Jolie- A Valentine's Day Bride Page 3

  Someone passed behind them on the sidewalk, and their steps slowed, then quickened.

  Hank knew people thought he was crazy for talking to Bear, but the dog was his friend. They understood each other.

  “I hope Mr. Hardt doesn’t mind dogs being in his office as much as those miners did having you in their saloon. You need to be on your best behavior.”

  Hank stood and groped for the door handle. After he opened it, he heard two distinct voices. Two men. He let Bear enter first so he wouldn’t trip over anything. The interior of buildings proved difficult to navigate because the light inside was generally dim.

  “Excuse me. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Hello... What?” Several feet away, a dark figure moved, along with the sound of a chair’s legs scrapping the floor. “What the devil is that?”

  “That’s a big dog,” drawled a second man. Hank located him behind a darker shape, which was probably a desk.

  “My dog won’t hurt you,” Hank said quickly to calm their fears. “Bear helps me get around. My vision isn’t so good.” He didn’t tell people how blind he really was, because it put him at too much of a disadvantage.

  “Bear? That’s a good name for it,” said the first man.

  “How can we help you?” asked the second.

  Hank couldn’t guess which of the two voices came from the man he sought. “I’m looking for Mr. Hardt.”

  “That’d be me,” replied the man with the drawl, the one behind the desk. “This fellow hiding behind his chair is Reverend Chase Hammond.”

  Was the reverend really hiding behind the chair? Hank couldn’t see well enough to tell. He moved forward and Bear obliged, taking him closer to the two men.

  “Reverend Hammond, pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Hank Donovan.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Donovan, you and your dog. I was just on my way out.” The man’s figure moved toward the door. “Charlie, we’ll talk later about how to resolve the, um, situation by, uh...”

  “Finding someone to take the package off your hands.”

  “Right. It can’t be just anyone. Has to be the right sort. She’s...picky.”

  The door creaked open, then shut on the cryptic conversation, and Hank was left with the man called Charlie. Hank considered himself a fairly good salesman, and as Mr. Hardt didn’t appear afraid of his dog, he forged ahead.

  “Mr. Hardt, would you have a moment to discuss a matter of financial interest?”

  “Sure, sit down.”

  Hank wondered if he was about to run into the chair. He could make out something in front of him. Yep, it was a chair. He pulled it back to sit, and put the case on the floor. Bear sat beside him.

  “You’re new here in town, I take it?”

  With so many men pouring into the town to look for mining jobs, it was impressive that Hardt would take notice of a new face. “Yes I am.”

  “Did you happen find a good place to stay?” Something in Hardt’s tone implied amusement. Why would he find the subject of lodging funny? Unless...the mayor had observed the scene at the Golden Nugget.

  “You were in the saloon earlier?”

  “Nah, I just heard about it. Another new arrival told me some fellow brought a beastly big dog into The Golden Nugget and the miners had gotten all worked up. He said you were asking about lodging, and they sent you to La Maison. Did Bear scare the girls?”

  Hank could see how the incident might be considered funny, in retrospect. “I only met one. Jolie. She and Bear got along famously.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. She’s a tough gal.”

  Tough wasn’t really the word Hank would’ve used to describe her. Jolie had soft skin and fine bones, a sweet scent and a rapier wit. He couldn’t go into how he knew all that, but he could share his positive impression. “She does have mettle and a good sense of humor. She’s also considerate. She walked me over here so I could find the place.”

  “And she didn’t charge you anything?

  Maybe the mayor meant it as a joke, or his remark reflected what someone might naturally assume, given Jolie’s occupation, but his question rubbed Hank the wrong way.

  “Not a penny.” Hank didn’t mention the deal he’d struck, and he wasn’t convinced she’d only done him the favor in exchange for the card. Not to mention, sharing their private conversation would be ungentlemanly.

  A chair squeaked, as if Hardt had leaned back. “What brings you to town?”

  Relieved they were off the subject of Jolie and back to business, Hank patted his case. “I sell unique and unusual greeting cards. But my long-term plan is to invest in something that has greater potential—a silver mine, for example.”

  “I see. You want to invest in Noelle Mining?”

  Hardt wasn’t dull-witted, and Hank knew he must see men every day wanting the same thing.

  Hank couldn’t immediately come up with good explanation for why he was any different, so he just replied in the affirmative. “That’s right.”

  “Why not take your money and start your own operation?”

  Hank presumed the mine owner wasn’t being argumentative, just straightforward, someone who would appreciate the unvarnished truth. “I can’t see well enough to be a miner. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t know how to run an operation like yours. I’ve heard people who can’t do the mining themselves can invest in those who can and reap profits from it. So I’ve been looking for the right opportunity, and you have a reputation as a fair and honest man.”

  The figure behind the desk shifted forward. “I’m not looking for more investors at the moment.”

  “You won’t even consider it?”

  The sound Hank heard next was the other man drumming his fingers on the desk. Impatient, or not able to be still? Until the man asked him to leave, he’d stay put and attempt to make his case.

  “I’d only consider it if you’re willing to meet the requirements,” Hardt said finally.

  Hank almost said yes immediately, but then decided he needed to know what he was agreeing to first. “Which are?”

  “Investors in Noelle Mining must be upright men, who are married and have settled here.”

  Hank released a disappointed breath through his lips. He didn’t meet any of the requirements, except possibly one, depending on Hardt’s definition of upright. Nevertheless, the mine owner’s tone didn’t leave the door open for argument, and what was the point? Hank had no wife, and wasn’t anywhere close to finding one.

  “Thank you for your time, sir. I know it’s valuable, so I won’t waste any more of it.” Hank stood, picked up his case and pushed back the chair, then grasped Bear’s leash.

  “Hold on there, Mr. Donovan.” The mayor’s chair creaked again, and his shadowy form moved, approaching Hank from around the desk. “Tell me the truth. Why did you come here? Do you hope to get rich quick?”

  That would be the obvious reason. Every man Hank had talked to in Noelle had jabbered on and on about the riches to be made in silver.

  “I can’t deny the thought has passed through my mind a time or two. But I’m practical enough to know it’s not likely to happen. Right now, the only means I have to support my sister and her children is selling cards.” Hank gestured with his chin toward the case he held. “If anything happened to me—and the chances of that are better than the chances of me getting rich—she’d have no one to take care of her. I surmised making a modest investment in a successful mining operation could provide enough steady income she wouldn’t have to worry. Not riches, sir. I’m hoping to provide her with security.”

  Hardt’s movement suggested he’d put his hands on his hips. “Are you willing to invest your life in something bigger than yourself in order to see that happen?”

  Surprisingly, Hardt had summed up Hank’s plan for his life—investing it in something bigger and having a higher purpose. But he’d feared he would never again have the chance to realize that dream. “Yes, I am. I’m willing to do anything.”

  “Then
find a way to meet those requirements.”

  If only it were that easy.

  “I don’t happen to have a bride packed in my suitcase,” Hank said dryly.

  The mayor laughed. “No, I reckon she wouldn’t fit in between those cards. However, I happen to know an unattached young lady who recently moved to town, Miss Ophelia Rathbone. She comes from a well-connected Denver family. She’d make some lucky man a fine wife.”

  Hank didn’t consider himself a lucky man. At least, he hadn’t been over the past seven years. “With all the single men pouring in, I’m surprised someone hasn’t snatched her up.”

  “She hasn’t found the right one yet.”

  Hardt’s remark echoed an earlier comment from Hammond and called to mind the reverend’s parting remarks, something about taking a package off his hands. Had he meant the woman? If so, what was wrong with her?

  “If you’d like, I’ll arrange an introduction,” the mayor added in a tone a mite too casual. “In the meantime, if you’re still looking for a place to stay, rent one of the rooms above the Golden Nugget.”

  “I inquired about one, but the barkeeper said there weren’t any available.”

  “Tell Seamus I referred you. He’ll find you a room.”

  “All right then,” Hank replied. “Thank you, sir.”

  Talk about luck! Somehow, he’d managed to impress this influential man enough to get one of the few rooms in town and gain an introduction to an eligible lady. It couldn’t hurt to meet Miss Rathbone. If she turned out to be ugly, what did that matter to someone who couldn’t see? But once the young lady met him, would she even consider marrying a blind man? He supposed that was a bridge he’d cross when he came to it.

  Would she smell like orange blossoms?

  The thought came out of nowhere and Hank chided himself. He had to stop dwelling on a woman who sold her body, and start thinking about wooing an upright lady who could possibly be his future wife. “I’d be pleased to make Miss Rathbone’s acquaintance.”

  Hardt clapped him on the back. “Good. You won’t be sorry.”

  “No, I can’t imagine I will be.”

  Chapter 4

  Cobb’s Penn, the only Dry Goods store in Noelle, had become a favorite gathering place for the newly married ladies. Jolie kept her eyes fixed straight ahead as she entered the store, pretending not to notice the curious—and judgmental—glances. Back before the wagonload of brides had shown up and the majority of females in town were women like her, she had loved coming into the store and browsing. These days, she dreaded shopping here.

  Among the customers in the crowded store were the two women who’d earlier been at the abandoned building across from La Maison. Mrs. Hammond, and the other disgustingly beautiful woman, were huddled together over at a display of homemaking products, the kind of things someone might need if they were going to cook or clean, or any number of things Jolie hated to do. She ignored their rude stares as she went over to the case that held the cosmetics she favored, and to find a tinting lotion that would turn her hair a titillating shade of auburn. They might even have a bottle of her favorite perfume.

  Hank’s compliment on her fragrance kept coming back to her, as did his dimpled smile and the shifting emotions reflected in his sparkling blue eyes. For a man who couldn’t see, he certainly said a lot with a look and a touch. When he’d gently traced her features, her knees had nearly buckled. She’d meant to put him out of her mind...if her mind would cooperate. As soon as she got back to business, she’d forget about him.

  She stared through the glass at the items in the case. Hold on, this wasn’t right. What were those baby rattles and bibs doing in there? Jolie looked accusingly at the proprietor’s wife, who was waiting on another customer.

  Avis Fulton was the daughter of the former madam at La Maison, who had abandoned her at a young age. Although the two appeared to have made peace, there were bound to be unresolved issues. Maybe this was Avis’s way of getting revenge. But she’d never been hateful to the girls who worked at the parlor house. She’d even befriended Angelique. No, Avis wasn’t mean and vindictive. This change in merchandise had to do with the brides’ arrival. Liam Fulton paid close attention to what his customers asked for, and of course, these women would be having babies soon.

  At the twinge of pain, Jolie put her hand to her abdomen. Her mind was playing cruel tricks on her again. It had been over four years. She could no longer feel the same pain she’d felt after losing a child. Not only that, Doc Deane had informed her she was likely sterile on account of the carbolic acid she used to prevent disease. She would be having no blue-eyed babies.

  She spun away from the counter. Stupid. What nonsense. She didn’t want that blue-eyed smooth-talker, and she didn’t want his babies either.

  “Jolie,” Avis called out as she walked past. “If you’re looking for the cosmetics, we’ve moved them up here.” Avis offered a friendly smile as Jolie approached. “What can I get for you?”

  Iridescent skin, jet-black hair, lovely dark eyes, Avis had no need for cosmetics or hair treatments. In spite of her astounding beauty, a stupid, cruel man had rejected and belittled her because of her parentage, something she couldn’t control and didn’t matter anyway. But she’d eventually found acceptance in Noelle, and a husband whose unwavering love surrounded her with a hedge of protection. As Hank had suggested, faithful men did exist, though they were extremely rare.

  Jolie perused the items in the front counter. “I’ll take the rouge, the Parisian hair cream, and a package of Adam’s chewing gum. Thank you.” While Avis tallied up the cost, Jolie opened the beaded bag she kept tied around her waist.

  Avis made eye contact, before she shifted her glance in the direction where Mrs. Hammond and her friend still lingered, then handed Jolie a sack containing her items, along with a copy of the newspaper. “Don’t forget this! You’ll want to read page two,” she added in a low voice,

  The newspaper? Jolie took it, despite not having asked for it, and went outside to head back home. Avis seemed eager for her to read something. Some gossip, perhaps? The new editor didn’t generally report on anything very interesting, mostly about politics and issues having to do with the new silver mine and construction of the railroad, which they kept saying was coming soon.

  She glanced at the masthead, which featured an illustration of an American flag draped over a townscape representing Noelle. The artist had left out La Maison. Jolie assumed it wasn’t an oversight. Pearl would’ve drawn it in. Should she and Draven decide to start a competing newspaper with that printer they owned, it would have a much prettier masthead—and more interesting news.

  As soon as she opened the door to the house, she heard one of the girls upstairs hollering for Angelique to bring her breakfast. Jolie veered into the parlor and checked the clock on the mantle. Four already, and Felice wasn’t even out of bed. She always had an excuse for why she couldn’t get up in time to help around the house.

  Angelique burst through the door leading from the kitchen.

  “Don’t you go up there!” Jolie blocked her way to the staircase. “Why are you letting her boss you around?”

  Angelique looked away. Wasn’t hard to figure out that Felice had either bribed or blackmailed her, if indeed Felice really knew anything. Angelique didn’t talk and she didn’t keep journals, she might not even know how to read or write. Whatever the reason, Jolie knew how it felt to be vulnerable, and to fear someone would let out your secrets.

  “You come to me if you have any problems with her.” Without thinking, she gave Angelique a hug.

  When the girl gasped, Jolie stepped back, being just as surprised by her actions. She didn’t get sentimental, and she didn’t like to touch or be touched, so what had set off that display of affection?

  Angelique’s dark brows gathered in a look of worried confusion.

  “No, I’m not losing my mind. Just go back to what you were doing. Helping Milly cook?”

  Angelique nodded.


  “She had better watch out, or you’ll get her job.”

  Jolie was rewarded with a quick smile that made her heart constrict, but she refrained from giving Angelique another hug. She wasn’t the girl’s mother; she wasn’t even that much older. “We have enough claret for tonight? You’ve checked on the whiskey? What about Solomon’s favorite tobacco?”

  Angelique gave her a thumbs-up before heading back to the kitchen.

  Jolie walked over to the staircase and yelled: “Felice, get your lazy bones out of bed! No one’s bringing you coffee. Not Milly not Angelique, and certainly not me.”

  With a harrumph, she sat in the cushioned chair next to the fireplace and opened the newspaper.

  Crusading Ladies Start Petition to Rid Noelle of Vice

  The headline leapt out at her. The story beneath it took her breath away. The pastor’s wife, Mrs. Hammond, and another woman, Miss Ophelia Rathbone, had started circulating a petition in town that called for shutting down the brothels, starting with La Maison.

  Meddling do-gooders! That explained why those women had been sneaking around across the street, spying and plotting trouble, making a fuss, trying to tell everyone how to live their lives. The men of Noelle wouldn’t let two so-called crusading ladies shut down their favorite place for entertainment and relaxation.

  The image of baby rattles and bibs popped into Jolie’s head.

  Jolie leapt to her feet, flung the newspaper aside, and began to pace in front of the fireplace. What was happening in Noelle? Had the brides cast a spell over all the men in town? No, not all the men. They’d turned the heads of the most influential and respected men, the ones who would steer the town into the future—a future that didn’t include women like Jolie.

  “This can’t happen!”

  “What can’t happen?” Felice slumped onto the couch, her eyes still at half-mast. She’d slipped into a silk robe with nothing underneath. The aspiring actress-turned-prostitute liked showing off her body to anyone who happened to be around. There was no one at the moment to appreciate it.

  A wry smile pulled at Jolie’s lips. Felice and the preacher’s wife, Felicity, had similar names, although they couldn’t be more different. “The preacher’s wife and some other self-righteous prude, Miss Rathbone, are trying to shut us down. They’ve been using that abandoned building to spy on us. Now they’re circulating a petition to make our business illegal.” Jolie picked up the paper and thrust it at Felice. “Here’s an article in the newspaper about it.”