
# A New Beginning

Kansas Crossroads, Book One

by Amelia C. Adams

This is a work of fiction, and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are represented fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Copyright © 2015 Amelia C. Adams

# Acknowledgements

With special thanks to Kirsten Osbourne, for encouraging and mentoring me through the process of trying something new.

Thanks also to my beta readers—Anne, Bobbie Sue, Cissie, Kristi, Lachele, Nancy, and Ronda.

My gratitude to my formatter, Karen Hoover, who did a fantastic job; and I love my cover so much—you are amazing, Steven Novak!

# Chapter One

Topeka, Kansas

1875

Adam Brody stood on the dirt road and squinted up at the hotel, the incessant Kansas sun beating down on him, causing a thin trail of sweat to trickle down the back of his neck. He waved at the building in front of them with a grand gesture, hoping that the heat of the day wouldn't detract from the moment. "This is it, Aunt Caroline. What do you think?"

Caroline Hampton looked up at the massive two-story structure, from the holes in the roof down to the sagging porch. "When your father wrote his will, I'm not sure this is how he meant for you to spend your inheritance."

Adam tried to ignore the negative note in her voice. She had always been pragmatic—he hadn't expected her immediate approval. "He said I should find something useful to do with it. Can't you envision what this place can become? With a little hard work and some imagination, it will be the most successful hotel and restaurant in Topeka."

Caroline put her hands on her hips. "And just how many hotels and restaurants _are_ there in Topeka?"

"All right, so there aren't many. The point, my dear aunt, is that we have a chance to create something wonderful." It wouldn't be too hard to make this place functional again. He'd have to call in a brick mason and a carpenter, a flock of maids, and certainly a chimney sweep, but none of that was out of the realm of possibility.

Caroline shook her head, the soft wings of hair over her ears reflecting the sunlight. "I can't believe I came all the way out here from New York to help you with this impossible dream, Adam. When you said you wanted my help running a hotel, this was not at all what I pictured."

"But you _will_ be helping me run a hotel. It's just not quite ready yet." He took his aunt's arm and threaded it through the crook of his elbow. "Come with me. Let's take a tour of the Brody Hotel."

She shook her head again. "You've already named it—and after yourself?"

"I could very well be naming it after Father, the benefactor." He led Caroline through the gate and up the walk. The yard certainly needed work—the grass was sparse and yellow, and if there had once been any flowers in the beds, they were now dead and gone. Amazing how a few years of neglect could take a lovely mansion and leave it a virtual graveyard.

Adam unlocked the door, and they stepped into the foyer. "Picture a desk," he said, motioning to the right. "Here, the hostess will welcome our guests and either assign them their quarters or show them through into the dining room. These cobwebs will be gone, of course."

"Oh, I don't know," Caroline said. "You might say they add a certain something to the décor."

He chose to ignore that comment. "The floors will be polished, and look at this staircase." He walked over and touched the balustrade. "This is some of the finest craftsmanship I've ever seen."

Caroline looked, but didn't touch, gripping the handle of her parasol instead. "It is lovely, I'll admit. A good cleaning will bring out its beauty again. But the carpeting—Adam, this entire staircase will have to be redone. What happened here? A stampede?"

"I know, it looks rough. But the possibilities! Do you see the crystal wall sconces, the paneling, the—"

Caroline chuckled and laid a hand on his arm. "You certainly are enthused, and yes, I can see the possibilities. Now show me around the rest of this place so I can see what all I've signed on to do."

Adam had been afraid that touring the place with his aunt would make him realize the foolishness of his investment, but instead, as he showed her his visions for each room, his excitement only grew. He'd long dreamed of going into business, and this particular venture would allow him to create not only a future for himself, but give Caroline and many others jobs as well. The nation's expansion into the western states was all anyone could think about. At the rate people were moving, before long, there would be no one left on the East Coast at all—or so it seemed. If he happened to provide a service that was badly needed while at the same time making a profit, it was for the best all the way around.

"When you asked me to select the linens, you weren't very specific about the colors in this place." Caroline sighed. "I only hope that when they arrive, we can make them work."

"I'm sure that whatever you chose will work," Adam said. He hadn't given a moment's thought to the colors—that's why he needed Caroline. He'd probably made several such mistakes already and would continue to make many more.

"We'll see. I was promised they'd come on Thursday's train." Caroline picked up her skirts and headed back down the staircase, careful of her footing. "You said you'd be bringing in a carpenter, didn't you? Some of these treads squeak."

"Yes, that will be one of my first tasks. Now, let's get a bite to eat and talk things over. You'll be glad you came. I know it."

Caroline shook her head yet again—Adam was beginning to wonder if she'd had any positive feelings at all that day. "I don't know about you, Adam. You've always been such a visionary."

They walked back out onto the porch, and Adam locked the door behind them.

"You, my dear aunt, should explore the possibilities of life. Admit it—New York society doesn't suit you anymore. You've been secretly pining for an adventure, and this could just very well be your opportunity." He flung out his arm to encompass the whole town.

Caroline looked around, a skeptical expression on her face. "This is my opportunity? Forgive me if I sound doubtful, but I hardly see how this qualifies. And with the train station so close, I expect your guests will be rumbled right out of their beds!"

Adam laughed. "I knew as soon as I saw it that this was the right investment for me. Kansas is the crossroads to the western states. As the railroad extends clear to the coast, we'll be here, welcoming everyone who wants to see this progress for themselves." He took her elbow and steered her onto the street.

"I hardly call it progress," she said as they walked. "People traipsing here and there, leaving their perfectly good homes in the east to go find something they think will be better, no guarantees of anything. All that craziness about finding gold . . . at least that's settled down somewhat, but still. Whatever happened to cultivating family land, staying to build up the communities where you were born?" She reached up and adjusted her hat against the slight breeze. "I only came because you're my sister's son, and you asked me. I take no part nor pleasure in this 'progress,' as you call it."

Adam turned and looked her full in the face. "Why, Aunt Caroline, if I didn't see a young, vivacious woman standing in front of me, I'd think you were quite elderly and ready for your afternoon nap. I'm surprised you feel this way."

"Young? Vivacious?" Caroline laughed. "I'm hardly either. A nap sounds delightful, and I'd love a cup of tea. You promised something to eat. Where are we going?"

"There's a small boarding house up ahead. It's where I've been staying while I've concocted my nefarious plans. It's run by a Mrs. Dempsey. She makes an excellent pot of tea, and her scones are quite good. She's a busybody, but a kind one, and I've asked her to prepare her nicest room for you. That's where the porter took your bags when we brought them off the train."

"Oh." Caroline looked around like she had just now noticed that all her things had vanished. "That's where they disappeared to."

Adam chuckled again. He supposed his news _had_ been rather distracting.

"There's the boarding house just ahead." He nodded toward a yellow clapboard building with a white board fence and petunias planted around the edges. It was all a bit too feminine for him, but it wasn't his house, after all. He'd make sure the hotel was furnished to suit both male and female tastes, if there was a way to strike that balance.

For all Caroline's protests, she was not an old woman. She was thirty-nine to his twenty-five, his mother's youngest sister. He'd often thought of her as being more like his cousin than his aunt. After his mother's untimely passing the previous year, she had taken him under her wing and given him wise counsel, and now that his father was also gone, he relied on her more than ever. He needed her common sense, the stabilizing force she gave him. If he was to make a success of this new business, he'd need her at his side—if for no other reason than to rein him in if he got too carried away in his enthusiasm.

When they reached the boarding house, he opened the gate and stood aside, gesturing for his aunt to precede him up the sidewalk. She did, but paused on the porch, waiting for him to catch up.

"Mrs. Dempsey," he called out as he entered, "I've brought you my maiden aunt, as promised."

Caroline swatted his arm. "You'll have me in my grave in another minute."

Adam grinned. "You're the one who's been making claims of old age."

Mrs. Dempsey bustled out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "There you are. When Mr. Brody said you were coming in on the first train today, I immediately felt sorry for you. Those things are death traps."

"Oh, come now, Mrs. Dempsey. Rail travel has come a long way, and will only continue to improve over time." Adam took off his hat and hung it on a peg near the front door. "Allow me to introduce my aunt, Caroline Hampton."

Mrs. Dempsey bobbed her head. "It's a pleasure to have you here, Miss Hampton. I dare say you'll help bring some culture and civilization to this place. I understand you're from New York."

Caroline nodded. "I am indeed, but I'm not sure what I can contribute, I'm afraid. I've never been one for socializing and keeping up with the trends."

"Well, it will be nice to have another woman around, regardless. Let me show you to your room so you can get settled, and I'll put on a pot of tea."

"That's exactly what we hoped you'd say." Adam excused himself, leaving the two women to their chatter while he stepped into his own room to clean up a bit. He'd been walking around his new property since early that morning, and he felt grimy. A lot of work would go into making the place habitable again, and the first step would be a good scrubbing.

A few moments later, Adam was seated across the table from Caroline, chewing one of Mrs. Dempsey's delicious scones. Caroline seemed somewhat refreshed. She'd taken off her hat and changed from traveling clothes into a day dress of some sort of sprigged muslin, or whatever the women called it. He ought to pay better attention, but he never could hold such things in his head.

"Now, Adam, let's discuss this new proposition. To properly manage a hotel that size, you'll need at least six young ladies to prepare the rooms and help serve the meals. You'll need a cook, a porter, and some sort of maintenance man. Just from the little bit we discussed a moment ago, I can see that the repairs may be substantial. Are you prepared for this kind of undertaking?"

Adam nodded. "If I've worked the figures correctly, I'll have enough money to run the place for one year. At the end of that year, it will need to pay for itself."

"What will you do if the year comes to an end and you've seen no profit?"

Adam let out a long breath. "We'd have to see, but I suppose I could get a bank loan or sell the place."

Caroline set down her teacup. "I doubt a bank would give you a loan if you weren't making money. Many new businesses fail, Adam. I just want you to prepare yourself for that possibility so that if it happens, you won't feel caught off guard."

"I appreciate that, Aunt Caroline. However, I do have a strong positive feeling about this. Topeka is growing—why, we're at nearly nine thousand in population right now. We're seeing a great increase in the numbers of people coming through every week, and those people need hot food and a place to stay."

"Yes, you spoke to me before about progress." Her voice was wry. She took a scone from the plate and spread it with freshly churned butter. "Are there enough young ladies in Topeka to fill your need for employees? Mrs. Dempsey seemed to indicate that there aren't many women around here—or maybe she just meant here in the boarding house. I did see more men than women out on the street just now, though."

"I don't know. I suppose we'll find out." Adam flashed her a grin before taking a sip of his tea. He knew she found him irrepressible, but she still endured him anyway.

"We'll need to make a plan and determine how long it will take to get the property ready. What was it before? A hotel as well?"

Adam shook his head. "No, it was a mansion. Robert Garrison, one of the men who struck it rich in the Gold Rush, brought his money here, built a home, and planned to live comfortably until his old age, but he wasted the rest on drink and gambling. He abandoned the house to go back to California in hopes of finding more gold, but he was killed by a jealous prospector, and the place has remained empty for about eight years. No one could imagine what to do with it until now."

Caroline dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "That's quite the dramatic tale. It seems more suited to a novel or the stage than the story of a man's life."

"I agree. Hopefully, his folly will turn to our advantage." Adam ate the rest of his scone and followed it with tea. "Back to the topic at hand. Today, why don't you rest from your journey and get settled in here. Tomorrow, we can go back over to the property and make a list of everything that needs to be done. Once we've established that, we can advertise for the help we need."

Caroline nodded. "I wouldn't mind lying down for a bit. I believe I can still feel the rumble of the train under my feet."

Mrs. Dempsey came back to gather up their plates. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Dempsey. This was delicious and quite satisfying." Caroline paused for a moment. "I wonder if you'd mind a rather personal question."

"I won't tell you how old I am, if that's what you're aiming at. We'll just say that I'm old enough to know better, but young enough to do it anyway."

Caroline laughed. "I would never ask a lady her age. Perhaps, though, my real question is even more sensitive. Do you run this establishment for your living? I assume Mr. Dempsey has passed on."

"You'd be right. I've been a widow these five years now."

"I am sorry to hear that." Caroline paused again, and Adam wondered what she was leading up to that would make her so hesitant. "When my nephew opens his hotel, won't he be your competition? Will that be difficult for you?"

Mrs. Dempsey shook her head. "Oh, I imagine I'll see some loss, but to be honest, he'll be doing me a favor. Why, these rough men come through here after working on the railroad for six months, and they're dirty and coarse, and they're just not the kind of guest I aim to attract. If Mr. Brody puts them up in his place instead, I do believe that would be a weight off my mind." She raised a hand. "Now, heaven knows those men need a comfortable bed and a good meal just like anyone else, but I'm a single lady, and one never can be too careful."

Adam's lips twitched at the thought of someone desiring to do Mrs. Dempsey a harm, but he supposed she was right to be cautious. "I'm very glad to hear that my new enterprise won't be a burden for you, Mrs. Dempsey. You've taken very good care of me in my time here, and I wouldn't want to repay your kindness with anything but the same."

Mrs. Dempsey's cheeks colored a little. "You and your fancy talk. Go on with you, now—I have biscuits to make for your supper."

Adam chuckled as he held Caroline's chair for her. "I'll begin writing up the advertisement while you rest. We'll make a go of this. I have no doubt."

Caroline paused before leaving the room. "Adam, I'm sure I must sound critical, and I apologize for that. I promise to put my misgivings aside and do whatever I can to help you succeed. After the year you've had—" Her voice caught. "You deserve every happiness, and if this will make you happy, I will be right there with you."

Adam reached out and caught her hand. "Thank you, Aunt Caroline. That means everything to me."

She nodded once and then turned away. Adam listened to her receding footsteps, wondering about the meaning of the word "happy," wondering if he would ever truly feel such a thing again. 

# Chapter Two

Elizabeth Caldwell laid her sleeping baby in the cradle in the corner of the room. The child had been up all night, no doubt overly excited from their travels and getting settled into their new home, such as it was. Elizabeth had reached the threshold of exhaustion hours before. She tiptoed away and took a seat at the kitchen table, where her mother pressed a mug of hot coffee into her hands.

"You're doing well," Agatha said, resting her fingers lightly on her daughter's arm. "Every mother since the dawn of creation has walked the floor with a sick child, and you've joined that great sisterhood. I'm proud of you."

Elizabeth set down her mug and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Oh, Mother, I don't know how you raised five children."

"It was difficult, to be sure, but there were rewards along the way too. And I had your father beside me. Oh, honey. I'm so sorry."

"Me too." Elizabeth studied the bit of coffee ground that floated in her cup. It had been three months since her husband died, three months of the curious mixture of relief and sorrow that accompanied his passing. If she had known this would be her outcome two years ago when she first met him, would she still have chosen this path? She had no idea. She couldn't regret having her daughter—Rose was the reward her mother spoke of—but the rest of it, the anguish and sorrow? She could have done without that.

"I have a little something for you," Agatha said. "I thought this might help in your search for a job." She stood, opened a cupboard, and pulled out a newspaper, which she laid on the table.

Elizabeth's eyes flew to hers. "Are you sure we can afford this?"

Agatha shrugged. "Tools are useful things. You need the right tools to complete your tasks, and right now, you need to find a job. I can think of no easier way to find one, especially when we're new to town."

Elizabeth nodded. She flipped open the pages, turning until she came upon the advertisements.

"I don't think I'd be suited to work on the railroad," she said with a slight chuckle. "And I'm afraid I'd make a terrible logger. Oh, wait." Her eyes landed on an advertisement in the corner. "A teaching post." She read further and felt a stab of disappointment. "In a boys' school. Only men need apply."

"Are there any more?" Agatha asked.

"Thankfully, yes." Elizabeth traced each column with her finger until she reached one on the far right. "Listen to this. 'Mr. Adam Brody seeks employees for his new hotel. Six bright, energetic, single young ladies from good families are needed immediately. Also needed: a carpenter. Inquire at the Garrison mansion, Topeka, Kansas.' That's just a half mile from here, isn't it? I believe I heard the porter at the train station say something about the Garrison mansion next door."

Agatha nodded. "It sounds perfect. You can leave small Rose here with me while you work, and you'll be home to enjoy her the rest of the time."

"But when would you have time for yourself, Mother? This position may require long hours."

Agatha looked down at her hands. "I'm quite content to stay home, actually. I'm tired of society—or perhaps society is tired of me. I never liked the parties your father insisted I throw, and ever since . . . well, ever since his death, I've been happy to keep my own company."

Elizabeth had noticed her mother withdrawing from her usual circle of friends over the years. "If you're sure, Mother."

"I am."

Elizabeth read the advertisement again and tapped the paper with her finger. "But there's a problem. Mr. Brody is looking for single young ladies."

Agatha tilted her head to the side. "You're not married anymore, Elizabeth."

"I know, but surely he's not looking for someone who has a child to support. He'd need people who can stay late, come early, and don't have other obligations." She finished the last few sips of her coffee and then read over the page again, wondering if she'd missed something the first time. The hotel job was the only one suited for a woman—in this whole paper, how could that be?

"I believe I'll walk over to the telegraph office and see if I've gotten any responses," she said, standing up and putting the newspaper back in the cupboard. It had been so long since she'd read a paper, it would be a nice treat at the end of the day. "Surely someone back east is in need of a governess and wouldn't mind if I brought along a child of my own."

"Go, go," Agatha said. "I'll keep an eye on the baby."

Elizabeth put on her hat and tied the wide ribbons under her chin. This hat had been new at one time, but now it looked a bit faded and frayed around the edges, just like her. She had no idea what the current fashions were—she'd been a railroad wife, away from society, away from other ladies for so long that for all she knew, it was now proper to wear a bucket on one's head. She smoothed down her dress, hoping she looked presentable, and walked out the door, chin high. Her circumstances weren't ideal. In fact, they were deplorable. But she was going to find a way to raise her daughter on her own, take care of her mother, and create a future for herself. There was simply no other alternative.

She ignored the looks she got from men as she passed them on the street. The town was full of single men looking for a hardy girl to take with them on their adventures out west, and without succumbing to vanity, she knew she was more comely than many of the women they had seen since their arrival. For one brief moment, she had entertained the idea of marrying one of these men and seeing what adventures she might have, but Rose was her first concern in everything, and that kind of environment just was not suitable for an infant. Elizabeth could tolerate some lighthearted language and an occasional game of poker, but her daughter deserved better, and that was precisely what Elizabeth aimed to give her.

She was just passing the saloon when a tall man stepped in front of her, his thumbs hooked through his belt. She tried to go around him, but his shorter friend blocked her path.

"Mornin'," the first one said. "Haven't seen you around before."

"Please excuse me. I'm expected." Elizabeth moved farther to the right, but the men moved as well, creating a wall.

"I was hopin' you were a new girl at the saloon." He nodded his head toward the swinging doors. "We could use a few fresh faces in there, and you've got one of the freshest faces I've seen in a long time."

Anger boiled up in Elizabeth's chest, but she refused to let it show—that would be giving them what they wanted. "I will never work in a saloon, gentlemen. Now, if you will _excuse_ me." She shoved her way past, her shoulder colliding with the arm of the man on the right. Their laughter followed her as she strode away.

She entered the telegraph office and took a moment to collect her thoughts. Having lived alongside the railroad, she had encountered plenty of rough men, but her husband had been there to protect her. He hadn't always treated her kindly, but in this one thing, she'd known she could count on him—no man would ever speak rudely to her without consequences. Now she must learn to handle these situations on her own.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled and approached the counter. Immediately upon arriving in Topeka two days before, she'd sent three telegrams to acquaintances back in New York, spending money they could hardly spare. She'd been in the west far too long for her tastes and would love to return home. There was one response, and her heart leaped when she saw who it was from. She had known the mother of this family quite well for some years, and was especially fond of the twin girls who brought up the rear in their line of children. But as she read the reply, her chest constricted. The family was not in need of a nanny, and they were sorry to inform her that her circumstances in life would make her an undesirable candidate for any family who desired their children to be raised properly.

Elizabeth lowered the page and stared out the window of the office, unable to focus on the people who walked back and forth outside. They were all blurs of hats and bonnets with no faces.

"Are you all right, Miss Caldwell?" the telegraph operator asked, leaning over the counter to get a better look at Elizabeth's face.

"I don't quite know, Mrs. Flannigan."

The woman seemed befuddled. "What do you mean? Surely you know whether or not you're all right."

Elizabeth considered for a moment. No one in town knew her story. In fact, as of yet, she and her mother hadn't even taken Rose out onto the street, and no one knew they'd brought a baby with them. Elizabeth had arranged for their home rental while Agatha stayed in their old wagon with Rose. Of course, Mrs. Flannigan had received the telegraph and knew of its contents, but the wording was vague, perhaps vague enough ... "Mrs. Flannigan, if a woman were widowed and left with a child to raise, do you suppose she'd be able to find a position as a governess? I'm told . . . by a friend who is in this situation . . . that it might be considered inappropriate, and I can hardly understand it."

Mrs. Flannigan seemed to consider this for a minute. "I do understand it, I'm sorry to say." She glanced around the office, then leaned forward again to speak confidentially. "One never really knows where that child might have come from, and it's best not to take her word for it and subject the other children to who-knows-what."

Elizabeth blinked rapidly. This assessment was even more painful than the telegram she'd received. "I hadn't thought of that. Thank you, Mrs. Flannigan."

"I do wish your friend all the best, but perhaps she'd be better off as a laundress or a seamstress," Mrs. Flannigan said. "Terrible business, being a widow."

Indeed, it was. Elizabeth said good-bye and left the building, trying to figure out what she was going to do now. They'd spent nearly every penny they had getting this far, and soon they'd be fully destitute. If her mother's cough were to come back or if Rose were to get sick . . . Elizabeth couldn't think that way. She had to focus on the possibilities, not her fears.

It appeared that returning to New York and becoming a governess was not one of those possibilities. She'd seen no "help wanted" signs in any of the windows as she walked to the telegraph office. She'd overheard no one saying they were looking to hire. Mr. Brody's hotel seemed like her only chance. While she hated lying, she would have to pose as a single young lady. She could think of no other option.

She quickened her step and soon found herself standing in front of the old Garrison mansion, wondering what on earth she would do if this was also a rejection. There was no money left for train tickets or to secure a position with a wagon train, and she would not ever, _ever_ take a job in a saloon. Mr. Brody would simply have to hire her. Now she hoped he'd see it the same way.

# Chapter Three

Adam turned sideways to maneuver his armload out through the door. Once in the yard, he threw the old pieces of wood on top of the stack he'd been creating all morning and turned to go back inside, but his attention was arrested by a young lady standing near the gate, staring up at the mansion as though trying to decide if she should stay or go.

"May I help you?" Adam asked, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hands as he walked toward her. She turned at the sound of his voice, and he nearly missed a step when he saw her face. Her features were certainly pleasing, and her hair was a pretty shade of brown, but what caught him off guard were her eyes. They were quite possibly the loveliest, most soulful eyes he'd ever seen.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, as though hesitant to speak. Then she took a deep breath. "I'm here to see Mr. Adam Brody about the advertisement in the newspaper."

"Yes, yes, the advertisement. Tell me a bit about yourself."

She blinked. "I'm sorry. Are _you_ Mr. Brody?"

He wondered at the surprise in her voice until he looked down and noticed how filthy he'd become while working. In his coarse pants and simple shirt, he certainly didn't look like a businessman, and he didn't blame her for the misunderstanding. "I _am_ Adam Brody, but today, I'm also the carpenter, the repairman, and at least two of the maids. How may I help you?"

She gave a merry laugh. "You do have your hands full with this new enterprise, Mr. Brody."

"Indeed I do, which is why I'm so glad that you responded to my advertisement. What is your name?"

"I'm Elizabeth Caldwell. Do you still have positions available, then?"

Mr. Brody gestured up at the large house. "All the positions are available, except for that of the head housekeeper. My aunt is filling that role quite nicely. What are your skills, Miss Caldwell?"

"I'm an excellent housekeeper, I worked some as a cook, and I've even been known to haul a bit of wood from time to time," she said, nodding at the growing pile of debris in the yard.

Adam looked her over again, more objectively this time. He purposely avoided her eyes. If he gazed into them again, he'd never be able to conduct this business properly. She was small, but he detected underlying strength, both in her stamina and her character. "How old are you, Miss Caldwell?"

"I'll be twenty this fall, sir."

"Would you be available to start work tomorrow morning? The kitchen is in sorry shape, and my aunt will have my head if she's not able to prepare a decent meal in there by tomorrow night's supper." He chuckled. "The food won't actually be delivered then, but she wants the _ability_ to cook."

Miss Caldwell laughed again, and he found himself enjoying the sound even more. "What time would you like me here?" she asked.

"Eight o'clock sharp."

She nodded. "That's very agreeable to me. Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Brody."

"Thank you for coming to inquire. I was beginning to wonder if anyone ever would."

She seemed to be debating whether or not to speak again. "If I might make a suggestion, sir—you could try placing your advertisement in papers farther east as well. I'm from New York, and you can hardly take two steps without hearing some young lady or another speak of leaving the city and striking out on her own. You might have some success that way."

Adam thought about that for a moment. He hadn't even considered that a lady would travel all that way just to work a less-than-elegant job in a very dusty town. "Would they do that for a scant fourteen dollars a month? It hardly seems worth the effort."

Miss Caldwell gave a little cough. "I'm sorry. Did you say fourteen dollars a month?"

"Yes. I'm sorry—I neglected to mention the wage to you before. That, of course, includes room and board."

She coughed again, and this time, it seemed that she was having trouble controlling it. Her eyes began to water—those beautiful eyes—and she brought her handkerchief to her lips. Adam felt helpless to do anything for her. He considered pounding her on the back, but he somehow didn't think he should, and he didn't have a clean glass to offer her a drink. He'd just been cupping water in his hands from the pump.

"I apologize, Miss Caldwell. Is the wage unfair? I thought it rather reasonable after I compared it to others being offered in the newspaper."

She finally managed to get control of her breath. "No, no, the wage is more than reasonable. I simply swallowed wrong." She smiled as though to convince him. "I won't be needing a room, however. I live in a small house not far from here with my mother."

"Then I shall make your wage fifteen dollars a month plus board."

She gave a slight curtsy. He found that so utterly charming, he almost didn't hear her when she said, "Thank you, Mr. Brody. I'll see you in the morning."

His eyes lingered on her as she scurried down the street, the skirt of her dark blue dress moving to and fro like a bell with each step. He stood there for perhaps a moment too long and only turned his gaze when Caroline walked up to him.

"I saw her through the upstairs window. She seems like a nice girl," his aunt said.

"I believe she is," Adam replied. "Her name is Elizabeth Caldwell. She's well spoken, tidy, and she didn't indicate being afraid of hard work." He wouldn't mention her eyes or her laugh. Caroline probably wouldn't consider those necessary attributes in a maid.

"Well, that's good," Caroline said. "I've been pulling down draperies to be washed in every room of the upper floor, and with the sunlight streaming in, it's now plainly obvious how much work there really is to be done. Are you still set on opening in a month's time?"

"If we're going to start bringing in a solid profit before our year is up, we must get started now," Adam said. "I've asked Miss Caldwell to be here at eight in the morning. I imagine things will speed up with her help. By the way, she says she's from New York. Do you know of her family?"

Caroline looked thoughtful. "I do know some Caldwells, but her face didn't seem familiar. I'm sure we've never met."

"That will change tomorrow, and hopefully, you'll be good friends." Adam followed Caroline back up the steps and into the hotel, pausing for a moment to look back in the direction where Miss Caldwell had gone. Suddenly he looked forward to tomorrow like he hadn't anticipated anything in a very long time. 

# Chapter Four

It was all Elizabeth could do not to break into a run as she made her way home, but that would hardly be appropriate. The men who were already looking would be certain to think things they shouldn't. She kept her pace moderate, but her heart pounded as though she'd run the distance anyway.

She opened the cabin door quietly lest Rose was asleep and found her baby contentedly nestled in Agatha's arms by the fire.

"Mother, I got a job," she said, pulling off her hat and hanging it up. "I went by the hotel listed in the advertisement, and Mr. Brody hired me practically on the spot."

"What about your telegrams? Did you get any replies?" Agatha asked.

Elizabeth reached out and stroked her baby's cheek while she contemplated her answer. It seemed cruel to tell her mother what all the response contained. Agatha had already endured much because of her daughter's situation, and Elizabeth saw no need to add to that burden. "It seems the people of New York aren't hiring governesses this season," she said lightly. "I considered my options and decided to pay a call on Mr. Brody."

"What sort of man is he?" Agatha adjusted the child on her lap and then fixed bright eyes on her daughter.

"He's tall, blond, rather good-looking, kind and yet businesslike," Elizabeth said. Just as she was withholding the contents of the telegram, she thought it best if she also withheld the way Mr. Brody's smile made her insides melt. She'd fallen for a handsome smile before, and now she was paying the price. "He has great dreams for his hotel, and he seemed very pleased to employ me."

"And what did you tell him about your circumstances?"

Elizabeth ladled herself a drink from the bucket by the door. "He didn't ask for my particulars, and I didn't offer them," she said after her last swallow. "He knows my age and that I live with my mother."

"He just assumes you're an appropriate choice, then?"

"I'm not an _inappropriate_ choice, Mother. I simply have more duties and responsibilities than the other girls will have. And the best part of all? He's going to pay fifteen dollars a month, plus meals. Think of it! That's more than we've had for a very long time. I'm afraid I choked when he told me, it was such a surprise."

Agatha rocked slowly, the blades of the chair making a soft sound against the floor. "I encouraged you this morning, but now I'm having misgivings. Do you feel confident this is the right decision?"

"I honestly don't know, but I do believe that for this moment, it's the only choice. You can't support us—your health is too poor. It's up to me, and this is work I can do. Let's give it a try, Mother. If he finds me out, all he can do is send me away, and we'll be no worse off than we are now."

Rose started to fuss, and Elizabeth bent down and picked her up. Someone must be hungry. "Oh, no," she said in realization, turning back to her mother. "What am I to do about Rose's mealtimes?"

Agatha's eyes went wide. "Perhaps you could take a few breaks during the day," she ventured.

"I wish I'd thought of this before." Elizabeth sat down, unbuttoned her top, and began to feed her baby. "We can't afford to buy her milk—at least, not until I receive my pay." Her head spun. How could she have forgotten this, her baby's most basic need? Once again, her feelings of inadequacy overwhelmed her. She had to figure a way out of this.

"We'll make it work," Agatha said, seeming to read her daughter's mind. "Why don't I see what we have for supper while you take care of that wee one's meal? Ideas will come. I have no doubt."

Elizabeth knew what they had for supper—precious little, with no prospects of getting more. If she took this job, not only would she be paid generously, but she would be eating away from home, leaving more food at the cottage for her mother. She would just have to find a way to work things out with Mr. Brody. He seemed like a reasonable man.

Without bidding, his smile flashed before her eyes, and she felt her cheeks heat. To think she had mistaken him for a laborer. She should have known from the way he walked and held his shoulders that he was a man of good breeding. She shook her head, surprised at herself. _She_ was of good breeding, and now look at her—she would be working as a maid in a hotel. That was hardly the future she'd pictured for herself when she daydreamed as a girl.

A short time later, Rose was fed, burped, and changed. Her eyes grew heavy, and she gave a tiny yawn with her rosebud lips—those lips which had inspired her name. She was so delightfully pink and dainty and beautiful. Elizabeth felt her soul expand every time she looked at her daughter. It was as though this child had been sent to be a balm for her shattered soul. She cradled her daughter to her chest and rubbed her nose against the soft fuzz on her head. All too soon, her infancy would pass, and all Elizabeth would have then would be memories.

She laid Rose down in the cradle and then slipped outside and closed the door behind her. The night air was fresh and cool, a welcome change from the dusty humidity that had seemed to mark every day since they arrived.

Surely Mr. Brody would hear what she had to say. Of course, he had a business to run, and if he were to turn her down, she would have to accept it. She could hope, however, and she could wish upon a star, which she did. It was time for things to go right. Rose deserved it. Her mother deserved it.

Elizabeth deserved it too. She'd spent far too long living in fear, listening for her husband's footstep and wondering if he would be drunk or sober when he arrived, wondering if he would be kind or angry, knowing all too well how quickly his moods could change. What would it be like to marry a man who adored her, who wanted her happiness more than his own, who would listen to her talk and take their children for pony rides and make her heart pound? She sighed as she turned to go back inside. If her past would keep her from finding a good job, it would certainly keep her from finding a good man.

# Chapter Five

Two cups of coffee hadn't made it any easier for Adam to wake up that morning. He'd spent half the night mulling over ideas for the hotel, and the other half haunted by a pair of eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul. Neither thing lent to a peaceful night's sleep. Now, dressed in another set of coarse clothing, he stood in the center of the kitchen, trying to determine where to begin.

"This will be a good work space once it's clean," Caroline said, surveying the long countertop. "I simply can't understand, however, how someone could go off and abandon an entire property. Vagrants and vandals certainly had their fun before the marshal boarded up the place."

"Let's start by pulling out the table and emptying the cupboards," Adam said. "After those things are out of the way, a good scrubbing is in order. Then we'll see what we're left with."

"I believe there are some boxes out back," Caroline said. "I'll fetch them to hold the cupboard items."

Adam picked up the end of the long table that ran the length of the kitchen and had just taken two steps toward the door when he heard a voice behind him. "Good morning, Mr. Brody."

Without turning, he knew who it was. He'd only heard her speak for a few moments the day before, but it was a memorable voice. He set down the table and turned. "Good morning to you, Miss Caldwell." He noticed that she, too, had come ready to work, wearing a serviceable dress without too many of those infernal layers women wore those days—he wondered how they could even walk that way.

She took a few steps into the room, twisting her hands in front of her. She looked nervous, as though she had something to say, but would rather not. She hadn't come to tell him she was quitting—surely not. His luck couldn't possibly be that bad. "Out with it," he barked at last, unable to take the suspense.

She jumped a little, which made him feel like a cad, and then she plunged in. "Mr. Brody, I realize I'm asking a lot, especially when I've only just begun working for you, and I should have been more forthcoming yesterday. But I live with my mother, as I told you, and she's in poor health. I'm concerned about her being home alone all day. Would it . . . would it be all right if I went home a few times a day to check on her?"

Adam took a step back. What sort of request was this? Was she next going to ask that her meals be served on special china? Still, she was the only girl yet to answer his advertisement, and he couldn't afford to be inflexible. And the pleading in her eyes . . . He averted his gaze. Her beautiful eyes should not have any power over him.

"How far away do you live?" he asked.

"A scant half mile, sir."

He scowled. "And do you expect to walk this distance several times a day? How much time do you suppose that deducts from your work, Miss Caldwell?"

She opened and closed her mouth a few times. "I hadn't considered that, sir."

Adam pursed his lips. She seemed genuinely upset, as though he'd just taken away something that meant a great deal to her. He knew that as her employer, he needed to be firm, but he couldn't bring himself to be harsh. He wasn't that sort of man, and he couldn't imagine anyone being unkind to a woman like this. "You may ride my horse to and from your house, Miss Caldwell, but you are expected to be here when we need you. You're not to leave during mealtimes or when we're preparing the rooms for new guests. You're to be punctual, attend every staff meeting, and fulfill all your duties with exactness. In addition, you are to stay an hour later each night to make up for the time lost. Is that acceptable?"

She took a sharp breath, and he saw her shoulders relax. "It's more than acceptable, Mr. Brody. I am so grateful for your understanding, and for the loan of your horse. It's more than I'd hoped for."

"I can't say I do understand. All I know is that you're my only maid thus far, and until I find someone to replace you, you're the best I have. I encourage you not to make me regret this." He was already regretting it. What sort of example was he setting? What sorts of exceptions would his other employees expect—should he ever get any other employees?

Caroline entered then, carrying some boxes. Adam took them from her and thrust them into Miss Caldwell's arms. "Start emptying the cupboards, and lay everything out in the yard. Don't bother to separate the trash from the treasures—we'll do that once we have a clean place to put what we decide to keep."

Miss Caldwell nodded a few times and got to work. Adam took Caroline by the elbow and led her into the parlor, where he told her about the odd arrangement he'd just made.

Caroline looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. "You agreed to this?"

"I did."

She put her hands on her hips. "Have you lost your senses? She hasn't even worked here five minutes, and already she's expecting concessions? Adam, you're a kind man, but this is no way to run a business, and certainly no way to start a relationship with a new employee. Soon she'll be requesting days off to go hat shopping and berry picking and who knows what else."

Adam smiled, hearing her verbalize every thought he'd just had. However, he couldn't ignore the need he'd seen on her face. This was important to Miss Caldwell, and it wasn't in him to deliberately refuse help to someone who had come to him for it. "I'll take care," he said at last. "I promise, Aunt Caroline, I will be an effective employer."

She exhaled sharply. "I have the strongest desire to grab you by your necktie and shake some sense into you. The only thing keeping me from it is the knowledge that it would do me no good whatsoever—and that you're not wearing your necktie right now."

Adam grinned. "But you still love me, don't you, Auntie?"

She gave his shoulder a swat. "So help me, yes, I do. But mind yourself, Adam. We don't know this girl. We only have her word that she has an invalid mother—she could be pulling the wool over your eyes and you'll end up with nothing but an itchy face."

"I promise," Adam said again. He walked out into the kitchen to see what progress had been made. Just in those few minutes, Miss Caldwell had already emptied five cupboards and was working on her sixth.

"I've found quite a collection of dishes, but sadly, most of them are broken, Mr. Brody," she said over her shoulder. "It appears that someone came into the house, destroyed many of the kitchen things, and left them here to be found."

"That's exactly what happened, and we're the unfortunate souls who must deal with it." Adam couldn't help but notice how fetching Miss Caldwell looked. She had climbed on one of the few remaining chairs so as to reach the higher shelves, like a little girl reaching for a cookie jar. He couldn't believe anything negative of her. However, he knew his aunt was right—once again. Those who sought to deceive were generally quite good at it.

Miss Caldwell lifted down the last stack of plates from that cupboard and set them on the counter, then gathered her skirts and hopped down from the chair. She had a pleasing smudge of dust on one cheek. Adam was quite tempted to wipe it off, but then he scolded himself. If he wasn't careful, the young ladies in his employ would be in more danger from him than they would be from rambunctious guests.

"Mr. Brody, I wasn't eavesdropping, and I didn't hear any of the actual words that were spoken, but I did notice that your aunt was rather displeased with me. I'm sorry if I've put you in a bind." She twisted her hands nervously, and Adam couldn't help but wonder if it hurt. Was skin actually made to be pulled in so many different directions?

He pulled his gaze away from her hands and brought it up to her face. "Her concern will always be for my wellbeing."

"As it should be. She seems like a very compassionate woman."

Adam nodded. "She truly is a blessing to me. She cautioned me not to be so inclined to generosity. I'm sometimes too softhearted for my own good."

"I sensed that about you, but I promise, Mr. Brody, I have no intention of taking advantage of it."

Adam studied her for a moment, from the strands of hair that had escaped her once-neat bun to the slight quiver of her chin. If she was playing him for a fool, she certainly was convincing, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it. He'd rather give her the benefit of the doubt than to spend every moment on edge, wondering what scheme she would attempt next.

"Let's strike a bargain, you and I—another bargain. We'll not bring this up again, and we'll simply get to work and make ourselves useful."

Miss Caldwell smiled. "That sounds like a very good bargain, sir." She turned with a swirl of skirts, picked up the box, and carried it out to the yard.

As soon as she was off the porch, Caroline walked into the kitchen. "She may not have been eavesdropping, but I was."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "And what do you think?"

"Well, for starters, the two of you certainly had a good time praising me. I'm liable to become conceited."

Adam let out a puff of air. "What do you think about _her_ , Aunt Caroline?"

Caroline walked over to the window and watched Miss Caldwell take the last few pieces of broken china out of the box she carried. "I'll honor your bargain and not say a word about this arrangement you've cooked up. But I will be watching her, Adam."

He leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

# Chapter Six

Elizabeth stood in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning on her mop, exhaustion overcoming every muscle. They had pulled all the loose items out of the kitchen, piled them in the yard, and then scrubbed the entire room from top to bottom. She had expected Mr. Brody's aunt to help, and she did, but she had never expected Mr. Brody himself to lend a hand. Yet there he had been, on his knees, scrubbing the floor. Elizabeth couldn't think of a time in her entire life when she'd seen a man scrub the floor. There was something remarkably appealing about it.

She leaned the mop against the wall of the kitchen and went out into the yard to find Mr. Brody. He had taken upon himself the arduous task of separating the useable items from the garbage, making two piles now instead of just one.

"Mr. Brody, I'd like to go home and check on my mother. Is now a good time?"

He looked up at the sky, then down at her. "I didn't realize it had become so late. It's time for a break anyway. Yes, go ahead." Then, seemingly as an afterthought, "I promised you the loan of my horse. Come with me."

He led her around the hotel and to a stable which appeared in slightly better condition than the house itself. "This is Cleophas," he said, walking up to a brown stallion tied in the corner. "He's a good lad, but a bit spirited. I trust you know how to ride a horse."

Elizabeth grinned. "I do indeed, Mr. Brody." She'd spent her happiest summers riding horses out on her cousin's farm.

"And can you saddle one as well?"

She gave him a look that she was sure bordered on reproach, even though that wasn't her intention. "If you'd like me to demonstrate, I'd be more than happy to show you."

He held up both hands in a sweeping gesture. "I won't stand in your way."

She stepped forward, pulled the saddle blanket off the rail nearest Cleophas, and then reached for the saddle. It was heavier than most, but she hefted it onto the animal's back without a word of complaint. She fastened the girth strap and then moved on to the other pieces of tack. Her fingers worked quickly, and she showed no hesitation between each step of the process. When she finished, she turned to him, a look of triumph on her face.

"What do you think, Mr. Brody? Do I pass inspection?"

Adam brought his hands together in three short claps. "Very good indeed, Miss Caldwell. Now, off you go. We have a lot to do the remainder of the day."

He reached out to give her a hand up, but Elizabeth ignored it. She tucked up her skirts, climbed up, and took her seat in the saddle. He looked utterly flabbergasted.

"You did that most admirably, Miss Caldwell," he said.

"Thank you. I'll be back shortly." She galloped out of the stable and across the yard as though the horse was a part of her very being.

"Well, I'll be," she heard him say behind her as he watched her go. She grinned. Sometimes, it was nice to catch someone by surprise.

* * *

Elizabeth snuggled Rose close for one last minute before handing her back to Agatha. "So, she's done well today, then?"

Agatha gave a patient smile. "She's been a perfect lamb. Did you expect anything else?"

"No. I was just worried, that's all."

"You've got a mother's heart, Elizabeth. You and your child will be just fine."

"I hope so." Elizabeth took a deep breath. "Back to work I go. The kitchen is done, and now we're on to other things. I daresay the old Garrison mansion will make a very fine new Brody Hotel."

"We'll be fine, dear. Have a good afternoon, and don't worry about us."

Elizabeth mounted Cleophas in the yard and rode back to the hotel, drying tears that had formed. How she wished she didn't need to be away from her daughter. Despite his faults, her husband had kept food on the table, something she'd taken for granted. Now she realized what a tremendous blessing that was, and how difficult the basic necessities could be to come by. She feared that Rose had become too used to being fed smaller meals. She knew she wasn't producing as much milk as she should—hopefully, eating at the hotel would help with that.

When she arrived back at the hotel, she found Mr. Brody and Miss Hampton sitting on a blanket out front, eating sandwiches. She led Cleophas to the stable and got him properly situated, then rounded the corner of the building to receive her next assignment.

"Join us," Mr. Brody said, motioning toward the blanket. "Our landlady packed us this very pleasant lunch."

Elizabeth pressed her lips together in an effort to keep from making a fool of herself. Those sandwiches looked delicious—she hadn't eaten anything so fancy in a long time, and she was starving. Breakfast had been nothing but a cup of coffee hours ago. She took a seat, spreading her skirts modestly, then accepted the offered food. Her first bite of soft bread nearly melted in her mouth.

Miss Hampton passed over a small plate of sliced fruit and another of cookies. Elizabeth felt decadent, almost as if she were on a church picnic. She glanced over and caught Mr. Brody gazing at her, but he quickly averted his eyes.

She wasn't sure what to make of Mr. Brody. His moods seemed so variable, he couldn't be predicted. She found him kind, but in other moments, he was stern. She supposed this type of combination was best in a businessman, but she would have liked to know what to expect from him. Perhaps the longer they worked together, the more she'd come to understand his moods. One thing she sensed innately, however—while he might be changeable, he would never be like her husband. She simply could not picture him striking a woman in anger. Then she wondered why she was even comparing the two.

They had just finished their meal and Miss Hampton was placing the last dish in the basket when a young lady, satchel in hand, approached the hotel. "Good afternoon!" she called out gaily. "Please, don't let me interrupt."

Mr. Brody stood and nodded. "Hello. I'm Adam Brody."

"And I'm Harriet Martin. You're just the man I came to see, Mr. Brody." She stuck out a frank hand, and Mr. Brody took it after a moment's hesitation. Elizabeth was taken aback at the girl's openness, but she also had to admit that she found it refreshing. "I do hope you're still looking for help. I've come quite a distance, and I'm not prepared to go back."

The girl had a faint accent, and Elizabeth wondered where she was from. Mr. Brody must have wondered the same thing, for he asked, "How far have you come, Miss Martin?"

"All the way from Atlanta, Georgia. I admit, however, that I didn't see your advertisement until I reached Kansas, so I can't say that I came here entirely on your account." She laughed merrily, and Mr. Brody joined in. She had beautiful auburn hair and green eyes, and Elizabeth instantly felt plain.

"What did bring you here, then?" Mr. Brody asked, leaning on the fence post nearest him.

Miss Martin set her bag down at her feet. "That's a difficult question to answer. We'll just say that the South was a dangerous place a decade ago, and it's still a dangerous place today, but for different reasons."

He nodded. "That's a fair explanation. Do you have any job skills?"

"Mr. Brody, I'll be completely honest with you. I've never had a job a day in my life, but I'm ready to learn anything you can teach me."

Mr. Brody flicked his eyes over at Miss Hampton. She looked anything but pleased. Elizabeth suddenly felt as though she didn't belong in this conversation and should leave, but at the same time, it was utterly fascinating, and she'd stay as long as she was allowed. She took a step back, hoping she wouldn't be noticed.

"Miss Martin, we would prefer to hire young ladies with more experience, but I'll match you truth for truth. We need help, and we need it badly. I'll hire you on a trial basis, and my aunt, Miss Hampton, will teach you what you need to know."

Miss Martin clasped her hands together, reminding Elizabeth of a schoolgirl. "Oh, I'd be delighted to give it a try, Mr. Brody. Thank you."

He turned to Miss Hampton. "Aunt Caroline, how close are the staff rooms to being ready? Miss Martin will need a place to stay."

Miss Hampton gave him an incredulous look. "Adam, we've been working on the first floor. I've only taken down the draperies in the guest rooms—that's all, as of yet, and nothing in the staff quarters."

Adam nodded, then looked around. His eyes landed on Elizabeth. "Ah, there you are, Miss Caldwell. Would you please take Miss Martin upstairs and show her the ladies' dormitory, and then the two of you can clean it up as your next task?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Certainly." She paused, then flicked her eyes to Miss Hampton. "Where is the ladies' dormitory?"

Miss Hampton suppressed a smile. "I'll show you the way. At some point, we'll need to conduct a grand tour and get everyone acquainted with the property."

Miss Martin picked up her satchel and followed Elizabeth and Miss Hampton into the hotel. "This will be a lovely place," she exclaimed as they entered the main lobby.

"I'm glad you can see it. I'm afraid my eye stops on the dust and grime," Miss Hampton said as she guided them over to the staircase.

"Grime can't stop something from being beautiful. It just covers it up," Miss Martin replied.

They climbed the stairs to the second floor, then took a smaller staircase to an attic. The room was very large, running the length of the entire building, and while the ceiling was sloped, it left room for them to stand easily.

"This area will be the quarters for the female employees," Miss Hampton explained. "We'll bring in cots and freshen it up with a coat of paint, but first, it must be swept and mopped."

"Oh, I'm sure I can do that," Miss Martin exclaimed. "I mean, if someone will show me how. I know it's terrible—I'm eighteen and don't even know how to mop—but I'm willing to learn."

Miss Hampton nodded. "Very well. I'll leave Miss Caldwell here to assist you."

Elizabeth waited until she heard Miss Hampton's footsteps recede down the hall, then turned to Miss Martin. "Please, call me Elizabeth. We're going to be working closely together, and I'd like us to be friends."

Miss Martin stepped forward and offered Elizabeth the same kind of eager handshake she'd given Mr. Brody. "And you must call me Harriet. Tell me, is Miss Hampton always so . . . austere?"

"I just met her yesterday, so I'm afraid I can't tell you. I do believe she has a sense of humor, though. I've seen her hold back a smile a few times, mostly at Mr. Brody's expense."

Harriet threw back her head and laughed. "Are all of you so serious? Gracious, with all these solemn faces, I feel like I've walked into a funeral parlor."

Elizabeth wasn't quite sure how to respond. She supposed they all _were_ rather serious, but that was just her nature, and Mr. Brody and Miss Hampton were quite concerned over getting the hotel ready on time. "Perhaps you can liven us up a bit," she suggested.

"I'll certainly do my best." Harriet removed her hat and draped it over the banister, then reached in her bag and pulled out an apron. "I say there's no time like the present. Let's get to work, shall we, and you can give me pointers on how to use the broom and mop."

Harriet chattered merrily while she worked, asking questions about Topeka and Kansas and the West and Indians and all sorts of things that Elizabeth knew nothing about. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice Elizabeth's short answers, but moved on to the next observation or question. The room was swept and mopped in record time, and Elizabeth was surprised to see how quickly the task had been accomplished. But then, work always went more quickly with friends.

"And now we're ready for the whitewash, right?" Harriet said, wiping her forehead on her sleeve. "I'm quite sure that housework was never meant to be done while wearing petticoats."

Elizabeth was startled. "What _should_ we be wearing?" she asked.

"I don't know. I think a pair of trousers would be a marvelous idea, though." Harriet gave her brow another swipe, then turned and caught Elizabeth's expression. "I've scandalized you, haven't I? I'm sorry. I just do that sometimes."

"No, no, I'm not scandalized," Elizabeth protested, even though she was. "I've never thought of wearing trousers before, that's all. I'd feel rather indecent."

"Why? You'd still be covered from stem to stern, and you'd be free from these yards and yards of fabric." Harriet grabbed her skirts and shook them, and dust flew up in the air. "See? They're nothing but dirt catchers. We'd actually be doing mankind a service if we stopped wearing them. Think how much cleaner the world would be."

Elizabeth had no reply, so she gave none.

"Now, before we see about the whitewash, tell me something," Harriet said, leaning in. "Where's Mrs. Brody?"

"I don't believe there is one. I've never heard her mentioned, if there is."

"That's rather fascinating. Rather fascinating indeed." Harriet tapped her chin with her finger, then caught Elizabeth's eye again. "What now? Surely you can't tell me that you haven't noticed what a handsome man Mr. Brody is."

Elizabeth's cheeks flamed. She had noticed. Yes, indeed, she _had_ noticed, and she had no right to. She'd only been a widow for a short time, she'd met him only the day before, and he was her employer. She shouldn't be noticing anything about him at all. But the way his hair curled when it was damp with sweat, the little crease in the corner of his mouth when he smiled, the twinkle in his eye—those things were hard to ignore. "He is pleasant-looking," she said at last.

Harriet put her hands on her hips. "That's probably the most polite answer I've ever heard in my life. Come on, Elizabeth—doesn't he make your heart go pitty-pat even the littlest bit? I think a woman would have to be dead not to be affected by him."

Elizabeth gave in. "All right, yes, I do think he's handsome," she admitted.

"Good girl." Harriet grinned. "Now let's go see about that whitewash."

# Chapter Seven

Adam arched his back and stretched, trying to work out the kinks in his muscles. He'd lost track of how many broken dishes and pieces of furniture he'd hauled out of the house and how many walls he'd scrubbed. At this rate, they would never be finished on time. Miss Martin had certainly done her fair share, as had Miss Caldwell. He paused a moment in his thoughts to consider those young ladies. They were as different as night and day, each with their own strengths and foibles, but he believed they would both work out well. He allowed himself to linger just for a moment on the memory of Miss Caldwell's eyes, and then he forced himself back to the matter at hand. It was time to follow Miss Caldwell's advice and place his advertisements in newspapers back east.

He washed up in the basin in the corner of his room. It was rather ridiculous for a man to own his own hotel and yet to be staying in a small boarding house. It was even more ridiculous that while they had finished preparing the ladies' dormitory down to beds and blankets, Miss Martin was staying here at Mrs. Dempsey's with them because it wasn't safe for her to be at the hotel by herself. Adam made the decision that the next day's task would be to finish up the rest of the staff rooms. He and Aunt Caroline needed to be on site to oversee the hotel at all hours, and Miss Martin needed companionship and protection at night.

He wiped the dripping water from his face with a towel, resolving that the next night, he'd take a full bath. A man couldn't work so hard and expect a dainty pitcher and a tiny washcloth to do a proper job of refreshing him. He changed into his bedclothes and sat on the edge of his mattress, ready to go through his nightly ritual.

The carved wooden box fit easily in the palm of his hand. He cradled it for a moment, feeling the silkiness of the varnished wood that had become even more polished as he stroked it. He traced the hummingbird design on top with his index finger, then inhaled and slid off the top.

Inside lay a cameo brooch, edged with gold filigree. He picked it up and held it to the light of his kerosene lamp, remembering the last time he'd seen Vivian wear it. He had taken her to a dance, picked her up in his buggy and driven her there under stars so bright, they seemed to make the entire sky glow. She'd worn her peach-colored dress, and this cameo was pinned to her neckline. Her golden curls had been brought up into a waterfall that cascaded down the back of her head. They were still a quarter mile away from reaching the party when he brought the horses to a standstill on the side of the road and scooped her into his arms. Her lips had been soft and inviting, and he was breathless before he finally let her go. He hadn't said anything, but just grinned, picked up the reins, and urged the horses onward.

Adam blew out a puff of air and returned the pin to its box, then hid the box under his mattress. Each night, the pain of her loss took on a new shape, a new dimension. Lately, it had become a sort of good-bye rather than keeping her memory alive, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. Not sure at all.

* * *

"There must be an explanation, I'm sure." Miss Martin stood in the center of the dining room, her hands on her hips. Adam turned from where he'd been hanging a painting on the wall, a spare nail still in his mouth. He took it out, put it in his pocket, and turned to face her.

"I'm sorry, Miss Martin. What's the matter?"

"The matter, Mr. Brody, is that I went outside to fetch another bucket of water, and there was this . . . _man_ . . . outside. He told me you hired him this morning."

"That's right, I did. His name is Tom White, and he'll be our porter, carpenter, handyman, blacksmith, and whatever else we might need."

Miss Martin pressed her lips together as though there was something more she wanted to say, but she didn't dare.

"Is something wrong, Miss Martin?"

"It's just . . . well, he's . . ."

"Perhaps I can answer that question for you," came a slow drawl from the back of the room. Tom leaned against the doorway, one thumb hooked in his overalls strap. "I most likely offended the young lady."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "How did you go about that?"

"I reckon it was my mere existence that done it."

Adam bit back a sharp retort of impatience. "Could you please tell me what happened?"

"I was standing at the pump, getting more water, like I said, and this person came up behind me and . . . surprised me." Miss Martin's cheeks colored.

"Truth be told, from behind, she looks exactly like Beulah May Evans, my sweetheart from back home, and I thought she _was_ Beulah May, so I decided to say hello with a proper welcome."

"And just what was that proper welcome?" Adam asked. Time was of the essence, and if he didn't start getting some straight answers soon, he just might take the hammer in his hand and threaten them with it. He wouldn't do any damage, but he did not have the patience for this.

"He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my cheek," Miss Martin said.

Adam forced himself not to smile. "Yes, I can see how that would alarm you."

"I figured out right away she wasn't Beulah May—that is, right after she whirled around and slapped my face—so I apologized," Tom said. "I don't see why we can't let bygones be bygones."

"Mr. White, I don't know what sort of man you are because we only just met, and I don't know what sort of woman Beulah May is because I've never met her at all. However, I do know what kind of woman I am, and I'm not accustomed to being _welcomed_ at water pumps. In the future, I suggest that you properly identify the young ladies of your acquaintance before you lay your hands on complete strangers." Miss Martin's anger was barely held under the surface, her voice trembling with rage. "What do you have to say about this, Mr. Brody?"

Adam blinked. "I can't imagine what I could possibly add, Miss Martin. You seem to have handled it quite nicely."

"I trust that any further incidents will be dealt with immediately?" she pressed.

"Absolutely. But I get the feeling that Mr. White has learned his lesson. Isn't that so, Tom?"

Tom nodded. "Absolutely. No more water pump improprieties for me."

Adam turned back to Miss Martin. "I believe we've settled the matter, then."

She nodded. "Where is Miss Caldwell? I'd like to speak to her."

"No doubt to tell her what a rapscallion I am," Tom said.

"Tom, why don't you go finish that north fence?" Adam suggested in a tone that really wasn't a suggestion at all. The handyman went back outside, his boots heavy on the floor, and Adam returned his attention to Miss Martin. "Miss Caldwell went home for a few minutes to check on her elderly mother. She should be back soon."

"Good. I'm in need of discussing a rapscallion."

# Chapter Eight

Rose had been particularly sweet that afternoon, and Elizabeth had a difficult time handing her back to Agatha and returning to the hotel. How long would she need to work away from her child? She didn't see an end to it. The only thing that would save her from employment would be marriage, and she couldn't imagine that any man would want to take on a widow, her daughter, her mother, and the host of difficulties that would entail. It was best if she put that thought out of her mind and prepared to spend the next several years, at least, in service. It wasn't at all what she'd imagined for her life, but it was what she had, so she'd make the most of it.

She mounted Cleophas in the yard and trotted down the road. As she came to a bend, she saw two men from town standing there, one smoking a pipe and the other whittling something with his knife. She raised her chin and urged Cleophas to move faster, but even her increased speed didn't keep her from hearing their inappropriate words as she passed. She recognized them as the two men who had spoken to her outside the saloon the other day. With her cheeks flaming red, she rode up to the hotel, dismounted, and gasped when a young man with a thick shock of straw-colored hair reached out for the reins.

"My name's Tom White, ma'am, and I'm the new stablehand. I'd like to make it perfectly clear that I've looked you square in the eye and realize that you bear no resemblance whatsoever to Beulah May Evans."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "All right," she said slowly. "Thank you for that clarification."

"If you wouldn't mind passing that along to Miss Martin, I'd appreciate it."

What . . .? "Consider it done."

"I'll take your horse to the stable now, if you like."

"Yes, please. Thank you."

Elizabeth watched Tom lead Cleophas off to the stable, as perplexed as she'd ever been in her life.

"There you are," Harriet said, coming up behind her. "Did you meet Mr. White?"

"I did, and he asked me to tell you that he knows I'm not someone named Beulah May . . . something or another. What on earth happened while I was gone?"

"Nothing good, that's for certain." Harriet related the incident, concluding with, "And Mr. Brody seemed amused."

Elizabeth was a bit amused herself, but she wasn't about to say that to her friend. Harriet needed another female to confide in, not another person to laugh at her circumstances. "I'm sure Mr. Brody will keep an eye on things. He's a fair man, and I don't believe he's careless."

"I suppose you're right, but I'll have to watch myself around Mr. White. Who knows what fantastical idea will get in his head next."

"I'm sure it was an honest mistake and he'll be on his best behavior from now on. Come on—let's get back to work on those staff rooms. We made such good progress this morning, I'm sure we can finish them up this afternoon."

The room that had been designated for Miss Hampton was at the base of the stairs that led to the attic. Miss Hampton believed it was the perfect spot for her because she'd be near the female employees and could chaperone them, as well as be on hand should they need her. Elizabeth agreed that the placement and convenience of the room were ideal, but it seemed a rather small space for someone of Miss Hampton's importance. There was just enough room for a simple bed and dresser. Miss Hampton, however, felt it was perfectly fine, so they had gotten it ready for her.

"I believe we're ready for whitewash now," Elizabeth said, stepping back to survey their progress. "Chances are, we'll need several applications. These cigar smoke stains on the walls never did come off."

Harriet scraped at one with her fingernail. "It's a nasty habit. My future husband will not smoke cigars—if he does, I won't consent to marry him."

"What if he takes up the habit after you're married?" Elizabeth asked, knowing all too well about men who changed their character once they'd walked down the aisle.

"He'd better not. That's all I can say."

With their brushes in hand and buckets of whitewash at their feet, they proceeded to paint the walls. Elizabeth had been correct—the stains did show through the first application.

"Now to let it set up," Elizabeth said after they put on another coat. "This is the hardest part—the waiting. We can't do much else to the room in the meantime."

Mr. Brody's quarters were the next to be done. His room was located on the other side of the building, back behind the room he would use as his office. It, too, was small, but thankfully, it didn't need as much work as the others. It only required a good wiping down.

Mr. Brody was waiting for them in the office when they came out. "All done?" he asked.

"All done except for a bed," Elizabeth replied. "The only useable beds were placed in the attic and in Miss Hampton's room."

"I was worried about that." Mr. Brody exhaled, and Elizabeth realized what a toll this must be taking on him. "I do have some beds on order, and they should be arriving by train on Thursday. Dishes and serving utensils are also on their way, but things like drapes and sofas are still needed."

"What will we do about the sleeping arrangements?" Harriet asked. "Will we stay at Mrs. Dempsey's until the other beds arrive?"

"I imagine so. I can't allow you and my aunt to stay here alone at night, not so close to the train tracks, and certainly not with the kinds of men I've seen around here lately."

Elizabeth nearly opened her mouth to tell Mr. Brody about the men in the woods, but she stopped herself. If she said something, he might forbid her to go home during the day, and Rose needed her. It was probably all a coincidence, anyway—surely the men hadn't been waiting for her.

"I suppose we could move a bed downstairs and then back up, but truth be told, the thought wears me out. I'd rather give Mrs. Dempsey a few more nights' business than even consider all that rearranging." He shook his head. "Ladies, I believe that's all we'll do for today. Let's get some rest tonight and be back early in the morning."

Harriet and Elizabeth left the hotel at the same time. The boarding house was on Elizabeth's way home, so they planned to walk together. As they stepped across the yard, they saw Tom White in the upper loft of the stable, using a pitchfork to throw moldy straw to the ground below.

"I overheard Miss Hampton say he'd be making a room for himself up there," Harriet said. "I'm so glad he won't be sleeping under the hotel's roof. I wouldn't be able to close my eyes."

"I believe Tom White is a good sort," Elizabeth said. "He might even grow on you after a time."

"Oh, he'll grow on me, all right. Just like the mold on that straw." The two girls laughed as they headed up the street.

* * *

When Elizabeth arrived at the hotel the next morning, she saw two young ladies sitting on the porch, dressed neatly in travelling clothes. "Hello," she called out as she walked through the gate.

"Hello," one of them replied. "We're here to see Mr. Brody."

Elizabeth paused and looked up at the building. It seemed awfully still. "He hasn't arrived yet?"

"No one replied when we knocked," the other girl explained.

"How odd. He's usually the first one here." Elizabeth stepped to the door and tried the knob, but it was locked. "I'll join you, then." She sat down between them on the porch stairs. "I'm Elizabeth Caldwell, and I've worked here just a few days now."

"I'm Abigail Peterson, and this is my younger sister, Jeanette," said the girl on the right. She was a tall girl, perhaps a bit taller than was considered fashionable, but Elizabeth liked her immediately. Jeanette was just a slightly shorter version of her sister, wearing a blue dress in the same style as Abigail's pink. "We were on the train, picked up a newspaper at the station, and saw the advertisement. We decided that since we were already right here, we might as well inquire. Are all the positions filled?"

"No, I believe Mr. Brody would like to hire four more girls. We have such a lot of work to do before we can open for business." Elizabeth shifted a little to face Abigail directly, as she seemed to be the more talkative one. "You came in on the train, you say? What brings you to Topeka?"

"Our uncle lives on the Colorado border, and he invited us to come live with him when our parents died last month," Abigail said. "He's not a kind man, though, and we dreaded going. If we were able to stay here and earn our keep, I believe we'd be much happier than we would be with him."

"If Mr. Brody says no, though, we'll be on our way," Jeanette chimed in. "We don't mean to be a burden—that's why we'd like to work."

"I'm so sorry to hear about your parents," Elizabeth said. "They both passed at the same time?"

"Yes," Abigail said. "It was awful—the wagon they were riding in overturned and went down a steep gully." Her voice trembled a little, and Jeanette put her arms around her shoulders.

"Oh, that is awful." Elizabeth's heart went out to these girls, who couldn't be more than eighteen years old. She guessed Jeanette to be closer to sixteen.

Miss Hampton bustled up the walk just then, her skirts swishing against the fence as she passed through the gate. "I have the key," she announced, and the girls stood to let her through to the door. She unlocked it, then turned to face them. "I'm terribly sorry I'm late. Mr. Brody is meeting with the station manager about our shipment from New York, and he got held up. But he's given me instructions and his full confidence, so we'll be fine. Miss Martin will be here in a moment with some teacakes sent by our landlady, Mrs. Dempsey, so hopefully, we'll have a cheerful and productive morning after all, even with the late start." She turned her attention to the newcomers. "I'm Caroline Hampton. Welcome to the Brody Hotel. You are?"

Each sister introduced herself in turn, and Miss Hampton nodded. "I see no reason why we shouldn't give you a try. My nephew is open to taking on whatever new applicants might come along, and you certainly look like bright, respectful girls. Please come in, and I'll ask Miss Caldwell to show you around."

Abigail and Jeanette each picked up a satchel from the porch and followed Miss Hampton inside. Elizabeth led them to the attic first so they could store their things—thankfully, the whitewash in this area was dry and wouldn't rub off if they brushed against it. She tried to pay attention to their questions and answer appropriately, but all she could think about was Mr. Brody. It was odd, him not being here, and she missed him. The realization surprised her. They'd never even had a real conversation—she knew next to nothing about him. But knowing he wasn't there created an ache in her middle that she just wished would go away.

After the two sisters had changed into work dresses, she showed them Miss Hampton's quarters, the guest rooms, and then led them downstairs to the dining room, parlor, office, and kitchen.

"This is a very nice place," Jeanette said. "I can see that you've done quite a lot of work here already."

"We have, and there's still a bit to go. Miss Hampton and Mr. Brody are good employers, though, and they don't require more work than we can reasonably do." Elizabeth peeked into the hallway, wondering where Miss Hampton had gone. After a moment of searching, she found her outside in the yard, talking to Tom White.

"There's the old caretaker's cottage out back that still needs work, and I wonder about that smokehouse," Mr. White was saying as Elizabeth approached. "The fences are all repaired, and I've nearly finished with the stable."

"Excellent work, Mr. White," Miss Hampton told him.

"You'd best be calling me Tom," he said with a grin. "If we have a fire or some other such emergency, we won't have time for all this polite name business, and we might as well get used to it now. Oh, hello, Miss Caldwell."

Elizabeth smiled. She knew Harriet couldn't stand Tom, but she found him rather endearing, actually, sort of like a young colt with knobby knees. "Hello, Tom. You must call me Elizabeth. For fire safety reasons, of course."

He gave her a crooked grin, and she turned to Miss Hampton. "What would you like us to start on, Miss Hampton?" She would not be calling this lady "Caroline" any time soon.

"Did you do anything in the office yet?"

"No, but we did finish Mr. Brody's quarters behind it."

Miss Hampton nodded. "Please clean the office and then finish up in the dining room. I do believe we'll soon see the light at the end of the tunnel."

"I did have another question, if you don't mind." She twisted her hands, wondering if she even had a right to make the suggestion. "There are now three maids needing a place to stay, and it seems very inconvenient that no one can sleep in the hotel as of yet. Is there a way we could arrange things differently—I'd be more than happy to show Abigail and Jeanette the way to Mrs. Dempsey's, but it seems . . ." Her voice faltered. She wasn't in charge here. It wasn't her place to tell her employers how to conduct their business.

"I've been thinking along those same lines," Miss Hampton said. "Tom, would you be willing to bring your pallet into the hotel and sleep in Mr. Brody's quarters until his bed arrives? I'm sure he wouldn't mind sleeping on the floor under ordinary circumstances, but he had a back injury last year, and I don't think he should."

"Of course I don't mind," Tom said. "The floor's the only place for me—you put me on a bed with all that fluff and stuff, and I can't sleep a wink. I'll bring my Colt, too—a little extra protection."

"Excellent. Miss Martin and I will bring our things over from Mrs. Dempsey's this afternoon, and I'll tell my nephew of our new arrangement. Thank you for the suggestion, Miss Caldwell."

Elizabeth gave a slight bob and headed back toward the house, hearing Miss Hampton give Tom his orders for the day as well. She didn't envy him—he'd be watering and cutting the grass, and she knew that was back-breaking work. At least the lawn was still patchy and not thick and lush, like it was in the eastern states.

She and the two Peterson girls had just finished up in the office when Harriet came in, carrying a large picnic basket. "Mrs. Dempsey insisted on sending over an entire lunch, and she also insisted that I help her make it. I'm sorry I'm so late getting here, but I believe the food will make up for it." She set the basket down on the floor and then looked up, seeming to notice the sisters for the first time. "Oh, hello. Are you new?"

The girls introduced themselves, and Harriet welcomed them each with a cookie. Then she glanced out the window. "My, Miss Hampton seems to be feeling very serious this morning."

Elizabeth joined her at the window to see what she was talking about. Miss Hampton had cornered Mr. Brody just inside the front gate and was gesturing up toward the hotel, most likely telling him of the new sleeping arrangements. Elizabeth's heart raced when she saw him. He wore a suitcoat that morning, most likely to look nice for his meeting with the station manager, and she had always liked a man in a suitcoat. But really, she shouldn't be thinking this way. She should stop it immediately. Why wasn't she listening to herself?

"I wonder what they're talking about," Harriet mused.

"I might know," Elizabeth said, turning away from the window. She wasn't sure how to tell Harriet this, but decided it might be best coming from her than someone else. "You and Miss Hampton are going to move into your new quarters at the hotel tonight, along with Abigail and Jeanette. Won't it be nice to get settled in?"

Harriet fixed her with a look. "Your voice is a little too bright, Elizabeth. What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything," Elizabeth said, not meeting the other girl's eye. She glanced over at Abigail and Jeanette, who were watching curiously. She supposed they must be wondering what on earth was going on. "Tom will stay in Mr. Brody's room and keep an eye on things until Mr. Brody can move in." She spoke very quickly, hoping Harriet wouldn't actually hear what she'd said.

But Harriet's cheeks turned as red as her hair, and she inhaled sharply. "I don't think he's the proper protection for us," she said, her words measured. She glanced over at the Peterson sisters and then lowered her voice as she leaned toward Elizabeth. "He grabbed me by the water pump, if you'll recall."

"I do recall, and I can't help but wonder what the water pump has to do with it. If he'd grabbed you anywhere else, would you still be this upset?" Elizabeth whispered back.

Harriet's lips twitched into a smile. "Silly girl, the pump is not at fault here. It's entirely Mr. White's responsibility, and I think he should be kept as far away from the main building as possible. Yes, he apologized, and I do remember that, but the fact is, he's a little too eager with his arms and his lips, and I don't think we need that type of person around in the night."

Elizabeth heard steps on the porch, and then Mr. Brody and Miss Hampton entered.

"Oh, good. Lunch is here. Let's take a break and eat," Miss Hampton said.

Mr. Brody's eyes flicked around the room until they settled on Elizabeth. She could have been imagining it, but it seemed that his gaze became warmer when he looked at her. "How is your mother today, Miss Caldwell?"

"She's doing well, thank you, sir."

"Please give her my best." Too soon, he looked away, and spoke to the Peterson sisters.

"Well now, that's an interesting development," Harriet whispered in Elizabeth's ear.

"Hmm? What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked, her cheeks flaming.

"You know perfectly well what I mean. But before we discuss it, I need to find the right opportunity to speak with Miss Hampton about a certain handyman."

Harriet got her chance as they cleaned up lunch. "Miss Hampton, might I have a word?"

"Of course." She stepped off to the side with Harriet, who motioned frantically for Elizabeth to join them. Elizabeth hoped Miss Hampton wouldn't mention that this whole thing had been her idea—that would make things even more awkward.

Miss Hampton listened to Harriet's concerns without saying anything. She simply waited until the girl had run out of steam and then said, "Did you notice the location of my bedroom, Miss Martin?"

"I did. It's at the base of the stairs."

"It might also interest you to know that I sleep with a Colt in my nightstand drawer, and I'm a crack shot. Anyone desiring to get to you would have to go through me, and I guarantee you, I'd make it very difficult for them."

Harriet's mouth dropped open, and Elizabeth consciously fought to keep hers from doing the same.

Miss Hampton laughed. "No need to be so shocked, ladies. I've lived a very full and interesting life, and there's much more to me than you might believe."

"How did you learn to shoot?" Elizabeth asked, finding her voice at last.

Miss Hampton nodded in Mr. Brody's direction. "Adam gave me a pistol for Christmas a few years back and told me I should learn to use it. He said no woman should be without a means to defend herself. Now, Miss Martin, do you suppose we can put this behind us for one night? Mr. Brody's bedroom furniture should be here on tomorrow's train, and then we'll send Mr. White back out to the barn." The tone in her voice said that she found the whole conversation silly. Harriet nodded and went back to gathering up the lunch things.

Elizabeth's eyes strayed over to Mr. Brody again, as if they'd ever really left him since he walked into the hotel that day. He'd taken off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair, and now he stood in his shirtsleeves, a sandwich in one hand, talking to Tom about something or another. She would definitely stop paying so much attention to him—just as soon as she could figure out how.

"Miss Caldwell."

Elizabeth startled. Had Miss Hampton read her mind and figured out what she was thinking? "Yes?"

"How is your mother? I overheard Adam asking you, but I didn't catch your answer."

Elizabeth was relieved that was all Miss Hampton wanted. "She's been feeling a little tired of late, but overall, I believe she is better."

"There are some sandwiches leftover from lunch. I invite you to take them home to your mother, if you would. Otherwise, they'll go to waste."

Elizabeth doubted they would, but she was touched by the generosity. "I'm sure she'd appreciate that. Thank you." It was rare that she was able to bring home a surprise to her mother—she'd do it gladly. 

# Chapter Nine

Adam scowled as he read the letter that had been delivered to Mrs. Dempsey's that afternoon. It was dusk and he would soon be helping Caroline and Miss Martin carry their things over to the hotel, but he'd taken just a moment to read his mail, and now he was perturbed. He didn't like being perturbed.

"Aunt Caroline, did you run into Olivia Markham while you were shopping for me in New York?"

Caroline nodded. "I did. We talked about your exciting new venture."

Adam waved the letter, the paper crinkling in the air. "She's just written to ask if there's anything she can do to help. She said she noticed that you only ordered a minimum of linen napkins and wonders if we need more."

Caroline raised an eyebrow. "Odd that she wouldn't mention it to me while we were both right there, and I could have done something about it."

"I don't find it odd at all. I think she was hoping for something to write me about. She's always been interested in my inheritance."

Caroline tsked. "Isn't it possible that she's interested in _you_?"

"I rather doubt that. She never looked my way until word leaked out that I would be wealthy after Father's death." Adam looked at the letter again. "I wonder if she would have been so quick to write if she knew I'd put all the money into this place, with no guarantee of ever turning a profit."

"Tell me about the napkins," Caroline said, her voice becoming a bit more pointed. "What other grievous mistakes did I make while shopping?"

"She didn't mention any. She just said that if we discovered we needed anything else, we should be sure to let her know, and she'd be more than happy to see to it for us."

Caroline nodded. "I suppose that sounds reasonable. And I suppose I must be reasonable as well and admit that I've been making a list of things we still need."

"But we don't have to ask for Olivia's help with them, do we? You just said that you wish she'd mentioned the napkins to you at the time. Doesn't that just annoy you?" He purposely made his voice more dramatic.

Caroline laughed. "You'd love it if I gave you a reason to ignore her letter, wouldn't you?"

"The thought has crossed my mind." Adam put the letter back in the envelope and tossed it onto his bed. "Olivia Markham always has a plot brewing in that pretty little head of hers. She did everything she could think of to ruin my relationship with Vivian—not that I was ever able to prove it, but it was most definitely her. I don't trust this offer, and I can't help but wonder what she means by it."

"Let's get these things taken over to the hotel, and we'll discuss it tomorrow," Caroline said. "It will be full dark soon, and I'd rather not be traipsing up and down the street by moonlight."

Adam took the handles of one bag of his aunt's and another of Miss Martin's and carried them down the stairs. "Off we go, then," he said, and they made their way toward his new establishment.

* * *

"And here comes the train." Adam craned his neck to see as the steam locomotive chugged into the station and let out a long hiss. He could hardly wait to unpack their order and begin putting the hotel to rights. With all the shredded and faded linens and bedding they'd had to discard, the hotel looked virtually naked, and he looked forward to dressing it up again.

Tom stood at his elbow, ready to carry whatever was needed, and Caroline was with them as well. Adam nodded to the conductor as the man stepped off the train, and then he strode across the platform to shake his hand.

"I'm Adam Brody. I understand you have a rather large shipment for me today."

"I do indeed, sir. My name is Wallace Dupree, and I've been keeping an eye on your packages since they were loaded on. Let me show you where they are." Mr. Dupree's eyes flicked to Caroline as he spoke, but he brought his attention right back to Adam. His ears turned a shade of pink which reached the very tips. Curious, Adam thought.

The conductor led them a few cars down the length of the train and opened the sliding door on a cargo car. "Here you go," he said. "Nearly this whole thing belongs to you."

Adam nodded in satisfaction when his gaze landed on the bedframes. One of those was his, and he'd move into the hotel that very day and put Miss Martin's fears to rest. Nothing had happened the night before, but according to Caroline, Miss Martin felt that was entirely thanks to Mr. Samuel Colt's invention.

"I've got a list here of everything," Mr. Dupree said, handing it over. Adam scanned down the left-hand column, taking note of the linens, the carpeting, the dishes, and remembering that he'd neglected to order new drapes. Caroline had taken him to task for that, and now he felt foolish. These were the sorts of things that were liable to happen when he didn't consult with his aunt before acting. How could she have known from New York the condition of the drapes in Kansas? She'd been relying entirely on him to know what to choose.

"This all looks good," Adam told the conductor. "I'll be placing another order shortly, but it won't be this large."

Mr. Dupree chuckled. "I'm glad to hear that."

Tom brought the wagon around, and the men began making the transfer of goods. Caroline stood off to the side, her parasol blocking the harsh rays of the morning sun. Adam thought she made a rather fetching picture up against the wood of the train station, and then noticed that he wasn't the only one who thought so. Mr. Dupree's eyes kept wandering over there, even when his task was clearly right in front of them. Adam hid a smile. He wouldn't mind seeing his aunt attract a gentleman caller.

"All right, let's get this over to the hotel," Adam called out after they'd moved the last bedframe. Each one made of brass, each one designed to attract a tired traveler . . . they'd better make a go of this hotel or he would be left with an entire wagonload of expensive bedding as his only legacy.

* * *

Adam scooted his bedframe over one inch and then stood back, nodding in satisfaction. That would do nicely. With the small dresser in the corner and the washbasin next to it, he had everything he needed. He'd once dreamed of having a larger bedroom to share with his bride, one with two big windows covered in lace curtains and a large wardrobe in the corner to hold all her dresses—Vivian had many dresses, and it would be his privilege to buy her more. With her passing, that dream had also vanished, and this quiet corner would suit him well.

"Let me make up your bed," Caroline said, standing in the doorway with her arms loaded with linens.

"I can do it." He took her bundle from her and smiled when he saw the shocked look on her face. "I do know how to make a bed, Aunt Caroline."

"I supposed that you would—my sister taught you well. It's just a nice change." She leaned against the doorframe and watched with a bemused smile while he flipped out the sheets and tucked them in. "I'm not ready to hire you on as a chambermaid, but you're doing a respectable job."

"I would be a terrible chambermaid. I don't have the patience for it." Adam spread the blanket over the top, fluffed the pillow and placed it near the headboard, and stood back. "There. I'm officially on the premises, and we can tell Miss Martin that Tom will be moving back out to his loft."

"I'm sure she'll be very pleased to hear that." Caroline nodded. "Good night, Adam."

"Good night."

He waited until he heard the click of his bedroom door before he pulled off his clothes and washed up. After dressing for bed, he pulled out his small wooden box and stared at it. Although he had opened it every night since Vivian's death, tonight he didn't feel inclined to do so. Instead, he placed it in his top drawer, climbed under his blanket, and fell fast into a dreamless sleep. It was a little early yet, but he was worn to his very bones.

# Chapter Ten

"The last bed in the last room is now made up," Elizabeth reported to Miss Hampton that evening. She and the three other girls had been busy all day long, fluffing and plumping mattresses and stretching sheets, making up the beds as fast as Tom and Mr. Brody assembled the frames. The rooms were nearly done—all that remained were the drapes, and while they'd be a nice finishing touch, their absence wouldn't keep the hotel from opening. Each window bore a light sheer, which would give privacy in the meantime.

"I'm very glad to hear that." Miss Hampton untied her apron strings and wadded the fabric into a ball. "It's certainly been a long day. I don't even want to think about unpacking the kitchen crates tomorrow, but it's a nice weight off my shoulders that the rooms are so close to being ready. We'll be able to open earlier than my nephew hoped."

"Oh, that will be nice," Elizabeth said. It was a testament to how hard she and the others had worked.

"Let's all get a good night's sleep and start fresh tomorrow. Good night, Miss Caldwell. Please take home some of the tea in the pantry to your mother. It's in a small bag to the right of the stove."

"Thank you, Miss Hampton. I believe she'd enjoy that. Good night."

Elizabeth walked home with a light heart. She was more tired than she'd ever been in her life, but she felt like she was contributing to something important, and that alone cheered her when she didn't want to leave her most important thing in the world—Rose.

It wasn't even dusk yet, so she felt no hesitancy about going past the small forest along the road. But when she reached the halfway mark, she heard voices behind her.

"Well, there she goes, walking along all pert."

"You know she won't even give you the time of day," said a second voice.

"It's true that she might need a little convincing, but that's my specialty," said the first.

It was them again—she didn't know why she bothered to be surprised. But this was the closest they'd ever come to hinting at a threat, and her heart rate sped up. She didn't glance over her shoulder or give any other sign that she'd heard them. Perhaps if she ignored them—no, that was hardly a plan. Their footsteps began to come faster, closing the gap.

She was about to break into a run to try to reach the cabin before they caught up to her when the most welcome sound entered her ears. A wagon and horses clip-clopped along the road—surely these men wouldn't attempt anything in front of witnesses. She kept walking, her pace nearly more of a trot. The wagon went just slowly enough that she reached her front stoop before it was out of sight. She didn't know if guardian angels drove wagons, but she wouldn't be surprised.

After she closed the door behind her, she bolted it, put a chair under the knob, and scooped up her baby, holding her close. She didn't lay Rose down in her cradle that night, but instead, slept in the rocking chair with her child asleep on her chest, needing the warmth and the comfort. Agatha didn't question her at all. That was just as well. She couldn't tell her mother what had happened.

* * *

"And six dozen linen napkins," Caroline said, and Adam added them to the list.

"I believe you're trying to spend my entire inheritance within the first three weeks," he said good-naturedly.

"This was entirely your idea, you know. You could be living a life of utter luxury, smoking cigars and reading novels in your parlor."

"Where would be the fun in that?" Adam glanced over the sheet of paper in front of him, hoping that they would now have everything to run the hotel properly. He disliked the idea of asking Olivia Markham for help, but truth be told, it was needed. He would much rather ask her to choose the goods for him than to trust that the shopkeeper would know what he would like. "I'll send this telegram off right away, and with luck, we'll have our goods soon. Now, you said we can open right away?"

Caroline reached out and arranged a flower in the vase that stood in the center of the table, making it stand straight when it wanted to droop. "I don't recall saying 'right away.' But yes, if we made do with the napkins we already have, and if the guests didn't mind the lack of proper drapes, I imagine we could open in three days' time."

Adam's mind began to spin. Could it really be possible? "Do you think we should?"

Caroline shrugged. "It's your choice. However, if it were my hotel, I'd hate to see it standing unused just for lack of some drapes."

Adam grinned. "I say let's do it. I'll arrange for the groceries to be delivered."

Caroline bobbed her head once. "And I'll make sure the girls are trained in how to wait tables." She paused. "This is rather exciting, don't you think?"

Adam rose from his desk, wrapped his arms around his aunt's waist, and twirled her around three times. "It's more than exciting! It's incredible!"

"Gracious," she said when he set her back down. Her cheeks were flushed, but her smile was wide. "All right, then. Let's get to work and make this incredible thing happen."

Adam whistled as he walked up the street to send his telegram. Three days hence, he really would be a businessman.

* * *

Mr. Brody had certainly appeared to be in a good mood when he left the hotel that afternoon. Elizabeth had been glancing out through the kitchen window when he left, and that glance had become something more of a stare. She brought herself back to reality and finished polishing the spoon she held just as Miss Hampton came into the kitchen.

"Would you like to take your break now, Miss Caldwell? It seems like a good time for it," Miss Hampton suggested.

"I'd like that very much. Thank you." Elizabeth hung up her apron, went outside to where Cleophas stood waiting, and mounted. "Thank you, Tom," she called out, and was on her way.

As she rode, Elizabeth's thoughts wandered to her mother. Agatha had coughed several times throughout the night, and Elizabeth wasn't sure if it was caused by the dust being kicked up on the road, or if her mother was getting sick again. Her lungs had been weakened the previous winter, and Elizabeth didn't know if she could withstand another illness.

When she arrived at the house, though, she found that everything was just fine.

"Please thank Miss Hampton for the tea she sent home with you last night," Agatha said. "I've been sipping on it all day, and I do believe it's helping."

"I'll be sure to let her know." Elizabeth bent and picked up Rose, who surely must have grown an inch since that morning. "Miss Hampton has a good heart, and she said she hoped you were well."

"Has Mr. Brody said anything to you about when you would receive your wages?" Agatha lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. "We're nearly out of flour."

Elizabeth smiled. "Yes, in fact. He said he would pay us all tomorrow, and he's including a bonus because we were able to get the hotel ready so much more quickly than he thought. He's very pleased."

"Oh, that will be nice."

"I think we should celebrate. How should we celebrate, Mother? Maybe with one of your delicious cakes?"

Agatha shook her head in disbelief. "It's been so long since I've made one—I'm sure I've forgotten how."

"I doubt that. I doubt that very much." Elizabeth lifted Rose to her shoulder and burped her. "I'll go to the store on my way home tomorrow, and I'll buy all the ingredients. And tea, and coffee, and everything else we need."

Agatha's eyes lit up. "That will be wonderful."

Content with the knowledge that her mother and daughter would be cared for, Elizabeth rocked back and forth, her eyes growing heavy. She was awfully tired—the long days at the hotel were wearing her out. She blinked and sat up straight when her mother said, "It's about time you headed back, isn't it?"

"You're right. I think I dozed off for a minute."

Elizabeth changed Rose and laid her in the cradle, then gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you tonight."

With just a few minutes to spare before she was supposed to be back at the hotel, Elizabeth mounted Cleophas and turned him toward the road. They started out at a nice canter, but suddenly, a gunshot rang out behind them, and Cleophas reared up on his hind legs. Elizabeth barely kept her seat, scrambling to grab the saddle horn and leaning as far forward as she could. Her hands trembled so badly, she almost couldn't maintain her grip.

As soon as all four of his hooves were on the ground again, Cleophas took off, galloping up the road. She bent down and grasped the reins close to the bit, pulling back and speaking in his ear, and he did slow down a little. But then another gunshot sounded, and he was off again.

Elizabeth had been willing to believe that the first shot was an accident or the work of a hunter who didn't realize how close he was to the road, but the second shot told her this was deliberate. Her heart pounded in her chest as she jounced along, completely at Cleophas's mercy—he wouldn't obey any of her commands.

As they reached the small stand of trees along the way, two men stepped out of the shadows and held up their arms as if to slow down the horse. Was it any wonder that these were the same two men who had been pestering her? Any fear she might have felt was chased away and replaced by nothing but pure anger. Cleophas didn't pay them any heed, but raced right past them, and she didn't try to stop him that time.

A short distance down the road, Cleophas threw a shoe, and came to a halt. Elizabeth slid out of the saddle, gathered up the reins, and began to lead him, glancing over her shoulder the whole way. Thankfully, the edge of town was in sight, and she had no idea where the men had gone.

"What on earth?" Tom met her in the yard as she led Cleophas through the back gate.

"He threw a shoe," she said, a little winded from walking so quickly.

"He threw a shoe?" Tom echoed. "I reshod him just two days ago."

"What's the matter?"

Elizabeth turned at the sound of Mr. Brody's voice. She immediately became aware of her dusty dress, her disheveled hair, her ragged breathing. She must look a sight.

"Miss Caldwell here says that Cleophas threw a shoe." Tom bent down, took the horse's foot in his hands, and inspected it. "Well, I'll be."

"What is it, Tom?" Mr. Brody bent over to see where Tom was pointing.

"I'd be willing to wager quite a lot of money that the horseshoe nails were loosened. I have a rather particular way of driving the nails, one I picked up from a fellow along the road, and if you look here, you'll see that the nails were wiggled back and forth a bit. I know full well what these hooves looked like two days ago, and I know full well that these shoes were not loose."

Mr. Brody straightened and met Elizabeth's eye. She looked at him for a moment, and then down at the ground. Her heart had calmed down from her fright, but now it pounded again because of the depth of intensity in his gaze.

"Miss Caldwell, why don't you get a drink of water and refresh yourself, and I'll see you in my office in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir," she said, bobbing a quick curtsy before scurrying off. Once out of his sight, she pulled out her handkerchief and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She had a terrible feeling about this, a sense that things were about to become much more dangerous.

# Chapter Eleven

Adam was incensed. Why would someone sabotage one of his animals? Did they wish to see his hotel fail? Or was this a more personal attack—one on Miss Caldwell herself? He ran his hand through his hair, clenching his fist and tugging on the hair at the roots. Why would anyone seek to harm her? She was such a kind, gentle soul—she couldn't have an enemy in the world.

At the soft rapping he heard on the door, he called out, "Come in," and took a seat behind his desk. He could keep pacing his room like a caged tiger, but he didn't imagine that would do any good.

Miss Caldwell entered, her hair now smoothed, her demeanor less ruffled. "I'm here," she said needlessly.

"So I see. Please sit down."

She glanced at the chair he indicated. "If you don't mind, I'd rather stay standing."

"But if you remain standing, then I shall have to stand, and quite frankly, I'm a bit worn out."

A faint smile brushed across her lips. "Very well, then." She took a seat, but didn't look at all more relaxed.

"I've been going over and over it in my mind," Adam said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk. "Why would someone loosen my horse's shoe? The answer isn't coming to me, and so I must turn to you, Miss Caldwell. I think you know more about this than you've said."

She studied her hands. He couldn't read the expression on her face at all.

"Miss Caldwell, we need to discuss this. I don't know why you're refusing to be more forthcoming—unless you loosened that shoe yourself."

At that, her eyes came up and met his, which was precisely what he'd hoped. "I did no such thing, Mr. Brody, I assure you. There are two men who loiter around town, mostly outside the saloon, who enjoy . . . speaking to me as I walk past. Lately, they've been waiting for me on the road to my house."

Adam's fists clenched. "Waiting for you? Do you mean to say that they know where you live?"

She nodded. "I suspected that they did, but today confirms it. I believe they crept into the yard while I was inside, and loosened the shoe for my ride back. Then they shot their guns—or rather, had someone else shoot their guns—behind me to make the horse run."

Adam pressed his lips together for a moment, trying to hold back his anger. "And when they speak to you, what sorts of things do they say?"

Miss Caldwell glanced at the window, and Adam wondered if she would answer. "They comment on my . . . person, sir," she said at length. "They asked if I had come to town to work at the saloon."

Adam couldn't contain himself any longer. He jumped up from his chair and began striding around the room. How could any man put a woman through such a thing? Accosting her on the street, questioning her moral fiber, making her fear for her safety, and then willfully trying to harm her? He stopped in the corner and took several deep breaths.

"And how are you now, Miss Caldwell?" he asked as mildly as he could.

"I'm all right, but shaken, sir."

Adam returned to his desk and noticed that she still looked frightened. He didn't suppose his angry reactions were helping any. "I'll speak to the marshal about this," he said. "You can tell me what these men look like?"

"Yes, I can. They're very familiar to me by now."

He blinked. "Just how long has this been going on?"

"Since the day I applied for work here, sir."

Adam pounded one fist on the desk. "That's been several days now. Why didn't you say anything before?"

She lifted one shoulder, her eyes helpless. "I didn't think it was your problem, sir."

Adam stood up again. "Don't you suppose that anything that troubles one of my employees is my problem?" He realized he was shouting and sat down again, trying to soften his tone. She certainly didn't deserve his anger. "And don't you suppose that as a decent man, I would hate to see a decent woman be treated in this way?"

She looked down at her hands again, and he noticed that she'd been ramrod straight this entire time. The poor girl was terrified—of what, he didn't know. He prayed she wasn't frightened of him—he wouldn't be able to bear that. He came around the desk and took one knee in front of her, placing his hand on the armrest of her chair.

"Miss Caldwell, let us be friends. I would like you to feel as though you can come to me with any problem you might have, and I'll do whatever I can to help you."

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. "Friends, sir?"

"Friends, Miss Caldwell. We will attack this situation together, and we shall conquer it. You must promise me, though, that you'll tell me everything from now on. I can't help you if I don't know you need help."

Her eyes flickered away from his, but then came back, clear and bright. "I would like that very much."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." He stood. "I'll go meet with the marshal now. Please write down a description of the two men on the paper I set on my desk." As she reached for the pen, he added, "And Tom will pick you up in the mornings and escort you to your home each day."

She came to her feet so quickly, she almost knocked over her chair. "Oh, no, sir. That's not needed. I'm sure I'll be fine."

Adam was confused at her reaction, but he couldn't allow her to have her way in this. "Miss Caldwell, your safety is the most important thing at this moment, and you cannot argue with me."

She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but then clamped her lips together again. She gave a quick nod and then said, "Thank you."

"Get to work on that description. I'll tell Miss Hampton what's going on—she must know, not only for your safety, but the safety of all the girls in the house." He paused. "There's no way for you to move into the hotel? Your house is hardly located in a safe place."

"I can't leave my mother, sir."

Adam thought about that for a moment. There was an old caretaker's cottage on the property, and he knew that Tom planned to fix it up. Perhaps . . . but he was moving too quickly. The first step would be to report the incident to the city marshal.

Miss Caldwell turned and handed him the sheet of paper. Her penmanship was neat and tight, evidence of good breeding and education. And yet she worked at a hotel—what circumstances had brought her here? Girls with her background usually married young and kept fine houses for their husbands. He was almost curious enough to ask her, but then his thoughts returned to the matter at hand.

"I'll return in a bit. In the meantime, see what tasks my aunt has for you. I'll speak to her on my way out." Clutching the paper, he strode down the hallway, willing his anger to subside once again. These men would not get away with this.

* * *

As Adam walked toward the city marshal's office, he kept alert for two men who matched the description Miss Caldwell had given him. He didn't see anyone, but that was just as well—if he had seen them, he might have taken off after them himself, and he knew that the best thing would be to let the marshal handle it.

He explained the situation to Colonel Gordon in detail and handed over Miss Caldwell's note.

"That's a very curious thing," Colonel Gordon said, nodding several times. "Very curious indeed."

"What do you mean?" Adam asked.

"I just had a Mr. Wyatt Earp in here not two days ago looking for some men who match this description. He's the deputy city marshal for the town of Wichita and has been traveling to surrounding towns, asking for help."

"Just what are these men wanted for?"

Colonel Gordon scratched his head. "One of 'em, not sure which one, shot and killed a saloon keeper in Wichita. There was some kind of dustup about a card game, and things got a little heated. They've also got a history of being unkind to the ladies."

Adam cursed under his breath. If these were the same men, Miss Caldwell might be in even more danger than he'd thought. "Do you know where Mr. Earp is now, what town he was visiting next? I'd like to talk this matter over with him."

Colonel Gordon shook his head. "I don't. We could send a telegram to his office in Wichita and tell him we might have more information for him, though. They'd know where to find him."

Adam nodded. "I suppose that's our best option at this point. Thank you, Colonel. In the meantime, will you help keep an eye out for these men? I now have five women under my care, and I don't want anything else to happen to a single one of them."

"Absolutely. I'll call my men together immediately and get them on the lookout."

Adam left the marshal's office feeling completely frustrated. Colonel Gordon had been nothing but agreeable, but Adam wanted answers, a solution. He looked up and down the street again and decided to pay the saloon a quick visit. If these men were to be found in public, that was probably the most likely place.

He pushed through the swinging doors and was immediately met by a thick cloud of cigar smoke. He'd never picked up that habit—cigars reminded him of a detested great-uncle, and he'd never been tempted to try one for himself. As he glanced around, he noticed a few card games in progress, but the establishment was relatively quiet. It would most likely become busier later in the day and into the night.

He walked up to the bar and rested his foot on the brass rail that ran around the bottom of it. "Afternoon. May I speak with the owner, please?"

The bartender looked up from the glass he was polishing. "Who should I tell him has had the pleasure of calling?"

Adam bit back a smile at the man's attempt to sound formal. "I'm Adam Brody. I bought the Garrison mansion down the street, and I'm converting it into a hotel."

"I do believe we've heard of you, Mr. Brody. I'll go get Tim Barton. He owns this place." The bartender set down the glass and flipped his towel over his shoulder before walking into a back room. Adam looked at the glass without picking it up. For all the polishing it was getting, it didn't look very clean.

A portly gentleman in a striped vest came from the back room and held out his hand toward Adam. "Mr. Brody, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard nothing but fine things about you since you arrived in town . . . when was that, again?"

"I've been in Topeka about six months, sir. The pleasure is all mine." Adam shook the offered hand, noting how fleshy it felt.

"I've been meaning to pay you a visit." Mr. Barton gestured toward a table near the bar, and Adam took a seat. Mr. Barton lowered himself into a chair just opposite him and unbuttoned his vest. "Tell me a little bit about your hotel."

"Our aim is to serve the travelers on the railroad. We'll have hot meals ready for them when the train pulls into the station, and if they need a place to spend the night, why, we'll have those ready for them as well. We realize we aren't the only hotel in town, but we hope to serve the railroad specifically, and the town too, if they have a need."

Mr. Barton nodded. "And . . . entertainment?"

Adam understood the concern. "We aren't in the entertainment industry, Mr. Barton. A hot meal and a clean bed are all we aim to provide. If any of our guests are in the mood for a card game or some other diversion, we'll send them down your way."

Mr. Barton nodded. "And likewise, I imagine I could send some of my customers up for a meal from time to time." He leaned back in his chair and wove his fingers together across his stomach. "What brings you by today, Mr. Brody? Can I offer you a drink? On the house, of course."

"No, thank you. I'm here on somewhat urgent business, not pleasure, I'm afraid. One of my female employees has been targeted by two men who have been hanging around town, most often near your saloon. One is tall and dark, with a drooping mustache, and wears a gun holster slung low around his hips. The other is shorter, also dark, with a fairly large nose. Both men wear shabby clothes, and their boots are nearly worn through the toes."

"That's quite a detailed description," Mr. Barton commented.

"My employee takes notice of things."

Mr. Barton looked thoughtful. "I think I might have seen those two men. I did spot a couple of fellows like that out front several times over the last week. I tend to pay more attention to the looks of the ladies, myself." He chortled. "I haven't seen the men today, though."

"Would you please let Colonel Gordon know if you do see them? They're wanted men—they killed someone in Wichita. In fact, it was a saloon keeper." Adam didn't know if this last bit of information would make Mr. Barton more or less likely to help him, but it couldn't hurt.

Mr. Barton laughed. "I'd best be on my toes, then. Yes, Mr. Brody, I'll be sure to let the colonel know. I'm not any more eager than the next man to see our town get overrun by outlaws."

Adam rose and shook Mr. Barton's hand again. "I appreciate it, and I'm glad we had a chance to meet. Maybe one of these days, when I have a little more time, I'll come back and have that drink."

"Any time. You're always welcome."

As Adam left the establishment, he caught sight of one of the saloon girls as she came downstairs from an upper level. She waggled her fingers at him, but he did nothing more than tip his hat and walk back out through the swinging doors. He couldn't help but wonder what had brought her to such a life—had she been orphaned? Left penniless by the death of a husband? He felt compassion for her, even though he had no desire to spend time with her.

Then his thoughts went to Elizabeth—er, Miss Caldwell, rather. How those men could even insinuate that she would ever take a job at the saloon? His anger boiled up inside him again, and he made a decision. He would visit every business along this street and make everyone aware of what had taken place. Miss Caldwell, and every other woman in town, deserved to feel safe.

# Chapter Twelve

Elizabeth sat on Jeanette's bed up in the ladies' dormitory, telling her story to her three enraptured friends.

"You must have been frightened out of your wits," Harriet said, grabbing Elizabeth's arm. "I probably would have fainted on the spot."

Elizabeth smiled. "No, I don't think so. You would have hopped off the horse, driven the nail back in by the sheer force of your will, and then blasted those men across the fields and into the nearest river."

"I don't know about that," Harriet protested.

"You've certainly got Tom White afraid of you," Abigail inserted, and everyone nodded.

Harriet pressed her lips together, trying to hide a smile, but Elizabeth could see it twitching at the corners of her mouth. "All right, perhaps I am a bit of a handful. But I still don't know how Elizabeth managed to be so brave."

Elizabeth shrugged. She didn't know how to answer that question—it had all happened so fast, and she hadn't given any thought whatsoever to what she should do. "I'd better go. Tom's going to give me a ride home, and I'm sure he's waiting."

"Just watch yourself with him," Harriet warned. "He just may be the biggest danger around this place."

"I'm positive I'll be just fine," Elizabeth said, telling everyone good night. She shook her head as she went down the stairs to the second floor. Harriet and Tom would have to make peace eventually or things would never run smoothly at this hotel.

* * *

Elizabeth slid off the back of Tom's horse, Ginny, and smiled up at Tom. "Thank you for the ride. I'm sorry for taking you away from your tasks."

Tom grinned. "You gave me the chance to get away from Miss Martin for a few minutes. I tell you, those eyes of hers are like daggers in my back. One little smooch on the cheek and she thinks I'm the devil himself. Anytime you need a ride, day or night, just let me know. And I'll be here early in the morning to fetch you as well."

Elizabeth rested her hand on the saddle horn. "I'm very grateful that you'd do this for me, Tom. Have a good evening, and I'll see you tomorrow."

He gave her a friendly nod and remained outside until she had bolted the door. Then he wheeled the horse and rode back the way he'd come. Elizabeth watched him go through the window, a smile on her face. Harriet had been very hard on him—that was to be sure. Maybe with a little more time, the whole incident would blow over. Then she chuckled. With Harriet's temper, it would take more than time.

"Was that a man I just saw riding away from the house?" Agatha asked.

Elizabeth sighed. She hated to tell her mother what had happened, but she knew that she couldn't keep it to herself. The safety of her family was her first priority. She turned, took Rose from her mother's arms, inhaled her baby's sweet scent, and then said, "Come over to the fire with me, Mother. I need to tell you something."

Agatha's face was awash with fear as Elizabeth told her about the loosened shoe and the men scaring the horse into a full run. "Mr. Brody arranged for Tom, our handyman, to escort me to and from the hotel every day. And he went to speak with the city marshal. He was still gone when I left, so I don't know the outcome, but I believe he has everything well in hand."

Agatha shook her head, clearly in disbelief. "I'm so glad you're all right," she murmured.

"I _am_ all right. Oh, and I brought you something." Elizabeth stood and fished in her large pocket, still holding Rose in her other arm. "Miss Hampton inquired after you again today, and she asked me to bring you this."

Agatha took the folded napkin and unwrapped the contents carefully. "Licorice sweets?"

"She says they're marvelous for a cough."

Agatha looked at the bundle almost reverently. "I haven't had a licorice in so long."

Elizabeth laughed. "It's about time then, don't you think?" She left her mother to enjoy her treat while she changed and fed the baby. The events of the day had certainly rattled her, but here, with her family, she felt safe. It also did her heart good to know that Tom would fetch her in the morning, and that Mr. Brody was also doing everything he could. Mr. Brody. She smiled, and with that very pleasant thought in her mind, she set about making dinner with the last of their flour.

* * *

When Elizabeth heard the whinny of a horse outside the next morning, she smiled. Tom hadn't been joking when he said he'd be by early. She gave Rose a quick kiss, grabbed her hat, and stepped out the door. But it wasn't Tom who was waiting for her—it was Mr. Brody, on Cleophas.

"Good morning, sir," she said as she crossed the yard, tying her hat ribbons under her chin. "I was expecting Tom."

"I had some other things for Tom to do this morning, and I decided I'd like this opportunity to speak with you. I hope you don't mind that I came myself."

"No, not at all." Her stomach was a mass of knots, and for a moment, she wondered if maybe she did mind after all.

Mr. Brody reached down, grasped her arm, and swung her up behind him in one fluid motion. "All settled?"

"Yes, nearly." She arranged her skirts more properly. "Now I am."

"Then let's be off." He spun Cleophas, and they cantered down the road. Elizabeth clutched Mr. Brody's waist, wishing she didn't have to hold him so tightly, but if she didn't, she would fall off.

"I hope you had a good night's sleep after yesterday's upset," Mr. Brody called over his shoulder.

"I did. Thank you."

"Where along this stretch did you hear the gunshots?"

"I'll show you when we get there."

She indicated where everything had taken place. Her hand trembled as she pointed, and she had to take several deep breaths to remain calm. Being here in this place again so soon after the fact was very difficult, but she had to move past this fear and these memories. This road was the only way into town—she couldn't avoid it.

Mr. Brody listened to everything she said and nodded, but he didn't reply until they arrived at the hotel. Then he threw the reins to Tom and turned to face her. "Miss Caldwell, you are excused from hotel duties this morning. I have another task for you."

"Oh? What is that, sir?"

"Come with me, please."

Elizabeth could barely keep up with his strides as he rounded the building. She finally picked up her skirts and trotted, feeling a bit ridiculous, but his legs were long and he moved quickly. He led her to a portion of the property she hadn't visited before. It was back behind the smokehouse and the caretaker's cottage, beyond a stand of apple trees. She imagined they were now on the very edge of the hotel's property, and she could see nothing in front of them but acres and acres of dirt.

"Miss Caldwell, I need to speak to you about a very serious matter," Mr. Brody said, coming to a stop at last. "As I promised, I went down to the marshal's office yesterday, and I spoke with Colonel Gordon. It appears that your two attackers are wanted men. In fact, a deputy from Wichita has been traveling around, looking for them."

"Wanted men? You mean, criminals?" Elizabeth had known they were dangerous, but she hadn't realized to what extent.

Mr. Brody held up a hand. "I should clarify—I'm not positive they're the same men, but I strongly suspect they are. I spent some time talking with the shopkeepers up and down Main Street, and they don't recall seeing those men in town until after the date when the wanted men disappeared. I've sent a telegram to the lawman from Wichita to ask for more information. Hopefully, his office will know where he is now and can relay my message. Perhaps he has a photograph or some other way we can identify them."

"That . . . would be a good idea." Elizabeth's mind whirled. "Just what are these men wanted for?"

Mr. Brody hesitated. "Murder."

"Murder?" She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of it all. She'd heard his words, but they didn't seem real. "I see."

"I believe you do see, which is why I've brought you out here. Your safety is of the utmost importance, Miss Caldwell, and I plan to do something about that right now." Mr. Brody slid his Colt from its holster and held it up. "Have you ever fired one of these?"

Elizabeth moistened her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. "No, sir, I never have."

"I'm going to teach you how, and this afternoon, we're going in to the general store and I'm going to purchase one for your use. You're to keep it with you at all times. I mean that—no matter where you are, even here at the hotel."

"All right," Elizabeth said after a long pause, even though she wanted to object. She had never even thought of firing a gun, let alone owning one herself, but as Mr. Brody spoke, she knew he was right. She couldn't be too careful, not after what had happened the day before. And if there were murderers in town, and they were interested in her . . . "Did you happen to see those two men while you were talking to the shopkeepers?"

"I didn't, and no one else had seen them today either. I think they made themselves scarce after you got away from them. I'm not at all confident that they've left town, though, so we need to be as careful as we possibly can."

"I agree." Elizabeth nodded once. "Tell me what to do."

Mr. Brody spent the next few minutes showing her how the Colt worked, how to load it, how to aim, and how to fire. This was obviously something that interested him, as he even knew the history of the gun and how the mechanics worked. She paid close attention to the instructions, but she was acutely aware of every movement he made, his every intake of breath. He'd spent the entire day before doing something on her behalf. Yes, he was angry because someone had tampered with his horse, but he genuinely cared about _her_ , and she was amazed. No one had ever seen to her needs like that, with the exception of her mother. She supposed he might have done the same for Harriet, or for Abigail or Jeannette, but then he paused, looked at her, and smiled, and she knew. Straight to her heart and into her soul, she knew. This man had feelings for her that went beyond his sense of duty to a waitress in his hotel.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?" The realization had struck her so hard, she had missed his question.

He chuckled. "I asked if you were ready to give it a try. You must be more nervous than you're letting on."

Nervous, and excited, and wondering what it all might mean . . . "I am, a bit. But I'm ready."

He handed her the gun and pointed straight ahead. "Your target is that tree."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. The gun handle felt odd, foreign—she'd never even touched a gun, let alone held one to shoot it. She brought it up at arm's length, as he'd shown her. It was heavier than she expected, and she immediately felt a pull in her arm muscles. When she pulled the trigger, she wasn't expecting the recoil of the gun, and she was thrown backwards into Mr. Brody's chest.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her cheeks flaming. She turned around, but couldn't meet his eyes. "That didn't go very well, did it?"

"It was my fault," Mr. Brody said, sounding amused. "I didn't warn you. Plant your feet and brace yourself, like so." He demonstrated. "And I suspect that you closed your eyes."

"I did flinch," she admitted. "It was loud."

"Keep your eyes open. You need to be able to see the target if you're to hit it."

"Yes, I suppose that would be helpful." She blushed again.

"Keeping your eyes open will also help you maintain your balance so you don't go flying all over the place. I'm glad I was there to stop you—you might have ended up on the ground." He grinned, readied the gun, and handed it back to her.

"That would have been very amusing, I'm sure." Elizabeth planted her feet and raised the gun again. She was not going to fail.

This time, she stayed upright, and she was able to keep her eyes open. "I don't think I hit anything," she said, disappointed.

"No, but your stance was much better. I think we should move in toward the tree. If you needed to fire your gun in self-defense, your attacker would likely be at much closer range."

They picked their way across the rocky ground several yards until Mr. Brody indicated that they were in the right spot. Elizabeth looked at the tree and tried to imagine it as a person. Could she really shoot a man, a human being? If her life were in danger, she would have to be able to make that choice in a split second, and she didn't know if she could do it. If it were Rose's life in question . . . She brought up the gun and fired without hesitation. Pieces of bark flew in every direction, and Mr. Brody clapped.

"Excellent job, Miss Caldwell. Whatever you were thinking just then, when your eyes became determined, that is what you should think about every time you fire. I certainly wouldn't try to cross you if I saw that look in your eye."

"Thank you. That was . . . kind of fun." She surprised herself by saying that, but it was true. There had been a delicious rush of fulfillment in knowing she'd hit her target. She doubted she'd feel that way if she were to shoot anything but a tree, but it was nice to know that she could do this thing without flying backwards and making a fool of herself.

Mr. Brody laughed. It was a warm, mellow sound that reminded her of cigars and brandy and sitting at her father's knee in his study. That was a memory she had forbidden herself since his death, but now it came back full force. It was a pleasant memory, and she smiled.

"I think you'll do, Miss Caldwell. But let's keep practicing, shall we?"

Elizabeth's aim improved and her confidence grew the more she fired the gun, but her arms were getting tired, especially the right one, and she was relieved when Mr. Brody called it quits for the day. "Come, Miss Caldwell. We have other things to do now."

They moved back toward the hotel. Elizabeth suddenly felt shy beside Mr. Brody—as if she had any right to be out walking with him. She purposely fell a step back, and that made her feel more comfortable.

"Tom!" Mr. Brody called out as they neared the stable.

"Yes, sir?" Tom came out of the building, a pitchfork in one hand.

"Tom, did you hitch up my buggy, like I asked?"

"It's ready and waiting."

"Good. Come into the dining room, please."

Tom looked down at himself. "I'm covered in straw, sir. Miss Hampton would skin me alive."

Mr. Brody shook his head. "That's what brooms were invented for, Tom. Dining room."

"Yes, sir."

When they reached the door of the hotel, Mr. Brody opened it and motioned for Elizabeth to go through first. Then he called out in a loud voice for everyone to join him in the dining room. Within moments, all the hotel employees had gathered and arranged themselves in a straight line. Tom stayed on the end, nearest the door, and Elizabeth noticed how careful he was not to look in Miss Hampton's direction.

"Thank you for answering my summons, everyone. I have something for you I believe you'll appreciate." Mr. Brody strode over to the bookcase in the corner, pulled out a small stack of envelopes, and walked down the line, handing one envelope to each person. "You may find a small bonus in your pay this time around. I'm grateful for the hard work you've put in to get this hotel ready, and I feel confident that we'll make a success of it."

Elizabeth held her envelope with trembling fingers. She had earned what it contained—she was now able to provide for her mother and her daughter. A deep feeling of satisfaction swept over her, even greater than how she'd felt when she shot that tree. It was a heady feeling, knowing that she now had the tools she needed to turn their situation around. "Elizabeth Caldwell" was written on the front of the envelope. She liked how her name looked in Mr. Brody's handwriting.

"We'll be opening the hotel on Monday, the day after tomorrow, much earlier than I had first anticipated. Our draperies should be arriving by train in a few days, and in the meantime, we'll make do. I've spoken with the station manager, and he knows we plan to be ready for Monday's first train. He has agreed to point people in our direction, and Tom will be there as well, holding a sign. I'll need you all ready bright and early, wearing starched white aprons, looking neat and comely. Tom, I expect you to look neat, but you needn't plan on wearing an apron."

Everyone in the room tittered, and Tom grinned.

"Miss Hampton, have the girls been trained how to serve?"

"Yes, they have." Her calm voice was the perfect counterbalance to the restrained excitement Elizabeth heard in Mr. Brody's tone.

"Excellent." He smiled. "I'll stop by the store and make sure our food order is arranged."

Miss Hampton nodded. "We'll be ready."

Elizabeth glanced around the room. Everyone seemed eager. They'd put in the hours of scrubbing and repairing and trying to prepare themselves for every scenario, and now it was time to see if they could really do this.

Mr. Brody cleared his throat, and the attention of the room was immediately back on him. "Now to discuss something else. Miss Hampton, have you told everyone about yesterday's incident with Miss Caldwell?"

Elizabeth's cheeks immediately began to burn. She hadn't expected to be the subject of a staff discussion. The door was too far away—she couldn't slip out unnoticed.

"I have told them," Miss Hampton said. "Our deepest sympathies, Miss Caldwell. That must have been a terrible thing to experience."

Elizabeth nodded her thanks.

Mr. Brody clasped his hands behind his back. "It's crucial that every young lady working here in the hotel—and living in the town—be on the lookout for these two men. If they were brazen enough to attempt such a thing on Miss Caldwell in broad daylight, who knows what other tactics they might employ. I've just spent some time teaching Miss Caldwell how to shoot a gun. I carry a firearm on my person at all times except when I'm doing manual labor. Tom also carries a weapon, and Miss Hampton has one as well. If anyone else would like to be trained, please speak with me, and I'll see to it. There's simply no reason why a lady should be at the mercy of any ruffian who crosses her path."

Harriet, Abigail, and Jeanette each nodded, their eyes huge.

"Miss Caldwell, will you come with me? The rest of you, please continue with whatever you were doing." Mr. Brody waited until the room had cleared out, and then he turned to Elizabeth. "I owe you an apology."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "An apology? I don't understand, sir."

"When I saw the conditions of your home this morning, I felt thoroughly ashamed of myself. As your employer, I have a responsibility to you, and yet, I never gave your situation a second thought. I just assumed you had what you needed. But your roof is in poor repair, and I imagine you've been counting on your wages for basic supplies. If I'd realized that, I would have advanced your pay. I should have been more attentive, but I intend to make up for it now. Tom has prepared the buggy, and we're going shopping."

"Shopping, sir?" Elizabeth couldn't decide which part of his speech had surprised her more.

"You can hardly carry your groceries home on the back of a horse. Or do you have some special skills I know nothing about? That wouldn't startle me, actually. You reveal new sides to yourself every day."

Elizabeth didn't feel as though she had other sides—she felt bland and boring and very plain. If he chose to find her interesting, though, she wouldn't make a fuss about it. "It's true that I do need to purchase some groceries. Thank you for your help."

"It's not entirely selfless of me—I promised I'd check on the food order, and this way, I can keep my promise while accompanied by a very charming companion. Let's go."

Tom was waiting for them outside next to the buggy, and he gave Elizabeth a hand up. Mr. Brody seemed perfectly at ease driving his own rig rather than having Tom do it for him, and they were off. The store wasn't far from the hotel, and it almost seemed silly to drive such a short way, but there would be packages to carry, so Elizabeth supposed it was a wise choice.

She made her selections quickly while Mr. Brody spoke with Mr. Appleby, the merchant behind the counter. She chose out all the special ingredients her mother would need to make the cake, and then concentrated on the staples—flour, sugar, coffee, tea. A sudden thought overtook her, and she ducked between two shelves and pulled out her pay envelope. She had no idea how much money she had to spend. Her eyes widened when she saw that she'd been given three dollars more than she expected. Bless Mr. Brody for his generosity.

"Miss Caldwell?"

She stuck her head out from between the shelves. "Yes?"

Mr. Brody walked toward her, a curious look on his face. "Were you hiding?"

"No, sir." She glanced around frantically. "I was inspecting these harnesses," she said, pointing at the nearest object.

Mr. Brody raised an eyebrow. "I see. Would you mind coming over here a moment? We need to choose a gun for you."

She had nearly forgotten all about that. "Are you sure I need one? It seems like such an expense, and the men will have moved on by now, won't they?"

"And who are we to say that you won't have problems with someone else in future? Consider it a good investment on my part. I don't want to be replacing my employees once every season, do I?"

"No, I suppose not." She followed him over to a counter in the back of the general store, where Mr. Appleby was more than happy to show them what he had in stock. Mr. Brody looked everything over and then held a Colt toward Elizabeth.

"Put this in your hand, and let's see if it's a good match."

She took the weapon as instructed, but she wasn't sure if it was a good match or not. She wasn't used to holding a gun, so it would feel awkward to her regardless.

"I think this one will do," Mr. Brody said. "And now there's the matter of an account for Miss Caldwell."

"An account? But I was just going to pay for my goods with the cash from my wages," Elizabeth protested, gesturing toward her pile of chosen items.

Mr. Brody turned to her with sharp eyes. "Miss Caldwell, do you mean to tell me that your wages will cover everything? You've just arrived in town, you're setting up housekeeping, who knows how far you traveled to get here, and you feel that your wages will take care of every need you currently have?"

"Well, no." Elizabeth glanced down at the floor. Rose would soon need dresses, and she wanted to knit her mother a new shawl, and . . .

"Allow me to set up an account for you here at the store. Get what you must have to settle in, and pay it off in increments. I will guarantee the account."

As good as this sounded, she was still undecided. "Are you sure? I've always believed in paying as you go and not incurring debt."

"I believe that's a fine idea, and you're smart for feeling that way. But I also believe that it's important to meet your needs. And lest you feel that I'm playing favorites or being inappropriate in any way, I plan to set up an account for every employee of the hotel as well." He fixed her with that curious look again. "Are we agreed?"

She nodded once. "We are agreed."

"Then please, take a look around. Are there any other goods you need today?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath and added a few more things to her pile, including the wool she would need for her mother's shawl. She would get the fabric for Rose's dresses another day, when she felt she had more time to choose without being watched. It was better than Christmas, even if Mr. Brody did make a very unlikely Santa Claus. She did the math in her head—she had spent less than her wages, which made her happy, and she could still use the account in future if she needed to.

"Mr. Appleby, do you have any milk, or know of someone who sells it?" she asked the man behind the counter.

"If I hear right, you're just out of town on this same road, right, Miss Caldwell?"

"That's right."

"There's a farmer out there by the name of Smith. He has a few cows, and he sells the milk for a fairly reasonable rate. He brings some in here 'bout daily—in fact, I'm expecting him soon. Would you like me to ask him to pay you a visit? He's a very polite fellow—shouldn't be a bother."

What a relief. "I'd appreciate that a great deal, Mr. Appleby. Thank you."

"Not a problem at all."

Another difficulty solved. If one more thing went right this day, Elizabeth felt sure her heart would burst.

* * *

Adam pressed his lips together, trying to contain his amusement. Miss Caldwell reminded him of a little girl brought into a candy store and told to choose whatever she liked. He could tell that she was trying to make her selections carefully, and he approved. The rich remained rich through frugal living.

"I believe I see the makings for a cake in that pile," he said, eyeing her purchases with interest. He loved cake.

"My mother has a wonderful recipe, and I told her we should celebrate our good fortune," Miss Caldwell replied.

"Will you save me a slice?"

She smiled. "Of course."

Adam waited until her back was turned, then asked Mr. Appleby to put an extra bag of flour and pound of butter in with her order. It would be a little surprise when she got home—hopefully, a welcome one.

Everything was loaded into the buggy, and Adam flicked the reins. It wasn't far to her house, but he was reluctant for the day to end. He allowed Cleophas to walk, not even shaking the reins more than what was necessary to keep them moving.

"You grew up in New York, Miss Caldwell?"

"I did. My father was a banker, and we had a lovely home." Her tone became nostalgic. "I remember curling up next to the fireplace in the evenings to do my schoolwork. He'd sit in his leather chair and smoke his cigar, and it was all very comfortable."

He could almost see her as a young girl at her father's knee. The vision was very appealing. "And then what happened? You don't have to answer if you don't want to—perhaps I'm being nosy. I do have that way."

"No, it's all right." She seemed to gather her thoughts. "My father died of a heart complaint when I was thirteen. I miss him terribly."

"And it's just been you and your mother ever since?"

"Hmm." She made a noncommittal humming sound, which Adam found odd. "I have brothers and sisters who are all older than me. They'd moved away by that point." Then she turned to him with a bright smile. "Mr. Brody, thank you so much for today. Your kindness has been more than I ever could have expected or imagined."

"It's been my pleasure entirely." More than he could have expected as well.

"What about you, Mr. Brody? How did you come to live in Topeka?"

He should have expected the question—after all, he'd asked about her. He put his feelings of awkwardness away. "I, too, was born in New York, although not right in the city. We had a farm on the outskirts, a nice, sprawling place with horses that we hooked to sleds in the winter and went on rides across the snow-covered hills. Last year, I experienced a series of losses, and after a short time of feeling very sorry for myself, I decided I'd like a fresh start, and I came out west. I stopped off here, saw the mansion, and began having wild ideas for its transformation. You know the rest."

"A series of losses? Or perhaps now _I'm_ being too curious."

Adam adjusted his grip on the reins, trying to buy himself some time. "My mother passed away, and then my father, and then my fiancée, all within eleven months." He paused, wishing he could say more, wanting to open up and share those thoughts and feelings with Miss Caldwell. But they were just now getting acquainted—he could hardly tell her his life story when they had met such a short time ago. "My mother from general poor health, my father from grief, and my fiancée from pneumonia," he added, not trusting himself to say more than that.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Brody," she said, turning to him with sympathy in those incredible eyes. "It must have been awful for you."

He nodded. "It's been very difficult. But now, with the hotel, I have a new beginning, a fresh start. Thank God for Aunt Caroline being there for me through it all."

"She's a very kind woman."

Adam turned a little in his seat and looked at Miss Caldwell. "She is. I'm glad you can see that—with her sometimes brusque exterior, it can be difficult to tell what she's thinking or feeling. Some find it difficult to get to know her."

Miss Caldwell looked thoughtful. "I think Miss Hampton has that brusque exterior to protect the very warm heart underneath. She's been especially concerned about my mother, and I appreciate that attention."

Shame flooded Adam. "My aunt has been more attentive than I've been. But that will change, Miss Caldwell. Tomorrow, I'll bring Tom over, and we'll fix the roof."

Miss Caldwell seemed uneasy. "I believe the landowner will be taking care of it. We're only renting, you see."

"Oh. Well, I hope he does take care of it soon. One good rainstorm, and you'll be soaked. If you change your mind, please just let me know." He prayed she'd do just that—he badly wanted to do it. It seemed that the more he helped her, the more he _wanted_ to help her.

She flashed him a smile. "I will."

Far too soon, they reached Miss Caldwell's house. She alighted from the buggy before Adam even had a chance to climb down and help her. "Please, Miss Caldwell, hold up a moment. Let me get the heavier boxes."

"It's all right," she said, her arms straining under the load. "My mother may be contagious, and I'd hate for you to come in and catch whatever she has."

Adam tilted his head. "Aren't you afraid that you'll catch it?"

"No. I'm sure that if I were going to become ill, I would have done it already." She disappeared into the cabin. Adam glanced around. At least there was firewood stacked up against the side of the house, but that roof was a worry to be sure. Well, if she wouldn't let him inside the house, he could at least set her boxes near the door, and he did.

"Thank you so much for today," Miss Caldwell said after she'd taken everything inside.

"I'm not leaving quite yet," Adam told her. "Show me that you remember how to load your gun."

"Oh, that's right. I'd nearly forgotten." She showed him what she remembered, and he nodded in satisfaction.

"You are to keep a loaded gun near at hand at all times," he reminded her. "Colonel Gordon assured me that he would keep a close eye on this road and this property, but that doesn't mean you can relax."

She nodded. "I understand."

Adam stepped backward, knowing he should return to the hotel, and yet there was something that made him stay. "Miss Caldwell, despite the circumstances that brought it about, today has been one of the most pleasant I've spent in a long time. I wonder if you'd come out with me for a Sunday afternoon picnic tomorrow. I'll ask Mrs. Dempsey to make us up one of her delicious baskets, and we'll take a break from all the hubbub of the hotel before we open on Monday. What do you say?"

Her cheeks pinked prettily. "I think I'd like that, Mr. Brody."

"Then I'll be here at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. Good day, Miss Caldwell, and please give my best to your mother." He tipped his hat, then climbed back into the buggy and drove away, wondering what it was about this quiet, reserved young woman that had his heart beating wildly against his ribcage. 

# Chapter Thirteen

Agatha pressed her hands to her mouth when she saw the boxes of food. "Oh, my. I can't believe it."

Elizabeth took care of her hat and picked Rose up from the cradle. "Isn't it amazing? Mr. Brody gave us all a bonus for getting the hotel ready so quickly, and he also helped me open an account at the store. I haven't used it yet, but it's there if we need it. I have all your cake makings there, Mother. I've set aside enough for rent, and a dairy farmer will be stopping by to sell us some milk for Rose."

Agatha wiped tears from her cheeks as she took out the items one by one and placed them on the table. "I remember back when your father was alive and we had such a beautiful home—things like sugar and flour were taken for granted. Now, here I am, crying at the sight of them."

"Life has surprised both of us, I believe," Elizabeth said. "I got rather a surprise today—Mr. Brody asked me if I'd go on a picnic with him tomorrow. Do you mind watching Rose? I wanted to leave your Sundays free, but—"

"Of course I'll take care of her," Agatha said, waving her hand. "You should go and enjoy your time with Mr. Brody. I caught a glimpse of him through the window. He's a very nice-looking man, isn't he?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Yes, I would have to agree. And he's as kind as he is nice-looking."

Agatha paused in sorting the groceries, her hand resting on a sack of coffee. "When are you going to tell him about Rose?"

Elizabeth lifted the baby to her shoulder for a burp. "I don't know. At first, I thought I'd keep it a secret for as long as possible, but now . . . If he wants to take me on a picnic, that means his feelings are changing, maybe becoming more serious, and I don't know what to do."

Agatha put the last of the things on the table and stacked the boxes near the door. "Funny," Elizabeth said, looking at the table from across the room. "I don't remember getting that much flour and butter."

"Maybe the grocer made a mistake," Agatha suggested.

"Maybe, but I don't think so." Mr. Brody must have slipped them into her purchases while she wasn't looking. She had to admit, it was nice to have the extra supplies.

She finished feeding the baby, then changed her and snuggled her down for a nap. After Rose was bundled up in her cradle, Elizabeth walked over to the table and opened the first bag of flour. "Why don't I start some bread while you mix up the cake, Mother? Mr. Brody loves cake and asked for a piece."

"He did? Well, I'll have to be sure not to disappoint him." Agatha grabbed her large bowl and began to measure out ingredients. Elizabeth watched her from the corner of her eye while she mixed up the bread. She loved seeing her mother happy. It happened so infrequently.

* * *

Elizabeth dressed with extra care the next morning. She would have loved to buy fabric for a new dress, but that seemed extravagant—it would be foolish to spend all her wages the very first day, and rent would always be more important than a new dress. Well, if she couldn't wear something new, she could at least wear something clean and tidy. She pressed her light green muslin dress, and added a sprig of flowers to the band of her hat. Hopefully, they wouldn't wilt before the picnic was over.

"You look very nice, dear," Agatha said from the rocking chair, where she was soothing Rose to sleep.

Elizabeth smiled down at her daughter. "Did she seem to like the milk?"

"Gracious, yes. I think it filled her right up."

"I'm so glad. Now we have a way to keep her fed when I can't be here right on time."

"She's been doing fine, Elizabeth. You don't need to feel guilty."

Agatha always had seen through Elizabeth's cheerful façade. "I know we're doing the best we can, but yes, I have felt guilty. No more, though. Now we have the means to do something about it."

Elizabeth heard the sound of hooves and buggy wheels outside. "I'm off, Mother." Her voice caught a little in her throat. "Are you sure I look nice enough?"

Agatha's eyes were soft as she looked at her daughter. "You look beautiful. Don't forget the cake."

"Oh, that's right." Elizabeth snatched the covered plate off the table, then turned back to give both Rose and her mother a kiss on the cheek.

"Have a good time, and don't worry about us."

Elizabeth closed the door behind her just as Mr. Brody approached the front of the house.

"Good morning, Miss Caldwell," he said, lifting his hat. "We have a beautiful day for our picnic."

"Yes, we do. And Mother sent some cake."

Mr. Brody grinned. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

He helped her into the buggy. Even though he wore leather driving gloves, there was still something magical about his touch, something that made her hand tingle for long moments afterward. She clutched the plate of cake a little more tightly and tried to ignore the sensation.

"Do you feel ready for tomorrow, then?" she asked as he pulled the buggy onto the road and pointed it away from town.

"I do. When I woke up this morning, I wondered if it was really possible, but then I walked around the property and double checked everything, and I think we're prepared. I must ask you, though, Miss Caldwell, if you've brought your gun with you this morning."

Elizabeth blinked, confused. "Yes, it's in my pocket. Why do you ask?"

"I just realized that I've taken you away from your home without a proper chaperone. Will the gun suffice?"

Elizabeth threw her head back and laughed. "Mr. Brody, I don't find you frightening. If I were to change my mind, however, my pocket is quite accessible. Let's enjoy our picnic and not worry too much about social conventions, all right? Most are silly anyway."

He laughed. "All right, Miss Caldwell. I plan to eat cake and not worry about a thing."

He guided the buggy into a small grove of trees and tied off the reins on a low branch. Then he helped Elizabeth down, showed her where to sit on a fallen log, and grabbed a blanket and basket from the rear of the buggy.

"I've been looking forward to this ever since I took you home last night," he said as he spread the blanket on the ground at her feet. "I never get tired of Mrs. Dempsey's lunches, and I wanted to spend more time talking with you."

"You did?" Elizabeth felt her cheeks turn pink. She wished they didn't do that quite so often—it made her feel young and immature.

"You, Miss Caldwell, have a way of quieting my mind. I appreciate that."

"I . . . I quiet your mind? Even when I come to you with runaway horses and wanted outlaws and every other sort of problem in the world?" She could hardly believe that.

"Even when you come to me with your problems. There's something restful about you, something serene. If I could find a way to put that in a bottle and carry it with me, I think I'd feel much better about life in general."

Elizabeth didn't know how to respond. Her life was nothing but turmoil—she couldn't imagine how she would make anyone else feel calm. "That's a very kind thing to say," she replied after a long moment of casting about for an answer.

"It's entirely true." Mr. Brody turned to the basket, suddenly seeming a bit shy himself. "Let's see what good things we have to eat."

He pulled out rolls, freshly churned butter, jam, fried chicken, and a bottle of dandelion wine. "It looks delicious," he said, spreading out the feast on the blanket. "May I offer you some of everything?"

"Everything but the wine, please," Elizabeth said. "I'm not much for spirits."

"Neither am I," Mr. Brody said, tucking the bottle back into the basket. "It's too hard to keep my temper when I've had something to drink."

"Do you struggle with that? I've never seen you cross," Elizabeth said, surprised. "Frustrated, perhaps, and I know you were angry about Cleophas's shoe . . . and everything . . . but I wouldn't have guessed that you have a temper."

"Oh, if only you could hear the thoughts that go through my head sometimes. No, it's best that you can't. I work very hard to control myself, Miss Caldwell. I can't stand lazy men or fools, and when I'm faced with one or the other, it's all I can do to keep myself in check. I feel very fortunate to have found the employees I have for the hotel. You are all quick and dedicated, making my job much easier."

"And what happens when you come across a man who is both lazy _and_ foolish?" Elizabeth asked, accepting the plate he offered her.

"Heaven forbid!" Mr. Brody rolled his eyes dramatically, and Elizabeth laughed.

They ate in silence for a moment, and then Mr. Brody wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Now that I've cleared a spot on my plate, I'd love to try some of your mother's cake."

"Oh, of course!" Elizabeth couldn't believe she'd forgotten. She unwrapped the dish and slid a generous portion next to Mr. Brody's chicken. "She asked me to apologize if it's a bit dry. She's not used to this oven, you see."

Mr. Brody forked up a piece and tasted it. "She could give Mrs. Dempsey a run for her money. Please tell your mother this is the best cake I've ever had."

"Really?"

"Really. In fact, you'd better put your slice on your plate or I'm likely to eat it too."

Elizabeth laughed. "You may have it. I had some last night, and there's plenty left at the house."

Mr. Brody looked like a hopeful little boy. "You don't want it?"

"It's all yours."

He grinned and held out his plate, and she slid the rest of the cake onto it.

"You know," he said after several bites, "maybe starting a hotel was selfish on my part."

"Selfish? What do you mean?"

"It's one way to ensure that I always have my favorite foods at my fingertips. Aunt Caroline will be teaching you all how to make her recipes, and I hope you'll share some with her as well. If your mother is up to it, and if she's willing, I'd very much like to feature this cake on our menu."

"I'll ask her," Elizabeth said, feeling a warm glow flood her chest on her mother's behalf. Agatha would be very flattered.

They finished eating and put all the dishes back into the basket, and then Mr. Brody sat next to Elizabeth on the log. She'd ridden behind him on Cleophas and grasped his waist, but this closeness felt different, warmer, more personal. Her breath caught a little in her throat, and she wondered why. She'd never felt this elated and jittery with her husband, even in the first days of their courtship when she was so enamored with him.

"As I walked around the hotel property this morning, I asked myself if we had enough dishes, nice chairs at the tables, if the porch had been repaired. But there was another question I asked myself, and I realized that the only answer must come from you."

His eyes were so earnest, Elizabeth couldn't form words for a moment. "What question is that, sir?"

He took off his hat and played with the brim. "Miss Caldwell, as you know, I've suffered several losses this last year, one of them being that of my fiancée. That was a great blow to me, and I still feel the sting of it. But you . . . you have come into my life at a very key time, and you've stirred my heart in ways I thought were dead. I don't feel I'm ready to begin courting again—I don't feel that would be fair to either of us right now—but I would like to spend more time with you and get to know you and see if these feelings turn into something more. Do you have these feelings too, Miss Caldwell? Could there ever be room in your heart for someone like me?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. Her chest felt as though it would explode. Could this moment be real? "Yes, Mr. Brody, I believe so," she said after a long moment, opening her eyes again to see him looking at her with a combination of curiosity and yearning in his gaze. She wanted to say more, so much more, but he'd only offered a possibility. "I would very much like to get to know you better, and there are things about me, too, that we should discuss."

He grinned, and his eyes lit up like a thousand twinkling stars. "I want to know everything," he told her. "Absolutely everything. What you were like as a little girl, what you got for Christmas when you were ten, if there's a color you absolutely detest—everything. Let's take it a day at a time and enjoy every minute of it. In the meantime, Miss Caldwell, there's something I've been longing to do, and I wonder if you would permit me."

"Sir?"

He reached out and tucked a stray ringlet back into her bun. "Just as soft as I imagined," he whispered.

Elizabeth closed her eyes again and drank in the moment. She didn't need time to get to know him better. She knew everything she needed to know already. She felt absolutely safe when she was with him, cherished in his touch, adored when he gazed at her. If he needed time, she would give it to him, but her heart was already his. 

# Chapter Fourteen

Adam couldn't help but whistle as he drove the buggy back to the hotel. He'd been so nervous to speak to Miss Caldwell of his feelings that he almost hadn't been able to say the words. Would she think it was too soon, that he was trying to take advantage of her? Maybe he shouldn't have reminded her about the gun she carried. But the look she had given him was so full of confidence and trust, he felt like he could go wrestle a bear with that kind of woman behind him. Maybe she would change her mind as she came to know him better, but for that moment, the possibilities were endless.

"Afternoon, Tom," he called out as he pulled the buggy into the yard. "Would you put all this away, please?"

"Sure thing." Tom took Cleophas's bridle as Adam jumped down from the buggy and headed inside. He passed one of the Miss Petersons in the hallway—he was still trying to remember which one was which. She was dusting the coatrack by the door.

"Miss Peterson, whatever are you doing?"

She jumped and whirled around. "Dusting, sir."

"Did Miss Hampton ask you to do it?"

"No, sir. I just thought I'd get a head start on tomorrow."

"Miss Peterson, this is Sunday. Not only that, but it's the last Sunday before we open for business. Your new orders are to take off your apron and do something relaxing. I don't care what it is, but it had better not be anything that could be construed as work. Do you understand?"

She seemed surprised, but after taking a moment to compose herself, she said, "Yes, sir. Right away."

"Good. And don't ever again let me catch you working when you should be lollygagging about."

"Yes, sir. Never again."

Adam left her standing befuddled in the entryway as he walked through his office and into his bedroom. He took off his tie and wiped his neck with a cool cloth, then sat down on the edge of his bed.

Elizabeth. Her name came to his mind unbidden, but it certainly wasn't unwelcome. He smiled as he remembered the way her hair felt against his fingertips, the way she closed her eyes when he touched her, even if it was just a whisper. He couldn't be in love yet—he couldn't possibly be. He knew nothing about her. He'd never met this mysterious mother who made cake like the angels would eat. He didn't know what schools Elizabeth had attended or what she most desired in her life. All he could hope was that someday, she would come to desire him.

* * *

Adam hadn't slept much at all the night before. He'd gone to bed early, knowing how important this first day would be, but he'd done nothing but lie there hour after hour. His thoughts circled through his head like a kaleidoscope. Would his father be proud of him? What would Vivian have thought about this hotel? Had they ordered enough meat? Would his mother have liked the tablecloths they chose? Was Elizabeth's skin as soft as her hair? There was this little portion of her neck he longed to touch, right below her earlobe and above her collar. No, it was better to think about the hotel.

He rose long before the sun and bathed, then dressed and headed outside. A light in the barn told him Tom was also up, so he headed out that way.

"Morning, Tom," he called out as he entered the barn.

"Oh, mornin', boss." Tom's legs appeared coming down the ladder, and then the rest of him. He didn't bother to climb down the last three rungs, but instead, he dropped the rest of the way. "You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind. You?"

"I'm always up this early. Just my nature, I guess." Tom's wide smile took over his face. "I'm ready to get this thing going."

"I am too." Adam stepped back outside and looked toward the train station. In just a few short hours, a train would come rumbling to a stop, their first chance to start their business off right. He knew it would take several months to know if their hotel would be a success, but he couldn't hope but pin some dreams on this morning. If they had a rough first day, it might be hard to feel motivated to go on. He would much rather start off with a bang, but that was probably just wishful thinking on his part.

Tom stepped up beside him. "It's going to be a great day," he said quietly. "There's a feeling in the air, you know? Like something really good's going to happen."

Adam could feel something, but it was more like nervousness, and maybe just a little bit of nausea.

"Do you want me to fetch Miss Caldwell, or did you want to do that this morning?"

At the mention of Elizabeth's name, Adam's heart jolted. It was the most pleasant feeling he'd had that morning. "I'd better send you," he said, even though he wished that wasn't so. "I need to be on hand in case anything goes wrong with the preparations."

"I'll be glad to do it."

Adam nodded and headed back inside. The dining room was still and dark. He tried to imagine it full of customers, laughing and talking, enjoying the good food. Maybe some would rent rooms. That's where the real profit would be made.

"Planning to help me peel the carrots and potatoes?"

He turned at the sound of his aunt's amused voice. "Morning, Aunt Caroline. Just getting my bearings."

She reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Everything's going to be all right. You'll see. We've created a wonderful hotel, the staff is ready to go, and your vision will come true."

Adam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Thank you. Your faith in me means everything."

"You have it. Now, are you going to scoot out of my way, or are you going to come in here and help me with the vegetables?"

He chuckled. "I'll leave the food to you. I'm not quite done walking around and worrying about everything."

"Frankly, I think it's a waste of time, but if that's what it takes to get you ready, by all means, go ahead." Caroline disappeared into the kitchen, and Adam turned back to the dining room. This was the stage where everything would play out. He hoped for encore after encore after encore.

* * *

Mr. Hoover, the station manager, nodded to Adam as he stepped up onto the platform. "Good day, Mr. Brody. All ready for the train, I see."

Adam leaned forward and shook his hand. "I am. It just remains to be seen if the train is ready for me."

Mr. Hoover laughed. "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Most of the people who get off this train are hot and tired, and they don't want to walk through town to get to another establishment. If you've got cool drinks and something to eat, they'll flock to you in droves."

"That's what I'm counting on."

The train's whistle blew in the distance, and Adam took up a position near the edge of the platform. Tom was nearby, ready to lend a hand where needed, holding a sign that advertised the hotel. It gave Adam comfort to know that Caroline was waiting for him next door and that the waitresses were ready—one waitress in particular. He hadn't seen Elizabeth yet that morning, but Tom had reported that she'd been collected, and Adam could hardly wait to see her. He hoped she hadn't changed her mind after their conversation the afternoon before. Maybe a good night's sleep had made her see the error of her ways and she'd realized that it wasn't wise for her to become involved with a dreamer, a risk taker like him. But then he remembered again the way she'd closed her eyes when he touched her face. She must feel the same way he did—there was no other explanation.

The train puffed into view, and Adam watched with anticipation as it pulled up to the platform. As the passengers alighted, he stepped forward, introduced himself, and invited them to go over to the Brody Hotel. Then he moved on to the next couple or group, repeating the invitation. The train wasn't filled to capacity, but he figured he'd made his little speech twelve or thirteen times when all was said and done, and he did see some people making their way through the hotel's front gate. Tom followed after a moment, carrying a couple of satchels, and Adam exhaled with relief.

"You have the copy of the train schedule I gave you, so you know you can't keep these folks very long, right, Mr. Brody?" Mr. Hoover reminded him.

"I do. Thank you for all your help." Adam tipped his hat and walked back over to the hotel, eager to see how many they'd be serving for this very first meal.

When he entered the dining room, he saw that Caroline had seated the travelers at five tables, and the young ladies were busy taking orders. His gaze flicked around the room until he saw Elizabeth. Just the sight of her calmed his heart. She wore a dark dress and a crisp white apron, and she listened attentively while her customer explained what he wanted. Then she turned toward the kitchen and caught Adam's eye, and she smiled. His chest warmed until it felt like a pair of slippers on a snowy day.

The staff moved efficiently from the dining room to the kitchen, carrying trays of food and refilling water glasses. Adam tried to keep an eye on things without looking like he was being nosy or trying to interfere. Truth be told, Caroline had things so well in hand, he wasn't needed at all except to make an appearance as the owner and hopefully to create a good impression.

When everyone had eaten their fill, they left the hotel and filed back to the train station. Caroline closed the door behind the last one and smiled. "We did it, ladies and gentlemen. Our first meal served."

Adam clapped. "Well done. I couldn't be more pleased."

Caroline rested against the door for a few seconds, then straightened. "Now we'll see what kind of a mess was left for us."

Adam walked into the dining room with her to find the four waitresses already clearing the tables and pulling off soiled linens. They looked a little tired, but they also looked triumphant, exactly the way he felt. This would be a success—now he sensed that excitement in the air Tom had been talking about. 

# Chapter Sixteen

The evening meal was prepared with the same speed and efficiency as the meal earlier in the day. This time, Mr. Dupree, the conductor who had helped deliver their shipment from New York, was one of their guests, as was Mrs. Dempsey.

"I decided I'd better come see what was going on down here on this end of town," she said by way of greeting as Adam met her near the door. "If I'm going to recommend you to other folks, I should make sure I have my facts straight."

"Welcome to the Brody Hotel," Adam said with a wink, motioning her toward her table.

He stood in the corner of the dining room and counted the heads. This time, they had twenty guests, and that encouraged him greatly. When one couple indicated that they'd like a room, he was even more encouraged.

Mr. Dupree seemed to be paying some special attention to Caroline. He waved her over to the table and asked her a question, and to Adam's surprise, she laughed and seemed genuinely amused. Adam took a closer look at Mr. Dupree. He was neatly dressed in a crisp conductor's uniform, his hair was trimmed, and he seemed polite. Of course, as a railroad employee, he was taught to be polite as part of his job. Was he just as polite when he was off the clock?

Caroline was a beautiful woman—Adam had always thought so. Of course, she resembled his mother, who had been truly lovely. It was no wonder to him that Mr. Dupree was showing interest. However, his protective nature made him wonder if he should be investigating this conductor, maybe asking the station manager his opinion. He would feel terrible if his aunt's heart were to be broken.

Then he shook his head. He had no reason to worry—this was a dining room. Of course a customer would want to speak to the cook—he was most likely letting his imagination run loose.

The girls were just cleaning up the last bits of dinner when Adam decided he need to step outside for a moment. The air inside had become a bit warm, and he wondered about opening a few windows to allow a breeze. The dust was never predictable, however, and he didn't like the idea of ruining a white tablecloth or even someone's bowl of soup if there should be an unexpected gust.

He stood on the porch for a minute and breathed in the early evening air. Maybe he could make a home for himself in Topeka, feel like he belonged here instead of being an outsider. That was something he missed about his old life, back when he had friends and acquaintances.

Suddenly, a cry caught his attention, and he looked up to see an older woman running toward the hotel, clutching a bundle in her arms. He stepped through the gate and caught her just as she collapsed.

"Madam, what's the matter? Are you all right?"

"I need . . . to find my daughter."

"What's your daughter's name? May I help?"

"Her name is Elizabeth Caldwell," the woman said. "Our . . . our house is on fire."

Panic seized Adam's chest. "On fire?"

She nodded.

"Tom!" Adam nearly screamed, and Tom came running around the corner of the building.

"Ride out to the Caldwells'. Take whatever men you can find. Their house is on fire. But first, go inside and tell Miss Caldwell to come out. "

Tom nodded and ran up the porch steps.

"Did you tell anyone else?" Adam asked, still holding the woman upright by her elbows. She held her bundle tightly and wouldn't loosen it.

"A few men as I came here. I believe you're Mr. Brody?" She seemed to be having trouble breathing.

"I am, and you must be the woman who made me the most delectable cake I've ever eaten." Maybe she'd be able to regain her breath if he kept the conversation light. He maneuvered the woman through the gate and led her up to the hotel. She made it as far as the steps before her knees gave out, and she sat heavily.

Adam wondered what was keeping Elizabeth as he sat next to the woman on the steps. "Mrs. Caldwell, tell me more about the fire. Was it a cooking accident?"

She shook her head. "I heard two men laughing outside, and then the shattering of glass. They threw a torch through our window."

"Were they the ones who have been bothering Miss Caldwell?"

"I don't know. I never saw those men. But these two were making ribald comments, and I imagine they would be the same ones."

Just then, the bundle in her arms began to move. Adam startled. He'd been expecting a pile of clothing, perhaps a few family heirlooms, but not a living thing. He was even more surprised when a tiny hand poked out of the blankets.

"Mrs. Caldwell, I . . ."

"Mother!" Elizabeth ran through the front door and fell to her knees on the porch, gathering the woman and the tiny child into her arms. "Are you hurt?"

"We're fine. We're both just fine." Mrs. Caldwell returned her daughter's hug with her free arm. "It's all right."

Elizabeth buried her head in the woman's shoulder, her hand clutching the infant's, and sobbed. Adam felt completely bewildered—he had no idea what was going on.

"Mrs. Caldwell, would you like to come inside?" he said after a long moment.

"Her name isn't Mrs. Caldwell." Elizabeth raised her head and wiped at her tears. "Mr. Brody, I need to speak with you."

"Yes, I think that would be wise." Adam stood and helped Elizabeth's mother, whatever her name might be, into the hotel, her curious bundle still held snugly in her arms. He asked Caroline to fetch some cool water and something to eat for their guest, and then he followed Elizabeth into his office.

* * *

Elizabeth's knees were trembling so badly, she thought she might fall over right there on the rug. Her house was on fire, but thank goodness her mother and baby had made it out safely, and Tom had assured her he'd do everything he could to save her home. She had no idea how severe the damage would be, but she feared that the even greater damage would be to her new relationship with Mr. Brody if she didn't take this opportunity to explain things to him. She trusted Tom to see to her meager belongings—she was the only one who could salvage this situation.

"Please sit down, Miss Caldwell. I don't think you can stand upright another moment."

Elizabeth didn't feel as though she deserved a chair, but he was right—she needed to sit. She sank down gratefully, wondering what to say, how to begin.

"You said your mother's name isn't Mrs. Caldwell." Mr. Brody took a seat behind his desk. She hated this separation between them, but she supposed it was necessary.

"That's right." She clenched her hands into fists. They wouldn't stop shaking, no matter what she did. It was the moment of truth—or consequences. "Caldwell is my married name. I was widowed a short time ago."

Mr. Brody reared back in his chair, his surprise evident on his face. "Widowed?"

"Yes, sir. And the child you saw is my daughter."

He pressed his lips together. She couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling other than that. Had she ruined everything by not telling him the truth sooner? How could he trust her when she'd kept such a large secret from him?

"What is her name?"

Elizabeth blinked. "Sir?"

"Your daughter's name. What is it?"

She hadn't expected this question at all. "Rose, sir. She's two months old."

Mr. Brody studied the desk in front of him. "Tell me about your husband, Elizabeth."

It was the first time she'd heard him say her name, and it flowed through her like hot coffee. "His name was George Caldwell. His parents and mine were friends back in New York, and we met at a party." Just saying the words, she could see it all in her mind's eye—the flowers, the colors, the music. She'd worn a blue satin dress, and she'd danced with more partners than she could count. "He asked me to dance midway through the evening, and he captured my heart nearly from that moment."

She saw Mr. Brody flinch, and she hurried on. "His father was a rather harsh man, and he wanted George to go into the family business with him. George refused, saying he'd rather live on his own terms than to do anything his father asked. When the opportunity came for him to come west and work for the railroad, he took it, and he asked me to marry him and come with him. I was flattered, naturally, and said yes. It was a very quick event, little more than just a few friends in my parents' parlor, and then we were off on our grand adventure—which turned out to be not very grand after all."

She paused, not wanting to relive the next part of her story. Mr. Brody seemed to understand that, for he waited quietly.

"George became very irresponsible once he was no longer in his father's sight. He rebelled against everything he'd been taught and took up drinking and gambling. He was a completely different man from the one I'd married. He'd often come home after losing a card game and strike me." Her voice trembled as she tried not to remember that hand coming across her face, the breath-stealing blows. "When . . . when I learned Rose was on the way . . . he became less physically violent, but he rarely had a kind word for me. He lost all his money at the gambling tables, blamed me for being bad luck, and he told me on more than one occasion that he should ship me back to my mother. I often wished he would."

Mr. Brody shifted in his seat. Elizabeth hadn't moved at all—her muscles felt rigid, as though any gesture would somehow make things worse.

"One night, he came out of the saloon rather late. He was drunk, and he mistakenly mounted the wrong horse. The horse's owner thought he was trying to steal his animal, and he shot George as he rode away. It was a senseless death, a ridiculous end to a life that could have been redeemed if only he'd wanted to change. My mother, who was a widow, was now living with her brother, came out to be with me, and Rose joined us shortly after. We've been casting around a bit, trying to decide what we should do from here on out. My mother was left destitute by my father's business partner, I was left friendless, and it seemed we had no other choice but to send me to work."

Elizabeth looked down at her hands and realized she'd twisted them so hard, they were now red. She forced herself to straighten her fingers and waited for Mr. Brody to speak. His eyes were on the desk, and she wished he would meet her gaze. Her greatest fear was that he would reject her, just as her friends had, and she couldn't bear to lose him. Not now—not when so many possibilities lay before them, not when they might both be able to find the happiness they thought they'd lost forever.

When Mr. Brody finally did speak, his voice was low. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"You were looking for single young ladies from a respectable background. I had learned . . . someone had mentioned . . . that perhaps Rose would make me seem less respectable. I needed this job, Mr. Brody. There was nothing else available, nothing else I could do, and I'm responsible for both my mother and my daughter." She was desperate for him to understand, and despite her resolve to stay calm, that desperation crept into her voice. "Please, sir, don't be angry."

In a flash, he was around the desk and had taken her hands. "Angry? How could I be angry?" He looked into her eyes, searching them. "Did you think I'd have no compassion for you? That I'd turn you out and let you fend for yourself?" She was surprised to see moisture on his cheeks. "I would never have done that, Elizabeth. Never. I may have a temper, but I'm not a hard man."

"I know that now," she whispered. "But how could I have known . . .?"

He shook his head. "I suppose you couldn't have known when we first met. And then you had to protect Rose and your mother . . ." His voice trailed off, and he leaned against the desk. "I understand. All of it. And there's nothing to forgive—don't even dream of asking me again. Your daughter and your mother are your first concern, and you did everything you could to see to their welfare. I admire you more now than I did yesterday, and you must understand, my dear Miss Caldwell, how very much that already was."

Her eyes flew to meet his. "Really, sir?"

"Really. Although, I must say something."

"What is that?" Knowing he wasn't angry, she could take almost anything.

"If you persist in calling me 'sir,' I'll have to kiss the word right off your mouth."

Her heart leaped inside her, and she couldn't help the smile that crept across her face. "Is that so?"

"I'm afraid it is, Miss Caldwell."

She tilted her head to the side, considering him. "Sir."

"I beg your pardon?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I said 'sir."

He leaped from the desk in mock alarm. "Young lady, you shall have to be taught a lesson." He reached down, took her by the elbows, and lifted her up into his arms. He studied her eyes for a breathless moment before he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were soft and yet firm, and she felt as though she could lose herself in that embrace forever. His hands slid around her waist and pulled her closer. She ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, those little curls that always showed up when his neck became damp.

After a long, perfect minute, he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes again. "I was wrong, Elizabeth. I was wrong to tell you I needed time to heal—you have healed me. I love you, and you need to hear those words from me. You will never be alone again, unless you want to be. Do you want to be?"

"No, sir," she whispered, her fingers still caught up in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"You minx." He kissed her again, and this time, he didn't step back until a knock sounded at his office door.

"This conversation isn't over," he whispered as he straightened his suitcoat and ran a hand through his hair. Then he turned. "Come in."

Miss Hampton stuck her head in the room. Elizabeth was sure her beating heart was visible—couldn't everyone tell how erratic her breathing had become? "Mr. Wyatt Earp to see you, Adam."

"Good. Send him in, please." Mr. Brody walked over to the door and greeted the newcomer, a man who walked with confidence into the room.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brody. My office received your telegram, and they were able to relay your message to me. It sounds like I'm here right on time."

"Yes, I believe you are. This is Elizabeth Caldwell. Her house was burned down just today by the two men who have been harassing her. We're awaiting a report from the men who went to put out that fire."

"Do you have any witnesses to this arson?" Mr. Earp asked.

"Yes. Miss Caldwell's mother was present in the home." Mr. Brody looked out the door, and Elizabeth heard him say, "Aunt Caroline, could you please ask Miss Caldwell's mother to step into my office?"

A moment later, Agatha entered, carrying a sleeping Rose. Elizabeth immediately took the child, grateful that she could finally lay claim to her baby in public. She'd hated the subterfuge, the secrecy, feeling like she ought to be ashamed for having a child.

"Miss Hampton gave me some milk for her," Agatha whispered. "She should be nice and full."

Elizabeth nodded, snuggling the baby close while Agatha turned her attention to Mr. Earp.

"What is your name, ma'am?"

"Agatha Early, sir."

Mr. Earp motioned for her to be seated. "Tell me what happened today, Mrs. Early."

Agatha took a deep breath. "I was rocking the baby to sleep when I heard loud voices outside. They were saying awful things, things I won't repeat. Then they threw a torch through the window, and it caught almost immediately. I wrapped a blanket around the baby and ran outside. Thankfully, the men were no longer there, and I came here to the hotel for help."

Mr. Earp nodded. "The city marshal tells me you've had trouble with these men before, and you think they're the men I've been hunting."

"We believe so, yes, sir," Elizabeth replied.

Mr. Earp reached into his suitcoat pocket and pulled out some photographs. "Are these the men who have been bothering you, Miss Caldwell?"

Elizabeth took the pictures from him. Even without close examination, she could tell that they were indeed the same men. "They are."

He turned to Agatha. "Did you see the men who started the fire, Mrs. Early? Can you identify them?"

"I caught the faintest glimpse of one. But there he is." She indicated the picture.

"Thank you, ladies. You've been very helpful. The marshal and I will be conducting a very thorough search of the area. We will find these men and bring them to justice. Thank you for contacting me, Mr. Brody. I'll be in touch." He paused. "This is a hotel, correct? Do you have a room where I could stay while I'm in town?"

"We certainly do." Mr. Brody led Mr. Earp out to the lobby and turned him over to Miss Hampton. Elizabeth smiled as she heard Miss Hampton assign Mr. Earp a room number and give him his key.

Mr. Brody stepped back into the room a moment later. "Mrs. Early, you look exhausted, if you don't mind my saying so. May I please offer you a room where you can rest and refresh yourself?"

Agatha stood and gathered her shawl more closely around her shoulders. "I would appreciate that very much, Mr. Brody."

"I'll turn you back over to the very good care of my aunt." He led her out to the lobby, and then returned again.

He closed the door, then walked over to the chair where Elizabeth sat. "May I?" He gestured toward Rose.

"You'd like to hold her?" Elizabeth questioned, sure she'd misunderstood.

"Yes, please."

She nodded and held the baby toward him. He took the sleeping infant as tenderly as though she were made of spun sugar and cradled her to his chest. "She's so tiny, and so perfect," he whispered.

Tears welled in Elizabeth's eyes as she watched him hold her daughter. She'd only thought she loved him before, but now, seeing him gaze upon her child with such adoration, seeing the hands that had scrubbed floors and shot guns and stroked her hair now cradling a sleeping baby, she couldn't hold back her feelings, and her chest expanded as her heart filled with overwhelming emotion.

"So your name was Elizabeth Early," he said, not turning to look at her. His eyes were still fastened on the baby.

"That's right."

"I believe we need to resolve this matter of names," he said. "I don't care for Elizabeth Early, nor do I care for Elizabeth Caldwell. There is only one name I like, and that is Elizabeth Brody. For that matter, I like Rose Brody as well. What do you say?"

"I—I think those are wonderful names," Elizabeth said, barely able to speak. Could this really be happening? Was this really her life, after everything she'd gone through?

"And another thing," he said, turning to face her. "Do you suppose you could call me Adam? It's high time, you know."

"Yes, I can do that, Adam." Elizabeth stood up and tucked in a corner of Rose's blanket that had fallen loose. "Right now, though, I think I'd rather call you sir."

Adam chuckled, scooped her up in the arm that wasn't holding the baby, and pressed her to his side, giving her a kiss that made the first two seem like nothing.

* * *

"I can hardly believe it," Agatha said for the second time, her eyes shining. "He wants to marry you? He wants to raise Rose as his own?"

Elizabeth nodded. "He'll speak to the judge in the morning about a wedding date. Oh, Mother, I can't believe it's real either." She settled more comfortably on the bed Miss Hampton had given her mother in a nice corner room. "And something wonderful just for you—he asked Tom to finish fixing up the caretaker's cottage on the property. That will be your own little cottage, Mother, your own little house, and he'd like you to teach Miss Hampton how to make cake."

Agatha pressed her hands to her mouth. "My own cottage?" she said after a long moment. "How . . . this must be a dream. It has to be."

Elizabeth laughed, her heart so full of joy, she couldn't hold it back. "So you and I will share this room with Rose until the cottage is ready, and then you will have a lovely little place all your own. Mr. Brody—er, Adam—says he'll add on a suite of rooms more suitable for a family, and that's where he and I will live after the wedding." Gracious, there went her heart again. The poor thing was going to forget how to beat regularly. "But for now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go help downstairs. I have a few more chores."

"Of course. You still have a job to do." Agatha reached out and gave her daughter a hug. "I'm so happy for you," she whispered fiercely into Elizabeth's hair. 

# Chapter Seventeen

Adam called a staff meeting the next morning to announce the engagement. Elizabeth begged him not to, but he told her it was only fair that everyone know what was going on, and she reluctantly agreed. "Besides," he said, "what if one of them were to come upon me kissing you in the linen closet? What would they think?"

"Do you plan to kiss me in the linen closet?" she asked.

"I hadn't thought of it until just now, but yes, I think it's a very good idea." He waggled his eyebrows at her roguishly, and she had no choice but to laugh.

Now, standing in the dining room with the other employees, waiting for him to say those magical, wonderful, impossible words, she felt distinctly out of place. What would the other girls think of her, especially Harriet? She had kept so many secrets from her, and she hoped those secrets wouldn't ruin their relationship. It had been so long since she'd had a real friend. And what of Miss Hampton? This would make things awkward with her supervisor, she was sure of it.

Adam walked into the room, looked around, and nodded. "Thank you all for gathering. I have several things to discuss with you this morning. No doubt rumors have been flying, and I'd like to set them all to rest now. The first thing I'd like to share, though, is that an arrest was made late last night. Mr. Wyatt Earp of Wichita was able to apprehend one of the men who has been bothering Miss Caldwell."

Elizabeth exhaled sharply with relief as everyone around her murmured their gratitude.

"One of the men did escape capture, but he was seen heading north. Mr. Earp has several men in pursuit, and I believe we can consider this matter at an end. These men were also responsible for burning down Miss Caldwell's house yesterday. It was a total loss, with only a few personal items salvaged. So, we've invited her and her mother to stay here with us in the hotel."

He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "We have another special guest. Some of you may have heard some unusual sounds in the night. Rose, Miss Caldwell's infant daughter, is also staying with us."

This time, the sound that filled the room was nothing short of an audible gasp. All heads swiveled in Elizabeth's direction, and her cheeks, predictably, turned pink.

"Miss Caldwell is a widow of just a few short months, so we'll be offering her every courtesy as she gets back on her feet." Adam cleared his throat. "In the spirit of this, I've decided to extend a bit of extra hospitality, and I have asked Miss Caldwell to become my wife."

Elizabeth looked down at the floor as the murmurs around her grew even louder. Thankfully, they were all words of congratulations and surprise, not condemnation or censure. She glanced over at Miss Hampton, who stood there quietly, her hands folded in front of her. Adam must have told her already.

"Now that all these surprises are out of the way, let's get started on today's work, shall we?" Adam gave a nod of dismissal, and they turned to their various tasks.

"I just . . . I can't believe it," Harriet said, grabbing Elizabeth's arm as they walked toward the linen closet to get fresh tablecloths. "You were married and have a baby and now you're marrying Mr. Brody?"

"It is rather hard to believe, and I promise I'll tell you everything while we do the wash this afternoon," Elizabeth said.

"You had better keep that promise. There's too much of a story here to keep me guessing for long."

Elizabeth paused, her arms full of tablecloths, as she passed back into the dining room. Miss Hampton was in there, dusting the tops of some picture frames.

"Miss Hampton? I wanted to speak with you. I hope . . . I hope this won't make things awkward between us. I didn't take this job with the intention of marrying Mr. Brody, or deceiving any of you. You've been nothing but kind to me, and I feel terrible that I wasn't more forthcoming."

Miss Hampton put down her dust rag and crossed the floor to where Elizabeth stood. "Adam and I spoke last night, rather late, and I understand all your reasons. You have nothing to fear on my part, Miss Caldwell. Or should I say, Mrs. Caldwell. Oh, dear. What should I call you?"

"Elizabeth seems the simplest," she replied.

Miss Hampton smiled. "Elizabeth it is, then, and you must call me Caroline. We are nearly family, after all. The only thing that's truly bothering me is that I'm going to lose my best waitress."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Just in the few short hours we've been running the dining room, I've been very impressed with your abilities. You listen to the customers well, you work quickly—you will be difficult to replace."

"I do plan to continue working at the hotel," Elizabeth said. "Unless you'd rather that I not."

"Of course I still want you here. I just thought that once you're married to the hotel owner, you'd prefer to step down."

"You're still shy two girls from the six you wanted, and I wouldn't dream of leaving you even more short-handed," Elizabeth said. "Besides, now I have a personal interest in the success of the hotel. I'll do whatever I can to make it profitable."

"Thank you." Caroline reached out and touched her arm. "I spent a few moments with your mother and Rose yesterday. Your mother is a delightful woman, and Rose is an incredibly sweet child. You are well blessed."

"I believe I am. Thank you." Elizabeth couldn't hide her relief that Caroline wasn't angry with her. She smiled widely, feeling as though she no longer had anything to dread. The weight that had been lifted from her was immense.

"Well, we'd better get the dining room set to rights. The train waits for no one—well, except for a herd of cows on the tracks." Caroline touched her arm again. "I am very happy for you, Elizabeth. Adam deserves the best kind of young woman for his wife, and while we hardly know each other, I do believe you may be just that. I look forward to getting to know you better."

"And I you." Elizabeth watched as Caroline hurried off to the kitchen, and then she turned to her own task of putting cloths on the tables. It had just struck her for the first time—as Adam's wife, the hotel would be her responsibility too. The thought was both exciting and frightening at the same time.

* * *

The midday meal service had gone very smoothly. They had filled nearly all the tables, and Elizabeth was pleased to see the increase. Mr. Earp had joined them, and he explained to her that he'd sent two men back to Wichita with the outlaw they'd captured while he remained behind to further the hunt for the second man. He assured her that he wouldn't rest until both men had been caught and punished.

After the meal was cleaned up, Elizabeth and the other girls went out back of the hotel and began doing the wash. Two days' worth of linens made for a large laundry pile. Tom had filled large kettles and put them over roaring flames, and they now had plenty of hot water to scrub out food stains from tablecloths and napkins alike. They'd have just enough time to do this wash and get it hung to dry before it was time to prepare for the second meal service of the day.

"All right, Elizabeth, you must tell us everything," Harriet said as she tossed napkins into her washtub. "If you leave anything out, I'll stop scrubbing, so this laundry's success is entirely dependent on you."

Elizabeth smiled, and then told the girls her story while she worked on the tablecloths. Abigail and Jeanette mostly listened while Harriet peppered her with questions—this didn't surprise Elizabeth at all, knowing their personalities as she did.

"You have certainly been through a lot," Harriet said, holding a dripping napkin in the air while she contemplated everything Elizabeth had just told them. "I'm so glad you found your way here, and that Mr. Brody fell _madly_ in love with you." Abigail and Jeanette looked at each other and giggled. "Now you must tell us—has he kissed you? You're engaged—he must have kissed you."

Elizabeth bent over her washtub, trying to hide her infernal pink cheeks.

"I knew it! And now you must tell us if he's a good kisser."

Elizabeth's gaze flew up to meet Harriet's. "Oh, I don't know if I ought to say . . ."

"You could just give us a hint," Harriet said. "You wouldn't have to tell us outright."

Elizabeth laughed. "You are incorrigible. All right. Mr. Brody _is_ a very good kisser."

The girls all giggled again.

"I'm glad that's settled." Harriet gave her napkin a good wringing. "I, for one, am very happy for you. I've thought from the start that Mr. Brody is a very handsome man, and I believe he's chosen a lovely wife."

"I agree."

All heads turned as Adam walked around the corner of the building, a wide smile on his face.

"Mr. Brody," Harriet stammered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . . I mean, I'm sorry . . ."

"Never mind about it, Miss Martin. I'm quite flattered. And I also agree with your assessment of my bride-to-be." He leaned in, kissed Elizabeth's cheek, and smiled at all the girls gathered around their laundry. "Tom and I are going to work on the caretaker's cottage. We may need some input from you later on, if that's all right."

Elizabeth nodded, and Adam strode away. He was barely halfway across the yard before they all burst into giggles again.

"I've never been so mortified in my life," Harriet said, finally getting control of herself. "I always knew my big mouth would get me into trouble—when will I ever learn to control my tongue?"

"I think he was amused," Elizabeth said. "It surely can't hurt a man's pride to learn that a woman finds him attractive."

"That may well be, but I shouldn't have said it. Now he's going to think I'm common."

"I doubt that," Elizabeth said. "Let's get this laundry on the line—we only have an hour before the next train."

They hung the linens, then went inside to prepare the dining room for the evening meal. Elizabeth hoped the next linen shipment would come soon—they only had enough left for this meal, and they simply couldn't use dirty linens from one meal to the next. Adam would never tolerate it, and she couldn't stand the thought herself. This hotel must be run to the highest standards or they might as well close their doors.

# Chapter Eighteen

Adam had asked Elizabeth to come out to the caretaker's cottage and offer her advice on the repairs and furniture placement he and Tom had been working on, but she hadn't been able to get away until well after dinner. Adam told her she could worry about it the next day, but she guessed she'd be just as busy then. Taking a moment now was the most logical choice.

She crossed the expanse of yard between the hotel and the cottage, picking her way over the spots of ground that were still uneven. Tom had been working tirelessly to level out all the dips and gullies, but with all the other tasks he'd been asked to do, several areas of the yard were still in need of attention.

She had just passed the barn when she felt a pair of rough hands grab her from behind. They yanked her backwards, and one clamped over her mouth before she could cry out. She was dragged through the main door of the barn and tossed onto a pile of hay in the corner. Faint evening light streamed in through the window, and she could tell that her attacker was none other than the tall man Mr. Earp was currently chasing, the one who had been the most vocal toward her. She'd never heard his name, and she didn't want to know it. That would make him seem like more of a human, but he was a monster.

"Well, now. It seems you and me have a little problem. My partner got hisself all locked up on account of you."

Elizabeth's heart was pounding so hard, she could hardly think, but she took a deep breath. "I'd say it was on account of you, and the choices you made together."

"Well, is that so?" He spit, and a stream of tobacco juice flew out of his mouth. "I say, if you'd just given me what I was after, we could have avoided us a whole lot of unpleasantness. That makes this your fault."

Elizabeth scrambled in the hay to get up, but he backhanded her. She fell, her head ringing. For a moment, she wasn't even sure which way was up.

"It's time we settled this score, you and me." He began to unbuckle his belt. "I figure, your skin is just as sweet and tender as it looks, and I aim to find out."

Elizabeth blinked, trying to come to her senses. Nausea rose in her throat, and she swallowed several times. "I don't think so," she finally managed.

The loud blast of a pistol rang through the barn, and her attacker staggered backwards before crumpling to the ground. Elizabeth lowered her gun, which she hadn't even bothered to pull from her pocket—she'd reached in and pulled the trigger, and the bullet flew through the fabric of her dress.

"What on earth . . ." Caroline was the first to enter the barn. "Elizabeth! What happened?"

Elizabeth still sat on the straw, unable to rise. She had been overtaken by a violent case of shaking. "Is he dead?"

Caroline walked over and nudged the man with the toe of her shoe. "I believe he is."

Tom was next. He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene at a glance. "Good job," he said to Elizabeth. "That was some impressive shooting."

"Where's Adam?" she asked. All she could think about was him.

"He went to the general store to see about getting more nails and lumber before they closed for the night. I'll go get him."

"Please stop by the marshal's office on your way," Caroline said. "And find Mr. Earp."

"Will do." Tom disappeared from sight.

Caroline looked down again at the man on the floor. "We can't just leave him here—he's in plain sight of anyone walking past."

"What will we do with him?" Elizabeth asked.

"Help me. We'll drag him over here and cover him with straw."

Elizabeth somehow managed to come to her feet, and grabbed his arms while Caroline grabbed his legs. They pulled him to the corner and covered him up.

"I can't . . . I can't believe I've killed a man," Elizabeth said, pressing her hands to her head. Blood pulsed through her brain, and she almost couldn't hear, it was so loud.

"I don't see as that you _did_ kill a man," Caroline said. "I think you killed a very large rodent, and if anyone asks me, that's what I'll say." She came over and put her arm around Elizabeth's shoulders. "Come inside. I have some lemonade in the kitchen."

Elizabeth let Caroline wait on her until she heard Adam's voice in the lobby. Then she ran to him and threw herself in his arms, regardless of who was watching, He held her closely, not making a move to let go until she stepped back.

"Are you all right?" he asked, looking deeply into her eyes.

"I . . . think I am. Mostly."

"Nonsense. You're shaking so badly, you almost look like a blur." He led her over to a sofa in the corner. "Tom is showing Mr. Earp and Colonel Gordon the barn now. Tell me what happened." He cradled her cheek in his hand. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I never imagined something like this would happen."

She told him, and he crushed her to his chest again. "Oh, my sweet, brave girl. I'm so proud of you. I'm so, so proud."

"Would you like me to get your mother? She's upstairs resting with the baby," Caroline said from behind her.

"Let me have a moment, please," Elizabeth said. "If she sees me like this, it will upset her all the more."

Adam wiped the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. "You did exactly what I hoped you'd be able to do. You're an amazing, wonderful woman."

"But I killed him," Elizabeth said. "I shot him and I killed him."

"Sweetheart, he was a dangerous man. He was wanted for murder, among many other things. You didn't just protect yourself—you protected countless other people who might have crossed his path down the road. Think of the lives you saved—think of the virtue you saved."

Mr. Earp stepped into the hotel, followed by Colonel Gordon. "May we have a word with Miss Caldwell?" he asked.

"Of course. Why don't we move into my office?" Adam slid his arm around Elizabeth's waist and helped her up, and they all went into the larger, more comfortable room.

"Miss Caldwell, can you tell us please what happened this evening?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes. I was going out to the caretaker's cottage in the middle of the property. I had just passed the barn when I was grabbed from behind and dragged inside. He . . . the man . . . pushed me into the hay, and then he struck me." She touched her cheek and winced. There was no mirror nearby to double check, but it felt bruised.

"We noticed when we found the body . . . under the hay . . . that his belt was unbuckled," Mr. Earp said. "I'll put this as delicately as I can. Was he threatening you in a personal way, Miss Caldwell?"

"Yes. He made his intentions very clear, and I shot him with the pistol I was carrying in my pocket." She lifted the folds to show them the bullet hole in her dress. "Do you need to see the gun?"

"No, that's quite all right. Can you tell me how his body came to be covered with straw?"

"Miss Hampton was worried that someone passing might see the body and become alarmed. So we moved him."

"I see." Mr. Earp made a few more notes in his book. "Thank you for your time, Miss Caldwell. I'll take the body back to his family for whatever burial they see fit."

Elizabeth half rose from her chair. "Mr. Earp, aren't you going to arrest me? I've just committed murder."

He studied her, and his impressive mustache twitched in amusement. "I was just going to hang him anyway. As I see it, you've saved me the cost of a rope."

Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth a few times, almost protesting, but she realized it was foolish to argue with someone so willing to forgive her. "Thank you," she said at last.

"I'll speak to Miss Hampton as well, but rest easy, Miss Caldwell. I have no intention of pressing charges." Wyatt Earp gave a nod and walked out of the office to find Caroline, Colonel Gordon following him.

"I'll never forgive myself for this," Adam said, enfolding Elizabeth in his arms again. "You must have been terrified."

"I was. Oh, I was. I kept thinking about Rose and Mother—and you. I couldn't bear to lose you after just finding you."

"It would have been the harshest blow in the world." Adam slid his hands down her arms, making her tingle with delicious chills. "Oh, Elizabeth, this could have ended so differently. Thank you for being brave and for carrying that pistol. I wish it hadn't been necessary—I wish you'd never been faced with this."

"You taught me what to do, and it's over now." Elizabeth snuggled into Adam's embrace, feeling completely safe for the first time all evening. He held her close, and she could hear his heart through his white linen shirt.

"Do you remember that I went and spoke with the judge about marrying us?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble against her ear.

"Of course."

"He says he can meet with us a week from Saturday. What do you say, Elizabeth? Will you become my wife in a week and a half?"

She pulled back and studied his eyes. They were warm, sincere, and sparkling. "Yes, Adam," she said. "I would love to. And I'm sure Mother will make our wedding cake."

He brought her closer and kissed her, sealing the agreement with his lips. Maybe now both of them would find the new beginning they had been seeking.

The End

Special Sneak Peek of A Free Heart, Kansas Crossroads Book Two

Click here to purchase.

Chapter One

Topeka, Kansas

1875

Harriet Martin looked out the window of the hotel parlor and saw Mr. Adam Brody, her employer, coming through the front gate. He had promised to check in at the post office to see if there was any mail for her, and he did hold a bundle of letters in his hand. She carefully set down the trinket she'd been dusting and then ran out to the porch to meet him.

"Is there anything for me, Mr. Brody?" she asked, trying to appear calmer than she felt.

He chuckled. "Yes, Miss Martin, there is an envelope with your name on it." He shuffled through the stack. "Let's see. There's something here for Aunt Caroline. I wonder what that could be." He held it up, squinting as though he could see the contents. "Oh, and here's something for me. Must be a bill of some sort. I'll look at that later. And another one for me, and another one for me . . . My, I'm quite popular today."

Harriet knew he was deliberately taking his time just to vex her. He enjoyed teasing his employees. She heard a soft chuckle from behind her as Elizabeth, Mr. Brody's soon-to-be wife, walked up behind them and put her arm around Harriet's shoulders, her other hand still clutching the handle of a broom. "Just give her the envelope, Adam," she chided gently.

Mr. Brody pretended to be surprised. "Oh, that's right. She's waiting for a letter. My apologies. Here you are, Miss Martin." He finally handed it over, doffed his hat, and went inside the hotel, whistling.

"He's certainly been in a good mood this week," Harriet said, watching him go with a smile on her face. "I don't suppose your wedding on Saturday has anything to do with it."

Elizabeth laughed as she resumed sweeping the porch. "Maybe. I know it's made me a lot happier. Now, read that letter before it burns a hole in your hand."

Harriet lifted the flap and slid out the sheet of paper with trembling fingers. The words were written in a very straight line, the penmanship neat and tidy, and she sank down onto the porch steps, absorbing the message. She didn't realize she was crying until Elizabeth handed her a handkerchief.

"What's the matter, Harriet?" Elizabeth asked, leaning on the stair rail.

Harriet wanted to share, but she wondered what she could possibly say, how to take everything that had happened and everything she was feeling and condense all of it into a few short words. But if anyone understood heartbreak, it was Elizabeth. Harriet could trust her friend to understand her emotions and to keep her confidences.

She wiped her face with the handkerchief, embarrassed and knowing she must look a sight. The dust in Kansas flew thick in the air, especially here, on the edge of town, next to the railroad. She had no doubt that her tears had created mud tracks down her cheeks to rival the train tracks a hundred yards away.

"It's a long story," she said at last. "And I'm not sure there's time to tell it before the train comes in."

"Well, then, give me a hint, and we'll talk more about it after dinner," Elizabeth said. "Please, Harriet—I've never seen you so upset. Let me help you, if I can."

Harriet chuckled. "I'm not sure there is much help for me, but I suppose I can let you try." She took a deep breath, realizing that the best way to say it would be to do it all at once. "Very well, here's your hint. I fell in love with a man who used to be a slave on my father's plantation."

Elizabeth blinked several times. "A slave?"

Harriet nodded. "That's right. His name was Sam Johnson, and his mother, Jane, was a house slave. I'm the youngest in my family by quite a bit—my two brothers were born to my father and his first wife. She died, and then some years later, Father married my mother, and I came along. I had no full siblings, no one my age to play with, and I was an ornery child." She laughed, shaking her head. "I'm still ornery. Anyway, Jane suggested that what I needed was a friend, and she brought her son up to the house one day.

"We were both probably three at the time, and we had no idea there was anything going on in the world that said we shouldn't get along. We took one look at each other and made fast friends. I called him 'my Sammy.' He showed me how to make mud pies, I taught him his letters, and over the next few years, we went fishing and did all kinds of things a polite Southern girl should not be doing, especially with a slave. The worst was the laundry incident."

"The laundry incident?" Elizabeth asked, a furrow in her brow.

Harriet grinned. She hadn't thought of it in years, but now she could see it as though it had all happened just yesterday. "Oh, it was so funny. The laundry had just been put out on the line, all those white sheets flapping in the wind. We couldn't have been more than about five years old, and we wanted to play ghosts. We stole two sheets off the line and put them on, running all over the lawn, making ridiculous noises. I don't remember what put the idea of ghosts in our heads, just that we thought it would be fun.

"Well, at the same time, the geese had gotten out of the pen by the kitchen porch, and they were running around loose too. They thought we were chasing them, but we couldn't see because of the sheets over our heads, and we didn't even know they were loose. We just heard these horrible honking sounds, and we thought some real ghosts were after us." She used the handkerchief to wipe her eyes again. This time, the tears were from laughter, and they eased some of the pain in her chest. "I don't know why we thought ghosts would sound like geese, but we were so young, we were frightened out of our minds."

"I'm sure you were," Elizabeth said, traces of amusement in her voice.

"My mother looked outside through her bedroom window, saw two little ghosts chasing her geese around the yard, and nearly had a fit. She came charging down the stairs, grabbed us each by an arm, sat us down on hard chairs in the kitchen, and left us there for an hour until she was calm enough to speak to us again. The cook was even forbidden to give us cookies, and that was a terrible punishment. I nearly lost the right to play with Sammy after that day, but I convinced her it was my fault and that he hadn't made me do it. Truth is, I don't even remember whose fault it actually was."

Elizabeth laughed. "I can picture the whole thing."

"If you're ever bored, I highly recommend giving it a try. It's great fun, and we'd just need some geese. Although, now that I've washed some sheets myself, I feel guilty. I'll never look at linen the same way again."

The train whistle sounded in the distance, and Elizabeth jumped up from her slouched position against the railing. "We'd better hurry if we're going to be ready on time. Harriet, we need to talk later—I must hear the rest of this story."

"I'll tell it. I promise." Harriet felt a little better already, having someone to share the burden with her. Now she wanted to tell it all. Maybe Elizabeth would know what she should do, for she certainly didn't.

"I'll hold you to that. Now, get on upstairs and change your dress."

Harriet looked down at herself. "Why? What's the matter?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "That's how I knew something was wrong. You sat down right in the middle of my dust pile."

Harriet leaped up and twisted to look at the skirts of her dark dress. Sure enough, they were covered in the dust that had been swept up from the porch. "Oh, no!" She glanced out at the horizon, where she could see the smoke from the train drifting up into the air. "I'll be right back." She dashed inside and up the stairs to the attic room she shared with the other girls who worked at the hotel. She had just a few minutes before she would be expected downstairs, crisp, tidy, and ready to serve. She only had one more clean dress—it looked like she'd be washing her own clothes as well as linens that afternoon.

She filled the basin in the corner with water from the pitcher and washed her hands and face, then smoothed down her bright auburn hair. A glance in the mirror hanging over the basin showed that she'd succeeded in wiping away the streaks, and she was quite presentable now. She took a deep breath and smiled, hoping she looked as polite and hospitable as she ought to, then turned and tucked her letter under her pillow. She would read it over again later after the meal had been served.

A familiar rumbling under her feet told her the train was pulling into the station. She wondered if this was one reason why Mr. Garrison had abandoned this building years before—she certainly wouldn't like to live in a home that was supposed to be for luxury, but instead was jiggled to pieces on a regular schedule. She picked up her skirts and trotted down the stairs, pausing at the linen closet to fetch a fresh white apron. By the time the front door to the hotel opened and guests started coming in, she was calm, composed, and lined up with the other girls, ready to do her job, and ready to pretend that her heart wasn't breaking.

# About the Author:

Amelia C. Adams traces her family tree right back to the settlement of the west—her great-great-grandmother even drove a wagon to her new home. Amelia is a wife, a mother, and a novelist. She spends her days dreaming up stories and her nights writing them down. Her biggest hero is her husband, and you might just see bits and pieces of him as you read her novels. She loves all things historical and enjoys learning about days gone by, but she's glad she was born more recently (she won't say how recently or not recently) because the Internet is awesome, and she's glad she doesn't have to wash her clothes by hand in a galvanized tub.

You can reach Amelia at **ameliaadamsauthor@gmail.com**.

If you enjoyed _A New Beginning_ , be sure to check out the next books in the series. Visit www.ameliacadams.com for titles and release dates. While you're there, you can sign up for Amelia's newsletter, which will keep you updated on everything going on at the Brody Hotel.

You're also invited to "like" Amelia's Facebook page. <https://www.facebook.com/pages/Amelia-C-Adams/584870491648423>

Do you love all things Western? Maybe the **Pioneer Hearts Facebook group** is for you! Fans and writers of Westerns alike meet in one place to talk about books ... and cowboys ... Visit us here. <https://www.facebook.com/groups/pioneerhearts/>

**Author's Note:** Every effort was made to remain true to the history of this region, down to including real-life historical figures Wyatt Earp and Colonel Gordon, but I do confess that some artistic license was taken with the layout of the town of Topeka and the train schedule. 
