Trevor Fox rammed the shovel into yet another pile of soiled hay. Mucking out horse stalls certainly didn’t rank high on his list of desirable work. A soft whinny sounded from the Pied Piper where he stood behind the crossties in the space next to the stalls.
“Yes, boy, I’m getting your home all freshened up.” Trevor gave the former wild herd leader a sideways glance. “Of course, if you would learn to take your business outside, it sure would make keeping this barn clean a lot easier.” He dumped the mound of hay into the wheelbarrow and twisted around to fill the shovel yet again.
The mighty Appaloosa raised his head and stuck his muzzle into the air, shaking his flowing mane as if Trevor’s suggestion was ludicrous. The Piper served this ranch well, and everyone who worked here treated him like a king. Taking care of his needs was a task bestowed on only a trusted few. Trouble is, the horse knew it. And Trevor could think of at least a dozen things or more he’d rather be doing. How in the world had he gone from servants waiting on him hand and foot to being the servant to a ranch full of animals and livestock?
Oh, right. Charles Logan. Trevor jammed the shovel into the hay again and transferred it to the wheelbarrow. He could blame it all on Charlie.
“Come out to Colorado,” his longtime friend had said. “It will give you room to breathe, fresh air.” And a chance to clear his head as he freed himself from the endless line of eligible young ladies being paraded in front of him, all hoping to secure themselves a piece of the Fox empire. He had room to breathe, all right. Plenty of it out here in Breckenridge. The country had fought in and won the Great War just seven years ago, but it seemed as if the residents of this town couldn’t be bothered with things like that.
Trevor turned to look out the barn doors toward the towering range of mountains rising above the ranch, like guards keeping watch night and day. And all the fresh air he could ever want. Thinner here than back home but definitely cleaner. The mountains and the ranch lands went on for miles in almost every direction. A far cry from the crowded streets and avenues of New York City and the mass of buildings several stories high, crammed into every available space. The slower pace took a bit to get used to, but it sure beat the pressures of racing to win all the time.
After sticking the shovel into the mound of hay piled in the wheelbarrow, Trevor grabbed his pocketknife to snip the bindings on the fresh bale outside the stall and threw a few armfuls into the enclosed space. He spread it out all across the dirt floor and stepped back.
“Okay, Piper, old boy,” he said as he unhooked the crossties and reached for the horse’s lead rope. “Let’s go.” He gave two clucks of his tongue and Piper immediately walked forward, turning without hesitation to enter his stall.
The “royal highness” looked to the left and right before nodding several times and stamping his hoof twice.
Trevor chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you approve, fine sir,” he said with an exaggerated bow before the equine.
A moment later, he slid the stall door closed and locked it. Pied Piper stepped forward and extended his head through the opening. Trevor reached out and scratched the horse’s forelock.
“Well, Charlie was right about one thing,” he said as he cupped Piper’s cheek and stroked from crest to muzzle.
“Are you talking to yourself again, Fox?” Charlie asked from the doorway. “People might start to question your sanity if you aren’t careful.”
Trevor turned to see his childhood friend saunter into the barn like he owned the place. Not much different from the well-respected leader of every class in school they ever took together. Charlie knew how to command an audience, and his strong work ethic had earned him every bit of the respect others paid him.
“Just talking to Pied Piper here,” Trevor replied.
Charlie propped one booted foot on a bale of hay and rested his forearm on his thigh. “So, what was I right about?”
“Huh?”
Charlie jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the main doors. “What you were saying a moment ago just before I showed up.” He jutted his chin toward Piper. “You know, when you were talking to the horse.”
“Oh, right,” Trevor said with a nod. “I was ruminating about the difference between working here and working in my office at my father’s company in New York. Quite a change.”
“But a good one, right?” Charlie widened his eyes, waiting for an answer he likely already knew Trevor would give.
“Without a doubt,” Trevor said. “I never knew how much I needed the change until I let you convince me to pack it all up and move here.”
Charlie curled his fingers as if to inspect his nails then blew on them and brushed them against the shoulder of his chambray shirt. “That means I’ve still got it.”
Trevor gave his friend a wry grin. “And what is it you think you have?”
“That je ne sais quoi that makes people follow me, no matter what I say or do.”
“You’ve got something all right,” Trevor answered. He gave his friend a mock punch to the shoulder, almost causing him to lose his balance. “You and the Pied Piper here are like a matched set.” He nodded toward the horse. “Both good leaders and both of you convinced you’re the best thing that’s happened to everyone around you.”
Charlie grinned and winked. “It’s a gift.” He paused for a second. “But, hey!” He whacked Trevor lightly with the back of his hand. “Don’t sell yourself short. Not everyone can turn his father’s company into a financial triumph by doubling profits in just two years, then shed the business suit for a pair of jeans and boots and within a couple of months make some excellent suggestions to streamline the management of a ranch.”
Trevor shrugged. “I just pointed out a few areas where I saw the need for improvement. Cutting costs, increasing percentages per acre, and improving the reproduction quotients.”
His friend pointed at him. “That’s exactly what I mean, Trev,” he replied. “I came out here to help my uncle with an extra pair of hands. You arrive and you’ve got this ranch prioritized for profit in less than two months.”
“It’s a gift,” Trevor said with a grin, throwing his friend’s words back at him.
Charlie guffawed and slapped Trevor on the back. “Well, speaking of that gift, you realize we got paid today. Some of the guys and I are headed into town to see what kind of trouble we can find. Wanna join us?”
“Just try and keep me away!” Trevor pulled off his work gloves and tossed them in the bin, and then he reached for the cowboy hat he’d hung on a hook. A hat that at one point had felt so foreign on his head and now seemed more like a second skin. He smoothed his thick sandy-brown hair before setting the hat on his head. “Ready when you are,” he announced.
“Great,” Charlie replied. “We’re taking the Woodie so we can all fit. Let’s go!”
About thirty minutes later, Charlie parked the truck near the Fireman’s Hall bell tower, and everyone hopped out of the back. Four of the hands took off with barely a wave, but Charlie’s cousin Jesse waited on the wooden sidewalk for Charlie and Trevor.
“So, where to first?” Jesse asked.
“Well, I have to go to Sumner’s for a couple things,” Charlie answered, “but then I thought we could go next door to the Denver Hotel and see if we can join one of the Faro tables on the main floor.”
“I like that idea.” Jesse grinned.
“You would,” Trevor countered, reaching out and tousling the younger lad’s shaggy blond hair. “More than just a luck of the draw for you, for sure.” He pointed toward the red-and-white-striped pole a few buildings down from where they stood. “But I think you should head in to see Frank first and get yourself a trim.”
“Yeah,” Charlie chimed in. “Getting a little shaggy there, cousin.”
Jesse ducked his head and gave them both a sheepish grin as he reached up and touched the hair in question. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to tidy it up a bit.” He started to head for the barbershop then paused. “Meet you at the hotel?”
“You bet,” Charlie replied.
Once Jesse left, Charlie and Trevor crossed the street and walked in the direction of the grocery supply store. Trevor nodded at several folks who passed by. More than once, he thought he caught some whispering as they watched him. Two young ladies held a newspaper in their hands and smiled big when he acknowledged them. Another young lady clutched her mother’s arm and boldly pointed right at him, exclaiming something Trevor couldn’t hear. Just before he and Charlie stepped inside, he stopped Charlie with a hand on his arm.
“All right. At first I thought it was just me, but there is clearly something going on here in town, and it appears I’m the subject of conversation.” He narrowed his eyes at Charlie. “You have any idea what it might be?”
Charlie shrugged. “No. Are you sure you aren’t just imagining things?”
Trevor looked around, only to find several people watching him, some of whom averted their gaze when he glanced their way. Others nodded, and at least a half-dozen young ladies smiled in a shy but flirtatious manner.
“No, I’m not imagining it.”
His chest tightened. Word of who he was hadn’t traveled this far west, had it? He had been extremely careful to not say anything about his past to anyone. People didn’t read the Post or the Wall Street Journal this far out, so there wouldn’t be any articles about his family’s business or financial holdings. He’d pretty much kept to himself at the ranch, and he hadn’t done anything to draw attention to himself. So why all the stares and hushed conversations?
“Uh, Trev?”
Charlie’s cautious tone drew Trevor’s attention back to his friend, who stood in front of a wooden box outside Sumner’s, looking down at whatever was inside.
“What is it?”
“I think I figured it out.”
Trevor stepped up next to Charlie and also looked down. Darkness crowded around his peripheral vision and the clip clop of horses’ hooves mixed with the rumble of automobile engines faded as his heartbeat pounded in his ears.
“What on earth?” he exclaimed.
There, in black and white, on the front page of the Breckenridge Bulletin, was a rough sketch of his face just below a headline that read, “BRECKENRIDGE’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR.”
Charlie picked up a copy and chuckled. “I can’t believe he actually did it.”
“Who did what?” Trevor asked.
“George Mitchell.” Charlie tapped the paper. “The one who wrote this article.”
So Charlie was on a first-name basis with a reporter? When had that happened? And what did it have to do with him? Trevor wrapped his fingers around Charlie’s upper arm and squeezed.
“So, you do know what’s going on, then. The looks, the whispers, the smiles, the pointing.” Trevor jabbed his index finger into the paper. “What is the meaning of this?”
Charlie pried Trevor’s fingers loose from his arm and took a step back. “Relax, Trev. It was all in good fun. I didn’t think George would actually run the article.”
Trevor’s blood heated. “You mean you gave him the idea?”
“Well, not exactly,” Charlie hedged. “A couple of the guys and I wanted to get something about our ranch in the Bulletin. With your great ideas about increasing production and decreasing costs, I figured it was the perfect angle. Something like a special interest piece, touting your skills and insight and highlighting the improved productivity at the ranch.” He gestured toward the paper. “Never thought he’d put this kind of spin on things.”
Trevor peered at the paper and skimmed the article. His heart pounded faster and louder with each sentence he read. “This thing’s got me sounding like the manager of the ranch, poised to take over ownership any day now! No wonder all these ladies are eyeing me like a prize to be won.”
Trevor took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh then raked his free hand through his hair. He didn’t even want to think about the many strands likely now standing on end. Another young lady passed them and offered Trevor a demure, yet hopeful smile. He dipped his head, forcing a polite smile even though the last thing he wanted to do right now was be polite. He didn’t need this kind of attention or notoriety. Next thing he knew, his real identity would be revealed, too.
“It’s like being back in New York all over again,” he grumbled.
“Hey, Trev, I’m real sorry.” Charlie tossed the paper back into the box then removed his own hat and ran his hands around the brim. “If I had known George was going to do this, I never would’ve agreed to the interview in the first place.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Trevor waved off his friend’s apology. “I know you didn’t mean for things to get out of hand.”
But Charlie sure could’ve checked with him first before giving personal information to a reporter. Those guys were always looking for an angle, a way to sensationalize their articles to attract more readers. He’d been down this road way too many times.
“You still joining us at the hotel?” Charlie asked.
“Nah, I think I’m going to take a walk and clear my head.” Trevor gestured toward Sumner’s. “You go on and do what you need to do. I’ll meet you back at the truck in a bit.”
“Okay.” Charlie disappeared inside the pharmacy.
Trevor stood on the sidewalk and stared up and down Main Street. Clear his head. Sure. And where, exactly, would he do that? If he stayed outside, he’d no doubt encounter any number of attempts to attract his attention, or perhaps thinly veiled introductions covering up their real intentions. No, he didn’t want any part of that. He had to find a place to disappear, so he reviewed the storefronts again.
The post office; Kistler’s; Theobold’s; George C. Smith, Jeweler. None of those held any appeal. Wait a moment. What was that one? He narrowed his eyes and focused on the letters painted on the glass. Jooge’s? Jacque’s? Jacquie’s? Yes. It said Jacquie’s. Trevor looked up and down the street then crossed to the other side. As soon as he stepped up onto the sidewalk, two women—a mother and daughter, he presumed—exited the grocery to his right. It took the mother only a moment to recognize him, and then she flashed him a cordial yet sly grin as she nudged her daughter. In a low tone, she admonished the young woman to stand up straight. He gave both women a cursory glance. The younger was definitely attractive. Were circumstances different, he might be inclined to make her acquaintance. Not with the way things were now, though. Not today.
He had to find a way out of this mess. And he had to get away from the optimistic expressions of nearly every young woman who crossed his path. He stopped in front of Jacquie’s. An assortment of handcrafted jewelry, fine art, woven baskets, various carvings, and unique clothing adorned each window. Peaceful and calm. This looked like the perfect place to gather his thoughts and devise a plan.