Page 5 of Mail-Order Lady

He turned toward the stairs before he could do something foolish. Before he could say he’d been watching her for weeks now and couldn’t seem to stop. That the silence in the wagon had felt like pressure against his ribs because he wanted to know what she was thinking and had no right to ask.

The street outside hit him with dust and noise and the smell of horses.

Better. This was better. Something to focus on besides the way Clara’s fingers had gripped the doorframe.

Fort Benton possessed two boarding houses, lodging above all three saloons, and private rooms scattered through buildings that served other purposes during daylight hours.

Mrs. McKinney would choose somewhere with a veneer of respectability. The boarding house on Second Street, probably. The one that catered to travelers with pretensions.

He’d start there.

The afternoon sun pressed against his shoulders as he walked. A freight wagon rumbled past, loaded with furs. Two men stood outside the gunsmith’s, talking in low voices that cut off when he passed.

The boarding house sat back from the street, fronted by a narrow porch with carved posts that someone had painted white last season. Lace curtains hung in the windows. A sign beside the door read “Mrs. Dunmore’s Rooms—Respectable Lodgers Only.”

Respectable. That would appeal to Margaret McKinney.

He climbed the steps and knocked.

The woman who answered was perhaps fifty, with iron-gray hair pulled back in a severe bun. She looked him over with the assessment of someone who’d learned to judge character quickly.

“Afternoon.” He kept his voice polite. “I’m looking for a Mrs. McKinney. I believe she may have taken a room here.”

Mrs. Dunmore’s expression remained neutral. “And who might be asking?”

“Robert Balfour. I’m an attorney.” Not fully. He’d done the study course, but hadn’t had the opportunity to apprentice or take the exam.

She studied him another moment, then stepped back. “Come in, Mr. Balfour.”

The front room appeared spotlessly clean, with dark wood furniture and more lace. A vase of dried flowers sat on a side table. The kind of attention to detail that spoke of a woman who ran her establishment with firm rules.

“I do have a Mrs. McKinney staying here.” Mrs. Dunmore closed the door behind him. “Arrived yesterday on the Belle. Took my best room.”

Of course she did.

Robert’s pulse kicked up, but he kept his face impassive. “Is she in at present?”

Mrs. Dunmore grasped her hands together at her waist. “She went out about an hour ago. Said she had business to attend to in town.”

Business.

The word settled like lead in his gut. What business could Margaret McKinney have in Fort Benton except the kind that involved her daughter?

“Did she say where she was going?”

“Not to me.” Mrs. Dunmore’s tone suggested she found this lapse in manners noteworthy. “She’s not overly forthcoming, your Mrs. McKinney.”

Not his Mrs. McKinney. But he didn’t correct her.

“When she returns, would you tell her Robert Balfour called? I’m staying at the hotel on Front Street.”

Mrs. Dunmore’s eyebrows lifted. “You want me to tell her you’re looking for her?”

Maybe he should say no. Keep the element of surprise. But better to get the meeting over with. And he could be watching for her. “Yes. Please tell her.”

Mrs. Dunmore nodded. “I’ll pass along the message, Mr. Balfour.”

He thanked the woman again and let himself out.