Violet Page 5

  Violet decided it would be pointless to get upset every time he cursed. Just as long as he didn't do it in front of the girls. Besides, she was fascinated by this facet of Jeff Randolph.

  "I'm surprised you got Essie to open up. She's terribly shy with everyone else."

  "She's just lonely," Jeff said. "All she wants is a little attention."

  Violet knew it was more than that. She hadn't been able to reach Essie in three months of trying. Yet Jeff had her chattering away like a normal eight-year-old in one afternoon.

  "How do you propose to make her father come when no one else has?"

  "Call in his loan. It's overdue."

  She should have guessed. Isn't that what all bankers did?

  "It must be nice to have such power."

  "I'm not interested in power. Just money. Making loans is one of the ways I make it."

  "Well you need to take some time off, or you'll get a brain fever and do something crazy."

  "I never do anything crazy, and I frequently work around the clock."

  Violet should have known it was pointless to try to be helpful or considerate, but she tried anyway.

  "You can't work all night while you're here. The girls must get their sleep, and you make a great deal of noise. Besides, your staff should go home to their own dinners. Their families must be waiting for them."

  "I mean to let them go at nine o'clock."

  "Seven," Violet said.

  "Nine."

  "I have already given Beth orders that nothing is to be brought up after seven o'clock."

  Mr. Randolph clearly wasn't used to being thwarted. But after only a small pause, he said, "I'll guess I'd better make sure I have everything I need before then. Now if you'll put that down, you'll be free to attend your girls."

  "I'm waiting for you to clear a place on your desk."

  "I don't intend to clear a space because I don't intend to eat it. However, if you insist upon leaving it, you can put it on the floor, the bed, anywhere you like."

  Violet opened her mouth, reconsidered her words, and said, "I don't approve of wasting food."

  "Neither do I, so I suggest you take it back downstairs. Good night, Miss Goodwin. I have work to do."

  Violet was not accustomed to being dismissed, but she had been, quite unmistakably. It was a severe strain on her temper. But since she prided herself on her control -- it was an essential part of her job -- she made the effort. She had to remain calm. She had to spend five days with this man.

  "Good night, Mr. Randolph. I'm sorry your accommodations aren't better. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know. Breakfast will be at 8:15."

  He merely nodded. Violet left, trying not to dislike him for preferring columns of numbers to herself. After all, she didn't like him either.

  * * * * *

  Jeff paused in his work to stretch. He looked at his watch. 3:27 am. He got up and took a few turns around the room to get the stiffness out of his muscles. He yawned but wasn't sleepy. He had to go to the bathroom. He would have to use the one downstairs. Noisy contraptions. Jeff had never gotten used to them, but Tyler had insisted every room in his new hotel have one. He wondered what Miss Goodwin thought about them.

  He picked up his lamp and started downstairs. He stopped when he realized her door was open. He frowned. He wondered why she didn't lock it. She ought not trust him. Men very often weren't what they pretended to be.

  Not that she was in any danger. He wasn't immune to her allure, but he wouldn't have entered her room if she had invited him. If a Southern woman couldn't accept him, how could a Yankee?

  He had tried to put the failure of his last trip to Virginia out of his mind, but the wound was still raw.

  He'd met Julia his first day there. She was lovely, exactly the kind of woman he'd hoped to find. Her beauty and serenity reminded him of so much he had lost. Nothing had been said, but hope had been born and nourished. If it hadn't been for that terrible accident, he might have made an irrevocable mistake.

  A wheel had come off during a carriage race. He could still hear the splintering of wood, the horrible screams as a man's body was torn by wood and metal. He was the only one who knew what to do. He remembered from the war. Shouting orders, he'd torn off his coat, ripped his shirt into pieces with his teeth to help staunch the blood.

  Jeff had seen Julia recoil. He had hoped it was a reaction to the carnage, even the unexpected sight of his bare chest. That night he knew it was his arm. The change was subtle, but it was unmistakable.

  The scrape of his footsteps echoed softly in the stairwell. That had been nearly ten years ago. He hadn't been back to Virginia since even though he knew in the end he must return.

  He had no intention of trying to discover if Violet Goodwin were more broad minded. Being used to her brother's wounds, she probably wouldn't flinch. But he didn't want to be accepted because she had seen worse. He wanted to be thought of as being whole, complete. He wanted to be thought of just like anybody else.

  It would be a cruel irony if the first woman to do that was a busybody from Massachusetts.

  He reached the lower floor and entered the first bathroom. He set his lamp down and raised the toilet seat. He'd better lock the door. If one of the girls wandered in before he finished, she'd probably start screaming. That foolish Yankee woman would be bound to think he was doing something unspeakable.

  Jeff wondered what she was doing in Colorado. She didn't dress like a housemother. Who was she trying to impress with those extravagant gowns? He had to admit the strong colors formed a wonderful contrast with her hair and eyes, but that was out of place in a girls' school dormitory. It was a good thing this wasn't a boys' school. He didn't like to think of the erotic dreams her presence would evoke.

  Jeff finished his business and flushed the contraption. He cringed at the resulting commotion. If they were to catch on, somebody would have to figure out how to make them sound less like a flash flood roaring down a mountain canyon. He expected half the girls to stick their heads out of their rooms. But when he entered the hall, all the doors were closed, the hall wrapped in silence. He started up the stairs.

  He wondered what she did when she went out. She must leave the school occasionally. Any sane adult would go crazy locked up here with sixteen little girls all day, every day, week after week. But she had been in quarantine for more than a week. That almost made him feel sorry for her.

  He paused outside her door. He didn't know why. If she were to suddenly wake up, he'd have a hard time explaining what he was doing.

  Jeff went back to his room, his steps a little more rapid than necessary. He'd better get his mind off Violet Goodwin and back on his work. Specifically, he needed to study the Chicago futures market. Prices were behaving erratically. If he was lucky, he would make a great deal money.

  * * * * *

  Violet jerked awake. She could swear she had heard the sound of a rachet outside her window. But no sound disturbed the morning quiet. She looked at her time piece. 6:17 am. She lay back and burrowed under the covers. Winter had come early to Denver. It was bitterly cold in the attic.

  She wondered what Mr. Randolph was doing. He had been up when she went to bed, the door to his room open, light pouring out into the hall. Even after she had gone to bed, she had heard him moving around. He had probably worked far into the night. Hopefully he would sleep late this morning. She would appreciate some time without having to deal with him.

  Besides, she was still trying to figure him out.

  She had jumped to the conclusion he was a mere flunky in a bank. It turned out he not only ran the bank, he owned it. She had decided he was cruel and without any human kindness, but he had shown both kindness and understanding to Essie.

  She had been wrong about him twice. Could she be wrong in every other way?

  No. He was an arrogant Southerner, bitter about the war and the loss of his arm, bent on taking it out on the rest of the world, especially Yankee women. But the way he acted with
Essie proved he hadn't always been that way.

  What had caused him to change? It wasn't just losing his arm or losing the war. Too many men had gone through both without it altering their characters. Something more had happened. She doubted she would ever know. Jeff Randolph didn't strike her as the kind of man to share his secrets, especially with a Yankee.

  You're just trying to make excuses for him. You've been completely bowled over my his looks, and you're looking for a way to make him into someone you can admire. Don't. He seems to enjoy being an irascible recluse.

  It was true she had been mesmerized by his looks. She had lain in the bed for a good half an hour the night before, aware he was only a few feet away, aware only a thin wall separated them, shocked she should be feeling this way.

  She wasn't a young, impressionable girl. She was old enough to know there was a great deal more to a man than looks. She was also well aware his personality was far from charming. Yet she'd even dreamed about him. Clearly she had been locked away in this school too long. She hoped Harvey asked her to dinner again soon. He wasn't as attractive as Jeff Randolph, but he was certainly more charming. That ought to stop her from--

  The rachet sound started again. There was no mistake this time. Violet threw back the covers. The cold bit into her flesh. She reached for her robe, wrapped it around her. She slipped her feet into slippers and hurried to her window. Her eyes grew wide with surprise.

  She saw several men milling around below. They had rigged up a kind of hoist outside Mr. Randolph's window. She couldn't tell what they were bringing up, but it looked like large circles of metal. She couldn't understand what he could want with something like that.

  Her first thought was this was a wonderful solution. He could get anything he needed without disturbing her or the girls.

  Then she became aware of a feeling of discontent. She told herself she hated losing control of the situation, of not being able to monitor what he did. But she knew it was more than that. She was disappointed she would have no reason for further contact with him.

  How could that be? Maybe she was just jealous he had out-thought her. Any man clever enough to do business with the smartest men in America could certainly outmaneuver a nurse from Massachusetts who couldn't even get her own silver mine back.

  She thought of asking him to help her but discarded the idea immediately. She had no intention of being involved with him one minute longer than necessary.

  The noise was terrible. She was certain none of the girls could sleep through it. She left her room. When she reached Jeff's doorway, she stopped, startled. He hadn't changed clothes. He hadn't been to sleep. Neat bundles of papers covered most of the bed. Three of those iron disks lay on the floor. He reached out to take a fourth from the lift.

  "What on earth are you doing?" she demanded.

  Jeff turned toward her, a bewildered expression on his face. "What happened to you?"

  Violet's hand went instinctively to her hair. It cascaded over her shoulders like a lion's mane. She wore a faded blue housecoat. She probably looked like a frump.

  "If you mean I look unsightly enough to explain why I'm an old maid, I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself." He continued to stare at her. "I was waked out of a sound sleep by your infernal machine," she said. "I haven't had time to repair the damages of sleep."

  "No damage," Jeff said, staring at her without apology. "You look pretty."

  Violet wanted to believe him, but she didn't dare. If she did, no telling what foolishness she might start to believe.

  Then he smiled, and she was nearly undone. How could he stay up all night and still look so deliciously attractive? He didn't even have bags under his eyes.

  "I prefer a woman to wear her hair down."

  "And go around in faded robes, threadbare slippers, with no cosmetics."

  "It makes them look more like the women I knew before the war."

  The lift arrived, and he lifted another cast iron disk into the room.

  "What are those?"

  "Weights. Since I can't go to my trainer, I've had him send the equipment to me."

  She watched as he held an iron disk between his knees and anchored one end of a bar through the hole in the middle. He did the same with the other end.

  "What do you do with the others?"

  "I add them as I go along. Now unless you wish to watch me strip down to my waist, I suggest you go back to your room."

  He seemed amused by her consternation.

  "But you've only got one arm. How are you going to lift such a thing? It could fall on you."

  Some of the ease went out of his expression. "Then I shall hope you and the twins rush up and lift it off me before I expire."

  "I doubt all of us could lift that together."

  "Then I guess I'd better not drop it on myself."

  He was mocking her. It was unfair. She was only expressing concern. Locking Denver's most important financier in her attic was bad enough. Letting him kill himself was more than she could contemplate at the moment.

  "You're not going to haul your clerk up on the lift, are you?"

  "I was tempted, but you'd probably hold him hostage as well. Then there's the problem of where he would sleep. You're not willing to share your bed, are you?"

  Violet flushed crimson.

  "I didn't think so. So I plan to let him go home to his wife tonight."

  "He probably hasn't seen her since yesterday, poor women. Undoubtedly he spent all night rounding up that infernal machine and putting it up. What time did your men arrive?"

  "Shortly before five."

  "Five!"

  "It could have been earlier. I wasn't paying attention."

  "Do you drive all your employees like this?"

  "Ma'am, my employees are well paid. If they wish to leave, my recommendation will secure them a position in any bank in Denver."

  "And how many have you worn out so far?"

  "I haven't worn out anybody."

  Her look was skeptical. "Don't you want to keep good people around you, reward them for work well done?"

  "The world is full of capable employees. If one can't keep up, I can find one who can."

  He wasn't human. Couldn't he see he had turned his mind into machine. He was using those weights to do the same thing to his body. He would destroy himself just as surely as Jonas had done.

  "The girls won't have their breakfast until more than an hour from now."

  "Don't worry. My clerk will send my breakfast up the lift. He'll take the dirty dishes away the same way."

  Somehow she was annoyed he had taken that out of her hands as well. He was cutting off all contact between them. That bothered her.

  The door at the end of the hall opened, and Essie Brown peeped in. She broke into a smile when she saw Violet.

  "What are you doing up so early?" Violet asked.

  "I came to see the man."

  "I think it would be better if you went back downstairs. He's not ready for company. And try not to wake the other girls."

  "They're all up."

  "Well, go back anyway. You can come up later."

  Essie was disappointed, but she disappeared down the stairs.

  Violet turned to Jeff. "It's your infernal lift."

  "You have only yourself to blame. You wouldn't let your maid bring anything up from the parlor, and you cut my men off at seven last night. I had to do something."

  Violet decided it would be best if she didn't say what was on her mind. When she realized he had the audacity to look disappointed, she was determined to make no reply.

  "I figured this would free your maid to go about her duties," Jeff said, "and the twins to start getting into trouble again."

  "It's quite possible Miss Settle will have something to say about that," Violet said, unable to think of any way to stop this man from taking over her building. "I expect to hear from her this morning."

  "Let me know what she says."

  He began to undo the buttons
on his shirt. Violet decided if she didn't leave, he'd probably take his shirt off in front of her just to see what she would do. She returned to her room. She seated herself before her mirror and began to brush her hair.

  She tried hard to subdue her irritation at Mr. Randolph, but she was tempted to give in to her anger and throw something at him. He certainly wasn't trying to curb his temper.

  She put down her brush and began to pin her heavy hair in place.

  Jonas had been unfailingly pleasant, even cheerful, from the day he came home from the hospital until he died ten years later. He always thanked her for everything she did for him. But he had decided to die, and she had been unable to stop him.

  She wondered if Mr. Randolph had ever felt that way. His injuries weren't as severe as Jonas's, but she'd learned the most severe wounds were to the spirit, not the body. They were also the most difficult to heal. Mr. Randolph's temper might be the result of some hurt he couldn't heal. There was no way to know what he felt, what he might be hiding. She should suspend judgment until she knew more about him. She certainly had to give him credit for what he had accomplished. And she now had proof his achievements were the result of hard work.

  Violet pushed the last pin in her hair and turned to the task of choosing her dress. She opened the doors of the large wardrobe, the only piece of furniture in her room beside her bed and her dressing table. The dresses inside were striking and lovely, but there were so few of them. She found herself mentally planning so she wouldn't wear the same dress twice while Mr. Randolph was here. She wanted to slap herself for being so foolish. She shouldn't have thrown away her nursing uniforms.

  She didn't want Mr. Jefferson Randolph to think she liked him. Some women may be able to overlook his character because of his money and position. She was not one of them.

  Violet was shocked at the path her thoughts were taking. The strain of confinement must be getting to her. It was absurd to think of this man in that way. She might think more kindly of him than he thought of her, but since he thought of her as something akin to a Biblical plague, she could actively dislike him and still come out ahead.

  Besides, she wasn't interested in marriage. She wanted to get her money, go back to Massachusetts, and find a way to help women who had sacrificed their lives as she had sacrificed hers.