IN SEARCH OF DREAMS Read online

  Nice try, honey, he thought with a cynical twist to his mouth. But it's not going to work with me. Before the winter is over you and I are going to become well acquainted.

  "I'm surprised he stayed in such a remote place after striking it rich," he said to Kate. "Especially if Gold Fever was like most rough-and-ready mining towns of that era."

  "Oh, Mr. Smithson built a mansion in Denver, too, like the other gold tycoons, but he liked to keep a close watch on the mine operation. Personally, I think he also enjoyed being a big fish in a small pond. This house served as a constant reminder to all the locals of his status."

  "Mmm, you're probably right," J.T. agreed, arching his neck back to look at the enormous, domed, etched-glass skylight that spilled prisms of light into the foyer. "Why else would he build a place like this and perch it up here where he could look down on everyone else?"

  "Yes, I agree. Now if you'll come with me, I'll give you a quick tour of the downstairs so you'll know your way around."

  She led the way down the wide central hallway toward the back of the house. An appreciative smile curved J.T.'s mouth as he watched her thick braid swing against her back and the enticing sway of her gently rounded hips.

  As they passed them, Kate gestured toward the two sets of double doors on either side of the hall. "On the left is the guest parlor, on the right the family parlor. Next on the left is the dining room, and across the hall from it is the library. Feel free to use them anytime you like.

  "You may even find some valuable research material for your novel in the library. My father was a mining engineer and the superintendent of the Shamrock Mine for years. He was also something of a history buff. All I ask is that you return any books that you use when you're done."

  "Fair enough. And, thanks. I'll take you up on that offer."

  A little past the center of the house the hallway came to a T at the base of the massive stairway. Kate gestured to the short hallway on the left. "This leads to the butler's pantry, downstairs powder room and the servants' back stairs, but I would prefer that you not use those as they're narrow and steep. I rather not risk a guest taking a fall."

  "Old Elijah didn't waste money on niceties for the hired help, huh?" J.T. said with a crooked smile.

  "No. Although, I don't suppose he was any worse than any other wealthy person of that era. In those days there were definite distinctions between the classes. Now, if you'll follow me, Mr. Conway, we'll go to my office and get you checked in."

  "The first door is the entrance to the kitchen," she said in her brisk, tour guide voice as they made their way down the right hallway. "That door at the end of the hall opens to the port cochere. When it's snowing you may want to pull your vehicle under there and enter through that way. Here we are." She opened the last door on the left and led the way inside a comfortable-size room. "This used to be the housekeeper's room, but I use it as my office now. Please, have a seat, Mr. Conway."

  The formality of registering and paying six months rent in advance took only a few minutes. When they were done, Kate led the way back down the hall to the stairs.

  "There is an elevator. It was put in years ago, and it's pokey, but if you'd prefer to use it we can."

  "That's okay. I don't mind the stairs."

  At the base, the stairway was at least ten feet wide, with massive, hand-carved newel posts and spindles. Six steps up, at a wide landing, the stairs split and turned at ninety-degree angles, one flight going right, the other left.

  Kate took the flight of stairs to the right, continuing her spiel as they climbed, but J.T. listened with only half an ear. He was too busy studying the stained-glass mural that made up the outer wall of the next landing.

  It depicted a woman in eighteenth-century dress strolling through a garden, carrying a basket full of freshly cut flowers. J.T. darted a quick look over his shoulder and spotted a companion stained-glass mural on the opposite landing of a gentleman astride a white horse. Light streamed in through both windows, bathing the entire stairwell in shafts of rainbow hues that created an almost surreal atmosphere.

  To have the enormous pieces commissioned, then hauled up to this remote mountain town by horse and wagon must have cost old Elijah a mint, J.T. mused in awe, craning his neck for one last look as he followed Kate up the next section of stairs.

  "Excluding the servants' quarters on the third floor, the house has ten bedrooms. I rent eight of them to guests."

  Which leaves one available for your brother whenever he decides to drop in, J.T. thought.

  "Originally there were fourteen bedrooms on this floor, but four had to be sacrificed when the house was remodeled around 1910 to add bathrooms."

  "Fourteen bedrooms, huh. That's a lot, even for a millionaire."

  "Not really. The Smithsons had a large family. There were already three children when the house was built and eight more were born after they moved in."

  Kate stopped outside a door at the end of the hall. "Since you're the only guest, you may have your choice of rooms, but I think this one will best suit your needs." Opening the door, she led the way inside.

  "As you can see, being a corner room, it is quite large, and there's a desk in the alcove that you may use. There's also a private bathroom right through that door. The fixtures are antique but you'll find the plumbing is sound."

  "I'm sure it'll do fine."

  Kate stayed just inside the door as J.T. strolled to the center of the room. He looked around, impressed with the room's size and immaculate condition. Even though heavy emerald-green velvet draped the four tall windows on the two outer walls, plenty of light streamed in through the lace panels that covered the panes.

  The cabbage-rose wallpaper and the rose-patterned rug covering most of the oak floor were not to J.T.'s taste, but they were in keeping with the Victorian structure. So was the massive antique furniture. It was all right, he supposed, but not something he'd choose for himself.

  Then the bed caught his eye, and he instantly revised his opinion. The thing was magnificent. The mahogany headboard stood at least eight feet tall and the footboard three and a half or four. Both were intricately carved. The mattress looked bigger than the king-size bed he'd just put into storage and was almost as high as his waist. For someone Kate's size the small set of wooden steps beside the bed would be a necessity.

  "Wow. Now that's what I call a bed."

  "It belonged to Mr. Smithson," Kate explained. "He was a big man. I believe he had it custom-made. It does have a new mattress, though. I'm sure you'll find it comfortable."

  "No wonder he had eleven children." J.T. sent Kate a flirtatious glance and winked. "A bed like that would inspire any man."

  To his amusement, the talk of beds seemed to make her uncomfortable. Color bloomed in her cheeks, though she held her head high and pretended to be unaffected.

  "The closet is small, I'm afraid. They were added at the same time as the bathrooms, but between it and the armoire, I think you'll have adequate space for your clothes."

  "I'm sure they'll do fine." He watched her fidget and struggle to cover her discomfort. Well, well, well. So Ms. Kate Mahoney was uncomfortable with the subject of sex, was she? Now that was a puzzle worth looking into.

  He judged her to be in her late twenties. Most women her age were experienced and worldly and would have barely noticed the mild innuendo.

  "Good. Then I'll leave you to get settled." She started to leave, then turned back. "Oh, by the way, Mr. Conway—"

  "Please, call me J.T. We're going to be sharing this house for the next six months, so I think we can dispense with formality, don't you?" he said, giving her a coaxing smile.

  An appalled look flashed over her face before she could control it. Obviously, the lady would prefer to keep a safe distance between them. The question was, why?

  J.T. watched her frantically grope for a reason to refuse the suggestion and saw the instant when she realized there was nothing she could say without sounding like a stiff-necked prig. "Very
well. If you insist.

  "As I was about to say, meals are served in the dining room. Breakfast is at eight, lunch at one and dinner at seven."

  "Okay. But if I don't show up, go ahead without me. When I'm working and it's going well, I don't stop for anything."

  "But, you have to eat…"

  "Don't worry about me. Just stick whatever you've prepared in the fridge and I'll zap it in the microwave later."

  Kate looked horrified by the suggestion. He watched her struggle with the idea, but finally she nodded. "Very well," she said, making no attempt to hide her disapproval. "If that's what you wish."

  She turned again to leave, but he stopped her.

  "Actually, I don't like to be disturbed at anytime when I'm working. So if the sign is out," he said, pointing to the small needlepoint Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the inside doorknob, "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't knock on my door except in case of an emergency."

  "I clean the room every morning. How am I supposed to do that if I can't get inside?"

  "Don't worry about it. I sure won't. You can muck out when I come up for air."

  "Mr. Con—" One of J.T.'s eyebrows shot skyward, and she grimaced. "That is … J.T., the Alpine Rose has built a reputation on excellent service, good food and spotless accommodations. Guests don't "zap" their own food nor are rooms allowed to get into a state where they require 'mucking out.'"

  "Don't worry, your reputation is safe. I won't tell anyone if you don't."

  She didn't look pleased, but after a moment she sighed. "Very well, if you insist. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

  When she had gone, J.T. stared at the closed door, his expression thoughtful. Kate Mahoney was not at all what he had expected.

  His mouth twisted ruefully the instant the thought ran through his mind. He wasn't supposed to "expect" anything. He was a reporter. He was supposed to approach an investigative assignment unbiased, with no preconceived ideas or opinions. True, he wasn't there to get a story, but he wanted to apply the same fairness.

  The trouble was he was finding it wasn't quite so easy to hold to that ethical standard when the matter was personal.

  J.T. sighed and raked his hand through his hair. No matter how hard he'd tried to keep an open mind, the implication in that Internet message kept eating at him. Just the idea that a brother of his might be involved in something illegal colored his thinking—not only about Zach Mahoney, but Zach's adopted sister, as well.

  Because of that message, J.T. had been prepared to meet someone more hard edged and worldly, not a soft, fragile-looking beauty like Kate.

  She wasn't his type, of course. He preferred feisty, vibrant women with vivacious personalities—women like his new sister-in-law, Maude Ann. Looking into Kate Mahoney's calm gray eyes was like gazing into the cool depths of a mountain lake. With her blond hair and pale coloring, she reminded him of the delicate angel his mother used to put on top of their Christmas tree every year—exquisite to look at, but untouchable.

  Yet there was something about her that played havoc with his libido. The instant he'd gotten a good look at her, he'd felt as though he'd received a sharp blow to the gut.

  Strangely, her quiet reserve intrigued him. She didn't appear to be shy, exactly. She hadn't seemed in the least timorous or skittish. A wry smile twitched his mouth. That is, not until he'd made that crack about the bed. She'd been calm and businesslike, her gaze direct and unflinching. No, he had a feeling her reserve had more to do with wariness than timidity.

  The question was, what was the cause? Guilt? An innately suspicious nature? Or past mistreatment?

  J.T. gazed at the bed once again. He pictured Kate lying there, those solemn gray eyes glowing with warmth, that tender mouth parted in a temptress's smile, her long hair an unbound tangle around her face.

  The tidy French braid that hung down her back was as thick as his wrist and the color of ripe wheat. The whole time he'd talked to her his fingers had itched to unwind that plait, run his fingers through the silky strands, see that glorious mane spread out on his pillow like liquid gold.

  He shook his head. "Don't be a fool, Conway," he cautioned himself. "The lady may look like an angel, but for all you know she could be a crook, so don't go getting any amorous ideas."

  J.T. wandered over to one of the windows and pulled back a lace panel. The sun had already dropped behind the mountains, casting long purple shadows over the town below. Here and there lights were beginning to flicker on.

  Gold Fever, with its false-front buildings and fancy Victorian architecture, looked quaint and picturesque, like a scene on a Christmas card—idyllic, peaceful, free from troubles and the normal human failings and vices.

  But J.T. had learned that things were seldom as they seemed, that people—even the best of them—harbored dark secrets. He also knew that, human nature being what it was, there was always someone anxious to talk about them.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  The telephone started ringing as Kate reached the bottom of the stairs. Taking the shortcut through the butler's pantry, she darted into the kitchen and snatched the receiver from the wall phone. "Alpine Rose Bed-and-Breakfast. How may I help you?"

  "Well? How does it feel to be a lady of leisure?"

  "Zach! It's so good to hear from you. And I was feeling really great while it lasted, but as of about a half hour ago, I have a guest who is staying through the winter." Briefly she filled him in on how J.T. Conway had talked her into letting him stay, but when she was done, Zach was not pleased.

  "Dammit, Sis, I don't think it's a good idea to let a strange man stay there with you all winter long."

  "Zach, strange men stay here all the time," she chided.

  "It's one thing to have single men staying there during tourist season when there are other guests around. It's something else to be all alone with one for months. You could get snowed in with this guy. What if he turns out to be a rapists or pervert or a serial killer?"

  "Zach, I'll be fine. Mr. Conway is a nice man. I'm sure he's harmless," she said with long-suffering patience. She wasn't about to admit to Zach that on some basic man-woman level J.T. made her antsy. She adored her brother, but he had a tendency to be overprotective where she was concerned.

  While she didn't believe for a moment that J.T. posed a threat to her safety, Kate knew perfectly well that men like J.T. Conway exuded a sexual magnetism that played havoc with a woman's heart and common sense—even a practical woman like herself—but she resolutely pushed that unsettling thought aside. She could not afford to give in to Zach on this. The man would wrap her in cotton wool if she didn't stand up to him.

  "How old is this guy?"

  "Well I wasn't so rude as to ask him such a personal question, but he appears to be about your age."

  "My age! Trust me. He's not harmless."

  Kate laughed. "And what, dear brother, does that say about you? Hmm?"

  "That I'm a normal, red-blooded male. And unless this Conway guy is a total nerd or a freak, so is he. Which is why I want you to give him his money back and send him on his way."

  J.T. Conway? A nerd? Or a freak? Hardly. Laughing, Kate refused, and they argued for a few minutes more. She insisted that all she had to do was keep her distance and treat J.T. as she would any other guest, and she'd be fine. "Besides," she added, "In a year or two the house will need a new roof. The Alpine Rose is doing all right, financially, but a major capital expenditure like that will stretch the budget thinner than I'd like. Now the extra money has been dropped into my lap like a gift. It would be stupid to turn it down."

  Zach cursed and raged, but in the end he had no choice but to accept her decision.

  When they said goodbye, Kate headed out the back door, grabbing a battered pea jacket that belonged to Zach from the rack on the service porch. The sun had already dropped behind the mountains, but twilight lingered a long time in the high country. It would be an hour or so before full darkness de
scended, and she had too much to do to waste time.

  She marched up the incline to the old carriage house that was now a combination garage and toolshed. Ten minutes later, wearing a pair of work gloves and the oversize coat with the collar turned up against the biting wind, she loaded compost into a wheelbarrow and pushed the unwieldy thing around to the front of the house.

  Kate had spread most of the load onto the beds when J.T. came out the door to retrieve more items from his vehicle.

  He smiled when he spotted her and called, "That looks like hard work. Need some help?"

  It had been so long since anyone other than Zach had offered to help Kate in any way that she was taken aback. For a second she could only stare at him. Then she gave herself a mental shake and scooped up another shovelful of compost from the wheelbarrow. "Thank you, no. I can manage."

  Nice as it would be to have help, she couldn't possibly accept. He was a guest, after all, not a friend or a hired hand. One, furthermore, from whom she intended to keep her distance. She couldn't very well do that and accept favors from the man.

  Besides, as she'd told him, she could manage. She'd run this place with no help from anyone for four years, hadn't she?

  "You sure? I don't mind. I've been driving for days. Physical activity is just what I need to work out the kinks."

  "Thank you, but no."

  J.T. shrugged. "Okay. Suit yourself."

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kate watched him lope down the steps and stride out to his Jeep. When he lifted the rear cargo door and bent over to pull out two cases, her gaze was drawn to his backside. Helplessly she noted how the faded jeans molded that firm flesh, and experienced an odd pressure in her chest.

  She forced her gaze upward, but that was no help. Beneath the dark pullover, the muscles in his back and broad shoulders bunched and rippled as he easily hefted the cases out and headed back up the walk.