Almost a Lady

by Heidi Betts

  "But the circumstances are as they are,” she finished. “And perhaps after all of that, you'd prefer to withdraw your suit anyway."

  Brandt studied her for several long minutes. So long, in fact, that she began to clench and unclench her fists and shift from foot to foot.

  "Since you've kept so much from me,” he began slowly, “I think it only fair that I be allowed to have a few secrets of my own. So for a while, I think I'll let you wait and worry and wonder if I still want to marry you."

  They heard a strangled gasp from the bed and both whipped their heads around to see a now wide-awake Erik staring at them, eyes round as saucers.

  Willow rushed to his side, pouring him a drink and putting the cup to his lips. But he shook his head, pushing the drink away. He coughed, his eyes never leaving Brandt, who stood behind Willow, one hand on her shoulder.

  "You. . .” He coughed again and cleared his scratchy throat. “You marry Willow?” he asked, and then the corners of his mouth lifted with a delighted grin.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Brandt nearly choked at the boy's bold question. And worse was the absolutely ecstatic look on his young face. He reached around Willow and took the glass of water from her hand, downing it in one giant gulp.

  He didn't know what he'd expected, but it hadn't been Erik's keen observational skills. For a child who was supposed to be mentally deficient, he seemed to grasp the concept of his sister marrying well enough.

  For a brief second, Brandt considered denying it. Willow probably expected that response. She certainly expected what she'd told him to repulse him so much, he'd give up any notion of wanting her as his wife.

  Nothing could be further from the truth. Knowing about her past only made him love her more, made him realize how strong she really was, made him admire her strength, determination, and tenacity. It also helped him understand why she was so obsessed with her position at Pinkerton and why she took her investigations and fears of being let go from the Agency so seriously.

  There was no woman in the world he would ever want more than he wanted Willow Hastings.

  So, instead of telling Erik what his sister wanted him to hear, Brandt straightened, put both hands on either side of Willow's neck, and said, “Yes. Yes, I am."

  She shot to her feet, hands on hips, glaring at him like he'd just offered to strip her naked and parade her down Main Street

  . “What are you saying?” she snapped, and her neck actually jolted forward and back with her fury.

  "I'm sharing the wonderful news with your brother,” he answered, praying she wouldn't be willing to set aside her deep-seated integrity and bludgeon him to death in front of the boy.

  "We are not getting married,” she growled under her breath. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to see that Erik wasn't catching very much of their conversation. He was sitting up in bed, a pillow propped behind him, still smiling like it was Christmas morning and he was the only child left in the world. “I never said I would marry you."

  "You didn't have to,” Brandt stated with utter confidence. “I've made up my mind. And even though you'll probably spend several more months denying your feelings, I know you love me. Or at least you'll begin to before long. It's inevitable."

  Her lashes fluttered closed, as though she was taking a moment to absorb the meaning of his words. When she opened them, her initial anger had been replaced by amazement. Had she really expected him to withdraw his proposal, to stop loving her simply because he now knew about her less-than-sterling past and her special brother? How shallow did she think he was?

  Well, he thought, wincing inwardly at the memory of some of their experiences together, perhaps he hadn't given her reason for a positive opinion of his honor and virtue.

  "How do you know it's inevitable?” she asked in a more subdued tone than before. “How can you be so sure?"

  For some reason, he knew his answer was very important. His next words could well determine their future. At least the near future, and how smoothly it might run, because he fully intended to have Willow, even if it took an eternity.

  "Simple. I love you, and I plan to marry you. And while I suspect you already love me, I'm willing to wait until you feel secure enough to admit it.” He paused, letting his words sink in, because he could tell she was considering them. Finally.

  "And if you never consent to marry me, then I'll just have to seduce you. I'll keep you so weak from passion, you'll hardly realize I've moved both you and Erik into a brand-new home with me and, for all intents and purposes, set up a household."

  "You sound awfully sure of yourself."

  He gave her a self-assured smile. “That's because I am."

  The muscles in her throat flexed as she swallowed. She didn't argue with him further, but she didn't throw herself into his arms and accept his proposal, either. Instead, she turned stiffly and moved toward the doorway. “I'll go . . . get Erik . . . something to eat.” Her words sounded as distracted as he suspected her mind was at the moment.

  He waited until she was out of sight before shifting Erik's small legs farther over on the straw mattress and taking a seat beside him. “Is your sister always this stubborn?"

  Erik nodded vigorously.

  He wasn't sure the boy actually understood the question, but Brandt chuckled and brushed a stray lock of hair away from his face. “I thought as much. How are you feeling?"

  "Better. I was sick.” he said, his eyes widening dramatically. “I threw up."

  Brandt chuckled. Only a twelve-year-old could think vomiting was something to brag about. “I know. Your sister was pretty worried about you."

  "My head still hurts, though."

  "Do you think some of Mrs. Nelson's beef stew will help with that?” Brandt asked, already smelling the delicious aroma that wafted in from the kitchen.

  Erik's face lit up. “Biscuits, too?"

  He was learning that Erik's face displayed every emotion the boy was feeling. He suspected that even if the child couldn't always communicate his thoughts clearly with words, one only had to watch his expression to figure out what was going on in his young mind. “I think so."

  "Yay!” he cried, clapping.

  Resting a hand on Erik's blanketed legs, Brandt decided to get to know the boy a little better. After all, Erik would soon practically be his son. He certainly planned to care for him as he would his own child.

  "Tell me what you like to do when you're not lying in bed with a fever.” He thought back to when he was Erik's age, trying to recall some of his favorite pastimes. And then he went back even farther to account for Erik's slow development. “Do you like to climb trees, or play with that scruffy mong. . .” He caught himself before he used a word Erik might not know. “. . .dog I saw out front?"

  Erik nodded again and sat up even straighter, apparently recognizing a captive audience. “Piddle is my dog,” he said. “Mr. Nelson brought him home from town for me and all he did was piddle on the floor, Mrs. Nelson said.” He giggled and covered his mouth as though piddle was a naughty word. And to a twelve-year-old boy, perhaps it was. “Piddle is my favorite thing in the whole world, but Willow says he smells like an outhouse. He doesn't,” Erik asserted, his mouth drawn in a firm line.

  "You have to admit, Piddle doesn't exactly smell like a field of daisies,” Willow said, breezing into the room and meeting Brandt's gaze over the tray she carried. “The name suits him."

  "He does too smell like a daisy,” Erik defended mutinously. “And he doesn't smell like an outhouse. Can he come sleep on my bed with me?"

  "Definitely not,” Willow answered with conviction. A second later, her tone softened. “Not until you've gotten something to eat, at any rate. Are you hungry?"

  She settled the tray on his lap and scooted Brandt out of the way to take his place at Erik's side. The stew, Brandt noticed, was mostly broth, which would do the boy's stomach some good. Willow tried to do the motherly thing and feed him bit by bit, but that only lasted half a minute be
fore Erik wrenched the spoon from her hand and began shoveling the soup into his mouth. In his other hand he held a biscuit, and he took big bites between mouthfuls of stew.

  "He's feeling better,” Brandt told her needlessly. When she turned to face him, he added, “And I like dogs. A lot. In fact, I wouldn't mind having a mutt like Piddle around permanently."

  The spoon halted halfway to Erik's mouth as the boy scowled at him. Brandt belatedly realized Erik probably thought he was suggesting he take the dog away, and before Erik became upset, he hurried to clarify the situation. “As long as a boy like Erik was around to take care of him, of course."

  Erik smiled and went back to eating.

  "I like cats,” Willow said.

  Of course she did, Brandt thought. Because a cat was the polar opposite of a dog, and if Brandt liked one, Willow would automatically claim to like the other better. It was her way of not only avoiding the subject of matrimony, but of trying to show him how wrong they would be for each other.

  Unfortunately for her, he didn't give up so easily.

  "I like cats, too. Maybe we can have one of each.” He noticed Erik's eyes light up at that suggestion. This was a child who loved animals and would take as many as he could get.

  Willow's frown deepened, though she didn't respond.

  "Speaking of which, would you prefer to live in New York or Boston?” He knew the question would only irritate her more, but he couldn't seem to help himself. “I make my home in Boston, as you know, since that's where Union Pacific headquarters are located. But they also have an office in New York, and I'm sure I could work out of there. Of course, if you wanted to move to Boston, we could manage that, too. There's no Pinkerton office there, but perhaps Robert could find some local assignments for you, or you could take a different position, if you'd rather. There are also Pinkerton offices in Denver and Chicago, if you prefer. I'm not sure the UP will be able to transfer me to either place, but that's something we can deal with later. Do you have a preference?” he ended casually.

  He had the luxury of seeing all the color drain from her face and then flood back directly into her cheeks. “I told you we aren't going to be. . .” She glanced at Erik. “Living together, or anything else. I wish you would stop this nonsense and go back to New York or Boston or wherever you plan to live and leave us alone."

  "Would it help if I asked Erik what he wanted to do? He could even go back to the city with us, if he'd like."

  The minute the words were out of his mouth, he knew he'd made a terrible mistake. Willow blanched and Erik got so excited, he overturned the nearly empty bowl on his lap, Spilling brown stew juices all over the quilt.

  He should have quit while he was ahead, Brandt chastised himself. He never should have mentioned taking Erik back to New York without first getting Willow's permission. Lesson number one about being a father or big brother-in-law: Never announce an idea in front of the child before clearing it through the mother—or, in this case, sister—beforehand.

  "Can I really?” Erik asked, not distracted for a moment by the soup soaking through the bed linens. “Can I meet Robert and see the big eye sign? And will you take me to the big park you talked about? Can I ride on a train and see all the people in the fancy clothes?"

  Teeth clamped together so tight Brandt could see the muscle twitching in her jaw, Willow began to strip the bed, collecting the dishes and soiled coverlet. “We'll see. Mr. Donovan and I have a few things to discuss because he shouldn't have said what he did.” She flashed a furious glare at him, and he wisely kept quiet.

  "Are you going to yell at him?” Erik asked.

  "Yes, I believe I will."

  Brandt almost chuckled at her calm tone but thought better of it. He was in hot enough water at the moment; no sense increasing the temperature.

  She handed Erik a small, well-worn book that looked like a primer or early reader. “You can practice your letters for a while, or take a nap if you're tired. I'll send in Piddle.” And then she turned and marched out of the room, obviously expecting Brandt to follow.

  Which he did, most obediently.

  They were both silent until Willow had deposited the dirty dishes in the cast-iron sink and the soiled quilt in an empty basket by the door and led him outside.

  "Piddle,” she called, and the big, mangy brown dog lumbered around the corner of the house. His long pink tongue lolled out of his mouth, dripping doggy spittle on her hand and skirt as he bounced around her feet for attention. She laughed at the mutt's antics and held the door open for him. “Go see Erik,” she said and snapped her fingers to get the dog into the house.

  Still staunchly ignoring Brandt, she closed the door behind them and made her way across the sparse yard with lengthy, determined strides. Pecking chickens cackled and flapped their wings and scrambled to get out of the way.

  Willow slid the big barn door open. “In,” she ordered with a wave of her hand.

  Brandt stepped into the dim interior. The floor was littered with straw, and he saw dust motes dancing in the thin beams of light that peeked through cracks in the walls. All of the stalls were empty, the livestock either being used by Mr. Nelson to plow fields or left out to pasture for the day.

  She slid the door closed again, sealing them into even heavier darkness. “If I say I'll marry you, will you stop interfering in my life?"

  He drew his head back in surprise, and then his eyes narrowed. “Define interfering."

  "Following me, pestering me, telling my brother he and his beloved dog will be coming to live with us. Interfering. If I say I'll marry you, will you stop?"

  The question sounded simple enough.

  Nothing with Willow could be so simple.

  Still, after a moment of careful consideration, he warily answered, “Yes.” It wasn't entirely true; he wouldn't quit meddling in her life if he thought it was in her best interest, but he would stop trying to deliberately provoke her.

  "Fine; then I'll marry you."

  He blinked. “Really?"

  "No, not really,” she snapped, her breasts thrusting out over her crossed arms. “But you agreed that if I said I'd marry you, you'd leave me alone. So I'm saying I'll marry you. Now good-bye."

  "Nice try,” he muttered, annoyed by her callous tactic.

  "What were you thinking?” she charged. “Don't you know better than to blurt out something like that in front of a child—especially a child like Erik? All he's ever wanted is to live in New York with me, and now he thinks you've magically appeared to grant his fondest wish. How could you do something like that?"

  Her body vibrated with tension. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, buried slightly within the folds of her faded green skirt. He'd never seen her in such plain attire and suspected she kept a change of clothes or two here for when she visited. She would certainly look out of place traipsing around in her New York finery—though she did look delectable in some of those tight, low-cut gowns.

  Drawing his mind back to the matter at hand, he immediately apologized. “I'm sorry. I knew I'd made a mistake the moment I opened my mouth. But if Erik has always wanted to go to New York with you, why won't you take him?"

  "I can't take him.” Turning, she stalked deeper into the shadows of the barn. “Have you forgotten that I'm a Pinkerton agent?” she asked, coming to rest beside an empty wagon bed. “My work is dangerous. I move around a lot, sometimes never knowing where I'll be from day to day. I couldn't drag Erik into that. And I wouldn't feel comfortable leaving him with just anyone while I'm away."

  Brandt didn't respond, wanting to hear what she had to say. The truth, for a change, and only the second time she'd opened up to him.

  She boosted herself up on the lowered tail end of the wagon and seemed to relax a bit as she rested her hands flat on either side of her hips. “He likes it here,” she continued. “The Nelsons are wonderful to him. He has a few friends, and plenty of room to run around and be a little boy. The townspeople have known him since birth and are less in
clined to judge him for his inabilities. I'm afraid it wouldn't be that way in New York—or anywhere else I might take him."

  Her eyes had a pleading look in them that nearly crushed him.

  "Can't you understand that? I'm trying to protect him."

  He did understand. Only too well, because he now felt protective of not only her, but of her brother as well. Yet he'd met Erik and taken an instant liking to him, so perhaps others would, too, making that fear unwarranted.

  "I do, but you can't protect him forever,” he said, careful of both his tone and words, because the last thing he wanted was to upset her again. If he did, he might find himself banished to sleeping outside with Piddle and waking up smelling like an outhouse. It was not a prospect that enraptured him. “You won't always be able to keep him from people you think will be cruel. You won't always be able to hide him away like you're doing now."

  "I'm not hiding him away!"

  "You are, and we both know it. You're lucky Erik hasn't figured out what you're doing yet, or I'm guessing he'd have a few things to say about it. He's a wonderful boy, Willow, and he's going to grow into a wonderful man. He's not perfect, though none of us are, so that shouldn't be a vital issue. It's unfortunate that Erik's flaws happen to be physical and therefore more easily visible to those who may not be as accepting of imperfections. Then again, people like that are shallow and vain and will all burn in Hell soon enough, so Erik should be taught not to give a turkey's tail feather about them or the things they might say.

  "Are you teaching him that?” Brandt questioned. “Are you teaching him to live in a world where people can be cruel and unfeeling, but where he can thrive all the same? That's what you should be worried about,” he said softly, “not about how many people might see him and notice he's different."