The interior of the building was just as impressive as the exterior. Elizabeth paused to let her eyes roam over the white wainscoting, the wide stairway and the floral sofa near the door. In the opposite corner, to Elizabeth’s right, was a sturdy counter covered with the same wainscoting. A man stood behind the counter, his back to the door, his head bent over a thick ledger. When he stood straight, Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice his height and the breadth of his shoulders under a well-tailored suit coat.
So this was the squatter.
Elizabeth clenched her jaw and prepared for battle. She strode to the counter, ignoring the curious looks she garnered from dozens of patrons milling about the lobby. The air was thick with conversation and the smell of heady cologne mixed with cigar smoke.
She stopped at the counter, but he did not turn.
She cleared her throat, but he must not have heard over the conversation.
Finally, she did something most unladylike and tapped his broad shoulder. “Pardon me.”
He turned, his dark brown hair shimmering under the light above his head, his equally brown eyes holding a hint of surprise. “May I help you?”
Elizabeth swallowed the nerves quivering up her throat. My, but he was a handsome man—much too handsome to be a squatter.
But, then again, weren’t most scoundrels handsome? Her ex-fiancé, James, had been very good-looking.
She straightened her backbone and lifted her chin. “Who are you?”
Humor twinkled in his eyes. “Jude Allen. Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. What are you doing in my hotel?”
His humor subsided, just a bit. “Your hotel?”
“You’re squatting on my property and I demand you leave immediately before I contact the local authority.”
He did laugh this time. “I’d like to see you try to get the sheriff to do something useful around here.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re trespassing and I want you to leave.”
He leaned forward, his hands on the counter, all trace of laughter gone from his deep voice. “I don’t know if you’re trying to be funny or just annoying. If you’re here for a room, I’m sorry, but we’re full because of the ball.” He tilted his head to a set of double doors leading into a ballroom where dozens of people spun about the room.
She put her hands on the counter, too. “I don’t want a room—I want my hotel.”
He leaned even closer, his voice lowered. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want, but this is my hotel. Has been for two years.”
Elizabeth’s lips straightened into a tight line. “This was my father’s hotel, and he left it to me and my sisters. I don’t know who you are, or what you want, but this is my hotel.”
“That’s impossible. I don’t even know who your father is.”
“Clarence Bell, the owner of the Northern Hotel.”
His face became still and he slowly stood straight, disbelief lining his handsome features. “Clarence had a daughter?”
She planted her feet. “Three daughters and we’re here to claim our inheritance.”
They had come so far she wouldn’t let this man stand in her way now.
* * *
Jude couldn’t take his eyes off the beauty before him—the woman who was making such a ludicrous claim. Her sparking blue eyes were filled with determination and certainty. Her gown looked outdated and almost worn through, with frayed cuffs and carefully placed patches. Was she Clarence’s daughter or a desperate woman looking for a free ride?
“It’s impossible,” Jude said. “Clarence never mentioned being married, let alone fathering children.” He had never said much at all, which made their partnership ideal.
The door opened and another woman entered the lobby, her chocolate-brown curls and stunning blue eyes indicating she was related to the woman standing on the other side of the counter. She held a sleeping child in her arms and she looked just as exhausted and threadbare as the first.
“I don’t know why Papa failed to mention us,” the first woman said—though her tight lips and stilted voice suggested she wasn’t surprised. “But, regardless, we are his daughters and heirs to his hotel.”
The conversation in the lobby stilled as several people stopped to listen to their exchange. Jude was highly respected as one of the first business owners in Little Falls. He’d built the American Hotel in 1855, but it had been nothing compared to the impressive Northern. When the Northern had come up for sale just a few months later, Jude sold his smaller hotel to Mr. Batters. He didn’t have enough money to buy the Northern, so he’d taken on a business partner, Clarence Bell. The man was moody and taciturn—though he was a good businessman. He’d taken over the bookwork and behind-the-scenes operations, while Jude worked at the front of the hotel with the customers and staff. It had been a good partnership—until Clarence fell ill and died a month ago.
Jude had assumed he was the sole owner of the Northern after Clarence’s passing...apparently he’d been wrong. But how could he be sure? “Do you have proof? Did Clarence have a will I’m not aware of?”
“I have a letter.”
“A letter? That’s all you have to prove you’re his heir?”
“What else do I need?”
“A legal document, at the very least. A birth certificate, a will—something substantial.”
She anchored her gloved hands on the counter, her voice level, her jaw firm. “My father abandoned us four years ago. The only thing I have from him is a letter.”
How could Clarence have abandoned his own children? “Where is the letter?”
She opened the reticule dangling from her wrist and pulled out an envelope as the other lady approached.
The second woman stood behind her sister and surveyed the room with disdain wrinkling her brow. It was hard to imagine these beautiful women were Clarence’s daughters. They looked nothing like him. The man had been unkempt and disheveled, to say the least. Why had he never mentioned a family?
The first lady handed the letter over to Jude. It was addressed to Elizabeth and Grace.
“I’m Elizabeth,” she said. “This is Grace.” She indicated the other woman. “And the child is our youngest sister, Rose.”
Jude lifted his eyes from the letter and looked at each of the women, his gaze stopping on the sleeping child.
He looked back at the letter and, sure enough, it was Clarence’s handwriting. He’d know it anywhere. And the letter seemed legitimate, written the day before Clarence had died. He apologized for leaving them four years ago upon the death of his wife and asked for their forgiveness. He’d planned to invite them to Little Falls once he had enough money to send for them, but he’d used it all to buy the hotel. As a way of recompense, he offered the hotel to his daughters.
Pain began to pulse in the back of Jude’s eyes as he lowered the letter. This couldn’t be happening. He had gone into the hotel business for one reason only: to rescue defenseless women from prostitution. The profits from the hotel allowed him to help them escape and then give them a job while his cook, Martha, taught them domestic skills. Over the past two years, they had rescued ten women, including his current maid, Violet. The other nine had either married or found jobs far from where they had been enslaved to their former profession.
Jude was driven to redeem the sins of his past, but no matter how many women he rescued, he could never bring back to life the one woman he wanted to save, but couldn’t.
His