Ophelia Page 2

  At the window, she paused and looked out on the town. Her town. Brody was right, she would be making changes, ones that would change Wildcat Ridge forever.

  Chapter Two

  After breaking his fast the next morning at the Crystal Café as he did every day, Brody walked to Owen's home.

  “Why the glum face?” Owen asked, leading him to the study. “Things didn't go well between you and Ophelia?”

  Brody removed his coat and tossed it over a chair, his frown deepening. “The woman detests me.”

  Owen laughed. “Detest is a strong word, my friend. Surely she can't have formed that much of a dislike for you in the small amount of time that remained of yesterday. Did you see her this morning?”

  “Not yet.” Brody flopped down on a chair by the fire. May in the Uinta Mountains offered little heat for its residents.

  Hester had greeted him then left them alone for 'men talk'. She had their small son to take care of. It amused Brody to see Owen running around after the rambunctious toddler. “I expect she'll fire me today.”

  Owen sat down across from him. “Why? What did you do or not do?”

  Brody raised his hands with a shrug. “Who knows, with a woman. Especially that one.”

  He leaned over, resting his elbows on his thighs, his head in his hands. “There's more to this than you know, Owen.”

  “So, tell me.”

  Brody lifted his head. “I knew her before she married Mortimer.”

  “Good heavens, man!” Owen thumped his hand on the upholstered arm of his chair. “Why did you wait to mention this until now? You didn't think I should know?”

  “I do now.” He relaxed, shoulders slumped, feet thrust out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. “I was in love with her, Owen.”

  The older man picked up a silver-plated carafe and filled a glass. “Sounds like you could use some Irish coffee.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Brody accepted the drink and took a sip.

  “All right.” Owen filled a glass for himself and sat back. “Tell me about it.”

  Peering at the attorney from under lowered eyelids, Brody said, “I doubt you know that Ophelia was a prostitute before she married Mort.”

  Owen jumped up and stood over him. “You lie!”

  “No. I'm sorry, but it's true.”

  As if the air had been let out of him, Owen fell back onto his chair. “I bet she was popular. As lovely as she is now, I can't imagine how she must have appeared then.”

  “The house charged twice as much for her as the other girls. Took every cent I could manage to win at the tables for each visit, but she was worth every penny.” Brody stood to refill his glass.

  “Then… You slept with her?”

  “I was one of her best clients, until Mortimer hit town. He and I were both broke, me a not so great gambler and him a less than lucky prospector.”

  “Ha!” Owen exclaimed. “You were born a gambler.”

  “I wish that was true.” Seated again, Brody launched into the story. “No, you cannot envision how gorgeous she was then, Owen. Silky, golden hair down to her bottom, and dressed in filmy loose garments that only hinted at what they hid.”

  Brody closed his eyes as if savoring the memory. “She was magnificent. And, believe it or not, for a woman in her position, she was honest, fare and genuinely caring. At least, she was with me. She enjoyed shaving me and fussed over my clothes, like a wife. I'd never met a woman like her.”

  “So you fell for her,” Owen said.

  “To the bottom of the well. I asked her to go away with me. She said no. I, uh, was gone for a while. When I returned, a good deal later, I learned she'd married Mort. I was devastated. I hadn't seen her since… until yesterday.”

  He stood, unable to sit still. “My hell, Owen, one glimpse of her and I was right back in Creede, Colorado, so hungry for her, I'd steal, cheat at cards, do anything to be with her. She's barely changed at all.”

  “Surely that's an exaggeration,” Owen said. “She must be… How old was she in Creede?”

  “Fifteen. She'd be thirty-seven now. And she has no idea who I am.” He paced in front of the fireplace.

  Owen frowned. “That must have been a nasty blow. I thought you were acting rather oddly at the train station.”

  “I was totally unprepared for her lack of reaction. Nearly made me want to slit my throat.”

  “You have my sympathy. What are you going to do? Leave Wildcat Ridge?”

  Brody shook his head. “No. Not so long as she's here. I could no more leave than change the color of my eyes.”

  “But you're going to have to work with her if you stay.”

  Brody nodded. “And therein lies the rub, my friend. She refused to stay in Mort's suite. Moved to one of the other rooms.”

  “Well, she has the right to sleep anywhere she wants. The hotel belongs to her.”

  That brought Brody's head up. “She owns it? I thought Mortimer did.”

  Owen gave him a sly grin. “So does he. The good old boy has a monstrous surprise awaiting him.”

  “What sort of surprise?”

  “That is not my secret to tell. Ask Ophelia. Incidentally, why hasn't she recognized you, do you suppose? You're twenty years older, of course.”

  “I had a beard and mustache then and I was usually a bit scruffy. Plus, I didn’t have this scar on my forehead.” He'd had to bite his lip at the train depot to keep from throwing his identity in her face. Only the pain and anger from having the woman of his dreams, one he'd made love to and practically worshipped, not recognize him, had kept him quiet.

  “That would probably explain it.”

  Brody nodded. “Does Mort have any idea she's here?”

  “Not that I'm aware of. I don't believe she's ready for him to know yet. Let's just say she has a bone to pick with him, and I suspect she wants to time their confrontation just right.”

  “I can imagine. I…” Brody's eyes lit up. “Owen, is she getting a divorce?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.” He nodded so vigorously, he bounced the back of his head off the wing back chair. “That would go against attorney-client privilege.”

  Owen winked and tapped the side of his nose. “If you take my meaning.”

  For the first time since entering the Vaile home, Brody smiled. Owen might not be able to say so outright, but a divorce was in the works. Good news. Could he possibly be getting a second chance to win her? The thought intoxicated him. “I don't blame her. From all I've heard since coming here, the man is a letch to the nth degree. Not a faithful bone in his body. And he rarely visited her anymore, something I cannot fathom.”

  “Neither can I. Right now, Ophelia is hurting, Brody, and it's likely to make her a bit out of sorts. She only recently learned of some of Mort's more salacious shenanigans.”

  “I haven't given her a fair chance then.”

  “I'd say not. She has a lot on her mind and a mountain of responsibility to assume. Give her some time.”

  Brody placed his empty glass on the table and rose. “Guess I'd better get back. I have a new boss, it seems, and I need to be at my best.”

  Owen walked him to the door. “That's the right attitude. Good luck. Keep me in the loop. I'm curious to see how this goes.”

  “So am I.”

  Brody had been gone longer than he'd intended, wanting to put off facing Ophelia again for as long as possible. He walked into the hotel to find the lobby full of people, with her in the middle calling out instructions left and right.

  “I want the suite cleared out completely,” she said to Miles McGinty, who did carpentry around town. She must have sent Mrs. Dobbs to find a carpenter for her. The man nodded to her and turned to a few workmen, directing them upstairs.

  Ophelia began speaking with Alex Terry, the undertaker who also did wood work in addition to making coffins.

  “I'll need that staircase removed if you can. But, first, please put a door between rooms twenty-one and twenty-two, leaving
space on the mutual wall for a small bathing room to be added.”

  “I'm sure I can handle that, Mrs. Crane.” McGinty scribbled notes on a tablet. “How soon do you want it done?”

  “Yesterday.”

  He nodded, not even looking surprised. As soon as he left, Brody walked over to Ophelia.

  “May I ask what's going on? Is there anything I should be aware of?”

  “Yes, actually. Come with me.” She led the way into the rarely used room, due to the lack of a cook. Brody had attempted to convince Mortimer they needed to open the room to draw in guests but was told the hotel didn't make enough money for a cook. Yet he had one at the Gentlemen Only Salon.

  Papers had been spread out on a table. Ophelia pointed to one. “This is the plan for alterations I want made to the hotel. Look them over and let me know if you see any problems.”

  No sooner had she finished speaking than she was gone, off to discuss other matters with Mrs. Dobbs.

  Brody studied the plan. Ophelia had done a good job drawing out what she wanted: Mortimer's old suite to be cleared of furniture, divided into three small rooms, and the old secret staircase removed. Two rooms in the opposite corner of the building were designated as her new quarters.

  Brody didn't blame her. Under the circumstances, he wouldn't want to live in Mortimer's suite either. The staircase to be done away with had been a secret passage so his paramours could come and go without being noticed. The whole town knew about it and its purpose, though.

  He rejoined Ophelia in the lobby, waiting for her to finish with Mrs. Dobbs before asking, “Will the drawn plan be the extent of the changes we can expect?”

  “For now,” Ophelia said and walked away.

  The woman was forever leaving him, alone and feeling gob smacked. What did she mean, for now? Why wouldn't she talk to him? Didn't she trust him?

  He caught up with her. “What can I do to help with all this, Ophelia?”

  “It's Mrs. Crane to you, and you can help by not getting in the way or making objections.”

  “I have no intention of protesting. I think your proposed changes are quite wise.”

  She spun around to look at him, incredulously “You do?”

  “Did you think I would disapprove?”

  She waved a hand as if shooing an insect away. “No, I… Yes. In truth, I did expect you to have a problem with me taking over and ordering the hotel to be remodeled a bit.”

  He gave her a smile. “You're the owner. As your employee, it's not my place to approve or disapprove of your actions.”

  Her posture relaxed slightly and the tension in her face faded, leaving her appearing younger and lovelier than before. “Thank you, Mr. Duvall. I appreciate your cooperation and attitude.”

  He nodded. “Is there something I can do for you right now?”

  “Yes, please let our guests know we will do our best to keep the noise and mess of construction from troubling them.”

  “Very well.” He left for his small office off the kitchen, feeling a tiny bit better. Perhaps Ophelia and he could learn to live together after all. Or, at least, reside in the same building. Not what he wanted, but a start perhaps.

  When Brody arrived at the Crystal Café for his noon meal, he found Ophelia already there, sitting alone at a table in a far corner. “May I join you?” he asked.

  Despite appearing unhappy, she agreed. He sat down and, when the waitress came, ordered the soup of the day, creamed pea. Ophelia hadn't received her food yet.

  “How is the work coming on the remodeling?” he asked, hoping the girl would bring water soon. Laying eyes on Ophelia left his mouth dry.

  She fiddled with her utensils. “Very well, actually. Tell me, what do you know about the Gentlemen Only Salon?”

  “It's a nice place. Swanky, but hasn't had much business since I came here. The manager and the girls all quit about the same time I was hired to run the hotel. Mortimer brought in some new girls, but I've been told that they don't have the class the previous bunch did.”

  A cup of coffee was placed in front of him and he immediately took a sip. “He installed a new manager as well. The man stole all the cash he could lay his hands on and vamoosed. Nothing's been done with the place since. The girls run it themselves. They have an excellent chef and male guests of the hotel have permission to go there for meals.”

  Ophelia stirred sugar into her own coffee. “They have a chef? Why didn't he hire one for the hotel?”

  “I think, because he spent most of his time in town at the salon, although that changed after the working girls left. He seemed to lose interest then, in the salon, the hotel, the whole town.”

  Their meal arrived, and they said nothing for some time while they ate.

  “Everything all right?” the waitress stopped to ask.

  “Delicious as always, Garnet,” Brody replied. Seeing the question mark in the woman's eyes as she glanced at Ophelia, he said, “Have you been introduced to Mrs. Crane here? Ophelia, this is Garnet Bennett, the café's owner.”

  Garnet's mouth dropped, but she quickly closed it. “Mrs. Crane?” she said to Ophelia. “Oh. Are you here to visit your husband?”

  “No.” Ophelia laid down her fork. “I'll be here permanently.”

  Brody could almost see the thoughts spin in Garnet's head. The woman couldn't wait to spread this news. Appearing flustered, she scurried off. Brody chuckled.

  “What is it you find amusing?” Ophelia asked.

  “How interesting it is to see folks reacting to you. This will cause quite a stir in town, the big event of the year so far.”

  “Surely not. Is Wildcat Ridge that uneventful?”

  “It's not exactly a hive of activity, not during the week, anyway. We get cowboys coming in on Saturdays, and they liven it up.”

  “I can imagine. I remember…” Her eyes grew large and she clammed up.

  “Remember what?” Creede, Colorado? He'd been doing a lot of reminiscing himself, watching her hands and thinking about how they had felt on his skin.

  “Nothing.” She busied herself eating.

  Brody understood. She didn't want to talk about the past with what, to her, seemed to be a stranger. If only she'd realize she knew him. He refused to tell her. He wanted her to figure it out on her own.

  The soup was a good testament to Garnet's skill as a cook. How she handled this place all by herself stymied him. Sometimes, after school, her children did what they could to help, and more than once, he'd seen her husband in the kitchen cooking. Even so, it had to be a big job for a woman to take on.

  “I'd like to go see the Gentlemen Only Salon after I leave here, Mr. Duvall. Would you go with me?”

  Surprised that she'd asked, he took a moment to reply.

  “It isn't necessary. I simply thought…” she mumbled.

  Mentally kicking himself for letting her think he didn't want to help, he said, “Of course, I'll go.”

  “Thank you. Are you finished?”

  He set his spoon in the empty bowl and topped it with his napkin. “I'm ready whenever you are.”

  “Good. One more question. We do have a maid to do the rooms, don't we?”

  “No. Mrs. Dobbs does everything, I'm afraid. None of the women here will work for Mortimer. I believe the laundry is sent to a laundress next to the Ridge Hotel.”

  “Well, maybe the women will work for me, eventually.”

  Chapter Three

  The Gentlemen Only Salon sat one street over from the Crane Hotel, with an alley, made into a narrow street, in between. Both buildings were of a similar size, with the hotel being the largest, and built of stone. The Salon's entrance lacked the magnificent trees framing it.

  Ophelia paused before the door, waiting for Brody to ring a bell or whatever was expected. He simply pushed the panel open, letting Ophelia enter first. A chime rang somewhere inside. Within moments, a woman appeared wearing a loose dress made of rose-colored muslin that gave inviting hints of what lay beneath.

  O
phelia had owned a similar gown once. After marrying Mortimer, she'd burned it, much to her husband's displeasure. He claimed it was his favorite. She'd hated it, or, more accurately, hated what it represented.

  Recognition lit in the woman's eyes at the sight of Brody and she smiled. Her expression changed when her gaze switched to Ophelia. “I'm Ruby. You looking for a job?”

  “No, I am not.” Ophelia couldn't help studying her. This was the first prostitute she'd encountered since her days in Creede.

  “Hello, Ruby,” Brody answered the woman. “This is Mrs. Crane. She wants to have a look at the salon.”

  “You're Mortimer's wife?” Ruby's gaze drifted down and back up Ophelia's slim form.

  “Yes, I am. May I have a tour, please?”

  “Don't see why not.” The woman's attitude changed from that of one expecting to make some money to total disinterest. She led the way into a large room decorated for men with heavy furniture and accents in maroon and hunter green. “This here's the parlor.”

  Ophelia disliked it at once. Too masculine. Too cold. Too Mortimer. The rest of the place would undoubtedly be the same, except perhaps for the girls' rooms.

  After a few minutes during which Ophelia wandered the room, taking in everything, Ruby took them to another room, almost as large and decorated the same except for the crowded bookshelves lining the walls.

  “This is the reading room.” Ruby pointed to another door. “Through there is Mortimer's office, and this direction is the dining room.”

  Ophelia noted the location of the office. She'd want to spend some time in there eventually. She followed Ruby into a typical dining room with tables, chairs and sideboards.

  “I understand you have a chef?” she said.

  “Yes. Henri. He's very good,” Ruby replied.

  “I'd like to meet him before I leave.”

  With a shrug, the woman led them into the kitchen. “Henri?”

  A slender man with graying hair came out from behind a worktable covered with vegetables he must have been cutting up. “Yes, Ruby?”