September Sky (American Journey Book 1) (13 page)

"I'd appreciate that, Goldie. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Chuck watched Goldie walk to the far end of the desk, where a stack of periodicals waited to be processed. When she started stamping and labeling, he went back to doing what he had done all week – flirting with the director of the Texas Maritime Library.

"Thanks for recommending Rose as a resource," Chuck said. "She's a veritable font of information and one of the nicest people I have ever met."

"I'm glad you approve," Charlotte said.

She smiled coyly as she continued to work.

"Did Rose answer all of your questions?"

"She answered most of them, but she wasn't very helpful when I asked about the Fitzpatrick brothers," Chuck said. "I thought that was odd given that she seems to know everyone in town."

Goldie stopped working and turned her head.

"We all have our limits, Mr. Townsend," Charlotte said.

"Please call me Charles."

"We all have our limits, Charles."

"I know. I'm just a little surprised she didn't know more. She seemed to know more about the one-armed dockworker on Pier 17 than two of the most prominent men in Galveston."

"As I said."

"I know," Chuck said. "I'm not complaining. I'm just a bit surprised."

Charlotte finally lifted her eyes from her work.

"Have you completed most of your research?"

"I've completed much of it, but I would still like to know more about the city and the people in it. I'd like to know more about the people I've met this week."

"Do you mean the people at the library?" Charlotte asked.

"I mean the director of the library."

Charlotte reddened.

"I'm not sure how to respond to that."

"You don't have to respond at all," Chuck said.

"I don't?" Charlotte asked.

"You don't."

Chuck smiled.

"You just have to join me for dinner."

CHAPTER 19: CHUCK

The Seafarer at the Bayside was not the best restaurant in Galveston, Texas, or even one of the best, but it was quiet, accessible, and far better suited for a last-minute dinner date than many top-of-the-line establishments or a madhouse like Lafitte's.

Chuck looked around the dining room and noticed that only eight of the restaurant's linen-covered tables were occupied. Then he looked at the woman in front of him and decided that he didn't really care. He had everything he needed at his table.

"Have you decided what you want to order?" Chuck asked.

"I'm debating between the red snapper and the sea bass," Charlotte said.

"Take your time. I'm in no hurry."

Charlotte smiled sweetly and lowered her menu to the table.

"Thank you for taking me here. It's been a long time since I've been to this restaurant and even longer since I've been here with a gentleman."

"You don't go out much?"

Charlotte shook her head.

"I've always preferred a walk on the beach or a quiet evening at home. When I do go out, it's usually with Rose to a play or a concert."

"You like her, don't you?" Chuck asked.

"I do. Rose is my best friend and one of the nicest people I've ever known. She's also a capable library assistant, a trusted confidante, and my housemate."

"She's your housemate?"

Charlotte nodded.

"We share a house on Nineteenth Street. She moved in shortly after my husband died two years ago. We're like sisters."

Chuck cocked his head.

"She didn't tell me that."

"I'm not surprised. Rose may speak freely about many things, but she rarely talks about personal matters unless she knows the person well."

A waiter approached the table.

"Are you that way too, Miss Emerson?"

Charlotte smiled.

"I think it's time for us to order."

The reporter laughed when he heard the evasive reply. He would have to add coy to his dinner companion's resume.

Chuck watched with interest and amusement as Charlotte peppered the waiter with questions, first about the snapper and then about the bass. He had never seen anyone break down an entree so thoroughly.

Chuck ordered a saddle of lamb with kidney beans and a bottle of burgundy to wash it down. He turned again to Charlotte when the waiter took the menus and walked away.

"So tell me how you and Rose became such good friends. Surely there's a story."

"Oh, there is," Charlotte said.

Chuck tilted his head.

"Well? Are you going to share it?"

"I'm trying to decide whether I know you well enough."

Chuck looked at her incredulously.

"I'm just teasing," Charlotte said with a smile. "Of course I'll share it."

Chuck suddenly didn't care whether she shared it or not. He just wanted to look at a woman who was as intoxicating as moonshine. He grinned and shook his head.

"You're something," Chuck said.

"May I tell my story?"

"Yes. You may."

"All right then," Charlotte said. She looked at him with wary eyes and continued. "Rose and I have known each other fourteen years. We attended the same women's college in Missouri but did not become good friends until we came here in search of jobs following our graduation in 1890. Yes, Mr. Townsend, I am thirty-two. I am not at all ashamed to reveal my age."

"Nor should you be. You don't look a day over twenty."

Charlotte blushed and smiled. She started to speak but stopped when the waiter returned with the wine. She resumed telling her story after the server poured two glasses, placed the bottle on the table, and returned to the kitchen.

"As I was saying, Rose and I came to Galveston shortly after graduation. We came here in June hoping to find work as an actress and a librarian, but we found something else instead."

"What?" Chuck asked.

"Two sailors."

Chuck laughed.

"Just two?"

"Yes, Charles. Just two," Charlotte said. "The one who favored Rose was an ensign who had grown up in Galveston. The one who favored me was an ensign from Iowa."

"Sounds like a happy story to me."

"It might have been but for one thing."

"What's that?" Chuck asked.

"Rose and I favored the other men."

"So what did you do?"

Charlotte grinned.

"We spent the next three months engaging in subterfuge. We did everything in our power, fair and unfair, to redirect the two men's attention in the proper directions."

"Did your efforts pay off?"

"They did," Charlotte said. "We each had a marriage proposal by the end of the summer."

"That's sweet," Chuck said.

"Rose turned down her proposal."

Charlotte paused for a moment and looked away. When she returned her attention to Chuck, she did so with a wistful smile.

"I accepted mine."

Chuck lowered his eyes. He knew the story was about to take a sad turn. He stared at the floor until he could finally bring himself to look at Charlotte.

"I take it that the man who proposed to you was the man you married, the one you lost two years ago."

Charlotte nodded.

"My husband was Navy Lieutenant Isaac Preston Emerson. He was one of the 266 officers and seamen who died aboard the
Maine
."

Chuck closed his eyes as he pondered the sinking of the
USS Maine
on February 15, 1898. A mysterious explosion had sent the battleship to the bottom of Havana harbor and set the United States and Spain on the path to war. When he was done reflecting, Chuck gave the widow an empathetic gaze.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Charlotte said. "Isaac and I had seven wonderful years together."

Chuck sighed.

"I can't say that my marriage was as happy as yours, but I can relate to your loss. My wife – or rather, my
ex
-wife – was killed in an accident almost three years ago. Justin lost his mother and two of his grandparents on the same day."

"How awful," Charlotte said. "I can't fathom losing one loved one at that age, much less three. I imagine Justin has had a difficult time coping with their deaths."

"He's adjusted surprisingly well. He amazes me sometimes by how quickly and easily he adapts to difficult situations. I guess you could call it a gift, a gift he inherited from his mother and not from me."

Charlotte offered a comforting smile.

"Don't be so sure. Most children are a reflection of both of their parents. I'm sure you passed along many fine qualities to your son."

Chuck smiled.

"You're clearly one who sees the best in people."

"I am," Charlotte said. "I judge others by what I see and not what I hear. When I look at you, I see a kind, decent, honorable man – a man searching for answers. I'd like to know that man better. I'd like to be your friend."

"I feel the same way," Chuck said.

He picked up his glass of wine and raised it.

"Here's to friends."

Charlotte lifted her glass.

"To friends."

CHAPTER 20: WYATT

Saturday, April 28, 1900

Standing in front of a full-length mirror in a corner of his hotel room, Wyatt watched his reflection closely as he grabbed the Colt .45 strapped around his waist and pointed it at a familiar-looking bandit. He was still a little slow on the draw, but he was definitely getting faster. He turned around when he heard an infectious laugh.

"So you think this is funny, do you?"

The woman in Wyatt's four-poster bed nodded.

"I do," she said. "I think it's the funniest thing I've seen all week."

"I can't say I care for your attitude. It shows a lack of respect for both the master and his craft," Wyatt said. He grinned. "Perhaps I should do something about it."

The woman smiled coyly.

"I wish you would. I could use a little excitement tonight."

Wyatt laughed to himself as he considered his options. He didn't know whether he'd spank her or kiss her, but he'd definitely give her the attention she deserved.

He walked to the edge of the bed, stopped, and then dropped his arms to his sides, as if getting ready for the Shootout at the Bedroom Corral. Except for his gun belt, his cowboy boots, and a Boss of the Plains Stetson he had picked up in Fort Worth, Wyatt Townsend Fitzpatrick was completely naked.

The woman raised a brow.

"What are you planning to do, lawman? Shoot me with your 'pistol'?"

Wyatt beamed.

"Oh, Rose, darling, I'm planning all sorts of things."

Rose O'Malley laughed and patted the mattress.

"Then come back to bed, you old goat, or I'll accuse you of criminal neglect. I'm sure my brother would love to put the owner of the Gulf Star Line in a holding cell."

Wyatt chuckled as he removed his battle gear. A moment later, he crawled under the covers and embraced the sister of Galveston's deputy chief of police.

"What would I do without you, my love?"

Rose gave him a pointed glance.

"I imagine you would wine and dine the wives of the city's elite, just as you've done every weekend for the past fifteen years."

Wyatt smiled.

"I mean it, Rose. You've made a respectable man of me."

Rose laughed.

"Is that why we're spending another night in a second-rate hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Smith?"

"Hush now," Wyatt said. "I'm serious."

Rose looked at him thoughtfully.

"I know you are. I'm happy I've made you 'respectable' too," Rose said. She suppressed another laugh. "I've certainly been trying."

Wyatt smiled and pulled her close. He couldn't say that Rose was the first woman to try to take him off the market, but he could say that she was the first to succeed. He adored everything about her, from her wit and intelligence to the freckles on her face.

"How was your week at the library?"

"I'd say it was interesting and thought-provoking," Rose said.

"How so?" Wyatt asked.

"It was interesting and thought-provoking because I met an interesting and thought-provoking man. I spoke with him for four hours yesterday. He's been at the library nearly every day this week."

Wyatt sat up.

"You have my attention, Rose."

"Don't give yourself a stroke, Wyatt. I have no romantic interest in the man, though I'm not sure I can say the same about Charlotte. She's been smiling and humming all week and not because of the meager raise the library board gave her."

"So tell me about this 'interesting and thought-provoking' man."

"His name is Charles Townsend," Rose said. "He's a reporter from California who came here with his son a week ago. He says he's doing research for a book on shipping, but I suspect he's got something else up his sleeve."

"Why do you say that?"

Rose looked at Wyatt with serious eyes.

"I say that because he asked a lot of questions that had nothing to with shipping or even Galveston," she said. "He asked a lot of questions about you."

"He did?"

Rose nodded.

"Don't get me wrong. I think he means no harm. He hasn't asked any questions that cross a line or done anything unethical. I found him to be rather pleasant, in fact. He's polite, articulate, and very cultured. He even likes the theater, which I found refreshing in a man. But he also has a keen interest in the Fitzpatrick family."

"What kind of interest?" Wyatt asked.

"Well, for one thing, he inquired about your past. He asked if we had a biography on file, which we do. He also asked about your reputation as a businessman and wanted to know if you or Silas had any enemies."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him that the shipping industry here is very competitive and that people in competitive industries tend to make enemies," Rose said. "I didn't tell him anything about you, your brother, or your company that he couldn't read about in the papers."

Wyatt rubbed his chin as he considered what Rose had said. He couldn't fathom why anyone would go to a library to ask such questions, but then he couldn't fathom why a reporter from a coastal state like California would travel to Texas to research a book on shipping either.