had invited her to eat lunch with him. They ached now, but a good night’s sleep should help.
George had claimed the spot to her left. He scooted nearer. Because Flynt was on her right behind the driver’s seat, she couldn’t move without getting uncomfortably close to him.
“Are you as happy to be working with us as we are to have you?” George asked.
The overly friendly fellow might like having her there, but Kurt, seated opposite her, had gone out of his way to register his complaints. She could deal with his outward hostility, but she found Arnold’s withering looks and brooding silence unsettling. His departure before the lunch she’d shared with the other members of Flynt’s team had been a relief.
“I’m excited about the project.” Ever since she’d heard of John Kirk’s plan to harness the water from high atop the Sierras, she’d dreamed of working to bring it about. When her previous boss, Mr. Bishop, had told her he’d secured an interview for her with the El Dorado Water and Deep Gravel Mining Company, she’d had a hard time believing it. And yet here she was, the newest member of Flynt’s team.
Trace, who sat beside Kurt, broke the lingering silence. “You’ve got a real way with numbers, Jessie. I could never do what you did today.”
Kurt gave a dry laugh. “That’s the truth. You’re hard-pressed to complete a tracing without making a mistake.”
Jessie gritted her teeth to keep from saying something she’d regret. How dare Kurt lash out at Trace like that? She drew in a calming breath. “We all make mistakes. I’ve certainly made my fair share.”
“I make them, too.”
Flynt’s admission took her by surprise. Apparently it had surprised his men, as well, because not one of the three said a word.
He continued. “I’ve always used a penknife to scrape off an errant mark, but Jessie uses a different method that leaves the paper in better shape. I’ll have her demonstrate it for us tomorrow.”
His offhand compliment left her at a loss for words. She’d cringed inwardly when her pen had slipped and she’d been forced to rub off the excess ink with a bit of Oakey’s glass paper. Flynt had watched her carefully, adding to her nervousness. Instead of finding fault with her, though, he’d been admiring her. She peered at him shyly and was rewarded with an understanding smile.
Kurt mumbled something.
Flynt turned to him. “What was that, Kurt?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Very little escaped Flynt’s notice. So he must be aware of the constant interruptions she’d dealt with all day. She’d handled them with a combination of humor and tact, but if nothing was done to put a stop to them, they would slow her down.
Mr. Bishop had gone out in the field quite often, leaving her in the office with the two draftsmen who also worked for the small irrigation company. They’d pestered her every chance they got. She didn’t want to endure that again.
They reached the end of Coon Hollow Road and started down Sacramento Hill. The wagon creaked, which came as no surprise. The grade must be around 13 percent. Jessie clutched the edge of the seat to keep from sliding into Flynt.
George didn’t hold on, and the ten inches that had separated them became two. She doubted that was an accident. He leaned even closer. She had to force herself not to jab him in the side with her elbow. “The fellows and I rent rooms at the Ohio House hotel. Where are you staying, Jessie?”
She kept her answer vague. “In a boardinghouse up on Coloma Street.”
“Ah, yes. That would be Maybelle Monroe’s place, wouldn’t it? I’ll gladly walk you home.”
Before she could reply, Flynt intervened, speaking in an authoritative tone. “That won’t be necessary, George.”
Flynt exchanged a few indistinguishable words with the stoop-shouldered driver straining on the brake and turned toward her. “It’s all settled. Harvey will run you home, Jessie, and then return to Main Street and let us off. He’ll be back to pick you up in the morning.”
“Thank you.” He’d spared her the need to decline George’s offer.
She’d dealt with more besotted men than she cared to remember. They’d flocked to the High Stakes night after night to hear her sing. No. Not her. Jade, as she’d been called in those days.
That part of her life was over, and yet the memories persisted. Men gazing at her with unbridled interest as she entertained the saloon’s patrons with one lively tune after another. Men promising her all manner of things if she’d spend a little time with them. Men refusing to take no for an answer and being tossed into the street as a result.
Barely sixteen when she’d begun singing for Ace’s patrons, she hadn’t known how to handle the attention. She’d received counsel from Miss Maggie, the owner of the brothel upstairs, who’d given motherly advice to all her girls. Although Jessie had never been one of them, she’d learned a good deal from the seasoned woman about how to handle too-friendly fellows.
As unobtrusively as possible, Jessie inched away from George. He hadn’t become too much of a problem—yet—and she planned to keep it that way.
The wagon rounded the corner at the bottom of Sacramento Hill, also known as Sacramento Street, and traveled a short distance along Main. The driver waited in front of the Arch Saloon for his turn onto Coloma Street. A colorfully clad saloon girl shoved her way through the swinging doors and sashayed up the street.
Flynt folded his arms over his chest and made a disapproving sound low in his throat.
Jessie angled toward him. “What’s wrong?”
Before he could respond, George leaned close. “Flynt is no friend of saloons, and he has a strong dislike of saloon girls, too. He makes that same sound whenever he sees one.”
“I see.” She’d have to be careful never to say or do anything that would cause Flynt to suspect she was anything other than the lady she appeared to be. If he were to find out about her days as a saloon singer, his opinion of her would surely change. He might even refuse to work with her.
Minutes later Harvey pulled up in front of Maybelle’s place. George jumped to his feet. “Wait a minute, Jessie. I’ll run and get that chair on the porch for you to step onto.”
Flynt stood. “No need. I’ve got it.”
He held out a hand, helped her to her feet and leaped from the back of the wagon. She waited at the edge of the bed.
“Lean over and put your hands on my shoulders.”
The chair suddenly seemed a much better idea, but she complied. He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her to the ground. The short flight through the air left her light-headed. Or had her breathlessness come about because he’d raced to her rescue?
Ever since she’d discovered the story of Cinderella as a girl, she’d dreamed of a handsome prince sweeping her off her feet. Flynt might not be a prince, but he was kind, chivalrous and handsome. With his thick, wavy hair and that warm smile...
No. He was grinning.
