The amount of money Stephen Winston had offered was indeed a pretty price, if it was real. The Panic had robbed families of their homes, men and women of their dignity. The financial turmoil could well force him and Waldo back into the society Nathan abhorred if he didn’t accept work.
But not this work. It smelled of nonsense. How did he know she wouldn’t cry complaint the moment things became difficult—and they would become difficult—then refuse to pay him? He’d had one or two society members attempt to treat him that way. They thought he was still one of them. What did he need with money?
He hadn’t been one of them for years, and, God willing, he would never be one of them again.
Besides, how did he know the banker and his daughter even had money to pay? The fellow wasn’t the only one in Tacoma with the threat of ruin hanging over his head.
Men reacted badly to ruin. Look at his father. Look at himself.
The beauty beside him tugged at her father’s sleeve. “Come, Winston. We are wasting our time. Surely we can do better.”
Waldo glanced at him, jerked his head toward the pair. That was Nathan’s cue to placate, apologize. Very likely most men begged her pardon when they’d refused her. And they likely refused her rarely. That pale hair piled up on the top of her head with curls teasing her fair cheeks. Those big blue eyes. The figure outlined in the wasp-waist coat. She probably crooked her finger, and they all came running.
Not him. He’d left behind society’s rules for the glory of God’s creation. Playing proper hadn’t changed the fact that his father was gone, along with the bulk of the fortune he’d amassed selling land in the burgeoning city. Nathan knew what it meant to fall from grace.
So, he did nothing as Mr. Winston and his lovely daughter traipsed out of the saloon. Nathan raised his empty glass to order another sarsaparilla.
Waldo plunked himself down in his chair. “Stuff and nonsense.”
“I agree,” Nathan said.
Waldo scowled at him. “I was talking about you.”
“I warned you not to get your hopes up,” Nathan reminded him. “It’s hard enough climbing the mountain with an experienced group of hikers. She wouldn’t have lasted past Longmire’s.”
“Seems to me she has more grit than that,” Waldo grumbled as the barkeep brought them two more of the earthy drinks. He nodded to the man. “Sorry for the bother, Shem. You got any stew on?”
“Soup only,” Shem Holland answered, setting a heavy glass down with a grimace nearly swallowed by his thick black beard. “Vegetable.”
“We’ll take two bowls,” Nathan said.
Shem hitched up trousers that bagged at his waist. “You mind if I see the money first? Whole lot of folks mistake me for the soup kitchen these days.”
Nathan pulled out a dollar and tossed it on the table. The silver gleamed on the dark wood. Shem’s eyes gleamed nearly as brightly.
“Coming right up,” he said, scooping the coin into the palm of his hand.
“Be careful showing silver like that,” Waldo fussed as the proprietor hurried away. “Some men would do most anything for money these days.” He glanced left and right before muttering, “Except climb Mount Rainier.”
“It was a fool’s errand,” Nathan insisted, leaning back in his chair.
“Says you. You took her in dislike afore she ever opened her mouth. I saw it.”
Nathan shrugged. “I’ve met enough like her.”
Waldo snorted. “No, you ain’t. I’ll have you know that little girl graduated from the Puget Sound University, one of the first women to do it.”
That was impressive. He knew how rigorous college studies could be. As the son of a prominent businessman, he’d graduated from the State University in Seattle. But that had been eight long years ago. Life had changed. He’d changed.
“She rides too,” Waldo continued, as if warming to his theme. “Real good, I hear. And she’s a whiz at lawn tennis.”
Nathan eyed him. “Do you even know what lawn tennis is?”
Waldo pouted. “No, but it sounded hard.”
“Miss Winston is obviously a paragon,” Nathan said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to take her up the mountain.”
“Not Winston,” Waldo argued. “Her name’s Baxter. Her mother’s on her third husband, I hear.”
That was a wretched thing to have in common. Nathan’s mother had been through two other men since his father had died as well. He shifted on the chair as Shem hustled back with a tray. He set it down in front of them with a flourish. The battered bottom of the tin bowl was evident through the clear liquid, and Nathan could count the pieces of carrot and celery clinging desperately to the sides. The soup was accompanied by two thin slices of bread.
“How about some butter?” Waldo asked as Shem straightened.
“Sorry,” he said. “Had to sell the cow.”
“Maybe you should have cooked the cow,” Waldo said, poking his spoon at the vegetables.
“I’m just doing what I can to stay open,” Shem said. “Course, if old man Winston’s bank goes under, I’ll go under with it.”
Nathan frowned. “So the paper was right. He’s on that shaky ground?”
Shem nodded. “Cash Kincaid is his biggest client. Threatened to pull out everything unless Miss Baxter married him. She threw his offer in his face.”
“Good for her,” Waldo cheered.
Brave. Nathan would give her that. Kincaid was ruthless, his tactics just short of illegal. He couldn’t think of a better fellow to receive a set down. He only wished he’d been the one to do it.
Shem leaned closer. “Story’s going around that he gave her a choice: marry him or climb Mount Rainier. Either way, he saves the bank. She even made him put it in writing.” He straightened again and shook his head. “She’s a game one, but how’s she going to climb a mountain? Might as well wish for gold to fall out of the sky.”
Nathan pushed back his chair. “Finish my soup, Waldo.
