A Vote of Confidence (19 page)

“It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Gwen said, wishing she could help ease her neighbor’s burdens. Kitty was only six years
Gwen’s senior, but she looked twenty years older. “It won’t be long before true summer is upon us.”

Kitty nodded. “I hope it won’t get too hot too soon.”

“I hope so too.” She shifted the basket to her other arm. “I wanted to tell you how well Owen is doing with his piano lessons.
You must be so proud of him.”

Another little smile, this one staying a fraction longer. “I am.”

“Do you go with him when he practices at the Evans’s house?”

Kitty shook her head.

“Then come with him to his next lesson. I know you’d be blessed by his progress.”

“I’ll try.” She sighed. “I’m just grateful his hands weren’t injured when he fell yesterday. They could have been.”

“His hands? What fall?”

“Owen had an accident on his bicycle yesterday. The wheel was bent up. It’s ruined, far as I can tell. Heaven knows when there
will be any money to repair it or replace it.”

“You say his hands are okay. Was he otherwise injured?”

“He scraped his knee but nothing serious. Mr. McKinley saw the accident and drove him home in his automobile. Owen loved that
part. He’s never had the opportunity to ride in a car before.”

Gwen recalled the sound of the motorcar passing her house the previous day. Not once but twice. That must have been where
he’d gone. To take Owen home.

“He’s a very genial man, isn’t he?” Kitty continued. “He was so kind to Owen. But I told him you would have my vote.”

Gwen patted Kitty’s hand where it rested on the handle of her basket. “I appreciate your loyalty.”

“After all the kindnesses you’ve shown my family, how could I do otherwise?”

Her neighbor’s reply took her aback a little. “I hope you think I will make a good mayor. I wouldn’t want to be elected for
any other reason.”

Whatever Kitty might have said next was interrupted by the appearance of Bert Humphrey from the back of the store. “How can
I help you ladies?”

“I’ve brought you some eggs, Mr. Humphrey,” Kitty answered as she walked toward him.

“He’s a very genial man, isn’t he?”

Indeed. Mr. McKinley was genial — and too much on her mind.

To distract his thoughts from the lovely Gwen Arlington — and to remove the temptation of going to see her uninvited once
again — Morgan drove to the building site late on Monday morning. The workers had made noticeable progress since his last
visit.

Fagan greeted him with a cheery “Halloo!” as he strode across the yard. “Sure and I didn’t expect to be seeing you again this
soon.”

“I’m surprised myself. It’s a hard habit to break, being up here every day. But it looks like I’m not needed. No more vandalism,
I take it.”

“One of the guards thought he heard someone moving around the bathhouse a couple of nights back, but if anyone was there he was scared off. No sign of him come morning. No mischief done.”

Morgan nodded, not happy to hear there might have been another trespasser prowling around the site. Still, as there’d been
no damage —

“Stonemasons ought to begin their work inside the lodge next week.”

“What about the prayer chapel?”

“The men have made a good start on it. Sure and I’m thinking it won’t take long to finish.”

“Good. I want the chapel given high priority, Fagan.”

“I’ll pass that word along to Christopher. He’ll see to it.”

The two men walked side by side toward the lodge. Once inside the enormous lobby, Morgan stopped and breathed in the scent
of lumber that filled the air. In his mind’s eye, he saw the room completed and fully furnished. He imagined guests of all
ages and of all classes sitting throughout, visiting, laughing, their faces shining with improved health. In the dining room,
he pictured guests drinking tea in the afternoon or eating a delicious, healthy meal in the evening.

With everything that he was, everything he believed, he was convinced the New Hope Health Spa was supposed to be here, on
this land, in this place. He couldn’t allow Harrison Carter and his political cronies to impede the completion of this resort.

Ask Rudyard
.

Morgan turned toward Fagan, but his friend was inspecting the doorframe and obviously had not spoken to him.

Ask Rudyard
.

The words tugged at him, insistent on being understood.

Rudyard… Rudyard…

His eyes widened. Of course. Senator William Rudyard. A long-time friend of his mother’s. Was it possible he could be of some help? The senator was a man of influence, both within
Idaho and beyond. Yes, he just might be able to help Morgan — with his problems with the commissioners
and
with winning the election. He would contact him immediately.

Maybe it was time for him to arrange for a dinner party. The reason for hiring a household staff was so he could entertain,
to build rapport with other citizens of Bethlehem Springs, and as a result perhaps win their votes in the election. He couldn’t
depend upon the debate to bring him all the votes he would need to win.

Trouble was, whenever he pictured himself sitting down at the long dinner table with a room full of guests, he always imagined
Gwen seated at the other end.

Cleo was full of excitement when she arrived in the early afternoon. “Have you heard?” she asked Gwen as she led her horse
toward the small stable at the back of Gwen’s lot. “Tattersall withdrew from the race for mayor this morning. Now it’s between
just you and Morgan.”

“Yes, I heard.”

Gwen didn’t know whether to feel worried or glad. If everyone who’d planned to vote for Tattersall — surely there couldn’t
be very many of them — chose to vote for Morgan, it could mean he had the edge. On the other hand, it was a relief to know
there was no chance that a known drunkard would be their next mayor.

“How did you hear about it so quickly?” she asked as Cleo removed the saddle from her gelding and led the animal into the
second of two stalls.

“I saw Charles Benson as I rode into town, and he told me.” Cleo pushed her hair away from her face. “He asked after you.”

“I hope you told him I was well.”

“Poor Charlie. Do you suppose he’ll ever give up on winning your heart?”

“I hope so. I haven’t encouraged him in the least.”

“Gwennie, if you so much as smile at a man, he’s going to take it as encouragement. You oughta know that by now.”

“Sometimes you say the silliest things.”

Cleo laughed. “And you haven’t a clue about the power you have over men. You’re the prettiest woman within five hundred miles,
and they want to swarm around you like bees to a hive.”

Irritated now, Gwen turned and hurried toward the house. It was bad enough when men thought her nothing more than a pretty
face with an empty head. It was worse when her beloved twin teased her about it.

Maybe I’d be taken seriously if I started wearing trousers and smoking a pipe.
She shuddered at the thought.

“Gwennie?” Cleo stepped into the kitchen, contrition in her eyes. “I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean to upset you like that.
I was only funning you.”

Gwen turned, her vexation already spent. “I know.” She could never stay angry with her sister for long. “You’re forgiven.”

“Thanks, sis.” Cleo clasped her in a tight embrace. “Truth is, I’ve got a bit of man trouble of my own.”

Gwen took a step back so she could look her sister in the eye.

“His name’s Tyler King, a new hand working at the ranch. Been there about a month now. Gwennie, whenever he comes around,
my heart starts racing like a hummingbird’s wings. I get all discombobulated and clumsy.”

Cleo in love? Gwen hoped this King fellow was worthy of her.

“I think he likes me too,” Cleo continued as she settled onto a chair at the kitchen table. “But he sure is slow letting me know for sure.”

Gwen sat opposite her sister and took hold of her right hand. “I’m sure he will when the time is right.”

“I hope so.” Cleo inhaled deeply, then gave her head a shake. “But that’s not what I’m here for. Let’s get down to business.
What’s our strategy now that Tattersall has withdrawn?”

“No different. My greatest hurdle is the fact that I’m a woman.”

Cleo screwed up her mouth. “Hmm.” She tapped the fingers of her left hand on the table. Then her eyes widened. “I know. You
write down what you see as the two or three most important issues facing Bethlehem Springs. Then when I go to talk to folks,
I can share your own words with them. Afterward, I’ll invite them to come to the debate on Saturday. It will give t hem a
chance to see that you can think like a mayor and hold your ground with any man.”

“I hope that’s what they’ll see.” Gwen released Cleo’s hand. “I’m starting to feel nervous. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed
to the debate. Maybe it will convince more people to vote for Mr. McKinley than for me.”

“Well, if that’s the outcome, I guess we’ll have to believe it’s God’s will. Won’t we?”

Strange, the way Cleo’s words broke through the worry that had been swirling inside Gwen. Her sister was right. She must leave
the results in God’s hands. If He wanted her to be the mayor, then it would come about, and if not, then better she lose.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out, then stood. “I’ll get some writing paper and prepare my comments for you. And while
I’m working on that” — she pointed toward the layer cake on the counter — “why don’t you cut yourself a piece of cake? I made
it for you.”

“Well, if that don’t make me as happy as a pup with two tails.” Cleo whipped off her hat and hung it on the spindle of her
chair, then made a beeline for the triple-layer cake.

Laughing softly — thinking to herself that there was no other woman in the world like Cleopatra Arlington — Gwen went after
her writing materials.

On Tuesday, Morgan found himself frequently checking his watch and the clocks in various rooms in the house. It seemed to
him that three o’clock could not get there soon enough.

That morning he’d sent invitations to a number of influential members of the community for a dinner party in his home on the
following Friday evening. But at the last minute, he decided that the occasion wouldn’t have anything to do with his campaign.
And since it wouldn’t be campaign related, he could invite anyone he wanted — including Gwen Arlington. Therefore, he had
one more invitation in his possession. It was addressed to her. He wanted them to be friends. No, closer than friends.

How much closer?

His mother had longed to see him married. She wouldn’t have minded grandchildren either. But after his experience with Yvette
Dutetre, the last of a number of unfortunate romantic relationships, Morgan had decided he was a failure when it came to finding
the right woman. He had reconciled himself to growing old without a wife or children. His life was full in many other ways.
He had good friends, like Fagan Doyle, and he had the kind of wealth that allowed him to do good works, to be of service
to others.

Only now, having met Gwen, Morgan was no longer reconciled to bachelorhood. He even thought she might be the reason God had brought him to Bethlehem Springs. New Hope could have been built in at least a half dozen other places in the western
states, and yet he’d believed with certainty that this was where it was meant to be. Could Gwen be why?

He wandered into the front parlor and sat on the piano bench. His fingers settled on the keys and he ran through several scales.
Then he checked the time again. Almost three o’clock.

He rose and walked to the front door, opening it in time to see Gwen arrive at his gate. “Good afternoon, Miss Arlington.”
He stepped onto the veranda.

“Good afternoon, Mr. McKinley.” She came down the walk and climbed the steps.

The skirt of her dress was narrow, the hem reaching only to her ankles, the waistline loose in the style of the day. The fabric,
a dusty-rose color, complemented her complexion. Her pale hair was parted in the middle and swept up and back. Morgan wondered
how she would look if the pins were removed and her hair was allowed to tumble around her shoulders.