CHAPTER 5

C HAPTE R 5

Orson took Ava to Ace's Hotel, where a cook and waitress stood ready to serve the guests as they arrived. The table linens were pure white, and the napkins were hunter green to match the curtains, whereas the walls were a pale, softer shade of the color. The chair he pulled out for her to sit upon was cushioned and upholstered in a striped pattern that picked up the colors scattered around the dining room.

The plates were trimmed in what appeared to be gold around the edge. Her finger traced it as she sought to take in all the splendor.

"I suspect that gold ring could be the real thing, considering the part of the country we are in," Orson said as he took his napkin, shook out the fold, and laid it out flat on his lap. She did likewise, as if she had done it her entire life.

"Did you know Slate Yagger has a claim up in the country?" she asked to make conversation.

"I did not. He is an industrious man, to be sure."

"Indeed, although he much prefers working in the livery with the animals, and according to Blanche, they go to the gold site yearly for a holiday. I'm told that is where the child met the Yaggers, and they love to celebrate their beginnings there."

"A wonderful tradition full of fond memories."

"I believe it is where Gracie found religion, as well."

"Ah, it must be holy ground indeed," he said.

She could not determine his motivation for the remark. "Are you being sacrilegious, Mr. Shilling? I understand the concept of a church being holy, but I doubt an outdoor piece of land with a creek running through it could be considered sacred ground."

"My mother says that wherever Christians' walk is holy unto the Lord," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I am not sure what that means myself."

"I, too, am ignorant concerning spiritual matters, but I plan on attending Gracie's church in the hope of educating myself."

"A noble venture, Miss Gardner. I wish you luck." He motioned to the waitress, who rushed over.

"Good evening, Mr. Shilling," she nodded to Ava, "and to you, miss. What can I bring you to drink?"

"Do you enjoy spirits, Miss Gardner?" he asked.

She unconsciously licked her dry lips as she had downed all kinds of liquor in her day. "I'd prefer not to sir."

"Iced tea might suit your fancy on this warm evening, miss," the server offered.

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you."

"I'll have the same," Orson said.

When the girl had left, Ava said, "If you prefer a stronger drink, I won't be offended."

"Iced tea is fine. There is a time and place for everything."

"Do you frequent the saloons, Mr. Shilling?"

"Rarely. My family has suffered bitter consequences resulting from my father's enjoyment of such institutions," he said.

"I am sorry to hear that—shall we talk of brighter things, then?" Ava said, nipping that dialogue in the bud, wondering whatever had possessed her to open that can of worms. She must, indeed, learn the delicate art of polite conversation. Orson Shilling would be a good practice run for her. Knowing his repulsive dealings with the house of ill repute, she'd closed the door on any chance of their becoming more than mere dinner companions.

"Tell me about your daughter," Ava said, believing it to be a safer topic.

"Sheena is my pride and joy. She is not at all pretentious and would live in the barn if my mother didn't demand she balance her interests."

"Ah, so, she would get along famously with Slate Yagger," Ava said, removing her hand for the server to place the drinks on the table. She chastised herself, bringing to memory that a lady kept her hands in her lap. Never once had Skylar or Gracie placed their elbows on the table during the welcome home dinner. By contrast, she had fought the habit at every turn.

"Would you care to view the menu now, Mr. Shilling?" the waitress asked.

"Bring them to the table, thank you." He nodded, and the girl scurried away. She returned a short minute later with two papers, the words displayed on them in a decorative script, outlining five meal choices.

"Salmon? I can't recall the last time I enjoyed fish," Ava remarked as she scanned the page. "Perhaps they came from the French Creek and have gold dust speckled on them."

"Perhaps," he said, consumed with reading the menu.

She looked at the price and gasped. "Oh. yes, I do believe they are cooked in gold dust. I'll have the beef stew, please."

When the server returned, Orson ordered two salmon dinners, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. That would take half of what remained of her savings. "I'm paying, Miss Gardner, and I am thrilled to remedy the lack of fish in your diet. I hear seafood is a healthy choice."

"I suppose it is," she said, her fingers fidgeting with the napkin on her lap.

"Tell me about your family while we wait," he said.

"My family? Well, you have seen the best part of it: Gracie." She grabbed for her drink, and in her haste, managed to spill some of it on the linen. "Oh, my…"

"Are you nervous, Miss Gardner?" Nonchalantly, he reached for an extra napkin on a nearby table and proceeded to dab at the wet spot.

"I daresay I am not accustomed to dining in such a grand setting." As if to mock her lack of experience, a man with a violin started playing softly in the background.

"Then consider this my treat. It will draw out the princess in you—I hear every girl has dreamed of such royal splendors at one time or another."

"I don't recall ever entertaining such a fantasy, but thank you for bringing me to dine here. I shall cherish the memory forever." There. She had blown it. A memory…he'd know that not only did she not frequent such luxury, but she actually possessed a poverty mentality, meaning she was no doubt, a waste of his time and effort.

Orson Shilling never flinched. Ava could not tell if he'd been shocked or accepted her response as her personal normal, but he did not seem any less interested in pursuing their evening together. It might have been easier if he had called it to an immediate halt, for his acceptance inspired dreams to spark emotions in her where they had no right.

"What are your plans now that you've decided to live in Blazer?" he asked. He took a sip of his drink.

"My timing is opportune, coming here with my cousin so close to her delivery time. I suspect that will keep me busy for a while, but I shall keep my eyes open for a job so I will not become one of those guests who never move out."

Orson laughed. "You do not look like the type to sponge off of well-meaning folks forever."

She grinned and took a chance, eager to see how her new character was shining through. "What type do I look like to you, Mr. Shilling?"

He leaned back in his chair, placed a hand on his chin, and tapped his fingernail against his skin, studying her all the while but playfully, or so it seemed to Ava.

"If I lived here, I would love to see you behind the counter at the mercantile. Or perhaps you have the inquisitiveness necessary to be a reporter. You'd meet plenty of folks if you trained for the post office. I'd say your possibilities are endless."

"We both agree, not a waitress, and especially not at Ace's Hotel."

"You have a contagious and winning smile, Miss Gardner. I'd say that will get you anything your heart desires," he said. His sincerity in her abilities left her almost believing anything was possible. "Do you know what your heart desires?"

There was something deep-set in his expression, as if her answer was something he'd contemplated and was now seeking confirmation. The man was complex and out of her league. She'd never understand his kind.

"I desire a fresh start and reuniting with my lost family. I shall have to see what else unfolds as the days pass."

"Wise to move slowly and avoid pitfalls that may be lurking nearby to swallow you up."

She frowned, not liking the direction of the conversation. "I am a big girl and can look after myself. You need not worry about demons wishing to swallow me alive."

His expression lightened. "Maybe I am thinking about that secret admirer, who could be watching us this very minute. Or worse still, he might be that drunk who wanted to use your shoulder as a pillow in the stagecoach that knows you are a princess in waiting."

"Then he —and you apparently—know something I do not," Ava said, annoyed at his nonsense. "Why do you talk so foolish? Just when I think you are the sane one between the two of us, you say the most annoying things."

"I apologize, Princess," he said, without batting an eye.

If the meal had not shown up at that very minute, she would have walked out and settled for leftovers at the Yaggers' house.

The salmon was cooked to perfection, and the vegetables were delicious but new to her palate. She refused to ask what they were, lest her ignorance turn her into a laughing stock again. Instead, she spoke to the waitress when she came to pick up their dirty plates. "Is it the cook's secret, or does he give out recipes on how to cook these scrumptious vegetables?"

"Not the salmon, but the asparagus or the squash?" the girl asked.

Great, now that she had a name, she went for the gold. "I would love to learn how to cook them for my family."

The cook was standing at the doorway to the kitchen listening in, but now he moseyed on over to the table. "You're new in town?"

"Yes, but I plan on making Blazer my home."

"Do you like to cook, miss?"

"I like to learn new dishes, and I do know my way around a kitchen." It was a bit of a stretch, but if he'd just give her the recipe, she felt certain Gracie could help her master it.

"I'm looking for an apprentice, someone who enjoys the kitchen as much as me. If you're looking for a job, that is."

"A job?" Did she look as if she needed a job?

"Go for it, Princess," Orson said.

"It's been a while since I worked in a kitchen—cooked meals were included in my previous line of employment. I'm sorry if I've misled you." Ava stood, hating that her dinner companion had heard that tidbit of her past, as all information gave ammunition that could add up if he wanted to make a possible guess. "Mr. Shilling, are you ready to leave?"

He eased to his feet, not seemingly in any hurry, and from his billfold dropped a large bill on the table. "Keep the change. I'll pop in later for a coffee before I retire. Thank you for a delicious meal."

Outside, Ava breathed in the night air as if she'd been suffocating. This was all wrong. She was not ready for a job or a romance or…whatever this evening was doing to her insides.

Orson helped her into the carriage he'd rented, and lit the lantern hanging from the corner, before hitting the lines on the solitary horse and trotting down the road. "Are you in a hurry to go home? I found a really nice view from a sandy beach when I was out earlier, if you'd care to see it."

Ava did not trust herself to linger in his company, but she felt helpless to resist. She breathed in deeply, the energy boosting her mood. "The lake view sounds delightful, Mr. Shilling."

Five minutes out of town, he turned the carriage left into a thicket, and stopped. "We need to walk from here." He stepped out, grabbed the lantern, and offered her his hand. "Bring your shawl. It might be cooler by the water."

She grabbed her cape and purse, and when he offered a hand, she took it cautiously, for her good sense was still alert to the fact that she was in a lonely spot in the late evening with a relative stranger. She should be afraid but rarely did a man surprise her anymore, and she did have her trusty derringer tucked away inside her purse. It was a weapon she knew full well how to use.

A few minutes later, the wooded area thinned to reveal a clearing that led to a sandy beach. Not a ripple stirred the water. Its stillness quieted her soul. A brilliant beam from the full moon shone from the far shore to where they stood, bringing the nearby vegetation to a shine in its depths. "A reflective mirror image. It's glorious, Orson."

"Do you realize that's the first time you've called me by my Christian name?"

"I hadn't noticed. I hope you are not offended."

"On the contrary. I've never cared for my name before I heard it spoken by you."

"That can't be true, sir. You were married—surely your wife called you by your first name."

He chuckled. "Iris called me Mr. Shilling or husband dear, but never Orson."

She scrunched her brows and cocked her head to the side, not knowing whether to believe him or not. "You're joshing."

"I'm afraid not. I did say she was eccentric, did I not?"

"I suppose I have never met such a woman. You were quite the gentleman to allow such formality behind closed doors."

"A man does not want to talk about his deceased wife while in the company of a lovely lady such as yourself."

"What game are you playing? You are here on business, and you choose to fill a stranger's head with flattery. What's a girl to think about that?"

He studied her and then backed off. "Perhaps I am concerned about your secret admirer and want to stay close to protect you."

She raised a brow and said, "You are teasing me, sir. I do not fear a person —as his or her identity is still under question—who would send me a welcoming bouquet."

"Are you not the least bit curious?"

"I leave that query entirely in yours and Gracie's hands. You two have enough suspicion to keep the well-wisher at bay."

"You are rather independent, aren't you?"

"It's a newly developed status, and I am enjoying its freedom."

"Did you leave an oppressor behind, perhaps one lying in wait to snatch you back?" His question was asked in a flippant tone, as if playing a spy game with his prey, but it hit Ava with the force of a lightning strike. He reached for her arm. "I'm sorry, Ava. My misplaced humor has upset you."

She sucked the moist air into her lungs, and turned her attention to the lake. "It's a rather unpleasant conversation for this grand setting, Mr. Shilling."

"Oh, I did like Orson better."

"Perhaps you should take me home now," she said.

"I have enjoyed this evening, Ava, more than I expected to?"

"Why would a man bother to invite a woman out if he didn't expect to have a pleasant time?"

"It's complicated."

"I am intrigued, sir. I did not take you to be a complicated man."

"Ah, so, just how do you see me?"

"As a successful businessman, a grieving widower, a father, and a faithful son—although somewhat influenced by his mother, or dare I say, his deceased wife?" Ava added the last remark timidly. He had asked for her opinion but the insecure woman waited to be put in her place.

Instead, he found humor in her suggestion. "Oh? So, you think the women in my life have hen-pecked me?"

"Just an outsider's speculation," she said, attempting to hide her teasing grin.

She witnessed his face mask drop, and his gaze melted into hers. The instant connection drew her in, and if he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her at that very moment, she'd have welcomed his advances. Ava attempted to break the spell, fearing the source of her attraction had come as an old habit but hoping, by some miracle, the attraction was genuine. When her feet finally did her bidding, Ava stepped out of reach, breaking the hold of his piercing eyes and the lure of his closeness.

He cleared his throat, and she watched him summon the mask to reappear. She had no idea it had even existed before that night. It appeared as if Mr. Orson Shilling had a past replete with secrets he was not willing to share. "The night air is getting chilly. I don't want you to catch a sniffle and take it home to your cousin. I'll lead the way back to the carriage."

This time, Orson did not offer his hand. He picked up the lantern from the ground where he had set it and began the return trek. Ava followed behind him, perplexed, and disillusioned by the way her evening had ended.