The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (26 page)

Gennie ran her hand over the cold iron filigree of the bedpost and worked up her most penitent expression. “Again, I do apologize.”

The woman stood her ground. “Perhaps you should check those vermin-infested beds before you offer your apologies.” She paused. “Go on there, child. Do be sure there won’t be anything in your bed tonight but you.”

Remorse bit hard, but Charlotte happily removed the quilt, then the sheets below. “Nothing here that I can see,” Charlotte said.

Both child and maid stared at Gennie. “Well, then,” Gennie said, “I do think this matter is settled.” To emphasize the point, she perched on the edge of the empty bed, careful not to topple the linens and towels.

The woman seemed to consider further discussing the room for a moment, then bustled toward the door. At the door frame, she stopped and gave Gennie a firm look over her shoulder. “As I said, I run a clean establishment.” Her brown eyes narrowed. “A place where none but those with high moral standards are allowed.”

“And we are most grateful for that, aren’t we, Charlotte?”

“You should be.” She pointed at Gennie. “Mr. Beck being a single, eligible man and all, I don’t like the idea of him having the room next door to such a pretty thing, even if she is his daughter’s caretaker. It’s lucky for you my husband, Ira, knows Mr. Beck from their association with the Greater Leadville Beautification and Improvement Society and can vouch for his sterling character.” She laughed. “Sterling character. Silver. Get it?”

Taken aback by the stern woman’s laughter, it took Gennie a moment to reply. “Yes, that’s quite funny. I must remember to tell Mr. Beck. As for the other subject, I assure you there’s nothing but a professional relationship between Charlotte’s father and myself.”

Charlotte’s feet landed with a thump on the rug. “Don’t believe her. My daddy kissed her, and I know it was her fault.”

Gennie rose, heat flooding her cheeks. “Don’t mind Charlotte. She does go on.”

“Does she?” The woman held her basket to her chest as if trying to determine the truth.

“Ladies, do the accommodations meet your approval?” Daniel appeared in the door. “Well, how nice to see you again, Mrs. Stegman. Do tell Ira the new place is all he promised and more.”

Mrs. Stegman’s expression softened. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Beck.” Before she made her exit, she turned to give Gennie one last direct look. “And do let me know if any difficulties occur during your stay. I’ll be happy to handle them personally.”

As soon as the woman left, Charlotte launched herself into her father’s arms. “Papa, don’t make me share a room with
her.
”

Mr. Beck gently but firmly set his daughter down, then bent to meet her on eye level. “We had this discussion yesterday. Would you care to have it again in front of Miss Cooper?”

The girl’s “no” was barely audible.

“Then what do you say to Miss Cooper regarding your impertinent behavior?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, though her gaze never left the lovely kid boots that matched her yellow summer frock.

“Apology accepted,” Gennie said as a porter arrived, bearing their trunks.

“Now, Buttercup, Mr. Stegman has sent two baskets of fruit to my room by mistake. Why don’t you fetch one back here for you and Miss Cooper to enjoy later?”

When the girl showed little enthusiasm for the activity, Mr. Beck turned and pointed her out the door. She disappeared into the hall, her footsteps echoing as she stomped her way next door.

Mr. Beck pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to Gennie. “I took the liberty of locking your truck.” His gaze met hers. “This isn’t Denver, Miss Cooper. You’ll find a pistol suitable for a lady packed inside. You
do
know how to use a pistol, don’t you?”

She did. For all his insistence that ladies must act like ladies, Papa required both Gennie and Mama to know how to escape should they be faced with an intruder while he was away. So fearful was Gennie of
awaking to some horrible criminal standing over her that she bought a pistol and paid the gunsmith handsomely to teach her how to use it. Unfortunately, Papa got wind of her escapade and confiscated the weapon. He did, however, begin a longstanding habit of taking her with him to practice shooting on their Long Island and Newport properties.

She didn’t mention any of this to Mr. Beck, who waited for an answer. “Might I see the weapon to determine whether it’s something I can operate?”

She handed the key back to him and watched while he retrieved a small pistol that looked very much like the one Papa had taken away from her. “Yes,” she said as she held it, then handed it back, “I can use this if I must, but surely I won’t need to.”

Mr. Beck placed the weapon atop the other items in the trunk, then locked it and handed the key back to Gennie. “I hope not,” he said, “but I will admit that though the town has grown, we still have a certain bad element. I’d prefer to know that my daughter—and you, of course—will be protected when I cannot do it myself.”

Gennie nodded as Mr. Beck set the key atop the trunk. Charlotte raced in with a basket of fruit, nearly toppling the table in the process.

“Slow down, Buttercup,” he said.

“I want to go back in your room.” Charlotte stepped into the hallway.

“All right, but only until I have to leave for the office. Then you’ll have to come back here to your own room. Understand?”

With Charlotte’s reluctant nod, the Becks headed down the hall to the Governor’s Suite, and Gennie began what, until now, had always been done for her: unpacking. While some of the things looked lovely pulled directly from the trunk, others would need wrinkles removed.
For that, she would have to rely on Mrs. Stegman for advice on a suitable laundress.

When she was done with her things, Gennie placed the pistol in the tray and closed her trunk, locking it before placing the key on top of the trunk and moving on to tackle Charlotte’s trunk. The work went faster than she expected, and to her surprise, Gennie didn’t mind that the menial labor had been left to her. She was, after all, the governess.

And she was in Leadville—the Wild West. It was all too exciting.

Gennie went to the window to try to open the sash. She succeeded on the third attempt and only coughed for a moment when the breeze blew in.

Three floors down, Gennie spied Mr. Beck and Hiram deep in conversation at the back of the wagon. Charlotte had wandered a few feet away and appeared to be watching a group of schoolchildren with some measure of interest.

Turning her attention away from those she knew, Gennie began to study those she did not. Across the way, a gentleman in a stained apron swept the street beneath a sign advertising a meat market. Next door, two men in broad-brimmed hats stepped out of what appeared to be the marshal’s office, then paused to slap each other on the back. When they parted, one crossed the street to join Mr. Beck and Hiram, while the other headed north to disappear into the Lucky Lad and Lady Saloon.

Gennie leaned farther out the window to allow the cool breeze to play over the back of her neck. For a moment, she closed her eyes and imagined Mae Winslow bolting over the sill and sliding down the drainpipe to a waiting buckboard complete with her true love, Henry, holding the reins.

When she opened them again, she saw instead the empty wagon
where only a moment ago Mr. Beck and his associates had been conversing. Gone too was Charlotte. Likely they’d gone somewhere for a leisurely lunch and forgotten all about her. Not a terribly disappointing situation considering that in her sleep-deprived state, the lumpy mattress had begun to look appealing.

She elected to take the one nearest the door and leave the rumpled bed for Charlotte. She slipped out of her shoes and padded to the window to pull the curtains shut against the noonday sun.

That’s when she spied Charlotte squatting behind the wagon along with two other children. Curious, Gennie watched while the trio huddled together. As Gennie was about to turn away, a squeal went up, and she saw Charlotte racing toward the hotel with something bouncing behind her, attached to a rope. The other two children disappeared in different directions.

“You there! Come back, you rascals!” a man called as he darted from behind the wagon and appeared to be trying to decide in which of the three directions to give chase.

“What in the world?” Gennie slipped back into her shoes and donned her hat, intending to head downstairs, confront the child, and get to the bottom of whatever had happened. She stormed past her trunk, then stopped and turned to stare at the key atop it. Perhaps a bit of caution should be exercised in this situation.

Gennie opened the trunk and quickly retrieved the pistol. Hiding it in her skirts was easily accomplished, as was leaving the room undetected. By the time she reached the lobby, however, a crowd had gathered, with Charlotte Beck at its center.

The criminal turned and smiled. “Nice of you to return my horse. I missed her.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Mae said, the memory of bats and snakes still too tender. “And I’ve not missed you, either.” She stuck the Colt in his gut, then shoved him to the ground and snatched up his pistol. Ed kicked like a mule, but she’d learned her mule taming from the best. Sidestepping his boots, the fair creature reached for her lariat and made short work of hog-tying the fellow at the ankles. Rather than waste a bullet, Mae used the business end of the Colt to knock Ed out cold.

This time when she climbed onto Lucky, she made sure she didn’t look back. Ed wasn’t about to give chase now, with her rope around his boots and a headache that wouldn’t soon leave him.

Thus, with the villain dispatched, the race home began.

If only she weren’t riding Lucky.

Jeb Sanders sat across the desk from Daniel, a tired expression on his unshaven face. “Mr. Beck, I know those boys are kin, but I didn’t have nothing to do with the jailbreak or the accidents at the mine.”

When Daniel said nothing, Jeb rolled up his sleeve and offered his arm as evidence. “See that there?” He pointed to a bandage, frayed and browned at the edges. “That’s from trying to stop your mule team before they went over the cliff with the wagon.”

Daniel nodded.

“And that there?” He gestured to his trouser leg, where a spot near the knee wore a sizable patch. “That’s what I got for the trouble. I’m just now walking right, and it’s been near to a week.”

Only three days had passed, but Daniel didn’t figure the fact was worth mentioning. He leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath. “What exactly can I do for you, then?”

Jeb seemed to think on the question, though Daniel suspected the man had planned his speech ever since he jumped on that wagon just before it went over the cliff. “I’m not fit for mining right now, sir,” he said, “but I do need the work. Don’t tell nobody this, but I’m not keeping much of what I earn. That goes back home to keep Mama and the little ones fed.”

“I see.”

The revelation was not particularly surprising in its content, as most miners posted their earnings back east or west or down south to family. Whether it was true in Jeb Sanders’s case would remain to be seen. Finding the truth of it was a simple matter Hiram could handle in an afternoon.

“So’s a job of some sort where I can earn an honest living until I’m not so stove-up would go far to getting me back on my feet.” Jeb chuckled. “Didn’t intend that, but that’s right funny, ain’t it? Asking for a change of job ’cause I can’t walk good until I’m back on my feet.”

Daniel tried to logic it out and failed. “Indeed.”

Jeb sobered. “Look, I’m nervous, and when I’m nervous, I make jokes.” He leaned forward. “Here’s the honest truth, Mr. Beck. I know I got a long way to go to make up for the reputation I lost just by being related to those knuckleheads.”

“As long as we’re being honest,” Daniel said, “I’ll admit you’re right. Other than the usual Saturday-night scuffles, your record’s been clean since you came to Leadville. I know, because I talked to the marshal this
morning.” He paused to let the statement sink in. “That doesn’t mean I trust you, Sanders. It means I want to. Do you understand?”

The miner looked Daniel straight in the eye. “I do, sir.”