A Mail-Order Destiny Page 3

  He stilled. "Do you mean to tell me you turned Abigail Winthrop out of your hotel?"

  His tone must've broken through her indignant attitude. She took a step away from him in a defensive gesture. "As I said, I don't allow beggars here."

  Her words astounded him. "You turned a lone woman out of your establishment? A woman of obvious good breeding?"

  "I guess it's all a matter of opinion, isn't it?" She sneered.

  Her condescending attitude was the last straw. "My sister is an heiress, and will inherit millions. Not only did you throw her out, but you've made an enemy of me, and I'll make sure you go out of business."

  The woman opened and closed her mouth repeatedly. "You can't do that."

  He leaned forward. "Oh yes, I can. You have no idea what I'm capable of. Especially when it comes to hotels."

  The woman's eyes narrowed, as if she were about to deliver a scathing retort, but before she uttered a word she gasped, her eyes widening, the color draining from her face. "Winthrop…"

  "That's right."

  "Winthrop hotels. You mean to tell me…"

  Rhys didn't answer, just let the woman continue to fumble.

  Her fan flipped open again, and she fanned her face furiously. Rhys could see her trying to figure out a way to rectify the situation. But there was nothing she could do. Once crossed, Rhys never relented. If the woman had merely been rude to him, he would've let it go. But to think of his sister alone, afraid, out of money, and at the mercy of such a woman, filled him with anger. Instead of helping Abigail, this woman had only injured her further. "I assume the hotel belongs to your husband. Am I correct?"

  "Yes."

  She didn't say anything else, and Rhys thought it was the first smart thing she'd done since they'd met. "I'd like to speak with him now. And if I were you, I would remain out of my sight for the rest of my stay."

  The woman's teeth were set on edge, but she must've thought better of commenting, and held her tongue. "I'll get Mr. Clayton immediately. If you like, I can have him meet you in the dining room. There's a private room you could meet in."

  Although he was starving, Rhys had no intention of sharing a meal with this woman's husband. "His office will be sufficient."

  She nodded, not quite looking him in the eye before gesturing for him to follow her.

  As he trailed behind her through several hallways, he took note of the hotel operations. How the workers moved, how well things were stocked, the upkeep of the hotel in areas that guests never saw.

  As he stepped into Mr. Clayton's office, he said the one thing that didn't make any sense, logically or financially, but felt right. "I'm here to buy your hotel."

  Chapter 4

  By the time he'd settled the paperwork with the bank and had ordered a telegraphic transfer for the funds, Rhys was exhausted and starving. He'd asked for a tray during the negotiations, but it hadn't been enough.

  The hotel was his, even if it would take a bit of time to file proper paperwork to make it completely official. The Claytons were already gone, and gossip was spreading through the employees like wildfire, after Mr. Clayton's announcement about the change in ownership.

  He ate his meal quickly, almost without tasting it, but took note to improve the menu to bring in more revenue. The waiters looked at him anxiously, but he wasn't ready to formally address them yet. He'd look around a bit more before saying anything.

  He walked out of the dining room and into the hotel lobby. He watched the guests coming and going, and realized he might've been wrong, at first. There wasn't a crowd, but people filtered in at a steady pace. The hotel wouldn't be a raving success compared to some of his other ventures, but neither would it be a drain, and this pleased him. Not that it mattered. He would've bought it anyway. There was something about it that pulled at him, and while he didn't often indulge in such whims, he had done so here without even blinking.

  He turned away from his view of the front desk, ready to examine another section of the hotel, when two women and a man stepped to the door, catching his eye.

  His heart heaved a sigh of relief when he saw his sister glancing around the room anxiously, but otherwise looking well. He looked past her and latched gazes with Willow Packer.

  The woman's brow raised in challenge, and he couldn't help but feel amusement. Rhys was used to women who simpered and deferred, choosing to behave subserviently. He thought he enjoyed the delicate nature of those women, but Willow's spirit set him on fire, intrigued him, and made him need to know more. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was strong, and determined.

  And besides that, she'd protected his sister. Regardless of anything else, because of what she’d done, he was indebted to her.

  Abigail's eyes finally fell on him, and she sent him a smile which trembled at the end. But instead of retreating, she pushed forward, and Willow trailed behind her, leaving her bodyguard to linger near the door.

  "Hello, Rhys," Abigail said, her hands down at her sides, gripping her dress.

  He hated to see his sister so distressed over speaking with him. "I'm glad to see you, Abigail. I was worried."

  She looked down, as if ashamed. "I never meant to worry you. I tried to explain to both you and Mother I wasn't ready, but you didn't understand."

  In truth, Rhys still didn't understand. They hadn't demanded she marry anyone in particular, just that it was time to choose a man and settle down. "There will be plenty of time to talk about it, but now is not the right time."

  Abigail glanced around the room, and finally nodded. "We can speak about it again when we have more privacy."

  Rhys nodded. "I'll have our train car connected, and we can leave tomorrow."

  Abigail shook her head. "I'm not leaving. I'm here to speak with you, to reassure you, but I won't be returning east with you."

  "Abigail—"

  "Abby," she said, correcting him. "Here, I'm going by Abby."

  He reeled at what she was saying. She'd never gone by anything but Abigail. "Abigai—Abby," he said, correcting himself. "I don't understand."

  Abby slipped her hand into his. "I know. But just trust me, this is what I need. It's what I want."

  Rhys tried, but he just couldn't accept her answer. He was about to ask for more information, clarification, when Willow stepped forward. "Mr. Winthrop, might I have a moment of your time?"

  His sister looked gratefully at Willow, and after a moment, he agreed. "All right. Why don’t we go back and talk in the office?"

  "The office?" both women asked.

  "I'll explain later."

  They seem satisfied with that. He gestured down the hall, allowing Willow to go first after she waved off Jared. Before he left, he turned to his sister. "We still have a lot to discuss."

  "I know." She straightened her spine. "But know it won't change my mind, Rhys."

  He couldn't help stepping closer and kissing her forehead. "We'll talk about it later." He still wasn't willing to agree to her staying.

  She only smiled at him.

  He nodded to Willow, and the woman turned and made her way down the hall. Trying to remain a gentleman, he kept his eyes on the back of her head, instead of allowing them to trail lower, over her gently swaying curves that kept tugging at his attention. It was more difficult than it should be, but he managed it by pure determination.

  He'd been attracted to many women in the past, women who were more beautiful, more delicate, and everything he thought he liked. But for some reason, none of them stood out in his mind now. Not like Willow did. He wasn't sure why she drew him so completely, and it puzzled him. Which was a problem. He'd always liked puzzles. He liked putting them together, pulling them apart, focusing on each and every edge of the pieces until he understood how they fit together so perfectly.

  He'd never had that kind of fascination with a woman before, and part of him, while intrigued, worried what it meant. It wouldn't be wise to form an attachment to this woman. "Turn right. Second door on the left."

  She
didn't look back at him, just followed his instructions. For some reason, that made him smile. Everyone he knew did what he said. But that was because they were his employees, they wanted something from him, or they were afraid. He knew none of those reasons applied to Willow. No, she did what he said because she felt like it.

  They stepped to the door, and when she paused, he reached for the handle, opening it for her.

  A desk drawer slammed shut inside the room, and Rhys pushed Willow to the side and out of range of whoever was lurking inside. No one should be in his private office.

  He filled the doorway with his towering frame, knowing it was the only way out of the room. "Who are you?"

  Willow had been about to ask Rhys something, but as if realizing something was amiss, she'd snapped her lips closed.

  Rhys tried to block her out, to focus on the man, but her presence there distracted him. He was already thinking of ways to protect her, if it came to that.

  The man inside was dressed in a uniform, but his downward-tilted, flushed face made it impossible to tell who he was. When he didn't answer the question, Rhys took another step into his office. "Answer me. Who are you, and what are you doing in my office?"

  "I'm Connor, Mr. Winthrop, sir."

  "Well, Connor, what are you doing in here, snooping in my desk?" His tone turned grim. "Are you stealing?"

  Connor's face jerked up and Rhys was subjected to a young visage and rounded, blue eyes. "No, sir! I wouldn't, sir. I was only looking for…something."

  Rhys' head cocked. "And what is that?"

  "Well," the young man shifted. "You see, I haven't made my fortune yet, and I was hoping I'd find a clue to lead me to DP's hoard."

  Willow snorted behind him, only confusing him, but he didn't turn to her. "DP's hoard?"

  "Yes, sir. I was hoping there was something here Mr. Clayton kept, or didn't know about. A clue. I thought with the new change in management, I might have a chance to look around." His head lowered again, and Rhys knew guilt wove through the fellow. What he'd done was wrong, but he'd been desperate.

  Rhys had no idea what DP's hoard was, but it was obviously something important. "I take it you didn't find anything."

  "I only had enough time to look in two drawers," he answered frankly, giving Rhys the reason he was looking for to keep him employed. He rewarded honesty.

  Rhys waited until his employee glanced up. "Connor, I know a change in management is a difficult thing. I know things have been problematic around here, but I promise you'll be well taken care of now that I'm in charge. If you are loyal to me. I will let this slide, because I don't know what it was like under Clayton's management, but if you ever do something like this again, you'll be out of a job. Do you understand me."

  Connor brightened. "Yes, sir!"

  "Good. Now leave, and get back to your duties."

  Connor didn't have to be told twice. He made his way across the room, and as he was about to pass, he said, "Thank you, sir."

  Rhys nodded, allowing him to leave, and he watched as the man fled down the hall. He blew out a breath and gestured for Willow to enter the room. She glanced one more time down the hall before stepping in and closing the door. "Well, that was exciting."

  He didn't know why, but he laughed. "Unfortunately, after having caught employees stealing in the past, I'm afraid the excitement has worn off."

  She leaned back against the door. "But as he said, he wasn't stealing. He was looking for clues." Her eyes glimmered with amusement.

  "Is there a difference?"

  "Oh, yes." She pushed away from the door. "Treasure hunting isn't the same as theft."

  "Treasure? Is that what DP's hoard is?"

  She nodded and moved toward the desk, glancing over the papers lying there. "Yes. Since you're new in town, and apparently the new owner of the hotel—" she tapped the official pages on the desk "—congratulations, by the way. Anyway, you should know what you're in for."

  He had a feeling he didn't really want to know. He'd purchased this hotel on a whim. Something he never allowed himself to do, and he'd already had a handful of headaches from it. He gestured for her to take a seat, and sat in his own across the desk once she was settled. "I feel as though we should get comfortable for this explanation."

  Her laugh floated through the air, and he was surprised to find he liked it a little too much. It wasn't forced, like so many women he'd associated with back home, where they felt they needed to give false amusement to appease him. Willow's enjoyment was honest and real, and he found it much more appealing than what he'd been treated to in the past.

  "There isn't that much to the story," she said, settling in. "Apparently, there was a miner who lived here some time back who'd cashed out his claim. He had a hoard full of gold, jewels, and cash, but rumor has it he hid it here, somewhere in the hotel, for safekeeping until he could put it in the bank. Unfortunately, before he could move it and deposit it somewhere safe, he was shot in a gambling hall. No one ever found his fortune."

  "I take it this man was named DP?"

  "Mm-hmm. DP's hoard."

  "So, people believe the cache is still in the hotel somewhere? But no one has found any clues?" The idea intrigued him. He had more money than he could ever spend, but there was something appealing about finding lost treasure. Apparently, that aspect of boyhood never died.

  She shrugged. "That's what people say."

  "But you don't believe it?"

  "I'm not sure. It's just a legend, but legends have to start from something. The fact is, no one knows if it was ever really here. And even though the Claytons wouldn't have allowed their employees to tear the place down, I'm sure they've looked everywhere they could. Besides, if it was here, someone could have found it already and quietly took it home. They wouldn't want to spread the news."

  She was right. That made perfect sense. "True. But I like the idea. In fact," he paused a moment, musing over an idea. "I think we can capitalize on it."

  "Pardon?"

  "Well, people are intrigued with the legend. Perhaps we could spin it somehow, to draw in more business."

  Her straight face turned into one of amusement. "Abby told me a few things about you. How you're ruthless, cunning, a sharp businessman. I believed her, but until this moment, I didn't know how right she was."

  He wasn't sure if he should be offended or pleased with the assessment. "I've never denied my nature. I'm sharp, but I've always been fair. It's not a crime to make money."

  She shook her head. "You'll never hear otherwise from me. I didn't grow up wealthy. In fact, I was a servant in a large house and was forced to flee. If you can make money ethically, I'm all for it. It's why I started my own business."

  As he processed her words, anger filled him. She hadn't explicitly said it, but something had happened to her. Something bad enough where she'd fled and had become a mail-order bride. The thought infuriated him more than it should, but he tamped down the feeling, and focused on the other things she'd said. "You started your own business?"

  She sat up a little straighter. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

  He held up his hands. "Absolutely not. I'm impressed. Not many single women would take on such a venture. What is it you do?"

  "I design and sew luxury gowns. Even though there's not a large percentage of women compared to men in Promise Creek, the women who do live here are in desperate need of good, stylish clothing. I'm filling that need."

  His eyes trailed over her modest, lavender dress, noting the luxurious materials and tasteful embellishments. "Is that one of your creations?" She squirmed in her chair as he continued to look over the gown, and his eyes met hers, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

  "It is."

  "Exquisite." At his praise, she stilled, and her eyes widened. "What? Am I not allowed to commend you for your work?"

  "It's not that." Her eyes went to the floor, as if unable to meet his. "I guess I just assumed you wouldn't appreciate it, or you would see the labor as beneath you."


  He scoffed. "I've already said I'm a businessman and that I work hard, haven't I? I don't frown on getting your hands dirty to make a living."

  "But most men in your position do," she said, knowingly. "I didn't realize how wealthy Abby was at first. At least not until after your visit, when she told me your name and what your family does. Then it all clicked into place. Winthrop hotels. I used to walk past the one in Boston on my way to work each day. It's stunning."

  He knew exactly the one to which she was referring. "It was one of the early ones. Older, established, and grander. What most people expect."

  She glanced around the office. "I would have thought this place beneath you."

  He looked around the interior of the room, taking in the peeling paint, the water stain on the ceiling, the scuffed, worn floorboards that desperately needed to be refinished. He noted all these things, but instead of writing the place off, he saw something else.

  Potential.

  This hotel had the possibility of being something great. "It's smaller than most of our other establishments, but it has a lot to offer. It probably wasn't the best investment, but it'll turn a profit. Honestly though, I wouldn't even care. There was something about it that tugged at me, and I had to have it." He glanced at Willow, and wondered what she thought about such a thing. He'd normally never disclose something that personal to a stranger, but he couldn't help it. The words had flowed out without him even thinking it.

  She sighed. “There is something about it. I have good memories from this place. Not the fire that ravaged the ballroom a little over a year ago, but I've been here more times than I can count."

  He'd seen the newly finished renovations where the fire had damaged the building, but it hadn't been too severe. They were fortunate. He'd seen fire spread so quickly, that at times, nothing of buildings were salvageable. "I hope you'll create more over the years."

  "I hope so, too," she said, before finally blowing out a breath. "We were interrupted by Connor's hasty searching, but I asked to speak with you for a reason."

  She'd turned serious again, and he followed suit. "Speak your mind."