Hidden in a Whisper (21 page)

Reginald smiled at the man. “Thank you.” He paused momentarily, worried that he might be overstepping his bounds with the next question. “You mentioned that there were poor decisions being made among your railroad officials.”

“Indeed there are,” Smith replied in between bites. “The Santa Fe is not as solvent as we would like. Unwise business decisions have proven harmful to the well-being of our industry.”

“Is it truly all that bad?” Jeffery questioned.

“I believe it may prove to be so,” said Smith, though he appeared far more concerned about his desserts. However, he quickly moved the focus of the conversation back to Reginald's kitchen.

“So how do you find this resort, Mr. Worthington? Is your kitchen everything you need it to be?”

“I'm quite pleased,” Reginald replied. “The equipment is of the highest quality, and I am in want of nothing. I would venture that even Her Majesty in England does not have a finer kitchen.”

Smith seemed to sober a bit and leaned toward Reginald, almost conspiratorially. “I'd venture to say the queen is missing out on the finest of cooking since you are here among the commoners of the United States.” He laughed at this and slapped Reginald on the back.

Reg smiled, although he despised being handled so familiarly. Americans seemed to think nothing of touching each other at the slightest provocation. They slapped each other when they were happy, they punched each other when they were angry, they even hugged and kissed each other—sometimes quite publicly—whenever the mood struck them. It seemed even worse here in the west, where manners and decorum were often overlooked due to the rugged wilderness setting. And while Reg found this sometimes difficult to accept, he also found himself using the freedom to his advantage.

“If they intend it to be a successful investment,” Smith said, sampling the coffee with a smile, “they will have to continue drawing the attention of eastern supporters.”

Reg had no idea what Smith was talking about now, but neither did he really care. His mind drifted to thoughts of Rachel. She was one of the biggest reasons he could appreciate this American style of liberty. He had little trouble introducing ideas for sharing moments alone or private conversations.

“Mr. Worthington?”

Reg realized he'd apparently missed a question directed to him by Mr. Smith. “Forgive me, my mind was back on the rack of lamb,” he lied.

“I merely suggested that towns such as Morita and Las Vegas pale in comparison to New York and Chicago, but that they also provide hidden surprises and new variations for the cuisine. In Las Vegas I had something called an enchilada. The chef used little pancakes called tortillas and stuffed them with chicken and cheese. He topped them with a spicy red sauce, and I tell you, I've not tasted anything like it in the rest of the country.”

“Yes, Tomas, my errand boy, has shared several of his mother's recipes with me. I've experimented with some of them, but I cannot say that I would feel comfortable in introducing them to the menu.”

Jeffery laughed. “I've had some great cooking here in Morita.

Down near the depot and river there's a wonderful little cafe
. I've had enchiladas. They're just as you've described.”

They talked on of food and the grand opening of the resort, and when the conversation seemed to wane a bit and Jeffery heard Braeden Parker at the front desk, he excused himself. “Mr. Smith, I believe Mr. Parker has returned. I suggest we make a meeting with him and Miss Taylor while we have a chance.”

“You go ahead and see to it, Mr. O'Donnell,” Smith replied. “I shall indulge myself with one more of Mr. Worthington's delicacies.”

Jeffery patted his midsection and nodded. “I think I'd better quit for now or I'll ruin my appetite for dinner.”

Reginald looked up as Jeffery crossed the dining room. Then he glanced to where Gwen was instructing a couple of the girls on inspecting napkins and tablecloths for any sign of wear.

“It's good to finally have a face with the name,” he said softly as Smith finished devouring his fourth pastry.

Smith's eyes brightened. “Do you still believe you can accomplish our goal?”

“I see no problem,” Reginald replied. “I'm keeping my eyes open for all the right opportunities.”

“Keep your ears open as well. There's no telling who might try to thwart our effort, and the plans for this resort absolutely must come together.”

“I heartily agree. Especially in light of the money you are paying me,” Reginald said, getting to his feet as Jeffery made his way back to their table. Braeden Parker was at his side and Reg immediately stiff-ened. This man was the only real obstacle that stood between himself and Rachel.

“Here's Mr. Parker,” Jeffery announced. “He has time now for us to discuss resort matters.” Jeffery glanced at his pocket watch and noted the time. “However, I can see that soon the dining room will afford us little in the way of peace and quiet. Why don't we take this meeting to your office, Mr. Parker.”

Braeden smiled and Reg felt his distaste increase. He was much too confident in his position, his looks, and his entire demeanor. Reg figured him to be no more than five years his junior, yet if rumor held true, the man certainly didn't need his position at Casa Grande. He could walk away at any time and live off the money he had in the bank or the dividends paid him through stocks and bonds.

“If you'll come this way,” Braeden said to Mr. Smith.

“I'll go find Miss Taylor,” Jeffery offered.

“She is in her office,” Reg said, reaching up to run his index finger against his thin moustache. “We've been working on the inventory. Trying to clear up those discrepancies. We certainly can't let that get out of hand.”

Braeden's eyes narrowed a bit, and the action was not lost on Reg. “No,” he agreed, “we don't want anything out of hand.”

“Well, we appear to have it under control. Miss Taylor and I seem to work very well together.”

“Yes, she's mentioned how hard you've pursued the matter.”

Reg got the distinct impression Braeden was hardly talking about matters of inventory. Could Rachel have shared some mention of Reg's interest in her? It hardly seemed likely. She and Mr. Parker, although more amiable toward each other of late, were still at odds over their past … weren't they? He realized the matter was beginning to make him most uncomfortable.

“If you'll excuse me,” Reg said with the briefest bow, “I must see to my lamb.”

He then headed to the kitchen while the men laughed and discussed their dealings. He felt a twinge of anger and pushed it aside. There was nothing to be gained by losing his temper. He had a job to do here—several jobs. He needed to think clearly and focus himself entirely to ensure their success.

He inspected the cooking, chided the cook in charge of the breaded veal cutlets for having cut the pieces too thick, then moved on to taste the salad dressing being prepared by yet another.

But his mind was hardly on cooking. Reg couldn't forget the look in Braeden Parker's eyes. The man assumed him guilty of something, but of what? Reg had done nothing more than voice interest in Rachel, gently suggesting outings that would allow them to grow closer. Perhaps it was nothing more than jealousy, but if that were the case, why bother with the look or the words that seemed to hold a double meaning?
Rachel is all that I have ever wanted in a woman, full of life and joy— when she's not busy pining over that pompous fool
. Reg wondered how he might convince Rachel that Braeden Parker was hardly worth her time and energy.

He picked up a sprig of parsley and studied it to ascertain the freshness of the piece. Satisfied, he replaced it on the plate and moved on. There had to be a way to create a wedge between Rachel and her Mr. Parker—a separation that would so completely divide them that there would be no hope of them ever coming back together. It would only be then that Reg would have a chance to win Rachel over.

He stirred a concoction on the stove and frowned. “Idiot! You've curdled it. Now start again and throw this mess out.” The dark-skinned man cowered at Reg's anger but nodded obediently.

Finally satisfied that all was moving along as it should, Reg went back to working on the rack of lamb. “It shouldn't be that hard for an Englishman to overcome a dim-witted American,” he muttered with some satisfaction. “After all, we've been at the game far longer than they have.”

  
FIFTEEN
  

WITH SOME OF THE DIGNITARIES arriving early for the next day's celebration, Rachel began to feel a bit overwhelmed. Not only were there meals to oversee, but there were also last-minute changes in menus and other arrangements that were nonsensical and frustrating to her sense of order. The last thing she needed was any further interruption. But that was exactly what she got when Ivy Brooks demanded her attention.

“My ruby brooch is missing,” she declared, coming into Rachel's office without an invitation.

“I see,” Rachel replied, not even bothering to look up from her desk. “And what have I to do with the matter?”

“I want you to look for it. I believe one of the girls came into my room and stole it.”

This caused Rachel to glance up. “Stole it? One of my girls? Ivy, I hardly think anyone would consider such a matter.”

“Well, they've not only considered it—they've done it, and I demand that you find my brooch and jail the thief.”

“Ivy, the resort opens tomorrow. There are already dignitaries here from Topeka and Chicago, and more are due to arrive tomorrow morning. Is it really necessary to cause this kind of disruption?”

“It's hardly my fault!” Ivy wailed. “I'm the one wronged here, and you act as though it were unimportant. The brooch was a gift on my fourteenth birthday from my dear departed mother and father. That piece means a great deal to me.”

Rachel could see there would be no living with the girl until she acquiesced to find the pin. “Very well. Where did you last have it?”

“I had it in my dresser drawer. That is why I know it has been stolen. And since no man is allowed in our quarters, it must have been one of the Harvey Girls or you!”

Rachel stood and shook her head. “I have no need for your brooch. Now, tell me what it looks like.”

Ivy described the pin as being in the shape of a butterfly with rubies dotting the wings and black onyx for the eyes. “And the entire body is gold,” she added.

“All right. Let us go ask among the girls.”

Rachel rounded up those who were still in the house. A few extra girls had been given the day off because the following day would require that everyone work around the clock. “Has anyone seen Ivy's brooch?” She described the piece for her girls, then stood back and watched as each one shook her head. She had presumed it would be just this way, but in order to pacify Ivy she had gone the extra mile.

“There you have it,” she told the smug-faced girl.