A Timeless Romance Anthology: Old West Collection Read online

  Rumblings throughout Leadville had increased over the past couple of months… Union leaders were becoming more vocal, and one of the larger mines had already endured a strike. It had lasted about two days, until a new group of men were brought in. By then it was too late for the former employees to get their jobs back. Erik had hired about a dozen of those displaced miners, but even though his mine was doing well for its size, he couldn’t afford to hire any more men.

  He had found it necessary to hire a secretary, though, if he hoped to get any sleep at night. He’d been working from dawn until well into the night just trying to keep up with the paperwork and other demands of the mine. He hadn’t expected a woman such as Lydia Stone— beautiful, statuesque, calm— to apply for the position.

  Erik pulled into the churchyard, and his heart sank as he thought of the task before him. He despised begging, but he’d have to do some more. Light spilled from the small windows of the rooms built onto the back of the church where the reverend lived. Erik climbed down from the wagon, tied up the horse, and walked to the rear door, then knocked.

  Moments later, the door opened, and Reverend Stanley welcomed Erik into the small parlor. Looking past Erik, the reverend said, “Your sister’s not here?”

  Erik felt himself redden. “She’s in a difficult temperament.”

  The reverend closed the door against the night’s chill and motioned for Erik to take a seat.

  Erik sat on a small, velvet-covered sofa that had seen better days. He didn’t wait to make his request. “I know this may be unprecedented in your experience, but I would be much obliged if you would accompany me to visit my sister.”

  The reverend lifted his thick eyebrows. “If she is not willing to come here, then my arriving at her brothel won’t change her mind. You cannot force someone to change, Mr. Dawson.”

  Erik looked at his clasped hands. Of course he couldn’t force Margaret to change… but if she could see that someone other than her brother cared about her soul, her heart might soften. She might accept help before it was too late.

  “Mr. Dawson,” the reverend said in a quiet voice. “I am truly sorry. I am. It’s always difficult when a family member turns away from the light. The only thing you can do for her is pray.”

  Erik’s eyes burned. He felt his last hope slipping away. Was a miracle possible for his sister? Knowing he was on the verge of becoming desperate, he thanked the reverend and left, feeling too raw to pursue anything more tonight.

  It wasn’t until he was driving back home that he remembered the look on Lydia Stone’s face. Stunned, condemning. Again, Erik cursed. A mantle of self-pity fell over him, and he spent the next thirty minutes allowing himself to wallow in the whys of his life.

  Why had his mother left him? Why had his father died? Why did his sister have to resort to selling herself? And why, after he had proven his ability to provide for her, did she insist on remaining in her profession?

  He dried his eyes with his sleeve, and when he reached his house, he jumped down from the wagon, boarded the horse, and prepared to face what was sure to be a long, sleepless night.

  Chapter Five

  By the time Lydia unlocked the office door in the morning, she had made up her mind. She would treat Mr. Erik Dawson as any good employee would treat her boss: with kindness and deference. What he did on his own time, at a brothel, no less, was not her business. She’d crossed his name off her paper the night before, then had awakened plenty of times throughout the night with the disconcerting image of his sad eyes, and then had finally climbed out of bed before dawn streaked the sky, resigned to having a disagreeable day.

  She had to keep her chin up. As a woman of nearly twenty-seven, working as a secretary in a bawdy mining town, she had limited options. She had to be realistic. Her husband-to-be would not be perfect, although he’d certainly be better than the likes of Mr. Dawson and Mr. Janson. Stepping into the cold office, she crossed the room to light the wood-burning stove, reviewing her list of requirements in her mind.

  Hard-working, churchgoing, and having eyes only for you.

  Perhaps Lydia could cross off churchgoing. Last night, after witnessing the behavior of Mr. Janson and Mr. Dawson, she knew that church attendance obviously did not prove a man’s moral character.

  Lydia opened the stove’s metal door and propped up a few pieces of kindling against the already laid wood inside. She struck a match and lit the kindling, then warmed her hands by the flickering flame as they grew. Ash drifted from the stove, but Lydia’s mind was elsewhere. When the office door opened and shut, it startled her out of her thoughts.

  “Good morning, Miss Stone,” Mr. Dawson said behind her.

  She took a deep breath. “Good morning.” And then she turned. He was standing close—close enough for her to see his green eyes. To see that they were still sad. For a moment, she wanted to question him, possibly to comfort him, but she pushed the foolish notion out of her head.

  He moved past her and grabbed the small broom near the wood stack then swept the ash that had blown out of the stove.

  “Oh, sorry,” Lydia said. The ash had made a mess, and she hadn’t even noticed.

  Mr. Dawson nodded and continued to sweep. Lydia took this as a sign for her to get to work. She went to her desk and sorted through the mail stack that had been delivered on Saturday. Her job was straightforward, requiring little interaction from her boss. She was to answer correspondence, pay bills, and review the accounting ledgers. Mr. Dawson spent time in the office on Saturdays, although she wasn’t required to. The mine was closed only on Sundays.

  She sorted bill statements. Mr. Dawson had given her leave to write out bank drafts for his signature.

  “Miss Stone,” he said, crossing to her desk, broom still in hand.

  Her heart thudded at the sound of her name. His tone sounded serious. She looked up to see that his gaze matched the solemnity of his voice. They were in the office alone together quite often, but this morning felt different somehow.

  “I need to explain about last night—”

  A thud sounded on the outside porch; one of the miners was coming in.

  Lydia held up a hand and quickly said, “You don’t owe me any explanation, Mr. Dawson.”

  “Hello there,” a deep voice sounded.

  Lydia looked toward the opening door as Mr. Janson stepped inside, his gaze directed at her. She swallowed against a sudden thickness in her throat.

  “I’ve come to apologize, Miss Stone,” Mr. Janson said, moving fully into the room. His height made the office space seem to shrink.

  Lydia’s stomach twisted. Did he want to make their dispute known in front of their boss?

  Mr. Dawson had stepped back, allowing Mr. Janson to approach the desk.

  “No need,” Lydia said, rising from her chair and glancing at Mr. Dawson. He’d turned away out of politeness.

  Mr. Janson took off his hat and barreled on. “The woman by the saloon was only asking a question. I swear to you that I don’t know her at all, and when I tried to catch up with you, it was clear you were upset with me.”

  Yes. Very clear. I told you not to call on me again.

  He brought his hand out from behind his back and handed her a bunch of wild flowers.

  Lydia’s neck heated, and she steeled her emotions. Mr. Janson was being very forward, and her boss could hear every word. She took the flowers and laid them on her desk. “Thank you for the flowers, but I must return to my work.” She met his gaze, keeping hers steady.

  “Would you join me for supper tonight?” he asked. “The place run by Lizzy Maughan is quite good.”

  Lydia let out a breath. “I’m not available tonight, Mr. Janson. If you’d be so kind as to let me return to my work, I’d be most appreciative.”

  “Do you have plans with Mr. Parker? He said he wanted to take you somewhere, so I thought I’d better beat him to it.” He winked. “Even though last night didn’t go so well.”

  Her mouth fell open, but she quickly
closed it again. Mr. Parker and Mr. Janson had been discussing her?

  “Tomorrow, then?” Mr. Janson continued, his expression taking a pleading look.

  Lydia’s mind hadn’t yet caught up to the fact that Mr. Janson was looking at courting her as some sort of competition. Not that she was entirely innocent in having her own competition by creating a list of eligible bachelors…

  “I—” She cleared her throat, her gaze landing on the flowers. She thought she’d sent him a firm message the night before. Only one thing left to do. Picking up the flower bunch, she handed it back to Mr. Janson. “I’m sorry. I can’t accept these. I won’t be available to go to dinner with you or any other gentleman. You may let Mr. Parker know as well.” She held the flowers out until Mr. Janson took them.

  “Miss Stone,” Mr. Janson said, his voice growing louder. “I can give you a few days to decide. Perhaps—”

  “She’s asked you twice to leave,” Mr. Dawson interrupted. He’d turned around and was now walking toward Lydia’s desk. He stopped inches from Mr. Janson, saying nothing further, just staring at him.

  Mr. Janson took a couple of steps back, then shoved his hat on his head, turned, and left.

  Lydia stared after him, her heart hammering. Mr. Janson was not the man she’d thought he was, and neither was Mr. Parker— another name she’d cross off when she had the chance. At least Mr. Dawson had come to her aid.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I am, thank you,” Lydia said, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t look at him, because, in truth, she felt like crying. Not because she had to turn down Mr. Janson, but because it appeared that no man was as he seemed in the town of Leadville.

  She felt Mr. Dawson’s searching look, but then he moved away and went about working on his ledgers at his own desk. Another miner came into the office, making Lydia’s heart jump. But it wasn’t Mr. Janson or anyone else on her eligible list. The miner went straight to Mr. Dawson’s desk and talked to him about taking days off for his wife’s illness. She was in bed, expecting a child at any time.

  Lydia never tried to listen in on conversations, but it was hard not to overhear.

  “I can give you two days’ paid leave,” Mr. Dawson said. “If you need more time, then you won’t be compensated.”

  “My wife’s cousin is coming to help, but we don’t know when.”

  Lydia glanced up to see Mr. Dawson’s elbows propped on his desk, fingers steepled together.

  “Then hope she arrives soon,” Mr. Dawson said, “because I can’t give you more than what’s in the company policy.”

  The miner lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck. “All right,” he said, although his tone sounded begrudging.

  “You’re a brave man to start a family up here,” Mr. Dawson continued.

  The miner laughed. “It wasn’t exactly planned, and she’s not exactly my wife.”

  Mr. Dawson chuckled.

  Lydia flushed at the comment and tried to focus on the letter she was composing to tune out the conversation. Mr. Dawson’s laughter told her that he wasn’t a family man either. Good thing she’d crossed him off her list.

  The office continued to be busy throughout the morning, with the foreman coming in to report that another mine in Leadville had gone on strike. Mr. Dawson left with him for a while, and just when Lydia was about ready to leave for the day, he returned.

  His expression was tight and worried. “May I walk you home today, Miss Stone?”

  Lydia nearly dropped her satchel. She didn’t have time to collect her thoughts before she responded, “Yes.”

  He put his hat back on and opened the door, waiting for her to gather her things and pass through. He locked the door and stepped next to her on the porch. “You live above the Smith Bakery?”

  “Yes,” Lydia said again, apparently unable to speak a decent sentence.

  He gave a small nod, and they started walking. For several moments, neither spoke. The sun had disappeared behind the mountain range, but the purple twilight gave them plenty of light.

  “Miss Stone.” Mr. Dawson’s voice broke through the silence between them. “About last night—”

  Lydia laid her hand on Mr. Dawson’s arm for a moment. “Please, you don’t need to explain anything to me. It’s none of my business.” She moved her hand, feeling chagrined at her forwardness. Yet, she admitted to herself, she was grateful to her boss. Not only for her job, but for how he effectively ran Mr. Janson out that morning. And now he’d offered to walk her home. She hadn’t realized until now that she’d stored up plenty of worry over who she might run into on the way home. Mr. Janson and Mr. Parker sounded far from appealing right now.

  Mr. Dawson gave a brief nod. “I appreciate your honoring my privacy, though I would like to say that it wasn’t what you may think.”

  Lydia let the information sink in, but since Mr. Dawson was already off her list, she didn’t care to hear anything personal.

  “If any of the miners bother you again, I want you to let me know,” Mr. Dawson continued.

  She glanced over at him in the dwindling light. “I haven’t had any trouble until last night. I think Mr. Janson felt remorseful.”

  “Remorseful over what?”

  Lydia told the story, leaving out the part where she saw Mr. Dawson coming out of the brothel, of course.

  He nodded as he listened, then said, “I think you made the right choice. About Mr. Janson and Mr. Parker.”

  A bit of panic jolted through her at his words. He can’t possibly know about my list. She forced herself to relax. “I’ve only spoken to Mr. Parker a handful of times. He’s never asked me to supper.”

  “Good.” Mr. Dawson said, coming to a stop and facing her, so Lydia stopped and faced him as well. They were just outside Main Street. In a few moments, they’d be surrounded by the evening crowd. “As your employer, I feel responsible for you. Mr. Parker is not who he may seem, and Mr. Janson has a wife back in California.”

  Lydia was stunned. Mr. Janson— soft-spoken, yet a bit misguided Mr. Janson— had a wife? She stared into the green eyes of Mr. Dawson, too dumbfounded to speak. Her pulse increased. Now she was beyond angry. She should might as well cross every eligible man off her list and be done with it.

  Forget about marriage.

  She took a shaky breath. “I had no idea.”

  “Word is that Mr. Janson’s wife kicked him out.” Mr. Dawson looked past her. “Of course, that’s not an excuse to be courting other women.” When his gaze moved back to Lydia’s, she was struck by the intensity in his gaze. “I plan to walk you home each evening, if you don’t mind. I don’t want any man to get ideas into his head that you’re vulnerable.”

  Her breath caught as warmth flooded through her. She wouldn’t let herself analyze the polite offer. Of course he would want to make sure she was safe— she was his employee, after all.

  Besides, it would be nice to not have to walk home alone now that the days were getting shorter.

  Chapter Six

  Mr. Dawson left home earlier than usual to visit Margaret. After walking Lydia Stone home the night before, he had a renewed determination to make his sister see to reason. He didn’t know why he cared so much how Miss Stone viewed him, but he dreaded her finding out that he wasn’t able to protect and care for his own blood especially when nothing should be standing in his way, save for his sister’s stubbornness.

  It seemed stubbornness was a family trait, Erik figured, as he trudged along in the early light of the morning. What if his sister refused to see the reverend and died before she could confess? What did that say about him as a brother?

  He was the only family that Margaret had left. He simply couldn’t fail her. Knowing it was early, when he arrived at the side door of the brothel, he checked to see if the door was locked. He was both relieved and disappointed that it was. Relieved because it meant someone had been sober enough to lock it, and disappointed because he’d now have to knock, and who knew
who he’d wake up.

  He knocked softly at first, waited a few moments, then knocked again.

  Beverly answered— the youngest of the women. When Erik had first met Beverly, he’d felt sorry for her, until she opened her mouth. He’d never heard such foul words coming from any man before, let alone a woman.

  “Hello, sugar,” Beverly said, her smile wide, even though her eyes were barely open.

  He gave her a brief smile so as not to be rude. Like a gentleman would, he kept his gaze trained on her face. Traces of lipstick still stained her mouth, and she had a vulnerable look about her with her sleepy blue eyes and blonde, tousled hair. It was difficult not to notice that she was barely dressed. She wore a red satin robe, sloppily pulled on and showing enough skin that he knew he was blushing.

  “I bet I know what you’ve come for,” she said in a low voice before he could ask about his sister. Beverly’s painted fingernails trailed down his chest, stopping at his waist.

  He swallowed hard. He definitely wasn’t interested in any liaison, but he was still a man. With a gentle push, he moved her hand. “Is Margaret awake?”

  Beverly fluttered her eyelashes and pulled him inside the parlor then shut the door, plunging them into near darkness. A couple of parlor lamps had been lit, casting a glow over the plush furniture and velvety wall hangings. He averted his eyes from the nude figures depicted in the latter.

  “I can keep you busy until she wakes up,” Beverly purred.

  “I’m on my way to the mine, so I need to speak to Margaret right now,” Erik said, practically choking out the words. “She can go back to sleep after.”

  Beverly’s hands were at his waist again, and she pressed against him. “You need to loosen up, Erik Dawson.” One hand slid around to his back.