Why Not (A Valentine Matchmaker novella) Read online

  Stone met her eyes, relieved she’d brought her sense of humor today.

  “They’re just wary of strangers at this time of year,” Dutch explained. “This here’s Barley. Been around almost as long as the river, but much slower at cutting his way through rock.”

  “What this fool means is, I’m a miner. Got a few claims down there,” Barley pointed, “and across thataway.”

  She nodded with interest. “So what are you finding these days?”

  Barley stuck his thumbs in his suspenders, that about-to-get-wordy look in his eyes. “I started for gold, then silver, nowadays it’s asbestos and the occasional band of copper.”

  She put her hand out. “How nice to meet you, Mr. Barley.”

  After their handshake, Stone stepped between them. “I told Barley that you’d like to know more about the canyon. Might as well hear it from the horse’s mouth while you have the chance.”

  “That’s the nicest thing you’ve called me this week, Stone.”

  Stone turned at the light touch on his arm.

  Miss Wynott’s already rosy face brightened with curiosity. “I’m sorry. I have to ask. Is your name really Stone?”

  He leveled a warning at Barley, though it would likely encourage him, and then turned his back on the old geezers. “That was my grandfather’s name and I sort of picked it up when I apprenticed with his friends.”

  “Then he’s no longer around?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry. May I ask your given name, then? I’m curious.”

  He reached out to shake her hand. “Curious? Unusual, but I think I’ll stick with Miss Wynott. And you can call me Mr. Morrison.”

  “It’s a mystery.” Barley came around from behind him. “He won’t tell any of us.”

  “Of course, nothing compares to a moniker like Stone,” she said.

  “I have a brother named Mason,” Stone added, driven by an unexpected desire to hear her laugh again.

  “You do?” she asked, incredulous. “What great fun.”

  “Even if it’s not true.” Those pink lips and sparkling eyes made him forget why he didn’t want her around.

  “Come on, Miss Wynott,” Barley suggested. “Let’s find ourselves a seat near that monstrosity of a fireplace. We’ll let this man get back to work, and when he’s ready for a rest—yes, it’s true, even the mighty Stone Morrison has to rest occasionally—he’ll tell you how he got this place to where it is today. A fancy pile of rocks.”

  “Don’t let my boss hear you say that,” Stone warned him.

  Barley’s wiry brows danced in delight.

  ~

  Amber’s mind raced with all the history and local lore Barley had imparted, but she didn’t let on that she recognized some of the names he’d mentioned—names she’d overheard during her uncle’s complaints. Hopefully the locals wouldn’t hold her last name against her.

  Barley lumbered away, visibly tired, when he excused himself from her company. The cavernous room was conducive to napping, especially with the pleasant rumble of men’s voices beyond the windows.

  Once she stepped outside, the crisp blue sky held the scents of damp earth. The sunshine had vanquished the overnight snow. Lovely.

  Completely distracted, she bumped into Mr. Morrison.

  Behind him, Barley removed his hat and waved a goodbye. “You remember what I told you, young man.”

  When he’d gone, Mr. Morrison’s frown compelled her to speak. “Not bad news, I hope.”

  “He warned me to be more pleasant company for a fine lady such as yourself.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? I was short-tempered yesterday. It takes forever to get supplies up here. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  Amber appreciated more than his effort to be friendly. There was no denying those broad shoulders and muscular arms and legs matched yesterday’s Mr. Morrison, but today he was clean and smelled as fresh as the pines surrounding them. She watched him proceed from place to place. He’d be quite nice to come home to, not that she planned to marry for a while. And of course when she did, she’d need a supportive, well-educated husband—one with the income to give her the freedom she required.

  What was he up to? “Have you lost something?”

  “My tool belt is missing.”

  “I’ll help you. What does it look like?”

  “A tool belt.”

  She popped her hands on her hips. “That helps considerably,” she replied and joined the search. “Mr. Barley hinted at the land claim problems. Now I know that the Sante Fe and the Fred Harvey Company have outcompeted everyone for tourists.”

  “You don’t expect me to speak against the company that pays me, do you?”

  She continued her search. “No.”

  He lifted the lid off of a wooden crate, and mumbled under his breath. “I have friends on both side of the issue, so I stay out of it and do my job.”

  “Speaking of job—”

  “Start with the blueprints. I’m going up on the roof, but Jonathan over there,” he gestured toward a stone arch, “the gent who keeps glancing your way? The one with the contest-winning mustache? He’ll be happy to show you where they are.”

  “You left your package by the wall. May I get it for you?”

  “I’ll look at it later.”

  She followed him as he walked the perimeter of the building. Why not just read the mail and be done with it? “I’d be anxious, if it was me.”

  Mr. Morrison continued his search inside. “I envy your enthusiasm.”

  She ignored that. “Do you live around here?”

  He ignored that.

  “When did you last see it?”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “My house?”

  “No, your tool belt.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Yesterday. As to my home. I don’t have one. When these sites are finished, I hope to continue on to the next project for Miss Colter.”

  Amber followed him across the massive main room and into a smaller one—one she hadn’t noticed before. “She did mention that. Oh, I’d do anything to go with you.”

  Mr. Morrison’s face froze.

  “It’s not…” Not because. Heavens! “You know I’m hoping to apprentice with her someday,” she reminded him, refusing him a moment of satisfaction. Of thinking her the type swayed by brawn and a handsome face. She sat, holding his gaze. Daring him to argue with her. Daring him to get that glint in his eye again. “If we both have our way, we may be working together. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

  He didn’t answer. In fact he didn’t even grumble, but simply rushed out the door. What a strange man.

  She took stock of the room. An old lamp, a small trunk of clothes, and the rough wool blankets under her hands. A lumpy pillow covered with ticking. The pleasant fragrance of his spicy soap.

  She hurried to her feet.

  Her face burned with embarrassment as she scurried out of his bedroom.

  ~

  Miss Amber Wynott was a distraction. Pure and simple. She challenged everything he said. Miss Why Not was more like it.

  Stone pitied himself all the way up the ladder and as he picked his way across the roof. He hated it up here, with its uneven surfaces. The higher the condors flew, the more they enjoyed their freedom. They knew what held him to the ground. Somehow they knew.

  Miss Wynott didn’t lack for confidence. To hear her talk, she’d soon be employed by Fred Harvey. Of course Miss Colter had been encouraging, despite her penchant for straight-talk. Even so, she’d be hesitant to send away a gal with such connections.

  He stood on the lower edge of the roof, thankful for its gentle slope and unexpected beauty. Movement caught his attention. Miss Wynott watched him, her hand cupped at her brow to block the sun. From here, she appeared to be teetering at the precipice of a three mile drop.

  Stone’s stomach twisted, plummeted, and took all his breath with it. His arms fought for balance as he dropped to his knees, fight
ing the blasted panic.

  Until the weakness in his legs abated, he’d remain up here. After all, even a short fall off a ladder could mean death. How he’d managed to spend months next to the biggest, deepest hole in the world, he’d never understand. Someday he’d get over this fear of heights. He loved working with stone…underground, on the ground, or a few steps up. But no roofs for him.

  Please, God, get me through these canyon jobs. Even as he said the words, he admitted he was good at asking for protection but not so good at asking for guidance.

  ‘Banking will keep your feet on solid ground,’ Father had argued.

  True, but banking didn’t make him eager to rise each day and go to work. With the accolades this project would bring, the Fred Harvey Company was sure to promote him as lead on all future masonry projects and there were more to come.

  The Fred Harvey Company was out to civilize the west. Gratitude for his part of it helped reduce the shaky feeling in Stone’s legs.

  Now, where was Grandpa’s tool belt and chisel?

  “Stone, you up there?”

  “Yes.” From the edge of the roof, he watched Barley amble toward the ladder.

  “Got a question for you.”

  Stone wiped his face with his bandana. “What is it?”

  Barley pulled a small pad of paper and a pencil from his coat pocket. “I’m writing this here…now, don’t you laugh, but I’m writing a sermon.”

  Stone didn’t bother hiding his surprise. “And…”

  “And I’m thinking of starting up some Sunday meetings. It’s been awhile since we had a preacher.”

  “Can’t hurt.”

  “So I’m wondering if you could help.” He licked his finger, then flipped through the pages. “Here it is. Pride goes before a fall. And folks, this is a bad place to take a fall.” He looked up. “Good, huh? But tell me. Is there one or two Ls in humility?”

  Barley did have an odd sense of humor.

  “One.”

  “Ah-hah! I was right.” He waved and started off toward his mule. “Maybe I’ll see you at the prayer meeting, then?”

  “Maybe.”

  Chapter Three

  Fissile—a tendency to split; prone to being divided

  Amber squinted into the sun. “Mr. Morrison? I can’t see you.”

  He mumbled something as she approached the ladder.

  She allowed herself a satisfied grin. Mr. Morrison wasn’t so perfect after all. She’d seen such naked fear on his face, her own knees wobbled as she glanced across his line of sight. No wonder he preferred looking up at the condors. He wasn’t capable of looking down from the rooftop. He’d been there one moment, then out of sight the next.

  “Shall I come up and join you? Bring your canteen?”

  “I’ll be down in a moment,” he countered. “But you do as you please.”

  She huffed. So much for his pleasantries. How many knew of his fear of heights?

  She’d hold that little nugget of information for the future. A gal had to use the tools at hand when competing in a man’s world. She went to the edge of the rock wall protecting visitors from the sheer drop. Had he done this work, or passed it on to that womanizer Jonathan with the handlebar mustache and roving eyes.

  Twenty feet below, a metal tool glinted in the sunlight, flashing like a distress signal as she moved her head to identify the scrappy strip of leather next to it on the ledge.

  Behind her, the wooden ladder squeaked. Soon a pale Mr. Morrison appeared. He pulled a kerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his face.

  Amber planted her hands on her hips. “Are you offering a reward for your tool belt?” That stopped him in his tracks. She retraced her steps and pointed over the rock wall. “Right down there.”

  He marched toward her, his mouth tight. “Not likely I’d have left it there.”

  But when she leaned to look over, he grabbed her arm.

  She pulled away. “I wasn’t going to fall.”

  “Good.” He kept his eyes on hers, even as he let go and strode away.

  Neither one of them would be climbing down to get it, but she couldn’t manage to leave him alone. “How far are we from the border?”

  “Mexico? I have no idea, miss. Haven’t thought of it.”

  “No, I suppose you’ve been too busy to keep up with the news.” Still no response. The more reticent he became, the more compelled she was to chat.

  Jonathan reappeared, leading a horse. “I’m going up to the hotel, Stone. Anything you need?”

  “I still have to finish notes for the boss’s budget meeting. I’ll have work for the blacksmith by day’s end. Oh, and Miss Wynott has something to show you.”

  Jonathan’s face melted into a warm smile as he walked toward Amber.

  Clever move, Mr. Stone Morrison. Amber led Jonathan to the edge and pointed down. He didn’t have any qualms about the sheer drop, nor about standing close to her. Very close to her. She cleared her throat and put space between them.

  Jonathan confirmed it. “Good thing you saw it, Miss Wynott. You’re our good luck charm.”

  She offered a polite shrug and stepped back again. “How did it get there?”

  Mr. Morrison had followed them part way, and Jonathan glanced toward him before answering. “If you ask me, this is just the latest incident. One whole set of drawings went missing. We later found the empty canister tossed over in the brush.”

  “Why would someone do that?”

  Suddenly, Mr. Morrison was pulling her away from the canyon’s rim. “Listen, Miss Wynott. Miss Colter asked us to satisfy your curiosity, but I must ask you to keep this to yourself.”

  “So it’s not an accident?”

  “Hardly.”

  Amber felt a little sick herself. Something like the look Stone had near the canyon’s edge. Then what Uncle William claimed was true. The locals were actively fighting progress, but she knew the men running the show. Not even a death would stop construction.

  “I’ll get it, boss,” Jonathan announced, tossing his hat aside.

  “Oh dear,” Amber said. “Do be careful.”

  Jonathan grinned. “You wait right there and watch.”

  “That’s enough nonsense, Jonathan. No showing off.” Mr. Morrison walked away, shaking his head.

  ~

  Wednesday used to be his favorite day.

  Stone opened the folding stool and placed it on the far side of a stand of junipers. Peace and quiet. It was well past lunch by the pitch of the sun. He opened his meal bucket to cold ham and fried potatoes, but not even the big chunk of cornbread looked appetizing.

  Someone had thrown his belt and chisel—grandpa’s chisel—over the edge. He was more disappointed than angry. He’d been supportive of the locals and had chosen to ignore the small acts borne of frustration. The missing blueprints. The wagon full of supplies pushed over the edge at the other worksite. He wished Jonathan hadn’t mentioned things like that in front of…

  “May I join you, Mr. Morrison?”

  “Miss Curious. Pull up a boulder.”

  “I won’t be a nuisance. Dutch should be here soon.” She checked out a feminine version of a pocket watch on a more delicate chain and chose a spot on an outcropping. Then she brushed the backside of her skirt as if it would insinuate dust onto his good furniture. Pleasing as she was to observe, he didn’t feel like small talk after what had happened this morning—the tomfoolery with his tools, and the moment of panic on the roof.

  She tipped her head, ready with questions. “Do you have any sisters, Mr. Morrison?”

  “Just call me Stone.”

  “It’s much too informal.”

  “Very well. Two sisters. One brother.”

  “Your brother. Mason?”

  Stone chuckled. “He only acknowledges his given name. Charles. And you? Sisters, brothers?”

  “Three brothers. All vying to gain favor at the railroad. The competition is quite tiresome. I suppose all brothers are like that.”

  �
��Not necessarily.” He’d left his brother Charles to make his way at the bank, and benefit from Father’s position with the new federal banking board. But Charles didn’t have the tenacity for business, nor the drive to achieve. Stone, on the other hand, took after the old man. The perfect heir. But banking was the last thing he wanted to do and the reason he and Father hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words in the last five years.

  “And your mother?” Miss Wynott asked. “She must be proud of your work here.”

  “She keeps busy at home. Any talk of business upsets her.” Especially if it has to do with ladders.

  Miss Wynott frowned.

  He’d said too much. Ulysses G Morrison II, grandson in the biggest banking firm in St. Louis should keep his over-educated mouth shut. “And your mother? Has she encouraged your desire to design buildings?”

  “She believes I must find out for myself what I’m capable of.” Miss Wynott leaned forward and lowered her voice. “She’s quite progressive.”

  Well then.

  She took a long swig of water from her brand-new canteen before tossing the mail packet between them.

  Stone picked it up. “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?”

  “You noticed.”

  “Then I’ll open it. By all means.” With a satisfying rip of paper, the packet released five or six letters, all forwarded from Harvey Company headquarters. One from his mother, and he checked the post mark. “What’s the date today?”

  “I think it’s the eleventh. Why?”

  He ripped open the letter.

  It is time to come home. I’m worried about your father. Please don’t tell him I wrote to you. Mother

  Two weeks since mother had written. Two weeks she’d waited for word, and the truth of it crushed him. “Excuse me” finally croaked out of his throat. “Please excuse me.”

  He rose and left her, stopping to rest his hand on outer wall of their massive fireplace. He examined his handiwork. The forethought and skill he’d put into all he’d accomplished. Everything he could be proud of. But was it worth the harsh words he’d left home with? The selfish way he’d shaken off the burden of his old life only to have it land on him here with such force?