The Courting of Widow Shaw (6 page)

Steven stared into her eyes. “No. You can come downstairs in the mornings. You’ll have the house to yourself. Mattie, the cook, will make you a meal. The girls don’t wake until after noon. They start taking gentleman callers at four o’clock, so you’d best be upstairs well before that.”

Gloria bit her lip. Then nodded. What could she say? She was privy to the prostitutes’ living arrangements. She now knew their schedule, when they entertained men. She slid her palm across the comfortable smooth sheets and wondered whose bed she’d taken since she’d been here. “Is this one of their rooms?”

“No.”

She lifted her face to meet his eyes. “No? Whose room is this, then?”

“Mine.”

Gloria blinked back her surprise. “Y-yours?”

She’d never considered that notion. She’d slept in Steven’s room, in his bed, for five entire days. She made a sweep of the size of the bed, its breadth and length. There was room enough for more than one person. “Where did you… I mean, did we—?”

He pointed out a single cane-backed chair that didn’t appear comfortable in the least. “I slept there, for the most part.”

“Oh.” Gloria didn’t want to owe him her gratitude, but the fact remained, he had saved her life. He’d hidden her away and brought her to safety. He’d tended to her through the nights, she presumed. And he’d given her his bed. “Thank you.”

She owed him her thanks, but she didn’t have to like it. Not one bit. Yet, he’d been the one to find her. He’d been the one to hide her here. He’d been the one who chose to nurse her back to health. And heaven only knew why it had to be Steven Harding to do all those things. Now she found herself in an impossible situation that only seemed to intensify with each new truth that she learned. Lately, Gloria’s faith in the Lord had been truly and sorely tested.

A quick nod was his only response to her offer of thanks. “I won’t be back until tomorrow evening. I’m gonna trust you not to run out again. And make darn sure you’re up in this room before the four o’clock hour. You can’t be seen.”

She nodded, understanding her plight. This room, elegant as it as, wasn’t much better than a prison and her jailer, a handsome man who was her savior and her enemy, all at the same time. “Where, uh, where will you sleep?”

A crooked smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you worry about me, I have a few options.”

Gloria’s gut clenched involuntarily. Where he slept was none of her business. But it wasn’t the
where
that had her feathers ruffled. And again, she berated herself for caring. Frustrated, she had the uncanny need to toss something. As soon as he closed the door, she gave in to that childish impulse. She lifted her pillow and flung it across the room. The goose-down sack plopped unceremoniously near the door, without making a sound.

Darn him anyway.

She didn’t care where the man slept.

As long as he left her alone.

Steven strode down the stairs, banking his temper. He hoped he’d gotten through to Glory that staying here was her only option right now. She didn’t like it. He knew that she’d fight him. He’d expected her wrath, a fury created by the injustice of her father’s death. But what he hadn’t expected was her disgust, the telling look on her face when she’d found out who he was— Lorene Harding’s son. The son of a famous Virginia City madam, the woman she felt had been responsible for the Reverend’s death.

Steven had lived his life making excuses to no one, yet in that one moment while facing Glory, he’d found himself wishing he’d been someone different, someone she could respect and admire.

Kissing her had been a necessity, he thought. He’d done it deliberately to hide her from view of the men wandering about the street, especially Ed Hurley. Most people knew the town’s most prominent banker and he would have surely recognized Reverend Caldwell’s daughter. Glory Shaw, blue-eyed, blond and beautiful, was hard to miss. But he hadn’t expected that kiss to knock the air from his lungs the way that it had. And he hadn’t expected the woman to give in and partake in the kiss with warmth and passion.

Steven shook free lusty thoughts of Glory Shaw. He owed her for the sacrifice her father had made. And he planned to pay up by keeping her safe. He had to forget about that kiss. Forget that he had any sort of feelings for the young determined woman. She was an obligation and nothing more. Besides, she had made it very clear what she thought of him. Glory had no use for him as a man.

And now, the woman who scorned him was his sole responsibility.

Hell, he didn’t like any of this. He was too damn drawn to a woman he hardly knew. But deep down, Steven did know her. He’d watched her, admired her from a distance. He’d seen her smile sweetly to townsfolk on the street, seen her play with children on the church grounds. He’d witnessed her riding in the buggy with her father, as they headed out of town, no doubt visiting the sick and downtrodden.

He’d been there with his mother, standing in the background as Reverend Caldwell’s entire congregation, it seemed, had come out for his burial. He’d seen Glory stand tall and brave, graciously receiving well wishes and sympathy from friends and neighbors. He’d seen such sadness in her eyes, such dismay, the love she had for her father so evident on a lovely face stricken by grief. She’d been only seventeen at the time, too young to be orphaned, and too unworldly to recognize Boone Shaw for the man he truly was.

Boone had been somewhat of a regular at Rainbow House before his marriage to Glory. And Marcus had escorted him out on more than one occasion for his unruly behavior. Steven had hoped Boone would have treated Glory with the respect she deserved, new bride that she was, but he’d heard rumors about the marriage that didn’t set well. In a town full of men, surely young Glory Caldwell could have chosen more wisely.

Steven sighed with resignation. He’d been gone too long from the ranch. He had work to do or his place would never get finished. And a day away from Glory Shaw would do him a world of good. Five days watching her mend, seeing the beauty come back to her face, the shine come back in her hair and the body he’d carefully tended glow again with life, had his
insides gnarled up with emotions he didn’t care to name.

He stopped when he reached the foot of the stairs. Gentlemen callers were beginning to filter into the house and soon the quiet of the day would give way to a noisy animated night. Steven headed for the foyer and waited for the watchman to turn away from the front door. “Afternoon, Marcus.”

The big burly Scot greeted him with a nod. “Steven.”

“I need to speak with you in private.”

Taking one last look around, Marcus closed and locked the front door. Anybody outside would have to wait to come in.

Marcus followed Steven into a hallway that led to the back of the house, and out of view of any of the patrons. “You know we have a guest living here now, right?”

Marcus, a man of few words, once again nodded.

“She’s in trouble and I’m seeing to her safety. It’s important that no one knows she is here. Watch out for anyone snooping around and asking too many questions. No one is allowed on the third floor. I’m asking you as a special favor to make sure no one wanders up there. Be even more careful about who you let into the house. Our guest is, well, she might not always cooperate, so if you spot her coming downstairs during business time, for any reason, escort her back to her room. No matter how you have to do it.”

“Aye. I can do that.” Marcus smiled.

Steven only hoped Glory wouldn’t confront Marcus. The man wouldn’t think twice about tossing
her over his shoulder like a sack of flour to get the job done.

“Good.” Steven took in a sharp breath. “I’m leaving tonight. Hope to be back after sundown tomorrow. I appreciate your help.”

Steven headed for the livery stables. He had an hour’s ride tonight to get to his ranch. Maybe then he could get Glory Shaw off his mind for a time. Maybe then, he could get much-needed sleep.

He had a ranch house to finish building.

Grumbling in her stomach woke Gloria from a sound sleep. She sat up, once again surprised by her surroundings. At times she forgot her plight, the situation that landed her at Rainbow House. But now as a slice of sunlight streamed through the heavy curtains, Gloria recalled everything with brutal clarity. She was hiding out here, devoid of all memory of the night her husband died. She was wanted for murder. And probably worst of all, she had to live in a house of prostitution, the proprietor being the very woman who had caused her father’s death.

Gloria lifted up from the bed. The sigh that escaped had less to do with body soreness, and more to do with facing the new day. Without Steven’s help.

She had to fend for herself now. Her stomach growled again, reminding her she needed nourishment. With her injuries healing and her body recovering, she found that her appetite had come back full force. Although she loathed the idea of going down-stairs, Gloria knew she had little choice if she wanted to have a meal.

She slipped on the gown she’d worn last night—the one that made her feel like an overstuffed Christmas
goose. She’d hoped Steven would have placed something more fitting on the hook behind the door as he had in the past, perhaps something from her own wardrobe. But she put that notion aside. If the fire at her house had been as severe as he’d said, then nothing would have been salvaged. All of her belongings, everything she owned, would have been destroyed.

Glory shut her mind off to those disturbing thoughts.

She’d have to do something about her attire later, but for now she had no other option but to wear this dress. She recited her father’s favorite mantra. “If it’s to be, make the best of it.”

Gloria prayed for guidance to see her out of this predicament, counting on her father’s teachings and the wisdom he had so readily shared with her.

She was ready to make the best of it.

Gloria ambled slowly down the stairs. She stopped at the second-floor landing, gazing at the doors painted in different colors.

Rainbow House.

Now she understood, the dawning knowledge grasping her with complete surprise. She’d never known why the house had such a charming, winsome name. Rainbows made you think of hope, of a higher being, of something quite miraculous.

But as she peered at the red door, the purple, the blue, the green and the yellow one, she understood the clever idea behind the house. And she wondered what the inside of those rooms looked like. Were they, too, part of the colorful rainbow?

Gloria stopped gawking and continued down the stairs. With any amount of luck, she’d be out of this
house long before she discovered the answers to her questions.

Once on the main floor, she moved through a few rooms decorated with the finest furniture she’d ever seen, highly polished and arranged in a way that lent for large groups to converse and be entertained. A Dresden piano graced the back of the room and a small Cornish and Company pump organ anchored the adjacent wall. And as she strode past with quiet determination, the stale scent of cigars and tobacco layered the air.

When Gloria finally reached the kitchen area, she breathed a sigh of relief. True to Steven’s word, only the cook was present. She was busy turning a long row of dough onto a floured tabletop. She glanced up with a flour-stained face and Gloria was taken by how young the cook appeared. Why, she looked young enough to still attend school.

“Hello,” she said with a welcoming smile.

Gloria smiled back. She hadn’t expected to be greeted with warmth, not even from the cook. “Hello.”

“You must be Glory. Mr. Har— uh, Steven told us about you.”

Rapid heat rose up her neck, shaking Gloria’s resolve. She wondered just what Steven had told everyone about her. “Yes, I’m Gloria Mae Shaw. Steven seems to think my name is Glory.”

“Glory is a pretty name. I’m Mattie. Don’t like my name much.” The girl put her head down.

“Mattie is a fine name. What are you baking?”

“Strawberry pie. The last of the season. Got the dough almost ready.” She pressed out the dough with
her hands and set the pie plates over it, ready to make the shape. “The girls like pie.”

Gloria nodded and her stomach grumbled. She set her hand there when Mattie looked up knowingly. “Sorry, I should have realized you’d be hungry. I can cook you up anything you’d like.”

“Oh, no. Don’t go to any trouble. Anything will do. All of a sudden I have an appetite again.”

Mattie nodded and wiped her face with her sleeve, getting most of the flour off her face. “That’s good.” She eyed Gloria with an honest, searching expression. “I’m glad to see you’re healing. Can’t really tell you had bruises except for a little yellow discolor on your chest and some scrapes still left on your face. Emmie’s remedy did you good.”

“Y-yes. I’m feeling better.”

The girl turned around and began filling a plate from the cookstove. Without ceremony, she set down a dish of thin-sliced potatoes, bacon and corn biscuits. “I also have fried chicken and dumplings leftover from yesterday, if you’d like. Have a seat. Would you like tea or coffee?”

“Oh, you don’t have to serve me. I’ll get it myself.”

“No, please. You just sit put. You’re the guest here.”

“But—”

“Coffee or tea?” The girl had already set a napkin down with utensils and pulled out a seat for her. Gloria didn’t want to be rude. It seemed this young girl took pride in serving up her food.

“Coffee is just fine and thank you.” She took the offered seat. “This looks wonderful.” But Gloria hadn’t eaten solid food for nearly a week. Hungry or
not, she knew her stomach wouldn’t abide such a large meal. She wouldn’t be able to get too much of it down.

“Dear Lord,” she began, putting her head down. “Thank you for this bountiful meal before me. And…and thank you for seeing to my care these last few days. Amen.”

It was the shortest prayer she’d ever offered up. Though Gloria had much to be thankful for, right now, her heart wasn’t in her prayers. She struggled with her faith, the night Boone died weighing heavily on her mind.

When Gloria looked up, she found Mattie staring at her. “That sounds real nice. Haven’t heard a prayer since I left the orphanage. We used to say our prayers mornings and nights, just before bed.”