Mail Order Bride and The Mix-up (A Western Romance Book)(COMPLETED)

Chapter 02

Ira Sullivan stood behind the front counter of the Sullivan Hotel, which his father had build and left to him years ago, just before his passing, watching the people come and go. It was a favorite hobby of his, though he knew the staff thought it strange. They seemed to attribute it to being a wealthy young man—at twenty-five, he was younger than most other hotel owners.

Ira owned several hotels in Mellow Pass and other nearby parts of Utah Territory. For a while, he'd considered taking the abandoned town now called Angel's Reach and turning it into a sort of vacation spot for wealthy people looking for a good time and had even begun to draw up some plans in that regard when he'd learned it had been taken over by a group of women with nowhere else to go.

He'd figured they needed the town and its land more than the wealthy needed another vacation spot and had forgone the idea entirely. Should another town one day come up that was suitable to his needs, he would investigate the matter further. Until then, he was content enough with the hotels he had.

He did not need any more money than he already had, which was more than he knew what to do with, and he had plenty enough hotels to keep him busy. He was simply a man who liked new ideas, and though content with what he had, he could never be fully satisfied if he was not finding some way to improve upon it or change it.

The Sullivan Hotel, in particular, was his favorite. It was the hotel his father had built from the ground up. Every hotel after that had been Ira's own doing. He was certain his father would be proud were he still alive to see him. His mother certainly was, though she had moved out of Mellow Pass some time ago to settle into sunny California. The warmer climate helped her rheumatism, and Ira visited her whenever he could.

Ira had gotten his father's brown hair and hazel eyes, which went well together, and his mother's naturally light tan skin. He'd also gotten her sense of humor, as well as her ability to relax and enjoy the day dealt her rather than worry about every little thing, as other men in his position often did. They worried themselves straight into a heart condition, which was something that would not be a problem for Ira, as he was determined to enjoy life rather than suffer because of it.

"You look bored," said Steven Purdue, one of the clerks. He was near Ira's own age and had midnight black hair that made Ira's medium brown look pale in comparison. He was an inch or two taller than Ira, which placed him at six foot three or four, and always impeccably dressed with as smooth a chin and cheek as he'd ever seen on a man.

"I am bored," Ira said. "Though not so badly as you imagine. I could never be truly bored when I've got such people to watch. Do you know that Mr. and Mrs. Grayson aren't really married?" he asked.

Steven's eyes widened. "That old couple? How can you tell? I've never seen anything untoward in their behavior."

"Ah, but that's because you do not watch them as I do, through the eyes of one who knows better than to believe what he's told. The next time you see them leave the hotel, watch the way she blushes when he touches her arm. Or the way he passes by a pretty woman without even a glance."

"What is any of that going to tell me?" Steven asked uncertainly.

"If they'd been married for twenty-five years as they claim, he could never cause such color in her cheeks with a simple touch, and he would never be able to pass by every pretty face without at least a cursory glance in the lady's direction."

Steven sighed and let out a low chuckle. "That's not observation you're speaking of, Mr. Sullivan, it's pessimism. You're convinced that every man and woman in the world should be as cynical as you, and if they appear truly happy, you think they must be hiding something."