his hat off and held it in front of him as he stepped over to the table. “I appreciate the invitation, ma’am,” he said, “but I don’t reckon your husband would appreciate it if he came in and found you sharing a table with a strange man.”
She smiled up at him, and he saw that her eyes were a rich brown, like her hair. “First of all,” she said, “my husband doesn’t appreciate anything anymore, since he’s dead—”
“I’m sorry,” Frank said.
“And secondly,” the woman went on, “I pride myself on being a good judge of character—a woman on her own has to be, you know—and you don’t strike me as strange at all, Mister…?”
“Morgan,” he supplied. “Frank Morgan.”
“My name is Fiona,” she said. “Please, sit down.”
Frank didn’t hesitate. He placed his hat on the table and took the empty chair opposite the woman called Fiona.
“I know it was terribly forward of me to speak to you like that,” she went on.
“I’m glad you did. Otherwise I’d still be looking for a place to sit.”
She returned the smile he gave her. He saw that she had a cup of coffee in front of her, but no food.
“You haven’t eaten yet?”
“No. In fact, I just gave the girl my order a short time ago.” Fiona lifted a hand. “I’ll get her attention, and you can tell her what you want.”
“As long as it’s hot and halfway cooked, it’ll be fine with me.”
A waitress in a long, starched white apron made her way through the tables to them a moment later. When Frank asked for a steak, she shook her head.
“Sorry, we’re out of ’em. The way these gold-hunters eat, I’d be surprised if there’s a cow left in the whole state of Washington! We’ve got pork chops and potatoes and greens, though.”
Frank chuckled. “Bring ’em on. And coffee.”
“Right away, mister.”
When the waitress was gone, Frank looked around the room and commented, “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many men bound and determined to make their fortune.”
It was true. Most of the men in the dining room already wore the flannel shirts, canvas trousers, and laced-up work boots of prospectors. The clothes were new, though, which told Frank that the men hadn’t yet set out on their quest for gold. As Jacob Trench had told him, Seattle was the place where the Argonauts outfitted before leaving for Alaska.
The thought of Trench made Frank grow sober for a moment. Fiona must have seen the reaction, because she asked, “Is something wrong?”
“I lost an old friend earlier tonight,” Frank told her.
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“He brought it on himself in a way. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.” He shook his head and changed the subject by saying, “You didn’t tell me your last name.”
She smiled at him. “That’s right, I didn’t. No offense, Mr. Morgan, but a woman traveling alone can’t be too careful. I give you my word, though, that I’m not one of those…what do you call them?…soiled doves.”
Frank’s eyes widened in surprise. “I swear, ma’am, that’s not what I was thinking. Not at all. I mean, a fella can tell just by looking at you that you’re not…well…”
“That’s all right, Mr. Morgan. I know what you mean. And I take it as a compliment, I assure you. I’ve always tried to conduct myself as a lady.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure you have.”
Their meals arrived a few minutes later. The orders had gone in close enough together so that the waitress brought them to the table at the same time. Frank dug in. He tried to be polite about it, but he was hungry. Fiona didn’t seem bothered by his hearty appetite. She even smiled slightly as if she enjoyed watching him eat.
The food was good, and Frank followed it with a serving of apple pie that hit the spot. Fiona passed on the pie. “I don’t keep this girlish figure by indulging too often,” she said, the rasp in her voice giving the words a touch of dry humor.
When Frank was finished, he leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “What brings you to Seattle?” he asked. “Or is it improper to ask?”
Fiona shook her head. “Not improper at all. I’m here on business.”
Frank arched an eyebrow.
“I know, not many women are involved in business,” Fiona said. “But as I told you, I’m a widow, and I have to do something to provide for myself.”
“You’re still young. You could—”
“Marry again?” she broke in. “I suppose I could. If I could ever find someone I wanted to marry. The problem is that I’m very selective. Are you in the market for a wife, Mr. Morgan?”
Frank sat up straighter and frowned. “Me?”
She laughed. “Take it easy. I was just joshing you.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good, because I’m not looking to get married.”
Not after he had buried two wives because of the violence that followed him.
“What brings you to Seattle?” Fiona asked.
“My horse.” Frank smiled. “I’m what they call a drifter. A saddle tramp, I guess you could say.” He paused, thinking again of Jacob Trench. “But as it turns out, I’ve got some business I need to take care of, too.”
Fiona lifted her coffee cup. “Well, then, here’s to good luck for us both in our endeavors.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Frank agreed.
“Although it would be more fitting with a nice slug of brandy in this coffee, wouldn’t it?”
He grinned. “I reckon so. You think we should ask the waitress?”
“I think we’d give the poor girl palpitations if we did.”
The coffee cups clinked together.
Chapter 4
Over the years, Frank had seen too much violence and sudden death to let it affect him too much. Because of that, he was able to sleep soundly that night, although as he dozed off he did feel a moment of regret over what had happened to Jacob Trench.
He thought about the mysterious Fiona as well. They had parted company in the lobby after dinner. She was staying at the hotel, too, and Frank had a feeling she didn’t want him to know which room she was in. That was fine with him. He wasn’t looking for a romance, although he had definitely enjoyed her company during dinner.
He
