“Doc? You’re overreacting, Tim. Now scoot off downstairs. Lady Sydney will be with you shortly.”
“One more thing before I leave here.” He sidestepped to the foot of the bed. “I’m not taking any sass on this, either. I’m pulling off your left boot and getting a look at the rope marks on your ankle. It’ll be in better shape than your waist, so I’ll at least have a gauge as to how honest you’re being with me.”
Sydney scrabbled toward the head of the bed. “You’ll do nothing of the sort! It’s indecent!”
“Tim Creighton, don’t you talk to her like that!”
“Aww, hush.” He grabbed Sydney’s boot and wrenched it off. Though the young woman struggled, he flipped her hem up and clamped hold long enough to get an eyeful of the way a snowy stocking hugged her dainty ankle.
“The boot leather protected me.” Sydney wriggled and squirmed. Her efforts were to no avail.
Heaving a loud sigh, Velma stepped up and pulled off Sydney’s stocking.
Tim scowled at her bare ankle. Lady Sydney Hathwell had the prettiest ankle he’d ever seen. She probably had it just to torment him.
“I’m no happier about this than you are.” She desperately tried to cover herself up.
Tim kept hold of her foot and tentatively touched the angry red line around her ankle. “You’re still marked. You didn’t have leather to absorb the chafing from the rope that sustained both you and Emmy-Lou on the upward haul. That means you’re marked a lot worse around your . . . um, middle.”
Once he let go of her, Sydney rolled onto her side and curled into a tight ball.
“Are you hurting that bad?” Guilt mounted. He’d been a fool to have missed the cues about her masquerade, and he’d pushed her far beyond her endurance. He’d been nasty tempered and rough ever since he’d discovered the truth. Tim fought the urge to pick her up. He wasn’t quite sure whether he’d rock her or toss her right out the window if he did.
“Get on outta here.” Velma pushed him to the door. “I’ll have her downstairs in a few shakes.”
A moment later, Tim grabbed a steaming mug from the kitchen counter and took a swig of . . . “Tea.” He dumped it down the sink. Sydney was just like that cup. Masquerading as something worthwhile, she’d proved to be nothing but a disappointment. As he watched the fluid slide down the drain, Tim knew Sydney wouldn’t be half as easy to dispose of.
Sydney took a dresser scarf and used it as a shawl of sorts. She needed to find out if the emporium had ladies’ garments. As of yet, she hadn’t been to the one in town.
“The mercantile has just a few ladies’ corsets and stockings. The rest we’re gonna have to rig up,” Velma said, as if she’d read Sydney’s mind. “Won’t much matter. You’ll be inside with me from now on, so you’ll have plenty of time to make whatever else you need. You do sew, don’t you?”
She nodded her head. “I’d best go downstairs. Mr. Creighton is not a man to be kept waiting.”
Velma cocked her head to the side. “So he’s Mr. Creighton now, is he?”
“Circumstances have changed. I cannot be familiar.”
Velma shook her head. “This is going to be a mess.”
“Indeed.” Sydney gathered her resolve and approached the stairs. Since they were indoors and her ankle was so sore, she opted to wear stockings and forego the boots. Slippers were definitely in order, so she mentally added footwear to the steadily growing list of items she needed to purchase.
The housekeeper gave her arm a squeeze. “I’ll come along with you in there if you want.”
“I think I’d best beard this lion on my own.”
Velma pursed her lips. “If that’s what you want, I’ll abide by your wishes; but I’m going into the study first, just to make sure Big Tim isn’t spitting fire.”
“If he is, ’tis nothing more than I deserve.”
Velma gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. “Give me five minutes.”
Velma had barely shut the study door before she started shouting. Sydney could hear every word clearly.
“That little miss has hit her limit, Tim. Don’t you dare upset her any more. She’s plumb wore out. You dragged her all over the township, trying to make a man of her when all it would have taken was one good look to get the truth.”
“No decent woman would—”
“Oh, she’s as decent as they come. Brave, too.”
He bellowed, “Don’t mistake stupidity for courage!”
“You shoved that little lady straight down a well hole! And she’s got the marks to prove your folly.”
Sydney winced. Eavesdropping was wrong—but with them shouting at the top of their lungs, she couldn’t help overhearing the argument. But it’s my fault. They wouldn’t be fighting if I hadn’t lived a lie.
“No, Doc isn’t going to see her! That quack’s likely to kill her off with one of his patented salves.”
An unintelligible reply left a momentary silence.
“I’m sending her in to have a talk with you, and it had better be just that—a talk. Don’t you dare raise your voice at her. All of the rules have changed.” The door opened. Velma stepped out. “Lady Hathwell, Mr. Creighton would like to see you.”
Tim filled the doorway. “That’s not the truth. I wish I’d never laid eyes on you, but since you’re here, you owe me an explanation.”
Sydney entered the study and took a seat. Minutes later, she found herself getting dizzy watching him pace circles around her chair. Even if she hadn’t heard him roaring at Velma, Tim’s emphatic gait pounded out proof of his anger. Sydney mentally braced herself for whatever might come next. Waiting for him to speak stretched her nerves taut.
Finally Tim stopped in front of her. His hands fisted at his sides. “You had no right to deceive me—us. You had no right at all to lead us to believe you were a boy.”
“I had no choice.”
“Of course you had a choice. Deception,” he grated, “is purposeful. You obtained boy’s clothing. I’ll bet you even took on that boy’s name. What’s your real name? Cindy?”
Hume called me Cindy. You’re not like him. Don’t be like him. She faced Tim. “Sydney is a girl’s name when spelled with a Y.”
“That still doesn’t explain the fact that you wore britches.”
It took a sheer act of will to keep from twisting her hands in her lap. They’d always been white and soft and beautifully manicured until she came here. Now they were suntanned, scraped, and bore jagged nails. Her palms were full of healing blisters and pinpoint holes from a few dozen splinters, too.
“Well?” he demanded in a steely tone. Upon discovering her deceit, Tim withdrew his friendship. His glower could very well set the chair on fire.
Her relief to be free of the lie warred with the keen loss she felt. Perhaps if he understood . . . “I knew Uncle Fuller believed I was a boy, so I presented myself as one. My only defense is that had I not, he would have fobbed me off on someone like—” Her voice skidded to a halt.
Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Like who?”
“That is none of your affair.”
He towered over her. “Girls from fancy families aren’t allowed to travel unescorted. You may as well come clean. It’ll be simple enough for me to see to whom Fuller sent the telegram.”
Sydney stared at the arm of the chair. The very edge of the upholstery was frayed, and she fought the urge to play with the threads. Seconds ticked by as she decided whether to tell him the humiliating facts regarding her recent foray into the marriage market. What will happen if Mr. Hume finds out where I am?
After taking a deep breath, she decided she had no choice. “I arrived in the States to consider marriage with someone. My title and connections interested the man; I did not.”
Air hissed between Tim’s teeth. He tilted her face to his and assessed her with his piercing gaze. “Let me get this straight: Your father sent you here to marry a money-grubbing social climber?”
His evaluation stung. She momentarily compresse
d her lips, then pulled away. “Father loved me. He sent me to decide if I could be happy with the man in question.”
Tim harrumpfed.
“It’s the truth. F-Father would have gladly let me return home.” She sucked in a breath to steady herself. “He’s passed on. Since I couldn’t get home, I contacted Uncle Fuller. In his telegram, he said how pleased he was to have a nephew and that females are useless.” She extended the telegram as proof of her assertion. “Being forthright about my gender would have left me in dire straits.”
Tim scowled. His boot scuffed the hardwood floor as he stepped back from her. “Fuller wouldn’t do that to kin. He’d far rather have a niece than a liar.” He paused. “As it turns out, you’re both.”
“I confess, it was a ruse—but I perpetrated it only out of necessity!”
“Convenience, not necessity.” He snatched the paper from her, wheeled about, and slapped it down on the desk without bothering to even glance at the contents.
“Oh, bosh! Speak to me of convenience! Uncle Fuller would rather leave me to fend for myself than allow me to live in a home with relatives because he can’t stand women.” Bitterness tainted her voice. “I put myself through Hades to keep up with your demands, and I did it just so I could have a family and a safe place to stay until I turned eighteen!”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sydney pressed her fingers to her lips, dipped her head, and whispered thickly, “Please excuse me. That was unforgivable.” She slid to the edge of the seat.
“Don’t go yet.”
Sydney shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I have no right to burden you with such a private matter.”
“If Fuller knew how desperate you were to come here, he’d allow you to, even if you are a girl.”
She blinked away her tears and tilted her face up to his. “Mr. Creighton, I’m afraid I may offend you by saying so, but it seems to me you’re not being completely honest.”
Tim schooled his features so she couldn’t see his reaction, but his eyes still gave him away. He heaved a sigh. “This is getting far more complicated than it ought to. Soon as Fuller returns, he’ll decide what’s in your best interest. I’ll ask him to speak with you first so you can tell him how you feel.”
“That is most kind of you.”
“I’m not making any promises.”
She nodded. “I’m quite aware of that fact. Women are not welcome at Forsaken. It would be foolish for me to presume my wishes would weigh heavily in the decision, since my uncle’s preference is both longstanding and strong.”
Tim stared at her. How had she managed to fool him by wearing baggy boys’ clothing? He must’ve been blind to miss such an hourglass shape! Curves like that were blatantly feminine.
The sun danced on all the curls in her hair, glossing the chestnut color. The tips of those cropped tresses had been subjected to a curling iron, he knew. The style was beguiling, even if it was terribly short for a woman.
She ventured away from the chair, toward the door. Tim closed his eyes at the sight. Those hips swayed, and the hem of her skirt shifted slightly from side to side, revealing slim, stockinged feet. That made her look half woman, half child.
He didn’t want to deal with either half.
“There are many devices in a man’s heart; nevertheless the counsel of the Lord, that shall stand.” The proverb that he’d read that very morning ran through his mind. Lord, I’m more than tempted to come up with a bunch of plans right about now. I don’t understand what your purpose is in all of this. I’d appreciate a heap of your counsel real quick. No great inspiration hit. Tim opened his eyes and wished something other than her feet would come into view. They were so small and vulnerable and . . . womanly.
“Velma can take you to town tomorrow to get some of the necessities. I don’t think the mercantile carries ready-made gowns for women.”
“I’m handy with a needle. Besides, it will give me something useful to do and keep me from beneath your feet.”
“Fine. Maybe you could borrow something from the Richardson girls. I’m sure they must have whatever you need.”
Sydney finally turned to look at him. “The Richardson girls?”
“Don’t be choosy, Syd . . . ney. Sydney.” Anger streaked through him yet again. He’d mind his tongue—a slip like that might make her think he was feeling friendly. Nothing was further from the truth.
“I’ll be as social and polite as necessary, but I do implore you to remember those girls grate on one’s nerves.”
“There’s a shortage of decent young women. Get along with them.”
The corners of her mouth tightened. “I’ll take care of my needs without troubling you.”
“Good.” Relief surged through him. He didn’t have the faintest idea what she needed—didn’t want to find out, either. He cleared his throat. “Velma can take you to town. Forsaken has an account, so you won’t need to take ready money.”
“Thank you.” She paused for a heartbeat. “I cannot blame you for being angry. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”
“Fine.”
“I do apologize, Mr. Creighton. And you were right—I owe the men my apologies as well.”
“You’re not to go out there unless I’m with you. I have something to see to here first.”
“Very well. Let me know when you’re ready.” Sydney left the study, closing the door very quietly behind her. The scent of flowers lingered after her.
Fuller’s telegram lay on the desk. Tim didn’t care what it said. Sydney took advantage of a simple mistake. She’d lived a lie and made a fool of him. Just because she was an English lady, she thought she had the right to use other people to her advantage. She did it to me. Well, no more.
Chapter Fifteen
Juan whipped off his sombrero, and the other hands immediately yanked off their hats as well. Sydney fought the urge to wring her hands as she stood on the porch and faced them. “Gentlemen, I owe you all an apology.”
“I shoulda helped you clear the stones from the field.” Merle nervously tried to buff the toe of his right boot on the left calf of his jeans. Bowlegged as he was, it made him resemble a cricket.
Gulp’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “And some of them words I said round you—they wasn’t fittin’ for your ears.”
“Mine, neither,” Merle added. “I ain’t proud at all of my cussin’.”
Ruddy as could be, Bert rasped, “I shouldn’ta took you to the saloon or upstairs to—well, you know.”
“Miss Hathwell dressed and acted like a man.” Big Tim stood beside her and grated, “She has no room to complain about anything that happened.”
“She hasn’t complained.” Pancake waggled his finger at Tim. “You know good and well she hasn’t. Not even about you whacking off her hair.”
“Or,” Boaz shouted, “you tying her up and dropping her down that well hole.”
“Headfirst!” Juan tacked on for good measure.
Horrified that her apology was turning into a hailstorm of accusations, Sydney raised her hand. The men all fell silent. “Gentlemen, I take full responsibility for all that has happened. No one—and I mean no one—is to blame but me. I put myself in this situation for selfish reasons and regret deceiving you. Please forgive me. I sincerely hope we can put it behind us and start afresh.”
A rumble of pledges sounded.
Tim let out a deep sigh that, though silent, Sydney sensed with every fiber of her being. “We’ve wasted enough time.
Work’s waiting. Get to it.”
Once the men left, Sydney turned to face him.
His expression was remote and his eyes icy. He didn’t say a word; he just turned on his heel and strode off.
One place setting. The next morning, the breakfast table held only one place setting. Sydney let out a silent sigh and slipped into the seat. Velma bustled in. Sliding a plate in front of Sydney, she made a face. “Eat up. Fast. We’re about to have visitors.”
Sydney glanced at the clock. “At seven-thirty?”
Velma swished her hand at the plate in a rushed gesture. “Yeah. They waited till after breakfast and morning chores.”
It felt odd to start eating without a prayer. Sydney searched for a memory of something appropriate. For the gifts we are about to receive, we give thanks. Amen.
Velma was already dashing back toward the kitchen. In the weeks Sydney had been in Texas, she’d never seen Velma in a dither. That, more than anything, made an impression.
“You use tools when you shouldn’t. . . .” Tim’s words flashed through her mind as she reached for her fork. Sydney tore open her biscuit, slid the ham inside, and ignored the egg. Getting up from the table with her plate, she headed toward the kitchen, eating as she went. Dumping the egg into the swill bucket, she took in how Velma had already put a pot or kettle on each of the stove’s burners.
“Shoulda known word would get out.” Flour puffed into a small cloud as Velma dumped it into a large red-striped earthenware bowl.
“How do you know anyone’s coming?”
“Dust. A horse doesn’t make much ’less he’s at a full gallop. Look out the window. Dust moving slower than that. Means a wagon. Since none of Forsaken’s wagons is gone, it means the wagons are coming to us.”
Sydney’s eyes widened. “Three?”
“Four. One’s hidden by that stand of trees.”
A rueful laugh bubbled out of Sydney. “I have an odd suspicion they’re not going to drop off calling cards so we know to visit them in the next little while.”
“Well, we’re going to make the best of it. Finish that food and dash upstairs. The bottom drawer of my bureau has a dresslength in it. Yellowish. Go fetch it.”
Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Yellow wasn’t an appropriate color for someone in second mourning—but it was more proper than britches. Sydney complied with Velma’s order.
The kitchen door banged. “Velma!”
Sydney found the fabric and, clutching it to herself, she crept to the head of the stairs. Eavesdropping wasn’t right; then again, Tim’s booming voice didn’t indicate that he wanted privacy.
Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) Page 17
