Bride Sews with Love in Needles California Page 2

  Meghan tightened her grip on her valise handle and headed toward the front of the train and the baggage car. The sooner they tracked down Natalie’s trunk, the sooner they could get into the shade. She had expected to be battling a damp, sweaty feeling, but a dry breeze evaporated any perspiration instantly. She moistened her lips, only to find them dry a moment later.

  They had to wait in line at the baggage car as cart after cart of luggage and US Mail and supplies for the hotel came out first. Finally, one of the workers was free. Natalie turned over her trunk ticket to the dark-skinned man with flashing, white teeth. “Shore enough, ma’am. I’ll get your luggage over to the hotel with the rest. One of the bellhops will take it to your room.” He accepted the nickel Natalie placed in his large, big-knuckled hand.

  “Let’s get out of this sunshine. I’m wilting.” Natalie tilted her head so her hat-brim would shade her face. Meghan’s own hat, a small sailor-style, offered little protection. Heat prickled her fair skin. Her face would probably be as red as an apple by the time they got inside. If she wasn’t careful, she’d walk around with a red, peeling nose for the next six months. Sunshine always deepened the despised freckles covering her face. Not all the lemon juice in the world would lighten them if she spent much time out of doors here.

  A large sign emblazoned in white letters near the lobby doors directed the way to the lunch counter, and another on the other side pointed the way to the dining room.

  Natalie put her hand on Meghan’s arm and stopped her in a thin patch of shade cast by a straggly tree. “We might as well wait a few minutes here. The conductor said the head waitress won’t be able to meet with us until all the passengers have been served anyway.”

  Meghan didn’t mind delaying their meeting with the woman who would have charge of their lives for the next six months, though she refused to acknowledge any hesitancy. Instead, she gave free rein to her curiosity and let her eyes take in her surroundings from the relative coolness of the shade. Her sense of adventure crowded out her anxiety, and she tried to see everything at once. “Someone on the train said there was a park across the street from the front of the hotel. Santa Fe Park? The company put it in when they built the hotel. He said there were trees there. It will be nice to have a place to sit in some shade every once in a while.”

  “I have a feeling even the shade here in the summer would bake a lizard.” Natalie turned her face toward the hot breeze, lifting her bangs and closing her eyes.

  Eventually passengers began trickling out of the hotel and boarding the westbound train. On the other side of the passenger train, a freight train sat roasting. From a car near the front of the freight train, a pair of men lethargically lowered a ramp, banging it off the hard-packed dirt. A man emerged from the dark, square opening, leading a horse. He handed the animal over to another worker and disappeared. In moments, a string of animals stood in the sunshine, and the workers removed the ramp and closed the doors. The poor animals must be positively wilting, stuck in that boxcar. She hoped they had a nice, shady place to go to, one with water and a breeze.

  A man in a straw cowboy hat strolled by, capturing her attention. His shoulders stretched the fabric of a faded blue shirt, and well-worn jeans covered his long legs. Battered boots scuffed the concrete, and his steps were so slow and measured, she wondered if he’d ever hurried in his life. He barely glanced at her, touching his finger to his hat brim and dipping his chin. Something about his face intrigued her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. He continued on toward the hotel doors, and Meghan shook her head when she realized she had wandered out of the shade to stare after him.

  She returned to Natalie’s side, staying out of the way of the travelers boarding the train. One of the passengers, a woman with two small children, dropped a bag and spilled the contents across she hot concrete. Meghan handed her valise to Natalie and hurried over to help the poor mother as the engine whistled and the train puffed smoke, signaling its imminent departure.

  “Thank you. Thank you,” the woman said again and again as she grappled the baby, who started to cry, and the toddler who wanted to get too close to the train wheels.

  “Hurry. Climb aboard.” Meghan stuffed a toy dog, a string of wooden spools, and a crocheted blanket into the bag.

  The conductor came trotting toward them and lifted the toddler. “Whoopsie-daisy! All aboard!” He handed the woman up into the train and scooped the child onto his arm, a cheery smile on his face. Inexorably, the wheels began to move. Swinging his set of steps aboard, the conductor hopped onto the platform with a wave.

  Meghan stepped back a pace as the train picked up speed. Movement to her left caught her eye, and she noticed the string of horses being led down the wide sidewalk toward them. The train whistle pierced the air in a quick blast, and Meghan raised her hand to wave at the conductor who leaned out from the train saluting her.

  His expression changed from cheery to alarmed, and he pointed behind her, his shout drowned out by another whistle blast. She turned and froze. One of the horses had broken free of its handler and bore down on her at a gallop. A rope trailed from its halter, and with a wild, panicked neigh, the animal leaped a stack of flour sacks in its way and raced toward her. She gathered her skirts to leap out of the way of the juggernaut, but she was too late to escape a collision. The horse brushed her shoulder, sending her spinning. The impact threw her toward the train. She staggered, let go of her skirts, and cast out her hands to brace her fall.

  Lord, help me!

  The prayer screamed through her head, but she couldn’t make a sound. The cars whizzed by, gaining momentum as she flailed, teetering on the edge of balance. Her throat squeezed shut, and she knew she was falling toward the iron wheels.

  At the last moment, strong hands yanked her back. She collided with a solid wall of chambray and muscle. Arms came around her, absorbing the violence of her headlong sprawl.

  Caleb McBride had just finished folding the shipping papers and tucking them into his shirt when a shout and a loud neigh grabbed his attention. One of the horses he’d come to pick up had broken free from the string and now barreled up the sidewalk straight toward an empty-headed woman who didn’t even have the sense to get out of the way of an oncoming horse. He tried to sprint her way, but the instant his left foot hit the ground, a shaft of pain and weakness shot from his heel to his hip, and the limb almost buckled beneath him. He gritted his teeth and forced himself forward, praying no one saw his hitching gait. Thankfully, at the last instant, the horse veered away from the woman, only grazing her. She staggered, her arms windmilling, but she was flailing the wrong direction, toward the moving train instead of away from it.

  He reached her as she staggered only inches from the side of a car. His fingers closed on the fabric of her shirt, near her waist, and spun her away from the cars and into his arms. This time as the pain shot up his leg, it buckled beneath him and down they went, scrunching his shoulder into the sidewalk. She landed atop him, shoving the air from his lungs.

  “Meghan, are you all right?” Another woman, silhouetted by the sun dazzling his eyes, bent over them.

  So the woman in his arms was named Meghan. She didn’t respond at once, and he feared that in saving her from the train, he might’ve hurt her. Then she stirred and struggled, sinking her elbow into his diaphragm.

  “Oof!” The sound shot out of him. He looked up into the most striking pair of green eyes he’d ever seen. Green as new grass, and only inches from his face. Freckles peppered her nose and cheeks, and her little mouth gaped as if gasping for the air she’d knocked out of him. He vaguely remembered nodding to her on his way to the freight depot.

  “I’m so sorry.” She scrambled off him in a flurry of limbs and skirts. Her hat sat askew, dragging her fiery curls out of their pins. He caught a glimpse of shapely legs in black stockings and white lacy edging of a petticoat. With a flick, she tugged her skirts into place so they fell just above her pretty ankles.

  Massaging his
middle, he tried to ignore the pain radiating up his left leg. Carefully, he rolled to his right side and pushed himself to his feet. “Are you hurt?” Her near-miss sent weak ripples through him. If she’d been killed, it would’ve been his fault. Those horses were his responsibility, even if he hadn’t been the one leading them through the train yard.

  “I’m fine, I think, thanks to you.” Her voice quivered, and her hand shook a bit as she righted her hat. “I thought I was a goner.”

  “You almost were.”

  “Whose horse was that?” The other woman spoke up, full of indignation. “Whoever it was should be held accountable, letting an animal like that run loose on the sidewalks.” Her blue eyes snapped fire and a hint of color tinted her cheeks.

  Caleb stooped to pick up his hat and rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. “It wasn’t done on purpose, I assure you, miss. I apologize for the accident, and I’m glad no one was injured.”

  A bit of the heat went out of the blond woman’s expression, and she took a shuddering breath. “Are you saying the horse was yours?”

  “That’s right. The train whistle must’ve spooked him into bolting.” Something he’d have to make sure he trained out of the animal in the next few weeks. He took a couple of steps back, and the redhead’s eyes widened.

  “You’ve hurt yourself. Did you twist your ankle? You’re limping.” She reached for his arm, and he stepped away again, angry with himself.

  “I’m fine. No harm done.”

  He glanced up the track and breathed a sigh of relief. Someone had managed to capture the escaped horse and now led it back toward the hotel. He couldn’t afford to lose any horses, nor could he count on the goodwill of the people of Needles if the animal found its way onto the streets. Hot pain raced up his calf and behind his knee, but he set his jaw and whacked at some of the dust covering his pants and shirt. He leaned all his weight on his right foot and dried to ignore the messages from his left boot.

  The girls gathered their scattered belongings and brushed themselves off. He studied them from under the brim of his hat, the blond with the arched brows and even features and the redhead with windblown hair and color now so high it nearly obliterated her freckles. Not as immediately pretty as the blond, but a face one would remember. Especially those eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. McBride, he bolted on me.” The man leading the rest of the horses drew near. He took a greasy kerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “I couldn’t hold him.”

  “That’s all right, Al. No harm done, as it turns out. They caught the runaway and are bringing him back now.” He motioned up the line.

  The fugitive animal arrived at the same time as Mrs. Gregory in full sail, her white uniform more blinding than the sunshine glaring off the hotel, appeared. She stomped the ground with nearly as much force as the gelding had, and she blew and sputtered more, too. A formidable woman, Mrs. Gregory. If she kept a list of people she disliked—and Caleb figured she probably did—his name would reside at the top. In capital letters. And maybe underlined. Her eyes glittered, and she looked loaded for bear. Dread settled in his chest.

  “Are you Miss Thorson and Miss Daviot? I’ve been expecting you inside. What are you doing out here with this—this person?” She pulled herself up to her full height, which was tall enough to look him square in the eye, and she tilted her head to stare down her skinny nose. With a scornful snort she turned to the girls. “What on earth happened to you two? Harvey Girls do not appear disheveled, ever, and Harvey Girls do not loiter outside the hotel, especially not with the likes of him.” Her mouth pinched like she’d just drained the vinegar barrel.

  He stuck his hands into his back pockets. “And a good day to you, too, Mrs. Gregory. I hope you’re feeling well? You look a mite liverish. Perhaps you should stop in to see Doc Bates. I’m sure he has something for biliousness.” He smiled at her just to get her goat.

  “Mr. McBride, take your filthy animals away. The hotel sidewalk is no place for horses.” She made shooing motions toward the girls to get them moving and muttered a constant stream of indignant complaints as she headed toward the hotel. The girls picked up their bags. The blond hurried after her, but the redhead—Meghan—lingered for a moment.

  “Thank you, sir. That was very brave of you to come to my rescue.”

  Her words twisted the ever-present knife in his gut. Brave. He swallowed and nodded.

  “This way.” Mrs. Gregory’s command sliced the air. Meghan lifted her valise, holding her hat on and tripping along with the light steps of a schoolgirl.

  She thought he was brave. A shame that she’d soon be told otherwise.

  Chapter 2

  Following in the head waitress’s wake, Meghan barely had time to note the EL GARCES carved over the entryway or the floor-level fountain splashing gaily in the open-air courtyard. In the lobby, arrangements of wicker chairs and sofas clustered in cozy groups, and potted palms rose majestically, splashes of green against the white walls. Ceiling fans spun slowly, and she soaked in the relative coolness. The hotel’s designers had known what they were doing. Thick concrete and high ceilings, ceramic tiles and splashing fountains all combined to thwart the oven outside.

  “Don’t straggle.” The head waitress, identifiable as much by her commanding manner as by the all-white uniform they’d been told to expect, turned at the base of the staircase and stopped, crossing her arms and pinching her lips. A handsome woman with bold features, dark eyes, and hair streaked with gray, she reminded Meghan of her Aunt Penelope. All starch on the outside but soft as pudding on the inside. You just had to crack the outer shell to get to the real woman.

  “I’m sorry. I was admiring the beautiful lobby.” Meghan shifted her case to her other hand and tucked a strand of hair off her face. “How many guestrooms are there?” Perhaps the woman was just hard to get to know at first. Or really busy. Running the restaurant and lunch counter and overseeing all the wait staff couldn’t be easy.

  “Sixty. Please try to remember you are not a tourist.” Icy frost blew through the woman’s voice. “This way.”

  Meghan shot a look at Natalie, whose eyes widened. Her shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug, and she followed their new boss up the stairs. Meghan took one last glance at the newsstand and front desk and mounted the staircase, her footsteps sounding loud on the tile.

  On the second floor, they traveled down a long hallway punctuated with doors. “These are rooms for the paying guests. The staff is housed at the end.”

  Meghan hustled to keep up, her bag hampering her. They turned a corner and entered a narrower hall. “Are there a lot of girls working here?”

  “You two make twenty. The minimum I need to run a successful establishment. I asked them to send me at least six experienced servers and they sent me you two, green as tadpoles. Not only did they short me, but they didn’t even take the time to train you properly. Now I’ll have to take over the task.” She let her glance flick over Meghan. “Look at your hair and dress. How am I supposed to turn you into a credit to the company? You”—she motioned to Natalie—“you at least show some promise. Have you ever worked in a restaurant before?”

  “No, ma’am. This is my first job.”

  “Heaven help me. And what about you? I don’t suppose you have any experience either?”

  Meghan tamped down her ire and smiled. “No, but look on the bright side. We won’t have any bad habits that you’ll have to correct. We’re like clean slates, all ready to be trained in the way you see best.”

  This didn’t seem to impress the starchy woman.

  “You two will share a room, the second on the right. You’re expected to keep your room clean and tidy. Inspections are frequent and unannounced. Your uniforms are in the closet. Kansas City sent along your sizes. You are responsible for sending them to and retrieving them from the laundry downstairs.” The tall woman checked the timepiece on her lapel as she stopped before a white door. “Be downstairs in uniform and ready to work in thirty minutes.”
She opened the door to their room, stepped back, and turned on her heel to head back the way they’d come.

  “Excuse me.” Meghan almost shouted. She was tired, disheveled, and suddenly fed up with being condescended to. She let her suitcase thump to the floor. The woman stopped, keeping her back to the girls.

  “What?”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “You may call me Mrs. Gregory.”

  Meghan gave in to impulse. She jogged down the hall and circled around Mrs. Gregory to stand in front of her. “How do you do?” She stuck out her hand. “My name is Meghan Thorson, and it’s a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you for the next six months.”

  Mrs. Gregory sniffed so hard her nostrils sucked inward. “Miss Thorson, I suggest you turn your attentions to preparing yourself for work. No doubt it will take every single one of the now”—a quick check of her watch—“twenty-eight minutes you have left.”

  She left Meghan standing, hand outstretched, in the middle of the hallway. Meghan blew her bangs off her forehead and grimaced, letting her hand fall. So much for thawing out the old girl. She headed back to her room, scooping up her suitcase by the door.

  “You shouldn’t have twisted her tail like that.” Natalie opened the closet door, took out a black uniform, and held it up. “At least the laundry is right here in the building. It shouldn’t take much time to get uniforms back.”

  “I wonder where the laundry is here. In the basement? And can you imagine how hot it must be working there?” Meghan sat on the side of one of the beds, testing the springs. “I’m surprised they don’t have laundry facilities at every hotel. I meant to ask during that whirlwind orientation why they only had two laundry centers. Seems odd to ship everything to Needles or to Kansas then ship them all back again.”