Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1)

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  Linen cloths on the table and bouquets of wildflowers . . . years ago, he’d appreciated such things. Louisa saw to those details, and they transformed a house into a home. Since her death, living in a place devoid of those touches suited him. The house had been as barren as his heart. But Sydney set about making changes, and he resented her raking up the pain he’d suppressed.

  Tim tried another bite. Half choking on it, he cut another piece and began to gnaw on it. He glared at the empty place where Fuller usually sat and wished with all of his might that the old guy would get back and put an end to all of this nonsense. In the meantime, he’d foil Sydney’s escapade by holding back her letters.

  Immediately after supper, Tim went to the desk. Sydney’s letters were missing. That fact set his teeth on edge. He found a list of schools. Each bore a tidy checkmark beside it. Next, he found the newspapers, and anger surged. She’d neatly drawn a thin border around five different ads. All were for housekeeper or governess positions. He knew one of the men personally, two of them by reputation, and had no idea who the others were. None of them was good enough to have Lady Sydney Hathwell share a pot of coffee with them, let alone have her brew it on their behalf.

  He’d eat dirt before she scrubbed Jake Eddles’s floor or mopped his bratty kids’ noses. As for her going off to some other man’s home . . . Tim passed his hand down his face, as if the gesture might wipe away horrible possibilities flooding his brain. The woman was plain daft if she didn’t understand the danger. One look at her, and many a man would haul her straight off to his bed. Tim silently vowed he’d let a mustang drag him five miles before she ever stepped foot off Forsaken to take such a post.

  That decision made, he suddenly noticed the downstairs seemed . . . lighter. It took him a minute to realize the drapes now swagged back, permitting the moon to slant in. Odd, how a piddling little change made that kind of difference. Nice, even. Maybe he could mention it when he saw Sydney tomorrow— not that he wanted her to think he was concocting insincere praise to smooth over things. But when she wasn’t getting into trouble, the woman did manage to accomplish some decent things.

  When he walked upstairs to bed, Tim noted a sliver of light under Sydney’s bedchamber door. He had plenty to say, but it would hold until morning.

  First thing in the morning, Tim noted Sydney’s door was open. When she didn’t appear at the breakfast table, he demanded of Velma, “Did Sydney check in with you, or has she gone wandering off after I ordered her not to?”

  She gave him a dirty look. “Lady Hathwell got up early in order to take her letters to town. She wanted them to be in this morning’s mail pouch.”

  “How could you let her go do anything so foolish?”

  “Lady Hathwell is anxious to leave as soon as possible.”

  “She’s not going anywhere. Leastways, she’s not going anywhere without Fuller and me approving of it. Who went with her?”

  “No one.” Velma’s eyes flashed. “The men are all busy. She refused to have me accompany her. She insisted that you still needed me to cook your breakfast.”

  “For cryin’ out loud! She has no business going off all alone.”

  Velma shook her head. “One minute you’re tossing her out on her ear, then next breath, you’re shoutin’ that the woman can’t ride six miles into town without a keeper.”

  “There are too many men there!”

  “There are men everywhere. They’ll snap up that baby girl like a buttered hotcake. I bet every last man-jack out there who gets her reply sends for her at once.”

  Tim gritted his teeth. “She’s not going off to some other ranch to work!”

  Velma frantically rubbed a nonexistent spot on the table. “Then that leaves the other option. Big cities have plenty of men. Big cities are where those boarding schools are, too.”

  Tim’s eyes narrowed and he studied the housekeeper carefully. It wasn’t like her to be this antsy. “What’s really troubling you, Velma?”

  “All of this,” she mumbled.

  “It’s something more than that.”

  “Oh, awright! I can’t be sure of those far-away ranches or schools, but my mama ran ads in little city newspapers, acting like her place was a school for gals. Every once in a while, someone responded. By the time they’d spent the last of their money on the train and had a couple of laced drinks to take away their fight, those gals were on their backs and mama got herself a fistful of cash.”

  Tim let out a roar, grabbed the closest horse, and raced to town.

  Sydney didn’t want to go back to Forsaken. She’d packed the two dresses she wasn’t wearing into her valise and seriously considered simply leaving on the train. Once she determined what the boardinghouse in town charged, she decided to stay there overnight. After a sleepless night, she was too tired to ride safely on any public conveyance.

  Her financial status was shaky, at best. She counted her money and carefully budgeted. Hopefully any rancher choosing to hire her would send stage fare. When she gave over the envelopes, she’d told the postmistress to hold any replies and she’d send a forwarding address for them. She didn’t even mention Abilene because she didn’t want Tim to interfere—he didn’t want her, so he had no call to stick his nose in her affairs.

  Sydney planned to stay at a boardinghouse in Abilene until something appealed to her. She estimated it would take a minimum of a month. During that time, she’d sparingly spend what she must, but one of the reasons she’d go there was so she could work in a restaurant or a dressmaker’s shop. A restaurant would be better—she wouldn’t have to worry about the cost of her meals. The only problem was, she couldn’t cook.

  She’d selected Abilene for several reasons, not the least of which was she didn’t know the names of any other towns in the area. It must be fairly large, so the opportunities for work would be better. Something inside her longed to know if her uncle looked anything like her mother—if he shared her features or mannerisms. Perhaps she might still be able to make his acquaintance and pay him a visit or two before he went back home to Forsaken.

  Of course, it depended on if he’d consent to seeing her at all. She didn’t know what Tim wrote in his telegram. Neither did she know precisely what Uncle Fuller’s response had been. Back home, ignoring someone was the socially accepted way of giving them the cut. Uncle Fuller hadn’t seen fit to write her, so how else was she to interpret his silence?

  Burdening a sick man with troubles seemed wrong. Since her uncle didn’t want a niece underfoot and Tim would rather dance with every last Richardson girl than face seeing Sydney’s face at the supper table again, she’d do the noble thing. She’d relieve Uncle Fuller of the burden by telling him she was ready to pursue adventure elsewhere. Yes, that’s what she’d do. She’d visit him and satisfy her heart’s desire to at least see Mama’s brother, yet not impose on him. In the future, if he found it in his heart to forgive her for her masquerade, maybe they could correspond.

  Going to Abilene was a necessity. Velma couldn’t be a sweeter ally, but Tim—Sydney shook her head. During the time Sydney waited for replies to her letters of inquiries, Tim would undoubtedly find ways to swagger into her life for insignificant causes and turn it upside down. And this way, Uncle Fuller wouldn’t be caught between allegiance to his partner and an unwanted relative.

  Sydney yawned and walked to the window in her room at the boardinghouse. Reaching for the heavy draperies, she stared out in the distance. The fabric bunched in her fisted hand. All she wanted lay within sight, but it couldn’t be farther away. She blinked away the tears and closed the draperies.

  Indeed, staying here for only one night was the wisest course of action—even if leaving Forsaken nearly tore her heart out. She’d gladly live there for the rest of her life. In their days together, Tim had taught her more than just ranching skills. He’d taught her to love this land. If she couldn’t live on Forsaken, at least she’d find a position with another good-hearted western family. She could never go back and live in Eng
land after having discovered the freedom and warmth of the wilds of America.

  She took off her ankle-high boots and unfastened the uppermost button at the throat of her gown. Too weary to dig her nightdress from the valise, Sydney curled up on the bed and hugged herself. When she stayed busy, she kept the loneliness at bay. But now she was completely on her own. In the days since Tim discovered her identity, he’d also taught her one other painful lesson: Caring about someone did not mean they’d reciprocate.

  The train pulled out just as Tim reached town. Sydney’s letters of inquiry were gone along with the puff of the locomotive’s gray smoke. Tim looked around and realized he didn’t see Sydney anywhere. He hadn’t seen her on the way into town, either. His heart dropped into his boots. He strode over to the stationmaster. “Was Lady Sydney on the train?”

  The man combed his beard with his fingers. “She had her valise, but she didn’t go today. Said something about tomorrow.”

  “Her valise?” Tim bellowed in total outrage. “That woman isn’t going anywhere. If she tries to buy a ticket, refuse.”

  “She doesn’t have a ticket yet. I sent her on over to the boardinghouse.”

  Tim stormed into the boardinghouse, took off his hat, and did his level best not to scare the widow who owned the place.

  “Mrs. Orion, ma’am, I’m here to fetch Lady Hathwell.”

  “Mr. Creighton, you know I don’t discuss who my boarders are.”

  “Ma’am, that’s admirable. I detest gossips. That bitty gal’s only seventeen—a minor. Surely you didn’t mean to help a runaway girl.”

  Mrs. Orion turned and located the spare key for the room. “I’ll fetch her.”

  Tim paced the parlor and back toward the stairs. At least this time it’s not the bordello.

  Mrs. Orion started back down the steps. Alone.

  Tim’s heart skipped a beat. Don’t tell me she sneaked out the back door. He rasped, “Where is she?”

  “I didn’t have the heart to wake her, Big Tim. The poor thing is crying in her sleep.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Sydney,” Tim moaned. “Sugar, don’t cry.” She lay curled on her side, tears wetting the pillow. The blanket was rumpled around her ribs; had she been in a nightdress, matters would have gotten even more sticky. As it was, Mrs. Orion kindly left the door open and stayed out in the hallway—her way of keeping propriety intact while allowing them privacy.

  “She’s going to be fragile as icicles.” Velma’s words echoed in his mind.

  Tim stroked Sydney’s shoulder. “Everything’s going to work out.” Very briefly, Sydney’s crying tapered off. Tim felt a surge of relief until he noted that her face was lax. She languidly shifted a little. He hadn’t believed Mrs. Orion about Sydney being asleep. Not with her weeping like she was. Then a whimper shivered out of her, and she began to weep again.

  “No, Sydney. No.” He groaned as he knelt by the bed and curled over to sort of hug her. How had he ever believed a seventeen-year-old boy could be this petite? The day he discovered her gender and carried her up the stairs, he was too angry to let her size fully register. Now, with nothing to distract him, he visually measured the narrowness of her shoulders and the deep shadows of exhaustion beneath her eyes. Tenderly, he cupped her head with one huge hand and toyed with a stray wisp of her oh-so-soft hair.

  He’d forgotten how it felt to protect and comfort a woman. He’d also forgotten how manly he felt when he held a tiny woman in his arms. Somehow, the pain didn’t crash over him as it had in the past with those recollections.

  The absence of that pain surprised him. For years it nearly tore him apart—days and nights when he almost went crazy missing the precious little family he’d had.

  Sydney must be feeling the same terrible emptiness. No wonder she sobbed. He no longer marveled that she’d pretended to be a boy—because by doing so, she’d tried to fill in the terrible void that ached with unspeakable pain. He remembered feeling desperate enough to do anything to make his own grief go away.

  Something deep inside shifted. It’s taken me years to heal, but I have. I have to help her through this. Rocking her, he whispered against her temple, “It hurts. I understand.”

  Before he knew she was a girl, he’d come to like Sydney. She had a quick wit, a sharp mind, and showed a willingness to work. He’d been wrong about one thing, though. He’d tried to make a man out of Sydney. He should have concentrated on the more important matter. Sydney had a void in her life far greater than the loss of her family: She didn’t know the Lord.

  Oh, she knew of the Lord—but it was an intellectual, philosophical fact to her, not a soul-deep, life-changing decision.

  Knowing the Lord had been Tim’s only solace in his grief. That, and Fuller’s persistence. Fuller pestered him and was patient—but he’d been the only respite from the unbearable loneliness. Sydney wouldn’t lean on the Lord because she didn’t have faith to sustain her. That leaves me. She can’t bear this all by herself.

  Bowing his head, he softly pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Sydney, sweetheart, wake up.”

  She shifted a little and drew in a long, choppy breath. Her eyes fluttered open as she lifted her head. After blinking several times, she sucked in a loud gasp. She threw off the covers, scrambled away, and stood on the other side of bed—intentionally out of his reach. “What are you—” She straightened her shoulders. “This is the height of impropriety.”

  She was embarrassed by her tears, so he’d nettle her into getting angry. “I never did cotton much to silly rules.”

  “I happen to care about my reputation!”

  “If that’s the case, explain why you went back to the bordello.”

  Temper sparked in her eyes. “It was the only way I could be assured of privacy when I bathed!”

  He didn’t bother to suppress his grin. “To my recollection, that wasn’t quite the case.”

  “Your behavior is despicable!”

  “Your vocabulary is impressive. I can see, though, that you got out on the wrong side of the bed.”

  “Sir, your very presence here is sufficient to give me hives.”

  Tim laughed. “You’re so proper, even your insults sound flattering.”

  “You’re positively barbaric.”

  He figured he ought to soothe her a little. After all, she wouldn’t burst out crying again since he’d piqued her temper. “It’s okay, Sydney. Mrs. Orion is just outside the door.”

  She hastily swiped away her tears.

  Looking at her was like peering into his own past. He’d stayed distant and tried to hide his pain from others. “I won’t let you gallivant off. Heaven only knows, you’ll run headlong into danger.”

  She glowered at him. “I’m doing quite well without you. I have several fine prospects and—”

  “Jake Eddles?” he scoffed. “He worked two wives into early graves while he fiddled with a moonshine still. His ranch boasts all of fifty of the scraggliest cows you’ve ever seen, and his three sons all have the same habit—they pick their nose. You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to survive more than a day on a job.”

  Even in the dim room, Tim noted how she paled a bit. Good. He needed to scare her into thinking straight. “I saw the other advertisements you sketched around in the Gazette. You sure picked a sorry crop of losers. Bill Gravvit’s brother lives with him. He spent a stretch in the territorial prison. Don’t tell me you’re going to feel safe in your bed at night in a ranch house with two bachelors like that.”

  “I also applied to ladies’ academies.”

  A rusty chuckle erupted from him. “Pardon me, but Fancy Pants Hathwell who chopped off her hair and climbed into men’s britches thinks she’s going to teach girls how to be proper ladies?”

  She smoothed her skirt. “I have two other options if an academy doesn’t prove to be satisfactory.”

  “Yeah?” he drawled in an entertained tone. “Like what?”

  Finally, a wobbly smile tilted her
lips. A wave of relief washed over him. He wasn’t good at handling weepy women. Anything was better than that.

  “I still have the britches. I could hire on at another ranch.”

  Tim jolted to his feet. “Over my dead body!”

  “Since I couldn’t bear the responsibility for your demise, I’d have to go with my other possibility, then.” She paused a moment. When Tim crooked a brow in silent inquiry, she folded her hands in front of herself as if she were going to do a school recitation. “I understand from the advertisements that there is great demand in this part of the world for mail-order bri—”

  “That does it!” He grabbed hold of her wrist. “You need to be protected from yourself, woman. I’ve never known another soul on the face of the earth who concocted half as many harebrained schemes as you. It’s a good thing I came to take you home—elsewise, you’d up and get yourself into more trouble than five reasonable men could untangle.” He tugged her toward the door.

  Sydney planted her feet and yanked free of his hold. “Just who says men are reasonable to begin with? I’m not going anywhere with you, Tim Creighton!”

  Tim cupped her shoulders and gently forced her to look up at him. “You’d break Fuller’s heart if you skulked away.”

  She let out an inelegant snort.

  “Once he meets you, he’s going to lose his heart—just like Velma did. Forsaken is where you belong. I’m sure of it.”

  “Well, I’m not!”

  “What kind of woman would dash off to uncertain dangers when she had folks back home who wanted her?”

  “Did you fall off your horse and hit your head?” She slapped her hand over her mouth for all of two seconds before giving up and batting an errant curl off her forehead. “I declare, Mr. Creighton, I’m a perfect lady around anyone else. The minute you step in the room, I get in trouble. It’s all your fault, though. You say outrageous things, and I cannot help reacting.”