Chapter Three

 

 

SWINGING HIS CANE, RUPERT crossed the threshold of Bartel’s Boarding.

Men strode along the boardwalk, garb dusted with coal grit or covered in fur pelts, their boots coated in the ever-present mud of Ironwood’s Main Street. A few ladies—a very few ladies—dressed in serviceable clothes passed by, gripping their baskets tight. On the street itself, teamsters struggled with horses, while the newspaperman nailed the latest newssheet to the wall of the press office. Fur traders set up their wares in front of the livery, though the finer of the pelts would find their way to the more prosperous market of Cheyenne. The ring of a blacksmith’s hammer punctuated the fray, and the cries of suppliers selling their wares added to the cacophony.

With a grin and a tap of his hat, Rupert set his cane to the boardwalk and entered the frenzy of a morning in Ironwood.

He had no firm plans for the morning, merely treating himself to a bit of a wander about town. Much could be gleaned from a wander, especially if he made it so he accidentally bumped into those who he wished to discover more about.

Across the way, a woman garbed all in black strode along the boardwalk. Her step was quick and sure, and she ignored any who glanced her way. As she approached the telegraph office, she moderated her brisk pace and, once she reached its door, she turned sharply and disappeared inside.

A smile tugged at him. Well, just as he was wondering what he should do with his morning, providence had delivered.

It would not do to follow her into the office too soon, however. Situating himself comfortably on the wall opposite, he regarded the office. Bringing his pocket watch from its home, he opened the device and pretended to consult the face. He knew perfectly well it was eighteen after ten, but he needed some excuse to be idly leaning on the wall. When he’d deemed enough time had passed, he closed the pocket watch with a snap, crossed the street, and entered the telegraph office.

The first thing he saw was Mrs Reynolds’s slim back. Standing at the counter, she had laid a paper before the telegraph master, or at least, where the telegraph master should be standing. Currently, his counter was unoccupied, and by the tap of Mrs Reynolds’s foot, it had been some time since he’d stood there.

Laying his hands over the pommel of his cane, he considered her back. She really was an intriguing puzzle. Her hair was gathered into a complicated arrangement under her hat, loops and swirls and what not, and as black as her gown. Actually, with the way it shone in the dim light, it looked like the Bagillt coal he’d mined as a child, and later had shovelled onto the ships in Cardiff. The stuff had embedded in his clothes and burrowed under his fingernails, blocking his nose and clogging his lungs until all his world was covered in a fine layer of black. As if there again, he heard the deep rumble through the mountain, and the frantic cries of the miners as they shoved toward the too-small opening, earth caving around them—

Shaking himself, he pushed unwanted memories aside. He was in Ironwood, Wyoming, an adult of means and some influence, not an unwanted bastard in Wales, shovelling coal as his uncles had before him.

The telegraph master finally emerged from the back of his office and, wiping his hands, he approached the counter. “Much obliged for your patience, Mrs Reynolds.”

The widow Reynolds regarded him levelly. “The telegram needs to be sent precisely as written, Devlin.”

Delmar Devlin, postmaster general and telegraph master of Ironwood, Wyoming—or so he told to anyone with half an ear to listen—appeared perturbed, as if sour Mrs Reynolds hadn’t kowtowed to his poor apology. He held up the paper. “Is this here a ‘a’ or an ‘e’?”

Mrs Reynolds’s gaze remained level. “It’s an ‘a’.”

From his vantage, Rupert could clearly see the letter indicated was indeed an “a”. It seemed Delmar Devlin, postmaster general and telegraph master of Ironwood, Wyoming, was a petty sort of man. Colour Rupert shocked. He never would have guessed a man so willing to aggrandise himself would do such a thing.

Mrs Reynolds, it seemed, was used to such behaviour, if the way she took it in stride was any indication. “The telegram will be sent today?”

“Yes, ma’am. Almost like it’s my job, ma’am.”

Rupert could almost hear her bite her tongue. Quite clearly, he could picture her eyes, a pale amber-brown under finely arched brows, and the steady way she would look at a man. She would let it be known she wasn’t much impressed by the jibes, but she would not return in kind. Instead, he had no doubt she would later vent her annoyance to the ruby-haired lass who stood at her side in the saloon. But now, there was business to be contracted and she was clearly a woman who understood business.

Devlin jotted something on a piece of paper. “The Spectacular’s coming up.”

Mrs Reynolds made a non-committal sound.

“Next week, if my reckoning’s right.”

Again, a similar sound.

“My nephew’s coming up from Barwell for it.”

This time, she made no response.

“Yep, he enjoys the Spectacular, he surely does. Might be he could bring more friends with him, if he knew what to tempt them with. I’m sure you’d be wanting the patronage of respectable folk from Barwell. If you told me what was in store, I could relay it to him, and I would even do it as a favour. To you.”

Mrs Reynolds’s shoulders tensed.

Rupert’s jaw dropped. Truly, the man was astounding.

Silence fell in the telegraph office. Some of the smugness fell from Devlin’s expression and he shifted his weight, clearly discomforted being the focus of Mrs Reynolds’s gaze.

Finally, she spoke. “Thank you for the offer, Mr Devlin, however, each Spectacular is unique, as you know. I would be remiss to my performers, my crew, and all the members of the Diamond staff if I were to disclose one of the Spectacular’s drawcards, even to a gentleman such as yourself who clearly has my best interests at heart.”

How she’d said that in such a clear, calm tone, Rupert would never know.

“You may tell your nephew, however, that he is always welcome at the Diamond, and should he bring others with him, they are similarly welcome,” she continued. “You may also tell him if he makes himself known to the ticket master at the beginning of the Spectacular, we will make certain he receives extra privileges.”

Rupert fought against showing his astoundment. She offered such after the man had been condescending and—let’s face it—rude. However, Rupert knew as well as anyone you caught more flies with honey than with vinegar and, it seemed, Mrs Reynolds knew this too.

That red-haired lass would have to set aside an hour or two for Mrs Reynolds, that was also certain.

Devlin scratched his head. “He’ll be disappointed, make no mistake, but it won’t stop him from attendin’. Especially as he’ll be getting those extra privileges.”

“I’m delighted to hear that. Good morning, Mr Devlin.” Picking up her purse, she turned to leave and, in doing so, spied Rupert. Her shoulders drooped slightly before she squared them, lifting her chin.

Pushing himself from the wall, he fixed a delighted grin upon his face. “Mrs Reynolds! I am so pleased to see you again so soon.”

As regally as a queen, she nodded her greeting. “Mr Llewellyn,” she said, and then she swept past him and out the door.

He watched her go, admiring the way she took up space, her stride, and a rogue black curl that flirted with the nape of her neck.

“Can I help you, Mr Llewellyn?”

He blinked. Devlin regarded him, a too-eager smile on his face.

“No, no, kind sir, I—” Bloody hell, he didn’t care about exchanging pleasantries with Devlin. With an apologetic smile, he followed her out the door.

She was several feet ahead of him, and moving swiftly. He lengthened his stride, catching up to her. “My dear Mrs Reynolds! How are you this day? You are looking mighty fine, if I do say so myself.” He allowed a frown to destroy his grin. “That is the vernacular, is it not? Mighty fine? I do try to utilise these wonderfully quaint Westernisms when possible.”

With a sigh, she stopped and offered him a tight smile. “Mr Llewellyn. How lovely to see you again.”

Her tone implied the exact opposite. He struggled to contain his grin. “Thank you, dear lady, as it is a delight to see you once more. Tell me, might we take a turn around this splendid town of yours?

Her eyes flickered. “I have much to do today, Mr Llewellyn.”

“Come, it won’t take long, and we can all use a bit of diversion in our day. Shall we perambulate along Main Street?”

“If you think your reputation could survive such an event.”

Widening his eyes just enough to suggest innocence, he blinked. “My reputation?”

“I am a woman saloon owner, the purveyor of alcohol and wickedness. Being seen on the street in my company would rend the delicate gossamer of a decent man’s reputation in two.”

“Perhaps it might. I, however, enjoy living on the edge of danger. Come, let us tempt fate by walking in broad daylight on a public thoroughfare.”

Her dark brows drew. They were bold, her brows, thick and well-shaped, framing her amber-brown eyes with an assist from long, dark lashes. Soulful eyes, his mam would have called them and, truth be told, he would call them the same.

Belatedly, he realised she still regarded him with a curious expression, as if he had said something curious. Quickly, he arranged his most empty-headed grin and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Regarding him another moment, she shook her head and took his hand. Tucking it into the crook of his elbow, he felt a ridiculous pleasure when she allowed it to remain there. Tucking his cane under his other arm, he covered her hand with his own as they meandered down the street.

She remained silent as they walked a ways. “Though I’m glad of your company, I have to ask why it is we’re walking together,” she finally said. “I can only imagine you were in the telegraph office to employ it for the purpose?”

“Hmm?” Even through his glove and hers, he was oddly aware of her hand, warm and light against his forearm. She wore no gloves, and he could see the rough marks of a life filled with labour. Clearing his throat he shook himself. He had no time for fancies when there was his own work to be done. “Oh no, that can wait. I would rather walk with you, dear lady.”

Her lips twisted. “Of course. So, we’ll talk of pleasant things, and I’ll ask how you find this day?”

Ah, that sharp, ironical tone. How delightful that he were now the recipient of it. Again, he concealed his amusement. “Well, the day has just begun, and I find myself in your delightful company. I cannot imagine my day becoming brighter, though I do declare, each day in this magnificent country is more glorious than the one preceding it.”

“I’d not thought of the day as being glorious, but I reckon you might be on to something truthful there.” She kept her gaze straight ahead and he admired her profile. Her nose was straight, her cheekbones high and her chin sharp, giving her face a heart-shaped look. Her lips were full and a dusky kind of red, though he couldn’t tell if that was cosmetics or her own natural colour, though by any measure the looked soft.

Taking a breath, he wet his own lips. He had no call to be noticing such things.

“You didn’t stay long at the Diamond. I was hoping to encounter you downstairs.”

Dragging his attention back where it belonged, he affected a mournful look. “Were you? Oh dear, if only I’d stayed.”

“Yes. If only.”

Again that ironical tone. Mrs Reynolds painted a picture of herself, and without him having to ask a single thing. Smith had been wrong. She would not be difficult at all. He couldn’t wait to tell Smith all about it. In detail. “Well, I have a mind to enjoy the singular pleasures available within your establishment tomorrow evening, should that be agreeable to you.”

“The Diamond would be glad to have you, and any other you would bring. You have a companion, don’t you?”

His gaze snapped to her. She wore a serene expression, with only the hint of a smile about her full lips. Christ, how had she discovered that? Smith and he had arrived in Ironwood on separate occasions, and only met occasionally in the dining room. This morning, it had seemed more they needed to share a table than an organised meet. “Mrs Reynolds?”

“You travel with a companion, don’t you? A Mr Smith?”

Surprise held him speechless. Quickly, he forced himself to recover. “Oh, Smith! My manservant, yes. If I were pressed, I should call him a companion, but only in the way one calls a hound or a horse such.” Silently, he offered an apology to Smith for such a description.

“Ah.” Again, her eyes held that knowing gleam. “You will be alone in your visit to the Diamond, then?”

“I regret it must be so, dear lady.” He glanced down at her, absently noting she was three and one quarter inches shorter than him. Not too short.

At the thought, he pulled himself up. Not too short? Not too short for what? Abruptly, he could smell violet water and musk, and knew it to be the scent of her hair. Her hand on his arm tightened slightly as they manoeuvred a particular bump in their path. A kind of heat flashed through him, and he had an overwhelming desire to feel her bare skin against his.

Bloody hell. He could not be developing an inappropriate interest in her.

“And what else are you about this fine day?” Damnation. His natural accent had slipped out for half a second there, the last three words flavoured with a Welsh bent. Pull yourself together, man.

“As it happens, nothing. The telegram was the sum total of my errands, and as we have arrived back at the Diamond, I’ll take my leave.”

Surprised, he looked around them. They indeed stood before the Diamond. First his accent had slipped and now he’d not noticed their passage along Main Street. Castigating himself silently, he placed his hand over hers. Patting her, he made it awkward, fumbling with his cane to really sell it. “Our time together is over so soon. I am devastated, Mrs Reynolds. Gladden my heart and say we will share a drink together this evening.”

A flickering of her eye showed her impatience, though she never lost her smile. “There is always hope.” She extracted herself from his bungled grip. “The Diamond will be glad to welcome you when your steps again turn towards her door. Thank you for the stroll, but I reckon it is we should part ways.”

“Mrs Reynolds, please, a moment more.” He could have sworn annoyance flittered about on her features for half a second. “You are certain you will not reconsider? My offer, I mean.”

She seemed surprised at his sudden change of subject, but the man she knew him to be would not have let her go without reiterating his offer. “We have discussed this—”

“Yes, yes, ’tis only… You do not require the funds?” He knew perfectly well she didn’t need them, but she certainly should want them. The opulence of the Diamond spoke much of her ambitions.

A hint of uncertainty lit her pale amber eyes, but she quickly disguised it. “I thought it was vulgar to talk of such things?”

He gave a lopsided grin. “You are correct, madam. Am I to take your answer as being in the negative?”

Again, that level stare. “No. I do not require the funds.” Here she almost imitated his English accent.

He turned his grin into a moue of displeasure. “Really? Oh, such a shame. I was so looking forward to writing home and signing my letters, Salooner. That is what one calls the owner of a saloon, is it not?”

Her lips twitched. Ah, good. His buffoonery amused her, and if you amused someone, it could be they underestimated you. “It sure is. However, I’m awful sorry, but I must be on my way.”

“Of course, dear lady. I would not dream of detaining you.”

With a smile and a nod, she made to depart.

He couldn’t resist. “One more thing, only.”

This time, her smile was strained. “Yes?”

In return, he gave his sunniest grin. “Your Spectacular, the one I keep hearing about. It is soon, is it not?”

Clearly wanting to be on her way, she nodded. “Eight days.”

“I should dearly love to attend.”

“Pay your two bits like everyone else and your seat is guaranteed. Now, I really must go.”

“Of course, Mrs Reynolds, of course. It has been a delight to spend time with you.” Tipping his hat, he raised her hand to his lips.

Again, heat flashed through him. Startled, he almost dropped her fingers, and discovered she stared back at him, eyes wide. Did she feel it, too?

“I… Goodbye, Mr Llewellyn.”

“Goodbye,” he murmured as she disappeared into the saloon.

Still with hand outstretched, he stared after her. How could he feel such a thing? It had been a bloody kiss on the hand, and even then, his lips had touched nothing but fabric. But her scent had wound about him, violet water and soap, and he’d wanted to see if her skin tasted as good.

Turning, he shook his head. Ridiculous, these thoughts, and useless besides. He had a job to do, and no inappropriate attraction would distract him. After last night’s blunder, she believed him again to be the fool, the idiot Englishman who wanted to buy her saloon. He wouldn’t jeopardize his purpose in pursuit of some transitory emotion.

Turning on his heel, he put cane to boardwalk and sauntered away. There was plenty to do, and none of it concerning Mrs Alice Reynolds.