Building Forever (The Gilbert Girls, #1) Page 13

  “I . . . I came here to spend the evening with you.” Miss Sinclair pulled an arm from under Turner’s grasp and righted her hat.

  Turner said nothing, but the smile on his face was enough to make Monroe want to knock it right off.

  “Are you certain?” he asked Miss Sinclair, the growl in his voice just barely keeping his anger in check.

  She tilted her head up to see him. “I am, sir. I do appreciate your riding to my rescue, though. You’re quite gallant, Mr. Hartley.”

  “I know this won’t be something that gets around camp, will it, Hartley?” Turner’s eyes bored into him, but Monroe held his gaze.

  “It will not.” He ground the words out. Getting Turner dismissed was an excellent idea—but not at the cost of Emma’s reputation and his own work.

  With that, Turner pulled Miss Sinclair closer, and it was as if Monroe was no longer there.

  Monroe clenched his fists and strode away from the couple. If the girl wanted to risk her own reputation and her employment, so be it. He’d done all he could. He passed the entrance to the gambling house and found Pender tied to a wooden post. He worked the knot apart. Big Jim would figure out that he’d returned to camp. Pender nipped at his hat.

  “Not tonight, boy,” he said, although Pender’s big brown eyes and silly horse grin made Monroe smile. He rode past drunken miners and tents that had seen much better days until he was out in the valley. The mining camp sat at the base of the mountains, and it was a good two or three miles from the hotel.

  Out on the valley floor, it was just him, the horse, and the stars. The cool air calmed the rage Turner seemed to bring on by his mere presence. Monroe breathed it in. The fresh breeze was like a balm to his soul. The air and the mountains and the wide open space of the valley were everything he needed. Even though he’d grown up in Kansas City and then in the chaos of a young Denver, this land spoke to him. It was as if he belonged here, out in the frontier where few white people had trod.

  He’d first felt this way on Colette’s parents’ ranch. Something about the wilderness that surrounded it, the horses and cattle, the occasional visits from the few remaining Plains tribes, the room to simply exist without so many people crowding into his thoughts—it made living easier. It was where he had healed after the loss of both of his parents, where he’d fallen in love with Colette, where he’d tried in vain to keep his sister, and where he’d felt at home until he left with his wife. Since then, he’d stayed periodically in Denver and in smaller towns as he was hired for building jobs, but his favorite work was in places such as this.

  Somewhere in the distance, a coyote yelped. The stars blinked overhead, and the crinkling in his pocket reminded him of what might lie ahead in his future. He pulled the telegram out again and clutched it in his hand. He could get the work done, he was certain. Even if he and the men had to go without sleep, they’d finish it. They’d earn the bonus, and now it seemed as if Mr. Gilbert had a new project for him. This was the biggest job of his life, and he’d almost done it. He’d almost proven himself a trustworthy and reputable builder, from nearly nothing at all. After this, doors would open for him anywhere he wanted to go. It was everything he’d ever wanted.

  Almost everything.

  He pushed the telegram back into his pocket and tilted his hat back. He never could have imagined Emma. But she was here, and she had worked her way into his very soul. He wished he could ask her to come with him, to marry him.

  But he knew it wouldn’t work. It hadn’t for Colette, after all. His once vivacious, happy wife had turned quiet and pale and withdrawn. It was the height of selfishness to ask Emma to conform to this life he wanted for himself. That was even if she said yes. It could cost her life, and he wouldn’t do that to her. But the thought of leaving her behind tore a hole in his heart that he feared would never heal.

  The wind lifted the hair on the back of his neck. Emma is different.

  He stared out into the darkness, unsure from where the thought had come. Emma was different than Colette, in many ways, even in the simple fact that she had chosen to leave behind everything she’d known to come out here to the godforsaken frontier, all alone. But that didn’t make her any less likely to want the things most women wanted.

  Did it?

  Pender nickered, almost as if he knew Monroe’s thoughts were getting more tangled the closer they got to home. Monroe leaned forward and rubbed the horse on his neck.

  “What should I do?” he whispered.

  The horse didn’t answer, of course. But he knew he needed to speak with Emma. And he knew there was really no choice to be made. There never was. She deserved to know that he’d be moving on after his work here was finished in just a few weeks. It was too late tonight, but he’d find her first thing tomorrow morning, before work began for the day.

  Idly, he imagined her throwing herself at him, begging him to take her with him. It wouldn’t happen—she was much too well-bred to do such a thing. And that was for the best.

  He cared far too much for Emma to see her waste away like Colette.

  She deserved a better life than the one he could give her.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The pre-dawn chill made Emma shiver as she walked down the back steps of the house. She yawned and waited for her eyes to adjust to the shadowy yard. Birds sang, but otherwise it was silent. Emma breathed deeply and a smile crossed her face. Never had she thought she would come to love early mornings. Back home, she and Lily would put off waking for as long as possible, much preferring to stay tucked into the warmth of their beds. But here . . . Something about the solitude and the majesty outdoors spoke to her. Just knowing all of what waited for her outside made her awaken before everyone else. Most of the poetry she’d written since she’d been here had been composed in the gray light of the early morning.

  Her shoes sank into the sandy ground as she crossed the yard. One bird sang louder than the others. Halfway to the privy, she stilled. That was no bird. Clutching her shawl closer around her, Emma turned slowly, searching for the source of the sound. Around the barn, a figure emerged. The wild beating of her heart calmed—just a little—as she made out Monroe’s features. She glanced quickly around her. No one else had stirred when she’d left the house, but she couldn’t be certain that was still true.

  Moving swiftly, she paced the rest of the distance to the barn. She followed Monroe around to the far side, which faced nothing but the empty valley and the dark Wet Mountains to the east.

  He looked so handsome this morning, even with his vest a bit rumpled and his hair grown too long. Emma tilted her head back to see his face. She wanted more than anything to reach up and trace his firm jaw with her fingertips, but the fear of being discovered—and the fear that she’d misinterpreted his actions a few days ago—kept her hands at her sides. “The house will be awake any moment now.” The second the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back. It sounded as if she didn’t want to see him at all, when the opposite was the truth. She wanted to see him, to talk to him, to find out his true feelings.

  “I know. I’ll be quick.” He gazed at her with a look so protective it sent a wave of warmth through her body. “Would you be free to meet me at the creek? I have some news.”

  “Oh?” Emma’s mind raced, trying to figure out what it might be. It had to be something good, given the enthusiasm with which he spoke. “I suppose I could offer to retrieve the water for washing. And the butter for breakfast.” She said this as if weren’t something she already did each day.

  A smile creased Monroe’s face, and it turned Emma into jelly. “There is an old footbridge that’s fallen into disrepair a little ways south of the springhouse. Meet me there?”

  Emma nodded just as the door to the house creaked open. The sound nearly made her jump. She turned reflexively, but of course, there was nothing to see on this side of the barn but the shadows of the mountains and the expanse of valley that led to them. “I must go.”

  “I
’ll wait for you by the creek.” He paused a second and looked at her like a starving man. Then he leaned forward, and his lips grazed her cheek. “Go.”

  Emma turned and stepped around the side of the barn, barely giving herself time to become composed. Thank goodness the sun had only just begun to peek over the horizon. Otherwise, whoever had stepped into the yard would likely remark upon the shade of her cheeks.

  Millie stood a few yards away, near the privy.

  “Good morning!” Emma called, her voice a bit too cheerful.

  Millie smiled at her. “Are you always awake before the sun?”

  “Most days,” Emma confessed, just as the door to the house opened and another of the new girls, Beatrice, stepped out. “I’ll go to the springhouse, if you both would like to start frying the ham and the eggs.” The eggs had been a pleasant surprise from Mrs. McFarland, who kept chickens.

  “Do you need help with the water?” Millie asked.

  Emma shook her head. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to that ham.” That, at least, was not a lie. Once they moved into the hotel, they would begin keeping pigs and cows for meat and milk, in addition to the chickens Mrs. McFarland kept now. But for the present, Mr. McFarland brought slabs of ham back from town on occasion, and of course they had venison from the numerous mule deer in the area and beef from the ranchers in the valley.

  “If you’re certain?” Millie hesitated on the steps to the house, Beatrice having already slipped inside.

  “I am.” Emma gave her a warm smile. “In fact, I’m looking forward to the walk.”

  Beatrice returned and handed her a bucket, and after finally using the privy, Emma headed out. She forced herself to walk normally. After all, she had to give Monroe time to make it back. She looked around for him, but couldn’t spot anyone beyond the men who milled around the campfires and tents on top of the rise. He must have left quickly after they parted, while the girls’ attention was on her.

  Emma chose a route that took her around the new hotel, opposite the side with the camp. It seemed smart to avoid seeing anyone right now, although there was certainly nothing suspicious about retrieving water and butter from the springhouse. As always, she was watchful as she approached the trees. It had seemed necessary since that man had cornered her by the creek several weeks ago. Seeing no one, she made her way through the trees that lined the creek rather than taking the more obvious wagon path.

  She emerged just north of the springhouse and followed the bank south, past the crew’s tents mostly hidden from her view until she thought she had gone too far. But there was Monroe, sitting on the remains of steps that led to an old footbridge. Emma hurried downstream until she reached him. He stood and took the bucket and the empty plate from her, setting them carefully next to the rotting steps.

  “You’re making me positively anxious for your news.” Emma clasped her hands together as Monroe peered past her. “No one followed me. I was quite cautious.”

  Seemingly satisfied, he pulled a well-folded piece of paper from his pants pocket and handed it to her.

  Emma tucked a wayward piece of hair behind her ear and took the paper. Reading it silently to herself, she tried to cull the meaning from it. It seemed as if Mr. Gilbert and his father were pleased with Monroe’s progress and wanted to offer him something else. When she looked up, he was frowning.

  “This is wonderful,” she said, handing him the telegram. “You’ve worked hard for the company, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

  It was as if her praise had lit a candle inside of him, and his frown disappeared. “Thank you. It means more to hear that from you than from any other person.”

  The hair fell forward again, and Emma tucked it back, ducking her head in the process to hide her growing flush. “What does the last part of the message mean?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He took a step forward so that he was mere inches from her. “I haven’t spoken with Gilbert yet, but it seems as if they want to offer me a job building another hotel.”

  Emma fought to pay attention to his words. Why was keeping her head clear so difficult whenever he was this close to her? “I’m so happy for you.” She forced herself to breathe. “Truly. Your work speaks for itself.”

  “It is, but . . .”

  Emma’s heart sank as she realized what such an offer meant. She wanted to know his thoughts, know if him seeking her out—twice now—held any meaning, and here she was, about to find out. If he said what she hoped he might say, perhaps she could then finally tell him that she needed to continue earning an income, somehow. “But?”

  He searched her face, and all she wanted was for him to take her in his arms and tell her that he would never leave her. But what did she expect? He wanted to craft a career in building, and that meant moving from place to place, never staying put for longer than a few months. Meanwhile, she had a contract to fulfill here at the Crest Stone Hotel.

  “It means I’ll have to leave.”

  “Where?” she asked in a whisper, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer.

  “It’s not clear. Not yet. I must speak with Gilbert, and then I’ll know more.”

  Emma chewed on her lip, searching for what to say next. There were words on the tip of her tongue, ones she didn’t dare speak aloud. Take me with you. She ached to hear him ask for her, down to the very marrow of her bones.

  But could she go?

  She bit down hard on her lip, drawing blood. It was foolish to worry on things that hadn’t even occurred yet. He may not feel the same way. Or he may, but have no ideas to help her find a way to continue supporting her family.

  “Leaving was inevitable. Once the hotel is finished, there’s no legitimate reason for me to remain.” Monroe hesitated, and then reached for her hands. Emma gave them gladly, reveling in the feel of his work-hardened fingers, and glad she’d left her gloves behind. He looked down at them, as if he was memorizing every line on her palm and every new freckle from the sun. Freckles that would make her mother blanch in horror. But if Monroe cared about freckles, he didn’t show it.

  “I know,” she said, hardly daring to breathe.

  “I . . .” Monroe trailed off, his eyes meeting hers. She tried in vain to read them. Resignation, some deep sadness—those were clear. But underneath . . . was that hope? It was almost as if he had something else he wanted to say.

  “Well, ain’t this an interesting turn of events?”

  A jolt shot through Emma. She yanked her hands from Monroe’s as she turned, something hot rising from her stomach and causing her entire body to tremble. Not ten feet away stood John Turner, the same man who had blackmailed Monroe out of his hard-earned money to keep their secret. Now he stood, arms crossed, hat tilted back, and his smile almost reaching his ears as he watched them.

  But most surprising of all—at his side stood a woman.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Millie?” Emma almost breathed the name out.

  The girl took a step backward, looking off toward the trees as if she didn’t want to be there. But Turner reached out and pulled her forward. She tripped a little, but righted herself as he clutched her arm.

  “Let her go,” Monroe said, his voice clipped. He wanted to yank the girl from Turner’s grasp and point her back in the direction of the house, but he knew he and Emma both would be better served if he stood where he was and heard Turner out.

  Turner shook his head, although he dropped the girl’s arm. “I don’t believe you understand this situation, Mr. Hartley.”

  “What I understand is that you’re here instead of rousing the men to start work. And that you’re pulling this poor girl around as if she were a dog you didn’t like.”

  Turner laughed without any shred of mirth. “You overstep your authority here, Hartley.”

  Monroe swallowed back the anger that threatened to breach. “I overstep nothing. I’m the boss of this operation. If you want to keep your position, I suggest you leave the lady al
one and return to your work.”

  Turner made no move to leave, but instead took a few steps forward. “You forget I’m keeping your secret. And now, thanks to my dear friend Miss Sinclair, I believe I’m finished with that.”

  “With what, exactly?” Monroe said the words to buy time more than anything else. If Turner intended to take his knowledge to McFarland, Monroe needed every precious minute to figure out what to do.

  “Why don’t you tell them, Miss Sinclair?” Turner shifted his body to allow them to better see the girl behind him.

  Miss Sinclair moved closer to Monroe. Her face had gone pale, and all he wanted to do was guide her to Emma, who would keep her safe and out of the way of men like Turner.

  “Millie?” Turner prompted, impatience tinging the edges of his voice.

  The girl twisted her hands together and looked to Turner. He nodded, and she moved her gaze to Monroe, then Emma. “This morning, I heard someone go out of doors before the sun had even risen. I was curious, so I followed. When I came to the yard behind the house, I saw someone scurry around the side of the barn. So I followed her and discovered Miss Daniels meeting clandestinely with Mr. Hartley. They spoke of meeting again later, and he kissed her.”

  When she stopped speaking, Turner laid a hand on her arm, and she gave him a grateful smile as color rose to her cheeks again. Emma stared at Millie, disbelief written from her forehead to her chin.

  “And now,” Turner said in a slow drawl, “Miss Sinclair came to the springhouse to retrieve butter that Miss Daniels said she had intended to bring back thirty minutes ago. Instead, she saw Miss Daniels’ footprints headed south. Worried about Miss Daniels, Miss Sinclair followed her. When she arrived, she found this.” He gestured at Monroe and Emma, a sneer on his face. “Clearly, Miss Sinclair, Miss Daniels has been seduced by this good-for-nothing builder. Why else would they be meeting in private? Why else would his hands be all over her? This is something Mr. McFarland and Mrs. Ruby should know about, don’t you think?”