Stephen slowed the buggy and turned up the long drive to the Draycott estate.
Just as the tension between his shoulder blades eased, Cynthia’s voice, small and sober, cut the silence. “If Mr. Timmons did work for the Pony Express, does that mean he has no family?”
He clenched his teeth on a string of curses.
“It very well may.” Emma’s tone matched her sister’s.
He drew the team to a halt and twisted to see the Draycott girls. “Would you both stop, please? Why does this man, whom neither of you knows, deserve such sympathy? There are plenty of people in the world who have lost parents, and you don’t even know if he is an orphan.”
Emma faced front and folded her hands in her lap. “Is it so wrong to sympathize with the man who paid my sister an extraordinary kindness today?”
How dare she throw that at him again. He should’ve borrowed a blasted shovel and buried those stupid animals himself.
“Of course not. But let me remind you, my own mother passed several years ago. He’s in good company.”
Emma’s features softened. “We’ve not forgotten, Stephen. And you have our sympathies—for your mother and your great-aunt.”
He fumbled to grasp her meaning. His great-… aunt. “Yes, and Aunt Alma too. Thank you.” He swallowed hard. “Of course, as I told you, I didn’t know her as well. But there are days I miss my mother deeply.”
Just as he hoped, his dear Emma reached for his hand, gripping it tightly as she caressed the back with her thumb. “I’m so sorry. I imagine that grief can be stifling.” Her blue eyes glittered.
“It can.”
As she had in town, she snugged herself close and, arm in his, settled her cheek against his shoulder. Better. “I suppose we should get inside before we upset Papa.”
Of course—the doddering old man. Wouldn’t want to anger him. “Yes, my dear.”
He clucked his tongue and got the horses moving. Too bad the old fool hadn’t met the same fate as the kittens.
When the buggy stopped, Emma turned to Thomas. “Would you please take this to my room?” She held out the small straw-filled crate, a little longer than her hand and twice its thickness. Mama and Papa would likely have something to say, and it would be best not to distract them by showing off the fine gift Stephen had insisted on buying. She’d been uncomfortable at first, but his excitement was infectious, and she’d soon taken some joy in choosing a bit of finery. Whether her parents would understand that, she couldn’t judge.
“Sure, Em.” Thomas climbed down, took the carefully packed crate from her, and turned to help Cynthia down. Stephen came around to lift Emma from the buggy as the younger ones headed toward the front door.
Once her feet touched the walkway, Stephen stepped close. He glanced after her brother and sister then focused on her. “I owe you an apology, love.”
“Oh?” There’d been several moments for which he might offer an apology, but she’d let him speak his mind.
“I’ve not been myself today. I fear your father will decide I’m unworthy of you and prevent us from marrying.”
Her heart lurched. “Oh Stephen. Papa can be a hard man, but he’s not unfair. The more I think on it, the more I think he must give us his blessing. You come from a good family. Mama will help him see that.”
“What if he doesn’t?” His gray eyes darkened. “What if he decides I’m unfit to be your husband?”
Oh heavens. He was honestly frightened. She slipped into his arms and rubbed his back, wishing to soothe his anxiety. Head resting against his thick chest, her thoughts spun. “Why don’t you tell him of your recent inheritance. The money will ease his concerns considerably.”
He was silent for a bit. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
Emma drew back. “Why in heaven’s name not?”
“A man like your father will want his future son-in-law to have a plan. I have a large sum now, but he’ll expect me to have a means to grow it into a greater amount.”
“You only inherited it last week. Very unexpectedly, I might add. Perhaps, with his business acumen, he could help you find ways to grow it.”
“No. I need to prove my worth to him without help. Please don’t tell him I’ve inherited anything.”
“But—”
“Promise me.” He arched his brows. “I need to prove myself to him, and I’ll need your silence on this matter to do it.”
Disappointment wound through her, though she tried to see Stephen’s point. What little she knew of men, it was important to them to show they could stand on their own merit. And Papa would appreciate a man with the ingenuity and spirit to make his own way. “You have my promise that I’ll not say anything about it.”
He ran his fingers along her jawline. “How am I so fortunate to be marrying such a beautiful, virtuous woman?”
Heat washed her cheeks. “You flatter me, Stephen Richards.”
“I speak only the truth.” His focus drifted toward her mouth, just as it had for that instant outside Walsingham’s, and her heart leapt, just as it had then. This time, as he bent toward her, Emma’s eyelids drifted closed, and she angled her face toward his.
Their lips met, his seeking an answer from hers. She gave it, and her heart pounded. Her first kiss! But rather than the crackle of lightning coursing through her veins like she’d always imagined, at most there was a tiny spark and a puff of smoke, like the flash of a photographer’s camera.
He hovered there, warm breath fanning her skin. Embarrassed, she kept her eyes shut. Had Stephen failed to feel it too? Was he disappointed? Perhaps they were both so new to such intimacies, this first attempt fell flat.
When he drew back, a broad smile curved his mouth. He didn’t look disappointed. Shyness blanketed her, particularly when he stared at her, anticipation and desire in his expression. He leaned in, as if he might try to sample a second taste of her lips, though she braced her palm against his chest.
“I suspect Mama and Papa will want to talk.”
Something flashed in his eyes—irritation, perhaps?—then was gone. “Of course.” Taking her hand, he guided her up the walkway. Even outside, the savory scents of their evening meal met them.
No sooner had they entered the house and doffed their coats than Mama and Papa appeared with Cynthia.
“Go on to your room now,” Papa instructed, giving Cynthia a nudge toward the staircase. “Let us talk to your sister and Stephen.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stephen waved at her, and she returned the gesture. Papa motioned them into the parlor, and they each sat in the same places they’d occupied earlier. Emma’s heart pounded as silence stretched on for minutes.
Lord, please. Grant us favor.
Papa cleared his throat roughly. “I uttered some very harsh words to you earlier, Stephen. I apologize for that.”
Perhaps a good sign.
“Thank you, sir. Accepted. And I again apologize to you for my various mistakes and mishandling of things.”
Papa’s brusque nod was slight, a sure sign his anger still simmered. “Accepted.” He took Mama’s hand. “If we are to consider allowing you to marry our daughter, tell us how you plan to support her. And please don’t say you’ll work as a farmhand the rest of your life.”
“Papa!”
“Hush, child.” His sharp words brooked no response.
Perspiration dampened Emma’s skin. “Forgive me, but I won’t hush.”
Stephen gripped her hand. “Emma, it’s all right.”
It wasn’t. “Stephen works hard, and he’s honest. He won’t always be a farmhand, I assure you.” If she could only tell Papa of the hefty stack of cash tucked in Stephen’s coat—
“I would like to hear such assurances from your intended’s mouth, not yours. Whether you understand it now or not, dear daughter, you have been raised to a certain standard, and whatever man you marry will need to provide well for you.”
“Stephen can!”
“Please let me speak.”
Stephen’s grip grew uncomfortable.
She clamped her mouth shut, and Stephen’s grip loosened again.
Once silence fell, he turned to her parents. “I understand your desire to see Emma well cared for. I assure you, I have plans to do just that.”
Emma couldn’t help her smile.
“Yes, I’ve been working as a farmhand, and I know I seem to have little to offer a woman of your daughter’s caliber. But I’ve laid aside some of my earnings for a stake in our future, and I have been mulling ways to grow that into a tidy nest egg.”
For the first time, Mama spoke. “And how will you do that?”
“I haven’t anything firmly in place yet, but I have been corresponding with a few men for a while now.”
Emma raked a startled gaze his way. He’d not mentioned such correspondence.
He gave her hand another squeeze. “Forgive me for not providing details, as it’s still in the early stages. We’ve been discussing a partnership in a possible business venture.”
Papa cocked his head. “What sort of business venture?”
It took him a moment to answer, and in that breath, he appeared to ponder a bit. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ve promised my potential partners I’d keep this silent for now. I promise, it will be lucrative, and once I have the plans in place, I’ll share it all with you.”
Across from them, Papa leaned in. “How long will that take?”
“I’m not sure, though I’m feeling more urgent about it every day. I’ll press my potential partners for their decisions this week and give you further details soon.”
His expression contemplative, Papa leaned back in uncomfortable silence, then finally looked at Stephen. “I can see my daughter loves you, and you appear to love her.”
“I do, sir. Very much.”
“To my knowledge, you’ve been nothing but a gentleman to her.”
“I wouldn’t dishonor or besmirch her. Ever.”
Papa shot a steely look, an obvious warning, though he didn’t address the comment aloud. “I am concerned how you’ll provide for Emma, but I choose to believe you’re working on that. However, none of this addresses that you’ve courted only a very short time. So we ask you to delay your nuptials for at least a year—and longer if needed, until such time as you have this venture up and running well.”
Had she heard that correctly? “You’re giving us your blessing?”
“A tentative blessing.” Papa smoothed his vest. “Stephen must prove he’s able to provide before we’ll agree further.”
“You can do that, can’t you?” She settled her free hand over Stephen’s as he still gripped her other.
“I—I will.” He grinned. “Thank you both. I won’t disappoint.”
Oh, how she wished she could slip into his arms and attempt a second kiss. Perhaps now they would feel the lightning crackle. She dare not with Mama and Papa looking on.
But soon …
Fatigue pulled at Stephen’s mind and body. Dealing with Emma’s parents was exhausting. He’d happily declined the invitation to stay for supper just to be away from them. And even Emma had proven exhausting today, insisting they stop by the church and her allowing her bratty sister to search for the kittens. Served the child right, picking up one of the limp and bloody carcasses. Emma arguing with him at the store, and her stupid fawning over the cowboy. It almost felt as if she was slipping out of his reach. Her irksome attitude had him scrambling to mollify and draw her back in.
But their first kiss had made up for much of that. Oh, her lips were soft and sweet, and he’d had fun imagining more with her. She too seemed quite taken with the kiss, if the coy tilt of her head afterward was any indication.
Passing through the broken gate at the end of the drive, Stephen checked both directions. Before he turned right onto the road, a familiar man with red muttonchop whiskers and wearing a bowler hat, dark suit coat, and plaid pants stepped from behind the corner of the Draycotts’ fence. Grazing on the tall grass nearby was a saddled horse. Roy Munson met Stephen’s eyes, gave a silent jerk of his head, then mounted and disappeared down the street.
Rather than turning right to follow him, Stephen went left. He knew where to meet—a secluded campsite far enough away from Mount Pleasant and the surrounding homes that they’d not be seen. Stephen kept his team to a slower pace so he wouldn’t overtake Munson. He arrived about twenty minutes later.
He’d barely stepped out of the buggy when Munson pounced. “Just what do you think you were doing today?”
He bristled. “What do you mean? Were you watching me?”
“I happened to be in town and saw you. Please tell me whatever you bought in Melcher’s Emporium wasn’t bought with the stuff I gave you.”
“And what if I did spend it?”
Munson cursed him roundly. “I told you! Don’t pass that money in your own town.”
“You’ve been here going on three weeks, and you’ve been passing it left and right.”
“Are you stupid? I’m from New York. Nobody knows me—and I don’t use those bills every time, nor do I give my real name when I do. You? They know you here, and it’ll be all too easy to trace purchases back to you.”
“It was one purchase. I just got engaged, and I wanted to treat my love to something special.”
Munson jabbed a finger into Stephen’s chest. “I don’t care if you were buying something for the Queen of England. Don’t spend that money here. You’ll get us both caught and jailed.”
Stephen glanced at Munson’s hand, then back to his face. “Remove your finger, or I’ll cut it off and cram it down your throat.”
The man’s eyes widened, and he backed up a step, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. An uncomfortable laugh escaped him. “You pigeon-livered ratbag. You’d be just crazy enough to try it, wouldn’t you?”
“You don’t want to find out.” He forced a good-natured laugh, though there wasn’t a shred of humor in him.
Munson grew serious again. “You want to spend that money, do it someplace else—preferably far from here. I’m about to head out myself, just to keep the authorities at bay.”
“You really think they’re onto you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. You want to stay ahead of them, you keep moving.”
It was good advice—and not the first time he’d heard it. Train robber Jasper Harlson and other outlaws had said as much in their letters across the years. “So what direction are you heading?”
“Haven’t quite decided. West.” He shrugged. “I’ll head back to Nebraska, Iowa maybe. Somewhere out that way.”
Stephen pondered that. Jasper and his family lived in Kearney, Nebraska. “Maybe I’ll join you.”
Munson snorted. “Thought you just got engaged. Why would you leave that sweet lady of yours?”
“I told her parents I was working on a business venture, something that would set us up for a good future.”
“I thought that was why you wanted the counterfeit bills.”
Annoyance smoldered in his chest. “That’s precisely why I wanted the counterfeit bills, but her papa forced my hand. I promised him I was working on a business venture, so I need to make a good show.”
The fellow smirked. “That’s the problem with women like her—those from good stock. Their parents expect too much. Drop her and find someone who doesn’t require so much effort.”
Drop Emma? She was far too sweet, far too honorable. She lent him the air of respectability he’d long desired. Besides, he loved her, and she loved him. She’d proven so today when she defended him to her father. He might never win over Emmitt Draycott, but his Emma would come around once they were married. She’d accept him for who he truly was.
Stephen inhaled deeply. “So when are you leaving.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Fine. I’ll pack tonight. Don’t leave without me.”
Chapter 4
February 1, 1876
He’d spent warmer nights huddled in a cave than t
he sleepless one in Mount Pleasant’s stable. Thankfully, Clay had entered the restaurant just as the waitress cleared the corner table, closest to the woodstove. Now, his belly full of scrambled eggs and biscuits, he sat a bit longer, enjoying the warmth as he wrapped both hands tightly around the coffee mug before him. If his business kept him more than another night, he’d be investing in an extra blanket or three.
It wasn’t only the cold that had kept him awake. The concerns he’d initially felt over Thomas and Cynthia Draycott and their circumstances had triggered memories of his own childhood, and as much as he’d tried to push them away, he’d been unable. Nights like that often brought on nightmares, and he’d not wanted to endure those while sleeping in such a public place. He’d spent most of the night praying instead.
Time to get moving. Duty called.
Clay laid aside his napkin and brushed lint from his gray-striped suit trousers. As he stood, a man entered and flagged the waitress. Stephen Richards. He was far from the arrogant dandy of the previous day. Instead, he wore shabby attire, his face darkened with a day’s worth of whiskers. Far more suited to physical labor than shopping with Miss Draycott.
Oh, how the tables had turned.
He took one last sip of coffee, left a couple of coins on the table, and gathering his hat and greatcoat, headed toward the door.
Richards, standing closer than necessary to the waitress, spoke in a hushed tone. Something about the man’s flirtatious manner stuck in Clay’s craw. What man in his right mind would be engaged to marry the beautiful Emma Draycott and risk that to trifle with a waitress? At least it appeared that was what Richards was up to.
As he neared, the woman’s cheeks flushed. “Yes, they’re ready. I’ll bring them right out.” She headed toward the kitchen.
Slowing, Clay caught the man’s eye. “Mornin’, Mr. Richards. You’re out early. Where’s your intended this morning?” He spoke loudly enough the waitress might hear.
Recognition flashed in the self-righteous fop’s eyes, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Mister … Timmons. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
The Scarlet Pen Page 4
