The Bride Wore Blue Page 10

  Mara Wilkening tapped on the office door, and when Mrs. Hartley responded, she opened it.

  The manager stood behind her desk, a weak smile edging her lips. “Miss Sinclair, please come in.” She pointed at the chair in front of her desk, and Vivian seated herself. Vivian expected Miss Wilkening to leave, but instead she hefted a second chair and settled into it six feet away from Vivian.

  Vivian drew in a deep breath and focused on the company manager. “Mrs. Hartley, I’m thankful for this opportunity to tell you how much I appreciate your patience while I learn my job.” She leaned forward. “I’ve never done anything like this before, but I’m beginning to feel more comfortable in the job.”

  “That’s what we’re here to discuss.” The whining tone of Mara Wilkening’s voice reminded Vivian of the droning stamp mill in Victor.

  “Yes. Mara has some concerns,” Mrs. Hartley said.

  The mother hen jerked her back straight. “We both know they are more than mere concerns.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Hartley rolled a pencil in her fingers. “Some feel you are a liability to the company.”

  “A liability?” Vivian tried to swallow her panic. “I was both faster and more efficient at my job last week.”

  “Mara did mention that, but we still have a bit of a situation.”

  Why was she talking in riddles? Liability. Situation. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m afraid the only agreeable resolution is to let you go.”

  Heat raced up Vivian’s neck. “You’re firing me?”

  “I’m afraid so, dear. You made a lot of mistakes.”

  “Am I the only one who makes mistakes her first week?”

  “No.” Mara Wilkening looked her straight in the eye. “But you’ve been the only one who misconnected the same person eight times in two weeks.”

  Vivian squirmed. The banker. “This is about Mr. Harry Updike?”

  Both women nodded.

  “I know those boards and plugs and cords can be confusing.” Mrs. Hartley pulled open her desk drawer. “But Vivian, Mr. Updike is a major stockholder in the company.”

  “I’m losing my job because of a man who barks like a bulldog on the telephone. Am I the only one he flusters?”

  Pressing her lips together, Mrs. Hartley pulled three dollar bills from the drawer and held them out to Vivian. “Here is payment for yesterday and today.”

  Vivian reached for the money. “I’m willing to personally apologize to Mr. Updike if you’d be willing to give me another chance. I’m sure I could smooth things over for you.”

  Mara Wilkening raised a leathery hand, her steely gray eyes narrowing. “What’s done is done.”

  Truer words were never spoken. And now Vivian had one more thing she wished she could undo.

  As she followed the mother hen out of Mrs. Hartley’s office and down the stairs, her legs felt as if they were lifting bricks. The incessant bells on the telephone board echoed off the constricted staircase. The operators’ repetitious replies made her left eyelid twitch. When they stepped onto the floor, the chatter ceased. The cords stilled. Three pair of eyes watched Vivian’s every move. Even the flickering lights on the panels behind them seemed to mock her. They knew she was a failure.

  “Make sure you haven’t left anything on the shelf,” Miss Wilkening said.

  Vivian glanced at the shelves on the far wall. “I left nothing there.” And there was nothing here for her, even if Mrs. Hartley had agreed to a second chance.

  Lifting her head, Vivian put one stylish leather shoe in front of the other and walked past the counter, through the door, and out into the sunlight. Another mockery.

  Relief quickly replaced her disappointment. She was free of that awful job and that awful woman. If only she could figure out how to replace the humiliation of being marched out past the other girls.

  Vivian walked up Third Street as if she had somewhere important to go. She’d been in town a full month. She’d been turned down for several jobs and been fired from another. She couldn’t even answer the telephone properly.

  For lack of a better idea, Vivian turned right at Bennett Avenue and slowed her pace on the boardwalk. Friday’s payout allowed her to pay Miss Hattie for the last two weeks’ room and board. She still owed rent for this week. And she needed to purchase necessities for her hair and skin at the mercantile.

  Any of her sisters would do what they could to help her, but she’d been the baby long enough. It was time she stood on her own two feet.

  Walking past the millinery shop, Vivian couldn’t help glancing through the window. A gaggle of girls close to her age fussed over hats and looked like they were having fun doing so. Vivian would’ve fared better working there. She drew in a deep breath and continued down the walk.

  When she came upon the vacant bench in front of the post office, it seemed the perfect place to contemplate her next move. Once seated, Vivian pulled a pendant watch from her reticule. Twenty minutes past nine o’clock. More than seven hours to fill before Miss Hattie expected her home.

  Vivian set her reticule beside her on the wooden bench. She wasn’t like her sisters. Just because they’d come to Cripple Creek and found success didn’t mean she would. She was bound to fare better in Denver, if only getting there didn’t require train fare and money for lodging.

  Three of the girls she’d seen through the window poured out of the millinery, toting packages in each hand. The farm girls at the telephone company could learn a thing or two about how to dress and carry themselves from these three. So could all the other women Vivian had seen out and about this morning. The girls walking toward her were all lovely—tall and shapely. And friendly. The one with dark hair and green eyes smiled at her.

  Vivian greeted her, and the young woman stopped and glanced at Vivian’s reticule. “I like your costume. Very stylish.”

  Vivian’s spirit lifted. “Thank you.”

  “Are you a working girl? ”

  “Not anymore.” Vivian sighed. “I left my job this morning.” It wasn’t a completely honest answer, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit she’d been fired.

  “Well, we work for Miss Pearl over at the Homestead House. She has an opening for a downstairs hostess—a day job, and I’m sure she’d be partial to someone who wears her clothes with superb chic, as you do. Miss Pearl will be back at the house this afternoon, if you’d like to come by and talk to her.”

  “Thank you.” Vivian watched the girl swish past. Her bags brushed against the flouncing on her skirts.

  Vivian had never thought of herself as chic, but she did like the idea of working somewhere she might be appreciated, even welcomed.

  Carter disliked only one thing more than he did hanging around saloons, looking for the mysterious second train bandit—spying at the Homestead House. Even if it was only three or four times a week. Fortunately, this was Tuesday morning, which meant the other women were out and about town, and Pearl had joined them. It wasn’t likely the suspect would visit her in the middle of town in broad daylight. Just in case he did, Carter had asked a couple of shopkeepers, grocers, and the postmaster to keep an eye out for any male companions they didn’t recognize.

  Which left Carter free to think about other things. For starters, a full breakfast—eggs, ham, potatoes, and biscuits drenched in butter and honey. He stepped onto the boardwalk, anxious to let the Third Street Café do the cooking today. As an added bonus, perhaps the activity in the eatery might keep his mind off Vivian Sinclair. He’d been doing a poor job of it on his own. Except for polite greetings at the back of the church the past two Sundays, he hadn’t spoken to Vivian since seeing her in Victor, but her absence did little to hamper her ability to divert his attention.

  “Deputy!” The voice came from behind him. “Hey, Alwyn, wait up.”

  Carter stopped midstep and turned. Bart Gardner from the Cripple Creek Times galumphed toward him like a mare about to foal.

  Carter didn’t have anything against newspapermen, but the
ir hunger for a story had them on the hunt, and he was their prey. Reporters from three other newspapers in town had already been in his office this week, and it was only Tuesday.

  The portly man closed the gap between them and came to a stop uncomfortably close to Carter.

  “Mornin’, Bart.”

  “You find Mac’s killers yet?”

  “We’re closer than we were on Friday when you came by my office, but nothing is resolved yet.”

  “You said that last week.”

  “It’s still true.” Carter felt a sudden cramp and stretched his neck, first to the left, then to the right. “It’s also still true that I can’t divulge any leads or information that might tip the law’s hand and give the outlaws an advantage.”

  “Of course not, but there must be something you’ve discovered that you could share with me. Something to show people you’re doing the job you were hired to do.”

  Rage was about to replace the blood that ran through Carter’s veins. Apparently his disdain showed, because the newsman took a long step backward, putting a little distance between them.

  “Didn’t mean to imply that you’re not doing your job,” Bart said. “I’m sure you are.”

  “Rest assured you’ll know when the men who robbed the train and the men who killed Mac are found.” Carter didn’t bother sharing that he was convinced they were the same men who had robbed the bank in Victor. “Good day, Bart.” He tapped the brim of his hat and turned to leave.

  “One more thing, deputy. You know of someone bright looking for a job, send them my way.”

  “Will do.” Carter made his escape up Bennett Avenue.

  He’d just crossed Fourth Street when he spotted Miss Sinclair sitting on the bench outside the post office. When she met his gaze, she seemed completely unaware how much trouble her naiveté could cause her.

  He removed his hat. “Miss Sinclair.”

  “Deputy Alwyn.”

  Carter looked around at all the men hanging out of shop doors and lining the streets. “Miss Sinclair, an unusually high number of men are out and about town this morning. Do you know why?”

  She looked up the boardwalk, then out toward the street, and shook her head. “I hadn’t noticed, but I really haven’t been in town long enough to know usual from unusual.”

  “How about the women? Did you notice that the women are different this morning from those you’re accustomed to seeing about town?”

  “Some, perhaps.”

  “Tuesday mornings from eight o’clock to eleven o’clock are set aside for the other women to do their shopping.”

  “Oh.” Blushing, she glanced toward the millinery shop, and he guessed she’d seen the women without realizing who they were.

  Carter gripped the brim of his hat with both hands. He needed to get her off the street. “I was following my growling stomach to the café. Would you care to join me for a bite to eat? Or a cup of coffee perhaps?”

  She studied him, arching a thin eyebrow. “Tea?”

  “I’m sure they have it.”

  A controlled grin sparked her brown eyes. “I suppose a cup of tea with you would be permissible.”

  He took the first step, and they walked to the café in silence. When Carter held the door for her, the faint hint of lavender trailed her, and he fought to remember why he’d decided to avoid her in the first place.

  A dark-haired matron seated them across from each other at a table against the wall, and then the waitress met his gaze. “Coffee, deputy?”

  Carter nodded. “And two eggs over hard. Bacon. Sausage. Hash. Biscuits.”

  The waitress flipped the brown braid off her shoulder and studied Vivian from the black lace frill on her hat to the ruffled hem on her purple dress. “For you, Miss?”

  “I’d like a cup of ginger tea and a piece of peach pie with cream.” Vivian pointed to the bell jar on the counter displaying a whole pie.

  He hadn’t even had breakfast yet, and Vivian was eating dessert? “It can’t be any later than ten o’clock, and you’re ordering pie?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not for me.” Yes, definitely independent. And the real problem was that he found her attractive on many levels.

  The waitress jotted on her notepad and looked up at him. “Will that be all, sir?”

  Carter looked across the table at Vivian.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said.

  “Very well, then.” The waitress dropped her pad and pencil into her apron pocket. “We’ll get those right up for you.”

  As soon as the waitress walked away, Vivian regarded him, her dainty chin angled slightly. “You have more outlaw business to discuss, I presume.”

  “Not exactly. Not at all, actually.” He pressed his back against the chair for added support. “I know you attributed your attempt to ignore me in Victor to not getting a job you wanted and to family matters, but … do you have something against lawmen?”

  “I assure you that I have nothing against lawmen, Deputy Alwyn.” She fidgeted with the napkin in front of her before meeting his gaze. “I was simply trying to discourage you.”

  “Why would you feel a need to do that?”

  “Because, I don’t want to encourage you, Carter.”

  “You used my given name.”

  “So I did.”

  Before he could respond, the waitress arrived with a big mug of steaming coffee and a dainty teacup on a saucer.

  “Thank you.” They spoke in perfect unison.

  “The rest will be up in a minute.” The waitress headed toward the diners seated at a corner table.

  Carter returned his attention to the puzzling woman sitting across from him. “You used my given name. Does that mean you like me?”

  Vivian stirred a spoonful of sugar into her cup. “It means I would like you, if I could.”

  “Meaning I’m unlikable?”

  She moistened her lips. “Meaning I can’t trust myself.”

  “To like me?”

  Vivian nodded.

  “I see.” So it wasn’t just his imagination or wishful thinking—she was drawn to him too. They were both attracted to each other, but apparently each of them had personal reasons to avoid romantic entanglements. And he didn’t have to know her reasons to respect them. “I can’t offer any more than friendship either, Vivian.”

  She opened her mouth long before the words came out. “Friendship is good.” Relaxing against the chair, she tucked her hair, the color of caramel taffy, behind her ear. “Now I have a question for you.”

  “That’s fair.” He wasn’t sure whether to welcome a query from her or to brace himself.

  “Might you know of anyone looking to employ a well-dressed young woman from Maine with a passel of sisters and a knack for bewildering deputies?”

  Carter chuckled. “Just so happens that I do.”

  “Really?” Surprise crinkled her forehead.

  “Yeah, Bart Gardner over at the Cripple Creek Times told me just minutes ago that he needs someone bright to work in his newspaper office.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile added golden flecks to her brown eyes and threatened to render him speechless.

  What were his reasons, again? Oh yeah. He didn’t want to bring a wife into his life as a lawman.

  Perhaps it was time to rethink what Tucker had referred to as his calling. Right now, being a shopkeeper or a rancher or even a mucker in a mine sounded good if it meant he could pursue more than friendship with Vivian Sinclair.

  The newspaper man stood beside a contraption that filled the room with a constant whirr-clickety-clack. It was all Vivian could do to resist covering her ears, but she was here to ask for a job.

  Feeding sheets of paper into the smelly machine divided the man’s attention. “You said you’re here about an opening for employment?” he shouted.

  “Yes sir.”

  He studied her and shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you, young lady.”

  She’d had quit
e enough of people deciding what she could and couldn’t do based upon her age or gender or size. And she probably had all three strikes against her here. Vivian blew out a long breath. Never mind that such an action wasn’t becoming of a lady.

  “Sir.” She hadn’t intended for it to come out in a huff, but the volume did gain the man’s attention. “Just moments ago, I was told that you spoke this very morning of an opening here at the Cripple Creek Times.”

  “This morning, you say?”

  Vivian nodded. She started to cross her arms for emphasis, but thought better of it.

  “Deputy Alwyn? ”

  “Yes sir.” She kept her chin held high. “You told him you were looking for someone bright to work in the office.”

  He looked down at the floor, stained black. “I did.”

  “Well, sir, that would be me.”

  “But—”

  “Please, sir.” Vivian allowed her bottom lip to jut out ever so slightly, a tactic that used to work on her father. “I’m new to town, and I need the job.”

  Mr. Gardner’s face softened, and his shoulders slouched. “You’ll need to leave the fancy clothes at home.”

  “I can do that.” Why had her eye chosen this particular moment to start watering and itching?

  He glanced down at the filthy apron stretched tight across his middle. “You’ll need to wear an apron.”

  Vivian nodded. That was easy enough.

  “You’ll start Monday morning. Eight o’clock.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Gardner. You won’t regret hiring me.” Smiling, she walked to the door.

  She was now a newspaperwoman.

  Carter hadn’t intended to go to the parsonage from the Third Street Café, but the more he considered his calling and reflected on Vivian Sinclair, the more he thought about how much he respected Tucker Raines’s opinion. He could count on his friend to be honest.

  When Carter didn’t find the reverend inside the church building, he walked the flower-lined path to the parsonage. He’d rapped the brass knocker only once when the door swung open.

  “Deputy?” Ida Raines looked past him. “Is something wrong?”