Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1)

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  Tim was rubbing bag balm on a cow’s udder when Velma walked out to the fence. She waved a piece of paper and called out, “Fuller responded!”

  “It’s about time,” he groused as he stood and wiped his fingers off on his pant leg as he strode over to meet her. “What did he say?”

  Velma made no pretense at having left the contents private. “It’s hard to tell what he thinks.”

  Her words didn’t exactly encourage him. Tim had hoped it was a simple notice of, “I’m on my way.” Obviously, it wasn’t. His molars grated back and forth.

  “Here.” Velma handed him a bucket first.

  Tim accepted it and drank from the dipper. “Is this your way of trying to cool my temper?”

  “No call for you to be in a temper, but if you were, there’s not enough water in all of Texas to do the job.”

  He drank more and said in a wry tone, “There’s not much water, period. We’ll have to drill.” He set down the bucket, took the telegram, and unfolded the paper. Take good care of Sydney for me. Treatment promising. Need to stay here longer.

  His hand fisted, crumpling the telegram into a small ball.

  “Now, Tim. It’s not half as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

  His eyes shot fire at her. “It’s worse!”

  “Aw, stop whining. Sydney’s a sweet gal. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.”

  “Don’t mention her body!” He took off his hat and smacked it against his thigh. “Likely every randy cowhand in the territory is already lusting after her, and Fuller expects me to chase ’em all off!”

  Velma poked out her lower lip, then sucked it in, raked it between her teeth, and stared at him for a long, uncomfortable interval. “Seems to me you’re mighty antsy about it. No reason to be. Just keep her here and don’t allow any visitors till Fuller gets back to deal with her. That announcement you made in the churchyard put all the men on notice.” She let out an irritating laugh. “If your words didn’t scare them off, your scowl should have.”

  “There’s a world of difference between what should happen and what does. All I have to do is turn my back for one minute, and some yahoo can try to sneak by. It’s not neighborly for me to break an arm, but I’ll do it if I have to.”

  “Now, Tim—”

  “Don’t you ‘Now, Tim’ me!” He kicked a small stone in frustration. “Orville Clark took a mind to suddenly come deliver supplies this morning. He’s never left his mercantile and brought stuff out to Forsaken. Never. Not once. He thought I wouldn’t know you’d just stocked up on flour and sugar.”

  Velma had the nerve to shrug. “Could always use more.”

  Tim stared at her. “I sent him back to town with his wagon fully loaded. Velma, I’m counting on you to back me up.”

  “I will, I will. Besides, all the hands here will help out. Forsaken’s men think she’s cuter’n a bug’s ear, but they treat her like a cross between a fairy princess and a baby sister, so you don’t have to worry about them.”

  Thoroughly disgruntled, he muttered, “The only thing worse than this would be the herd getting anthrax.”

  Velma pried the telegram from his hand and stuffed it deep into the pocket of her apron. “When do you plan to go get her?”

  “I’m sorely tempted to leave her at the parsonage!”

  “You’re a man of duty and honor, Tim. We both know it.”

  He sighed and squinted off into the distance. “Nothing like being condemned with a word of praise.”

  Sydney made egg salad sandwiches for dinner and fretted over which seasonings to add. Ella Mae, mostly recovered from her hives, sat down and gave her suggestions. The meal went well, and Sydney was basking in the praises when Tim arrived to take her home. All three of the Bradle boys lined up by the front door alongside their mama to tell her good-bye. After Ella Mae’s embrace, it became apparent the young men planned to follow suit. The first one barely got his arms about her. Tim dragged her back, interposed himself, and growled, “Sorry we can’t spend time socializing. See you all at church.”

  The eldest son shoved his hand out, shook Tim’s hand, and nodded. “Thanks for letting her come. Ma and Pa appreciated the help. Speaking of help . . . you gonna need some help with roundup this year?”

  Tim gave a noncommittal response, then had her in the buckboard before she could blink. As they pulled down the road, she turned and arched a brow. “I can’t believe he thanked you for letting me help, as though I were your chattel or child!”

  Tim didn’t bother to look at her. He studied the horse’s rump with great interest. “You’d best get used to it. Until Fuller gets home, I’m in charge of you.”

  Sydney started to laugh. Her laughter died out immediately. “You cannot be serious! I make my own decisions.”

  “Then decide to behave yourself. This doesn’t thrill me any more than it does you. I got a telegram from Fuller.”

  She sucked in a quick breath. “When is he coming home?”

  “Didn’t say. His treatments for the rheumatiz are helping, so he’s staying in Abilene for a while yet. In the meantime, he specifically put you in my care.” Tim finally turned to face her. His gaze held hers as he bit off each word. “And yes, he knows you’re a girl.”

  Her chin lifted. “Being a girl is no crime.”

  A wry smile twisted his lips. “That’s a matter of opinion. Still, you’re staying put till he comes back, so you may as well resign yourself to it. I have.”

  “How very noble of you.”

  Unwilling to let her have the last word, Tim nodded. “Nobility isn’t necessarily passed on in a family line. It’s cultivated in the heart and mind by men who choose right when wrong would be much easier.”

  “That is character, not nobility.”

  “Sydney, from what I can see, most nobles don’t have character, they are characters.”

  Try as she might, she couldn’t help it. Sydney started to giggle. It made her wonder about herself. Three months ago, his words would have appalled and offended her; now they amused her to no end. “You Americans are an irreverent lot.”

  “I’ll take honesty over pretensions any day.”

  His barbed words made her breath hitch. She’d earned his wrath. “Clearly, you aren’t a man to pretend.”

  Tim’s features shifted. His eyes narrowed.

  “For whatever it’s worth, you have my word that I won’t deceive you or anyone else again. I deeply regret having done so. You’ve been nothing but honorable. More than any skill you tried to teach me, that is what I’ve learned most from you.”

  He didn’t reply.

  I can’t expect him to smile and say all is forgotten. I’m going to have to prove myself all over again.

  When they got home, he lifted her down from the buckboard. Velma stepped out on the porch. “Jeb Richardson stopped by while you were gone. Said he’d like to go ahead with that deal you discussed regarding the bull.”

  “Fine.”

  “He brought along an apple pie one of his girls made.”

  Sydney watched as Tim spun back around. The man virtually slobbered. “Pie?”

  Velma nodded. “Apple. Your favorite.”

  “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” He sped past them and headed for the kitchen.

  The housekeeper grabbed Sydney’s arm. “You’d best hurry on in here and claim a wedge, else that man’ll eat the whole pie in five minutes flat. Never saw a man half as crazed about apple sweets as him. I swear, he goes weak in the knees whenever there’s any to be had.”

  “But you rarely bake sweets.”

  “Fuller can’t eat them. Says they make him feel crazier than a bronco.” Velma patted her own belly. “I don’t need to get any fatter, and I won’t bother to spend hours baking something Big Tim wolfs down in nothing flat.”

  “Perhaps I should ask Linette to teach me how to make an apple pie.”

  Velma cast her a sideways glance. “You starting to go sweet on Big Tim?”

  Sydney�
��s face went hot, and she hid behind the multipurpose phrase Mama had taught her to use in such situations: “Oh, merciful heavens!”

  “Just checking. He’d be an easy man for a young gal to love. You’d go a lifetime before you found a better man.”

  “Tim’s made it abundantly clear he matches my uncle in not wanting to take a wife. I don’t know what my future holds . . . but it won’t be here.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “How can you be so sure she’s not in England?” Hume glowered at Tyler. “Did you interview the crew and ascertain that her cabin remained empty for the entirety of the voyage?”

  “It was occupied.” Tyler held up a hand. “In point of fact, a Lady Hathwell occupied the quarters. What you failed to mention was that Lady Serena Hathwell accompanied her niece, Sydney, to America.”

  “That squatty old woman was a relative?”

  Tyler gave no response.

  Hume turned to stare out the window. Travel arrangements and accommodations were customarily made in the lady’s name, not in the servant’s or chaperone’s. By seeing S. Hathwell on the passenger list and assuming it was Sydney, they’d lost invaluable time. He’d made several costly miscalculations in this entire affair. His mouth twisted wryly. I failed to address her by her correct name—why would I have recognized her servant was actually her aunt?

  Even so, that was no excuse for Lady Sydney to flit off in a pique. Family honor and a well-deserved sense of obligation ought to have been more than sufficient motive for her to overcome whatever petty annoyances or misgivings she’d had. This whole affair had gone too far and lasted too long. His bride-tobe was proving to be more of a headache than all of the paper work spread across his desk. Logic. Numbers. Facts—those, he handled with finesse. How could one young woman create such disorder in his life?

  “Since the aunt knew Lady Sydney best, I traced her steps. It appears she specializes in chaperoning young ladies of good families and marrying them off. Immediately after disembarking, she went to the Ashton home in London. At present, she’s got her hands full with launching their twins. The old woman’s thrown herself into the task with notable zeal. In my limited time there, she took the girls to any number of supper parties, soirees, and the like. A string of bachelors pay calls on the girls in the morning, and Lady Serena often accompanies the couples on carriage rides and picnics.”

  “With all that going on, how can you be certain you didn’t miss something? My bride could well be there or somewhere close by.”

  Tyler inclined his head. “With the volume of notes, callers, visitations, fetes, and telegrams, that possibility occurred to me. On the chance that it might be so, I bribed one of the servants to alert me if Lady Serena sent or received any missives, telegrams, and the like.”

  “Rather unreliable, don’t you think?”

  “It seems the Ashtons are less than generous with their staff. A modest bribe with the promise of thrice as much for any information works wonders.”

  “Not,” Hume said in a low tone, “in this case.”

  “At least, not yet. Your insistence that I not inform the lady’s family of her disappearance significantly reduced my ability to gather information. Are you willing to reconsider?”

  “No. Not yet.” Hume strove to control his frustration. “There’s the possibility Sydney’s in England and simply hiding away.”

  Tyler shook his head. “Not likely. I managed to get into the estate and found my way to her chamber. The lady’s a woman of detail. She kept a book in which all of her friends’ and relations’ birthdays and anniversaries were listed. I tracked down each individual and ascertained—with great tact, I assure you— that Lady Sydney was not in their keeping.”

  Hume rubbed his temples. “What about other properties her family might own?”

  “There are none. As you’re undoubtedly aware, the family’s finances have become . . . unstable. The country estate was sold several months ago. The family now in residence there boasts nine children, and every last room is in use.”

  Tyler’s thoroughness, though noteworthy, proved also to be irritating. Hume had hoped that he would locate Lady Sydney and drag her back. For a seventeen-year-old girl to manage to carry on this escapade for a prolonged period of time was more than a mere inconvenience. Hume’s business and reputation hung in the balance.

  “As it appears she’s not in England, we must concentrate on any other possible destination. During the time you spent together, did Lady Hathwell express interest in any place in particular?”

  Rex had gone over it in his mind a dozen times a day. She’d arrived at an awkward time, and many business obligations couldn’t be rescheduled. He didn’t realize how scant their time together had been until he scoured his mind to pick up the faintest hint as to where she’d gone. How very odd, that she’d left the book containing her friends’ and relations’ personal information back in England. That certainly indicated she’d not taken her commitment to wedding him as seriously as she ought.

  Then again, perhaps that was her way of making a break from her old life and a sign that she’d been willing to cut ties and start anew. Well, as soon as he got her back, he’d see to it that she got a pretty little book in which to keep track of all his associates’ wives. As many as there were, she’d have plenty to keep her busy. Yes, and it would also be good for business. English aristocracy still held a certain cachet, and his standing in the community would go up with every little note she penned or call she paid. A dutiful wife and helpmeet would be more than willing to do such things on her husband’s behalf.

  “You’re thinking.” Tyler nodded approvingly. “So what did Lady Sydney like doing?”

  Hume cleared his throat. “I’m given to understand she enjoyed shopping.”

  “For any specific item? Does she have a hobby or a passion for anything?”

  “Not that she mentioned.” One of the suppers they’d shared was after she’d spent a day shopping. He hadn’t asked her what she’d bought. After all, it would have been indelicate. A bride-to-be’s purchases just days before the wedding had to be of the more intimate nature. Hume cleared his throat. “I presumed she was attending to last-minute personal items. You can ask my housekeeper if Lady Sydney purchased anything that might give us a lead.”

  Tyler’s features remained impassive, but his voice took on an almost lazy air. “The intermediary who assisted with the arrangements—was he a personal friend of yours, or someone with whom she might have plotted?”

  Hume let out a mirthless laugh. “He’s the friend of a friend. Mine was to be the third such marriage he’d coordinated. The other two were situations in which the lady’s family required a large infusion of cash. I, on the other hand, stipulated I’d rather her family be solvent. It would indicate their connections would be more advantageous once the marriage took place and business deals could be brokered.”

  His jaw thrusting forward, Tyler demanded, “Just how much are we talking about? Enough for her to—”

  “No.” Hume’s mouth twisted. “Things change. The cousin who inherited the title managed to squander just about everything. I assure you, after paying for that return voyage, Lady Hathwell didn’t have enough to survive on her own for even a fraction of this time.”

  “You led me to believe Harold and Beatrice Hathwell were Lady Sydney’s only relatives. You knew nothing of the aunt. Could there be others?”

  “In your absence, I had the intermediary prepare a dossier. Before now, for the sake of privacy, I’d shunned committing anything to print. Discretion is relative, if you will forgive the pun. I’ve found that perfectly legitimate deals of the most sensitive nature, when put in print, can somehow be misread to take on an unsavory tone. Upon receiving your telegram, I admitted to myself that I had no choice but to gather all of this in order to expedite the continued search.” He handed over the charcoal-colored folder. Why, though, he didn’t know. He’d pored over it countless times and hadn’t found a single clue.

&nbs
p; Tyler tilted his head toward a table by the window.

  Hume gestured toward it. As Tyler worked, Hume got back to his own business. It was already suffering from his bride’s benighted escapade. It wasn’t simply a matter of time and attention that had been compromised—certain connections could not be made, specific affiliations wouldn’t be forged until Lady Sydney wore his wedding band. Time was money, and many of the deals could not wait indefinitely.

  Fingers drumming on the tabletop all of ten minutes later, Tyler demanded, “What do you know of her mother’s lineage?”

  Hume froze. Title—and therefore the vital business links—followed the paternal line. He’d studied all of the financial records, detailed holdings, and countless other matters and neglected something appallingly simple. Facing an unpalatable fact head-on was better than pussyfooting around it. Especially in this situation. This might well be the key to finding Cindy—Sydney, he corrected himself. He turned to face Tyler. “Nothing. I know absolutely nothing of her mother than her name. Crystal.”

  Already on his feet, Tyler had one arm in the sleeve of his coat. “Debrett’s.” A smug smile slashed across his face. “Debrett’s Peerage will list her father’s name, title, and where he lives.”

  “Her father’s?”

  Tyler nodded. “Where’s the nearest library?”

  Hume leapt up. “Not far.” Hope flared for the first time in days as he entered the library alongside Tyler. They located the book and Tyler flipped through several pages, then stabbed his blunt finger on an entry and read in a hushed tone, “Sir Herbert Eustache Hathwell. Duke of . . . Eton . . . Cambr—here! Married to Crystal Avery Johnson, daughter of Robert Johnson, Esq. Chicago, Illinois . . .”

  Tyler snapped the book shut. “American. She was American!”

  Hume pulled out a stack of perfectly folded bills and shoved them into the investigator’s hand as he yanked the book away. “Go. Find her.”