Part 21 (1/2)

How many guest rooms would there be in this four-story building? Sixty? Eighty? More? Would a day actually come when all of those rooms would be filled with guests? Morgan must think so or he wouldn't be pouring so much money into its development.

In an area some distance from the lodge was a clearing where several corrals had been built. Each held a number of horses. Nearby were several wagons with horses standing in the traces. She guided Shakespeare in that direction.

By the time she stepped out of her buggy, f.a.gan Doyle could be seen striding toward her.

”Miss Arlington, sure and it's a pleasure to see you again.”

”Good day, Mr. Doyle.”

”If it's Morgan you're looking for, you won't find him here.”

She nodded. ”Actually, it was you I came to see.”

”Me? Be still my heart.” He placed both of his hands over the left side of his chest. His grin gave away his jest.

”Perhaps you know that I write articles for the Daily Herald Daily Herald”

”Aye, I've read them myself.”

”I want to write a number of pieces about you and some of the local men who are employed here. Could I talk to you and a few others? I promise not to keep anyone from their work for too long.”

”For you, Miss Arlington, it would be a pleasure.” He motioned toward the lodge. ”Would you care to see what's been achieved since you were last here?”

”Yes, I would like that. Very much.”

Over dinner that evening, Morgan listened to Daphne's animated descriptions of the places and people she and Robert had seen as they came west. Most of their journey had been by rail, although some of their side trips had been by motorcar.

His sister was more articulate than he remembered. More poised as well. He supposed the completion of her education and several trips to Europe had made the difference since the last time they were together. She was pretty too. Not as pretty as Gwen, but - ”Morgan, I just remembered what your last letter said. You're running for mayor? That's rather unexpected, isn't it? I had no idea you had political aspirations.”

”I don't, and I don't expect to win the election. I've stayed in the race, but I've made it known that I plan to vote for my opponent. Miss Arlington would make the better mayor.”

Daphne straightened in her chair. ”Your opponent is a woman?”

”Yes.” He grinned at his sister. ”And she isn't a great many years older than you.”

”Women have the vote in Idaho?”

Morgan nodded. ”Since 1896. Among the first in the nation to grant women full suffrage.”

Daphne looked at Robert. ”And you said Idaho was a backwater and that I should go with you to California.”

Morgan glanced from his sister to Robert and back again. Was something going on between those two? Had Robert Dudley become more to Daphne than was proper, considering they were both young and unmarried and had traveled almost twenty-seven hundred miles together?

He was surprised by the strong surge of emotions that overtook him as the questions formed in his mind. He'd managed not to give his sister too much thought in the years since their mother died. He'd been content to allow their cousin to look after Daphne and to inform him if something was needed. That had changed in an instant.

”Is something wrong, Morgan?” Daphne leaned toward him. ”You're wearing the most disagreeable look on your face.”

”No. Nothing's wrong.”

At least it had better not be, if Robert Dudley knew what was good for him.

TWENTY-EIGHT.

On Friday afternoon, Gwen was standing on the sidewalk in front of the Daily Herald Daily Herald, visiting about matters both large and small with Christina Patterson and Myrna Evans, when she heard the sound of an approaching automobile. Her heartbeat quickened with hope - the put-putter-put put-putter-put of an engine did that to her these days - and her eyes were drawn in the direction of the sound. of an engine did that to her these days - and her eyes were drawn in the direction of the sound.

Coming up Main Street from the highway was a touring car, top down. She narrowed her eyes. Was that Morgan at the wheel? Yes. Yes, it was. But who was that in the pa.s.senger seat? The woman, her hat and face swathed in netting to keep away the road dust, seemed to be looking at the town with great interest, turning her head this way and that.

As the automobile pa.s.sed the three women, all of them now looking at the car and its occupants, Morgan gave them a nod of greeting, but he didn't slow the vehicle.

Christina said, ”Who was that with Mr. McKinley?”

”I don't know,” Gwen answered.

”Not anyone from around here,” Myrna said. ”I'm sure of that.” She lowered her voice, as if sharing an intimate secret. ”It appears Mr. McKinley had more than business on his mind when he went to Boise.”

Gwen felt a sudden chill. Who was that woman and why had Morgan brought her to Bethlehem Springs? Several possible answers to those questions whispered in her head, and none of them brought her comfort.

”Well, I must be getting along home,” Christina said, ”or Nathan will have nothing to eat for his supper but cold meat and a slice of bread.”

Myrna nodded. ”I must do likewise.” She touched Gwen on the forearm. ”And if I don't find Felicity practicing the piano when I get home, that daughter of mine will find herself doing extra ch.o.r.es for a solid month.”

Gwen scarcely heard the words her friends spoke. In her mind she saw Morgan and his female companion driving down Main Street. He'd seen her too. Why hadn't he stopped? Why hadn't he taken just a few moments to speak to her?

Because she'd sent him away, that's why. Because she'd told him she couldn't return his feelings, that she didn't welcome his kisses, that she didn't want to be promised to any man.

Was it too late to tell him that was no longer true?

While Mrs. Cheevers showed Daphne to what would be her room for the duration of her stay, Morgan sorted through his acc.u.mulated mail and the messages f.a.gan had left for him. There wasn't anything that needed immediate attention, and he was thankful for that. He was too tired for decision making. What he wanted most was a bath to wash off the road dust, followed by a good meal.

”Mr. McKinley?”

He looked up and watched Mrs. Cheevers descend the stairs.

”I didn't want to say this in front of your sister, sir, but Mrs.

Nelson wasn't feeling well and I sent her home. I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow and there's nothing prepared for your evening meal.”

”Don't worry about it, Mrs. Cheevers. Daphne and I will go to the South Fork for dinner.”

”I deeply regret these circ.u.mstances. It won't happen again.”

He placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. ”Don't worry. We've been dining out for an entire week. Another night won't hurt us.” He dropped the mail onto the entry table. ”Anything of interest happen while I was away?”

”No, sir. Not that I've heard. Although Miss Arlington wrote an interesting piece for the paper about one of the local men who works up at New Hope.”

Now that was was news. ”What did she write?” news. ”What did she write?”