Truth Be Told (15 page)

A
melia tucked one wayward curl in place and stepped back to survey her reflection in the dresser mirror. The light-blue shirred bodice with its matching box-pleated skirt set off her eyes to perfection. She tugged at her right sleeve, teasing its fullness into a more rounded shape, and gave a satisfied nod. Fashionable, but not too fussy—exactly the effect she'd hoped to create. She didn't want to make too much of one evening meal together. It was only dinner with a friend, after all.

But as much as she kept reminding herself of that fact, she couldn't quell her excitement at spending more time with Ben and getting to know him better. Perhaps for this evening, at least, they could set aside concerns about the newspaper and Great Western.

Unless Ben had discovered some news about the company. Her mood sobered. If he had, would he be willing to share it with her? And would she be ready to hear it?

If the facts didn't bolster her father's position, then what? The mere idea of printing a retraction made her feel disloyal, but her father had demanded as much honesty from himself
as he had expected from others. She knew he wouldn't have twisted the facts deliberately, but if he learned he'd been misled, he would have been the first to admit it and set the record straight. A retraction, if one was called for, would not dishonor his name. Quite the opposite!

With that reassurance, she gave her hair one final pat and headed down the stairs to be ready when Ben arrived. If they could find the truth—no matter where it might lead—perhaps they could move forward into a friendship unmarred by suspicion on either side.

At the foot of the stairs, she pulled up, surprised to find Homer sitting near the Peerless press, with a book of poetry on his lap. “I thought you'd gone home already.”

He shrugged. “I went out and grabbed a sandwich at the Bon-Ton. Thought I'd bring it back here and read for a while.” He pursed his lips as he took in her appearance. “You're getting ready to go out with young Stone?”

“That's right.” Amelia lifted her chin, refusing to let Homer's obvious disapproval put a damper on her evening. She moved to his side and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Don't worry. I know you don't trust him, but I'm not some naïve, dewy-eyed schoolgirl. I'll keep my eyes open.”

His expression softened. “I didn't doubt that for a minute. You've been through enough hard times lately, and I just don't want you to be hurt.” He shifted on his chair. “What time do you think you'll be getting back?”

The question caught her off guard. And had she just detected the faintest whiff of alcohol? She narrowed her eyes and studied Homer's face. His eyes were clear, and he gave no other indication he'd been drinking.

Should she say anything? She pondered the thought a moment, then decided against it. The last time she took him to task, he'd been injured, not inebriated. She didn't want to accuse him unjustly, especially when a confrontation would be sure to spoil her evening with Ben.

Homer's eyes were still fixed on hers, awaiting an answer.

“When will I be home?” she floundered. “I'm not sure. If we take our time over dinner and talk a bit, I expect it will be at least an hour, maybe more.”

Homer gave a short nod. “I'll be here when you get back.”

She jerked her head back. “You're waiting up for me? But what if it's later than that?”

“I'll be here, no matter what time it is.” Homer set his poetry book aside and pushed himself up off the chair. “I want that young man to know someone is keeping an eye on you, even if your daddy isn't around to do it anymore.”

The bell over the door jangled, and Ben stepped inside. Amelia shot a warning look at Homer as she moved forward to greet him.

“You look lovely.” The way Ben's eyes lit up at the sight of her sent warmth flooding through her veins. Then he looked past her and nodded to Homer. “Good evening, Mr. Crenshaw. It's good to see you.” He walked over to the older man and held out his hand.

After a moment's hesitation, Homer accepted the handshake and cleared his throat. “Evening. I hope you two have a pleasant meal.”

Amelia stifled a laugh as she picked up her reticule. She had to give Homer credit. His words sounded gracious enough, but she knew the effort it cost him. She sent an appreciative
smile his way as Ben held the door open for her to step out onto the boardwalk.

“It's a lovely evening, isn't it?” Ben asked.

Amelia murmured agreement. A gentle breeze stirred the air, carrying the scent of fresh-cut lumber from Martin Gilbreth's sawmill and the pungent tang of the pine trees farther up the slopes. She tucked her hand into the crook of Ben's arm, feeling the texture of his broadcloth jacket beneath her fingertips.

Ben smiled down at her and laid his other hand atop hers for a moment. Amelia met his eyes and caught her breath at the intensity of his gaze. “Yes, I'd say it's just about perfect.”

Oddly, his pleasure seemed to fade and his steps lagged as they moved farther along the boardwalk. She looked up at him and studied his face. “Is anything wrong?”

He offered a smile that seemed forced. “There's a bit of a surprise waiting for you at the restaurant.”

Her interest quickened. Maybe he had come across some information about Great Western, after all. And from his solemn expression, she suspected it might help substantiate her father's articles. “A surprise? What is it?”

He laid his hand over the spot where hers rested on his sleeve and squeezed her fingers. “You'll find out soon enough. Let's wait until we get there.”

Amelia could hardly contain her anticipation until they reached the Cosmopolitan and Ben ushered her inside. She laughed at herself, knowing she was as excited as a young child on Christmas morning.

As they entered, she smiled up at him. “All right, we're here. What's the surprise?”

Instead of answering, Ben scanned the room. “This way.”
Taking Amelia's arm, he led her toward the rear. She nodded to the other diners as they threaded their way past tables covered in crisp, white linen. Finally he indicated a table where a silver-haired man sat with his back to them.

Amelia turned a quizzical look at Ben as the other man rose. Ben cleared his throat and said, “I don't believe an introduction is necessary.”

The table's occupant turned to face them. An icy hand seemed to clutch at Amelia's heart when she stared up into the face of Thaddeus Grayson.

She swayed slightly and tightened her hold on Ben's arm to steady herself.

A chuckle rumbled from Grayson's chest. “Ah, I see we managed to pull off our surprise. Well done, Ben. You know how to keep a secret.” Turning back to Amelia, he ran his eyes down the front of her dress and back up again. “How delightful to see you, my dear.”

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise. “What? No congratulations for your new stepfather?”

Amelia knotted her hands into fists to hold them back from scrubbing the unwanted contact away. At last, she found her voice. “What are you doing here? What is this all about?”

She swiveled around to look at Ben, who looked as confused as she felt.

“Why don't we discuss it over dinner?” Grayson extended his hand toward the table and favored them both with an affable smile.

Share a meal with this man?
No!
Amelia cast a longing glance at the front of the restaurant. More than anything,
she wanted to bolt for the door, but her wobbly legs refused to cooperate.

She followed Ben's lead as he held a chair for her and settled her into the place opposite Grayson's, then took the seat to her left.

A moment later, their waitress appeared. Grayson beamed at her. “An order of your finest steaks, all around.”

Amelia couldn't find the energy to object to him making the choice without consulting them first. She went back to staring between him and Ben, a whirl of thoughts cascading through her mind.

“So you two know each other?” She had to concentrate to force the words out.

Ben opened his mouth to answer, but Grayson cut in. “Ah, yes. I met Benjamin several years ago while I was working back east. He struck me as a bright young man, and I'm pleased to see he's fulfilling that promise. I'm only sorry I didn't take him under my wing back then. He could have been working for me in Denver instead of here at Great Western with my friend Owen Merrick.”

Amelia stared at Ben as if seeing him for the first time. He seemed distant somehow, as if she was peering at him through the wrong end of a telescope. She had spent much of her time lately wondering if her father had been misled, but was she the one who had been deceived?

That open face, the steady gaze she had begun to trust—nothing she had learned of Ben seemed to fit the type of man she knew Grayson to be. But was that the real man, or all part of an act? She knew Grayson's ability to put forth one face in public, while a completely different persona emerged behind closed doors.

Their waitress appeared, bearing plates of succulent-looking steaks. Amelia stared at the sizzling meat and accompanying side dishes, but her appetite had fled. The waitress set a cup of tea before her, and Amelia took a long sip. Drawing strength from the reviving brew, she mentally shook herself and felt her journalistic instincts kick in.

She didn't want to believe the worst of Ben, not on circumstantial evidence alone. A mere acquaintance with Thaddeus Grayson didn't make him guilty by association. Her father's training taught her to ask questions and look at things objectively. She needed to put aside her dislike of her stepfather and step into the role of a reporter, ready to observe them both.

After taking a tiny bite and fortifying herself with another sip of tea, she forced herself to meet Grayson's eyes. “You've never really told me much about your work.”

A smile lit his face, as though pleased by her apparent capitulation. “You've probably heard quite a bit about it already from young Ben, here.”

When she stared at him, stupefied, he chuckled and added, “I am the owner of several businesses committed to playing a part in the expansion of the West—including the Great Western Investment Company. It's an exciting time, my dear, one filled with opportunities.”

Amelia could only stare at him. That meant Ben worked for her stepfather! The revelation made her thoughts reel. Keeping her voice steady, she said, “So business brought you here?”

He turned a burning gaze on her, and she looked down at her plate. “For the most part, but something a little more personal drew me to Granite Springs, as well.”

She yanked her head up and looked at him again. “What do you mean?”

Grayson laid his fork on his plate with a soft clink. He leaned across the table toward her, his face suddenly serious. “It's your mother, Amelia.”

Her hand flew to her throat. “What about Mother? Is she ill?”

Her stepfather sighed. “She's been under a lot of stress lately, what with the shock of your father's death and all the preparations for our wedding.”

Amelia's lips twisted. As quickly as they had married, the wedding couldn't have needed too much preparation. Surely her mother, even with her love of being the center of attention, wouldn't have insisted on a lavish ceremony, with her first husband so recently departed.

Grayson leaned even closer. “She's been worrying herself sick . . . over you.”

Over me
, or how my prolonged absence might be perceived by her
society friends?
Amelia felt a quick twinge of guilt. Maternal feelings must exist somewhere in her mother's nature, although she would be hard-pressed to come up with many examples.

She drew herself up. “Please tell Mother she doesn't have anything to worry about. I'm doing quite well here, and I'm very happy.” Clenching her hands in her lap, she shot a pleading look at Ben. If only she could find a way to get out of this miserable situation!

His brow puckered, as if he realized she was sending an unspoken message but wasn't sure what she wanted him to do.

Grayson went on as though she hadn't spoken. “She's beside
herself, thinking about you on your own out here, alone and unprotected.”

Amelia nearly scoffed aloud. He was the last person who should bring up such ideas. Nobody ever worried about her needing protection back in Denver . . . from him.

She looked back down at her plate, thinking about the lovely evening she had anticipated, sitting across the table from Ben and staring into his eyes. But Thaddeus Grayson's unwelcome appearance had turned her plans to dust. There had to be a way to call a stop to the evening. She couldn't take much more of this.

Something nudged the toe of her shoe, and she glanced at Ben. Was this a way of sending her unspoken support? To be fair, whatever he did or didn't know about Grayson's business, he couldn't possibly be aware of her troubled relationship with the man who had become her stepfather. She could understand his confusion and not wanting to make a scene in a public place.

To her surprise, Ben's eyes remained fixed on his plate while he sliced off another bite of his steak. The pressure on her foot increased, then moved up higher along her ankle.

When Ben still gave no sign of awareness, she flicked a glance back at Grayson. The glint in his eyes and the half smile on his lips confirmed her suspicions. She yanked her foot back. “What do you think you're doing?”

Ben jerked his head up, and Grayson arched his eyebrows. “What do you mean? I'm just a man looking out for the welfare of my stepdaughter. I can't tell you how much your mother and I look forward to the day you move back to Denver and share our home.”

The small bit of food she'd managed to eat threatened to
make a reappearance. She pressed her napkin against her lips and looked at Ben. “I'm not feeling well. Would you please excuse me?”