At least Liam seemed to be in better spirits since Mr. Gilbert had lent him what he needed to pay his men. He was off and about most of the day, but returned home as cheerful as ever and happy to eat whatever Deirdre set in front of him.
“How is the building going?” she asked as they ate that evening. “I haven’t had a moment to go by and see for myself.”
“Fine, just fine,” Liam said. He stirred his stew, seemingly lost in thought.
Deirdre ate quietly. It was odd to have Liam not filling the room with conversation. Normally a question such as the one she’d asked would have him go on for several minutes, telling her far more detail than she ever cared to know about lumber or the price of nails or orders made from St. Louis.
“Do the men seem happy?” she asked.
He looked up at her sharply. “Of course. Why would you think they weren’t?”
Deirdre paused, her spoon held over her bowl. “Well, they were on the verge of a riot over their pay not too long ago, so—”
“It was hardly a riot. It was a disagreement. And they’re fine.” He pushed his bowl back. “I’m not particularly hungry tonight. I’ll be in my study.”
And before she knew it, he was gone.
Deirdre blinked at the doorway, uncertain what had just happened. Clearly, something important was on Liam’s mind. And just as clearly, he wasn’t about to share it with her.
She finished her supper and busied herself with covering the remainder of the stew to carry down the road. The stew with some buttered bread should be a good dinner for them all, and Roman could keep any extra on hand if they needed it.
Deirdre pulled on her coat and left to make her deliveries. The door to Roman and Clara’s home was unlocked, and she let herself in.
“I thought it must be you.” Roman appeared in the doorway to their kitchen, his hair messed up and his eyes tired.
“How is she?” Deirdre asked as she spooned out bowls of stew for both of them and a third to bring to Jeremiah.
“Seems to be getting better. The pains are less frequent. The doc came by today and said the baby’s doing just fine, so we’re thankful for that. Clara’s getting restless. If she wasn’t finally asleep, I’d ask you to come up and spend some time with her. She could use a conversation with someone who isn’t me.” He chuckled as he took the bowl Deirdre handed him. “Thank you for this. You’re single-handedly keeping me fed. I’d hate to go back to that burned gruel Jeremiah used to make.”
Deirdre laughed. “Thank you for the reminder to never let him near the kitchen.” She gathered the extra bowl she’d dished and some of the bread. “I need to bring this to him. Please tell Clara I’ll come by tomorrow, even if it means I bring customers with me.”
She hurried across the yard to the stable. Dusk had fallen some time ago, blanketing the town in a curtain of black. The cold air tried to sneak through the buttons on her coat, and Deirdre shivered as she pulled open the back door to the livery.
“Jeremiah!” she called, closing the door behind her.
Voices came from the front of the building, and she found him in conversation with Marshal Wright and another fellow she didn’t recognize. She set Jeremiah’s supper on the table where she usually sat during the day, and from the snippet of conversation she heard, the marshal needed to rent a horse for the fellow he was with, who was going to ride out with him to search for some outlaw. Their talk stretched on, and Deirdre began to think she needed to make herself scarce.
Deirdre waved at Jeremiah, her heart aching to spend more time with him. He gave her a smile filled with longing, and she held that to her heart as she slipped out the front door.
The music from the Starlight Saloon grew more raucous as the night turned darker, and the respectable folks were giving over to men who worked the building crews, the railroad, and miners who drifted in from the camp east of town. Deirdre picked up her pace and reached home with nary a sideways word from a man who ought to know better.
She closed and locked the door behind her. The house was as dark as the street outside, and she quickly lit a lamp to dispel it. She crossed the parlor to Liam’s study and knocked on the door.
“Liam? I’m home.”
He didn’t answer. The door was partially open, and it was clear the fire was still burning in the fireplace inside. His books were closed for the night. He must have either gone to bed or headed out for the evening. Deirdre frowned at the fireplace. He really must have been distracted if he’d left it burning.
She set the lamp down to extinguish the fire. As the flames died among the wood and ash, she spotted the corner of a piece of paper sticking out near her feet. He must have dropped it.
Scooping it up, Deirdre hoped it wasn’t anything important. The bottom portion of the paper was covered in ash, but thankfully it hadn’t burned. She blew off the ash and discovered it was a telegram. Moving to the desk, she went to set it down somewhere he could find it—but the words caught her attention.
Heard news of unrest and lack of funds. Calling it in. Expect my associates shortly. -DR.
Deirdre shivered, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold seeping into the room or the telegram she’d just read. No wonder Liam had been distracted. She assumed this DR was his investor, who was apparently growing skeptical enough to send his colleagues to Crest Stone. And just after Liam had needed to borrow funding from Mr. Gilbert.
She didn’t know what she could do to help, but tomorrow she would ask.
