Rexanne Becnel (25 page)

“I keep thinking of Daniel entering the lions’ den,” she confessed as she watched her small trunk being put aboard the train car. She gripped the carpetbag she had borrowed from Ada more tightly.

“Daniel was unharmed by the lions, as you may recall.” But Lacie could tell that Ada was nearly as nervous as she was.

She hesitated at the cast-iron steps. The conductor stood patiently at the top of the rear deck, waiting for her to ascend. Neal stood beside her, his hand partly extended to help her up. For long seconds she stood there, caught halfway between going and staying, between anticipation and despair. She looked over at Ada and gave her a hopeful smile. Then she took Neal’s hand and resolutely stepped up onto the railroad car.

There was no going back. She had picked her path, and now she must follow it to its end.

Ada and Neal watched from the wooden plank walkway as the train slowly picked up speed, then disappeared around a grove of birch trees.

“It’s either peace or war now,” Neal murmured. He patted the hand that Ada had slipped into the crook of his arm.

“I don’t know if it was such a good idea to let her go all that way alone. Are you sure he won’t do anything…?” Ada trailed off, not sure what it was she feared Dillon might do to Lacie, but worried nonetheless.

“He wanted her to come. That means something.”

“Is that what he said in the wire he sent you?”

Neal smiled down at Ada’s worried face. “He didn’t have to say it. He knew she would react to the threat in his wire as a bull reacts to a red flag. He dared her to come to Denver, and she promptly took up his dare.”

“But you said it’s either peace or war. Suppose it’s war? What will happen to Lacie then?”

“It will only become a war if she doesn’t give in to him easily.”

“But Neal, that’s precisely why she’s going—to fight him. She wants to save the school, and she’ll never give up.”

His smile grew warmer then, and with one finger he touched the end of her nose. “Don’t you worry about Lacie and Dillon. I’ve known him a long, long time. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never seen two people better suited for each other. Except, of course, for us.”

Then at her becoming blush he laughed out loud. “Come along, Miss Pierce. I’m going to buy you lunch and try very hard to make you forget about everything but me.”

D
ESPITE HER DREAD OF
reaching her destination, by the time the train finally pulled into Denver Lacie could not imagine a more welcome sight. She had left Kimbell only five days before, and yet she felt she had been traveling for years. From one railroad line to another, she’d switched. At Shreveport. In Dallas. In Red River City and again in Junction City. The names were all so similar that in her exhaustion they jumbled up so that she couldn’t remember which was which. The New Orleans Mississippi and Texas Railroad—that was the one through Kimbell. But the others! The Texas Pacific Railroad. The Texas Central Railroad. The Missouri Kansas Texas Railroad, and now the Kansas Pacific.

One line was very like another, she thought as she peered bleary-eyed at the early morning landscape. The cars were all noisy and crowded. No matter how well upholstered the seats, after a few hours of sitting her posterior would be numb. And the spittoons! Such a disgusting feature in a public conveyance! Fortunately, with the hot weather the windows were kept open, and those who felt compelled to spit could do so discreetly.

The only commendable thing about her journey had been the spectacular views. From gently rolling hills, green with forests, to the vast open prairies, undulating so strangely in the wind, and now to the bluffs and foothills leading to the mountains of the Colorado Territory, it had all held her enthralled. She had seen huge herds of buffalo, the strange-looking long-horned cattle about which she’d often read, and myriads of odd little prairie dogs from her moving window, as well as hawks and foxes and coyotes.

Even the last night, the only one she had actually slept on the train, she had sat up in her Pullman booth and looked out over the moonlit plains, marveling at the strange beauty of it. It was stark compared with Louisiana but no less captivating. She had fallen asleep as the train had moved steadily through the wide empty plains. She had awakened to hills that rose slowly toward the distant mountains. Now, as they continued steadily west, winding their way past higher and higher hills and an occasional sharp bluff, she was dressed and packed, as ready as was possible for her upcoming confrontation.

When the train finally eased into the station in Denver, the sun shone brilliantly on snow-capped mountains and dusty streets; on leafy elms and the grassy plains that surrounded the town.

As she peered warily from the open window, Lacie saw a town quite unlike what she had expected. She had pictured a ramshackle collection of half-hearted buildings, perhaps the sod buildings she’d heard of or some otherwise equally inadequate structures. The streets would slant sharply; swift-flowing creeks would threaten on every side. After all, wasn’t this the town that had been burned down and then washed away, peopled with the most unreliable sorts?

What faced her, however, was a solid town of neat buildings. Although the mountains were clearly visible, Denver itself was situated in a fairly flat valley. And the river! The South Platte was little more than a wide sluggish stream. Its tributary, the Cherry, was a pale comparison to her own Brush Bayou. All in all, she found the town completely unlike any of her preconceptions.

Still, she knew its citizens were none too savory. Dillon Lockwood was proof of that. Determined to stay on her guard, she joined the other passengers in the push to disembark.

Once she stepped down from the train, Lacie straightened her back wearily. Sleeping on a train left much to be desired. She was tired, and she direly needed a bath. And she wished she never had to wear a corset again! When she got to the hotel she would take a long luxurious bath, wash her hair, and hang out her clothes to rid them of their wrinkles.

And take a nap.

She found a porter and with his help hired a hack to deliver her to the Denver Palace. She was fiddling with her bag and wondering about the fare when they pulled up before an imposing structure. It was only then that she began to get nervous.

The Denver Palace was not at all what she had expected. It was an ornate structure, three stories of blue beveled siding with cream-and-rust-colored gingerbread. The imposing Second Empire roof was faced with scallop-edged slates in a repeating diamond pattern. From its wide granite steps to the fanciful chimney pots, the Palace lived up to its name, and then some.

Somehow she’d envisioned a quickly thrown together building, perhaps with a saloon in its lower level and a few rooms above. Certainly she had not expected such a magnificent edifice as this.

But then, she’d not expected Denver to be so large either. The Colorado Territory was widely considered the realm of ruffians and deserters, populated by men who chased dreams of instant wealth in the gold and silver mines. Men like Dillon Lockwood.

Pensively she mounted the few steps, smiling a vague thanks as the uniformed doorman opened the door for her but thinking only of Dillon. Once she had thought he wanted Sparrow Hill because it was the symbol of the good life that had been denied him. Later she had learned it was not Sparrow Hill at all, but all the other properties that he wanted. But she had never thought of Dillon as being accustomed to the luxuries that she saw about her, to such quiet elegance in the best of taste.

She noted the grand Tall-case clock, the huge Chinese rug, and the facing set of mahogany upholstered sofas as she approached the hotel desk. Everything was perfect. She could not find a flaw in it. And it belonged—at least partially—to her!

“I believe you have a reservation for Mrs. Kimbell. Mrs. Frederick Kimb—”

“Mrs. Kimbell!” The clerk smiled at once and rang immediately for a porter. “Welcome to the Denver Palace, Mrs. Kimbell. We have your suite ready and waiting.” He beamed at her as if she were a treasured customer, to her surprise. In an instant two young men appeared—one for her trunk, one for her bag and key. But the clerk would not relinquish the key.

“No, no. I shall escort you up myself.”

“Why, thank you! Thank you,” Lacie replied, somewhat bewildered by all the fuss.

Up one flight of stairs and down a beautifully appointed hall they went to a pair of tall double doors.

“I hope you find everything to your satisfaction,” the man was saying as he walked in. Lacie could only stare at her surroundings mutely, astounded anew. The room was furnished all in creams and mauves, with accents here and there of pale olive green and royal purple. The first chamber was a spacious sitting room, provided with marble fireplace, bargello-upholstered parlor set, and an intimate Queen Anne tea table arrangement for two. It was even provided with a cunning kidney-shaped desk set round about with glass-enclosed bookcases.

All eyes, she followed the porters into the bedroom as they deposited her luggage. There she found more of the same, as well as the biggest canopy bed she had ever laid eyes on. It was draped with yards and yards of the most delicate Belgian lace looped in poufs and swags and sumptuous gathers. Upon the high mattress were a plethora of beautifully upholstered pillows and a magnificently stitched comforter of shimmering cream silk. It was all so rich, so exquisite, that she was sure there must be a mistake. Her budget could never survive a stay in this suite.

“Are you quite certain this is the correct room?” she asked in concern. “You see, I didn’t expect…that is—”

“Oh, I’m
quite
certain, Mrs. Kimbell. Although we never had the opportunity to entertain your husband—your late husband,” he added with a quick bob of his head. “You can be quite assured that you shall not lack for the best.”

“Yes, but…well, it’s really not necessary.”

“I’m afraid it is. Mr. Lockwood made it quite clear that you should be very well settled. He said only the best was good enough for you,” the man beamed.

Lacie looked away in dismay. At the mention of Dillon’s name her heart had begun to pound, and she feared her emotions must be visible to all. She mumbled a vague thanks and tried to give the two young men each a coin. But the clerk gave a sharp clap and hurried them on their way. Then he gave her another broad smile.

“It will not be necessary for you to tip anyone, madame.”

“Mr. Lockwood?” she ventured to guess.

“Quite so. And now, may I get you anything else? Perhaps a light repast?”

“No.” Lacie turned away with a frown. “I couldn’t eat anything right now. But thank you.” Then she abruptly reconsidered. “Actually, I could do with a bath. Where are the facilities?”

“Why, right through that door.” He pointed toward a three-panelled door with a cream pickled finish. “All the rooms on this floor are equipped with private bathing chambers. With hot and cold running water,” he added proudly.

With hot and cold running water! Lacie marveled after he was gone. She had only to turn each faucet. She perched on the edge of the white enameled tub as she watched the water stream out of the two spigots.
Very
hot and
very
cold, she amended. What a luxury!

She had been annoyed when she had learned that this grand suite was all Dillon’s doing. It was just like him to begin managing her before she even saw him. Yet, hot and cold running water…

She flopped onto the bed and then rolled over to stare up at the canopy. The lace, backed with mauve silk, was gathered into an ornate knot at the center of the canopy. But she did not marvel at the mystifying workmanship of the bed dressings. She was marveling instead about the sort of man who could create a hotel such as this, who could build a fortune from the humblest of beginnings.

Whose very memory could make her quiver deep inside.

She moaned with dismay and threw one arm across her eyes. How would she ever survive the next few days?

It was late afternoon before she ventured downstairs. First she had bathed, washing her hair as she laid back in the oversized tub. Then she had filled the tub anew and rinsed off in the delectably warm water filled to a scandalous depth in the porcelain tub. A person could drown in such pleasure, she’d thought at the time. Brushing and drying her hair at the window had occupied another full hour. Besides that, she unpacked and hung out all her clothes. Finally, when there seemed no recourse but to dress and go out, she had resolved to take a nap instead. Determinedly she had lain there, certain sleep would never overcome her. But when she’d awakened to long shadows in the room, she knew it was time.

Now, meticulously outfitted in the dark blue dress she’d made, with her hair swept up as Ada had instructed her, and the glen straw hat trimmed with blue ribbons tied in love knots and dark rooster feathers, she had no excuse to linger any longer.

There was no reason to hide in her room, her logical side told her. Dillon no doubt knew she was here and she would eventually have to face him. After all, wasn’t that the whole point of her journey?

But even so, the very idea had her on the edge of panic. It was clear he meant to intimidate her. Wasn’t this suite he’d ordered just a way to show her how much power and authority he commanded? Everyone jumped when he said jump. The implication was that she should too.

But she was not going to.

Still, she could not quiet the nerves that tightened her stomach into knots as she finally left the suite.

Downstairs, the gaslights were being lit. In the lobby the golden light flickered warmly from ornate wall sconces. The huge chandelier in the dining room was being hoisted back aloft after its multitude of candles had been lit. Although it was a little early for dinner, she decided to have a relaxing meal, then retire to her room and get a good night’s sleep. She needed to revive her energy after the long and tiresome trip. Her nap had helped, but rather than refreshing her, it had left her somewhat groggy and disoriented.

She was the first guest in the dining room. That accounted for all the fuss, she told herself. The maître d’ hovered nearby as if he were worried the waiter might not be able to perform his duty. When the two of them finally faded away with her order for grilled trout, sautéed potatoes with parsley, and the soup du jour, she could feel the beginnings of a headache behind her eyes. She was fiddling with the crystal glass, filled with a clear red wine she hadn’t really wanted, when a sudden tremor snaked up her spine.