girls, too. He makes that same sound whenever he sees one.”
“I see.” She’d have to be careful never to say or do anything that would cause Flynt to suspect she was anything other than the lady she appeared to be. If he were to find out about her days as a saloon singer, his opinion of her would surely change. He might even refuse to work with her.
Minutes later Harvey pulled up in front of Maybelle’s place. George jumped to his feet. “Wait a minute, Jessie. I’ll run and get that chair on the porch for you to step onto.”
Flynt stood. “No need. I’ve got it.”
He held out a hand, helped her to her feet and leaped from the back of the wagon. She waited at the edge of the bed.
“Lean over and put your hands on my shoulders.”
The chair suddenly seemed a much better idea, but she complied. He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her to the ground. The short flight through the air left her light-headed. Or had her breathlessness come about because he’d raced to her rescue?
Ever since she’d discovered the story of Cinderella as a girl, she’d dreamed of a handsome prince sweeping her off her feet. Flynt might not be a prince, but he was kind, chivalrous and handsome. With his thick, wavy hair and that warm smile...
No. He was grinning. And she was staring.
She mentally shook herself and stepped out of his hold. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. See you tomorrow.” He reached into the wagon for her lunch pail and drawing case, handed them to her and doffed his hat.
She stood entranced as Harvey turned the wagon around and headed back downtown. What would it be like to have a gentleman like Flynt interested in her? A decent man who knew there was more to her than a “pretty face” and a “lilting voice,” the only attributes the men at the High Stakes had cared about?
Because of her disreputable past, she would never know.
There. She’d done her best.
Jessie faced Flynt’s drawing board the next day shortly before noon, studying her most impressive work to date. She massaged her lower back to ease the stiffness.
Footfalls signaled Flynt’s approach. He stopped behind her, and she felt a gentle pressure on her shoulder. Surprised by the unexpected contact, she turned and looked at his large, masculine hand resting there.
He jerked it away. “I’m sorry.”
She wasn’t. His gesture had meant nothing to him, of course. But it meant something to her. Acceptance. That was what had increased her heart rate. Not the memory of his hands on her waist the night before and the resulting warmth that had spread through her. She stifled a smile. “Shall I file my drawing and get to work on the next?”
A red flush crept over the collar of his white shirt. “By all means. I’ll get you set up.”
Trace joined them. “Whoo whee! That’s quite the drawing, Jessie. I’d be hard-pressed to trace it, let alone draw it.”
She appreciated the young man’s enthusiastic support, but she didn’t want to attract any more attention. The draftsmen had been passing by her station or stopping to chat all morning. “I’m sure you’re far more capable than you think.”
Flynt nodded. “That’s true, Trace. Once you pick up your pace, I’ll be able to give you more challenging assignments.”
Trace’s eyes widened. “Do you mean that, sir? Of course you do! I’ll work hard. You’ll see.”
Kurt ambled over. “So is the golden girl finally finished?”
Several retorts flashed through Jessie’s mind, but she kept them to herself. Instead she laughed and patted her hair. “No gold here. Just lots of red.”
“Auburn, actually.”
Flynt’s unexpected comment took her aback. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he was observant. But noticing elements of a drawing or comments by a colleague was different than noticing a woman’s hair color.
“And a beautiful shade of auburn it is, too.” George joined the group gathered in front of her drawing.
A rap on Corby’s office window drew their attention. The manager stood behind the glass shaking his head and frowning. Not a good sign.
“Gentlemen, I need to get Jessie started on a new drawing. Return to your boards, please.” Flynt’s firm tone sent the men hurrying back to their drafting tables, leaving her alone with him. He flipped through his notebook.
She used the time to study him. Learning to read a man’s character had become a means of survival. After spending just two weeks at the High Stakes, she had been able to determine which men were harmless, which would require a firm hand and which to avoid altogether.
Unfortunately, Miss Maggie’s girls hadn’t had the luxury of refusing to entertain a paying customer, a problem Jessie had never faced. Ace had promised that no one would bother her, provided she allowed everyone to believe she was his little lady. And no one had.
She’d come to know the Lord during those difficult days. He’d protected her and helped her leave that life behind.
Based on what she’d seen on the way home the day before, Flynt had a strong dislike of saloons and wouldn’t set foot in one. She certainly couldn’t imagine him ogling a woman the way Ace’s patrons had ogled her. Flynt had shown her kindness and consideration from the outset. Working for such a man would be a pleasure.
Kurt muttered something, but she ignored him. She’d worked hard to get where she was. Some people weren’t going to be happy, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. If she’d let the naysayers have their way, she would still be sweeping floors and emptying dustbins at Mr. Fullerton’s office back in Chicago.
Bless the kindly engineer. Thanks to him, she’d been able to leave the High Stakes behind and learn how to draw. All because he’d found her one sunny Sunday six years ago sketching the quaint church she’d attended back East and had given her a job at his engineering firm. She’d come to California in ’70, armed with the knowledge she’d acquired from Mr. Fullerton, and had finally gotten her first drafting job two years later when Mr. Bishop hired her.
Flynt quickly outlined her next assignment, and then he turned and addressed his team. “In honor of Jessie completing her first drawing, you may leave for lunch early. Enjoy yourselves.”
Rather than joining the others, Jessie found a shady spot behind the office and enjoyed a solitary meal. She hadn’t seen a hydraulic mining operation up close before, so she watched in awe as the huge monitors shot high-powered streams of water up to five hundred feet, blasting away the hillside. The process was fascinating, even if the destruction of such beautiful scenery wasn’t. The miners needed the water from the canal she would help design, but she preferred to think about the crops that would flourish with a proper irrigation system.
The whistle blew, signaling the end of the break. She deposited her lunch pail in the closet, washed up and returned to the Den, eager to begin her next drawing.
She entered to find Trace and George standing in front of a brand-new drafting table in the spot between Kurt’s board and Flynt’s, which had been empty before.
Trace turned, a grin on his face. “Look what was delivered while we were at lunch.”
George sauntered to her side. “Allow me to escort you to your station.” He held out his arm.
She wrapped one hand around his elbow and pressed the other to her chest. “That lovely board is mine?”
Trace loped over to take her other arm. “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”