by Kaki Warner
She didn’t flinch, although a flush climbed up her throat. You won’t win, those innocent eyes said, and she upped the intimacy by lacing her slim fingers through his. Palm against palm. Smooth against callused. Cool against . . . starting to sweat.
She was shameless.
Before he embarrassed himself entirely, he told the Bracketts good-bye and hustled her out the store. As soon as the door closed behind them, she broke into laughter. “Mercy! Did you see their faces? It was mean of you to scandalize them that way.”
“Me?” He looked down at her in mock anger, charmed by her unguarded laughter even if it was directed at him. “You started it, looking at me that way.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ranger Benton.”
“I’m sure you do, Miss Lottie. There isn’t a woman alive that naïve.”
“Or a man so easily bested.”
He had no answer to that. So he gave her hand another squeeze and quickened his pace.
Ty didn’t know what game she was playing, but he liked it. Liked that she felt comfortable enough to tease him. Liked that she was in a frisky mood and wouldn’t let the dismal story he’d told her that afternoon cast a pall over what time they had left. And he especially liked that he had made her laugh.
What he didn’t like was the way things were shifting in his mind. Convictions were starting to waver. Ideas never before considered demanded he take notice. Because of this woman, the orderliness he worked to maintain was sliding into chaos. Yet even as he struggled to regain his balance, one thought kept ricocheting through his mind.
What if?
Lottie felt giddy. Triumphant. She was actually flirting! Becky would be so proud. She glanced up at Ty. Apparently he wasn’t as moved by their teasing exchange. But she wouldn’t let that frown ruin her evening. He would leave her again in the morning, maybe not to return for months, and she was determined to enjoy the few hours remaining.
By unspoken agreement, they stopped holding hands as they neared the Social Club. After he left, she would still be here, and as a good woman and someday-rich person, she needed to guard her reputation.
At the hotel and dining room entrance, Doorman Kearsey waved them through with his usual flourish. Several men lounged before the fire in the lobby, chatting in serious tones. Lottie knew all but one, who she assumed was Congressman Palmer. Luckily he was too engrossed in the conversation to notice Ty, so they were spared a delay and introductions. Lottie was glad. With their time together so limited, she wanted Ty all to herself.
Briggs stood guard in the dining room, his watchful eyes tracking every waitress, every diner, every plate whisked in and out of the kitchen. The man must never sleep. Just to needle him, Lottie gave him a bright smile as the hostess, Missy Harris, looking even more beautiful than usual in the club’s blue-and-gold livery, led them to a corner table between the fireplace and a window overlooking Main Street. Definitely the best table in the house.
As they took their seats, Ty frowned at the Englishman. “You know him?”
Was that jealousy in his tone? If only. “Since I’m the hotel and restaurant bookkeeper, our paths cross frequently.” Lottie was aware of Briggs watching them, but refused to look his way and studied the room instead.
She had been in the old dance hall only once—two years ago when the town had put on a Christmas rummage and bake sale to benefit a family whose home had burned. The place was unrecognizable now.
Wainscoting and fabric-wrapped panels had replaced unpainted plank walls. The lighting was still kerosene, but instead of tin lamps on hooks along the walls, ornate brass chandeliers with a dozen globes each hung overhead. The ceiling was a marvel of shiny pressed tin that reflected back the light, bathing the entire room in soft, golden hues. Damask drapes, the same blue as the walls—and slightly darker than Ty’s flame blue eyes—boasted gold fringe and tasseled ropes holding them open in a graceful arc against the sparkling windows. Settings of crystal and china and polished tableware sparkled atop tables dressed with pristine white cloths and elaborately folded napkins.
Lottie had never seen the like.
“I feel like I’m in a fairy tale,” she whispered to Ty. “Don’t you?”
His lips twitched. “Haven’t seen the elephant, I’m guessing.”
“Maybe not. But I didn’t just fall off the turnip wagon, either. And you don’t have to be worldly-wise to know this is a beautiful room. Especially for sleepy little Greenbroke.”
“You’re right.” He studied the room for a moment, then his eyes swung back to lock on hers. “But then, I’ve discovered that the prettiest things are often found in the humblest settings.” A smile rife with meaning spread across his chiseled face. “Especially in sleepy little Greenbroke.”
Lottie blinked. Was he talking about her? Pretty? The idea of it brought on such a rush of heat her scalp tingled with tiny beads of sweat. Oh, please. Don’t do this to me. I’m lost enough as it is.
Luckily, their waitress—a local girl from a hardscrabble farm north of town—came with their menus and Lottie was able to fix her attention on that, rather than the man across the table.
She could make out less than five words on the entire menu. Had it been written in Spanish, she might have had a chance. But French? Hardly.
Setting the menu aside, she looked up at the farm girl who probably had as little understanding of the offerings as Lottie did. “Do you have one written in English?”
“Bring two,” Ty said, closing his own menu.
The poor girl blushed and started stammering when a large form suddenly loomed behind her. Startled, she whipped around, saw who it was, and fell into a stricken silence.
“May I be of help?” Briggs asked.
Lottie tapped the menu with a fingernail. “It does seem rather much, doesn’t it, Mr. Briggs? This is Texas, after all. We fought wars to maintain our independence, and have little fondness for countries that tried to interfere, such as Spain and France—”
“Don’t forget Mexico,” Ty added, helpfully.
Briggs’s expression never wavered, but she saw mischief in his gray eyes. “Are you saying you can’t read our menu, Miss Weyland? Shall I translate it for you?”
Braggart. But rather than admit she was ignorant, she gave the Englishman a gracious smile. “That’s not necessary. Any well-prepared chicken dish will do . . . assuming you have a well-prepared chicken dish?”
“We do. It’s listed as poulet provençal et sa ratatouille.”
Was that a wink? Surely not.
He turned to Ty. “And you, sir?”
“Steak, medium rare, all the trimmings.”
Briggs nodded and repeated the order for the waitress, who fled to the kitchen as if her skirts were on fire. “Enjoy your meal.” He started away, then swung back. “Oh, and Miss Weyland.” Devilment became a smirk.
Lottie braced herself.
“We anticipate a busy weekend. Please be at your desk early Monday to work on the receipts . . . assuming your busy schedule will allow it?”
He’d gotten her again. “I’ll check, but I believe I’m open at that time.”
“Carry on, then.” And with as close to a grin as Lottie had ever seen on his stern face, Briggs marched back to his post by the door.
She should have known better than to do battle with an ex-soldier.
Chapter 10
“What was that about?” Ty asked, his gaze pinned to Briggs’s broad back.
“I’m not sure.” Yet Lottie had to smile. A wink and a grin—two things she had never expected to see from the taciturn Englishman.
Ty looked back at her, his brows drawn into a dark ridge above deep-set eyes. “Is there something going on between the two of you?”
He was jealous! That giddy feeling came over her again. “He’s my employer, more or less.” Seeing that didn�
��t satisfy, she leaned over and said in a whisper, “Rumor has it he’s got his eye on Lady Jane. That’s why he followed her from England and watches over her so protectively.” She sat back, her gaze flicking to Briggs, who was deep in conversation with the lady in question. “I think it’s romantic.”
Ty snorted. But the scowl had lifted and he was no longer glaring at the Englishman. “Keep an eye on him anyway. He seems odd.”
“He is odd. He’s British.”
The waitress brought their meals, and they spoke of inconsequential things as they ate. He recounted an amusing incident involving the congressman and an incontinent dog. She told him about the reverend preaching Mrs. Ledbetter to death. Ty was easy to talk to and even though he revealed nothing more about his years as a ranger, he did share several touching memories about the big brother he had obviously worshiped.
It was a wonderful evening—the food was delicious, the setting was beautiful, and the company couldn’t have been better. Lottie was having an evening she would never forget.
Then they finished their pie, and he started asking about her family.
“There’s not much to tell,” she hedged. The less she said about Grandpa and her past, the better. “My father died in the war shortly after I was born, so all I know of him came through stories my mother told me. She passed when I was ten, and from then on it was just me and my grandfather.”
“Must have been lonely.”
“Maybe. But I didn’t know that until I moved to Greenbroke.” She smiled, remembering how strange it had been at first. “I felt like a kid in a candy shop with so many people to talk to. Luckily, my friend Becky reined me in.”
“She’s the blonde I saw you with?”
Lottie nodded. Adopting a scolding voice, she quoted Becky the day she’d found Lottie chatting with a group of cowboys outside the saloon. “‘Girl, you’ve got to be more careful. You’re too young and trusting, and that could get you in big trouble someday.’” Odd how she and Becky had reversed roles over the years. “I fear my curiosity drove me to make a complete nuisance of myself.”
“That accounts for all the questions you pestered me with.”
She laughed and shook her head. “That wasn’t curiosity, Ranger Benton. It was pure punishment for accusing me of being a paid woman.”
“I wasn’t accusing, Miss Lottie. I was hoping. As I recall, I was feeling pretty lonely at the time.”
Scandalized, Lottie glanced around. “Hush. Someone will hear.”
“You started it.” He sat back as the waitress cleared their dessert plates then settled those piercing blue eyes back on her. “What was your grandfather like?”
“Strict. He definitely didn’t spare the rod.”
“He was hard on you?”
“When I needed it. He knew he wouldn’t be around forever and he wanted to make sure I kept to the straight path after he was gone.” Seeing the troubled look on Ty’s face, she added in Grandpa’s defense, “He wasn’t mean. He just had his way of doing things.” And she had learned early on that his way was the only way . . . even at the end.
“Whatever his methods,” Ty said, “he taught you well. I never met a smarter person than you.” Before Lottie could stammer out a response, he asked how he died.
She shrugged to hide a sudden nervousness. “He got sick.” A man as honorable as Ty wouldn’t understand why she’d set that fire. It was something she could never talk about . . . especially to him. “So where are you and the congressman headed next?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Wherever there’s money and votes.”
From there, the conversation moved to her bookkeeping business, the investment consortium, and how she hoped to travel the entire state someday.
In answer to her questions, he told her about the country he’d seen as a ranger, cities he’d visited, and people he’d met along the way. It made her aware again of how isolated her childhood had been and added fuel to her dream of becoming rich enough to see and experience it all.
They must have talked for hours. By the time the waitress came for the third time to ask if they needed anything else before they closed, the room was empty. Even Briggs was gone.
Ty signed his room number to the tab, dropped some coins on the table for the waitress, and they left.
The night was cool and still, lit by a nearly full moon hanging overhead. The air carried a hint of spring and the scent of hyacinths blooming nearby. As they walked slowly back to the market, Ty took her hand again as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Which to Lottie it was.
“I envy you,” she said.
“Why?”
“For all the things you’ve done and the places you’ve been. I envy that freedom.”
“Sometimes freedom carries a high price.”
She looked up at his face, all shadows and planes in the moonlight. Tyree Benton was a striking man, not only for his beautiful eyes and powerful physique, but for his strength of character, too. “You have regrets?”
“There are always regrets, Lottie. Especially in my line of work. But sometimes, on the good days, there’s a sense of accomplishment, too.”
“And when the time comes that the bad days outnumber the good?”
“Then I’ll turn to ranching. I thought you were moving.”
Lottie saw they had reached the back stoop of the market. Sudden panic assailed her. She didn’t want this magical day to end. She didn’t want him to go and send her back to her sterile life. “You’re leaving in the morning?”
He nodded.
“I’ll miss you.” Such a simple statement to describe the turmoil in her heart.
His hand tightened around hers. “I wish I could ask you to come with me.”
Tears burned behind her eyes. It was only through pride and tremendous effort that she kept them from falling. “And I wish I could ask you to stay.”
“Lottie . . .”
Fearing he might say something she didn’t want to hear, she released his hand and reached up to rest her palm against his cheek. It felt hot and faintly rough with new bristles against her cold fingers. She gave a wobbly smile. “You take care of yourself, Ranger Tyree Benton. I won’t always be around to save you.”
With a harsh sound, he pulled her into his arms. She breathed in the smell of coffee and chocolate pie and the warm musky scent of a healthy male. She felt the thudding vibration of his heartbeat against her ear. The strength of his arms. The tremble in hands that skimmed up her back to cup her face. “I don’t want to leave you.”
Then stay and make a home with me here in Greenbroke.
Instead, he kissed her, his mouth insistent on hers, his body tight with tension. When he pulled back, his expression was fierce and his eyes glowed silver in the moonlight. “Will you wait for me?”
Until when? You tire of being a ranger? Or an outlaw’s bullet finds its mark? She couldn’t bear that. But she couldn’t bear the idea of him walking away from her forever, either. “Until when?”
“I don’t know. I . . . I’ll write to you. Will you write back?”
Because she didn’t trust her voice, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. Good-bye, Tyree Benton. Then before she burst into tears, she opened the door and went inside.
She didn’t go to the depot the next morning. Not with half the town there to see the congressman off, and Ty standing guard behind him. He looked stern and a little sad, his eyes scanning the crowd, probably hoping to see her.
Or so Becky said when she came to Lottie’s room after the train left.
“You’ve been crying again,” she accused. “Don’t bother denying it.”
Lottie didn’t.
“He shouldn’t be stringing you along this way.”
“He’s not. He made it clear from the beginning he couldn’t take a wife.”
“It
isn’t right.” Becky sat beside her on the bed and gave her a one-armed hug. “I’m so sad for you. You deserve better.”
Lottie agreed. But even the little bit of Ty she did have was worth all the pain of his parting.
Becky gave her another squeeze then took her arm away. “Maybe it’s for the best that he’s gone. You know how people talk. Nathaniel saw you walking down the boardwalk, holding hands, and thought it was unseemly. Others might, too.”
Lottie glared at her through puffy eyes. “Is this the day for sermons on morality? If so, tell Reverend Lindz I’ve got a few for him.”
“I would, but we’re not speaking right now.”
Lottie wasn’t in the mood to hear about Becky’s man troubles. But being the dutiful friend she tried to be, she asked anyway. “What’d he do this time?”
“Ran up a bunch of IOUs at the Spotted Dog. Juno told him to pay up or else. Since he’s got no money, he’s thinking it’s time to move on.”
Coward. Lottie blew her nose, then stuffed her hanky into her skirt pocket. “An idle threat. As his bookkeeper, I know for a fact that Juno never collects his IOUs.” And she also knew Juno wouldn’t risk upsetting Becky by doing anything to Lindz . . . no matter how much the reverend might deserve it. “Nathaniel’s safe enough.” The words came out nastier than she intended.
Becky didn’t seem to notice. “I hear this Sunday is his last meeting.”
“He’d leave without paying Juno?”
Blinking hard, Becky nodded. “And without taking me. He said he’d come back, but I’m not sure if I want him to.”
Lottie refrained from dancing a jig. “You don’t want to marry him?”
“Not now. Maybe not ever. And it’s all your fault.”
“My fault? What’d I do?”
“You told me about Juno. Oh, Lottie . . .” With a mewling cry, Becky dropped her face into her hands. “Everything’s falling apart.”
Now it was Lottie’s turn to offer comfort. “We’re a pair, that’s for sure,” she said, giving her a hug. “But we’ll figure this out. I promise.”
