Hidden Forever

by Cat Cahill

  Jacob followed them and found himself standing beside a half-frozen creek. A small bit of water still ran down the middle, but each side was a sheet of ice. The footprints led to the right, where a small building—presumably the springhouse—stood. No one else had the lack of sense to go wandering about a half-frozen creek in the cold, so Jacob found himself entirely alone for one of the few times since he’d arrived in Crest Stone. The only sounds were the distant neighing of the horses turned out in the corral, the strangled gurgle of the creek, and a rustling from some small creature nearby. The silence pressed on his ears and wrapped around him, foreign and yet, somehow, comforting.

  He’d stood there for several moments before he remembered the telegram in his pocket. Peeling off a glove, he fished it out as the irritation and the sheer need to do something returned with a vengeance.

  Results needed immediately. Advise on progress by 9 Dec or will send aid.

  Jacob crumpled the paper, his nails digging into his palm. Father had shortened his deadline. He had until the ninth of December, barely a week away. He needed a plan, one that would work and that he could implement right away.

  He stood, watching the water make its way slowly down what was left of the creek. He needed something that would draw the thief out. Something irresistible, the way the water was drawn to continue its flow down the mountains and toward the sea.

  Money.

  Jacob shoved the telegram back into his pocket and returned the glove to his hand. Hotel employees were paid monthly, at the end of each month, so the payroll was out of the question. But perhaps . . .

  He smiled at the creek as the barest outlines of a plan formed in his mind. He’d need help to implement it, and luckily, he had just the right person.

  JACOB PACED THE LOBBY of the hotel. Guests lingered by the fireplaces on each end, and raucous laughter sounded from the smoking parlor. Only a year ago, he would’ve found himself drawn to the people, the drink, the cigars, and the games in that room, but none of that interested Jacob now. His shift had ended an hour ago, and he’d forgone supper in an effort to catch Dora as she left the dining room. It was going on nine o’clock. Surely there couldn’t be many more guests remaining.

  Minutes ticked by. Each time one of the doors opened, Jacob stopped. When yet another guest or two emerged, he sighed in frustration and took up pacing again. A couple of the Gilbert Girls, who must have been off duty since they wore regular clothing, passed by, caught his eye, and giggled amongst themselves. He recognized one, the redhead who had greeted Dora in the hallway last week. The other was a slight girl with mousy brown hair and spectacles. He gave them a quick smile before returning to his pacing.

  Finally, the doors opened to a number of uniformed waitresses streaming out, most in pairs, talking together, a few alone, and none of them Dora. Jacob huffed. Where on earth could the girl be? Perhaps she hadn’t worked this service and was up in her room, meaning he’d wasted all this time waiting down here. He needed to speak with her immediately. How in the world could he do that when he wasn’t even allowed to step foot in that wing?

  “You must be the new desk clerk.” A younger girl with flaxen hair and a mischievous smile stopped in front of him. A large stain the color of coffee covered her white apron.

  “I am,” he said cautiously. This girl had the look of one who found trouble easily, and while trouble was something Jacob might’ve enjoyed in his past, he’d firmly left it there.

  She smiled. “I don’t suppose you’re waiting on Miss Reynolds?”

  Had their meetings been that obvious? Or perhaps Dora had mentioned him to this girl? The thought of her speaking to her friends about him made Jacob smile himself. “I might be.”

  Mrs. Ruby, whom Jacob remembered as the dining room manager and house mother to the waitresses, appeared in the dining room doorway. Her gaze immediately landed on him, and if a frown could knock a person out, Jacob would’ve wondered how he was still standing upright.

  The girl must have felt Mrs. Ruby’s disapproval, as she took a step backward from Jacob. “I’ll let her know you’re waiting in the employees’ parlor.”

  Jacob nodded his understanding, and the girl scampered off toward the stairs. He waited until all the waitresses—and the eagle-eyed Mrs. Ruby—had gone upstairs before retreating there himself.

  The employees’ parlor was hardly the ideal place to discuss serious matters. The door remained eternally open for propriety’s sake, and Jacob counted seven other people inside when he arrived. Nonetheless, it would have to do.

  He sat, then stood, then sat again, and stood when a couple of the bellhops attempted to engage him in conversation. Finally, just as he was about to wear a hole in the wood floor from his constant pacing, Dora arrived. She hesitated in the doorway, smiled at a couple of girls on the settee in the middle of the room, and then caught Jacob’s eye.

  He stood there, rooted to the spot, seemingly unable to breathe for a half a moment. Dora’s hair had been hastily put up, and long straight strands of it drifted down, framing her face. The lamplight made her dark eyes glitter, and the smile she bestowed upon him . . . Jacob was certain God had never made anything more perfect.

  She glided toward him, walking on clouds, and sat in a nearby chair. “Mr. James,” she murmured.

  Jacob stood there dumbly before stepping backward and almost falling into another chair. “Miss Reynolds,” he managed to sputter. What had gotten hold of him? He’d never had trouble putting words together before, and certainly not with a woman.

  “This is highly improper,” she said, her voice barely a wisp.

  “It is?” Jacob glanced about the room. The bellhops who had tried to engage him in conversation were now talking with a couple of girls. “Doesn’t a parlor exist for the purpose of meeting and talking with others?”

  “Yes, but . . .” She glanced around furtively, as if someone would jump out and tell her otherwise. “I can’t be the subject of gossip.”

  “I doubt most people want to be,” he said, but that didn’t seem to soothe the worry that had flattened her lips into a straight line.

  “I can’t be.” She gave him a pleading look. More than anything, he wanted to reach out and take her hand and reassure her such a thing would never happen. But he could do neither one.

  What he could do was change the topic of conversation. “You spoke to your friends about me.”

  Her cheeks deepened in color, which was exactly the reaction he was hoping to see. She twisted her hands together and then finally spoke. “Are we here to discuss my friends, or did you have something of importance to share with me?”

  As much as he’d love to know what she’d said about him, he was also acutely aware that they didn’t have much time. It had to be nearing ten o’clock, when all the Gilbert Girls would be spirited away to their rooms, not to emerge until morning. “I have an idea, and I’m hoping you’ll help me.”

  Dora sat up straighter.

  “I suspect the money is going missing from the safe since its disappearance isn’t discovered immediately. We’ll create a story about funds being delivered from the Gilbert offices, and then I’ll wait nearby that night to see who comes to take it.” He sat back in his chair, hoping she thought it was a good idea.

  “Won’t people question how we know such a thing?” Dora asked.

  “Not if we phrase it in a way that makes it seem as if it’s something we overheard.”

  “Mr. McFarland will surely hear about it, and wonder how such a rumor got started. Shouldn’t we tell him your plan?”

  Jacob shook his head. It was imperative no one else—not even McFarland—know he was searching for the thief. Not only might it make McFarland suspect Jacob wasn’t who he said he was, he had to assume that anyone in the hotel could be the culprit.

  Anyone but Dora. He could have laughed at the thought, but it was true. He’d made that assumption when he’d told her a sliver of the truth. But it was a ridiculous thought. Dora was hardly the kind of g
irl who’d go stealing from the safe of the hotel where she loved working.

  “We can tell no one. That’s important. Do you understand?” he said.

  She swallowed visibly as she stared at her hands clasped in her lap. “All right. I understand.”

  “I highly doubt Mr. McFarland is the person at fault, but we have to assume that anyone could be the thief.”

  Dora nodded before tilting her face up to look at him. Her dark brown eyes landed on his, and he couldn’t look away from her if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t want to. His heart lurched into a faster rhythm.

  “I want to be there,” she said.

  “Be there?” The world had faded around him, along with any kind of rational thought. He wouldn’t have remembered his own last name—real or fake—right now if someone had asked.

  “When you wait for the thief to come.”

  He blinked at her, everything slowly coming back into focus. Including the ludicrous idea she’d just suggested. “Absolutely not.”

  She reeled back a little, as if he’d hit her with his words.

  “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. But it might be dangerous. We don’t know who this person is or why he needs the money. And we don’t know what he’ll do once cornered. Besides”—Jacob gave her his best flirtatious grin—“it’ll be past your curfew.”

  Just as he said the words, the girls who’d been conversing with the bellhops stopped nearby. “Are you coming, Dora? It’s nearly ten o’clock,” one of them said.

  Dora nodded to her before turning back to Jacob. “There are ways around that.” She smiled at him, mischief written all over her face, before standing. “I bid you good night, Mr. James.”

  He’d barely fumbled into standing himself before she was gone, leaving him to ponder the meaning behind her words. If he wasn’t mistaken, Dora was playing the coquette with him. He’d had plenty of experience in such a thing, and yet now he questioned it. Was he reading something he wished for into her smile and her words, something that wasn’t actually there?

  He nodded at the other men as they left the room. Dora had his head so muddled he needed a moment to recover. Even if he took her words at face value, it would still be too dangerous. Besides, he needed his wits about him, and those were in short supply when Dora was nearby. If he were smart, he’d end this partnership altogether and find some girl who didn’t make him feel the way Dora did to help him out. The last thing he needed right now was to be distracted.

  But he had to admit that Dora was more than a distraction. He’d never once taken a woman seriously. Every girl he’d spent time with before was merely a dalliance. A short bit of fun. A distraction from his work or anything else that had been bothering him. He’d never gotten to know any of them beyond what was on the surface.

  What would happen if he took a girl seriously? Got to know her, spent time talking about things that mattered, maybe even fell in love? Perhaps Father would respect him more, see him as a man ready for partnership in the company and a family himself.

  Images of him introducing Dora to his family flitted through Jacob’s mind. She was a waitress, yes, but Father was fairly broad-minded. He might prefer his son marry a girl from a well-to-do family back in New York, but he’d accept who Jacob chose—within reason.

  The clock on the mantel struck ten, jarring Jacob from his reverie. He was getting ahead of himself, going from one flirtatious smile to family introductions. One thing at a time, Gilbert, he reminded himself. If he didn’t keep his attention on catching this embezzler, he could hang all hope of Father’s approval, and without that, he wouldn’t be able to support a wife and family, much less himself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dora spent the next morning mentioning the “money” that was due to arrive at the hotel on the noon train to a few select girls, ones she knew to have trouble keeping interesting information to themselves. After the evening meal service, she paid a visit to Penny, who was perhaps a little too excited when Dora asked for the best way to sneak out of her room that night. Dora could hardly believe she’d had to ask such a thing. After all, sneaking out—and potentially being caught—wasn’t exactly the best way to remain unseen.

  But Dora refused to be left out of the one thing that might put this thievery to rest. She wanted to see the person caught. And more than anything, she wanted reassurance that the hotel would continue to operate as it had. Her family was relying on her.

  Of course, she said none of that to Penny, who assumed Dora simply wanted to spend time with Jake. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t happen at all, since Jake had forbidden her from joining him. But what Jake didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  At precisely half past eleven, as Millie slept curled into a ball, Dora left the room. She couldn’t risk getting dressed, and instead pulled a robe tightly around her night things. She’d gone to bed with her corset on, too. If she was caught, at least she’d be halfway properly dressed. She moved like an apparition down the stairs and then through the hallway toward the hotel office. She’d planned her arrival to occur before Jake’s, and it looked as if she was successful. She slid behind the door to the laundry room.

  There she waited. The minutes dragged on, but her pounding heart kept sleep at bay. Finally, Jake arrived, and Dora guessed it must be about midnight. She pushed the laundry room door completely closed just as he approached the office door. Leaning against the heavy wood, she tried to slow her breathing. Dora didn’t know where Jake planned to wait for the thief. What if he chose the laundry room?

  Minutes passed. As her discovery grew less and less likely, Dora’s heart slowed to an almost normal rate. She opened the door just a sliver and peered through the crack into the hallway. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, but she couldn’t spot Jake anywhere. He must’ve found refuge in one of the guest rooms along this hallway. As a desk clerk, taking a key wouldn’t be such a difficult feat to accomplish.

  Dora kept her position behind the door, her eyes on the hotel office. Time seemed to slow to a halt. How long would it take for the thief to make an appearance? She stifled a yawn.

  Just as she thought her entire body had gone numb from standing in one position for so long, a quiet shuffling sounded from the end of the hallway, near the stairs.

  Dora straightened immediately. It was impossible to know the time, but it was far too late for anyone respectable to still be awake and far too early for any of the hotel employees to be starting work. She squinted through the crack in the door. A shadowy figure emerged, making its way slowly down the hall. As it grew closer, Dora made out a robe and long, undone hair. Red hair.

  She threw a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. It was Millie. That was impossible. It couldn’t be . . .

  Millie paused by the office door, her face searching the hallway—until her eyes spotted the laundry room door. Too late, Dora realized she should have shut the door. She took a step back as Millie pulled it open.

  “Dora?” she asked, even though it was clear Dora was standing right in front of her.

  “What are you doing here?” Dora asked. She didn’t want to think that Millie was capable of stealing, but she was here. Right where they expected the thief to show his—or her—face.

  Millie threw her hands up. “I’m looking for you, of course. Why are you hiding in the laundry room in the middle of the night?”

  Was it possible? Relief washed over Dora. Her fearful heart slowed, and she felt as if she’d stepped away from the edge of a deep canyon. “I . . . well . . .” Her mind went empty with any believable explanation.

  Millie looked her roommate up and down. “If you were Penny or Adelaide, I’d surmise you were here to meet a man. But . . . ” She trailed off as she watched Dora’s face.

  Dora didn’t know what it was in her expression that might have given away her guilt at having met Jake in the parlor last night, but Millie caught it. In fact, Dora didn’t know why she felt guilty at all. It was perfectly acceptabl
e to sit in the parlor and converse, provided she wasn’t alone with him. But she knew, in her heart, it was more than just conversation. And that must have been exactly what Millie saw.

  Millie opened her mouth to speak just as Jake appeared behind her.

  “Dora?” Jake reached past Millie and took Dora’s hand. She was so stunned, she couldn’t even think of words to say.

  Millie glanced between the two of them and stepped back into the hall, letting Jake pull Dora closer to him.

  “Please,” Jake said to Millie. “I hope you’ll find it in your heart to keep our feelings for each other to yourself.” Remorse colored every aspect of his features. He continued to hold Dora’s hand, his grip strong and warm. If Dora thought she couldn’t find words before, the feel of his palm against hers and the way he’d laced his fingers between her own made her forget she’d ever known how to talk at all.

  Millie crossed her arms even as her face softened. “I have no desire to see my friend lose her position here. All that concerns me is what sort of man you are.”

  “I promise I have only good intentions.” Jake glanced at Dora, his eyes dark in the shadows of the hallway.

  Dora was struck with the strangest urge to raise her free hand and trace her fingers along the sharp angle of his jaw. She tried to shove her hand into the pocket of her skirt, only to remember she was wearing a robe. Embarrassment flitted through her for a moment, quickly cut off when Jake began rubbing a tiny circle with his thumb on the back of the hand he held. Then all rational thought fled her mind once again.

  “Every man says that.” Millie narrowed her eyes at Jake. Millie’s own experience with the horrible Mr. Turner, who’d used her affections to take control of the hotel’s construction last summer, had made her wary of every man who crossed her path. Dora couldn’t blame her for being suspicious, and if she had the ability to speak, she would have told Millie that Jake was nothing like Mr. Turner.