"Why are you talking in riddles? I swear you get more annoying with age."
"Isn't that the game we've played most of our lives? Me the petulant spoiled child and you the corrective influence."
"You're worrying me," Missy said pulling her hands away. Kimberly turned away from her.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to. I was just watching Clarkson through the window. He's outside looking very miserable. Maybe I'm speaking out of empathy. I heard some of what was said on the ride here. You should forgive him. Clarkson would never hurt you. If I thought he would, I'd never have brought you here."
"You didn't have a choice."
"I always have a choice, Missy. Clarkson meant none of what he said. You two have always been close, and I can't continue unless you forgive him. So go to him and accept his apology."
"And if I don't want to?"
"Then we must leave here tonight and stay at the hotel until I can book us passage back to Europe."
"My forgiving Clarkson really means that much to you?"
"It means everything to me. Go to him and forgive him for my sake."
Missy noticed the desperation in Kimberly's eyes. Other than clothes and shoes, Kimberly had never shown such passion for anything else. Missy had no idea her feelings or opinion toward Clarkson mattered to Kimberly. Yet clearly it did, or she would never have tried to force Missy's hand. "Okay, I will, only to have you shut up about it."
"Excellent. Let's go and join the others." Kimberly locked their arms together and led Missy from the room. "Now where to? This place is like a maze."
"I think one of the servants said there was a maze build at the back of the property."
"I wonder if Rilla would allow us to take a walk through it before we leave tomorrow."
"We wouldn't know unless we ask." Missy said as they stood in the long corridor looking left to right. Missy tried to get her bearings as Kimberly tugged on her arm.
"Yes, let's. It will be something we have done together, a fond memory."
Missy began to fret. She didn’t like the way Kimberly had been speaking. It was unnerving, as though Kimberly searched for a way to say goodbye to her without actually saying goodbye. Was she planning on sending Missy away?
Missy felt the muscles in her stomach contract. She wanted to question Kimberly further but feared the answer. If she was correct in her assumption, she’d sooner know later, much later, so she could spend as little time as possible wondering what was to become of her.
"I think we go this way. If we get lost we could always scream and have Clarkson come to our rescue." She giggled and pulled Missy along with her as she headed left.
It seemed Kimberly made the right choice. They'd gone down some stairs, turned down a few airy hallways and came out by the main entrance. Missy didn't recall traveling so much to get to their rooms. Kimberly had obviously taken the scenic route, although they hadn't stopped to admire any of the antiques passed along the way.
Missy was glad when they reached their destination.
A maid stood at the front door greeting a gentleman caller. So they waited alongside to be shown into the living room with the man they later found out was Jewel's husband Thomas.
After the introduction, Kimberly took Missy to the French windows and out onto the veranda. She seemed to be looking for something. Missy soon found out what that something was.
"Ah, there he is. Go and make things right with Clarkson before we leave tomorrow, you may not get another opportunity tonight to be alone together. Go, go now." Kimberly pushed her forward and went back into the room with the others.
Missy stood rooted to the spot for a moment. What would she say to him? He’d hurt her feelings and they were still too raw for her to pretend they weren't. She had to let him know she forgave him, although she’d never forget how he made her feel. If Kimberly planned to send her away, she may never get the chance to tell him she really had forgiven him, his transgression.
She could see he was no longer her shy, sensitive Clarkson anymore. The war had changed him. He looked broody and mysterious, as though he had demons at his heels and it was as much as he could do to stay ahead of them.
Even as she stood and watched him sit alone reading his letters under the light from a fading sky, she knew she could never stay mad at him. The man sitting there reading may not be her Clarkson. But he was Clarkson all the same and she needed to make amends.
Missy strolled over to him. It took a while for him to notice her. Without a word, she stopped in front of him. Her heart pinged as she realized he was reading one of her letters. Heat rose to her cheeks. This was unexpected and she wished the floor would open up and suck her into its depths. She spun on her heels to return to the house, no longer wanting to share words with him, but her movement wasn't quick enough. He glanced up saw her and jumped to his feet.
"Missy, don't go. I want to talk to you."
She stopped and turned to face him. "What about?"
"Earlier, I said something which came out wrong and I wanted to make things right between us. You're my oldest and dearest friend." He removed his hat and ran his fingers through the flattened and tangled waves of his hair. "Hell, you're my only friend." He exhaled, and in a lower voice, as if speaking to himself, he continued. "I don't want to lose what we have."
"What do we have, Clarky?"
He laughed. "You haven't called me that in years. I've missed it."
"I thought you said you didn't like it."
"I don't. Well not when other people say it. But you...well, you're different."
"Yeah, I guess I should be thankful for any privileges granted to a lowly servant orphan girl, right?"
"I've never seen you as a servant. None of us have, and I'm sure deep down Kimberly doesn't either."
"That would have to be way down deep." She couldn’t stop the smile jerking the muscles in her face for freedom. She gave in to the twitching sensation at the side of her mouth and grinned as he laughed at what she said.
"I truly don't believe that. It isn't as deep as you think." He took her hand. "Sit with me." He drew her down with him as he spoke. Missy drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. She turned her head to the side, rested her cheek on her knees and looked at him as he folded her letter and placed it in his inside pocket.
"I like your smell."
"Thank you."
"We’ll be heading to the ranch tomorrow. What do you think of the name Ponderosa?"
"It’s interesting. Why?"
"It's the name of the ranch. The Ponderosa, it sounds romantic, but it's the name given to the ranch by the previous owner. I was wondering if I should change it."
"I like it."
"I like it, too. I am sorry. You do know that don't you." Clarkson took her hand and she raised her head. The warmth of his hand sent her spine tingling. She pulled her hand away and picked at the grass.
"I know and I’m sorry, too. I overreacted, but it won't matter soon. I think Kimberly is thinking of sending me away."
"What? She can't."
A short scream escaped from her lips at the violence in which Clarkson had a hold of her shoulders, as if he meant to shake her. His eyes danced over her face as if searching for something. Maybe he thought her a liar.
"She can't. I won't let her."
"You won't have a choice."
"I won't let her take you away from me. I just got you back," he whispered.
Missy’s heart was pounding in her ears. Their faces were so close, his breath caressed her lips and fanned her cheeks. His eyes bored into hers. "Clarkson, you're being ridiculous." Her breathy voice sounded foreign to her ears.
He groaned and suddenly Missy found herself pressed against him. His mouth glued to hers as he drank from her lips. Her skin grew hot, she melted into him. Then cold as if doused by icy waters, she found herself alone shivering and dazed as she watched Clarkson practically run back to the house.
Missy’s fingers traced her swollen lips in dismay.
"What’s wrong with me? Why did I do that? I blame Cal, with his silly notions of my being in love with Missy, this is on him." Clarkson mumbled as he stomped all the way back to the house, through the rear doors to the back stairs and up to his room. He didn't want to see anyone as he savored the ghost of Missy’s lips on his.
Cal’s words may have been the catalyst, but he was the one who'd kissed Missy and he liked it, she felt right in his arms. He shouldn't have run off like a coward, but then again wasn't that his status now? A blubbering coward who couldn't face life as a man.
Look at him now running to go and hide in his room when he should be out there apologizing for what he'd done. He was engaged to Kimberly for crying out loud. What a mess.
He'd left his hat outside, and pondered whether or not he should go back and get it. What if Missy was still there? What if she was? It would be as good a time as any to clear up any misunderstanding. How was kissing her a misunderstanding? Clarkson wanted to scream this was too much. As if his life wasn't complicated enough, he had to add his feelings for Missy into the mix.
It was going to be a long night. He couldn't hide in his room forever. He’d have to go down for dinner or Cal would come and get him and he couldn't face his brother, not yet while his mind was in turmoil. What kind of man was he? Reading one woman's letter, and kissing another.
They were friends, and he was a jackass. His father would disown him if he knew and he’d have every right to.
How was he supposed to face everyone? They’d see the guilt of his misdeed written all over his face. Then there was Missy. His stomach clenched and beads of sweat trickled from his forehead, as he accepted the fact Cal could be right. He loved her, was in love with her and was about to marry Kimberly.
Clarkson closed the door to his room and rested his back against it. His hat could wait. He needed to get his mind right. Admitting to loving Missy was just one more step on his road to ruin. He was in his own special hell, a place for blaggards like him, where they’re given something of immense value with one hand, only to see it snatched out with the other.
This was the situation he was in. He was sworn to Kimberly who he had loved for a lifetime, only to find himself in love with Missy as well. Kimberly was a selfish inconsiderate debutante whose biggest concern was for her clothes not to be ruffled, but he’d always known that about her and loved her anyway, faults and all, for so long. Then there was Missy, warm and caring always putting others before herself, whose biggest concern was to have a family of her own, a place to belong.
If the day had taught him anything, it was Kimberly could be tolerated in small measures. She was destined to make his life a misery. Whereas he could sit and talk with Missy for a lifetime, her calm soothing voice, was musical balm for his ears. Both women had been dangled before him and he couldn’t choose between either one. The choice had been made the day he asked Mr Montgomery for Kimberly's hand. He could see now what a mistake that had been.
Having sworn to be the man Kimberly had described in her letters if she remained the same as the woman in his, of which he saw no sign. But was he being unfair in saying this when he hadn't given her a chance? She’d obviously chosen to wear that enormous dress for him—to impress him even if it didn't travel well.
Yet he also got the impression she wore it to rile him to, get under his skin in some way—but why would she purposefully choose to annoy him?
Clarkson felt a pulse beating at his temple, threatening to deliver the mothers of all migraines, if he continued to think about things he could not change nor control. What he needed to focus on was how to get Missy alone so he could say sorry. Saying sorry to her seemed to be becoming a habit for him lately. They’d only been back in the country for a few hours and he had managed to put his foot in his mouth more than once and make a hash of everything else.
He pushed off from the door and went to lie on his back against the bedclothes. Would his life ever get back to normal? The ghosts of his past had given him a reprieve over the last month or two but they were back. He could feel them inside his head, whispering in the shadows of his mind, some were even laughing at him for thinking he could escape them.
Taking the pillow, Clarkson covered his face and screamed into it, to muffle the sound. His chest felt caught in a vice, was he experiencing a heart attack? It sure felt that way.
Why, oh why had he given into his impulse to feel Missy's lips pressed to his? He hadn't planned to, and he couldn't rightly say where the urge had stemmed from. He just knew the moment was right. The thought of never seeing her again had driven him to action, an action he could never take back nor deny the enjoyment of taking such a liberty.
And now he was plagued with its memory and the way it made him feel. New and amazing sensations had filled his being curling his toes. In that instant when their lips touched, he'd never felt more alive in his life. He felt at home in her arm and at peace in his mind. He screamed again into the soft material. Would he ever know peace again?
Clarkson almost left his clothes and his skin casing on the bed when the knock at his door startled him out of his reflection. He shot forward into an upright position on the bed, glanced around the room and replaced the pillow. He touched the wetness on his cheek. He hadn't realized he'd been crying. Removing the handkerchief Cal had given him earlier, he wiped his eyes before checking his appearance in the mirror. Then he went to answer the door.
"It seems you left your hat in the garden. Missy brought it in for you. You mind telling me what that's about?" Cal asked, handing him, his hat and stepping into the room, pushing past Clarkson, he stopped in the center and turned back to him. "Well, I'm waiting and make it good. Missy was flushed when she came into the room."
"I kissed her."
"Say again.” Cal tilted his head sideways. “It sounded for a minute, like you said you kissed Missy!" He shook his head as if he hadn’t heard right.
"That's exactly what I said and I hold you responsible." Clarkson narrowed his gaze, as he shut his door and followed Cal into the room.
"Me! How is it, you kissing Missy, equates to being my fault?" Cal rubbed at his jaw and stared at his brother in disbelief.
"You and your talk of me being in love with her, that's what did it. I got confused and the next thing I knew. I was kissing her."
"So let me get this straight. You went from me suggesting you may be in love with Missy, to you kissing her and it’s on me, am I right?" Cal, rolled his head, then stared openmouthed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Please tell me. During our conversation, at what point did I tell you to kiss Missy?"
"I didn't say you told me to kiss Missy. I'm saying all the talk about me being in love with her and her saying she was going away. It all just overwhelmed me and I kissed her." Clarkson walked across the room and sat on his bed, his head fell into his hands and he groaned. "I didn't think it was possible to make an impossible situation even more impossible."
"Wait, Missy is going away?"
"That's all you heard?"
"That's all I'm interested in. We already know you’re impossible. When did Missy say she was leaving and where is she going?"
"Well, she didn't actually say she was going anywhere."
"Huh?" Cal went and sat next to him and turned to face his brother on the bed. "You kissed her and she isn't going anywhere? Now I'm truly baffled."
"It makes no sense to me either." Clarkson let his body flop backward onto the mattress and exhaled.
“Now here’s a pickle,” Cal said and laid back alongside his brother. “So what are you going to do now?”
“I have no idea.” Clarkson groaned and pulled his pillow back over his face.
Chapter 16
As Missy got ready for bed, she went over the events of the evening—over and over again in her mind. The hardest thing to bear was the awkwardness between her and Clarkson. She couldn't think of a time when she'd felt distance between them. Even after living in different countrie
s. Yes he'd upset her earlier, even then she still felt some molecule of closeness to him.
Although she couldn't bring herself to speak with him. At no time had she seen a problem developing, when she did eventually decide to forgive him. This bridge being built between them was new, and one she didn't know if they could ever remove.
Clarkson wouldn't even look at her during dinner. As if she was the one who kissed him. So she hadn't pushed him away, but she'd been in shock. What did he expect? How could she have acted properly when his kiss was as unexpected as seeing the sun out at night in place of the moon.
Missy knew she would have to confess to Kimberly, they were to be married and she could not shake her sense of guilt and betrayal. Kimberly was the closest person she had to a family she would not let her marriage start off on a lie.
Missy sat on the edge of her bed and sighed. She’d packed her toiletries leaving out only what she'd need to get ready in the morning for their journey to Clarkson’s ranch. If she was to sleep in Kimerley's bed—it made sense to move her things in there with her tonight.
Tears swelled in her eyes. She wished Clarkson hadn't chosen this time to trifle with her feelings. The kiss was a permanent scar on her lips. How could she move on from his when she could still feel the pressure of his touch and the tightness to her stomach every time she thought of it? Which was often.
She was sure she walked around the entire evening rosy cheeked, flushed from embarrassment as well as longing. Life would have been easier for her if she'd never known his kiss. Missy wiped her eyes and gathered her belongings and went to join Kimberly in her room.
"Whatever is the matter with you? Have you've been crying?" Kimberly asked, having taken one look at her face. Missy didn't know what to say. She'd never lied to Kimberly before. Okay, so she may have omitted the truth, used fabrication and embellishment so as to encourage Kimberly's sense of self, but she had never told a bold faced lie and she wasn't about to start now.
"Yes."
"Why would you be crying? I thought you had fixed things with Clarkson."
Love Letters (Unbridled Book 3) Page 7
