Читать книгу The Gunslinger and the Heiress - Kathryn Albright - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Hannah stood just inside the lobby of the Horton Grand Hotel and breathed a sigh of relief. Her heartbeat slowed to a steadier rhythm as she noted the large display of flowers on the central table. The Horton Grand Hotel appeared to be the essence of respectability—an oasis in a town of gambling halls and smaller businesses. The walk from the train station had caused her no small amount of anxiety. She wasn’t used to being so totally on her own, especially in a strange town. Halfway here, she’d seen three men on horseback racing through the main street of town, whooping and yelling and kicking up a minor dust storm. She’d known when starting her journey that this was no San Francisco, but it was a wilder town than she’d expected.

Not for the first time did she consider that her flight here may have been a bit impetuous. She hadn’t thought the trip completely through, and now those things she’d taken for granted in San Francisco—things like getting from Nob Hill to the docks, a trip usually made in a carriage with a servant accompanying her—seemed difficult and worry laden.

She had picked the Horton specifically for its location. The Florentine would have been a safer choice for a single woman, but Rachel had said Caleb worked at the saloon across the street. That would make him more accessible should she need him. She strode through the lobby past a middle-aged couple sitting in overstuffed leather chairs and placed her reticule on the ornate oak-and-brass front desk.

A short, round, gray-haired man looked up from studying the ledger. “May I help you?”

“I’d like a room.”

He surveyed the lobby behind her. “You’re alone? I’m afraid the Horton does not—”

“I’m Miss Hannah Lansing,” she said quickly before he could deny her accommodation. “And here on official business for my company.”

The clerk straightened, a small Napoleon at attention. “Of Lansing Enterprises?”

She nodded. “I’ll be attending the grand opening of the Hotel Del Coronado.”

He looked confused. “But you are staying here? Rather than there?”

It did sound suspicious. Those who’d helped finance the hotel had seaside rooms for the celebration. Grandfather hadn’t wanted to invest. It wasn’t any of this clerk’s business, but she felt she had to give him a plausible explanation. “I will be meeting with a few friends and business associates while here. It seemed simpler to stay in town rather than out on the peninsula.”

“Then, on behalf of the Horton, I am delighted you chose our hotel for your respite.” His hand hovered over the ledger before printing her name.

She relaxed somewhat. The first hurdle was behind her. She’d made it safely this far.

He swiveled the ledger so that she could sign her name, and then snapped his fingers. A tall, thin man appeared from the back room. “Jackson can show you to your room.”

“Thank you. My trunk is at the train station.”

“We’ll see to it, miss.”

She followed the porter up the staircase. On the second floor, Jackson opened the first door in the hallway. A bouquet of flowers adorned the table in the center of the room, filling the space with the scent of orchids. Along the wall, an oak buffet table held matching brass candlesticks on a delicate lace table runner. Walking to the adjoining room, she found a four-poster bed and canopy. An ornate, full-size pedestal mirror occupied one corner near the foot of the bed, and a stand with a gold-rimmed china bowl and pitcher stood in the opposite corner.

Jackson lit the gas wall sconces in both rooms before closing the drapes at the two tall windows. “I’ll be about retrieving your trunk now. Dinner is at six.”

She was hungry, but she was tired, and the thought of eating by herself in the dining room with others speculating about her aloneness was more than she wanted to endure tonight. “Thank you, but might I have my meal brought up?”

Jackson nodded and turned toward the hallway. She closed the door behind him, released a pent-up breath, whipped off her hat and tossed it onto the settee, saying a prayer of thanks that she’d not been denied a room. That would have been a setback she hadn’t considered. Thank goodness the Lansing name was known here.

She pushed a loose strand of hair back into place, securing it under her twisted bun, and then walked to the window and peeked through the drapes to look out over the town. With the descending twilight, colors were fading to shades of gray. Three tall brick buildings towered over the others—their signs indicating a bank, Marsten’s store and a gambling hall. The first two appeared closed for the day, but directly across from her hotel room, the saloon was lit up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. Golden light and occasional raucous laughter spilled out on the boardwalk along with a light tune someone played on a piano.

Grasping the pendant of silver and abalone at her neck, Hannah searched through the fancy etched windows of the saloon. Somewhere inside Caleb went about his duties. Rachel had been curious as to why she was asking after him, and Hannah had made up a story about mailing the necklace back to him. Apparently Rachel had believed her ruse for she hadn’t alerted Grandfather, and no one had tried to stop her departure.

Would Caleb even want to see her after all this time? She swallowed hard. Most likely he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t. She’d made a promise to Grandfather. Although she might be skirting it a bit in contacting Caleb, she had to have an escort, and once she learned more of what had happened to the ships, Grandfather would understand—and hopefully forgive her. After all, he’d always put the business first in his life. Surely if she did the same, he could only be proud. She intended to keep her promise—a Lansing always kept a promise.

The memory of Grandmother Rose’s thin, reedy voice trilling in her ear came to her. It is paramount that in all things your conduct be above reproach. You are a Lansing. Your reputation must be above speculation or gossip of any kind. Believe me, any correction or chastisement that I give will be minimal compared to what society will bestow. At the time, Hannah had chafed against the rules of etiquette. They’d felt like a binding, an iron corset. But now, hearing the raucous music from across the street, they felt safe and secure—something that framed her existence.

She dropped the drapes into place and turned toward the small writing desk against the wall. First thing to do would be to send a missive to the port authority agent requesting an audience as soon as possible. Then a second note to the manager of the Hotel Del Coronado informing him she’d be present at the grand opening and would like a word with him. When Jackson brought her supper, she would give them to him for delivery by courier in the morning.

After eating a succulent supper of lamb, she sat down again at the secretary. It was time she wrote a short letter to Grandfather. If she posted it tomorrow, it would take a week to arrive at the house in San Francisco. By that time, perhaps she would be heading home. He’d be angry when he learned of her quest—angry when he found out she’d left San Francisco—but if the end result were the answers concerning the ships’ disappearances...

Putting the finished note aside, she stared at the new blank page in front of her. Time for one more note—and the most difficult. She swallowed hard and then picked up the fountain pen once more.

Mr. Houston. I’m in town for a short visit. Please feel free to call this afternoon. Horton Hotel.

Hannah Lansing

Caleb fingered the impression in the wax seal—a curled, elaborate HKL. Leave it to a Lansing to use fancy paper. He read the note again. The Horton. Not the best, most expensive place in town but pretty near to it. And way too close for comfort. He glanced through the open doors of the saloon and across the wide, dusty street to the Horton’s entrance. Acid churned in his gut. Miss High and Mighty. What was she up to? They weren’t exactly on speaking terms any longer.

“You say this arrived at noon?”

“Seems I mentioned that.” Jim narrowed his gaze at Caleb’s tone. “It ain’t my job to come lookin’ for you. You’re good at makin’ yourself scarce. One minute you’re hunting quail up to Tecolote Canyon and the next thing I know you’re hauling in a string of fish.”

Caleb ignored him. Right now, fishing off the point sounded like a fine place to be until Miss Lansing left town. Maybe he’d camp there.

“Ain’t you goin’ to go see her?”

In answer, Caleb walked around the counter and deliberately poured himself a shot of whiskey.

“You’re not foolin’ me.”

Caleb scowled. “Leave it, Jim. It’ll take a lot more than her crooking her finger for me to drop everything and look her up.”

Jim shook his head as if Caleb were dense. “I’ll say it plain, then. You’re not one to drink this time of day, and suddenly a note from this woman has got you doing it.”

Caleb looked at the amber liquid, swirled it around in the glass before shoving it toward Jim. “Save it, then.” Whatever Hannah wanted—if anything—she would have to ask a whole lot nicer for him to mosey over to her hotel. Pushing thoughts of her from his mind, he walked over to the Bradison brothers’ weekly poker game.