Broken Limbs, Mended Hearts by Regina Jennings (10 best novels of all time .txt) 📗

Laura had said she’d rather Calista eat cold beans out of a tin can than give Rahn’s House of Lords a dime of her honest money. Now that she understood, Calista wholeheartedly agreed with Granny Laura, but her personal preferences had to be set aside for the greater good. If she wanted to keep her job, she had to swallow her disgust and play the role.

On her sixth pass, Calista had started for the door of the café when she saw a small bag fall to the ground. It looked like a money sack—wrinkled and mostly empty, but valuable to someone, and that someone was probably the miner sauntering by.

“Excuse me,” she called. She stood over the bag. “Sir, you dropped this.”

He turned, but before he could react, a woman swooped down, snatched the bag off the ground, and made to flee.

“Hold up, sister.” Calista grabbed a handful of tattered skirt, stopping the woman’s escape.

“It’s mine. I found it.” The woman tried to tuck the money bag into the bosom of her dress, but as it was already full, there wasn’t room.

The miner patted his empty pockets. “That’s my money,” he said. “It’s all I have left until Saturday.”

Calista tried to wrestle the bag from the woman’s hand. “It isn’t yours. I saw it fall, and you were nowhere near it.” If she’d meant to stay inconspicuous in Joplin, she was failing, but she couldn’t help herself. “Give it back to him.”

With timely intervention, the miner pried the money bag free with blackened hands. “I did an honest day’s work,” he said to the bedraggled woman. “Go on and earn your own.”

“If I had honest work available, I would,” she huffed. Then, with a sneer toward Calista, she stalked away.

The miner paused only for a grateful nod before ambling off in the other direction.

Calista dusted off her white gloves. That had been gratifying. Equally gratifying was that her dress hadn’t been mussed in the unexpected tussle, but she couldn’t delay any longer. It was time to confront the House of Lords.

Through the windows, a shiny soda bar was visible along one wall, with electric lights reflecting in the mirrors behind it. Ladies and gentlemen crowded around the square tables, and it looked as proper as the Harvey House restaurant her cousin Willow had worked in. If one didn’t know the owner’s association with the activity upstairs, they wouldn’t find anything untoward with the café.

Calista reached for the long brass door handle, but a hand appeared from behind her, pressing the door closed and blocking her path.

“I beg your pardon!” She fumed at the young man who positioned himself between her and the door. “I did not request your assistance.”

He stood coiled, shoulders tense like he was prepared for battle. “You don’t belong in this restaurant. It’d be better for you if you kept on moving.”

She did a quick assessment of his plain workman’s clothing. His eyes were clear, and his jaw was thrust forward as if expecting a strike. A glance from him to the three suit-clad men waiting to enter showed that he wasn’t likely to be a customer. What, then? Some kind of tough hired to watch for trouble?

Excusing himself, he allowed the men to pass but didn’t offer Calista the same courtesy.

“Don’t be concerned for me,” she said. “I was deciding whether to shop first and eat second, or eat first and shop second. Picking out a button hook for my boots is a serious matter. I wouldn’t want to do it when I’m hungry, and I’ve heard the chicken salad at this restaurant is superb. On the other hand, a full meal often makes me drowsy, and making such an important decision should only be done when one is alert.” According to Calista’s experience, talking about shopping was guaranteed to lull the masculine mind into a stupor. She could only hope the stupor would be deep enough that he would forget about her.

Sliding his hand beneath his broad-brimmed hat, he brushed his sandy-brown hair out of his eyes. His glance did a swift sweep from the top of her plumed bonnet to the double-ribboned hem of her skirt. “Whatever instinct is keeping you away from this place, you should heed it.”

Was that a threat? Calista’s eyes glinted. Thus far, her youth had served her well in her profession. She’d never been challenged this early in an investigation. People found it easy to believe she was a feckless young girl who had stumbled unintentionally into whatever trouble they caught her in. She’d have to play it out, especially if this man was connected to the House of Lords.

“I’m very hungry, and being hungry makes me cantankerous, I’m afraid. Now, I’m determined to eat here, especially since you’re teasing me like this.” She braved a generous smile at the unsmiling man. “So if you’d excuse me . . .”

He tilted his head as if listening for a signal, then grimaced like he’d been stabbed in the gut. “I reckon I have to go in with you.”

“What?” Calista felt a zap of anxiety rush through her. What had she done wrong? Did they know she was coming? Had someone followed her from Chicago? She gripped her handbag. Was this how Lila Seaton had felt when someone approached her at the haberdashery before she disappeared? “I’m not accustomed to eating with strangers,” she said.

“If you’re entering this establishment, I’m going to insist that you do so under my watch.”

Part of her wanted to turn and run—this was a dangerous and unexpected complication—but she would hold to her role of a young lady coming to Joplin to look for work. Not a particularly wise young lady, nor a particularly respectable young lady. A young lady who might just think it an adventure to eat with a good-looking stranger, no matter how stern his expression.

Calista tried another smile. “If you insist, although you shouldn’t think this gives you leave to be familiar.”

If she’d thought her flirtation would win him over, she was mistaken. He dipped