Whirlwind Secrets Page 2

  Upon meeting him last night, she’d been surprised at his massive size. And today, dressed as he was in a light gray shirt that emphasized shoulders as wide as a wagon brace and dark trousers that clung almost indecently to powerful thighs, she was reminded all over again.

  “Miz Jones decided not to come?” His voice rumbled above her head.

  Tamping down the ridiculous giddiness inside her, Lydia smiled politely. “She had some things she needed to do this morning.”

  Mainly rest. Because of Naomi’s bruised ribs, their abrupt departure from Mississippi had been even harder on her than it had been on Lydia. It hadn’t helped that they’d looked over their shoulder the entire way. Naomi, especially, was a mass of nerves and Lydia had insisted she recuperate today. Naomi was so much more than a maid. She had paid a high price for her friendship to Lydia and Lydia’s sister, Isabel.

  Lydia touched the gold watch pinned to her bodice. The timepiece and a pair of diamond earrings were all she had left of her sister now. She felt close to Isabel when she wore them.

  Inside the hotel, Russ swept off his Stetson to reveal dark hair that was thick and damp. He was clean-shaven, and something about his strong jaw made her want to slide her fingers down his face and test its smoothness for herself. She had never experienced such a strong attraction to a man, not even her former fiancé, mealymouthed Wade Vance. Which made her decide she was delirious from travel and worry.

  “You’ve seen the lobby.” Russ swept his arm in a wide arc, encompassing the registration desk flanked by moss-green tufted sofas before turning toward the corner behind them. “That’s my office.”

  Lydia followed him to an open door, already deciding that the dull gold-and-burgundy rug in front of the registration desk would have to go.

  She paused beside Russ and looked inside a good-size room. Her eyes widened and it took effort to keep the surprise from her voice. “Oh, it’s very…nice.”

  From the look of things, the man intended to live here. In addition to a giant mahogany bed and shaving stand across the room, there was a wide bureau of matching wood. To the right of the doorway, there was a large desk with a leather chair sitting behind it and a pair of the same dark brown leather on the opposite side. This wouldn’t do at all.

  “Are you planning to stay at the hotel?” The question squeaked out before she could stop it.

  He arched a dark brow. “Can’t tell if you’re hoping I will or hoping I won’t. Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

  “Just curious.” She managed to keep her voice light as she gazed around the furnished space, but tension began to knot inside her. “Since I’m the on-site manager and I’m here now, I thought you wouldn’t bother with the hotel any longer. I assumed I’d step in and you could get back to your ranch.”

  “I plan to stay until the hotel’s open.”

  Lydia fought back exasperation. She could find a way to handle this. “If you’re worried I won’t be able to manage things, let me assure you I can.”

  “It isn’t that, Miz Kent. I just like to finish what I start.”

  Even women? Lydia blinked. Where had that thought come from? Mentally chastising herself, she turned and followed him across the lobby to the wide staircase that boasted the same iron scrollwork as the outdoor balcony.

  “There are a couple of things I’d like to wrap up.” He slowed, keeping pace with her as they mounted the polished oak steps. “Windows for the third floor are one thing. I’ve been trying to get them delivered and installed for a month now. The company keeps putting me off.”

  “Who is it?” Reaching inside the pocket of her navy serge skirt, she took out her small journal and stub of a pencil to write down his answer.

  She paused on the staircase to jot down the company’s name and make a note about the window glass and the possibility of hanging a painting or two along the length of the wall that led upstairs. She looked up to find Russ Baldwin watching her intently and for a moment, she couldn’t look away.

  He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Not sky-blue, but the darker, more intense blue of a blue jay’s underwing. Fringed by thick, dark lashes, they were piercing.

  She pulled her gaze from his and continued with him to the second floor landing. He led her to one of several white-walled rooms furnished with a bed, a table, chair, washbasin and kerosene lamp. “I wish we could’ve put the gas lighting in every room.”

  “After a couple years of profit, that’ll be possible.”

  She approached the solidly made bed and pressed the mattress. Firm but not hard. “Very nice.”

  “We used the Spanish moss you ordered for stuffing.” He gestured for her to follow him across the hall to another open doorway. Pointing at the large tub and washstand with piped-in water, he said, “The plainer rooms on this end of the hall will share this bath. The four larger rooms at the other end have their own, like your rooms on the third floor.”

  “That will be a tremendous draw to customers.”

  “I think so, too.”

  As he showed her the rooms with adjoining baths, Lydia jotted notes and discussed hired help with him, asking him to recommend some people. There was no denying she needed Russ Baldwin for some things, but once everything was settled, she would convince him he didn’t need to be here.

  When they reached the doorway of her rooms on the third floor, a breeze gusted through the empty window frames, ruffling the pages in her journal. She held on to her flat-crowned hat as she looked around. The space she planned to use as an office was large, with a separate sitting area in the corner. A wall divided this spacious room from the two bedrooms and adjoining bath.

  Walking to the far window, she looked out over the bustling town, scanning up the right side of Main Street, past the blacksmith’s shop, the jail. Greetings were called and doors opened as people readied themselves for another day of business. “How long do you think it will take to finish out the guest rooms on this floor?”

  “Once the carpenter gets here, maybe a week. Two at the most. He’s due sometime in the next couple of weeks.”

  She could feel his gaze hot on her backside and she didn’t like it. Managing to keep the irritation from her voice, she turned and moved toward him. “You’ve done an excellent job with everything.”

  “Thank you. Ready to see the rest of the first floor?”

  “Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” As much satisfaction as she’d gotten from seeing the guest rooms, what she really cared about was the kitchen area.

  Once downstairs, Lydia glanced at the small but elegantly dark-paneled dining area as she followed her partner into a spacious kitchen. Sunlight flooded the room through a wide window on the far side. On the back wall was a fireplace big enough for two hanging kettles and four of the three-legged pots called spiders. The stove was of a size to accommodate cooking several dishes at the same time. Pine floors gleamed with the sheen of newness as did the ample number of cabinets and work counters. “This is wonderful, exactly as I pictured.”

  She hoped the rest was, as well.

  Russ grinned, causing a tug in her belly as he led her across the floor to the room she was most anxious to see.

  “Here’s the pantry, built to your specifications.” Opening the door, he chuckled. “This thing is as big as one of our modestly priced rooms.”

  The dim space was wide and deep with smoothly planed shelving along the top for storage as well as bins and drawers below. A lantern hung beside the door frame. To Lydia’s left, the smell of smoke and an open door revealing a short set of stairs identified the boiler room. At the back of the pantry, down another flight of stairs, was the separate room she’d requested for vegetables and other food storage.

  She walked forward and opened the door, moving inside to the top of the stairs. A cool heavy darkness immediately engulfed her. Her gladness that the boiler noise wouldn’t overwhelm anyone quickly edged into a sharp awareness of Russ Baldwin standing behind her.

  Pulse skittering, she shifte
d, intending to turn and ask if he’d get a lantern, but he must’ve thought she was moving farther into the room because he took a step forward. She ran smack into his chest—hard, hot, deep. His big callused hand came up to lightly cup her elbow, steadying her.

  “Whoa,” he murmured.

  She felt his breath drift against her temple. And along with the fresh pine scent of new wood, she caught a hint of leather and soap and clean male. She felt that dratted flutter in her stomach again.

  Before she could move, he stepped back and said in a quiet even voice, “Let me get the lantern.”

  Nodding, Lydia sucked in a deep breath and tried to still her racing pulse. A few seconds later, a circle of yellow light spread around her and she saw Russ’s strong features in the smoky cast of the lantern, his eyes dark and unfathomable.

  They ventured downstairs into the darkness. Through the play of shadows, her gaze took in the still-vacant space. Perfect. She schooled her features so as not to show her relief that the room was exactly as they needed. “This will suit quite well.”

  “Glad you’re pleased.”

  The quiet rasp of his voice reminded her that they were entirely alone, of how near he was. How near he would be in the future by living in the hotel.

  Gripping her pencil tight, she turned for the door. “Shall we?”

  Russ lifted the lantern, showing the path out. Lydia moved quickly back into the pantry, blinking her eyes to adjust to the light streaming into the kitchen. That window, which looked out onto the blacksmith’s shop, would have to be covered.

  As she stepped into the kitchen, she was torn between satisfaction and unease. This place was perfect, but Russ Baldwin was trouble brewing. As long as he lived here, the operation was at risk. She had to keep him out of her way.

  Chapter Two

  R uss Baldwin couldn’t live at The Fontaine. Lydia had things to do that were none of his concern. Things that were a matter of life and death.

  He might deny thinking she couldn’t handle hotel affairs, but what other reason could he have for staying? She’d been careful to spell out in the contract that she was the on-site manager, and he’d agreed. So she would start managing. And she would begin with the horrid rug in the lobby.

  After a delicious lunch at The Whirlwind Hotel, Lydia made her way across the street to Haskell’s General Store, which sat between the newspaper office and an attorney-at-law. She stepped inside the mercantile, charmed by a wood-burning stove and two chairs in the center of the room. Haskell’s was well stocked, with everything from brooms to boots and shovels to soap.

  Crisp fall air drifted through the open door, mixing the scent of prairie grass with that of fruit and perfume. At the corner of a big wood-and-glass cashier’s counter was a well-used copy of a Montgomery Ward & Company catalog.

  A slight dark-haired man about Lydia’s height stepped out of a back room and met her gaze across the counter. “May I help you, ma’am? Charlie Haskell, at your service.”

  “Mr. Haskell, a pleasure.” She moved closer and extended her hand. “I’m Lydia Kent.”

  “Ah, you’re the other owner of The Fontaine.” He gave her a firm handshake.

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  “How are you liking Whirlwind so far?”

  “Quite a lot, thank you.”

  “Your hotel looks as if it’s coming right along. Shouldn’t be long now before you’re open for business, I’m guessin’.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Oh, you’re Russ’s partner!” a feminine voice exclaimed behind Lydia.

  Did everyone in town know everyone else’s business? Lydia turned to find a striking brunette with green eyes and a smart red-checked day dress with a black-trimmed collar and sleeves.

  The woman smiled, extending her hand. “I’m Josie Holt. My husband is the sheriff of Whirlwind. How nice to meet you.”

  Lydia shook the woman’s hand and introduced herself. “I admire your dress, Mrs. Holt. You must tell me where you got it.”

  Mr. Haskell chuckled.

  “Please call me Josie.” Her eyes twinkled. “Charlie’s laughing because I got the dress from me. I made it.”

  “Josie’s our seamstress,” the man supplied.

  “You’re very talented.” Lydia eyed the garment even more critically. The woman’s stitching could rival that of any of the professionals Lydia had used for her trousseau. The trousseau she refused to put aside and waste simply because of that lying polecat Wade. “Do you do alterations, as well?”

  “Yes. My shop is in the back and I’m there most days.” Josie indicated a curtained doorway at the rear of the store. “Come chat whenever you have time. You don’t have to buy anything.”

  If the rest of Mrs. Holt’s work was this good, Lydia couldn’t imagine not buying something.

  “I’d best get busy,” the other woman said. “I apologize for interrupting your conversation with Charlie. When I heard you were Russ’s partner, I couldn’t help myself.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, too.”

  With a smile, the brunette squeezed the store owner’s arm as she walked past him and toward the space she’d pointed out earlier.

  Charlie beamed at Lydia. “Now, what may I do for you, Miss Kent?”

  “I need to order a rug for the hotel lobby.”

  He walked around the counter and motioned her to the corner that held the catalog. “I thought Russ already did that.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid he did,” she said drily, her gaze skimming over the pocket watches and spectacles in the glass counter.

  The merchant barked out a laugh as he lifted the book and thumbed quickly to the section showing rugs. “Miss Josie tried to tell him not to choose that one.”

  Lydia smiled as another customer entered the store and Charlie slid the book over to her, excusing himself. When the customer left after a few minutes, Lydia asked if there were any fabric samples.

  Mr. Haskell stepped into the back room and returned with a handful of swatches. She finally chose one of black, green and burgundy that she thought would complement the green of the sofas. She placed the samples on the counter while he wrote out the order.

  Charlie glanced up from his pad. “This will require a deposit.”

  “All right.” Lydia jotted the date, item and cost in her journal, glancing up when the man laid down the pencil and pushed the paper aside. “What do I owe you?”

  He named a figure. “But I don’t need the money until Russ signs the order.”

  “Russ?” She shook her head. “I can sign it. I’m not even sure where Mr. Baldwin is.”

  He hesitated.

  “Mr. Haskell, is there a problem?”

  He cleared his throat. “Russ has the hotel account set up so that you both have to sign for any orders.”

  For an instant, she thought she misunderstood him. “Beg pardon?”

  The merchant looked uncomfortable. “You can’t order anything for the hotel on your own.”

  “I don’t understand.” What did Russ Baldwin think he was doing? It was no fault of the shopkeeper’s, so Lydia fought to keep the irritation from her voice. “I’ll need to find him.”

  “He’s in town. I saw him earlier.”

  “Thank you.” She turned to leave.

  “Here.” Charlie tore the invoice from the pad and gave it to her. “You can have him sign the order when you see him. No need for you to have to traipse back and forth.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Haskell. I’ll be right back.”

  Lydia made her way outside and started down the street toward The Fontaine. The closer she got, the more aggravated she became. She hadn’t had to ask permission to spend money on anything since she’d ordered the sewing machine for Isabel’s twelfth birthday. Their father had always given them an allowance and Lydia bought what she wanted. Except for the sewing machine.

  Lydia’s older sister had been terrible with money, had never been able to keep it longer than a week. What she excelled at was sewing. She�
��d wanted a new machine, but her allowance had been cut off because of her overspending. So Lydia had gone to their father, begging him to let her purchase the machine for Isabel and he had agreed.

  The exact opposite of her sister in those two areas, Lydia was a mediocre seamstress and good with money. She certainly didn’t need some overbearing cowboy to approve her every purchase for her hotel!

  She stepped onto the smooth sandstone of The Fontaine’s porch, then from the corner of her eye, saw Russ coming out of the blacksmith’s shop to her left. Changing direction, she marched toward him.

  “Miz Kent, nice to see you again.” He touched two fingers to the brim of his gray felt cowboy hat in greeting. The sleeves of his light blue shirt were rolled up to reveal thick, hair-dusted forearms. Worn, close-fitting denims drew her attention to his brawny thighs.

  When she realized she was staring, she yanked her gaze away and stopped in front of him. Once again, she was startled at the deep blue of his eyes. And the daunting width of his shoulders. Gracious, he was big.

  The scent of clean male skin and spicy soap drifted to her as she plunged in, “Mr. Haskell informs me that I must have your permission to order things for the hotel.”

  “Not permission.” Russ pushed his hat back and eased against the wooden wall of the shop, propping one booted foot behind him. “Just my signature. Both our signatures.”

  “Why?” Did Russ Baldwin think her untrustworthy? Did he know about Lydia’s lawsuit against Wade and hold it against her? He wouldn’t be the first although she had done nothing wrong.

  “We’re equal partners, Lydia.”

  Her pulse hitched at his quiet use of her Christian name.

  “It’s not about permission. I set up the account with Charlie that way so we’d both know what had been ordered, how much we were spending. We both have equal say.”

  “I should’ve had my say before you ordered that awful—that rug,” she muttered.