by Cat Cahill
Dora searched the lobby in a desperate attempt for an escape from this conversation. If she said yes, would he ask her more? He might if she said no, too. What if she accidentally said she lived in a wealthy part of town? Was there a wealthy part of town? There were too many opportunities to mess this up. It was best not to answer at all, but how could she do that without seeming rude?
They were passing the small grouping of chairs that sat facing the north stone fireplace in the lobby. Dora moved slightly to the left, just close enough to tap one of the chairs with her foot. She pretended to stumble forward.
Quicker than a mountain lion, Mr. James caught her with his left hand, still balancing the tablecloths with his right. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I believe so.” Only after she’d spoken did Dora realize she was clinging to Mr. James’s arm. She quickly drew her hands away and prayed no one had seen. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Of course.” Mr. James tilted his head as he studied her. “Are you feeling well? You seemed to have lost your balance.”
“I . . .” It was best to agree with him. He must’ve noticed that she’d veered sideways. “Yes, I feel a bit lightheaded.”
“Why don’t you sit? I’ll deliver these tablecloths and return to see if you’re recovered.”
“No, I couldn’t. We’re not—”
“Yes, I know. Employees are not allowed to sit in guest seating. I’m sure this is an exception to that rule, however. I doubt anyone wants you fainting in the middle of the lobby.” And with that, he took her hand and guided her to the nearest chair.
His hand was warm despite the chill outdoors. Dora perched on the edge of the seat. When he let go of her fingers, it felt as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands anymore. She clasped them together in her lap, trying to recover some of the warmth his grip had given her.
He left to bring the tablecloths to the dining room. Dora glanced around the room, prepared to spring up if anyone were to see her sitting here. But the only people in the lobby were a few guests, most of whom were busy talking or reading, a desk clerk who was deep in conversation with another guest, and one of the newer girls, Edie, who made her way to the front doors of the hotel. The girls working the dinner service would already be in the dining room, preparing for that meal. And she hadn’t yet heard the scream of the train whistle, indicating its arrival in Crest Stone and the inevitable influx of guests into the hotel for supper.
She wanted desperately to sink into the luxury of the armchair, but she didn’t dare. Finally, Mr. James returned—with Mrs. Ruby in tow. Dora sighed inwardly. The last thing she wanted was special attention from Mrs. Ruby.
The woman leaned down beside her, pressing a hand to Dora’s head. “My dear, are you not feeling well?”
“I’m well. I only felt faint for a moment, but it’s passed.” Dora pushed herself up from the chair, nearly causing Mrs. Ruby to back into Mr. James. “I thank you for your assistance, sir, but I’ll be fine now.”
Mr. James raised his eyebrows. His face said he didn’t believe her. Dora wanted to sigh again. She had become so good at concealing the truth that no one believed her when she spoke it.
“You’ve been working too hard,” Mrs. Ruby said. “I know you like to help, but you ought to have more concern for your own health.”
Dora didn’t know what to say. She thought she’d been careful not to draw attention to the help she gave the hotel maids, but it seemed Mrs. Ruby knew all about it.
“You’re one of my hardest workers. And now I’m telling you to go upstairs and lie down. I’ll have one of the other girls take you up.”
“I can go on my own,” Dora said. “I promise, I’m well.”
Mrs. Ruby pursed her lips. After a few seconds, she relented. “All right. I do thank you for being so willing to help around the hotel, particularly since we aren’t in a position to hire any additional help at the moment. I only want to ensure you get enough rest, plenty of food, and that you aren’t working too hard.”
“I’ll rest, I promise,” Dora said, but it was Mrs. Ruby’s other words that lingered in her mind. The hotel wasn’t in a position to hire any additional help. That had to be because of the missing money. After all, they certainly weren’t lacking guests or customers in the restaurant.
Behind Mrs. Ruby, Mr. James’s usual smile had disappeared as Mrs. Ruby spoke. He was new, but he was hired to replace a previous desk clerk. He had to know his position was not in danger.
The train whistle sounded just then, announcing the arrival of many hungry customers.
“I must return to the dining room. I’ll see you in the morning.” Mrs. Ruby nodded at Mr. James before bustling away.
Mr. James watched her retreat, and then turned back to Dora. “Are you certain you’ll be all right on your own?”
His concern was touching, but considering she’d made the entire thing up, it also made Dora want to scream in frustration. “I am. Thank you for your kindness.”
“In that case, I’ll bid you good evening. I have some important work I must attend to.” And with that, he was gone, leaving her wishing he’d felt the need to kiss her hand again.
Dora rubbed her hands against her cheeks, trying to rid them of the odd thought. Mr. James was simply a polite, well-bred man. It was nothing more than that, and she’d be a fool to think otherwise. And if it were something more . . . that would be impossible. Gilbert Girls were forbidden from being courted during the term of their contracts with the company. And then there was the not-so-small matter of her own background. If he knew she wasn’t who she claimed to be . . .
Dora strode to the stairs. She didn’t want to imagine his reaction if he found out she was Ute. Her white father’s looks were the only reason she’d been able to pretend otherwise, which she did only to obtain this position. She was not ashamed of where she came from, of her own people. It was quite the opposite. Some nights, she lay awake, dreaming of returning home, even though home was now the reservation. She missed her mother’s flatbread and fruit cakes, roasting piñon nuts with her cousins, and the easy friendships she had with the other girls. She’d made wonderful friends here in Crest Stone, but not a single one of them really knew her. Mostly, she missed being herself.
If Mr. James knew any of that, she doubted he would be so kind to her. No matter how he acted around her now, it was best to keep him at a distance, the way she did with everyone else here.
It was the only way to keep her position—and her heart—safe.
Chapter Six
The wind blew Jacob into the small depot down the hill from the hotel. Inside, the little woodstove struggled to heat the waiting room and ticket office. With no more trains or passengers expected for the evening, the building was empty save for the depot clerk.
“Good evening,” Jacob called through the ticket window.
The older man ambled over from a seat at a small table. “I was just about to shut the place up. Do you need a ticket?”
“No, sir. I was hoping to send a telegram.”
“Well, this is the place.” The clerk passed a stubby pencil and a piece of paper through the window.
Jacob scrawled a quick note to his father. My work here progresses. Have made many friends. Will keep you apprised. It was just cryptic enough not to raise questions from the clerk, who apparently also doubled as the telegraph operator. He slid the note and pencil back through the window. “It needs to go to Mr. James Gilbert, Sr. of Denver. No relation to the company,” he added quickly upon seeing the recognition on the clerk’s face. “My mother’s people are Gilberts, originally from down South.”
The clerk nodded, and Jacob let out a breath. While the older man sent the telegram, Jacob busied himself with warming his hands by the woodstove. The telegraph machine clicked away. Minutes passed, plenty of time in which to send a telegram. Suspecting the clerk thought he wanted to wait for a response, Jacob finally drew himself away from the heat to inform him otherwise. He lowered his
head to see through the ticket window, and then nearly hit it against the wooden frame when he saw a woman standing next to the telegraph machine.
“Miss Reynolds?” he called.
She looked up, her pretty face moving quickly from a pleasant smile to alarm. He hoped that was only because he’d startled her, and not because she was anxious to be in his presence again.
“Mr. James,” she said.
Jacob winced inwardly at the false name. It had seemed the obvious choice when his brother had sent word to McFarland that a Jake James would be taking the place of their recently departed desk clerk. It wasn’t difficult to remember, and it would serve to remind him of everything he stood to lose—all to his brother—should he not succeed. But now . . . he wished to hear Miss Reynolds call him by his real name.
Jacob tried to focus again on the lovely Miss Reynolds. She wore a heavy coat over her dress, the hood thrown back to reveal shining dark hair piled on top of her head. Her broad features wavered between a smile and a look that spoke of a desire to dart out of the depot as quickly as possible.
“I thought Mrs. Ruby told you to rest this evening,” he teased, hoping to lighten her mood.
“She did. I . . .” She fingered a small envelope clutched in her hand. “I need to mail my earnings home to my family.”
So the depot clerk also served as the postmaster. Jacob hoped the Colorado & New Mexico Railway Company compensated the man well, for all the jobs he appeared to balance. “That is noble of you to do,” he said to Miss Reynolds, despite the immediate curiosity that took hold of him. Miss Reynolds’ family was clearly in some sort of financial need. Although he should have expected it—after all, one of the reasons the company hired young women was to enable them to support their families if needed. Not many women without such a need would take on work, and especially not so far from home in a place that still retained many of its wild qualities.
“I don’t know that it’s noble so much as it’s necessary,” she replied. She handed the envelope to the clerk.
“I’ll see that it goes out on the noon train tomorrow,” he said.
“I’m grateful.” Miss Reynolds drew her hood back up over her hair.
Jacob made his way around the ticket window and through the low door that separated the minuscule office from the rest of the waiting room. The depot clerk looked on the verge of telling him to remove himself back to the waiting room, but Jacob spoke first. “I doubt there will be a response to my message,” he said to the clerk. “But if there is, please bring it to me.” He fished out some coins from his pocket to pay the man.
The clerk nodded, taking the payment, apparently appeased at Jacob’s intrusion into his office. “Your name, sir?”
“Jake James.” He held out an arm to Miss Reynolds. “Please, let me escort you back to the hotel, Miss Reynolds.”
She hesitated before nodding, but didn’t take his proffered arm. “Thank you again, Mr. Thomason,” she said to the clerk.
Jacob pushed the back door open. The wind immediately swept in, removing all memory of the heat from the woodstove. Jacob shut the door tight behind him before catching up to Miss Reynolds, who’d already begun the walk up the hill toward the hotel in the dark.
“I don’t need an escort,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I’ve walked myself up and down this hill any number of times before your arrival.”
Jacob couldn’t help the smile that inched across his face. “It would have been rude of me not to offer.”
“And that’s the only reason you offered?” The second the words were out of her mouth, her cheeks grew ruddy and she looked away.
“You don’t often speak your mind, do you?” he asked. “You should. It makes you far more interesting than other girls.”
She stopped, the wind lifting the hair that had fallen from its pins and framed her face. “Perhaps we don’t care for men to know our true thoughts. Perhaps a woman likes to keep her opinions to herself rather than be seen as unladylike or ungrateful.”
“I’m sorry. I misspoke. I only meant to say that I enjoy hearing your opinions.”
She crossed her arms, whether against the cold or against him, Jacob didn’t know. “You are much too forward,” she said.
“I’ve heard that before,” he said with a grin that usually disarmed the girls he met and caused them to laugh.
Miss Reynolds simply stood there, her large dark eyes narrowed, arms firmly wrapped across herself. “However, you also don’t speak your true thoughts.”
Jacob wrinkled his brow as he shoved his gloved hands into the pockets of his coat. “I’m sorry? I don’t quite understand.”
She kept that gaze on him, and Jacob was the one disarmed this time. “I read your telegram,” she said.
Chapter Seven
His smile disappeared, and his eyes darted across her face. Dora had needed to gather up every shred of courage she had to confront him with what she’d seen.
“My family wished to be kept apprised of my work here,” he said. But he didn’t quite meet her eyes.
She kept her gaze trained on him, fighting every urge to accept his answer and quietly look away. Someone had been stealing from the hotel, and she’d be remiss as an employee to ignore suspicious activities such as those of Mr. James. “Surely your work as a desk clerk is not so complicated as to need a report home. Besides, that telegram was addressed to a Mr. James Gilbert, Sr., the owner of the hotel. Not to anyone with your family name, and not to anyone in Chicago.”
He said nothing, and she pushed on. “And if you remember, I caught you skulking about the hallway near the offices, when you weren’t working. I’d like to know the real reason you’re here, Mr. James. And if you don’t tell me, I’ll be required to alert Mr. McFarland to your . . . activities.”
Mr. James rubbed his gloved hands together, glancing this way and that, as if anyone else would be so insensible as to be walking outside in this weather. “Very well. I could use an ally here, and you, Miss Reynolds, are uniquely situated to be just that.”
She said nothing, instead waiting for his explanation.
“Let’s at least retreat to cover, else we’ll freeze in this cold. The smokehouse should serve this purpose well.” He started toward the hotel, but Dora remained fixed in place. He stopped and turned.
“I can’t be alone with you indoors,” she said. Another rule he should know, if he took his job seriously.
“Right,” he said. “I’d forgotten.”
Dora could have laughed. How ever had he been hired here? He must’ve charmed his way into this job, since the company prided itself on employing the most upstanding of persons. Much like you did, Dora said to herself. Although she didn’t suppose it was charm that had landed her a position as a Gilbert Girl—it was sheer determination layered upon falsehoods.
“We’ll go to the side of the hotel, then. The north-facing side, where no one can see us. The trees there should break some of this wind.”
Dora nodded and followed him as he led the way. As they trudged through the snow on the ground, all she could think of was how she’d avoided telling Millie anything about Mr. James when she asked. And about her friends’ stories of meeting their beaux late at night or in secret. Penny told a story of how her now-fiancé taught her how to shoot, alone behind the smithy shop. Emma, since moved to California but on her way back to Crest Stone with her husband, spoke of meeting him in secret by the creek. And even proper, society-minded Caroline met her now-husband for a late-night picnic at an abandoned cabin. Was that what Dora was doing now? Meeting a beau in secret?
A gust of wind pushed her hood from her head and brought her quickly back to reality. Mr. James certainly wasn’t her beau. He teased her and had said flattering things once or twice, but she suspected he did that with many women. She knew better than to trust that sort of man. Her own father had been like that, and where had that left Dora’s mother? Beholden to her own family, saddened and alone, and embarrassed for marrying such a man.
Dora would not follow the same path. She knew better. This meeting was only to discover the reason for Mr. James’s presence in Crest Stone. Talking to him now might lead her to help the hotel—and her own position here.
“Warm enough?” he asked as they stopped under a copse of pines and aspens.
Dora nodded. Her people hadn’t survived hundreds of years in this valley and others without knowing how to dress when going out of doors. She glanced around. They were secluded, even though the hotel was mere feet away. Secluded enough no one would see them. A thrill shot through Dora’s limbs. She’d been so concerned with getting caught and with finding out more about Mr. James that it hadn’t occurred to her this could be dangerous. How much did she really know about this man? He was clearly good at disguising his true purpose here. What else was he hiding? Had he lured her here for some other, nefarious purpose? She took a step back, ready to run.
“Please, don’t be alarmed.” He held both hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I promise you I’m no danger to you or anyone else. Most anyone else,” he added. “I’m a gentleman.” His voice sounded a bit desperate around the edges, something Dora would never have guessed he was capable of.
“I have no choice but to take you at your word,” she said carefully.
He relaxed, dropping his hands and letting his shoulders sink. “You were correct in surmising the recipient of my telegram.”
Dora had no doubt about that. There may be more than one James Gilbert, Sr. in Denver, but no others would be on the receiving end of such a message. The depot clerk had likely accepted whatever Mr. James had told him. After all, his discretion was necessary to his work. Not once had he asked Dora why she sent monthly envelopes to the Ute reservation on the southbound trains.
“May I ask why you’re sending telegrams to Mr. Gilbert?” Dora was fairly certain she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from him.
Mr. James pulled off his hat—a short top hat, much more formal than what most men in Crest Stone wore—and ran a gloved hand through dark hair. “Mr. Gilbert is my employer. I’m here to find a thief.” He let the words linger in the chill, the clouds of his breath dissipating as the words hung there.