campsite. "I've had enough of the wilderness for awhile."
Thurston patted his wife's shoulder. "Of course, my dear.
Would that be all right with you, Mr. Quinter?"
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Howard shrugged. "I'll have to ask Randi. It'll be her
choice." It was obvious his answer didn't settle well with
Belinda, who rolled her eyes and let out another huff.
"Yes, yes, we men must please our wives, mustn't we?"
Thurston said, yet his tone didn't quite match his words.
Howard almost felt a tinge of sorrow for the man. Almost,
being the critical word.
"Yes, we must," he said. Out of politeness, or perhaps
because he wanted to make sure they left, he waited until
their wagon rolled down the road before he turned to make
his way back to the hotel.
A sixth sense made him glance up. Randi's silhouette stood
behind the window of his new office on the second story. His
heart plunged. Was she wondering why her father hadn't
stayed long enough to see her? Damn that man. Howard
picked up his pace as she turned away from the glass.
Without a nod, nor glance toward Bug, he leaped up the
stairs and seconds later thrust the door open. A sweet rose
scent, most likely from the little tin of soaps he'd purchased,
lingered in the air, and after a quick glance in his office, he
moved toward their bedroom. She sat on the little stool in
front of the lady's dressing table combing her long hair with a
silver handled brush. Her gaze found his in the mirror above
her head.
"Hello," she said. The soft smile curving her lips appeared
genuine, but he had to wonder.
"Hello. How was the bath?" He moved closer, watching her
in the mirror.
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"Wonderful," she giggled. "I've never used so much hot
water at one time. It's almost sinful."
He took the brush from her hand and ran it down the wet
tresses, gently smoothing away the twists formed from
washing. She wore her yellow dress, and his stomach
fluttered a touch. With her deep brown eyes and dark hair,
she reminded him of a sunflower dancing about in a field. It
was a delightful sight, one that made his loins stir. A few
short weeks ago, he'd thought he didn't have time for a wife.
Now he'd trade his dream, the hotel, restaurant and all, for
her. Not that his dream had completely dissolved, he still
wanted it, still worked to make it happen, but somehow that
dream had shifted, became second fiddle to her.
His smile continued to sparkle in the mirror. The dream
had also become hers—no theirs—and he enjoyed sharing it
with her. It had come to the point where he didn't make a
single decision without consulting her. Even their apartment,
he'd asked for her opinion on every piece of furniture. She
just hadn't known it was for her, because he wanted to
surprise her. He'd instructed the men to finish this space first
and set it all up, so all she had to do was walk in and see it
completed.
"My father and Belinda are back," she said, somewhat
dully.
The brush stalled for a split second. He grasped the handle
tighter and continued to run it from her scalp to the middle of
her back, not once glancing to the mirror.
"Yes. They had to go check into the Dodge House." He
tried to sound non-judgmental.
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"Will they be back?" There was a slight crack to her voice.
He gathered all of her hair into one palm and concentrated
on brushing the ends.
"Actually, they were wondering if we'd care to join them at
the restaurant in town for supper." He snuck a peek.
A frown pulled her dark brows down until they almost met
above the bridge of her nose.
"Really?" she asked, rearranging the things on her
dressing table.
"Hmmm," he muttered, holding in any other comment that
might like to be heard.
She twisted her neck to look up at him. "Are we going?"
He set the brush down on the table top, next to several
other bits of necessities his mother thought he needed to
purchase. A glass bottle of perfume, a tin of talc powder, a
container of hair pins, and some other items he didn't even
try to assume he knew what they were.
She wrapped her fingers around his before he lifted them
away from the brush handle.
"I don't mind that you don't want to go."
"No." He shook his head. "It's not my decision. It's yours.
If you want to go, we will. If you don't, we won't."
Her gaze met his as she rose to stand. She plucked at the
button of his shirt. "My decision?"
"Of course."
She stared at his buttons for an extended length of time.
"Well, then, I think I'd like to go."
"You would?" He hadn't meant to sound surprised, should
have known she'd want to see her father. No matter how
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much he disliked the man, he was her father and always
would be. The thought made his stomach curdle like old milk.
She laid her head on his chest and wrapped both arms
around him.
"Yes, with you beside me, I can face anything."
He was reminded of that first day, when Belinda had
chastised her for wearing an apron, and when Randi had
choked at the table.
"We don't have to go."
"No," she said. "I want to go. What time are we to be
there?"
"They didn't say."
She leaned back in his arms, gazed up at him.
"Well, Belinda insists a person should eat before six, so
their stomach has time to digest before going to bed."
Feeling as defiant as a ten-year-old, he said, "Then I'll
have one of the men take a note to the Dodge House telling
them we'll arrive by seven."
Randi couldn't control the giggle that started in her heart.
As it slipped out, she said, "That will be perfect."
The dread that had settled on her shoulders when she
looked out the window and saw her father and Belinda at the
campsite flew away as if it had wings. Perhaps it did have
wings, or maybe she had wings, or at least the ability to send
the anxiety away, for that is more how it felt—like she had
the power to decide if her father and Belinda would intimidate
her, or if she would refuse to be threatened by them.
She leaned onto Howard's chest, hugging him with all her
strength. Her life had become so perfect there was no way
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she was going to let it be ruined. Though Howard had never
said anything since that first day, she knew he'd never
wanted a wife, never wanted the extra responsibility. But yet,
she also knew he cared for her.
He was extremely busy getting the hotel and restaurant up
and running. She'd tried to be an asset to him, instead of a
burden, and would continue with all her might. And that
included not asking him for money. No matter what her father
or Belinda wanted.
Tonight, at her husband's side, she'd tell them so. She
wrapped her arms tighter around Howard's waist as a new
fear began to take shape.
A tight knot formed in her stomach, squeezing the breath
from her. They—Belinda and her father—had the ability to
destroy it all, wipe Howard dry without him even knowing it.
She'd seen it over the years with her mother. Every
possession worth an ounce of gold had been sold off the past
few years to finance her father's political career. Thoughts
tumbled, rumbled about in her mind. Why hadn't she realized
it before now? It was evident Howard's family had money,
and if there was one thing her father was good at taking from
people—it was money.
His hold tightened to keep her close as she dragged in a
fresh breath of air, trying to rid her body of the sinking feeling
in her stomach. It was as if a big day-old clump of bread
dough had risen in her stomach. She swallowed, vowing, if
she had to die trying, she'd save Howard from her father.
As if he knew fear gripped her, Howard brushed a kiss over
the top of her head.
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"We don't have to go if you don't want to."
She straightened, thrusting her shoulders back. "Yes, we
do." Determination filled her, and she pulled a smile from the
depth of her strength. "I thought you had work to do?"
A little scowl formed on his face. "I do, I did..." he
stammered.
"Well, then you best get to it. We don't have time to waste
if this place is going to open on schedule." She took his hand.
"And I have to get supper started."
He walked beside her to the doorway. "You don't have to
cook supper. We are going—"
She interrupted, "I know." Tugging him through the door,
she continued, "But I already have steaks in a marinade
sauce. It won't take any time to cook them up for the boys
and Ma."
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They separated in the kitchen where Bug asked about
some things that needed to be uncrated. Randi took her time
walking across the yard, checking on the shrubs and bushes
Snake had planted. Needing the distraction, she imagined
how beautiful the area would look when everything was full
grown and in bloom.
"Want to see the fountain?"
She pivoted and smiled at Snake standing near the back
side of the hotel.
"I'd love to," she replied honestly.
Snake motioned to her with one hand. "Come here. I'm
just getting ready to test it." He waited until she drew closer
to add, "I hope it works like I believe it will."
"I'm sure it will," she said as they began to walk toward
the large pond he'd created in the center of the back yard
with bricks identical to those of the hotel. He'd used mortar to
bond the bricks into a beautiful oval shape about eight-feet
long and four-feet wide. In the center stood a large concrete
pole about four-feet high and holding three brass saucers of
various sizes. The top one was the smallest, with each one
below relatively larger.
"Where will the water come from?" she asked, stopping
near the pool's edge.
"I've created an aqueduct system from the creek," he said.
He'd already lost her, but not wanting to sound stupid, she
simply replied, "Oh."
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He nodded and pointed across the yard. "I also built a
windmill."
"Oh, that's what that is." Randi stared at the large tripod
that held an unusual looking ball of iron with metal flaps
encircling it.
"Yup, it's a windmill. The crank shaft will pump the water
into the pond from the underground system. When I'm done,
I'll plant morning glories to climb up the legs. It'll look like a
tower of flowers all summer long."
"That'll be pretty," she admitted.
"There's a hole under the windmill where I dug a reservoir
and put in decline platforms. Through the series of platforms
I've channeled the water into a pipe that runs under the pond
and up the center of the pedestal in the middle." He glanced
at her and smiled. "So, if it goes as I've planned, water
should spout up the middle and cascade down, over the three
basins, and into the pond. I also put a small pipe in the
bottom of the pool to drain the water back into the reservoir,
so it won't overflow and stay clear."
Still confused, but excited to see the water bubbling out of
the pedestal she said, "How do you make it start flowing?"
He winked one eye, and the action reminded her very
much of her husband. "I also installed a cistern pump to fill
the reservoir this first time. I figure I may have to pump it up
once a day for the first few days to keep the pressure up and
the flow moving. But afterwards, the windmill should be
enough to keep it moving."
Again, "Oh," was the only thing she could think to say. All
three of the brothers amazed her with their knowledge. Snake
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seemed to know everything about gardening, and it appeared
water systems, and Bug had insisted Howard use oil burners,
like the little parlor stove in their apartment instead of
depending on wood for heat. He even said the stove Howard
had ordered for the kitchen would be oil burning. Bug
continually insisted oil was the way of the future.
She turned to Snake. "How did you learn so much about all
this?"
He shrugged. "I guess mainly from our brother, Kid. When
he built his house he wanted indoor plumbing and bought
every book he could find on it. That's where I read about
aqueducts and such."
"Really? Kid's house has indoor plumbing?"
"Yup, Skeeter's too."
"I guess I thought only big mansions and such had indoor