Denver (6 page)

Dan knew there was no explaining people’s tastes. She walked with a slight limp, as Silas had said. Her hair was in braids tightly wrapped around her head in an unattractive manner that added to her plainness, yet if the plaits had hung down on either size of her head, he would guess she wouldn’t look a day more than twelve years old.

He should have known better than to promise Silas to take her out. He shoved that thought aside, deciding he would deal with his obligation sometime in the future. There was no hurry. She certainly wouldn’t be besieged by suitors. She was timid, shy, and frightened of the strangers in the dining room. He had yet to see a real smile cross her features, much less a
laugh. He would give her the money Silas had sent, because it was obvious she could use it on the boardinghouse. The place was spotlessly clean and neat, but the cheerful yellow curtains on the windows were faded and worn, and the straight-back chairs were scarred from years of use. Her dress was a few inches too short, a rough brown poplin that was faded from washing and surely couldn’t be as warm as wool.

Silas, you should have told me the truth about Miss Mary Katherine O’Malley, Dan thought, scraping the bowl for the last delicious bite of stew.

While he ate, Mary escaped from the dining room, relieved to get away from the scrutiny of strangers. She entered the steamy warmth of the kitchen with its stew bubbling on the big wood-burning stove, loaves of freshly baked bread on the counter, and venison roasting in the large oven. Water boiled in two kettles, one in readiness for another pot of coffee, the other to scald the dishes. Pans hung from the ceiling and on the walls, and coals burned in a fireplace at one end of the room. She hurried to place dishes on the counter and stir the stew.

An hour later there were only three customers left in the dining room—the burly bull-whackers and the pale stranger with golden hair. The presence of the three men made her nervous, because they had long since eaten and were dallying over coffee.

She stirred the stew, wondering if she should announce that the dining room was closed so the men would have to leave. While she debated, she heard the soft whisper of the swinging doors open and close.

The burliest of the two dark strangers stood only a few feet behind her, arms akimbo on his hips, a grin on his face.

“Sir, you don’t belong in my kitchen,” she said, facing him, her heart racing.

“Now, miss, don’t be so unfriendly. It’s a cold day outside. My friend and I want a place to stay and a little kindness shown to us. We’re good men, with plenty of gold dust lining our pockets. We can have a little party.”

“Get out of this kitchen.”

“As I see it, there’s no reason for me to go. Come give me a little kiss.”

“I’ll scream. Get out!”

“You’re not going to scream,” he said softly, “and get that one fellow hurt. If you yell, he’ll come through those doors, and then he’s going to get hurt. You don’t want that on your conscience.” He grinned as he talked, moving closer to her. Heart pounding, Mary backed up. His hand shot out and caught her left wrist.

“Leave me alone!” She ground out the words. He laughed and began to pull her closer.

She reached back, her fingers closing over the handle of the kettle of boiling water. She picked it up and flung it at him.

He screamed, jumping back, while she picked up a second kettle, steam curling up from it.

He let out another yell and ran for the back door. His friend burst into the room and stared at Mary, who held the kettle of boiling water. Dodging and swearing, he dashed through the back door as she tossed the water.

Water arced across the kitchen, splashing harmlessly over the floor in a sizzling stream while the back door banged against the wall. A blast of cold air and snowflakes tumbled inside.

“I don’t guess you need any help,” drawled the blond stranger who stood in the doorway to the dining room, laughter bubbling in his voice.

She whirled around. Her nerves were stretched thin, her patience gone. She raised the empty kettle. “Customers don’t belong in my kitchen. Get out, mister. You’ve paid and eaten. Now, go!”

“Hey, Irish, wait a minute,” Dan said, laughing as he confronted her.

“Get out of here, I said,” she ordered, throwing the kettle.

“Hey! Dammit!” He ducked, and the kettle clanged on the wall behind him. Instantly she lobbed another at him, yanking them off the wall and throwing with
all her strength. He sidestepped and yelled, waving his hand at her as she heaved the third and fourth pans.

“Hey! I just want to talk. Silas—”

A skillet banged over his head and hit him as it fell. He swore, and she yelled at him again.

“Get out!” Mary’s temper boiled. Everyone in town knew Silas had promised to marry her, and this wasn’t the first stranger to try to use Silas as an excuse to meet her. She flung two pans. “Get out of my kitchen.” She yanked up the butcher knife.

He swore and jumped back through the swinging doors. “To hell with it!” he shouted. She heard a clatter of boots, and silence.

Trembling seized her as she locked the kitchen door. She pushed open the swinging doors. Her father stood in the empty dining room, his blue eyes round, his nose and cheeks as red as holly berries, tufts of white hair showing beneath his cap.

“Is dinner over?” he asked, swaying slightly.

“Oh, Pa. Dinner’s been over for ages. It’s half-past two now.”

“Well, Mary, love, I was delayed on my way home. Now hunger tears at my insides. Seems the last customer left in a bit of haste.”

“That he did, Pa,” she said with resignation. “Sit down. I’ll bring you some stew.”

He bumped into a table and sat down. “That’s a lovely idea, darlin’. Something hot to warm a man’s cold insides on a wintry day.”

She returned to the kitchen to rinse her hands in a sink full of water. Beyond their plot of land she could see a wedge of street and shops. The blond stranger was striding away, his hat pulled low, his collar turned up. She remembered his laughter and regretted her temper. He had mentioned Silas, but she doubted if he actually knew who Silas was. He was a handsome one, that blond, and she wondered how many women were in his life.

In the biting cold, Dan strode along a street empty of its usual traffic of wagons and carts and carriages. He still hadn’t told Mary O’Malley about the money—something
he had procrastinated about too long, but his time had been spent with Dulcie and building houses. He liked Denver and he saw the promise in it. His long legs stretched out while he alternately fumed about the hot-tempered Mary O’Malley and questioned Silas’ taste in women.

Six blocks farther along, he began to pass the sporting houses. One stood at the end of the street, its fresh coat of pale blue paint looking lovely with snow on the roof and windows. The ornate gingerbread trimming was appealing. A porch circled the house, with scrollwork along the overhanging roof and posts. Dan felt a swift stab of pride. He had designed and built it himself, hiring four men to help him. It was the first house he had built when he came to Denver, and it was the best work he knew how to do. He had gotten the job to build the Potter house because of it. Lester Potter had liked the house and asked Dan to build one for him. Thinking about the Potter house, Dan glanced up at the sky, wondering how long the snow would fall. He couldn’t work outside in this kind of weather.

He strode up the porch steps and stomped snow off his feet before going inside. When he opened the door a bell jingled and a maid appeared, a smile breaking forth when she saw who it was.

“ ’Afternoon, Arietta. Is Miss Dulcie in her office?”

“Yes, sir. You go on back, and I’ll bring you some hot coffee.”

He strode down the hall, still looking around and admiring the house, wondering when he would stop feeling proud of it. It had been his first real effort, and he had been so terrified of failure that he still had to study it as if to make certain that he had actually accomplished what he had set out to do. The door to Dulcie’s office was open. She sat with her back to him, her black hair piled high on her head, wearing a red woolen dress. A cheroot lay smoldering in an ashtray to her right as she shuffled through papers on her desk.

“All work and no play makes a very dull day,” he said. She turned, laughing and coming up out of the
chair as he closed the door behind him. She crossed the room straight into his arms, and he caught her up to kiss her fully on the mouth.

She returned his kiss for almost two minutes before she wriggled away. “Brr. You’re wet and cold!”

“That’s what usually happens when I walk in the snow.”

“You haven’t been working, have you?”

“No. Merely admiring your magnificent house.”

Her brown eyes twinkled warmly. “It is magnificent. And so is the man who built it. I love it, Dan. How can I ever thank you enough?”

He shrugged. “Maybe there are one or two things you can do.”

A throaty laugh came from her as she took his hand and crossed the room. She placed the cheroot between her teeth and handed him one. “Here, have a smoke. Did you give Miss O’Malley Silas’ money?”

“The money! Damn, I completely forgot.”

“Forgot? How can you forget fifteen thousand dollars?”

He sat on a chair, hooking his knee over the arm and letting his foot dangle in the air. “I can’t imagine Silas coming back to her.”

“That doesn’t matter. You promised Silas—”

“I know. I’ll give her the money. But I don’t want to take her out, and she isn’t going to want to go.”

“Why not?”

“She’s a baby. She looks fifteen years old.”

“Fifteen? She can’t be! Did you ask Silas how old she was?” Dulcie asked, coming to sit on his lap. He swung his leg off the arm to hold her, playing with one of her midnight locks, looking at her slender throat.

“Marry me, Dulcie.”

Her head turned and her brown eyes surveyed him tenderly. “You’re sweet.”

“The hell I am.”

“I’d be a rock around your neck.” Dulcie studied him while her heart constricted with pain. Each time, from that very first proposal in Montana, she had wanted to accept his offer and damn the consequences.
But for the first time in her life, she was truly in love, and she wanted Dan Castle to have the life he deserved. He was twenty-one; she was almost thirty now. She was eight years older, and a soiled dove. Denver held a promising future for Dan, and she didn’t want to pull him down or cause him to be ostracized by a society that would otherwise welcome him and let him live peacefully. She studied his thickly lashed blue eyes, his handsome triangular face with prominent cheekbones and slightly crooked nose from being broken in a fight. He was handsome beyond measure, so good to her, and she loved him until it hurt.

“The answer is still no. Ask me again in a month.”

“Dulcie,” he said, his voice becoming hoarse as his arms tightened around her waist, “I want you. You’re good for me.”

“And you’re mighty good
to
me. Look at this, Dan,” she said, gazing around her. “You built this house for me and gave it to me so I could go into business. It’s the nicest, prettiest, fanciest sporting house in the West, and I didn’t have to pay you a greenback for it.”

“I wanted to give it to you, and it’s good business for me. Half the town’s leading citizens come here,” he said dryly.

“Maybe not half,” she answered, “but some do. That still doesn’t mean you didn’t do all this for me. I don’t need marriage. This is enough.”

“No it’s not. I want a home and family, and you’re a good woman, Dulcie. A damned good woman. In bed and out.”

She wiggled impatiently and picked up her cheroot. “Tell me about Miss O’Malley,” she said, to get his mind elsewhere. “Other than being fifteen—and I don’t think she is—why can’t you take her out? You could take out a fifteen-year-old.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

She blew a stream of smoke in his face, and he turned his head, swearing. “Dulcie!”

“Miss O’Malley.”

He picked up his cheroot in self-defense. “She’s shy,
and doesn’t seem to like men. She’s plain as a stick and has a mean temper.”

“You made her angry?”

“No, I didn’t, but two strangers did. One of them followed her back to the kitchen. I was close enough to the door to hear him. A big, burly fellow who wanted to kiss her. I was just getting ready to go to her rescue when I heard a bellow. His friend rushed to the kitchen, and I followed. She threw boiling water on the bull-whacker.” Dan paused, frowning at Dulcie. “It isn’t funny.”

“You’re not a woman and you don’t understand how it feels to be mauled by some big ruffian who outweighs you by a hundred pounds! Good for her!” Dulcie exclaimed happily.

“That’s what you think! By the time I entered the kitchen, she wouldn’t listen to reason. She threw pots and pans and skillets at me. Stop laughing!” Dan snapped. “It wasn’t funny, dodging iron skillets. How that little thing could heave those skillets across a room, I don’t know.”

“Did you tell her you knew Silas?”

“I said his name and tried to tell her, but she picked up a knife. I didn’t wait to discuss it with her. I’ll go back and tell her about the money. It’s all safe in a bank right now,” he said, kissing Dulcie’s throat.

“Dan.” She pushed against him. “A Mr. Corning was here. He wanted to know who designed and built the house. He’s a railroad man. He’s moving here because of the line they’re building.”

“Benjamin Corning?” Dan asked, sitting up, eagerness in his voice.

“I gave him your office address and let him look the house over.”

“Did you show him the cornices and the bay windows?”

She smiled and stroked his cheek, taking his cheroot and hers and stubbing them out in an ashtray. “Yes, I showed him everything, just like you instructed me to do,” she said, her voice dropping a notch, her hands fluttering across his chest.

His features softened as he gazed at her mouth and leaned forward to kiss her.

Late that afternoon Dan left Dulcie’s to go to his room at the hotel. He was in the process of building a house for himself, something he had temporarily halted to complete the contract on the Potter house. He hunched his shoulders as he stomped through the snow, frowning, his thoughts on the party he was invited to tonight at the home of his banker, Charles Shumacher. It was Dan’s first big social event in Denver. He was torn between elation and anger. Eagerness filled him because he wanted to belong to Denver society, and he wanted to build houses for people here. At the same time, he wanted Dulcie for his wife. He knew full well why she steadfastly refused him. He didn’t think she would be a hindrance, but if she was, they would go somewhere else to live and she could start anew just as he had.