Matty’s business establishment? She caught her breath. Oh, Lordy, it couldn’t be the saloon next door, could it? What on earth would I do with a saloon?
The boy pulled the wagon to a halt in front of a white two-story building with wide steps up to the glass-paned entrance door. “Here y’are, folks.” He scrambled down, grabbed both bags and escorted them up the wooden steps into the hotel. “Got customers for you, Hal!” he called out. He gave Lance a grin and a two-fingered salute and disappeared.
The hotel foyer was minuscule, scarcely larger than Mrs. Schneiderman’s front parlor. A red velvet settee and two matching armchairs sat opposite the scarred registration desk, which was deserted. The hot, still air smelled faintly of something cinnamony. Apple pie, maybe.
Lance stepped forward and jingled the bell beside the leather-bound sign-in register, and after a long moment a short man with a shiny bald head and a startled expression popped up from behind the counter.
“How do, folks!” He slapped the book he’d apparently been reading down beside the hotel register. Marianne craned her neck to see the title. The Plays of William Shakespeare. What a surprising choice way out here in this tiny Western town!
The clerk flashed her a tentative smile. “You folks new in town?”
“Yes,” Lance answered. “We just got off the train from St. Louis.”
“Ah, I see. What can I do for you?”
“Uh...we need hotel rooms.”
“Rooms plural, as in two rooms? Aren’t you two together?” The clerk’s curious gaze shifted to Marianne. “Or not?”
“Not!” Marianne said decisively. She felt her cheeks grow warm and prayed she wasn’t blushing.
“Not yet,” Lance added.
Oh, dear, she was definitely blushing now.
The clerk’s gray eyebrows rose. “Ah.” He bent over the register. “Not together, then,” he murmured, scanning the open page.
Lance cleared his throat. “We...uh...we plan to get married day after tomorrow.”
“Ah!” He handed Marianne a pen. “Sign here, please, ma’am.”
She scrawled her name with a hand that shook embarrassingly. “Could you send a bath up to my room? I—We have been on the train from St. Louis for the past three days and—”
“Oh, sure, ma’am, I quite understand. I’ll send one up right away.”
Lance nudged his elbow into her ribs. “Thank you,” she said quickly.
The clerk grinned at her and turned to Lance. “And for you, sir?”
“Just a single room, thanks.”
“No bath?” The man studied Lance’s shadowed chin. “Maybe a visit to the barber?”
A faint flush spread over Lance’s cheeks, and Marianne stared in surprise. Was it possible that Lance was a bit vain about his appearance? She had seen him dirty and disheveled, with sweat sheening his forehead and his chin all bristly after hours spent repairing a fence in the hot sun; he hadn’t minded looking unshaven then. Or maybe, she thought with a twinge of guilt, she’d kept him too busy to shave.
The clerk coughed and turned to consult the wooden rack behind him, then presented her with a shiny brass key. Number Six.
Lance accepted a second key, Number Seven, then noticed that Marianne’s penetrating green eyes were glued to his face. Hot damn, she was staring at him like she’d never seen him before. Well, hell, maybe in all the years he’d worked for her she hadn’t really looked at him.
He had sure looked at her, though. Whenever he’d been near her he’d tried hard to shut his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen to the endless stream of commands coming out of her mouth. But he had looked at her. Couldn’t help it, if he was honest. Marianne had a lot of annoying habits, but he had to admit she was one delicious-looking female.
All at once it hit him. He had a pretty good idea who Marianne was, but she didn’t know diddly-squat about who he was. Outside of that Wanted poster she carried around with her, she didn’t really know one cotton-picking thing about him. At the moment Miss Stiffer-than-Starch-Know-All-the-Answers Collingwood was actually facing something she didn’t know anything about. Him!
For some reason that thought made him smile.
They lugged their bags up the staircase to the second floor and located their rooms. Lance took the key from Marianne’s hand, unlocked the door to Number Six and pushed it open. The room looked dim and cool, and he caught sight of a big double bed under one window. That made him smile, too.
“Day after tomorrow we’ll only need one room,” he said in what he hoped was a matter-of-fact tone.
“Oh,” she said. “Yes, I suppose so.”
And that was all? No pre-wedding jitters? No I’m glad we’re finally here? Nothing?
He set her travel bag inside the door and turned to go. “After you’ve had a bath and a chance to rest, let’s meet up for supper at the restaurant, say around seven o’clock?”
She looked up, gave him an unsmiling nod and closed the door in his face.
Three hours later, after a visit to Poletti’s Barbershop down the street for a bath and a shave, Lance walked into the restaurant and was shown to a table by the front window. The white-aproned waitress laid a menu in front of him and slid an order pad out of her apron pocket.
“You new in town?”
“Yeah,” Lance said. “Came in on the train from St. Louis this afternoon.”
“You stayin’?”
“Yeah.”
“Alone?”
“Uh...not exactly. My fiancée is upstairs taking a—She’ll be joining me shortly.”
“Fiancée, huh?” The waitress laid another menu on the table and glanced toward the entrance. “That her?”
Lance followed her gaze and half rose from his chair at the sight of Marianne. She looked so fresh and pretty his thoughts froze for a minute. “Yeah. At least I think so.”
The waitress laughed aloud. “You think so? How long have you two been engaged?”
“Three days,” he murmured.
“Not long enough,” she said. “How long have you known each other?”
He watched Marianne gliding across the dining room toward him. “Not long enough,” he said.
The woman nodded. “Most men think that after the wedding,” she said with a wink.
Marianne settled into the chair across from him and sent him a tentative smile. She wore a striped shirtwaist and a flouncy blue
