“Out of the question!” Anger streaked through Hume. Just yesterday the local magnate, Blade Rutherford, made a point of stopping by. Rex craved to build a business association with him. Rutherford had just returned from England and heard about Lady Hathwell—and suddenly he’d expressed an interest in exploring the possibilities of doing business together. Of course, he’d invited Rex to bring his bride over for supper.
Only Rex didn’t have a bride. He didn’t even have a bride-to- be. He’d concocted a story about Sydney doing a little sightseeing and visiting a friend before they settled down and married.
Rutherford’s demeanor shifted. Instead of being so congenial, he put up his guard. “I see. Well, then, I can see you’re busy. Once the little lady returns, be sure to let us know.”
He’d walked out, and Rex knew a fortune blew out the door with him. He couldn’t afford for anyone to discover Sydney had gone missing. Especially now.
“There’s the matter of my expenses. I’ve itemized each expenditure to date.” Tyler handed him a stack of pages.
Flipping through the pages, Hume quickly ascertained the costs to be within reason. Tyler wasn’t listing exorbitant fees for meals, and he traveled by standard train car, not by Pullman sleepers. Even so, this debacle was costly—and Tyler’s charges were the mere tip of the iceberg. Thousands and tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of business dealings hung in the balance.
The inheritance Lady Hathwell would receive upon their marriage was a mere pittance compared to all he’d gain once she became his wife—but if this went on for much longer, that inheritance would be squandered on this ridiculous, maddening search. The woman didn’t know how much she had already cost him; he’d been gentleman enough not to reveal Hume money had covered her cousin’s indiscretions and had even bought her trousseau. He’d considered it all an investment—a very safe one. Until now. Well, he couldn’t afford for this deal to fall apart. “I’m not giving up. Find her.”
Tyler hitched one shoulder. “I’ll keep looking, if that’s what you want.”
“It is. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll fetch the cash.” He left the study and went upstairs to his bedchamber. A wall safe located behind the portrait of his parents opened easily. Hume pulled out what he owed the investigator and added more. Incentive. Men always worked better with incentive.
Before he shut the safe, he picked up his mother’s wedding ring: a flawless one-carat diamond encircled by a row of sapphires. A more beautiful piece of jewelry didn’t exist. After he caught up with Lady Hathwell, it would grace her left hand. She wasn’t worthy of such a piece, but she was worth it financially.
Chapter Twenty-one
“That’s a lot of fruit.” Sydney cast a surprised look at the back of the buckboard Tim rented from the livery. Since he’d had the blacksmith see to Kippy’s shoe, she’d been surprised that Tim rented the buckboard at all . . . until she realized they weren’t returning to Forsaken with just the fabric and “foof and poof.” In his practicality, Tim used the time in town to load up on necessities.
“June’s my favorite month. The last of the strawberries and blackberries are still around, and peaches are coming ripe. So are apples. You haven’t tasted an apple till you have one grown in Texas.”
She looked amused. “Is that so?”
He nodded. “I’m not boasting—it’s a fact. The longer an apple stays on a tree, the sweeter it grows. Our sun lends the apples that extra bit, and—well, see for yourself.” He leaned back, snagged an apple, and straightened up. After polishing the apple on his sleeve, he handed it to Sydney. “Here you go.”
“May I please have your knife?”
“Nope.” He crooked a brow. “Remember me telling you not to use tools when they’re unnecessary? Just bite.”
She took a bitsy nibble.
Tim grabbed her hand, dragged it upward, and took a chomp out of the apple. Pushing it back toward her, he said around his mouthful, “Do the job right, Syd.” The nickname slipped out as naturally as could be.
Her eyes grew enormous, and a beautiful smile lifted her lips. Crunch. She took a decent bite.
“Good girl.”
“Mmmm.” She swallowed. “It is wondrously good!”
He yanked the apple from her fingers and munched through it in a few decisive bites. “Nobody’s keeping you from taking what you want.”
“Is that so?” Her eyes sparkled.
He nodded.
She grabbed the reins.
Tim threw back his head and let out a shout of laughter.
She gave him a saucy grin. “I noticed you bought peaches.
They’re so far back there, I can’t have one until we reach Forsaken, and you’re driving too slow.”
Throwing the apple core to the side of the road, Tim figured he’d climb back and fetch her a peach.
“Whoa!” The buckboard came to a halt. “Tim Creighton, you can’t do that.”
“Huh?”
“It’s not just manners. If it were, since it’s just the two of us, I’d not take offense. But that could become dangerous.” Bobbing her head with great certainty, she said, “Go ahead, but remember how much I want a peach. We don’t have all day.”
He stepped into the back of the buckboard, got a peach for her, and another apple for himself. “Here.”
“Why, thank you.” She seemed surprised. When he sat back down, she blinked in confusion.
“What’s wrong?”
A giggle escaped her. “Oh, Tim, you really do love apples. You’re so greedy, you forgot to take care of your road apple. What happens if it takes root? It’ll ruin the road.”
His hand stopped halfway to his mouth. Incredulity streaked through him. “Who told you that?”
“My father.”
How he’d manage to tell her “road apple” happened to be a polite term for . . . Well, he reckoned he might mention mucking and let her draw her own conclusion. But Tim couldn’t. Not when her daddy said otherwise. He put his apple on the seat, jumped down, and strode toward the core.
“If you kick it to the side, do you think it really could grow into a tree? Your Texas apples are delicious.”
“It’s worth a try. We’re mighty short on rain this year, though.” He jabbed his heel into the dirt, toed the core into the depression, and scuffed a little earth over it. When he sat back down next to her, Tim swiped back the reins. When he grabbed his apple, his fingers dipped into a juicy depression.
“You’re right about two things, Big Tim.” Sydney’s voice rang with merriment. “As I agreed, Texas apples are wondrous. Furthermore, nobody was keeping me from taking what I wanted.”
“Speaking about what you want . . .” Tim set the buckboard in motion. “I’ve thought about it, and I’m standing firm on what I said back at the boardinghouse. You belong at Forsaken.”
She nestled the peach in her hands and stared at it, as if fascinated. “America is the land of opportunity. I can make my way—”
“You already made your way straight into Velma’s heart. She’s delighted to have you there.” He pressed on, “Chalk up stuff I said to the heat of the moment. Your uncle has mellowed with age—he’ll be tickled to have you here. And me? I think we did pretty good today.”
“Teamwork,” she said softly.
“Yep. Teamwork.” Relieved that she got the drift, he let the subject go.
A yawn overtook her.
Tim’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes. As soon as he got her home, he’d send her upstairs to that rose room she thought was so pretty. Order her to take a nice, long nap.
The breeze made the fabric of her sleeve flutter a little, calling his attention to her narrow wrist. How had she managed to clear the garden plot of those rocks? Even more astounding, how did she keep hold of Stauffer’s daughter and pull her from the well? That was an absolute miracle.
He watched as Sydney lifted the peach and took a bite. After a week of not doing hard ranch chores,
Sydney’s hands were already growing soft again. He’d seen her massage rose glycerin lotion into them after she helped Velma with supper dishes. Her nails were clean, but extremely short.
Sydney must have sensed him studying her. She turned to him and raised her brows. “Yes?”
“You’re wearing your mama’s locket.”
Her other hand went up to touch the small golden heart. “I suppose I should do whatever I can to look less boyish.”
His hand went up to her hair. He tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t. He allowed himself to touch just the tips of her curls. “I wouldn’t have cut it if I’d known.”
“In England and France, many of the stylish women are wearing their hair in very short curls. I’ll have to remember that.”
“This isn’t England or France.”
“And wishing won’t make my hair reappear, so I’d do better to make the best of it instead of mourning it until I’m miserable.”
“You are a remarkable young woman, Lady Hathwell.”
“I was less trouble to you when I was merely Syd.” Regret stole the sparkle from her eyes and voice.
Tim almost agreed—but he couldn’t. Not honestly. Not when he thought about it. “You weren’t less trouble.” A slow smile quirked one side of his mouth. “Just a different kind of trouble.”
They rounded the corner and he moaned. “Speaking of trouble . . .”
Mrs. Richardson looked stricken. “Why, Mr. Creighton, can’t you spare a bit of time to socialize?”
Tim lifted Sydney down from the buckboard. “Absolutely not, ma’am. I . . .”
Charlotte tugged on his pant leg. “Bethany and me, we’ve been learning to weave flowers into circles.”
“That’s nice,” he murmured distractedly.
“Because Mama says they make pretty bridal wreaths!”
Sydney took pity on him. “Mr. Creighton, thank you for assisting me with the errands in town today. I know how busy you are.” She turned to Mrs. Richardson. “How felicitous that you happened by. I concocted an idea, and you ladies simply must help me work out the details.”
Tim took the opportunity and strode away.
“Shall I show you how we conduct tea in England? It’s very proper, you understand. There’s a whole art to brewing a good cup of tea. Velma is brilliant at it.”
Over tea, Mrs. Richardson and her girls heard Sydney’s plan for a sewing bee. Mrs. Richardson blinked back tears. “Oh, I can hardly wait! I still remember my very first new dress—pine green with yellow roses.”
“Like ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas,”’ Bethany declared with great assurance.
“That’s right. If it weren’t for that dress, I don’t know where I’d be today.”
Sydney set down her teacup. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Twenty-five years ago, I was on an orphan train. So was Jeb. That’s where we met. The train pulled in late Saturday night. Sunday morning they marched us kids over to the church, and after the service, we all lined up.
“The Richardsons—they lost their boys in the war. Mr. Richardson picked Jeb. Said he needed strapping boys to help on the farm. I grabbed hold of Jeb’s hand and pointed at my dress. ‘These yellow roses here say I’m supposed to be in Texas.’ That’s what I told him. Folks all knew some of the orphans wandered off, so I told him and his missus they wouldn’t have to worry on that account. So long as Jeb and me were together, we’d work our fingers to the bone for them.”
“I never knew that!” Velma wrinkled her nose. “How’d the two of you get hitched if you were both adopted?”
“The Richardsons adopted Jeb. Just in case Jeb and I decided later on we wanted to get married, they took me on and didn’t adopt me. And look—it turned out.”
“Maybe I should make a dress with yellow roses.” Linette sighed. “Then I could grab me a man.”
Suddenly the Richardson girls’ shenanigans made sense. Sydney patted Linette’s hand. “Your mama and papa’s story is unique. It broke all the rules.”
“What rules?”
“My governess drilled them into me unceasingly. For instance, ‘A man hunted is an opportunity blunted.”’
Marcella frowned. “I never heard that before.”
“Yes, well, I assure you it is the truth. Men like to pursue.”
Linette shook her head. “That’s not what worked for Mama. She saw what she wanted and grabbed for it.”
“Yes, but she was an orphan. She didn’t have the benefits you do of loving parents to advise her. ‘A woman’s job is to captivate, not capture.”’ Sydney let out a trill of laughter. “See? That was another rule. I propose we trade. I’ll share all of those little tidbits, and you can teach me something in return.”
“Like what?”
Sydney wasn’t sure who asked—or, more accurately, who didn’t ask. Almost everyone in the parlor had asked the question in unison. She thought a moment. “Baking. Yes, baking. I ate a Texas apple today, and I can only imagine how scrumptious a pie made from them must taste.”
“We can start right now!” Marcella hopped to her feet.
“Your enthusiasm is refreshing, but that must wait. I was rather hoping I could depend on you to stop off at some of the neighbors’ on your way home, just to extend the invitation to the sewing bee. I know it’s a week and a half away, but I’d feel ever so much better if everyone would know in advance to save the day. Back home, we’d be sure to give far more notice than this.”
Sydney rose. The Richardson women were a little slow to take the cue that they should leave. Linette groused under her breath.
“That is just the way of things. Chin up, though, my father always said. Pouting gives a woman the most unbecoming wrinkles, you know.” With that small jewel of wisdom, Sydney managed to nudge them out the door.
Once the Richardson women left, Velma shook her head. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve gotten yourself into more trouble yet.”
“Not really. In a peculiar way, it all makes sense now. I want a marriage just as my parents had; so do they.” But have I been wrong all along, just as Linette and Marcella have been? Did I expect the wrong things? No . . . no, I didn’t. Marriage to Rex Hume would have been dreadful.
“Syd, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
No. Yes. Well, mostly. At least for them, if not for myself. “I suppose we’ll have to work on that situation. I don’t want to sound pretentious, but I’ve been trained all my life in issues of deportment and appearance.”
“You’d do better learning how to cook than to try to twist one of the Richardson she-cats into something a man’d want.”
Sydney gave a dainty shrug. “I daresay I made a case for exchanging our skills.”
“Them needing you—that’s undeniable. But why would a fancy lady need to cook?”
“Because I’m not a fancy lady any longer—I’m an ordinary woman who may someday need to set a satisfying table for her husband. I want to help those girls, Velma. I feel a pang of sympathy for their plight.”
“If you manage to teach those gals a thing, it’ll be a miracle.”
Sydney helped gather the teacups. “I don’t wish to be rude, but I can’t for the life of me understand why Uncle Fuller hasn’t contacted me. His absence has stretched quite long.”
Velma shrugged. “We didn’t expect him to be gone this long, but his rheumatiz is getting terrible. There are days he can scarcely bear to sit, and his hips are so stiff, he can’t ride at all. I’ve taken to fixing foods he doesn’t have to cut much since his hands are so gnarled, too.”
“Dear goodness!”
“He’s been so miserable these last few months, I can’t hardly blame him for trying to take a cure. Abilene is far enough away that he might stop off at a few towns on his way home to break up the travel.”
After supper dishes were done, Sydney sat out on the porch swing and sewed by the waning evening light. Velma shelled peas and hummed. They chatted and worked, much as t
hey usually did. Velma chuckled. “I’ll bet my earlobes that the Richardson women flock to our door tomorrow.”
“We should plan on it. Do you think I ought to warn Tim?”
The screen door banged behind Tim. “Warn me about what?”
Sydney stabbed her needle into the cloth. “What do you think, Velma?”
“You’ve pulled some mighty bad stunts. That one might well be unforgivable.”
He sat down on the uppermost step, leaned into the post, and gave Sydney a long look. “You’re up to no good. That gleam in your eye is enough to make me think about locking you in your room.”
Pasting her most innocent look on her face, Sydney pressed a hand to her bosom. “Mr. Creighton, you wound me.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re not expecting any of those men you contacted to come fetch you, are you?”
“They couldn’t possibly respond so quickly.”
He eased back a bit. “I don’t want you talking to any of them or writing back, either. Do you hear me?”
“Bellowing as you did, I’m sure most of Texas is well acquainted with your edict.”
“Good.” He leaned forward again to emphasize his words. “That’ll save me the hassle of kicking them off Forsaken. You’re not going anywhere. You’re not supposed to have any men sniffing around here, either.”
“I simply couldn’t receive gentleman callers until Uncle Fuller gives his consent. It just isn’t done.”
Tim leaned against the post. “Glad you figured that one out.”
“Most of the men are pretty decent,” Velma judged.
“A bunch of them aren’t anywhere near husband material,” Tim argued. “They don’t earn enough to provide for a gal, or they like going to the saloon too much to keep a wife happy. Nope”—he shook his head—“you shouldn’t even think of having any of the men come trying to court you until Fuller gives them a good once-over. Until he does, you’d be wise to keep your company strictly to women.”
His adamant little speech amused her. Sydney smoothed the skirt of her dress. “I do believe Velma is correct. I’ll probably have some callers, but they’ll be women.”
Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) Page 24
