by the man’s unusual eyes. They were a mixture of brown and blue and green. But there was more to them than that. They were keen and probing. At the same time, they offered no clue to his own thoughts or emotions.
He heaved a sigh.
“Dr. Havisham, can this wait? Perhaps tonight I could find a few minutes to speak with you.”
“No!” she burst in without thinking. It wasn’t as if she were asking for an audience with the king. She just needed a few moments to talk to him about...
Oh, my, she’d forgotten why she’d been so determined to corner him in the first place!
Her gaze bounced from Creakle to the wide-eyed teenager to the droopy-jowled office worker to the door. And the dark shape that waited there.
The Pinkertons.
“No, Mr. Ramsey. It can’t wait. And if you can’t spare me a private word, then I’d be more than happy to air our grievances in front of you and your men.”
Ramsey sighed, straightening from the doorway. For a moment, she saw the way his features were lined with weariness, and she was reminded of the fact that he couldn’t have had more than a few hours’ sleep. That, combined with the strenuous work of freeing the passengers and the back injury he’d refused to discuss, caused a prickling of guilt. Even worse, she realized that her impetuousness may have led to her confronting the man when he would be least likely to heed her concerns.
But before she could speak, Jonah reached toward a hall tree laden with coats, hats and scarves. Snagging a battered black hat that she remembered him wearing the night before and a shearling jacket, he gestured toward the door.
“Very well, Dr. Havisham. I was just on my way to the cook shack to grab a bite to eat. If you’d care to join me, we can both have our breakfast and I can give you about fifteen minutes of my morning.”
She doubted she would be able to press her case in such a short amount of time, let alone finish a meal. But the rigid set of his shoulders warned her that it would be futile to bargain with him on this point.
“Very well. Good day to you, gentlemen. Mr. Creakle.”
“Ma’am,” Creakle said with a wide grin.
The other two men dived toward the door to open it for her.
* * *
As they stepped from the office, Jonah clenched his jaw to keep from saying something to his employees. They’d nearly tripped over themselves to assist Dr. Havisham, and now the two of them had wedged themselves in the doorway as if they intended to follow Sumner and him to the cook shack.
Jonah shot them a glance. They began squabbling with one another as they untangled themselves, stepped back into the office and slammed the door.
Jamming his hat more firmly on his head, Jonah strode toward the cook shack, but after only a few steps, he realized that he was making the trip alone. Glancing behind him, he found Dr. Havisham with her hands on her hips, her feet planted firmly on the boardwalk.
Maybe Jonah had been too hasty in his original insistence that the women didn’t need their baggage. His gaze skipped over her form, taking in the saucy hat she’d pinned to the top of her head, and the tailored greatcoat that clung to her frame. He had to admit that, this morning, Sumner Havisham looked much more appropriate, more professional, than she had in the too-short dress the night before. In fact, if he were honest, he’d have to say that the fur collar framed the slender line of her throat in a way that was quite...fetching.
At least, it would be fetching if her chin hadn’t returned to that obstinate angle again.
Her brown eyes flashed, darting from Jonah to the Pinkerton who trailed her.
She speared the man with a withering glance. “Go away.”
When the guard didn’t budge, Jonah could feel the frustration sizzling through her slender frame. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she stamped her foot beneath the hems of her skirts.
“Send him away,” she said to Jonah.
Realizing that he’d probably pushed Sumner’s patience about as far as he dared, Jonah nodded in the man’s direction. Immediately, the Pinkerton returned to the Miners’ Hall.
Sumner opened her mouth, but before she could begin her diatribe, Jonah held up a hand.
“Please. Not until I’ve had some coffee and something hot to eat.”
She offered a curt nod and fell into step beside him.
They walked a few feet in silence before she asked, “How are you feeling this morning?”
He shot her a quick glance, but there didn’t seem to be anything behind her question other than polite conversation.
“I’m doing well, Dr. Havisham.”
She didn’t look convinced. “You don’t appear to be moving as gingerly. Are you sure that you don’t want me to look at your back?”
“No!” After he realized that his interruption had been rather forceful, he adopted a lightness to his tone that he didn’t really feel, and offered, “I’m fine.” He opened the door to the cook shack and gestured for her to precede him, then murmured, “Coffee first, Dr. Havisham. Please.”
To her credit, she heeded his none-too-subtle reminder. After one more narrow-eyed glance, she swept into the building.
Jonah wasn’t sure if she’d decided to bite her tongue or if she’d guessed at the headache that pounded at his temples like a blacksmith on an anvil. Even worse, the heavy scents of black coffee, scorched beans and overcooked eggs hung thick in the room, causing even his stomach to clench. But to her credit, Sumner remained silent as he led her through the building with its rows of tables and benches toward the serving area at the back.
Too late, Jonah realized that if the two of them wanted a private word, this was the last place he should have brought her. Men who’d finished the night shift were still lingering over breakfast. As they moved through the room, a hush washed over them like a wave and all eyes turned in their direction—causing even Jonah’s hair to prickle at the scrutiny.
When they reached the warmth of the counter that separated the kitchens from the dining area, Jonah leaned in and called out to Stumpy, a miner who’d been drafted into running the cook shack after a runaway ore car had crushed his foot, forcing an amputation of his toes. The man had never really forgiven Jonah for switching him from mine duties to the cook shack. But the injury had left him with a lurching limp that was dangerous for mine work, and moving him to the cook shack had been the only way to save Stumpy’s paycheck at the time.
“Have the owners been in this morning?” Jonah asked.
“Been and gone,” Stumpy groused.
“Bring some coffee and a couple of plates to the private room. Dr. Havisham and I have a few things to discuss.”
Stumpy offered a low grumble that could have been an agreement or a complaint. Jonah didn’t wait for the man to make up his mind.
“This way, Dr. Havisham.”
He pointed down a narrow hall to a single door. Sweeping it open, he gestured for Sumner to precede him.
As she gingerly made her way past, Jonah was forced to look at the room with new eyes. A single window on the opposite wall offered far too much light to conceal the cubicle’s flaws. Although it was the only place in the cook shack that offered a place to eat with a real dining room table and chairs, there was no disguising the fact that the floor hadn’t been swept in some time—and who knew when the surfaces had been cleaned. Dirty glasses were stacked in teetering towers, the owners’ breakfast dishes scattered the scarred surface and maps and schematic drawings had long since taken the place of any linens.
Unaccountably, Jonah felt his ears grow hot with embarrassment, even though the cleanliness of the room didn’t fall beneath his