lifted her aside. She wiped her eyes, watched Garret close the stove door, then reach up to the pipe and turn the handle. “Why did you close the damper? Don’t you know—” He stopped, turned and peered down at her through slitted eyes.
She pressed back against the wall.
“You don’t know.” He stared at her. “Have you ever tended a fire?”
“Not in a stove.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to hide her trembling. “I have added wood to the hearth...on occasion.”
A sound, something like a muffled grunt, came from him. “It’s a good thing I came back.” He turned to the stove.
She wiped her eyes, edged toward the door.
“This is the damper.” He grabbed the handle on the pipe and twisted his wrist. “This is open. Leave it that way.”
She froze in place when he glanced at her.
“This is the firebox door...where you add the coal or wood. This is the draft. When it’s open wide the fire burns hot—too hot to be safe if no one is watching it. Adjust it about halfway or below so the fire burns constantly but safely. Turn it lower to keep the fire burning slowly all night. Don’t close it all the way or the fire will go out.” He glanced her way again. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She took a breath. “I do not touch the damper, I add coal and adjust the burn there.” She pointed to the fire box, then quickly hid her shaking hand in her long skirt.
He nodded, studied her a moment, then strode toward the hall, stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “I returned because I forgot to tell you the linens for your bed are in the cupboard in the hall. Good evening.”
He was angry. Was it because she didn’t know how to use the stove? Or because of her reaction to him? The last thing she wanted was to make him angry. Emory Gladen had been charming and treated her well—until she had refused him. And then when she had obeyed her father and agreed to Emory’s suit, the meanness she’d sensed in him had begun to show in subtle ways. He had demanded all her attention at social functions, become angry and cruel if she spoke to another man, even her oldest friends. And when her father had given Emory his blessing to ask for her hand, his subtle cruelties had become worse. And she was made to look foolish by his charming explanations.
And now she was married to Garret Stevenson. How did she know he wouldn’t be the same?
She locked the door, sagged against it and listened to his footsteps fade away.
* * *
A fine situation he’d gotten himself into! Garret added coal to the heating stove, turned down the draft for a slow burn, stomped out of guest bedroom number one, and entered bedroom number two. He never should have signed that contract! But the lure of free land and free lumber to build with that John Ferndale had offered had reeled him in. He’d saved enough in costs to add a third floor to the hotel and purchase the furnishings. And he’d been certain he could find some way around the marriage clause.
Ha! He wasn’t as clever as he thought. He’d delayed opening the hotel until his money started running low, hoping he’d find a way. But Ferndale had insisted he fulfill the contract to the letter. The man didn’t care that he was reluctant to marry. He had started counting the days!
Thirty days to marry or turn his hotel and all its furnishings over to Ferndale. The memory of the posting of a cowboy for a mail-order bride in the New York Sun had saved him from that financial trap. He’d sent out his own postings to the New York City, Philadelphia and Albany newspapers to find a woman who would be interested in a business arrangement instead of a marriage. In two weeks he’d found his answer—Millie Rourk. She had seemed perfect. The maid had agreed to his in-name-only conditions for the marriage, and to cook and clean for his guests for a fair wage. It was perfect! And what had the maid done? Betrayed him. Just as his mother had. Just as Robert’s wife had betrayed him.
Well, Virginia Winterman would not have that chance. She’d not find any opportunity to go sneaking off and leave him behind to try to find a way to save all he’d worked for. He’d see to that. He had worked and scraped and apprenticed himself to businessmen to get ahead since he was abandoned at ten years old. And he wouldn’t lose all he had gained because of a woman!
He added the coal, adjusted the draft on the heating stove and strode the short distance to the public dressing room. The last train had gone through an hour ago. There would be no guests tonight. But it was too cold to shut down the water heater and the stove. He heaped coal into the fireboxes, adjusted the drafts and went back to the lobby. Now he was married to a dishonest impostor! A woman who didn’t even know how to tend a fire!
I have added wood to the hearth...on occasion.
He let out a snort and sat on his heels on the hearth to bank the fire. Not only was his bride ignorant of tending a fire, she was so slight she could never carry the buckets of ashes that would have to be taken outside every day when the hotel had guests. He could blow her over with one good strong puff from his lungs. He would have to hire a Chinese laborer from the railroad work crews to handle the heavy work. If they weren’t all off searching for gold.
He stilled, staring at the burning embers he’d gathered into a pile. Virginia was a plucky one, though. She’d gone out into the storm without complaint. And she was pretty, in a pale, scared, taut-faced sort of way. Did she know how her bright blue eyes reflected her emotions? They flashed with anger, darkened with fear, sparkled with interest and warmed with friendliness. And her long curls, so soft and silky even when they were covered with snow... His fingers twitched on the fire rake handle. Keep your mind on your business, Stevenson!
He frowned and hung the rake on its hook, lifted down the shovel and scooped ashes over the embers. He was a man. How was he supposed to forget the feel of her hair, or her lips? He should have made some sort of excuse to avoid that kiss. It would take some doing to forget how her soft lips had trembled beneath his. Five years...he had to stay married and live with her in Whisper Creek for five years before his hotel was safe. He never should have signed that contract!
The wind moaned outside. He rose, closed the damper to a narrow slit for the night and walked to the front windows. Splotches of light from the oil lamps on the porch roof glowed on the snow swirling at the caprice of the wind. But the storm was easing. Perhaps some of the passengers on tomorrow’s trains would decide to stay over. That is, if the trains could get through the snow in the mountains.
He stared at the outer edge of the porch, watched the snowflakes falling through the sweeps of golden light. There must be close to twenty inches of snow by now, and the fall had to have been heavier at the higher elevations. And there was that big curve through the narrow gap in the mountains just before the trains entered the valley. If that filled in—no. The trains would plow through the snow with those big blades on the front of the engine he’d heard called “cow catchers.”
He raked his fingers through his hair and went to snuff the wicks on the oil lamps of the chandelier over the lobby desk. Guests or not, tomorrow would be a busy day. He had a lot of shoveling to do to clear the porch and steps and walkway. Shoveling...
He looked back out the windows toward the railroad station. Who would clear the road so supplies or brave passengers still riding the trains could reach the stores and businesses? His lips curved in a wry smile. Given the limited population of Whisper Creek, he was fairly sure he knew the answer to that question. At least Virginia could prepare the rooms and tend to any guests while he was working outside. Maybe.
Could
