A Vote of Confidence (6 page)

Inez Cheevers rested her folded hands on her ample belly. “My word, Mr. McKinley If this don’t beat all. Of course I’ll be
glad to do more than the occasional cleaning. And if you don’t mind me saying so, it’ll be good to see this house lived in
like it was meant to be.” She gave an emphatic nod of her head. “You leave it to me to find you the rest of the servants you’ll
require. I’ve got some folks in mind who I think will suit.”

“Your assistance is greatly appreciated, Mrs. Cheevers.”

“Saints alive! I do believe this election could get exciting.”

Morgan smiled at her. “I hope I’ll have your vote.”

Inez — a short, plump woman with gray hair that resembled a bird’s nest, wisps flying in all directions — held herself erect, her expression serious. “How a person votes is a private matter. You should know that.”

“You’re so right, Mrs. Cheevers. I should know that.” He chuckled. “I promise never to ask you again.”

Her smile returned. “Well, I had best be about my business then. You can expect me here first thing in the morning. Oh, will
you want any of the staff to live in?”

The McKinley home of Morgan’s youth had employed a large household staff — butler, cook, housekeeper, housemaids, footmen.
Servants abounded when he and his mother stayed in hotels and spas in England and on the Continent. But since coming West, Morgan had become used to seeing to his own needs. He slept on
a cot in a tent like the rest of the men. He washed and mended his own clothes too. Fortunately, there was a cook at the work
site. They all ate better because of it. It would take some getting used to, living in town and having a full staff there
to cater to his needs.

“I think you should, sir,” Inez stated, drawing him from his musings.

He nodded. “Do as you think best, Mrs. Cheevers.”

“Thank you, sir, for your faith in me.”

After the housekeeper left, Morgan went into the kitchen. He stared at the stove, hungry but unwilling to cook. This seemed
like a good time to visit one of the three restaurants in town. He could eat a good meal and possibly even shake a few hands.
No time like the present to start his campaign.

It was a pleasant time of day for a walk. Everything seemed softer at this midpoint between afternoon and evening. As Morgan
made his way along Skyview Street and down the hillside toward the center of town, he considered the odd twists of fate that
had brought him to Bethlehem Springs.

If his father, the man Morgan had admired most in all the world, hadn’t died at the age of forty-five.

If his mother hadn’t suffered for years with chronic pain.

If Morgan hadn’t seen the spas of Europe that catered to the privileged.

If he hadn’t talked to so many doctors and nurses in so many places and come away with so few answers.

If he hadn’t met Fagan Doyle, a man familiar with the American West.

If God hadn’t planted the desire in his heart to bring help and hope to the hurting.

Lost in thought, Morgan almost walked past the South Fork Restaurant, a modest-sized eatery located between the office of
the
Daily Herald
and a ladies’ hat shop. He might not have stopped if it weren’t for the delicious odors wafting through the open doorway.

When he stepped inside, he took quick note of about half a dozen other diners, but then his gaze settled on the woman at a
table at the far end of the restaurant. It was her — the woman he’d come upon on the road yesterday morning. She glanced up,
saw him looking at her, and frowned. Then she quickly lowered her gaze.

Not exactly the response he would have hoped for.

“Good evening, sir,” a waitress in a black dress and white apron said to him as she approached. “One for supper?”

“Yes.”

She led the way to a table and placed a menu on the red and white checked tablecloth. “The special tonight is meat loaf with
green peppers and onions.”

“Sounds good.” He sat down, removed his hat, and set it on the chair next to him. “I’ll have that.”

After the waitress walked away, Morgan looked again toward the attractive blonde, eating her supper. Eating alone. There must
be something wrong with the men of this town to allow that to happen.

Behind him, the waitress greeted another customer. A moment later, he heard his name.

“Good evening, Mr. McKinley.”

He looked up at the man now standing to his left. “Mr. Patterson.” He offered his hand to the owner and editor of the
Daily Herald
. “Good to see you.” With a tip of his head, he motioned toward the chair opposite him. “Would you care to join me?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” The newspaperman sat down.

“This meeting is fortuitous. I planned to visit you tomorrow to discuss some advertising.”

Nathan Patterson lowered his voice. “If it has to do with your campaign, then maybe we’d best wait to discuss it at my office.
No point sharing your ideas with your opponent.”

“My opponent?” Morgan looked around the restaurant a second time. He didn’t know Tattersall was in here. Failing to find the
saloonkeeper, he looked back at Nathan.

The newspaperman’s eyes widened and then he started to laugh.

“What’s funny?” Morgan asked.

“You don’t know, do you? You really don’t know?”

“What?”

Nathan rose to his feet, took three steps toward the young woman who had captured Morgan’s interest not once but twice. “Excuse
me for interrupting, Miss Arlington, but I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Morgan McKinley.”

Morgan caught his breath.
She
was his opponent? She didn’t look
anything
like what he’d expected. Where was the radical, wild-eyed suffragette he’d had in mind? This couldn’t be Gwen Arlington.
Couldn’t be the woman running against him for mayor.

“How do you do, Mr. McKinley. I believe we crossed paths yesterday morning on the road.”

“I remember.” He stood. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Arlington.”

She smiled, the sort of acknowledgment that made a man’s brain turn to mush. “The real pleasure will be when I trounce you
in the election, sir.” Her words dripped with honeyed sweetness, but her blue eyes told him she was deadly serious.

Morgan was not the sort of man to shy away from a challenge, not even one uttered by such a beautiful opponent. “We shall
see, Miss Arlington. We shall surely see.”

“‘We shall see, Miss Arlington,’” Gwen muttered as she turned slices of bacon in the skillet with a fork. “‘We shall surely
see.’” She sniffed. “Yes, we shall, Mr. McKinley.”

She’d slept little during the night, her thoughts turning again and again to her brief meeting with Morgan McKinley at the
restaurant. The best part about it had been his surprise when he learned who she was. Whatever he’d expected in his opponent,
it wasn’t her. That pleased her, for it meant he’d been thrown off guard when Nathan introduced her. She wanted to keep him
that way.

She took a plate from the cupboard and eating utensils from the sideboard and set them on the counter. Returning to the stove,
she scooped the bacon from the skillet, drained off the extra grease, then scrambled an egg in the center of the pan.

Morgan McKinley’s most striking feature, Gwen thought now, were his eyes. Such a dark brown they were. Almost black. He also
had strong features — high forehead, long nose, angled jaw — and there was something about his mouth that made her think he
must smile often. It was a handsome smile, to be sure.

Of course, this analysis of his appearance was merely so she might best him in the election. She had to weigh his pros and
cons. Knowing his good looks might increase his appeal, especially among women voters, was something she had to expect and
overcome.

She carried her breakfast plate to the table and sat down in her accustomed chair. Bowing her head and closing her eyes, she
silently asked the Lord’s blessing on her meal, then added a request for wisdom for the day.

“And confidence, Lord,” she whispered. “Keep me confident.”

When Nathan had sat at Morgan’s table yesterday, a chill had shot through Gwen. Nathan had promised to back her in the election,
but that had been before Morgan declared his candidacy. Now she wondered if the newspaperman had changed his mind. If so,
running for office could be an exercise in futility.

“Lord, don’t let me waver or begin to fear. Please guide my words and my steps.”

She inhaled deeply and reminded herself that the election wouldn’t be over until it was over. Until then, she would do all
she could to ensure that she won.

The first item on the day’s agenda was to go to the paper and speak to Nathan. Even if he chose to back another candidate,
he was still a fair journalist. He would want to interview her, get her opinions on matters of interest to the voters of Bethlehem
Springs. And he would want her to place advertisements in his paper as well.

Gwen finished eating her breakfast, washed the dishes, and then went into her bedroom to dress for the day. From her wardrobe,
she chose a rather austere brown and white dress and a pair of brown shoes. After sweeping her hair atop her head and fastening
it with pins, she covered it with a short-brimmed straw hat. She wanted her appearance to speak for her: intelligent, businesslike,
serious, able to lead. She thought she’d succeeded.

With another quick prayer for God to go before her, she set off for the center of town.

Morgan was headed for the newspaper office when he saw Gwen Arlington approach from the opposite direction. He stopped to
observe her just as she paused to speak to a mother and child on the sidewalk. After a brief exchange with the woman, Gwen
leaned down to address the child. A moment later, her laughter carried to him on the breeze.

An angelic sound
.

The thought alarmed him. He didn’t want to be derailed by her laughter or her beauty. He had work to accomplish. Besides,
Morgan had learned the hard way that external beauty often didn’t translate into beauty of the soul. His personal “hard way”
was named Yvette Dutetre. Exquisite, passionate, emotional Yvette. His former fiancée. She’d loved his money more than him,
and when she betrayed him the hurt had gone deep.

He pushed the memories away as he resumed walking. That was all long ago and mattered not at all to him now.

The scent of ink and dust greeted him when he entered the newspaper office a few moments later. Nathan Patterson sat at a
desk littered with paper and books, a pair of glasses perched on his nose, reading copy and scribbling notes to himself in
the margins.

Nathan held up the index finger of his left hand without looking up. “Just give me a second.”

“No hurry.”

“Oh, Mr. McKinley.” He set down his nub of a pencil. “Sorry. I was expecting my wife. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to discuss my candidacy for mayor, how I might best reach the citizens of Bethlehem Springs.”

The newspaperman rose from his chair. “I’ll be glad to discuss different options, but you should know — ” He broke off as
the door opened again.

Morgan looked over his shoulder, thinking he was about to meet Nathan’s wife. Instead he saw Gwen Arlington standing in the
doorway. He removed his hat. “Good morning, Miss Arlington.”

“Mr. McKinley.” Her tone made it clear she wasn’t thrilled to see him there.

“I take it we have both come to the
Daily Herald
for the same purpose. Our campaigns?”

Gwen shifted her gaze from Morgan to Nathan. “I’ll come back at another time.”

“Wait,” Nathan said, stopping her departure. “Come in and sit down. Both of you. Please.”

Her obvious determination to avoid looking at Morgan again caused him to smile. Beauty she might have, but she didn’t try
to use it to disarm him. He liked that about her.

Gwen walked past him, head held high, shoulders back. She sat in one of the two chairs opposite the editor’s desk. Morgan
sat in the other.

“All right,” Nathan said. “Here’s how it’s going to be. Mr. McKinley, I told Miss Arlington that the paper would back her
candidacy if she ran against Tattersall. When I told her that, I never dreamed, after all the weeks leading up to the deadline
to declare, that we would end up with three candidates.”