tossed the coins on the desk and started up the stairs. Newt was still spluttering behind him. When they entered his room, he let go of Bonnie’s hand and unlocked the door between the two rooms.
“You’ll be in here,” he said, motioning to the adjoining bedroom.
He glanced around. It wasn’t quite as spacious as his room. The bed was smaller, the windows not as wide. But it would do. The hotel was clean, the rugs were taken out and beaten regularly, the sheets changed weekly. He walked around the room and pointed out the pitcher and basin, opened the armoire, showed her the lantern.
She stood in the doorway between the two rooms and stared at him. Big eyes got bigger. Both her arms hung at her sides with her hands balled into fists. For a heart-stopping second he thought she was going to cry.
“What’s wrong, Bonnie?”
She shook her head and didn’t speak. Before he could ask again, there was a knock on her door. He opened it. Two teenage boys carried in a tub, followed by three more with buckets of hot water. When the tub was filled, a maid came in, bringing towels and soap.
“Will there be anything else?” she asked.
He glanced at her, then the water. “I think there might be. Would you mind bathing a rather small little girl?”
“Sir?”
The maid wasn’t much more than a child herself, he realized, studying her upturned nose and brown eyes. With her neat cap and apron, she looked older, but she couldn’t be older than sixteen.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Alice.”
He grinned.
“It’s not a funny name, sir.”
“I know. It’s just...” He paused. He didn’t really want to explain that Megan had just named a calico kitten Alice.
“Alice, there’s a little girl in my room. She needs a bath. I think it would be easier for her if you helped her rather than if I did.”
“Yes, sir.” Alice smiled. “I’ve got seven younger brothers and sisters. I know plenty about bathing a young’un.”
“Wonderful.” He turned. “Bonnie, Alice here is going to—”
But Bonnie wasn’t standing in the doorway. He frowned and walked into his room. She wasn’t there, either. Everything was as he’d left it. He glanced toward the door. Had she run off? No, he would have heard her leaving. Then where was she?
He walked around the bed. Part of the carpet had been turned up, as if someone had tripped over the edge. He bent down and touched it, then got on his hands and knees and looked under the four-poster bed. Bonnie lay on her belly up by the headboard. He could see her face. She had her eyes tightly shut.
“Are you hiding?” he asked.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m scared.”
She looked so small huddled there. With her tattered clothes and dirty face. She also smelled like a sheep.
“Are you afraid of taking a bath? There’s a nice lady, whose name is Alice. She’s going to help you. They sent up some soap. I think it smells nice.”
“Will it hurt?”
“No. It’s warm water. You’ll feel toasty when you’re done. Then we’ll have something to eat. Would you like that?”
Instead of answering, Bonnie shimmied out from under the bed. Alice stood in the doorway between the two rooms and smiled encouragingly.
“Hello,” she said. “Can I help you bathe?” She held out her hand, then wrinkled her nose. “What do you want me to do with her clothes, sir?”
Justin opened his mouth, then closed it. “Wash them?”
“Does she have others? These won’t be dry by morning.”
“No, Mrs. Jarvis didn’t leave anything.” He thought for a moment. “Here.” He opened the armoire and pulled out one of his shirts. “Put her in this after her bath. Take her clothes outside, brush them and let them air. In the morning, I’ll find her something else.”
When he was alone in his room, he sank onto the window seat and sighed. He’d been back in Landing exactly two days. In that time he’d fought with Megan twice, kissed her, found out about a murder, insulted half the women in town by asking them about a dead saloon girl, learned about a second murder and found himself responsible for a small child.
A knock sounded on the door. A cheerful male voice called out that it was a delivery from the dining room. As he rose to let the man in, he hoped they’d remembered to bring whiskey because he sure as hell needed a drink.
* * *
The little girl who was escorted to the table set up by the foot of his bed wasn’t the same child who had disappeared thirty minutes before. Instead of a dirt-encrusted waif, this girl was all pink and white, sweet-smelling with beautiful, shiny black hair that fell halfway down her back. His white shirt dwarfed her, dragging on the floor. Alice had rolled up the sleeves.
“Here you go, sir. One clean girl. We had fun, Bonnie, didn’t we?”
Bonnie nodded. Justin wondered if she ever smiled.
Alice held the child’s dirty clothes in her arms. “I’ll see what I can do about these and leave them outside her door in the morning.”
“Thank you.” Justin accompanied the maid to the door, then tipped her generously. When she’d left, he turned back to Bonnie, who stood beside the laden table staring as if she’d never in her life seen that much food.
“Why don’t we start with some soup and bread,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. If she hadn’t been eating regularly, she wouldn’t be able to hold that much. He didn’t want to make her sick on her first decent meal in God knows how long. She glanced from him to the table setting and back. Confusion darkened her blue eyes, and fear, or maybe hunger, made her tremble.
“Don’t be afraid.”
He picked up a biscuit and handed it to her. She stared at it, then snatched it from him and shoved it in her mouth. While she was busy chewing, pushing and swallowing all at the same time, he lifted her and set her on the chair. Her head barely cleared the table.
Justin frowned. That wasn’t going to work. He grabbed the pillows from his bed, picked her up with one arm and shoved the pillows under her behind.
“How’s that?” he asked.
She swallowed the last of her biscuit. “Nice.”
He grinned. “Try the soup.” He lifted the cover of the tureen and ladled some broth into the bowl in front of her. The aroma of chicken and spices must have enticed her because she licked her lips. He tucked the napkin into the collar of the shirt
