Whirlwind Secrets Read online

When she looked up at him and smiled, Russ knew he couldn’t tell her the businessman’s reason for walking away. He didn’t know why he was being so careful of her feelings; she’d made no secret of the fact that she wanted him out of there.

  Julius might have a problem doing business with Lydia, but Russ sure didn’t. If anything, he added as his gaze lingered on her breasts, he might like it too much.

  As far as he could tell, there wasn’t one thing wrong with her, inside or out. She was smart and beautiful. Which was trouble all rolled up in one package.

  After Russ had told her he wouldn’t be selling his share in the hotel to Mr. Julius, Lydia saw him only once as he’d headed for the saloon. It was hours later, well after dark, when he returned to The Fontaine.

  She was at the top of the stairs when he came in and very carefully shut the door, then slowly, unsteadily wove his way to his office. Even from here, she could smell the liquor on him. When he gave her the news about Mr. Julius, she’d briefly seen what she thought was panic in his eyes.

  He had looked completely disheartened. Maybe the loan wasn’t the only reason he needed to sell his interest in the hotel.

  When he had first told her about selling his share, she had cautioned herself to be patient. She had thought she would likely have a new partner in less than a week, but that hadn’t happened. She’d asked him again about turning over the management of the hotel to her and he’d said no. It wouldn’t be long before more battered women arrived, and she would feel much better if Russ weren’t so involved in the running of the hotel.

  Well, if he thought they should continue making decisions together, she was happy to oblige him.

  The next morning, she smoothed her white shirtwaist and rust-colored skirt, then walked to his office. She glanced at the timepiece on her bodice. It was eight o’clock and from what she’d observed he was usually up well before now, but she hadn’t heard him moving around this morning. She knocked on his office door and a few seconds later, it opened.

  Russ stood there, bare-chested, the ends of his thick hair damp, a speck of shaving soap just under his jaw. Lydia’s cheery greeting slid right back down her throat.

  His tautly muscled brown flesh had sensation curling in her stomach. Dark trousers molded to his lean waist then sleeked down long legs. Her gaze helplessly roved across his wide shoulders, over the dark hair on his chest, down the hard planes of his stomach. Oh. My.

  A shiver skipped down her spine. She forced her gaze to his, noticing his bloodshot eyes and his haggard face. He was feeling the effects of his hours at the saloon.

  She felt a twinge of conscience at bothering him and thought about coming back later, but his condition was an example of why he should turn over management of the hotel to her. “Good morning,” she said tentatively.

  “Morning.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Something wrong?”

  “No. I need your opinion on something.”

  He opened the door wider. “You want to come in?”

  She shook her head. “I just need to know if you think the rug should stay where it is?”

  He frowned. “The rug?”

  She stepped back, pointing toward the hideous burgundy and gold carpet he’d purchased before her arrival. Her replacement would arrive soon. “See, right there. I moved it closer to the registration desk.”

  Russ stuck his head out the door and squinted. “I can’t tell the difference. It looks fine there.”

  “Okay, thank you.” She smiled up at him, compassion winning out for a moment. “Are you all right? You don’t look like you feel well.”

  “I’m fine,” he rasped.

  “I heard you come in very late last night.”

  “And?” He scowled.

  “And nothing,” she soothed. “Can I get you anything?”

  “I just need some quiet,” he said pointedly.

  “Very well. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She turned away, hopeful it wouldn’t take long to wear him down. A couple of hours later as she worked in the dining area, she heard Russ’s heavy footsteps coming up from the boiler room. When he walked out of the kitchen, she took a few steps toward him. His color was better, though his eyes were still red.

  “Could you take a look at the sconces in the lobby?” she asked.

  “What’s wrong with them?” He pulled a rag from the back pocket of his trousers and wiped his hands, leaving black streaks on the red fabric. “Do they need fixin’?”

  “No. I don’t think they’re the same color.”

  He looked puzzled, but nodded. “Okay.”

  Once they were standing in front of the green tufted sofa, Lydia pointed to the left sconce on the wall above the furniture. “The shade of pewter on this one isn’t the same as the other one.”

  “The shade,” he muttered, staring hard at her as if making sure he understood.

  She smiled hopefully.

  His gaze shifted between the fixtures as he stuffed the rag back into his pocket. “You may be right.”

  “Should I order a new one?”

  “Nah, I can put some axle grease on it, darken it up a bit.”

  “Axle grease!”

  “Yeah.” He turned toward the kitchen and its door that led outside. “I can get some real quick from Ef.”

  “No!” She fought to keep the panic from her voice. Axle grease indeed. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Are you sure? It won’t take a minute.”

  “I’m sure.” She stepped back, eyeing the sconces. “Maybe it’s just the way the light hits it that makes the color look off to me.”

  “All right then.” He picked his Stetson up from the registration desk where he’d left it and settled it on his head, walking out the front door. “I’ll be back directly.”

  “Okay.” Lydia followed to see if he was returning to the saloon. He went in that direction, but continued past the place and strode up the street to the mercantile.

  He didn’t seem impatient or fed up with her yet. Certainly not ready to turn over all the hotel management decisions to her.

  She worked steadily with Naomi until lunch. An hour later, as they measured the long window in the kitchen for a curtain, Lydia saw Russ outside the blacksmith shop. Arms folded, he leaned back against the hitching post, talking to the smithy. Their conversation didn’t appear to be serious.

  Pulling a couple of napkins from the sideboard in the dining room, Lydia went outside and started toward the two men. As she neared, Ef glanced at her, then said something to Russ, who turned around.

  “Miz Kent,” he said in a scratchy voice, straightening to his full height.

  His white shirt molded to his wide shoulders, reminding her all over again how big he was. As if she needed any prompting after seeing him half-naked this morning.

  “Hello.” She looked past Russ and smiled at the big black man who owned the smithy. “Mr. Gerard.”

  “Howdy, ma’am.”

  She glanced at her partner, who palmed off his cowboy hat. Because of the sun’s glare, she couldn’t tell if his eyes were still bloodshot. “Could I get your opinion on something?”

  “Something about the hotel?”

  “Of course.”

  She felt his gaze slide down every inch of her body before he said to Ef, “Give me a minute.”

  “Sure.” The black man stepped inside his shop. “Nice to see you, ma’am.”

  Russ turned his attention to her. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m trying to decide on the table linens.” She showed him the napkins. “Should we go with the white or the ivory?”

  Settling his hat on his head, Russ looked down at the fabric then back at her, chewing the inside of his cheek. “They look the same to me.”

  “This one is cream colored.” She held up the napkin in her right hand.

  “The only difference I see is that one of them has fancy lace on the edge and the other doesn’t.”

  “Maybe you can’t judge it very well i
n this light.”

  His eyes narrowed on her then he cupped her elbow and steered her to the side of the smithy. “You know what I think, Miz Kent?”

  “No,” she said sweetly. “That’s why I asked you.”

  He slyly maneuvered her against the wall of the shop and braced an elbow over her head. Lydia’s whole body went hot. “You keep lookin’ for excuses to find me. Makes a man wonder.”

  “Wonder what?”

  “If you want to spend time with me, why don’t you just ask?”

  “If I what?” she sputtered, her spine going to steel. “I can assure you—Where did you get such a notion?”

  He leaned close, his voice lowering in a way that had her toes curling. “This is the third time today you’ve sought me out. What am I supposed to think?”

  “That I want your opinion. For the hotel.” She tugged her arm from his hold. Foot, she had never imagined he would think such a thing. “And that is all.”

  Resting one shoulder against the wall, he studied her. “Everything you’ve asked me today has to do with decoratin’. You know good and well I don’t know a damn thing about that stuff. Why don’t you just—” He broke off, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  “What? Why don’t I just what?” A strand of hair worked loose from her braid and blew across her face. She pushed it back. “You said we should make all hotel decisions together, but if you don’t want to do that…”

  “You’re right, I did.” His silky voice slid over her like black velvet. He lifted her hands, his thumbs brushing the heart of her palms as he scrutinized the napkins. “Which is your choice?”

  “I…don’t know.” His touch sent heat traveling up both arms. She found his nearness very distracting and eased away, too aware of his clean masculine scent.

  “Hmm.” He moved in until his dusty boots nudged her button-up ones. He bent his head, the brim of his hat brushing her hair as he considered the linens.

  She pressed back against the wall, aware that her breasts were nearly touching his chest. The scent of his spicy shaving soap slid into her lungs. Oh, why did he have to stand so close? She tried to edge back, but he kept hold of her hands.

  His hot blue gaze touched every inch of her body, as if he were mentally stripping off her clothes. The thought put a quiver in her belly. She didn’t find that nearly as improper as she ought to have.

  He shifted, making her realize she hadn’t been this close to him since he had carried her to his bed to treat her gunshot wound.

  His breath feathered against her temple and she looked up to find him staring at her mouth. Her heart started pounding hard and she couldn’t look away. For an instant, she wondered if he might kiss her.

  Instead, he released her hands, a wicked satisfaction in his eyes that said he knew exactly what she’d thought.

  He straightened, indicating the napkin with the lace. “How about this one? It’s almost as pretty as you are, sugar.”

  Sugar? She narrowed her eyes at him. “Good choice.”

  “Where’s your little book? Don’t you want to write that down?”

  “I’m sure I’ll remember.” She turned in a whirl of skirts and started for the hotel.

  “In about an hour, I’ll be over at the jail.”

  “All right.”

  “Then I plan to stop in at The Pearl for some pie.”

  “There’s no need to account to me for your whereabouts.”

  “I reckon you might need me. To help make a decision.”

  “Thank you,” she said brightly.

  “I’ll be back at the hotel by dark. In case we need to decide anything else,” he added with emphasis.

  “Very good,” she muttered. The devil. He was on to her.

  He laughed and she fought against the frustration burning through her.

  Foot! It appeared she could forget about getting Russ Baldwin out of her way.

  Chapter Five

  R uss had come close to kissing Lydia out there beside Ef’s, and he wasn’t near as blistered up about it as he should have been. The fact of the matter was he was feeling more regret over not kissing her than aggravation over wanting to.

  A few hours later, he finally admitted that to himself which really blistered him up good.

  The liquor was working its way out of his system and his head wasn’t pounding as hard as it had been that morning when Lydia had come to his office. Sadly, the only other bright spot in his day so far had been her hunting him down with her nonsensical questions.

  It had taken him a bit to figure out she was trying to maneuver him into turning over the running of the hotel to her. Russ didn’t like being maneuvered—it dredged up memories of how neatly he’d been maneuvered by Amy—but once he had realized what Lydia was up to, he’d had fun giving it right back to her.

  It had been a while since he had enjoyed a woman’s company that much without a mattress. If she knew how funny he found her efforts at manipulation, she’d be madder than a wet hen.

  Just thinking about the controlled frustration in her voice made him chuckle. She’d nearly had apoplexy when he offered to put axle grease on the sconce, but the best had been when he had asserted she just wanted to spend time with him. She’d been fit to be tied over that one.

  Russ grinned just thinking about it. She’d blushed a pretty shade of pink and even though he knew it was from anger, it made him wonder if she blushed that pretty all over for other reasons. He wanted to find out, which was just a plumb bad idea.

  Hell, breathing in her lavender and woman scent at Ef’s had left Russ’s body aching and half-primed the rest of the day, which boiled his water all over again.

  Still, just because he wanted her didn’t mean he had to do anything about it. Russ could only imagine what Lydia might try if she figured out he fancied her.

  What he needed to do was get his mind off her. Off her pretty mouth, off that rosebud skin he wanted to taste, those full breasts he wanted to touch.

  He would do better to set his mind to figuring out a way to get the money to pay off the loan. Thinking about the predicament the man’s refusal to buy had put him in made Russ fume. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  He would continue to advertise for a buyer in the Prairie Caller and the Abilene Reporter, but he couldn’t count on selling his interest too quickly. Most likely, there were others out there who didn’t believe women belonged in business.

  Last night, Russ had been cussing Julius up one side and down the other the whole time he’d been tipping the bottle at Pete Carter’s saloon. He hadn’t gotten that drunk since Pa’s accident three months earlier. It was his fault Pa had nearly died and might never walk right. And it would be Russ’s fault if the family lost the Triple B. He felt almost as helpless and guilty now as he had when he’d learned his father nearly bled to death before he was found.

  Figuring out another way to get the money to pay off that loan wasn’t all Russ had to worry about. The carpenter who had been hired to finish out the second and third floors had failed to show up two days earlier as they’d agreed. Something might have happened to delay the man, but there had been no word from him.

  After leaving the blacksmith shop, Russ had stopped in at the telegraph office and had Tony Santos send a wire to the marshal in Abilene, asking if he knew of the man or knew if there had been any trouble.

  In the meantime, Ef had agreed to help set up the last of the guest beds. Striding into the hotel, Russ tossed his hat on the registration desk and headed for the kitchen. Before he started work upstairs, he wanted a drink from the indoor pump and the last of Cora’s peach pie.

  Dragging a hand across his nape, he walked into the kitchen and found Ef lifting a large pot full of water onto a hook in the fireplace.

  Naomi stood a few feet away, staring raptly at the black man’s arms straining beneath his rough cotton shirt. She had covered her white shirtwaist and yellow skirt with a neat white apron. Her hair was pulled back in its usual bun, revealing a mix of warines
s and interest on her dark, stunning features.

  Ef turned back to the long counter next to the sink and hefted a second pot by the handle with both hands. Naomi hurried forward and swung out another hook from inside the fireplace. He hung the kettle there and turned to her.

  “Thank you so much.” Her drawl was quiet and as pronounced as Lydia’s.

  The blacksmith nodded, saying nothing, seeming rooted in place.

  After a long moment, the woman looked down self-consciously. “I think that’s everything.”

  Russ expected his friend to say something, but he didn’t. Well, this just beat all. Sometimes Ef went with Russ or Matt to Abilene to visit the girls. Not once in all the years they’d been going had Russ ever seen his friend like this around a woman.

  When the man just stood there, unable to stop admiring Naomi, Russ spoke up. “Miz Jones, Ef.”

  They both jumped as if he’d caught them in a compromising position. Naomi backed away and Ef looked almost apologetic.

  “Miz Jones, I see you’ve met Ef Gerard, Whirlwind’s blacksmith.”

  “Yes.” She fiddled with a pocket on her apron, her gaze not meeting either man’s.

  “If you ever need anything and I’m not around, just lean out that door there.” Russ pointed across the kitchen to the corner by the sink. “His shop is right there. All you have to do is holler and he’ll be here quicker than you can bat your pretty eyes.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ef said.

  “Thank you. I’d best get back to work,” Naomi said quietly, skirting Russ to walk out. “Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye.” Ef stared after her with an arrested look on his face.

  Amused, Russ ambled over to the sink. “I came in for some water and a piece of peach pie. You want to join me?”

  “Yeah.” Ef walked into the pantry and retrieved the dessert from the pie safe inside.

  Grabbing a couple of tin cups, Russ pumped water into one. “Nice of you to help Miz Jones.”

  “She was trying to lift those pots by herself.”

  Russ had seen her do that very thing a few days ago so he knew she could, but he kept it to himself. “There’s milk on ice down in the cellar.”