Chapter One

      Placerville, California

      June 1874

      “I understand your reservations about hiring a draftswoman, but I’ve seen Miss Sinclair’s work, and it’s exemplary.”

      Flynt Kavanaugh leaned back in his chair and studied Carter Corbin, seated opposite him behind the expansive desk. His boss’s scowl was so pronounced that his bushy gray eyebrows appeared as one.

      “So you’ve said.” Corby, as everyone called the shrewd manager, folded his arms over his ample midsection. His features relaxed. An encouraging sign. “While I don’t cotton to having a woman join the team, when an engineer of your caliber says the lady in question is worth considering, the least I can do is interview her.”

      Corby rummaged in his jacket’s breast pocket and produced a silver cigar case. “Don’t get your hopes up, though, son. An impressive portfolio is one thing. Producing quality drawings with the speed we require is another.”

      Flynt shrugged off the cautious man’s concerns. Corby might not be quick to embrace change, but he was fair.

      Once his boss saw Jessica Sinclair’s drawings, he’d have no choice but to admit she was the best person for the job. If everything Bishop had said was true, Miss Sinclair would have no trouble creating plenty more drawings on par with those he’d sent along with his glowing recommendation. The exacting engineer wasn’t one to exaggerate.

      Corby opened his cigar case, releasing the pungent aroma of expensive tobacco, and offered Flynt one of the Cuban cigars. “Help yourself.”

      “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.” He didn’t drink, either. Unlike the majority of men working on the El Dorado Canal, he refused to set foot in a saloon, although there were a number of them in town. He’d seen too many lives destroyed by a fondness for liquor and loose living.

      Corby selected a cigar and slipped the sterling silver case back into his breast pocket. “You’re a fine leader, Flynt, but it’s possible you’ve shown a lapse in judgment this time. Having a woman around could complicate things.”

      “Perhaps, but if she possesses the necessary skills, we’d be foolish to overlook her simply because she wears skirts. Kurt does a fine job as lead draftsman, but he lacks the mathematical prowess for the more complicated drawings.” Flynt needed someone who could take his ideas, perform the required calculations and produce conceptual drawings on occasion, but designing draftsmen were a rarity. That was why he’d invited Miss Sinclair up to Placerville for the interview.

      The clip of boot heels interrupted his thoughts. “That must be her.” He jumped to his feet and rushed into the hallway, eager to meet the woman behind the drawings for the first time.

      At the sight of Miss Sinclair, his heart broke into a gallop. Bishop had said she was comely, but that was an understatement. Striking would be a more apt description. The rich auburn locks visible beneath her simple bonnet gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window. Her light-brown outfit was as unremarkable as her hat. It appeared she didn’t go in for the frills many women did. Even so, she would turn any man’s head.

      But not his. He had no time for romantic pursuits. His career required his utmost attention. He would treat Miss Sinclair like any other member of his team.

      She reached him and stated her business without hesitation. “Good morning. I’m here for my interview.”

      He swallowed to moisten his throat, which had become dry. “I, um, figured you were.”

      “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

      He gazed into the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. They glittered like emeralds, an intriguing sight. If a man looked into them too long, he might say just about anything. “I’m Flynt Kavanaugh, the engineer. Mr. Corbin, or Corby, as we all call him, is the manager. He’s inside.” Flynt tilted his head toward the office to his left.

      The self-assured woman stood so close he got a whiff of her perfume. She smelled like spring. An image of picnics among wildflowers came to mind.

      “I’m Jessica Sinclair.” She held out her hand, and he shook it. “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Kavanaugh.”

      “Whether you will or not remains to be seen. You must complete the interview and land the job first.” He hoped she would, but she’d have to prove herself worthy of the position—and overcome Corby’s reluctance.

      She gripped the strap of the cylindrical leather drawing case slung over her shoulder and studied him intently. One perfectly arched eyebrow rose, and her mouth quirked in a quizzical smile he found strangely appealing. “I see.”

      “What exactly do you see?”

      “A man who feels threatened by an intelligent woman invading his world, which I find odd. I was told you welcomed my application.”

      The woman’s confidence could serve her well. “I do. I’ve heard enough to understand you can handle the job. Corby, on the other hand, needs convincing.”

      “Oh.” She blinked several times, drawing attention to her long lashes. “Forgive me, Mr. Kavanaugh. I’m not used to a man as open-minded as you are.”

      Her willingness to admit her mistake and follow it with a sincere compliment spoke to her character. “Please, call me Flynt.”

      “Flint. Like the stone, I presume? A hard edge and useful when one wants to create sparks?” Her lovely lips twitched, as though she was stifling a laugh.

      He drew his gaze from the captivating sight. “It’s Flynt. With a Y.”

      She smiled once again, but this smile was as warm as the June day. “Well, Flynt with a Y, it’s clear working with you will be full of surprises.”

      “Likewise, I’m sure.” Miss Sinclair had spice. Unlike most women he knew, she spoke her mind. There would be no simpering behind fans for her, which was refreshing. He’d witnessed more coquetry in his early days than he cared to remember.

      “Since you seem to prefer informality, you may call me Jessie.”

      A lovely name for a lovely lady. “Very well. I’ll introduce you to Corby now.” He was tempted to warn her not to be intimidated by Corby’s gruffness, but it was clear Jessie could handle herself.

      Flynt made short work of the introductions. He and Jessie settled into the chairs in front of Corby’s desk.

      The older man tugged at the ends of his heavily waxed handlebar mustache. “Why should I hire you, Miss Sinclair? Having a woman around is sure to stir up trouble.”

      “Because I can do the job and do it well. Here. Let me show you.” She reached for the drawing case she’d propped against her chair, unfastened the buckle and withdrew the contents, which she held out to Corby. “I believe my work will speak for itself.”

      Corby’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “You’re rather presumptuous, young lady.”

      Flynt fought the urge to intervene. He wouldn’t do that for a man, so he couldn’t do that for her. If Jessie was to work here, she’d have to learn to deal with Corby’s brashness.

      Jessie lifted her chin and leveled her gaze at Corby, her green eyes flashing. “You haven’t even looked at my drawings, sir, and yet it appears you’ve made up your mind to find fault with me simply because I’m a woman. I’d like to think you’ll give me the same consideration you would any other prospective employee.”

      “All right. Show me.” Corby pointed to the rectangular conference