скачать книгу бесплатно
Chapter Three (#ulink_962b4edb-e338-5c3f-b3a3-d61428e324ca)
Dillen Roach ran to the telegraph station. If Alan Harvey found out that he’d sent that telegram, then he was out of his situation in the dead of winter.
Dillen waited in a panic for Morecastle’s reply.
What had Sylvie done, leaving her boys to him? Surely there had to be a better situation than this. But maybe she didn’t realize that. His sister couldn’t know how hard his life was, for he’d kept it from her. He should have been honest. If he had told her the truth, she would never have left her children in his custody.
He thought of Alice and the boys waiting at the station and decided he’d best go fetch them. And bring them where? As he contemplated this, the telegraph sprang to life and his message came through. Mr. Morecastle now wanted him to come to Cripple Creek in person with cash immediately, or he would not hold the pair. Dillen sent his reply.
Now he needed to find a place for Alice and the boys while he headed up the line to Cripple Creek. His first thought was Mrs. Louise Pellet. She was his foreman’s niece and ran a clean boardinghouse in town. Maybe she’d be willing to take the boys for a spell if he could persuade her to let him pay her on time. He and her Bill ate Sunday supper at Mrs. Pellet’s table, which was a meal he anticipated all week. He couldn’t think why she’d do him this favor, but she was a Christian woman. Maybe that was reason enough.
The only other person he thought might help him was a woman whose name he wasn’t quite sure of. Alma, or Erma? He knew the last name was McCrery and he thought she was the wife of Sylvia’s husband’s uncle. He recalled she was a widow who lived alone in a big house in Chicago. He knew the street as well, since he’d met her at Sylvia’s wedding and attended the reception there. She’d been ancient then and the connection was tenuous, but it was all he had.
The telegram that he sent to Mrs. Edna McCrery was brief. Just that since the death of Sylvia and Mrs. McCrery’s nephew, Ben Asher, there were two orphan boys who he could not care for. Would she take them?
He didn’t wait for a reply. Leaving Alice alone on the train station platform had been a combination of raw panic and bad judgment. If she was wise she would have boarded the next train heading down the mountain.
Dillen removed his hat before entering the railroad station and raked his fingers through his shaggy hair. He wished he’d had time for a cut and to shave off his three-days’ growth of beard before seeing her again, because he knew he looked like what he was: a no-account bronc breaker. When he entered the depot and found it empty, Dillen broke out in a sweat.
He was still sweating when he heard someone call his name.
“You Dillen Roach?”
He turned to see a man in uniform shuffling forward. The stationmaster, he realized. The man was so stooped he appeared to be addressing Dillen’s boots.
He nodded, then spoke up. “Yes, sir.”
“She headed over to the hotel.”
There were several hotels in Blue River Junction, and more than a few were wholly unsuitable for a lady to enter and all of which he could not afford.
“Which one?”
The man scowled. “Blue River Junction Hotel, course!”
Dillen replaced his hat.
“She left you a message.” He slid a small white envelope across the counter.
Dillen had to remove his work gloves to open the tiny thing. Inside was her calling card with her name embossed in raised black font—Alice Lorraine Pinter Truett. He flipped the card and saw her neat looping script in pencil.
We are lunching at the hotel.
Please feel free to join us at your earliest convenience.
* * *
Alice secured a porter and, after speaking to the ticket operator, determined that the only acceptable hotel in this small oasis in the mountains was the Blue River. She was told the establishment was within easy walking distance, but the ice made travel a challenge. She was greatly relieved to see that the ladies seemed respectable and the male residents did not strut about with pistols on their hips like gunslingers, except Dillen. She had noted that he was armed.
The hotel itself was a pleasant surprise, opulent in a way that was not garish, but still it gleamed with polished wood, fine fabrics and chandeliers with sparkling crystals. The dining room appeared an inviting place to begin.
She gave her luggage to the bellman and saw it secured before tipping him for his trouble. Her father always handled the money and Alice had limited experience with such matters. Then she left word with the clerk at the front desk about her expectations that a Mr. Roach would be joining them in the dining room. She felt quite pleased at having conducted the business by herself. As long as no one could see how her knees were knocking beneath her skirts, she might almost be mistaken for a competent caregiver. It was a small step toward proving her mettle but she still counted it, along with making her trip from Omaha unescorted. Sylvia’s death proved to Alice that her friend had managed more life in her short years than Alice had in her entire lifetime, and she was three years older than Dillen’s sister had been. The realization disconcerted and had brought her to this place despite her mother’s objections. She would see Dillen and reconcile what had passed between them one way or the other. From the look of him, he had not been pining for her. Even more annoying, he had run out on her a second time. It was enough to make her feel as if she carried some form of plague.
Once settled in the dining room, close to the woodstove, she had not even time to lift the menu before Colin tugged at her skirt. A few minutes later they had returned from the privy and prevailed on a waiter to allow them to wash their hands. This time she read the first menu item before Colin again tugged at her skirts.
“Where’s Uncle Dillen?”
She knew that children should be seen and not heard. She knew because her mother had constantly said so. Still, she did not have the heart to shush him. At six, Colin was an inexhaustible sponge, soaking up everything around him and curious as a cat.
“I’m not sure, dear.”
She redirected their attention toward lunch, and soon her selection was served. The fare was excellent, far better than the bustle and rush of the rail station meals. Alice savored her pot of gunpowder tea as the boys devoured their apple pie as if they had not already eaten everything on their plates. They seemed to be always hungry. Alice watched them with a mixture of pride and sorrow. Very soon she would have to give them up and return to her home. She had only had them for three weeks. Two after Sylvia took ill. And one since her friend’s burial beside her husband, Ben Asher.
The hotel manager finally arrived, as she had requested, and she asked if he knew Dillen Roach.
“Roach, yes, ma’am. He took over the Harvey place, about three miles outside of town. Small spread, but nice. Horses mostly. Hear he’s a real whiz with horses. I can get you directions.”
Alice frowned at learning Dillen had a horse ranch. A man with a home was usually able to wed. Perhaps to a woman to whom he had professed the most tender of emotions and declared the most honorable of intentions. But that was before he learned the truth. Why hadn’t she told him sooner?
Because deep in your heart you wanted a man who loved you for yourself and not for your money. She could hardly blame him for leaving her. A lie was a black and evil thing.
She asked the manager if Mr. Roach was married.
“No, ma’am.”
She closed her eyes in a vain effort to hide her relief. But the joy was short-lived, for if Dillen had a place of his own and had not even written her, well, that told her all she needed to know. She thanked the manager and he took his leave. Alice poured another cup of tea with a shaking hand.
If there was anything Alice had learned following Dillen’s leave-taking, it was that, unlike the other men in her life, Dillen was not lured by her family’s fortune. Without that money, what was she? She felt the determination to learn the answer to that question. She had lived a sheltered life quite long enough. Alice was ready to see what she was made of.
She straightened, gathering her resolve for what would come. Giving up the boys would break her heart. But she must honor her friend’s dying wish—that her boys be raised by family.
Cody straightened in the chair upon which he knelt. He lowered his fork and lifted his finger.
“Cody, dear, it’s not polite to point.”
“But, Miss Alice, I see Uncle Dillen, and he looks mad.”
* * *
Dillen crossed the hotel’s elegant lobby but found no sign of Alice, so he headed for the dining room. A fussy-looking gent stationed behind a high pedestal swept him with a disapproving look and his face pinched up as if he’d sucked a dill pickle. Dillen glared and the man spun about and vanished behind the swinging door to the kitchen before Dillen could ask him about Alice. He shrugged and searched the room for Alice. He found her an instant later and he paused in the doorway.
She looked right here, in the elegant surroundings. A refined lady seated at a table draped in white linen so bright it hurt his eyes. The sight made him more aware of his worn, faded dungarees and the smell of horse that emanated from his sheepskin jacket. She belonged here, but he sure the hell did not.
The boys sat facing him, heads down over their plates of pie, their legs tucked beneath them so they could reach the table. Alice sat in profile, and he admired her glossy brown hair looped up into a coronet on top of her head. The style revealed the curve of her slender neck. He’d never seen her hair down, but now discovered that he wanted that more than anything he could think of, apart from seeing her as God made her.
She lifted a fine china teacup to her mouth. Her full lips pursed to sip and Dillen’s stomach flipped clean over. His skin went all hot and prickly, and he couldn’t breathe until that tiny cup was seated back on its saucer. The woman was like a mule kick to his gut every time he looked at her.
Cody lifted his head, spotted his uncle and then pointed in Dillen’s direction.
Alice spoke to Cody and then stilled with her tea suspended for a long moment between her mouth and the table. She lowered her cup, then lifted a hand so her elegant fingers danced over the cameo-and-diamond brooch. As he stalked forward, she released the brooch, clenched her napkin upon her lap before pivoting in her seat to face him. These small gestures were the only indication of her disquiet. But he knew her and was not fooled by her elegant posture and fixed smile. Alice was less than happy to see him.
Who could blame her?
She held his gaze, staring directly at him. One thin brow quirked and her shoulders straightened. The wooden smile of welcome remained, a lie. Only this time he wasn’t fooled. He resisted the urge to turn tail. He’d done enough running. Now it was time to settle things, do what was best for the boys. Damn, he felt like such a failure.
Why couldn’t Alice be an ordinary sort of woman?
Why did his sister have to go and die when he was holed up in a winter job? Four months, and then what? He didn’t know. Another cattle drive? Driving horses?
He didn’t want to give his nephews up, but he’d be damned if he’d drag them about from place to place as his father had done with him and Sylvie. Now he was just as rootless as dear old Dad. Children needed a home, and he knew that he couldn’t give them one. He had no business even entertaining the notion of keeping them, yet his heart still ached with the impending loss. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t even know them.
But then he didn’t have to. They were Sylvie’s. That was enough. He thought of his own father and grimaced.
“Can’t do worse than that,” he muttered.
Steeling himself for what must be done, he marched across the long runner that bisected the rows of dining tables. This being neither lunch nor dinner, the room was quiet. He passed only one other customer, a gentleman in a clean brown suit whose hat rested, brim up, in the empty seat beside him.
Momentum carried Dillen forward until he rested a hand on the top of the two chairs occupied by his nephews, but his eyes were still on Alice seated before her china teacup.
“You look just the same as the last time I saw you.”
Her eyes narrowed at the reference. “Do you mean at the station?”
The corners of his mouth tipped down and he could see from the glitter in those green eyes that she knew exactly what he had meant.
“I meant in Omaha on Christmas Eve.”
Perhaps she was recalling the last thing he’d said to her before his departure from Omaha.
I don’t even know you. But it wasn’t her lie that had sent him running. It was the truth, and that was a far different thing.
“Appearances can be deceiving,” she said. “You above all should know that.”
He thought it was this woman, more than appearances, that were deceiving. If only it had not all been a glorious lie. Still, he wouldn’t trade his memories of Alice for the truth.
He became aware of the silence and that someone other than Alice was staring. His nephews sat as still as twin fence posts, watching him with the dark brown eyes of his sister. Without their hats, he could see the wide-set eyes fringed with dark lashes and the familiar wavy hair of the Roach family. The resemblance was so strong that he realized, with a pang of pride, that they could easily be mistaken for his. He’d once hoped to be a father, vowing that unlike his own, he would be kind, supportive and present. Now that fate had given him the opportunity, he would be forced to give them up for their own good.
“How’s the pie?”
Cody nodded. “Fine, sir. Would you like some?” He pushed the half-eaten pastry in Dillen’s direction.
“Cody,” said Alice, “what did we say you should call Mr. Roach?”
“Oh.” Cody rubbed the back of his neck and then said. “Uncle Dillen, would you like some pie?”
His mouth watered as he shook his head. “That’s all right, son. Have at it.”
Colin grinned, showing he had a good deal of piecrust stuck to his cheeks. Alice dipped a lace-trimmed handkerchief into her drinking glass and mopped Colin clean. It was a gesture so maternal it made Dillen’s stomach drop an inch as the longing gripped him hard and low. She just kept surprising him. Why was she here? Was it only the boys?
Why else? You think just because you missed her every waking moment that she missed you?
“May I join you?” asked Dillen.
Alice motioned to the empty seat. He removed his hat and hung it on the spindle on the chair back, then tucked in beside Alice. He settled in the seat, and for just a moment he pretended he was the head of the household and they were all his. He let the fantasy linger a moment longer before letting it die under an avalanche of reality. He didn’t even have the scratch for a haircut, let alone a family.
The waiter arrived and handed Dillen a menu printed on thick cream-colored paper. Every single item on the sheet would have cost him a day’s wages. He set the menu aside and then assessed the empty plates, struck with the sudden fear that he’d have to pay for their meal. The shame of not having the funds to cover one lunch nearly drove him from the table. He actually rose when Alice laid a hand on his forearm.
“Where are you going?”
“I—I...” He had no earthly idea. His brain had stopped working the minute he saw that menu.
Dillen stilled as her fingers splayed over his sleeve, and he wished he’d taken off his coat so he could feel her touch. But it didn’t matter. Just sitting beside her, smelling her delicate perfume, brought it all back, that night, their kiss. Him being fool enough to think he could ever keep a woman as fine as Alice. Her being fool enough to believe her parents would welcome the likes of him to their family. Her hand slipped back to her lap and her cheeks flushed. Was she thinking of how he’d held her? How he’d told her he loved her?
“Is everything all right, Mr. Roach?” she asked.
“Fine,” he lied.
He would rather be back on that crazy three-year-old mustang crow-hopping across the pen than here beside her in this fancy-pants restaurant with those two boys looking to him for answers he didn’t have.
The waiter returned and asked what he’d like.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Coffee, black,” said Alice simultaneously. Then she turned to him. “Have you eaten?”
He hadn’t, not since the stale biscuit he’d had with bacon this morning, and it was now closer to dinner than lunch.
“I’m not hungry,” he lied again.
Alice made a face. “A ham sandwich with fried potatoes,” she said to the waiter.
“I can’t stay.”
That made her shoulders wilt. But she rallied, her gaze still on the waiter. “Wrap it to go, if you please.”
The man nodded and returned the way he had come. She waited until he had vanished to the kitchens before turning to face Dillen.
“You cannot stay?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“What happened at the station?”
“I made a mistake. The telegram you received? That was for a horse breeder. I was asking him to send two horses. Now I’ve got to go up to Cripple Creek to get the pair because he got the telegram saying I couldn’t take them. The one I meant to send to you.”
Cody’s legs went out from under him and he hit the padded seat hard.
Alice’s hand shook, making the teacup rattle on the saucer. “Did you say that you could not take them?”
