The housekeeper avoided his eyes. “The same,” she said stiffly.
That bad. Despite the fact that he and his father had never been close—at least not since he’d been a kid—Bart’s gut constricted.
“I guess I’d better go tell him we’re here.”
“Mr. Emmett knows. He’s resting and said he would see you later.”
Bart swallowed hard and nodded. And only hoped he hadn’t brought his kids to more grief.
THE TERRITORIAL-STYLE building stood a welcome relief—a thing of gracious beauty amidst the ruins of Silver Springs. And the clack of the brass knocker against the door brought a beautiful woman to open it.
Wiping her hands on her lace-edged apron, the woman asked, “Can I help you?”
She quickly smoothed loose strands of thick blond hair from her face and checked the twist at her nape as if to make sure all was secure. The rest of her was equally elegant, Josie noted, from her pearl earrings to her Italian leather pumps.
“Are you Alcina Dale?” Josie asked in a hesitant, soft voice.
“In person.”
“I understand you rent rooms.”
Entrenched on the porch, face half-hidden by the shadow of a Stetson from which spilled her tangled light brown, shoulder-length hair, Josie felt anything but elegant herself.
“This is the Springs Bed-and-Breakfast,” Alcina agreed, eyeing the single, aging leather bag Josie had dropped on the porch.
Josie knew what she must be thinking. A typical guest of a place like this wouldn’t wear jeans ripped at the knees and dusty, down-at-the-heel cowboy boots, or a stained denim jacket slipped over a white T-shirt. But the town didn’t have a regular boarding house, which is what she’d been hoping to find. This was the best suggestion the guy at the gas station could come up with.
Suddenly she realized Alcina was staring at her waist, where an inscribed silver buckle proclaimed her initials to be J-W. Self-conscious under the close scrutiny, Josie brought a hand to her belt and quickly covered the engraving.
“The problem is…um, well…I’m looking for work.”
Alcina sighed. “The seasonal tourist rush is over, and I really can’t afford to pay for help.”
“I—I thought maybe if you had a really small room, you might let me help you around here for my keep…. All I need is a place to sleep and some food until I get a job. Then I’ll pay you with real money.”
The note of desperation in her own voice grated on Josie. Sighing, she glanced down the twisted road that made up Main Street. Nothing for her there. Only a handful of occupied storefronts waged war against abandoned buildings and rubble left behind fallen structures.
“You’re thinking you’ll find work in Silver Springs?” Alcina murmured ruefully.
“It doesn’t seem likely, does it? I’ve never seen a town still alive and so dead at the same time.”
“Decades ago, Silver Springs was thriving. That’s when my daddy and his two partners discovered a new lode of silver in the abandoned mine…but then the lode ran out. The town hung on for a while as if it could breathe life back into itself. But over time, everything changed. Businesses got tired. People got tired. Silver Springs just up and died. So, honey, unless one of the ranches around here needs a day worker, I’m afraid there’s nothing here for you.”
Having been nearly ready to plead for help, Josie firmly tightened her lips and nodded. Her eyes misted over as she stooped to lift her bag…and she winced because the movement hurt.
She noticed that Alcina had quickly glanced to the street behind her, no doubt looking for a vehicle. But she had no car and no money…no way of getting anywhere else but her thumb.
Sweeping a tangle of hair out of her face, Josie turned to go. Alcina stared, eyes wide. Josie knew she’d caught a look at the nasty bruise along the left side of her temple and cheek. She tried to hurry away then, before explanations were necessary, but the other woman put out a staying hand.
“Wait.”
Shoulders pressed down by the burden of having nowhere to go, Josie hesitated without looking directly at Alcina. She hated needing help. Hated being pitied as if she were a kicked dog or something as equally pitiful.
“What’s your name?” Alcina asked.
She softly replied, “Josie,” as she put her free hand to her middle, fingers tracing those initials on the belt buckle. She thought quickly. “Josie…Wales….”
“Josie Wales—now where have I heard that name before?” Alcina mused, pulling her mouth as if thinking about it. “Are you originally from these parts?”
“No.”
“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, does it?” As if unable to help herself, Alcina said all in a rush, “I do have a small room off the kitchen that I don’t rent to tourists. Actually, it’s my ironing room, but there is a single bed and a dresser—nothing fancy.”
Josie snapped up her head. “I don’t need fancy.”
Relief poured through her, lightening her load. She blinked rapidly, stopping herself from outright crying.
Alcina rushed on. “And I guess the whole house could use a spring cleaning.”
“Spring?” Josie started. “But it’s fall…isn’t it?”
Confusion. Again.
Alcina said, “That it is, but it’s hard to get good help in a ghost town at any time of the year.”
“I’m willing to do anything you need.”
“C’mon inside, then. I’ll show you to your room, and after my guests finish their breakfast, I’ll feed you and give you the grand tour. You look like you could use a little rest. Then maybe later you can walk over to the grocery store and pick up a few things for me.”
“Anything! Thank you.”
Alcina stepped back to let her in. And yet she appeared troubled, as if she worried that she might have reason to regret her simple human kindness.
The flesh at the back of Josie’s neck prickled at the thought.
One last look out to the empty street reassuring her, she stepped inside and took a look around at the elegant Victorian decor, as, behind her, Alcina Dale firmly closed the door against the unknown.
FEELING A WHOLE LOT better on a full stomach and from a lie-down, and with the knowledge that she would have a roof over her head that night, Josie Wales set off for the small grocery store at the other end of Main Street.
Other end.
Three whole blocks, with only a handful of establishments lining the winding street cut through low hills open for business—café, law office, bar, whatnot, doctor’s office, home-and-feed, church, grocery, gas station.
And in between sat skeletal buildings in various stages of decay—reminders of a more prosperous era, as were those railroad tracks that went nowhere but along the boarded-up stagecoach stop. The single-story building of volcanic rock had wooden porches traversing the entire length of each side. Other rutted dirt roads on either side of Main Street led to a few dozen homes whose size, condition and state of occupancy varied, as well.
Just outside of Silver Springs, what was left of a row of miners’ shacks stood testament to the town’s origin—the old silver mine. Some were little more than stone foundations. As she’d hiked in from the highway, she couldn’t help but notice a strange-looking couple—squatters?—scurrying about the area, setting out displays that appeared to be made of animal bones. Odd, but nothing to unsettle