in the audience raised a hand. She ignored it, not ready yet to answer questions.
“I will be making changes in Wildcat Ridge, such as changing the hotel's name to Corrigan House Hotel. As soon as matters are untangled, if there is enough money, I will be hiring a maid and a boy to carry luggage and handle horses. I intend to open the dining room and will need waiters or waitresses at that time.” She paused for another sip of water. “The Gentlemen Only Salon will be closed. I have future plans for it I am not ready to share now. When it reopens, it will not be the same type of establishment as in the past.”
A scattering of women applauded.
“I hope that if you have any problems concerning me, my hotel or my dealings, you will come to me with them, or at least to Mr. Vaile or Mr. Duvall. It is my greatest wish to become your friend and to help Wildcat Ridge prosper. Anyone who wishes to purchase their homes or businesses, talk to Owen. I have no interest in owning your property, only to be helpful, and undo some of the damage my husband has caused. Anyone who feels their rent or mortgage is unfair, do not be afraid to let us know. We will work it out.”
Hands waved in the audience in a bid for attention.
“Be patient, please. I will try to answer any questions you have.”
Of course, everyone began talking at once.
“One at a time, please, folks,” Owen shouted. “Raise your hand and, when picked, stand up and speak loudly enough for us to hear.”
It had been a long evening and Brody could see it would not end soon. Marzda needed her bed. Catching Ophelia's attention while Owen answered a legal question, he signaled that he was taking Marzda home. Ophelia nodded her understanding.
The girl woke when he shook her shoulder. With his arm around her, giving her strength, the child let him take her back to the hotel.
“Lock your door and get into bed,” he told her. “I'll be in the lobby if you need me. I want to be here when Ophelia returns in case she needs to talk.”
“Okay,” the child said sleepily and headed for the stairs.
Brody threw a log on the fire and sat down to wait. Before long, he was stretched out on the sofa, his head on the cushioned arm, fast asleep.
A sharp pain in his side woke him. Grunting, he opened his eyes to see three men standing over him grinning. The same three he'd rescued Marzda from. Before he could move, three sets of fists flew at him, pummeling his face, head, stomach, everywhere.
He fell from the sofa and received a vicious kick in the side. More blows rained down on him. He tried to roll under the sofa. Not enough room. He struggled again and again to get to his feet and strike back. One against three made it impossible.
“Reckon you won't interfere with another man's business after this, will ya?” a voice growled, kicking him again and again.
The room and the three faces of his attackers whirled before him, growing dim.
“You look exhausted, dear,” Hester said as Ophelia left the stage.
Behind her, the applause had died down to nothing. The chatter of voices and of feet moving toward the exit began to fade.
“Are you all right?” Owen asked her.
“Yes, just tired.”
He glanced around at the nooks and crannies that made up the backstage terrain. “I wonder where Brody went.”
“He took Marzda home.” Ophelia slipped into her coat. The weather had turned chilly again and clouds promised another storm. The last one had briefly turned into snow. She hoped this one didn't do the same.
“I suggest we get you home as well before you collapse.” Hester slipped an arm around Ophelia and urged her toward the door.
She did her best to work up a smile. “I won't try to stop you.”
Hester's giggle rewarded her.
Outside, it had begun to rain.
“Darn,” Owen muttered. “We have no umbrellas.”
“We can make a dash for it,” Hester suggested.
Ophelia ran as fast as she could, though she feared she would fall, she was so weary. Owen helped to hold her up with an arm around her back. Her shoes would no doubt be ruined splashing through mud puddles.
At last, they reached the hotel entrance. In the anteroom, they took off their wet outer garments and hung them on the fancy iron hooks Mortimer had installed for guests.
Dragging herself into the lobby, Ophelia yawned. “I'm so glad that's over. Thank you for all you did to help me, Owen. Hester.”
“Nonsense, dear,” Hester chirped. “It was fun.”
“Good Lord. Is that Brody?” Owen rushed over to something lying on the floor. A man.
He rolled him over and Ophelia gasped.
Blood covered his head and face. His clothes were tattered and bore red stains. He groaned as Owen, with Ophelia's help, lifted him onto the sofa.
“Oh, Brody,” she said softly, hiding her anger and pain at what he'd suffered. “What happened? Who's responsible for this?”
“Who attacked you, Brody?” Owen asked. “Can you tell us?”
His eyelashes fluttered, and his mouth opened. Only an incomprehensible mumble emerged.
“We need to get him to his room.” Ophelia used her skirt to wipe blood from Brody's face, so she could see how badly he was injured. She suspected his nose was broken and he'd have at least one black eye. “Mrs. Dobbs, would you mind going for the doctor?”
“No, of course not. I'll grab an umbrella on my way out and be back as fast as I can.”
Owen helped Brody to his feet and with one of the man's arms draped over his shoulder, started for the kitchen. Ophelia slipped under Brody's other arm to support him. Barely conscious, his feet dragged and stumbled on the floor. Together, they carried him through the kitchen to the room marked Manager. Private.
Upstairs, Ophelia found Marzda's door locked. She hated to wake the girl if she didn't have to but needed to see for herself that she was safe.
She went next door to her room and found her master key. Once inside, she found Marzda asleep in her bed. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ophelia drew the covers up under the child's chin and kissed her cheek, then hurried back downstairs.
“How is he?” she asked, bursting into Brody's chamber.
“He's in bad shape, I'm afraid,” Owen said. “I hope the doctor gets here quickly.”
“Where's Hester?”
“She was tired. I sent her to lie down on the sofa in the lobby.”
“Oh, that won't do.” Ophelia rushed to the lobby and found Hester curled in a chair. Brody's blood had stained the sofa. “Hester? Come, let's get you into a room where you can rest.”
As soon as she had Hester settled, she ran back to check on Brody. Dr. Spense was with him, cutting his shirt off so he could get to the man's wounds.
“He must have made someone damned angry,” the doctor commented when she entered the room. “Anybody see what happened or who did this?”
“No, we were at the town meeting.” She wrung her hands, noting how pale Brody looked. “He seemed conscious when we found him, barely, then passed out.”
Dr. Spense drew the shirt away and tossed it on the floor. A knife wound across his midriff leaked blood onto the sheet. Several scars marred his body. One reminded her of
a—
No! That puckered bit of flesh didn't look like a bullet wound. It was a bullet wound. A very familiar one.
A vivid scene popped into her mind. She clapped her hands over her mouth, staring at him in shock. She remembered that wound, remembered how he'd received it, had bandaged Brody afterward.
No, not Brody! Deuce. What was she thinking to mistake the two men?
Or had she?
She thought of the sense of familiarity she'd felt when she'd first met him. Could he be Deuce, and she hadn't recognized him?
Driven by a need to touch him, she reached out her hand, drawing it back before making contact. She studied his features, the chiseled look of his cheekbones and jaw. The way his brows curved above his eyes. She couldn’t see those orbs now when they were closed, but she remembered them. She shut her own eyes and pictured Deuce before her. The two faces meshed perfectly, despite his missing beard and long, shaggy hair.
A gambler by trade, Deuce had always been known by that one moniker. She couldn't recall anyone ever mentioning a surname for him.
She'd never learned what had happened to him when he left Creede. He'd simply disappeared. Right after that, Mortimer had asked her to marry him and she realized she could no longer bear the idea of having men's hands on her. At least with Mortimer, it would be only him. She'd have a home and maybe children. Why say no? Everyone said Deuce would not return.
Again, she ran her gaze over the injured man on the bed. His size, his hair, everything about him said Deuce. How could she not have known who Brody Duvall was?
The room grew dim and his face wavered before her. Her legs trembled, her knees threatening to give way. Feeling faint, she stumbled over to a chair and sat down with her head between her knees to hang on to consciousness. Inside her head, a voice kept screaming, over and over, no, no, no.
Brody Duvall and Deuce were the same man.
Chapter Six
Dr. Spense left, his work done. Owen took Hester home. Mrs. Dobbs retired to her bed. Only the flickering fire from the small stove offered any cheer. In the dim light of a kerosene lamp, Ophelia watched Brody and allowed scenes from the past traipse through her head.
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