The Risk and the Reward (Kansas Crossroads) Read online

  Deborah Glendale was certainly a beautiful young woman. Grant couldn’t find anything to fault her for along those lines. She carried herself with a grace and elegance that would have served her well in an English court, and her skin was as flawless as silk. The difficulty was that she had absolutely no personality whatsoever. She had no opinion about music, books, religion, politics, or even the flowers in the garden—her sole interest was in parroting what everyone around her said. The last time Grant had seen her, he’d spent an interminable twenty minutes trying to extract any original thought from her head and had come up empty. It looked as though that experience would have to be repeated tonight.

  He stepped forward to greet her. “Good evening, Miss Glendale.”

  “Hello, Mr. Douglas. How nice to see you here tonight.”

  “It was an honor to be invited.” Grant glanced from side to side to see that her parents had melted into the background as soon as Deborah had arrived. How subtle. He held out an arm. “Shall we get some refreshments, or would you rather dance?”

  She smiled up into his eyes. “Whichever you would prefer.”

  “I’d rather hear your preference, Miss Douglas. I will do whatever you choose.”

  Her smile faltered a bit. “I’m sure you’re a much better judge of that, Mr. Douglas.”

  He lowered his arm. “I’m not going to choose, Miss Glendale. In fact, I’m not taking one step from this spot until you determine where we shall go.”

  She looked around as though seeking help. Finding none, she turned back to him. “I . . . I would rather sit in the garden than anything. If that’s all right. If you’d rather get something to drink, we can certainly do that instead. I—”

  Grant held out his arm, and when she took it, he escorted her out through the double doors and into the garden. Once they were seated on a bench, he said, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “I . . . I suppose not.” She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. “It’s such a lovely evening, isn’t it?”

  “It really is. Tell me, Miss Glendale—what have you been doing with yourself lately?”

  “Oh, nothing much, really. I’d rather hear about your doings.”

  He bit back a sigh. This was going to be a long evening.

  ***

  By the time the train pulled in at the Topeka station, Sybil was well and truly worried. Lady Douglas had seemed all right when they boarded the train in New York, but as the days went on and they experienced the hassle of occasionally changing trains and the discomfort of the constant rattling, she had become more and more tired. Sybil had noticed a slight cast of gray to her skin, and she didn’t think the woman looked at all well.

  “I believe . . . I believe we should stop here for a bit,” Lady Douglas said, looking out the window toward a tall hotel next to the station. “I’m quite weary.”

  “The conductor did say they serve a nice dinner at this hotel,” Sybil replied.

  “That’s not quite what I mean. I’d like to rest here for a few days before we continue on,” Lady Douglas clarified. “Will you please arrange it?”

  “Of course.” Sybil was so glad for the change in plans. Not only did she need a break as well, but a rest would do Lady Douglas a world of good. No one was meant to go straight from ship to train without a sizeable break in the middle. Lady Douglas had insisted on reaching California as quickly as possible, though, and there had been no talking her out of it.

  Sybil found the conductor and explained the situation. He promised to get the baggage handlers on the task of finding all their things, then offered to escort the two women over to the hotel himself. “I eat here regularly,” he explained. “They make a cherry pie that’s my particular favorite.”

  When they reached the hotel lobby, Lady Douglas introduced herself to the kind-looking young woman at the counter, then paused. “I wonder if I might have a tray brought to my room,” she said. “I’m suddenly feeling very low.”

  “Of course,” the woman replied. “I’ll see to it personally.” She flicked her eyes over at Sybil with concern. “Will you be wanting a doctor, Lady Douglas?”

  “Oh, no. I don’t think that’s necessary. Some food and some rest are all I need.”

  “Very well.” The woman turned and called out, “Adam? Could you come?”

  A tall, well-groomed gentleman came from the back room. “Yes?”

  “Would you mind helping Lady Douglas upstairs? I believe her trunks stay down here in the baggage room, but the rest go upstairs.”

  “Of course.” He picked up the four satchels as though they weighed nothing. “Room two?”

  “Yes, please. And room one.” She gave him a smile.

  “Right this way, ladies.” He turned and began to climb a large staircase that extended off to the left of the front desk. Sybil took Lady Douglas’s arm and followed, noticing how heavily her employer leaned on the railing as she went.

  The man reached the second room along the hallway and opened the door, then set the bags on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Welcome to the Brody,” he said, giving them a slight bow. “We hope you’ll be very comfortable here. This is our nicest room, Lady Douglas, and we trust you’ll let us know if anything is amiss so we can set it right. Which bags belong in room one?”

  That seemed rather obvious—Lady Douglas’s bags were new and shiny, where Sybil’s was anything but. She realized, however, that he was allowing them some dignity in the situation.

  “Mine is the brown one there on the left,” she said, and he scooped it up with a smile.

  “I’ll deliver this for you on the way down. My name is Adam Brody, and again, please let us know if anything is needed.”

  Lady Douglas raised a hand. “I beg your pardon. You’re Mr. Brody? The man for whom this hotel was named?”

  He smiled again. “That I am.”

  “And you carried our things up here yourself rather than employing the bellboy to do it for you?”

  “Why would I want to ring for a bellboy when I’m perfectly happy to help you myself?” He gave them another little bow. “Get yourselves settled in, and your tray will be up in a moment.”

  “Well, I certainly never,” Lady Douglas said after the door closed. “Can you imagine the owner of our regular hotels carrying luggage? It’s just unheard of.”

  “I think it’s kind,” Sybil replied. “Let’s get you comfortable, milady. What would you like to wear?”

  Lady Douglas sank onto the edge of the bed and looked around a bit feebly. “I’d like to get ready for bed,” she said at last. “A nightgown and robe, please.”

  “Of course, milady,” Sybil replied, although she couldn’t have been more shocked if a bear had come parading through the hotel lobby. As she pulled the right clothing from the bag, she tried not to worry too terribly much. Lady Douglas would eat, go to bed, and begin to regain her strength while she rested. She had been seventy on her last birthday—that was certainly grounds to feel fatigue on a trip.

  Chapter Four

  Another telegram. Grant scowled at this one before shoving it in his desk drawer. His mother had decided to stay over in Topeka for a few days, citing weariness from travel. His mother was never weary. Something was wrong.

  And Topeka? What a place to choose. He remembered Topeka from his own journey to the west. It was a hot, dusty town, a bit loud, more men than woman, and rough around the edges. It seemed that Topeka was where the west truly began—everything up to that point had seemed rather civilized, but from then on, the language became more crass and the general behavior seemed more primitive. Yes, he had to admit that even though he’d stopped using his title, he was still somewhat of a snob. He was working on improving himself in that regard, but it did creep back from time to time.

  “Is something wrong, sir?” Margaret asked, coming into his office with a stack of letters in her hand.

  “Nothing, really. Just a note from Mother saying not to expect her for another week. She’s staying over in Topeka.”

  “That’s a shame. I was looking forward to meeting her.”

  “And you shall meet her, but not for a little while longer. Apparently, she wants a rest before coming the rest of the way.”

  “In Topeka? Why there?”

  “My thought exactly. She said she found a nice hotel. I supposed I should take some comfort from that.” He motioned toward the letters she held. “What have you there?”

  “I believe this top one is a letter from Mr. Glendale offering to buy the property you were going to sell Mr. Wells.” She set everything on his desk. “I was rather intrigued.”

  “Hmm.” Grant picked up the letter and perused it. “I suppose I impressed him sufficiently enough at our meeting to warrant this sort of offer.”

  “Was it the meeting, or was it the cocktail party?” Margaret asked teasingly.

  “I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary at the party. In fact, it was the dullest evening I’ve ever spent.” Grant set the letter down and leaned back in his chair. “Then again, I can’t remember the meeting going much better. Good grief—I don’t think I impressed him at all. Whatever is he making this offer for?”

  “Maybe he really wants the land,” Margaret suggested. “You don’t always have to be suspicious of ulterior motives, do you?”

  “I don’t like to be, but my past experiences have made me very suspicious indeed.”

  She grinned and leaned on the edge of his desk. “My sister was right—you Englishmen are too uptight for your own good. Come out with us tonight. We’re going to a party, and I don’t mean one of your boring business parties. I’m talking about music and dancing and good food.”

  “My boring business parties are helping build up the west coast, I’ll have you know. In years to come, people will be flocking here because of what we’ve created.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that at all. But couldn’t you have a little fun while you’re at it? And my mother would be so pleased to know that you were escorting us—a proper gentleman.”

  Grant shook his head even though he was smiling. “You’re determined to drag me into your world, aren’t you? These offers of marriage, invitations to parties—just what are you up to, Margaret?”

  “Nothing, I promise you. But haven’t you ever heard that all work and no play makes Mr. Douglas a dull boy?”

  Grant laughed. “Yes, I have heard that, but not with my name inserted.”

  “It’s very versatile—it suits all sorts of people. Right now, it suits you. So, what do you say, Mr. Douglas? Will you come?”

  “I’ll consider it. Let’s see how much work we can get done today, all right?”

  “All right. I sent off that letter you asked me to write up, and you have an appointment at noon on Monday with Mr. Leatherwood. I already arranged for the buggy to be made ready for that, and I also ordered it for Tuesday when you’re having lunch with Mr. Sims.”

  Grant nodded. “Very good. Thank you.”

  “Just wanted to show you that it’s possible to have fun and still be a competent worker.” She walked toward the door of the office, then paused. “If you want to go, we’ll be heading out around eight.”

  “Thank you, Margaret.” She certainly had a way of trying to drive her point home. Grant would think about it, as promised. The idea of music and dancing did sound fun, but going out with an employee felt awkward. Wasn’t it best to keep a professional distance, especially when he knew she was hoping for something more romantic, something he could never give her?

  ***

  Dr. Wayment took a step back from the bed, his examination complete. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Miss James, but your employer is suffering from heart disease, and it appears that she hasn’t got much longer. Does she have any family?”

  Sybil grasped the bedframe and stared at the doctor’s kind face. “She . . . she has a son in San Francisco. We’re on our way to see him now.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” He reached out and patted Sybil’s hand. “You must remain here until everything is settled with Lady Douglas. You noticed how quickly she fell asleep just now? She’s exhausted, and will only become more so. Her heart isn’t beating strong enough to carry the blood through her entire body as it should. This isn’t a new condition, either—has she mentioned anything to you before now?”

  “No, never. She has been getting tired more easily, but she just grumbled about old age and how it wasn’t fair to lose her energy when there was so much more she wanted to see or do that day.” Sybil couldn’t believe what was happening. Lady Douglas couldn’t be dying—there must be some sort of mistake. “Are you certain, Doctor? Isn’t there the slightest chance of a misdiagnosis?”

  “I wish that were the case, but I’m quite sure. Her son must be sent for at once, and he mustn’t waste a minute in getting here if he wants to see her.” The doctor gave her hand another pat, then put his things back in his bag. “I’ll check in again later, but at this point, all we can really do is make her comfortable. There’s no cure, no healing balm, nothing to hope for.”

  “You make that sound rather bleak,” Sybil said, a catch in her voice.

  “I don’t mean to come across that way, Miss James. I just want you to understand the reality of what we’re facing. Do you know anyone here in the States?”

  “Not a soul.” Sybil lifted a shoulder, trying not to sound as helpless as she felt. “To be honest, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

  “Send for Lady Douglas’s son. At the very least, he ought to buy you passage back home. If he doesn’t, I’m sure there will be a way.” The doctor gave her a nod, picked up his bag, and left the room.

  Sybil sank into the chair next to the bed. When she’d asked Mrs. Brody to send for a doctor that morning, she hadn’t expected this sort of outcome at all. She thought that Lady Douglas was extra tired and perhaps needed a tonic. Just how long had she been pushing forward like this while her body was failing her? And had she known she would die on this trip? Surely she couldn’t have—she would have had her son come home to England, wouldn’t she?

  Her son. That’s right—Sybil had to stay focused. She crossed the room to the writing desk and tried to think of what to say. She’d never had to deliver such bad news in all her life.

  Chapter Five

  “The orchestra is quite good, isn’t it?” Margaret’s sister, Elaine, asked as Grant escorted her back to the table.

  “It is. I haven’t done the two-step for quite a while—I hope I didn’t embarrass you too badly.”

  “Of course not. You did a very good job. I imagine you’re more accustomed to waltzing.”

  “Quite a bit more accustomed, yes. And I’m afraid I don’t take well to new dances—I’m not the most coordinated fellow you’ll ever meet.”

  They reached their table and sat down. Margaret had returned before them and was chatting gaily with Tom, their new friend she had met just moments before. Grant smiled to see her so happy. She was never down for long—his constant rejection of her wouldn’t leave her injured forever.

  “It’s kind of Mrs. Rogers to allow us to use her home like this,” Grant said, turning back to Elaine. “This is such a grand ballroom—it seems a shame to use it for such a causal party.”

  “Mrs. Rogers doesn’t care what sort of gathering it is as long as it fills her home with laughter. She lost her older son to a terrible sickness five years ago, and now she allows her younger son to throw all his parties here. And believe me, he does throw a lot of parties.” Elaine glanced around the room and then gestured. “There he is now—Archie Rogers. He’s not yet twenty-one, but everyone in San Francisco either knows him or wants to know him. He’ll probably go into politics or the law or something—that’s where his talents seem to lie.”

  “I’ll be sure to thank him for playing host on my way out,” Grant said.

  Just then, a footman appeared at Grant’s elbow, holding a telegram. “This just arrived for you, sir.”

  Elaine raised an eyebrow. “How did they know to find you here?”

  “I left word at my apartment building where I’d be. I have a few land sales pending and I didn’t want to be out of contact for too long.” Grant took the telegram and thanked the young man. “Looks like it came from Topeka.”

  “Another note from your mother?” Margaret asked from across the table. He didn’t think she’d been paying attention to their conversation.

  “Has to be.” Grant slid his finger along the length of the page and opened it. He was expecting an update on his mother’s arrival, not what he actually did see. “Oh, no.” He half rose as he read it again. “I’m sorry—I must leave at once.”

  “What’s the matter, Mr. Douglas?” Margaret asked.

  “My mother’s been taken critically ill, and the doctor says I must come at once if I want to see her before . . .” He swallowed. “Are you ladies all right to find your way home? I don’t mean to be rude . . .”

  Elaine touched his sleeve. “Be rude! Of course we’ll be all right. Do whatever you need to do.”

  “Thank you. I promise, it’s been a very nice evening.” Grant nodded, then left the party as quickly as he could, barely stopping to collect his hat on the way out. He had other hats—leaving one behind would hardly be a tragedy.

  Once in his apartment, he grabbed a bag and shoved a few things into it. He had to stop and take a deep breath—he was so rattled, he’d grabbed all socks and no undershirts. Dumping everything out on the bed and starting over, he counted out equal numbers of everything, not even sure how many to take, hoping there would be a laundry service of some kind when he got there.

  He buckled the latch on his bag, then sank down on a chair and put his head in his hands. This couldn’t be happening—not really. His mother was one of those forces of nature, one of those amazing cosmic beings that could never be brought down or destroyed. It was crazy to think that she was lying in a bed in a hotel in Topeka, of all places, apparently dying. It was a mistake, a ridiculous mistake, and when he got there, he’d find that it was someone else’s mother and they’d notified him accidentally.