“Oh, good. I’m Winifred Sattler. Wilbur Dawson’s niece? Nice to meet you.” She wedged her way inside before he could protest against it.
She found herself in a quaint, cozy store lit by a lantern on the corner counter. Shelves of merchandise lined the walls, the entire space smaller than Aunt and Uncle’s airy sitting room. Except she had thought this to be a gold mine. Why had the man attached a store?
When Winifred turned to Mr. Burke, who didn’t appear much older than she, she noted the confidence in his stance, the square rigidity of his shoulders. Strong. Masculine. He crossed his arms and waited for her explanation, so she hastened to give one. “I apologize for my abrupt visit, but my aunt gave me your name in case I ran into trouble, and I must say, I have certainly run into trouble. You would not believe—”
“Hold on.” Mr. Burke sliced through her words. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“Winifred Sattler, sir.” She stood straighter, hoping she didn’t look too frazzled after riding the coach so long. She’d left Denver over a week ago, roomed in Deadwood last night, and traveled to Spearfish this morning...only to turn around and come back to Deadwood tonight when prospects in Spearfish turned sour. If Mr. Burke didn’t help her, what options would she have? “I’m Wilbur Dawson’s niece.”
His eyes narrowed further as he looked her over.
She moved one polished black boot against the other, touched her bonnet lined with forget-me-nots. “Lovely place you have here.”
Mr. Burke frowned deeper. “Wilbur Dawson...from Denver?”
“Yes. He works closely with your father, Peter Burke. At least that’s my understanding.”
“Miss Dawson—”
“Sattler.”
“Miss Sattler, please understand my confusion.” The poor man obviously grappled to keep up. “I was not expecting you. What sort of trouble are you in?”
She opened her mouth to answer, then thought better of it. “I’d rather not say.” Best to figure out her next move before sharing her embarrassing mail-order blunder with a stranger. “I can assure you it’s nothing illegal. I simply found myself in Deadwood without a place to stay or funds with which to seek lodging or get home.” She lifted her face with her brightest smile. “That’s where I hope you’ll come in. Might you have a place for me to spend a few nights? Any place would do, really. Or I can be gone in the morning if you need me to be—”
“Please.” The man held up his hand, signaling for her to stop. “I do have a place available for a few nights. If you need it.”
“Oh, I do. I do.” She wanted to clap, to shout to the ceiling in triumph—but decided it might be too much for her benefactor to handle.
Mr. Burke locked the front door, turned down the lantern, then lit a small candle. Without a word, he led the way down a long hallway, casting shadows along the wall with his flame.
She followed close, her footsteps light. Removing her bonnet so it hung down her back, she watched the surety with which he carried himself. “So, why will your shop be closed for the week?”
“My clerk quit this afternoon.”
Quit? Winifred quickened her steps. “You mean you have a job opening? I’d love to have it. Temporarily, of course.”
Mr. Burke glanced back at her. “Why would I hire temporary help, Miss Sattler?”
“To get you through the week, naturally.” She shrugged. “Or longer, if needed.”
Hopefully her request wasn’t too forceful. A temporary clerk job would help her purchase a stagecoach ticket home. When she’d chosen to accept Mr. Ansell’s romantic—albeit hasty—proposal, she hadn’t gained Uncle’s approval. Only after much discussion had he and Aunt let her go...with the understanding that she would pay her own way. Which, of course, meant finding her own way home, too.
Mr. Burke seemed to consider her offer. “Unfortunately, there are other factors I must take into account, but I’ll give you my answer in the morning.” He led her to a door and knocked. “Cassandra?”
The door opened swiftly, revealing a wiry woman whose brown skin glowed in the candlelight. “Yes, Mr. Burke?”
“This is Miss Winifred Sattler, who is to share your room tonight.” The man motioned for Winifred to step closer. “And this is Cassandra Washington.”
“But everyone calls me Granna Cass.” With a grandmotherly smile, the woman guided Winifred inside. “Everyone except Ewan. He can’t stand to call people by their nicknames.”
Winifred glanced back at Mr. Burke, who joined them inside before shutting the door.
“Thank you for letting me stay here.” Heat blasted Winifred as she entered a kitchen, complete with stove and preparation table. Various cooking tools hung along the walls, and in the back corner, a section had been partitioned off for what appeared to be Granna Cass’s sleeping quarters.
“Come on in, child.” Leaving Winifred’s side, the woman zipped back to the table, where several small pails sat side by side. “Ewan, help yourself to soup on the stove while I finish the lunch pails. Miss Sattler, fill them with me while I get to know you.”
Mr. Burke crossed to the stove and ladled soup into a bowl, his movements efficient and sure. Winifred rushed to the woman’s side and followed her lead as she constructed sandwiches and wrapped them in paper. “Pardon me, but did you say lunch?”
“For the night-shift workers.” Granna Cass set one sandwich into a pail and had a second one half made before Winifred finished her first. “Miss Winnie, tell me your story.”
“My story?” Winifred couldn’t help but glance at Mr. Burke as she placed a chunk of corned beef between two slices of bread.
Turning from the stove with his soup, he met her gaze. In the stronger light, his hair had a coppery tint. Hardened lines etched his facial features, like he always had something on his mind and didn’t stop to laugh and joke very often. Such a sad way to live. He seemed so stern, like he couldn’t be bothered with charity work—which had basically become her situation, at this point.
Her cheeks began to warm. “What do you want to know?”
The elderly woman chuckled. “Whatever you want to tell me.”
That wouldn’t be much, then, at least not with Mr. Burke staring at her like that. “I was born in Kansas and moved to Denver with my aunt and uncle when I was six.”
“Ah, chasing gold?” Granna Cass’s skilled hands moved like lightning. “Ewan’s family works in Colorado. His brother has a successful gold mine, doesn’t he?”
Mr. Burke cleared his throat, then sipped his soup, not commenting further.
Winifred slipped another sandwich into a pail. “My uncle invests in entrepreneurs. We moved to Denver so he could find businesses to help.” Mr. Burke’s gaze narrowed again. Her chest tightened at his obvious disapproval of her. Sure, she’d shown up unannounced tonight, but was that any reason to glare at her so harshly?
“Miss
