Lessie: Bride of Utah (American Mail-Order Bride 45) (4 page)

“Would you like this disclosure to occur together or in couples?”

Richard considered the alternatives. “Separately. I’d rather try my luck trying to convince just one woman.”

“And if this doesn’t work?” Adam, the eternal optimist, doubted the veracity of his plan?

“I’ll be stuck with a wife who cannot help me and Cannon Mining the way I need her to.”

“In other words, the risk we’ve already taken.”

“Indeed.”

“What will you do with her if she won’t keep our secret?”

Richard considered that. He vaguely gestured at the house. “Leave her here and go to work.”

“It won’t come to that. I’m confident.” Adam smiled for the first time since the telegrams arrived. “We do have one more decision to make.”

“What?”

“Fourteen mines and two of us. I suggest Big Ezra and Silver Queen should be our top priorities.”

Currently the most valuable mines, and thus far, the only places where foul play had resulted in multiple deaths. “Agreed.”

“Only one question.” Adam pulled a coin from his pocket. “Who will go and who will stay? Call it.” He flipped the coin and caught it between stacked hands.

“Heads.” If he stayed in Utah, he had a chance of keeping an eye on the silver and lead smelting plant in west Ogden, in addition to snooping around Big Ezra.

Adam chuckled and peeked at the coin. “Tails it is. Looks like I will have the pleasure of days alone with my bride in the private rail car en route to New Mexico.”

“Do you anticipate your bride will relish another journey immediately?

“New Mexico can’t wait, cousin. I need to attend to the Silver Queen promptly. And I happily anticipate time alone with my bride.”

“You do?” He couldn’t imagine the first week or two would be more than pleasantries, social niceties. How did a husband carry on a conversation with a wife he barely knew?

“I do. I need to become well acquainted with my wife, given we missed out on the courtship stage.” He almost smiled. “The sooner we fall in love, the better.”

“Ha.”

“Love is a choice.”

“Maybe.”

“We’ll see. I’m right about the mines, too. We’ll get this all squared away, and Mrs. Taylor and I will be home in time for the holidays.”

Chapter Three

He liked the cover of darkness. It suited him.

He waited at the designated location, not too far off the path but not too close. Judging by the length of time it took him to make his trek in daylight, he judged himself to be less than ten minutes early for the scheduled rendezvous.

Perfect.

He preferred to be the first into position. Kept the other guy guessing, at a disadvantage, and secured himself the place of dominance.

A chill mountain wind rushed down the canyon, burning his ears with a hint of winter. The leaves had started to change already, brilliant patches of yellow among the aspens, flashes of red in the scrub oak. In daylight, the trees made a mighty fine picture.

Right on time, his subordinate approached, making less sound on the rocky path than some. The other fellow moved with a bit of stealth, awareness, intention.

He liked that in a fellow, especially one he was about to trust with a responsibility not fit for just anyone.

“You’re on time,” the man said, once the shadow approached, through the falling leaves and just as a slice of late September moon peeked through the wind-driven clouds overhead.

“Yessir.”

He liked a bit of respect in an underling. A fellow who understood his place.

“Tonight’s the night.”

Silence. The other guy dipped his head, a habit he’d noted all times of day or night. Had nothing to do with the sun in his eyes or an unwillingness to allow others to read his expression. Nope, this fellow had a pretty loud tell, he did. Informed everybody within line of sight he was mighty uncomfortable and wrestling with a decision.

He didn’t like that, not one little bit. “I’m counting on you. We all are.”

“Yessir.”

“You’re weak.”

“Well, I—”

“No excuses.” His blood heated up, right fast. It would feel good to release a little steam. “I don’t like excuses.”

“Yessir.”

Same thing. The guy dipped his head, the nervous tell-tale sign might be an indication he’d rethought his involvement and wanted out.

Well that was just too damn bad. They had a schedule to keep, and it was time for the next stage of the game. “You in, soldier, or not?”

“My brother’s working the day shift. He’ll be down there—”

Quick as a rattler strike, the man threw a fist, caught the simpering lowlife square in the nose. Cartilage crumpled, bone broke, blood spurted.

A rush of exultant pleasure ripped through him.

Must’ve caught a bone fragment right through the brain, ‘cause the unworthy fellow dropped in his tracks.

The thud sounded hollow. Simple flesh upon earth and vegetation. Could’ve been a tree falling prey to the wind.

He flexed his fist, shaking out the pressure against his knuckles and smirked.

One problem solved. One to go.

Some things a man had to do himself to see it done right.

Lessie clung to Josie’s hand as they entered the red brick, three-story Union Station in Ogden City.

The main lobby, filled with people coming and going, seemed a terrible place to find two men they’d never met and had no idea their age or even general appearance. Why hadn’t she thought to ask for a description?

Lessie tugged her twin out of the main flow of foot traffic and searched the crowd.

Eventually, her attention landed on two whose stunned gazes tracked from her face to Josie’s and back again… and their disappointment couldn’t have been more acute if they’d tried. A quick exchange between the dark-haired men, and they approached.

Lessie raised her chin a notch. The men were significantly taller up close than they’d been across the large space. One had blue eyes, the other hazel, but the family resemblance was certainly strong.

Blue Eyes removed his bowler in a courtly gesture, while Mr. Hazel seemed to take in their shabby appearance from crown to shoe. Could she help it if they were mussed from days of travel? Or that they’d needed to keep their dresses shorter than strictly fashionable, in order to safely operate the treadle sewing machines at the mill?

“Ladies, I am Adam Taylor,” Blue Eyes said by way of introduction. His suit, crafted of fine wool, had been absurdly expensive. Costly shoes, too. A tie-pin more expensive than any piece of jewelry she’d ever owned in her life.

Josie immediately relaxed into Lessie’s side.

They’d found their grooms. That must mean sour-tempered Mr. Hazel was none other than Mr. Richard Cannon. Of Cannon Mining.

Dressed every bit as nicely, his wealth showed in the superb cut of his suit, the high polish of his shoes, and the make of his bowler… which he finally removed.

Apparently money couldn’t buy manners.

“Are you the Hadley sisters from Massachusetts?” Mr. Taylor asked.

Josie nodded and ducked just a little further behind Lessie’s shoulder.

“I’m Lessie Anne Hadley. My sister,” she indicated with a little nod, “Miss Josie Anne Hadley.”

“Welcome, ladies. We’re ever so glad you’ve arrived safely. Might we assist you with your trunks?”

Lessie chose to ignore the snobbish Mr. Cannon and looked Mr. Taylor directly in the eye. “Thank you for your kind offer, sir, but all we have is this one bundle.”

He seemed to finally notice the sheet she’d tied about their changes of clothing. Not many items, but all they had in the world.

Blue-eyed Mr. Taylor glanced at Mr. Cannon. The look that passed between them raised Lessie’s hackles.

Mr. Cannon had the nerve to lift a single brow. The
snob
.

In Lawrence, Lessie and Josie were all too accustomed to fancy ladies and well-dressed gentlemen ignoring them, treating them like the work-a-day lower-class citizens they were.

She’d expected better from the men who’d intentionally asked for women just like them. “If you two wanted ladies with trunks filled with fancy gowns, you shouldn’t have asked for girls who knew how to work.”

“Our humblest apologies.” Mr. Taylor seemed to be the only one who could speak. “We’re simply stunned— we didn’t realize you two were identical twins. You’re both exquisite, if I might say so.”

“I did say we’re twins.” Lessie had most certainly said so in her telegram. “You wanted family connection, did you not? Obviously, we’re related. We’re youthful, strong. Healthy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mr. Taylor seemed eager to please, but that Mr. Cannon…

Lessie turned her attention on him, her ire piqued. “Are we not what you wanted, Mr. Cannon? Your advertisement said you wanted hard workers, women who knew the value of a dime.”

“Actually, Miss,” —Mr. Taylor,
again—
“I never wrote that.”

“Your ad said: hard-working, factory or mill experienced.”

“Yes. A tad different than ‘women who know the value of a dime.’”

Lessie glared from Mr. Taylor to the still-silent Mr. Cannon. If they dared show disappointment in getting exactly what they advertised for, she had every right to her own disappointment.

These two were
not
what she’d wanted.

No way would she pay them back for the exorbitant sum they forwarded for train fare and meals along the way. Not even under duress would she let them know she still had many dollars remaining in her purse. They chose how much money to send, not her.

She and Josie had been frugal, eaten sparingly… how was that somehow their fault? They’d essentially
earned
the difference. The money belonged to her and to Josie, and if they had to make a break with these potential husbands, they have at least a few dollars to do it with.

“Miss Hadley,” Mr. Cannon finally said, “we’re surprised. That’s all. As my cousin said, surprised and delighted that you’re so lovely.”

She narrowed her eyes. Any man tossing compliments about wanted something.

Even one who claimed to want to wed her.

Mr. Taylor, the charmer of the two, had clearly met Josie’s eye and the pair must’ve exchanged smiles because Mr. Taylor
still
smiled.

She couldn’t blame Mr. Taylor and his lovely blue eyes for being drawn to sweet, kind Josie. The quiet, nice sister, consistently content to allow Lessie to fight their battles.

So Lessie turned to engage Richard Cannon. “So, which of us drew the short straw and is assigned to
you
, Mr. Cannon?”

Heat flared in his hazel eyes, and she immediately knew she’d gone too far. How could she help it? Especially when he looked at her with disappointment and distaste?

Except the heat in his eyes wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t disappointment. It almost resembled appreciation…?

Adam Taylor deftly took Josie’s hand and slipped it through the crook of his elbow. “I do believe, Miss Josie Anne Hadley, you’re meant to be mine.”