Chapter Nine

Back at the Harvey House, Willow balanced a tray of ice cream against her shoulder.

Her trip to Granny Laura’s hadn’t been what she’d expected. Instead of spending time with her mother, she hadn’t seen her parents at all. Instead of resting with her family, she’d been thrust into explaining the presence of a man she barely knew. After his consultation with Calista at the ranch, Graham had made his hurried farewells and left Willow to travel back alone the next morning. She understood the necessity. He was an important man on important business. But she did wish that he would invite her into his confidence more. Instead, she was left bombarded with questions by her family about a man whose name she’d only learned hours before.

And now how was she to act? After seeing him as he really was, it felt dishonest to pretend he was a busboy. Graham bewildered her. So charming, so attentive. She admired everything she knew about him. She only wished he would let her know more. If it hadn’t been for the coincidence that her cousin worked for his family, she still wouldn’t know who he was or why he was in Emporia.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” An adolescent girl pushed her bowl of ice cream to the center of the table. “My ice cream is melted.”

Sure enough, the mound of ice cream was half the normal size and mostly hidden by the soupy cream in which it was swimming.

“My apologies,” Willow said. “I’ll return with another bowl.” She plucked the bowl off the table and returned it to the tray.

“Mine is melted as well,” said the younger sister of the girl.

Willow scanned the table. Had the ice creams been taken out of the ice house too early? “I’m going to check in the kitchen to see if we can offer you some cake,” she said, fearing there might not be enough for her whole table, although some of the guests were slurping up the sweet cream without any concern over whether it was solid.

She glided past several tables of patrons to the kitchen. Graham was at the sink where she expected him with his sleeves rolled and his arms in the sudsy water. Her tray clattered on the metal top of the workstation.

“I need eight desserts for my table,” she said to Mrs. Sykes. “The ice cream was melted.”

Mrs. Sykes pointed at a cook, who raced to the pie keep. Graham managed a wink while she waited for her tray to be loaded. Her lips tightened. No one was to know that she and Graham were courting, much less that they had traveled together. The only thing she knew to do was put her head down and focus on her work.

By the time the meal was finished and the train had pulled out of the station, Graham had made several attempts to get her attention. Etta Mae had stopped him to ask how he felt and if the knot on his head was going down. He lingered by Willow’s station, and even though the conversation was between him and Etta Mae, his eyes never left Willow as she cleared the table.

After he left, Etta Mae fanned her face with a napkin. “My lands, I hope I find a man as crazy about me as Buck is about you.”

“He’s just friendly,” Willow said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Seems to me that he’s cautious, but those are the ones who surprise you. You wait and see. Suddenly he’ll be professing his love to you, and you won’t know where it came from.”

Willow suppressed a smile. If only Etta Mae knew that her prediction had already come true.

“Miss Kentworth.” Mrs. Sykes had come to her table. “Did you satisfy our customers in regard to their desserts?”

“Yes, ma’am. Instead of going after more ice cream, I served them pecan pie instead. It seemed a quicker solution.”

“But not a permanent solution. When you’re finished cleaning your station, you should see if all the ice cream is ruined or if we have some to serve for dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

How could she focus on her tasks when Graham was so near? He’d heard every word, and soon after Mrs. Sykes had gone, he found his chance to speak with her.

“You can’t go to the warehouse by yourself. I’m going with you. You’ll hear my signal when I’m ready.”

Feeling Etta Mae’s eyes on her, Willow nodded discreetly, then loaded her stack of dirty plates into Graham’s basin. For a lady who never slowed down, never cut corners, and never did anything less than her best, waiting for Graham to finish his kitchen work was excruciating. Her table had been reset with clean linens, goblets, plates, and silverware. She fiddled with the flowers in the vase, knowing that Mrs. Sykes was probably wondering why she hadn’t gone to the ice house yet. Finally, at a whistled tune from Graham, she knew he was free to accompany her. Giving the lilies a decisive turn, she untied her apron and headed through the kitchen and out the back door.

“I count myself fortunate.” He didn’t take her hand but walked so close that his arm brushed against hers. “Even though I can’t speak to you as much as I’d wish, you’re never far from me.”

“It’s torture for me,” Willow said. “I wish . . . well, I don’t want you to think I’m complaining.”

Graham turned to face her. “Never be afraid to talk to me,” he said. Then, with a smile, he added, “Unless Mrs. Sykes is nearby. Then you might want to wait.”

“Maybe it’s the situation that prevents you from being forthright, but it puts me at a disadvantage not to know about you. Simple things. Things a lady should know about her man.”

“Things like what?”

“Would it have hurt you to tell me you were one of the Buchanans before we got to my grandma’s house?”

His eyes slid halfway closed. “I apologize. I was going to tell you, but we never got back on the subject. Besides, just finding out that I wasn’t a busboy seemed like enough information at the time.”

“No.” She was walking faster and faster. “If we’re sharing company, sharing our friendship and maybe more, then you don’t get to make those decisions for me. I don’t like having questions about you. I don’t like surprises.”

“My apologies. Marlowe has long chided me for not being more forthcoming. It’s a bad habit. One I’ll have to shed if I expect a lady to trust me.” They’d reached the warehouse. Graham held open the small door to the office. “If there’s something else you’d like to know . . .”

“My family, my mother. I took this job to help them. If my employment is jeopardized by our relationship, it could cost them.”

“Right here, right now,” Graham said, “I assume responsibility for any financial hardship that an alliance with me might bring to your family.”

“I didn’t say anything about an alliance. I meant sneaking off like this with you—”

Willow suddenly realized how quiet the office they’d entered was. The foreman’s pen had paused over his ledger book. Two warehouse men standing by the water pail were listening.

“Gentlemen,” Graham said, “we’ve come to get some food out of the ice house.”

He’d slipped into his more authoritative voice, too grand for a busboy. And now she knew why it was so easy for him to assume control. But considering that these men could be the ones who left Graham on the tracks to die, she didn’t mind if they thought he was condescending.

“Go on through,” the foreman said. “Jake, go with them and load whatever they need.”

Ignoring the boy following them, Graham said, “I hope your trip home was pleasant, even if it was alone.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten me a private car. That was excessive.”

“I was hoping to make up for my absence. Did it?”

Her cheeks warmed as she ducked her head. “No. I still would’ve rather had you.”

“Oh, love, that’s the nicest thing—” He pecked a kiss on her cheek so quickly, she couldn’t quite believe it had happened.

The ice house was really a room in the warehouse. Built of thick logs and enforced by plaster, it was tucked into the corner. It made sense to keep it out of the sun, but it also gave it more protection being behind the locked doors of the warehouse, or so Willow had thought until recent events.

Before she opened the latch, she noticed the water seeping out from under the door. Graham didn’t seem to notice but was instead sizing up their escort, refusing to go into the little room until the boy went first.

When Willow had been in the ice house before, blocks of ice were stacked to the ceiling and packed in sawdust. This time there were only a few along the opposite wall. As she stepped closer to the blocks, she could feel the cold radiating off them, but it didn’t feel cold enough. If the food was supposed to be kept frozen, she’d expect it to be at least as cold as a winter’s day. It wasn’t.

She lifted a package labeled mutton. The butcher paper sagged soggily. “It’s thawed,” she said, then turned to the boy. “Is this the only cold storage?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Is it usually this empty?”

The boy’s eyes darted to the side. “There’s ice. It’s not empty.”

“Can they serve the meat, or is it ruined?” Graham asked.

“It depends how long it’s been thawed. Shipments come daily, so it’s probably fresh enough.” But having an ice house that couldn’t keep the ice frozen meant something was wrong. “This means there won’t be ice cream for dessert, though, and we’ll soon run out of ice for the tea.”

Graham’s eyes narrowed. “Stick with me,” he said as he strode out of the ice house and into the foreman’s office. “Where do you keep your inventory list?” He would have made an intimidating figure had it not been for the white apron he wore.

“Is there a problem?” the foreman asked.

“I’d like to compare what you have with Mr. Cecil’s books.”

“Listen, kid. I don’t answer to busboys. If Mr. Cecil has a question, send him to talk to me.”

Everyone in the office waited as Graham weighed his options, but only Willow knew that he had more options than they could imagine. “I’ll speak to Mr. Cecil,” he said at last. “Your assistance was appreciated.”

Willow hoped he didn’t hear their snickering at his proper reply. She tried to keep her dignified, Harvey-trained carriage as she kept up with him but soon gave up and jogged a few steps.

“Mr. Cecil will order more ice,” she said. “It’s an easy fix, but I can’t believe they let it get that low.”

Graham plowed ahead, single-focused, ready to burst through the back door to the kitchen, until she caught his sleeve and yanked him to a stop.

“You’re doing it again,” she said.

“What?” His eyes focused as if seeing her for the first time since they’d entered the warehouse.

“Dragging me along without explaining anything.”

“It’s only a theory, and that’s why I hesitate to share it. I might be wrong.”

“I want to know what you’re thinking, even if you aren’t sure,” she said.

“Then here’s what I’m thinking. Do blocks of ice go on the inventory list?”

Willow scratched the back of her hand. “A couple that are used for drinks might, but the others are left in the ice house until they melt, so probably not.”

“Yet they’re the same size as crates. What if our smugglers shipped a few crates instead of ice blocks? They wouldn’t show up on the inventory, and until the ice house got warm, no one would notice.” He waited for a wagon to pass before he continued. “What we need to do is catch the next shipment coming in and look for extra crates being labeled as ice.”

“Don’t forget that someone tried to kill you,” Willow said. “Your family connections won’t help you if you’re dead.”

“Neither will yours,” he said. “I think it’s best if I talk to Mr. Cecil alone. You take care of your customers and pretend like you know nothing about the issue. If something happens to me, get on the wire and find Marlowe.”

“Why would your brother listen to me?”

“Because he knows I love you.”

Willow felt the rush of exhilaration that usually came with the incoming train. A flicker of uncertainty crossed Graham’s face. She slid her hand into his, and the tight creases around his eyes eased.

“I love you,” he said, his enunciation never more perfect. “Whatever happens in there, I want to be with you. I might not be able to keep this dishwashing job forever, but surely we can find other ways to be together.”

She didn’t know what to do with the admiration in his eyes. She ducked her head, but she wasn’t running away. Instead, she leaned against his arm. “As long as you pull your load,” she said. “I can’t support another hungry mouth on my salary.”

He laughed and kissed her again, this time on the forehead. “Well, now that’s settled.”

She felt anything but settled. “Be careful,” she said. “And if you’re wondering, I would wager that my family knows that I love you too.”

“I’m glad you got that straightened out before I had to go back to the ranch.” His eyes drifted toward her lips, but then he blinked hard. “Gotta go before I forget what I’m about.” He opened the door to the kitchen and held it open as she passed.

Work. Customers. It was hard to remember that she had a job to do. All she wanted was to go somewhere quiet and relive the moment over and over. Soon, she promised herself. And there would be more moments to come.

A common man would decide that pursuing his ladylove was more pleasurable than questioning a restaurant manager. A rich man could decide to let someone else do the hard work, and take up the courting immediately. But Graham believed in seeing things through. The same strength of character that meant he wouldn’t stop until the smugglers had been caught meant that once the way was free to secure Willow’s hand, he’d pursue that just as vigorously.

Mr. Cecil wasn’t in the kitchen. The chef scowled at Graham and demanded to know where he’d been.

“At the ice house,” Graham responded. “Haven’t you noticed that your frozen goods haven’t been properly stored?”

From the chef’s recital of all the complaints he’d made, Graham didn’t think it likely he was involved. Not if he’d called that much attention to the issue. With the chef’s permission, Graham headed to Cecil’s office.

Mrs. Sykes sat across the desk from Mr. Cecil, her back to the door. “She’s the best we have,” she said, “but I’m afraid you’re right. Ever since he arrived, her attention to detail has suffered. She can’t seem to focus when he’s around. One of them must go, and I’d hate to lose her.”

Graham lowered his head and reminded himself to look like a contrite busboy, not a man in love, hearing how his sweetheart was besotted with him. She couldn’t concentrate when he was around? Thank goodness.

“There you are, Graham. We’ve been discussing your performance.” Cecil motioned him inside the office. Mrs. Sykes gave him a sad smile as he entered. “While we regret the accident that befell you,” Mr. Cecil said, “it wouldn’t have happened had you observed curfew, as is required.”

“I paid dearly for that mistake,” Graham said. “But I learned something valuable today. The goods shipped in the refrigerated car are not being cared for in the warehouse. The ice house barely has any ice at all.”

“That is no longer your concern.” Mr. Cecil opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a check register. “Here are your last wages plus a stipend to get you back home. Please get your things from your room and leave your uniform on the bed.”

“Aren’t you curious where the ice went?” Graham asked. “You know there are people taking things from the warehouse at night. Here’s something that’s missing.”

“Ice bandits?” Cecil rubbed his domed forehead. “Your account of thieves is not borne out in the record. I checked the inventory. You should’ve been more concerned about your work in the kitchen, not outside. There’s nothing missing from the warehouse.”

Nothing missing besides some ice. Miss York had been right. Better to keep up the pretense than announce who he was and have all the bad guys scramble before he had a chance to catch them.

He lowered his head. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to bid farewell to my friends.”

Mrs. Sykes lifted her hand in warning. “Keep in mind that your friend shows promise here at the Harvey House. I hope you care enough about her future that you won’t do anything to hurt her prospects as a waitress.”

“I would do nothing to hurt her prospects,” he said. Then, with a tap on his forehead, he waltzed out of the office to find her.

Willow had been watching for him. Instead of loading her tray, she lingered by her table, which was precisely set for the four o’clock train. Being dismissed didn’t temper his joy at seeing her. The furrows in her brow smoothed at his happy expression.

“Did he listen to you?” she asked.

“Hardly. Mr. Cecil dismissed me. I have to get my things and go.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s awful.”

“My brother was right. I’ll never amount to anything.” He grinned. “Your cousin was also right. I’m not convinced we can trust anyone here. I’m going to buy a ticket to Kansas City, but I won’t get on the train. Instead I’ll hide and wait to check out the next shipment that comes in on the refrigerator car. In the meantime, you keep my cover here. If anyone learns what I was up to, they’ll bail, and we need to know who all was involved.” He noticed Willow’s friends had worked their way closer while pretending to count the stemware on the tables.

“They’re going to ask me what you said,” Willow whispered. “What should I tell them?”

“Tell them I promised to come back and marry you as soon as I find the means to support you.”

“That’s what you told me? And how did I answer you?”

“Answer the marriage question? Sweetheart, that was settled the moment we laid eyes on each other.” He winked. “I’ll come back for you soon, and when I do, be ready for a kiss that’ll knock you off the rails.”

Her eyes lowered, and her lashes fluttered against her cheek. “I’ll be waiting.”

Why couldn’t she walk out the door with him? Turn in her resignation and not return until she was Mrs. Graham Buchanan? But that wasn’t the plan, and he was doing his best to keep her informed of what he was doing.

At the depot, Graham wired Marlowe and learned that the night train from Topeka would have a cold shipment on it. All he had to do was sit tight until then. At the saloon across the tracks, Graham hired a private room and changed into a thrifty store-bought suit. It was probably nicer than Buck the busboy would have owned, but not so nice as to attract attention. When he asked for a strong drink at the bar, he was piously reminded that liquor was illegal. He didn’t argue but returned to his room and stayed out of the way and out of sight until the refrigerator car pulled into the station that night.

Graham had to take a look before the freight men moved anything. Running to the end of the train from the saloon side with his lantern, he was the first to reach the car. He unlocked the latch and shoved open the rolling door. Shivering inside his thin suit coat, Graham stood among the crates and the sawdust-packed blocks of ice—the perfect hiding place for a crate that could be shipped off the books.

Wishing for gloves, he went to the first stack of ice blocks and swept his hand along the face of the block. His fingers touched ice, bumpy and gritty from the sawdust, but ice. He worked through the car, touching every block, but with each he found the same thing. There were no wooden crates hidden in the sawdust. Nothing disguising itself as a block of ice.

Were the cold goods truly cold enough? Graham set down the lantern and slapped his hands against his legs to work some warmth back into them before reaching across a rack and pressing into one of the ham hocks that lay in a row along the side of the railroad car. It was firm and cold. The canisters carrying ice cream were probably frozen too. No water from melting on this floor. It was cold enough.

He’d bent to pick up his lantern when he saw something strange. Where he’d brushed against the corner of one of the ice blocks, there was a shadow visible inside the glossy exterior. He felt his face scrunch up. What was making that dark spot where the lantern light couldn’t come through?

Working quickly, he swept away all the sawdust he could knock from the ice and retreated a few steps so that the blocks were between him and the lantern. Sure enough, there was an unmistakable block within the block of ice. Looking about him, he grabbed a giant pair of ice tongs and chipped away at the corner of the block. He hadn’t removed much before the whole face of the ice block shattered and fell to the ground, and a stout, smaller crate was revealed. The ice surrounding the crate was rough, like it had been hewn out to make room, then the face of the block reattached. Graham tried to pry the crate out of the ice, but it was no use. Undoubtedly the smugglers let it melt away, and then they had their prize.

He only wished Willow could have been there to see it. Now he just needed to find a railroad man that he trusted.

The big door of the car rumbled in its tracks, then slammed closed with a crash. Graham spun around. Why would they close the door? They hadn’t unloaded the shipment yet.

He pushed against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Protecting his hands from the cold metal wall, he rammed his shoulder against the door, but it wasn’t just stuck, it was locked. Taking the lantern, he held it up to see if there were any release levers on the inside, but there weren’t. He was caught. Someone had seen him and trapped him.

What did they have in mind, now that they’d caught him? He could think of too many possibilities, but being unhooked from the train was one that hadn’t occurred to him until he heard the other cars leaving without him.