Part 9 (2/2)
”There should be, yes.”
”Well... I've always had an appreciation for the musical arts, even as a boy. But my father preferred I pursue other interests while I was in school. Sports in general. Football in particular. After I graduated from university, I was involved with my father's various business interests. Later I traveled with my mother after she became too ill to travel alone, and we never stayed in one place for any extended period of time.” He removed one hand from the steering wheel and raked his fingers through his wind-tousled hair. ”Now that I'm settled in Bethlehem Springs, I'd like to pursue an old interest.” He smiled again without looking at her. ”Is that reason enough?”
Although she was certain it would be better to remain silent, she asked, ”Do you have a piano in your home so you could practice?”
”Yes. A rather fine one, I believe. It came with the house.”
It wouldn't be wise to give him lessons. She felt that in her bones. But since he seemed so determined, perhaps she had best try another line of reasoning. ”I don't recommend that you begin lessons, Mr. McKinley, if you'll be spending all your time at the building site in a matter of weeks. It takes dedication and determination to learn to play a musical instrument.” ”I don't recommend that you begin lessons, Mr. McKinley, if you'll be spending all your time at the building site in a matter of weeks. It takes dedication and determination to learn to play a musical instrument.”
”There you go again, a.s.suming I'm going to lose the election.”
His comment amused her. She had begun to enjoy this compet.i.tion of theirs. ”Since I plan to win, I believe that means you must lose.”
”Then I'll make you a promise. Even if I lose the election, I will still be dedicated in my playing of the piano. I'll practice every day.”
She couldn't help smiling now. ”All right, Mr. McKinley. If you are truly determined to learn to play the piano, I will instruct you. I could do it Tuesdays or Fridays.”
”Let's make it Tuesday.” He slowed the motorcar to a stop, then reached into his pocket and extracted a quarter. ”At my home.” He reached over and took hold of her left hand, opened it, and dropped the coin onto her gloved palm, then folded her fingers over it. He didn't release her hand immediately.
Gwen's smile faded. She found it difficult to move, to think, to breathe. She scarcely knew where she was as she stared into his eyes.
”Shall we say three o'clock?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She nodded. That seemed the only response possible.
It was more difficult than it should have been for Morgan to let go of Gwen's hand. That he felt a growing attraction to his lovely opponent was becoming clear to him. Whether or not that attraction would prove a disaster - for him, for the resort, for the election - remained to be seen.
Silence surrounded them as they resumed the drive, Gwen pretending great interest in the pa.s.sing countryside. After they pa.s.sed the bridge that led to her father's ranch, the road curved into a narrow canyon, hugging the river on the right side that tumbled and foamed over boulders and ancient logs.
”If things go as planned,” Morgan said, hoping to make both of them feel a little less uncomfortable, ”that's where the railroad will lay tracks.” He pointed to the flat terrain on the opposite side of the river.
”Do you really think the Union Pacific will bring a spur up this way?”
”They will if the county and town do their part. We've had several meetings with the men who make those decisions, and it looks encouraging. Of course New Hope will cover some of the costs, which is a good incentive.”
Gwen seemed to consider his words before asking, ”When do you plan to open the resort, Mr. McKinley?”
”We'd hoped to have our first guests staying with us this fall, but it looks now like it will take us until early next spring, depending upon what sort of winter we have.”
She said nothing more, and Morgan decided to leave her to her own thoughts until they reached the resort.
A short while later, they arrived at the building site. The air was filled with sounds of hammering and sawing and the shouts of one man to another. Noticeable progress had been made since Morgan's last visit. The exterior of the lodge was nearing completion. Soon the craftsmen would begin work on the interior.
Just as the motorcar's engine fell silent, Morgan heard Gwen whisper, ”Oh, my.”
A perfect response. He grinned. That's how he wanted everyone to react when they arrived at New Hope.
As Morgan walked around to the pa.s.senger side of the motorcar, f.a.gan Doyle hurried toward them from the direction of the bathhouse. ”Morgan, you weren't expected today. But it's glad I am you've come.”
”Problems?”
”No, but we've got some questions about the pools that need answered.”
He nodded. ”I'll meet with you before we leave.” He turned and opened the car door, holding out a hand to Gwen to a.s.sist her to the ground. ”f.a.gan, I'd like to introduce Miss Arlington. Miss Arlington, this is f.a.gan Doyle.”
f.a.gan doffed his hat. ”It's pleased I am to make your acquaintance.” Then to Morgan, ”You should've warned me, boy-o. Sure and I wouldn't have any man jack atop a ladder or roof right now. They're likely to fall off when they see her pretty face.”
”Then perhaps I should keep my face covered, Mr. Doyle. I would hate to be the cause of an accident.”
Did Morgan detect a less-than-pleased edge in her response to the compliment? It did seem that she could turn p.r.i.c.kly at the most unexpected moments. What woman didn't like a bit of flattery?
Morgan removed his duster and tossed it into the rear seat before turning to Gwen to ask, ”Would you like me to take your coat? It seems to be warming up.”
With a nod, she unb.u.t.toned the lightweight overgarment. ”Thank you, Mr. McKinley.”
The scent of her cologne teased him as he slipped the coat from her shoulders. It was all he could do not to bring it close to his face and breathe deeply.
What had come over him lately? He was acting like... like a lovesick pup. Heaven help him! He needed to nip this behavior in the bud.
He took several long, slow breaths before turning around. Gwen had removed the scarf from her hat and now stood looking at the lodge.
Pretty didn't begin to describe her.
He cleared his throat. ”Let's look inside the lodge first, shall we?”
Gwen hadn't envisioned anything close to this place. Not in her wildest dreams. Not here in Idaho, outside a small town like Bethlehem Springs.
Morgan escorted her through the lodge, detailing what things would look like when finished. The elegant fireplaces. The large sitting room. The library. The modern kitchen and large dining hall. The guest rooms. In her mind, she saw it all as he described it.
Next came a tour of the bathhouse and the pools. He explained the different kinds of therapy that would be available to guests of the resort and told her there would be doctors and nurses on staff.
”And up there” - he pointed toward a draw about a hundred or more yards up an incline - ”is where the prayer chapel will be.”
”A prayer chapel?”
”I learned from my mother that physical healing is not enough. My wish - and my mother's wish - is that New Hope will be a place where people can come for spiritual healing first. And then, if G.o.d wills it, be healed of their physical ailments. Or, at the very least, their pain lessened.”
”It doesn't sound like a profitable enterprise.”
Softly, he answered, ” 'For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?' ”
She couldn't argue with the familiar Scripture. Still, if enough guests - wealthy wealthy guests - didn't come to stay at New Hope, how could the resort be of benefit to Bethlehem Springs? Without turning a profit, New Hope would eventually close its doors, the railroad would cancel the route - if it ever started in the first place - and businessmen in town would experience great disappointment. It seemed a great risk to her. guests - didn't come to stay at New Hope, how could the resort be of benefit to Bethlehem Springs? Without turning a profit, New Hope would eventually close its doors, the railroad would cancel the route - if it ever started in the first place - and businessmen in town would experience great disappointment. It seemed a great risk to her.
”Miss Arlington, I am not a fool.”
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