“Plots of land. Where homes will be built.”
The town is so new, not even the houses have been constructed yet.
At the large yellow building, we peer up at an ornate sign suspended above the wraparound porch:MAYBELLE HOTEL AND RESTAURANT.
Across the street sit the Maybelle Saloon and the Maybelle Barber Shop. Several horses are tied to the post in front of the saloon, and a man sits in a chair in front of the barber shop, thinning gray hair combed to one side, hands working over something—carving a piece of wood.
Noah walks up the porch of the hotel and pulls open the door.
I tie Odie to the railing, then look back up the road. I don’t like this—leaving Odie in the open where she might be seen. Walking into an unfamiliar hotel.
But I follow Noah inside.
The air of the hotel smells strangely clean, like rose water and mint—somehow they’ve managed to keep out the dust. The walls are painted with tiny sunrise-blue flowers, and a love seat with newly stitched cushions sits just below a stairwell that winds its way up to a second floor. To the left, a wide doorway leads into another room with a dozen square tables, and metal coffee cups and folded napkins are set in front of each chair, awaiting customers who I suspect rarely come.
Not way out here. In these distant mountains.
I swivel my gaze to the right, scanning a narrow desk positioned between two large chairs. The place is unsettlingly quiet. Empty.
“Maybe it’s not open for business,” I say, spinning around to look back at the front door. Our escape, if we need to run.
Noah nods, taking a step closer to the desk, when footsteps echo from the second floor. Small and quick.
A woman appears, swishing down the stairwell in a pale violet dress with white lace along the collar. “Terribly sorry,” she announces, bright-eyed and all teeth, light auburn hair combed back and pinned at the base of her neck. “Didn’t hear you come in.” She glides across the foyer and perches herself behind the desk, a regal figure, back straight as a pine board, smelling of honey and lavender. Like soap and freshly washed hair. “How many nights?” she asks, eyelids batting.
“We’re just looking for something to eat,” Noah answers, staring at the woman like she can’t be trusted. But right now, I don’t think he’d trust anyone. “And maybe some water for our horse.”
The woman peers past us, craning her head to the window whereOdie is tied at the porch. “It’s a long way to Maybelle without supplies,” she says, lifting an eyebrow. “You come looking for gold?”
“No.” Noah’s voice is measured and precise, not wanting to offer up any more details than necessary. “Just passing through.”
“Huh.” Her eyes dim a little, the cheerfulness sinking from her pinked face. “Everyone who comes this way is looking to stake a claim along the Payutte Basin.”
Noah rests a hand on the desk, giving her a somber look. “We lost everything in a river crossing,” he lies.
“Oh no.” The woman’s eyebrows slope, sincerity in her gaze—a woman without motives beyond what sits plainly in front of us. “You two do look like you’ve spent a few nights out in the cold.”
I smile at her, trying to seem calm, unafraid of standing in the foyer of a hotel in the middle of a small, unknown town. I try to keep my eyes from nervously flashing to the front window, watching for men on horseback riding up the dirt road.
“You must stay the night,” she presses, eyes wide and hopeful. “I insist.”
But Noah shakes his head. “We can’t.”
My ears start to ring. I turn and look out the window again, but there’s still no one there. A part of me wants to believe they aren’t following us, that they’ve given up. Maybe Noah was wrong when he said they’d keep coming for us. If Holt is dead, perhaps the men have disbanded, scattered like dust, no longer motivated to pursue us deeper into the wilderness where the towns become fewer and farther apart.
Maybe they won’t want revenge after all.
But the ticking in my eardrums, the dryness in my throat,makes me think they’re still out there, getting closer. Always closer.
The woman frowns at us, pressing down the sides of her dress. “I don’t get many married couples at the hotel. Mostly miners and ranchers out here.” Her expression changes, turns warm again. “I’ll give you a room at no charge.” A smile tugs at her pinked cheekbones. “And I’ll draw you both warm baths. You can pay me for dinner, but that’s it.”
I look to Noah. This woman thinks we’re married.
“I’ll have Tom lead your horse around back to the stable,” she adds, nodding cheerfully, and I get the sense she’s desperate to haveanyguests in the hotel, someone to fill the silent hallways, to cut through the quiet echo. “He’ll give her grain and fresh water.”
Noah’s jaw pulses—he thinks this is a bad idea, staying longer than a few minutes. But we have to sleep somewhere, whether out in the cold, in the trees against the hard ground, or here in a hotel. And if Odie is hidden in a stable, she won’t be spotted. Maybe we can risk it, just this one night. A bath that smells of honey and lavender—just like the woman—sounds so good, I could almost cry. A soft bed, a pillow, clean sheets. I crave it in a way I never thought I could crave anything.
I look to Noah, and he exhales—he knows I want to stay.
