fear.
She opened her eyes and met Garrett’s, watched as he turned back the coverlet on his bed and beckoned her forward.
Yes. Her life could be a lot worse.
Chapter One
Newton, Kansas, 1887
What’s a girl like me doing in a place like this?
She glanced into open doorways as she strolled down the second story hallway of the dormitory housing the young women who worked in Fred Harvey’s elegant Arcade Hotel and restaurant.
Each from good families, the young ladies were of irreproachable character and had provided references and letters of recommendation to acquire their positions in the lavish hotel and esteemed restaurant. The irony of her presence here amused her.
Emma Spearman exited her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. “Good morning, Sophie. Did you sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you. And you?” she replied.
Emma’s bright smile revealed her pleasure. “I used to sleep in a lumpy bed with two sisters who tossed all night and stole the covers. My three noisy brothers were in a loft overhead. My nights here are heaven, thank you.” She tucked her arm through Sophie’s and said in a conspiratorial tone, “I will never admit this to a one of them, but I do sometimes miss my siblings. I’m taking the train home for a visit the first of next week.”
Sophie smiled. A bed with two sisters and those noisy brothers overhead sounded like heaven to her.
“What about you?” Emma asked. “You haven’t seen your family since you’ve been here, have you?”
So what was Sophie doing working and sleeping among people of good character? Well, she’d lied. Fabricated a background, established her own requirements and met her own standards. People wanted to believe her, so they did. She was attractive, well-educated, dressed smartly and spoke in a cultured manner. Her contrived references had been believable.
She was Sophie Hollis now, daughter of a Pennsylvania farmer, come to Kansas to broaden her perspective and earn money to tuck away.
“I’ll be traveling east very soon,” she thought up on the spot. “My father is remarrying, so I’ll be attending the wedding.”
“How exciting,” Emma said. “A wedding!”
“Who’s getting married?” Sophie’s roommate Amanda Pettyjohn caught up with them, her pretty blond curls bouncing against her neck, her fawn-colored eyes sparkling.
Maybe she shouldn’t have gone that far, Sophie thought belatedly. Mentioning marriage in this place was like dangling a juicy bone above a hungry dog’s head. Everyone knew the young women working here were eager for husbands, but two years of service was required before a Harvey girl could resign her position. Each of them had signed a contract.
“Sophie’s father,” Emma told her.
“You didn’t tell me.” Amanda’s tone revealed injury.
Sophie wasn’t used to transparent displays of emotion. “I only got the telegram last evening. I didn’t say anything, because I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.”
“Well, of course, you didn’t. Your own dear mother could never be replaced.” Amanda patted her arm as they reached the back stairs and started down. “I was devastated when my father remarried. At least you’re grown and don’t have to endure living in the shadow of step-siblings. Has your father known his new fiancée long?”
Sophie was in the process of inventing a reply when she was spared.
“There’s a train within the hour,” the starched and puffed head waitress of the dining room announced from the bottom of the stairs. “It’s going to be a hot day, so you’ll want your heavy chores completed early.” The Harvey House employees called Mrs. Winters the trail boss for good reason.
“Yes, ma’am,” Emma and Amanda chorused.
Mrs. Winters pointed an accusing finger at Sophie. “One more infraction by you, young lady, and you can pack your bags.”
Sophie listened to the continuation of the tirade she’d endured at least once a day for the past month. Her kitchen and dining room skills were improving, for goodness sake. This was her first attempt at domestic chores after all, no matter what her references said.
The woman inspected each of them with a critical eye. “Your morning duties are listed on the blackboard, ladies. Do them promptly. If the heat causes your clothing to become damp, change immediately. We must be prepared in case Mr. Harvey makes one of his sudden unannounced visits.”
She turned and marched away.
Sophie watched her lumber into the dining hall. “Sudden unannounced visit sounds so much better than sneaky inspection.”
“Did she refer to sweat?” Emma asked, mischievously covering her lips as though she’d said a curse word.
“Surely she knows Harvey Girls simply glow,” Amanda added.
“Whatever did you do to make her take such a dislike to you?” Emma asked.
Sophie shrugged.
“Every man who comes in does a double take when he sees Sophie,” Amanda told her. “Maybe the trail boss is jealous.”
The three of them shared a giggle and, joined by coworkers, hurried to their morning tasks.
Clay Connor crossed his ankles and leaned back in his chair, the Newton Kansan and a cup of steaming coffee his only concerns in the world. Or so it should seem to the other occupants of the hotel dining room. On his left, an elderly mother and her son discussed the details of disposing of their husband and father’s clothing and personal items. The son kept bringing the subject around to a land deed.
On his right, three merchants from Florence had several catalogs open and were bemoaning the fact that Montgomery Ward could offer items at a lower price than they could.
Straight ahead at the lunch counter, a slender fellow in a worn serge jacket folded his napkin and prepared to leave without paying for his dinner. The manager had sent for Clay when he’d first seen the man who met the description of someone who’d pulled the same stunt at another Harvey House in Wichita.
Without turning his head, Clay glanced out the window and confirmed that Owen Sanders, one of his deputies, was still out front on the loading platform. With the dining hall and lunch counter filled with Sante Fe passengers eager to return to their train cars and continue their journeys, a low-key arrest was imperative. Even though he didn’t see a gun on the man, Clay wouldn’t take chances with the well-being of innocent bystanders.
The patron under the marshal’s scrutiny had seen the upside of forty. His clothing and shoes were well-cut and of fine material, but on the verge of shabby. With impeccable manners he finished his meal—breaded veal and vegetables, cheesecake and coffee—neatly folded the white linen napkin, and fished in his pocket as though searching for a tip.
