Molly stood in the corner of the kitchen, wide-eyed. Her sister had heard too much. BethAnn had tried so hard to shield her baby sister from all the ugliness with Hall.
BethAnn stepped back into the dining room as Mr. Fox neared the opposite side. “What about your lunch?”
“I’m not hungry anymore.” He disappeared through the doorway.
He’d said he had intended to give her the contract. What were his intentions now?
Chapter Eight
BethAnn stared at the empty doorway. She couldn’t believe what Mr. Fox had done. She wanted to run after him and tell him…tell him…tell him what? That it was all right he had her life in his hands? It wasn’t. Tell him she hated him for what he’d done? She didn’t. Tell him…? What did she want to tell him?
“Bethy? Why are you so mad at Mr. Fox?”
“Not now, Molly.” BethAnn walked out the way Mr. Fox had and went to her room. She pulled his sketchbook from under her pillow. She had meant to have her sister to return it, but had forgotten to have her do that this morning. Now he would know it was missing.
She flipped through the pages that she’d looked at a dozen times already in the past couple of days. Sketch after sketch. The young woman in these sketches, though her, looked beautiful, with bright eyes and a carefree expression. Is this how he saw her? This was the man she wanted him to be. Not the one who held her future over her head.
On another page, eyes stared back at her. Her eyes. Eyes that knew something she didn’t.
The doorknob rattling startled her, and she shoved the book back under the pillow.
Molly peeked in. “Mr. Fox wants to talk to you.”
BethAnn dried her face with the hem of her apron, took a deep, calming breath, and stood. She stepped out of the room but didn’t see him.
“He’s waiting in the kitchen.”
As she crossed the dining room, her stomach rolled. What would he ask of her? Demand of her.
He wasn’t in the kitchen. But his boot showed just outside the door. Nothing else. Just like in his drawings. He was always just out of sight. Just out of reach.
A sour taste rose to her mouth, and the back of her throat throbbed. “Mr. Fox?”
He rolled his body around the threshold. Clutched in one hand, a piece of paper.
Her chest felt as though it would collapse in on itself.
He held up the distasteful contract. “As I said, I had intended to give this to you.”
“But you’ve changed your mind.”
“I don’t want anyone else to get their hands on it.”
Including her, evidently. “What are you going to do with it?” Hold it over her head?
He unfolded it and showed her the signature. “This is indeed your contract with Vince Hall? I want no mistakes about that.”
Her icy fingers ached to snatch it from his hand, but the pain in her heart caused by his betrayal held her motionless. She managed to nod.
He ripped it right down the middle. Then several more times, until he had a handful of scraps. He removed the cover from the stove burner and dropped the fragments into the coals. They caught fire in a flash of flames. He set the burner cover and handle on the stovetop. “You’re free. That’s all I want.” He walked out the door.
BethAnn stared at the dying flames of her mistake. Gone. She didn’t have to worry about Mr. Hall or her mistake ever haunting her again. Mr. Fox had done this for her. Without asking anything in return.
She should have known he never had ill intentions. How could he ever forgive her for her distrust of him? Not believing in him. What she had thought of him shamed her in ways the contract never had. She should have waited before saying anything. Before accusing him.
She couldn’t believe he had spent all that money for her, but she would pay him back to show him how sorry she was. Every last penny.
How could she have viewed Mr. Fox as small, weak, and lacking the ability to protect her when he was the one who had repeatedly protected her and Molly? From the very first day. He’d rescued Molly from the horse. Found Molly when she’d run away and found them shelter from the storm. He’d protected her and Molly from Mr. Hall. And lastly, but certainly not the least of his actions, he’d paid off her contract—and burned it! Not to mention all the kindnesses he’d shown them, helping out around the kitchen, giving Molly a sketchbook and teaching her to draw. Never asking anything in return.
He was not lacking at all. However, she herself was lacking in so many areas.
In the barn, Fox found his regular saddle, not one of the skeletal Pony Express saddles. A real saddle. He threw a blanket over Juniper’s back, then the saddle.
Wayne came in. “You going someplace?”
He nodded. “Sorry to leave you shorthanded.”
“When will you be back?”
“I won’t.” Fox looped the cinch under the horse’s chest.
“You can’t leave the Pony altogether.”
“I can’t stay.” Fox yanked on the strap harder than he should and backed off. His problems weren’t the mustang’s fault.
“Your horse has already been ridden hard today. At least wait until the morning to let her rest up. Besides, it’s late. You won’t get far.”
Wayne was right, of course.
Fox leaned forward and rested his head against Juniper’s neck. He was reacting, rather than making a well thought-out decision. “I can’t stay with the terrible things she thinks about me.”
“From what I reckon, you haven’t done anything to be ashamed of. You’ve done a selfless, chivalrous deed. You can hold your head up high.” Wayne clasped him on the shoulder. “Let your horse rest. Eat a good supper. And sleep on it.”
Fox unsaddled Juniper and put her away. He could wait to leave at first light, but he didn’t know if he could sit in the dining room and eat her food. He took the long way to the bunkhouse, around the barn, behind the corral, and across the road cutting through the station. He went inside. He would pack his few possessions so he would be ready when the sun rose.
It stung that she could think so low of him. Wayne was right that he’d done nothing wrong. There was no reason he should go hungry because she didn’t know him that well. Her mistake, not his.
He pulled his messenger bag off the end of the bunk post. He raised it up and down. It was light. He pulled it open and counted his sketchbooks. One was missing.
A knock sounded on the door.
No one knocked…not until a pair of females had landed at the station. He didn’t want to face either of them.
The knock again. “Mr. Fox?”
Molly.
Bracing himself mentally, he opened the door.
BethAnn stood behind Molly.
He felt his mouth pull up at the sight of her, and his pulse quickened. He wanted to say something but couldn’t think of anything that would make sense.
BethAnn nudged her little sister. “Molly has something to tell you.”
He wished it were BethAnn, but gave Molly his attention.
The girl stood with her hands behind her back and held her bottom lip between her teeth. She drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t know for what.
She dragged her hands from behind her back and held out his missing sketchbook. “I took this—borrowed it. I wanted to show BethAnn the pictures you drew of her.”
So that’s where his missing book had gotten off to. Now BethAnn had reason to think poorly of him. He couldn’t look at her, so he spoke to Molly. “I don’t appreciate you taking my things without asking.”
Molly lowered her head. “I know it was wrong of me.”
BethAnn nudged her little sister. “And?”
“And I won’t ever take your stuff again. Unless you say it’s all right.”
He couldn’t be upset with the girl. She hadn’t meant any harm. She didn’t realize that some people didn’t like to be the subject of drawings without their knowledge. “Apology accepted.”
“Does that mean you’ll still show me how to draw?”
How could he say yes if he wasn’t going be here tomorrow? “After supper?” He would enjoy one last sketching session with the girl.
“Thank you.”
BethAnn stepped back from her sister. “Now go snap the green beans for supper.”
Molly skipped off.
Why was BethAnn staying? It couldn’t be good for him. He held out the sketchbook. “I suppose you want this back.”
“It belongs to you.”
“But the pictures?”
She shook her head. “It’s your work.”
That was a relief. He liked the idea of taking something of her with him.
“I came to give you this.” She held out a drawstring leather pouch.
“What is it?”
“My earnings for cooking. I will pay you back every cent. I promise.”
He took a step back. “No. I won’t take your money.”
“But…”
“What I did was my own choice.” That she thought she had to or that he expected her to pay him back was absurd.
“But all that money?”
He wished she would drop this. “What money?”
“The money you paid for my contract.”
She wouldn’t give up.
He shrugged. “What contract?”
“My contract with Mr. Hall.”
“What proof do you have that there ever was a contract? It seems you lack the evidence to support your claim.” He stepped off the porch of the bunkhouse and tipped his hat to her. “I have chores to attend to.” He walked off.
He didn’t have any chores. An incoming rider wasn’t on work detail for that day. But he could pretend.
Pretend he hadn’t been a failure in his family’s eyes.
Pretend BethAnn didn’t view him as a scoundrel.
Pretend he was worthy of someone like her.
Chapter Nine
With her hands wrist deep in hot water, BethAnn stood at the outside worktable the men had built for her. The kitchen had been too hot to work in. Her turn to wash and rinse while Molly dried. She scrubbed the last pot and dunked it into the rinse tub then put it on the towel for her sister.
Typically, Mr. Fox dried while she and Molly traded off washing and rinsing. Though he’d been at supper, he hadn’t offered her his customary smile as he had in the past throughout the meal. In fact, he’d barely glanced at her. She hadn’t realized how much he looked at her and missed his attention. His buying off her contract had changed things between them. She wished he hadn’t done it. She wanted things to go back to the way they were. She missed their easy camaraderie.
Molly ran the drying cloth over a plate. “Are you mad at Mr. Fox?”
“Yes—no—I don’t know.” She didn’t like being beholden to him for what he’d done. She still couldn’t figure out why he’d done it. She gripped the rim of the washtub to dump it.
“Let me get that.” Rusty grabbed the tub.
She released it. “Thank you.”
The soapy water splashed across the ground.
Mr. Fox could draw the water running in small rivulets across the dirt and make it seem as though it were moving.
Rusty pointed toward the garden. “May I speak with you?”
She followed him over to the wire fencing.
“The Fox is leaving.”
Her mind stumbled over his words. “Why?”
“I don’t know. But I know if you asked him to stay he would.”
“I doubt that.”
“You can’t be serious. He’s been smitten with you since the day you arrived.”
Could he really be? Dare she entertain such a fanciful notion?
“I had hoped you’d have feelings for me, but it’s obvious you care for him.”
She did care for Mr. Fox. More than cared. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I figured out pretty quick who you favored. And since he’s enamored with you as well, you could get him to do just about anything. Why else would he spend all his pay he’s been saving to buy himself a spread on that paper from Hall?”
“He was going buy himself land?” She hadn’t thought about where he’d gotten the money or that he could have been saving for something.
“Yes, ma’am. Never frittered away one nickel, excepting on those sketchbooks.”
Why would he give up his hard-earned money and his dream for her? Because he truly did care. “Is he in the bunkhouse?”
“Naw. He took off down the canyon with one of his sketchbooks.”
“Thank you.” BethAnn headed down the canyon as well. She prayed everything the blacksmith said was true. Where would he have gone? The cave they sought shelter from the storm? She would go only that far and then turn back if she hadn’t found him. She hurried on.
A noise startled her, and she stopped short. In her path, a sand-colored snake lay coiled, tail rattling.
How could she have forgotten to make noise? Should she move? Or let the snake move away? She took a slow step backward.
A shot rang out. The snake jerked.
She screamed and covered her mouth.
The long, narrow body lay limp.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Fox ran to her.
She couldn’t take her eyes off the thing.
When Mr. Fox reached her, he gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him.
But she kept her gaze on the carcass.
“BethAnn, look at me. It can’t hurt you. Look at me.”
She forced her gaze from the thing that no longer had a head to Mr. Fox’s face. A kind and gentle face.
“You’re all right.”
Even though it wasn’t a question this time, she nodded. Then changed her mind and shook her head. “Why?”
“I was afraid it was going to strike you?”
“No. Why do you keep rescuing me?”
He stared at her silently.
And in the silence, she knew what her eyes in his drawings knew. The secret they hinted at. The longings of her heart.
“I don’t know how to answer that question. Isn’t it natural to help someone when they are in danger?”
“Rusty said you were saving to buy yourself land. Why would you give that up for me?”
He was silent again for a long moment before he spoke. “It wasn’t right what Hall did to you.”
She still stood half an arm’s length in front of him. “Rusty said that you care about me. Really care for me. He said you did it because you love me.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “Rusty’s been doing an awful lot of talking.”
“Is it true?” She wanted to hear him say it. She needed to hear his declaration.
“I know you care for Rusty. You don’t have to worry about me making things difficult for the two of you. I’ll be leaving in the morning.”
She stomped her foot. “You’re already making things difficult. Are you going to say you love me or not?” She had given him plenty of opportunities.
“It’s not right to say those kinds of things to another man’s girl.”
A smile pulled at her mouth. Since he hadn’t denied his feelings, that was as good as a declaration of love. She leaned forward and whispered, “I love you, too.” She pressed her lips to his.
At first he didn’t move. Then he slipped one hand behind her head and the other around her waist and returned her kiss fully. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “BethAnn, what are you doing? What about Rusty?”
“I never cared for him like I do you. I thought he could protect my sister and me. But it was you, always you. You have protected us over and over.”
He straightened. “So your love is contingent on my ability to protect you?”
“No. I was silly to stay away from you because I thought Rusty would be a good protector. But it was always you I wanted to spend time with. It was you I was drawn to. It was you I fell in love with.”
He tilted his head to kiss he
r again but hesitated a breath away. “I love you, too.”
“I know.” She had been too thickheaded to realize it before. Everything was clear now. When he remained so close but didn’t kiss her, she said, “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
“Maybe.” His hot breath fanned her face, and she shivered.
“‘Maybe’? You don’t know?” Was he playing with her?
“It depends.” His mouth curved up into a whimsical smile.
He was definitely playing with her. “On what?” She had the urge to step back and put her hands on her hips and demand an answer, but she didn’t want to leave his embrace.
“On whether or not you’ll marry me. It wouldn’t be right to be kissing a lady I’m not engaged to.”
Bliss bubbled up inside her. “Did you just ask me to marry you?”
“I believe I did. Are you going to answer?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe you’ll answer or maybe you’ll marry me?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you’ll tell me your real name.”
His mouth pulled up into a beautiful smile. “Collin Foxworth.”
That was a nice name. And addressing him as Mr. Fox hadn’t been too far off the mark. “I would very much like to be Mrs. Collin Foxworth.”
He only had to lean in a fraction for their lips to meet again.
This was where she belonged. Safe in his arms.
Mary Davis is an award-winning author of over a dozen novels in both historical and contemporary themes, six novellas, two compilations, and three short stories, as well as being included in various collections. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and is active in two critique groups. Mary lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband of over thirty years and two cats. She has three adult children and one grandchild. She enjoys playing board and card games, rain, and cats. She would enjoy gardening if she didn’t have a black thumb. Her hobbies include quilting, porcelain doll making, sewing, crafts, crocheting, and knitting. You can find her at http://marydavisbooks.com and https://www.facebook.com/mary.davis.73932.
The Gambler’s Daughter
by Darlene Franklin
The Pony Express Romance Collection Page 13
