sorry.”
She wasn’t. His gesture had meant nothing to him, of course. But it meant something to her. Acceptance. That was what had increased her heart rate. Not the memory of his hands on her waist the night before and the resulting warmth that had spread through her. She stifled a smile. “Shall I file my drawing and get to work on the next?”
A red flush crept over the collar of his white shirt. “By all means. I’ll get you set up.”
Trace joined them. “Whoo whee! That’s quite the drawing, Jessie. I’d be hard-pressed to trace it, let alone draw it.”
She appreciated the young man’s enthusiastic support, but she didn’t want to attract any more attention. The draftsmen had been passing by her station or stopping to chat all morning. “I’m sure you’re far more capable than you think.”
Flynt nodded. “That’s true, Trace. Once you pick up your pace, I’ll be able to give you more challenging assignments.”
Trace’s eyes widened. “Do you mean that, sir? Of course you do! I’ll work hard. You’ll see.”
Kurt ambled over. “So is the golden girl finally finished?”
Several retorts flashed through Jessie’s mind, but she kept them to herself. Instead she laughed and patted her hair. “No gold here. Just lots of red.”
“Auburn, actually.”
Flynt’s unexpected comment took her aback. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he was observant. But noticing elements of a drawing or comments by a colleague was different than noticing a woman’s hair color.
“And a beautiful shade of auburn it is, too.” George joined the group gathered in front of her drawing.
A rap on Corby’s office window drew their attention. The manager stood behind the glass shaking his head and frowning. Not a good sign.
“Gentlemen, I need to get Jessie started on a new drawing. Return to your boards, please.” Flynt’s firm tone sent the men hurrying back to their drafting tables, leaving her alone with him. He flipped through his notebook.
She used the time to study him. Learning to read a man’s character had become a means of survival. After spending just two weeks at the High Stakes, she had been able to determine which men were harmless, which would require a firm hand and which to avoid altogether.
Unfortunately, Miss Maggie’s girls hadn’t had the luxury of refusing to entertain a paying customer, a problem Jessie had never faced. Ace had promised that no one would bother her, provided she allowed everyone to believe she was his little lady. And no one had.
She’d come to know the Lord during those difficult days. He’d protected her and helped her leave that life behind.
Based on what she’d seen on the way home the day before, Flynt had a strong dislike of saloons and wouldn’t set foot in one. She certainly couldn’t imagine him ogling a woman the way Ace’s patrons had ogled her. Flynt had shown her kindness and consideration from the outset. Working for such a man would be a pleasure.
Kurt muttered something, but she ignored him. She’d worked hard to get where she was. Some people weren’t going to be happy, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. If she’d let the naysayers have their way, she would still be sweeping floors and emptying dustbins at Mr. Fullerton’s office back in Chicago.
Bless the kindly engineer. Thanks to him, she’d been able to leave the High Stakes behind and learn how to draw. All because he’d found her one sunny Sunday six years ago sketching the quaint church she’d attended back East and had given her a job at his engineering firm. She’d come to California in ’70, armed with the knowledge she’d acquired from Mr. Fullerton, and had finally gotten her first drafting job two years later when Mr. Bishop hired her.
Flynt quickly outlined her next assignment, and then he turned and addressed his team. “In honor of Jessie completing her first drawing, you may leave for lunch early. Enjoy yourselves.”
Rather than joining the others, Jessie found a shady spot behind the office and enjoyed a solitary meal. She hadn’t seen a hydraulic mining operation up close before, so she watched in awe as the huge monitors shot high-powered streams of water up to five hundred feet, blasting away the hillside. The process was fascinating, even if the destruction of such beautiful scenery wasn’t. The miners needed the water from the canal she would help design, but she preferred to think about the crops that would flourish with a proper irrigation system.
The whistle blew, signaling the end of the break. She deposited her lunch pail in the closet, washed up and returned to the Den, eager to begin her next drawing.
She entered to find Trace and George standing in front of a brand-new drafting table in the spot between Kurt’s board and Flynt’s, which had been empty before.
Trace turned, a grin on his face. “Look what was delivered while we were at lunch.”
George sauntered to her side. “Allow me to escort you to your station.” He held out his arm.
She wrapped one hand around his elbow and pressed the other to her chest. “That lovely board is mine?”
Trace loped over to take her other arm. “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”
Kurt, seated at his drafting table, spit his response. “It’s fancy.”
That it was. The four draftsmen’s tables had plain black bases with three heavy brass feet. Her board’s base was all black with beautiful gold stenciling.
Kurt kept his focus on his drawing. “Wait until Arnold sees it. He’ll have something to say, for sure.”
Trace gave her arm a brotherly squeeze before releasing it. “Don’t pay him any mind. He’s just upset on account of his board isn’t as fine.”
“Yours is very nice, Jessie. Look at this.” George pulled out a drawer on the upper left. “There’s a matching one on the other side.”
“Sure is.” Trace pulled it open. “There’s something inside. Instructions perhaps?” He pulled out a cylindrical piece of paper and handed it to Jessie.
She unrolled it and spread it on the drafting board. Her drafting board. “It’s a drawing.”
“For a drafting stool?” Trace scratched his head. “Why?”
“That’s a good question.” George stood behind her and placed his hand so close to hers they practically touched.
She pulled hers away and ran a fingertip over the legend, where the initials FK appeared. According to the date, Flynt had completed the drawing the day before. But what had prompted him to do so? And why was the drawing in the drawer of her drafting board? She checked the dimensions. The stool had a circular rung right where she would need it.
“Look!” George directed her attention to a penciled note at the bottom of the paper. The notation indicated that the stool was being built by a furniture maker downtown and would be delivered by the end of the week. “It seems you’re going to have a stool just your size.”
As much as Flynt’s gesture meant to her, he’d given her special
