Make-Believe Beau

Chapter Two

In no time, Flynt had a sheet of drafting paper adhered to his board. In order for Jessie to convince Corby she was the right person for the job, she would need to handle a challenging assignment. He had one in mind.

“Before you begin, I want to give you an overview of the project.” He gestured with one hand. “After you.”

She covered the distance quickly and faced the back wall, studying the twenty-foot-long drawing of the canal stretched across its surface and looking...enraptured. That was the only word he could think of to describe the wide-eyed wonder on her lovely face. She turned toward him, her eyes alight. “This is magnificent! The Weber Creek Ditch I worked on was just six miles long, but if I read things correctly, the El Dorado Canal is going to be over thirty, with a good four miles of wooden flumes.”

“That’s right.”

Her forehead furrowed. “Why are you smiling?”

Was he? He schooled his features. “You really do enjoy the work, don’t you?”

“Very much.” She straightened to her full height, bringing the top of her head level with his shoulder. With her standing so close, he could imagine taking her in his arms, gazing into her sparkling green eyes and lowering his face until his lips brushed—

What was he doing harboring such thoughts? He had no intention of courting anyone, especially a potential colleague. Women couldn’t be trusted. His mother, a successful madam who’d abandoned him at the age of seven, and Ma Hagerty, who’d taken him in and promptly broken her promise to treat him like her own son, had taught him that.

Jessie assumed a businesslike tone. “If I’m to overcome Mr. Corbin’s objections, I should get to work on that drawing. What do you have in mind?”

While he admired Miss Jessica Sinclair, professional draftswoman, with her forthright manner, he’d enjoyed a glimpse of the gleeful girl inside her. “I’d like you to do a preliminary drawing of the next section.”

Moments later he stood at his drafting board with Jessie at his side studying the surveyor’s notes he’d handed her. “I understand what I’m to do, so I can get started.”

“Very well.” He opened the cabinet beneath his board, where he kept his rulers, compasses, drawing pens and such. “Help yourself to whatever you need.”

She blinked several times, once again drawing his attention to her long lashes and those gorgeous green eyes. He had to force himself not to stare.

“That’s an impressive collection. While I appreciate your offer, I have my own tools, which I left with the clerk in the lobby. I’ll get them.” She took two steps and stopped. “I’d like to wash my hands before I begin so I don’t soil my drawing. Where might I do that?”

“There’s a small closet with a washstand opposite Corby’s office. You’ll find plenty of pegs for hats and coats. Feel free to claim one of the empty shelves for your lunch pail, drawing case and anything else you brought.”

“Very good. I’ll be back shortly.”

No sooner had Jessie left the room than two of Flynt’s draftsmen descended on him. The ever-exuberant Trace reached him first. “Is she going to be working with us?”

“Could be. We’ll know soon enough.”

“Whoo whee! Won’t that be fun?”

“No!” Kurt, who sat at the board nearest Flynt’s, joined them. Could the young man’s scowl be any more pronounced? “We don’t need a dame here.”

Flynt bit back a rebuke. “Miss Sinclair is a lady, and we’ll treat her accordingly.”

“Fine,” Kurt muttered. “If you want to hire a woman, that’s your business, but I don’t have to like it.”

“No, but I don’t want to hear any disparaging terms. Now, how about returning to your stations, gentlemen? You have work to do.”

Kurt trudged back to his board. His outburst was understandable. He’d worked hard to establish himself as the lead draftsman. To have his position threatened by another man would be tough, but having the threat come from a woman could be even harder to take.

Trace leaned close and lowered his voice. “You don’t have to worry on my account, sir. I think she’s nice.”

Jessie returned a short time later looking rather, well, cute. She’d removed her hat, revealing her full head of striking auburn hair, and donned a black apron and matching sleeve protectors. Since she couldn’t work in rolled-up shirtsleeves as he and his men did, her precautions made sense. Through the years he’d ended up with a number of India-ink stains on his clothing.

She wound his stool up to the proper height for her and hopped onto the padded leather seat. The rungs weren’t in the right place for her to rest her feet comfortably, and yet she didn’t complain. She just got to work performing her initial calculations on a sheet of scrap paper.

He plunked a spare stool beside his board, close enough to see everything, but far enough away so as not to crowd her. Since she was using his drafting table, he couldn’t work on a drawing. Not that he minded this opportunity to study her. She was a sight to behold.

She reached for a ruler in her tool case on the small side table and paused. “Are you going to sit there the entire time?”

“I’d planned to. Why? Does that bother you?”

“A little, perhaps, but I can deal with it.”

He appreciated her honesty. “I can tell a lot from looking at a drawing, but I can’t evaluate the effectiveness of a person’s methods unless I watch him or her work.” Based on what he’d seen so far, Jessie was accurate, thorough and exacting, the very traits he sought.

“Well, then, I’ll just have to ignore you as best I can.” She gave him a saucy smile.

He grabbed a sketch pad and pencil and doodled, a longtime habit of his. Although plenty of work awaited him, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate, not with Jessie close by smelling like— What was it exactly? He inhaled deeply. Lilac. No wonder thoughts of spring had come to mind when he’d first met her.

Her penciled drawing took shape far more quickly than he would have expected. He forced himself to observe her from his stool. Although he was tempted to take a closer look, there would be time for that later.

She had the most appealing way of humming to herself as she worked, so softly that he would be surprised if any of the other men could hear. Her repertoire consisted entirely of hymns. She, too, must have put her faith in Christ.

The morning passed more quickly than Flynt had expected. In addition to watching Jessie work, he’d fielded an unprecedented number of questions from the draftsmen, even Kurt, who wouldn’t ask for help unless absolutely necessary. The fellows had also worn a groove in the floorboards with their frequent trips to the privy out back. Each time one of the men passed by, he paused to peer at Jessie’s drawing or make an idle comment. She’d dealt with each interruption graciously and gotten back to work as quickly as possible.

George left his station beside Kurt’s and ambled over. “It’s noon, Miss Sinclair. I wondered if you’d like to eat your lunch in the shade of that large oak out front. I’d be happy to keep you company.”

The invitation didn’t surprise Flynt. George fancied himself a ladies’ man.

Jessie flashed George a friendly smile. “What a wonderful idea. The others could join us, too, enabling all of us to get acquainted.”

Flynt had to hand it to her. She’d deflected George’s advances with finesse.

The room cleared quickly. A jolt of excitement surged through Flynt. He could examine Jessie’s drawing at last. If he wasn’t mistaken, Corby would be forced to admit that she was the right person for the job.

She stepped back into the room, her lunch pail in hand. “Did you plan on eating with us?”

“Not today. I want to talk with Corby.” He did. After he’d reviewed her work.

“Very well.” She rubbed her lower back with her free hand.

He’d noticed her roll her shoulders a few times as she worked, too. “Are you all right?”

“Just a bit stiff, that’s all. I’ll see you later.” She left, her boot heels thudding on the wooden floor.

Alone at last. He stood before her drawing, scrutinizing every detail, checking every angle, verifying every calculation. His admiration grew. If her final inked copy was on par with her penciled version, Corby would have no choice but to accept her as a member of the team.

Flynt strode to Corby’s office and opened the door. A whiff of cigar smoke greeted him. “Do you have a minute?”

Corby beckoned Flynt inside. “Come to lobby for your candidate, have you?” He snuffed out his cigar.

“Her work is outstanding. You can see for yourself.” He held out a hand toward the Den. “I assigned her a drawing that would challenge even the most seasoned draftsman, and yet she tackled it without hesitation.”

“You want me to hire her, don’t you? Even though she’s already created a stir? I saw the trail of men heading her way. They were like ants drawn to a sugar bowl.”

Flynt plopped into one of the chairs in front of Corby’s desk. “They’ve been trooping by, yes, but the novelty will fade soon enough.” He certainly hoped that was the case. George was so infatuated it was a wonder he’d gotten any work done. Not that Flynt could blame him. Jessie was a distraction, albeit a pleasant one.

“And if it doesn’t? What then?”

“I’m sure it will. But if not, I’ll do whatever’s necessary to restore order.”

Corby’s bushy eyebrows formed a V. “You’re not smitten or anything, are you?”

“No, sir!” He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. “It’s just that she’s what I need. I mean her work is.”

“I see. So you’re asking me to set aside my concerns and offer her the job? Well, son, since you’ve assured me you’ll do whatever’s necessary to make this work, I’ll take a look at her drawing. And I’ll keep an open mind.”

“I appreciate that.”

Corby followed Flynt to the Den and studied Jessie’s drawing—with a magnifying glass. Flynt waited expectantly for his boss’s assessment.

At length Corby completed his examination. “She’s good, I’ll grant you that, but I have my reservations. We’ll have to see how things go. Now, if you’ve seen enough and are satisfied with the way she goes about her work, do you think you could resume yours? I don’t want us to fall behind.”

“Certainly. Arnold’s tooth has been troubling him, so he headed downtown to have it extracted. He’ll be out this afternoon and tomorrow, so I can use his board.” Because Arnold had been in pain, he’d said little to Jessie. His glare had done the talking for him. Evidently he didn’t like having her there any more than Kurt did.

“That will do, until her drafting table arrives.”

Flynt couldn’t hide his surprise. “You’ve already ordered one? But I didn’t think you wanted—”

“I’m not blind. I saw how adamant you were about hiring Jessie. I have my reservations, but I wouldn’t be much of a manager if I didn’t take my engineer’s preferences into account. And you want the lovely lady.” Corby clapped a hand on Flynt’s shoulder. “Can’t say as I blame you. If I were a young man, my head would be turned, too.”

“It’s not like that. She’s the best qualified.”

“So you’ve said. Her board will be delivered tomorrow.” Corby headed toward his office, stopped and spun on his heel. “Just see that your men get their work done, or I’ll have to intervene.”

Flynt blew out a breath. He’d worked hard to ensure that things in the Den ran smoothly, but they’d gotten a lot more interesting. He would have to do some serious thinking about how to regain control without singling Jessie out because he wanted her on his team. More than he cared to admit.

* * *

The rugged beauty of the Sierra Foothills appealed to Jessie. From her seat in the back of the wagon sent to transport Flynt’s team from their offices down to Placerville’s main street at the end of the workday, she had a good view of the valley below. A few sprawling oaks and some scrubby manzanita bushes dotted the steep sides of the ravine to the west. All the pine trees for miles around had been cut down to provide wood for the growing town.

Somewhere far below, Weber Creek wove its way through the gorge. As the hot, dry summer wore on, the water currently flowing freely would dwindle, leaving residents eager for the first rain of the season come September. Not too many years from now, thanks to the efforts of her new employer, the El Dorado Canal would carry the plentiful water from alpine lakes in the Sierras to the thirsty valley below. Being part of such a grand undertaking was a dream come true. And she would be part of it because she’d gotten the job and would be working alongside Flynt. He’d told her just before quitting time that once she completed the inked version of her drawing the next day, he would sign off on it.

The handsome engineer sat to her right on the plank wagon seat. She stole a glance at him, as she had several times during the day. Why she felt herself drawn to Flynt, she didn’t know. Perhaps it was the creases that bracketed his mouth, evidence of many smiles, or his wavy hair that begged to be touched. Not that she would ever dream of doing such a thing, even though that unruly lock had fallen across his forehead. Again.

She shifted to a more comfortable position. Because Flynt’s stool wasn’t designed for a person of her stature, her shoulders and lower back had begun protesting even before George had invited her to eat lunch with him. They ached now, but a good night’s sleep should help.

George had claimed the spot to her left. He scooted nearer. Because Flynt was on her right behind the driver’s seat, she couldn’t move without getting uncomfortably close to him.

“Are you as happy to be working with us as we are to have you?” George asked.

The overly friendly fellow might like having her there, but Kurt, seated opposite her, had gone out of his way to register his complaints. She could deal with his outward hostility, but she found Arnold’s withering looks and brooding silence unsettling. His departure before the lunch she’d shared with the other members of Flynt’s team had been a relief.

“I’m excited about the project.” Ever since she’d heard of John Kirk’s plan to harness the water from high atop the Sierras, she’d dreamed of working to bring it about. When her previous boss, Mr. Bishop, had told her he’d secured an interview for her with the El Dorado Water and Deep Gravel Mining Company, she’d had a hard time believing it. And yet here she was, the newest member of Flynt’s team.

Trace, who sat beside Kurt, broke the lingering silence. “You’ve got a real way with numbers, Jessie. I could never do what you did today.”

Kurt gave a dry laugh. “That’s the truth. You’re hard-pressed to complete a tracing without making a mistake.”

Jessie gritted her teeth to keep from saying something she’d regret. How dare Kurt lash out at Trace like that? She drew in a calming breath. “We all make mistakes. I’ve certainly made my fair share.”

“I make them, too.”

Flynt’s admission took her by surprise. Apparently it had surprised his men, as well, because not one of the three said a word.

He continued. “I’ve always used a penknife to scrape off an errant mark, but Jessie uses a different method that leaves the paper in better shape. I’ll have her demonstrate it for us tomorrow.”

His offhand compliment left her at a loss for words. She’d cringed inwardly when her pen had slipped and she’d been forced to rub off the excess ink with a bit of Oakey’s glass paper. Flynt had watched her carefully, adding to her nervousness. Instead of finding fault with her, though, he’d been admiring her. She peered at him shyly and was rewarded with an understanding smile.

Kurt mumbled something.

Flynt turned to him. “What was that, Kurt?”

“Nothing, sir.”

Very little escaped Flynt’s notice. So he must be aware of the constant interruptions she’d dealt with all day. She’d handled them with a combination of humor and tact, but if nothing was done to put a stop to them, they would slow her down.

Mr. Bishop had gone out in the field quite often, leaving her in the office with the two draftsmen who also worked for the small irrigation company. They’d pestered her every chance they got. She didn’t want to endure that again.

They reached the end of Coon Hollow Road and started down Sacramento Hill. The wagon creaked, which came as no surprise. The grade must be around 13 percent. Jessie clutched the edge of the seat to keep from sliding into Flynt.

George didn’t hold on, and the ten inches that had separated them became two. She doubted that was an accident. He leaned even closer. She had to force herself not to jab him in the side with her elbow. “The fellows and I rent rooms at the Ohio House hotel. Where are you staying, Jessie?”

She kept her answer vague. “In a boardinghouse up on Coloma Street.”

“Ah, yes. That would be Maybelle Monroe’s place, wouldn’t it? I’ll gladly walk you home.”

Before she could reply, Flynt intervened, speaking in an authoritative tone. “That won’t be necessary, George.”

Flynt exchanged a few indistinguishable words with the stoop-shouldered driver straining on the brake and turned toward her. “It’s all settled. Harvey will run you home, Jessie, and then return to Main Street and let us off. He’ll be back to pick you up in the morning.”

“Thank you.” He’d spared her the need to decline George’s offer.

She’d dealt with more besotted men than she cared to remember. They’d flocked to the High Stakes night after night to hear her sing. No. Not her. Jade, as she’d been called in those days.

That part of her life was over, and yet the memories persisted. Men gazing at her with unbridled interest as she entertained the saloon’s patrons with one lively tune after another. Men promising her all manner of things if she’d spend a little time with them. Men refusing to take no for an answer and being tossed into the street as a result.

Barely sixteen when she’d begun singing for Ace’s patrons, she hadn’t known how to handle the attention. She’d received counsel from Miss Maggie, the owner of the brothel upstairs, who’d given motherly advice to all her girls. Although Jessie had never been one of them, she’d learned a good deal from the seasoned woman about how to handle too-friendly fellows.

As unobtrusively as possible, Jessie inched away from George. He hadn’t become too much of a problem—yet—and she planned to keep it that way.

The wagon rounded the corner at the bottom of Sacramento Hill, also known as Sacramento Street, and traveled a short distance along Main. The driver waited in front of the Arch Saloon for his turn onto Coloma Street. A colorfully clad saloon girl shoved her way through the swinging doors and sashayed up the street.

Flynt folded his arms over his chest and made a disapproving sound low in his throat.

Jessie angled toward him. “What’s wrong?”

Before he could respond, George leaned close. “Flynt is no friend of saloons, and he has a strong dislike of saloon 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.

Chapter Three

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.