Leo to make certain he was shielded from any unsavory influences.
“From the frown on your face, I see you have some concerns about The Blue Bottle.”
Eve gave him a direct look. “I’m not afraid to admit that I don’t approve of such establishments.”
He seemed amused by her words. “You can rest assured that the place no longer serves as a saloon.”
Mollified by his words, she relaxed. “That is good news. Did the town close it?”
“No, I’m afraid providence did. It was shut down by a fire. It happened before I ever moved here.”
“Oh.” They were drawing closer now and she frowned as she studied the structure. “But it seems to be undamaged and still in use.”
“The inside has been renovated, and yes, it’s still in use. In fact I own it now.”
Oh, my goodness. She stopped in her tracks just as they reached the corner of the building. That meant—
His grin had a mischievous edge. “That’s right. I have my shop on the first floor and my living quarters on the second.”
“You mean this is where we’re going to be staying?”
He swept his hand forward with a flourish. “In all its glory.”
A former saloon, of all things. Somehow it seemed very in character for this unorthodox gent to have set up shop in such an establishment. She slowly approached the entrance, feeling decidedly uncomfortable about what she might see inside. Just the idea of what all must have taken place in a former saloon was enough to send the warmth into her cheeks and her grandmother’s scandalized voice resounding in her mind.
Which was foolish, she told herself firmly. It was merely a building and nothing more. Lifting her chin, she pushed through the swinging doors and stepped into a very large undivided room that took up most of the lower floor. She’d never been inside a saloon before, of course, so she’d had no idea what to expect.
To her relief, Mr. Dawson was as good as his word and there were very few traces remaining of the former den of iniquity. The most obvious remnant of the building’s former purpose sat to her left—what had obviously been the counter where the drinks were dispensed. There was still a brass rail on the lower portion where she imagined men had propped their boots as they partook of the bar’s offerings. Looking closer, though, there was something odd about the counter, as if part of it had been lopped off. A result of the fire perhaps?
As for the rest of the room, the section nearest the doors was bare except for two round tables that had been shoved together to the left of the entrance. Three unmatched wooden chairs, at least one of which bore scorch marks, flanked them. Is that where he entertained visitors? Assuming he ever had visitors.
Across the room, however, it was a different story. The area was as crowded and cluttered as this side was bare. A pair of long worktables along with three smaller round ones were arranged in a seemingly random manner, all cluttered with an odd assortment of unidentifiable metal parts. There were also tools, jars, canisters, rags and crates scattered here and there. That was it. The walls were bare and there weren’t any domestic touches to speak of. Nor was it what one would call neat and tidy.
This place was definitely more of a workshop than a home. “You have done a good job of erasing the signs of a fire.”
“Thanks. I had to replace the staircase and a large portion of the floor. There was some damage to the far end of the counter but it’s such a fine piece of workmanship that I couldn’t bear to scrap the whole thing. And that east wall needed extensive repairs.”
He pointed to the opposite wall, where she could see doors. “Thankfully the other rooms down here—the kitchen, office and storage room—suffered very little damage.”
“So the building is now sound structurally?”
“Definitely.” Then Mr. Dawson smiled without visible embarrassment. “Sorry for the mess. I like to take things apart in order to figure out how they work—or at least try to. Sometimes I don’t get them put back together right away.”
While her host talked, Eve kept an eye on Leo, who was already halfway across the room. “Don’t touch anything,” she warned him. She was as concerned for the boy’s safety amid Mr. Dawson’s mishmash of metal parts and wires as she was for the items themselves. Then she eyed the cluttered tables again. How did the man keep up with where everything was? “Do you work alone?”
“That I do. There’s barely enough paying work here to keep one man busy. But it’s slowly picking up. And I have some plans for diversifying and expanding my business.”
Something about his tone seemed odd. But before Eve could push further, Leo spoke up from across the room.
“You know how to fix all of this stuff?” There was a touch of awe in his tone.
Chance shrugged. “Most of it. And I haven’t given up on the rest. I like trying to solve puzzles.”
Eve smiled. She rather liked puzzles herself, but she had a feeling the two of them had entirely different activities in mind.
“Do you think I could learn, too?” Leo asked wistfully.
“I don’t see why not—so long as you’re willing to really work at it.”
Eve was torn between being glad he hadn’t squashed Leo’s enthusiasm, and worrying that he was giving the boy false hope. After all, depending on what the sheriff’s inquiries revealed, Leo might not be in Turnabout for very long.
Mr. Dawson raised a brow. “But you can start by learning how to keep this place neat and clean.”
Eve swallowed a retort. Clean was one thing, but it would take hours, perhaps days, of effort to get this place neat and organized.
Leo changed the subject. “Where’s your motor carriage?” He looked around as if expecting to see it lurking in some corner.
“There’s a shed out behind the place where I store it.” Mr. Dawson waved to a door on the far end of the room. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Eve fought the urge to roll her eyes. He seemed as much a kid as Leo—easily distracted and always ready to play. “Before you do that,” she said firmly, “why don’t you show us to our rooms so we can get settled in.”
Mr. Dawson gave her an apologetic grimace. “Of course. First things first I suppose.” He changed direction and moved toward the stairs.
Leo started to protest, but before Eve could say anything, Mr. Dawson’s brow drew down in a warning look. “Miss Pickering is right—we should take care of business first.” Then he winked. “But don’t worry, there’ll be time enough for play later.”
Then he turned back to her and motioned toward the stairs. “It’s right up this way. There are four rooms up here and they’re all pretty much the same—only the view from the windows is different. My room is the last one on the right—you can have your pick of the other three. I’ll leave it to you to make the assignments.”
Eve looked around as they topped the stairs. The second floor was configured
