Rubies for Whitney

ONE

Readers - This draft is unedited, so please be kind and point out my errors. Thanks!

Standing still, like the dead, was her only option.

Footsteps shook the floor and entered the study. Panic filled Whitney Brooks as she closed her eyes, hoping the intruder wouldn't know she was hiding behind the heavy drapes covering the only window in the room. Her heartbeat quickened, but she took slow breaths to keep calm. Yet, under the circumstances, how could she remain composed when she feared they'd find her? Being locked away in jail – or even hung – was not an option!

The person in the room stopped. Whitney held her breath. It was Mr. Crowley himself. His scent gave him away without having to peek around the drape and look at him. The man's overbearing cologne wafted thickly through the air, making her want to gag. He smelled like a horse... like the animal's droppings inside the stalls, no less. How could anyone stand to be around him when his scent was this horrid?

Inwardly, she groaned. She was going to be sick all over his floor unless he left quickly. If he didn't discover where her hiding place was now, he'd definitely know she was here when she regurgitated.

Slowly, she lifted a hand to cover her nose. Whitney couldn't blow her cover now.

Because of the thick, blue velvet drape blocking her view, she couldn't see Mr. Crowley, or why he had left his wife's birthday party to venture into his study. His grumbles vibrated through the room. Whatever he was doing, he wasn't having much success. She knew the feeling well. If he didn't leave soon, she wouldn't have much success stealing from him, either.

Whitney hadn't originally started out to be a thief. On the contrary. But when her best friend's father gambled away their money, leaving Constance destitute, Whitney knew she had to help. Constance needed money for the stagecoach to Utah where her older sister and her husband lived and would take care of her. Constance's grandfather, Mr. Crowley, was a greedy old man and wouldn't lift a finger to help his granddaughter.

And so, Whitney would nudge him into assisting dear Constance, even if he didn't realize it.

The old man grumbled. He was too close. She could even smell his breath. He'd been eating fish. Her heart sank and her stomach lurched. Had he found her? Yet, as she waited for him to whip back the drape and catch her, the moment never arrived. A few times she caught herself holding her breath too long, and so she had to slowly exhale and draw in another breath as silently as she could. So then who was he talking to just now? Himself?

A low rumble came from the man as he chuckled. Whatever he was doing at his desk, she specifically heard the rustle of papers. She was tempted to move the drape just a bit to watch him, but she resisted. If he didn't know she was here, she certainly didn't want to make him aware of her presence.

The drawer closed, and more papers rustled before his heavy footsteps moved out of the room. Once the door clicked shut, she released a heavy breath. Her limbs shook as she relaxed against the window. However, she couldn't hesitate for very long. She had money to find and get herself downstairs before someone noticed she was missing from the party.

On soft feet, she moved away from the window and resumed her search through Mr. Crowley's study. Constance had mentioned her grandfather used to keep some of his money in his favorite room. Because Mr. Crowley was always in this particular room, Constance assumed it was his favorite. Unfortunately, Whitney's friend didn't know exactly where the old man hid it. Whitney figured Mr. Crowley wouldn't miss fifty dollars. And, after all, it was going toward a good cause.

Being as quiet as a mouse, she pulled out each drawer of his desk, moving papers aside as she searched for the wad of money. Nothing. From there, she wandered to each scenery painting hanging on the wall and peeked behind them. Still nothing.