Johnny jumped up. Not the news he wanted to hear. His failed attempt at smothering the heiress must’ve pushed them to do something drastic. But what? He kicked the wall with his boot. “If you hadn’t fallen asleep watching the hotel this morning, I bet we’d know where she went. She’d be dead by now.”
“Hey, it ain’t my fault that you didn’t kill her in her room.” Clive crossed his arms. “I stayed up all night. I can’t help it that I fell asleep.”
Wait a minute. Maybe she hadn’t left after all. What if that lawyer was scheming? Trying to make them think that she was gone so they would take off after her? He started laughing. “Oh, now that would be too easy.”
“Huh?”
“But we’re not idiots, are we, Clive?” Well, he wasn’t.
“What? No. Of course not.”
“That lawyer is playing us for fools. Well, that ain’t gonna happen.”
Clive looked confused. Stupid man. But at least Johnny had someone to take the fall.
“You get yourself down to the docks and ask around.” Johnny dug in his pocket and pulled out a bunch of coins. He dumped them on the table in front of Clive. “Pay them nicely to spill the beans—see if anyone knows anything.”
“You got it, Johnny.”
He settled his hat back on his head. “I’m gonna pay a visit to that maid and see what she knows. Meet me back here in an hour.”
“What if nobody knows nothin’?”
Johnny patted the man on the shoulder. “Well, then we will just have to pay the lawyer a visit, now won’t we?”
“What kinda visit?”
“The kind where he talks, or he dies.”
Charles tugged Mary Margaret’s arm and shoved her behind him. It really was a good thing she didn’t weigh much, because when he needed to, he could use his strength to protect her. Not that he would ever want to overpower her or hurt her, but she could be stubborn. In her own, cute way. He shook his head. Now was not the time.
He backed them up several steps. There had to be at least fifty yards between them and the bears. But the mama was definitely watching them. Then she started clacking her teeth.
“Oh, that’s not a good sign. We need to let her know we are human and not after her cubs.” He tried to keep his voice low as he continued to back them up.
Mary Margaret’s hands gripped the back of his shirt. She whispered close to his shoulder. “If you keep backing us up, you’re going to back us right back down the hill we climbed.”
“Good point. I’ll steer us to the left, and you keep an eye out behind us, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Stay close.”
“That is not a problem.” She paused and then tapped him on the shoulder. “But I am wondering why we don’t just run. Aren’t we far enough away?”
He shook his head. “Nuh-uh. With brown bears, we need them to see that we are not a threat and that we are retreating out of respect. If they see us run, their first instinct is to give chase in defense of their cubs or their food, their mate, whatever they are protecting.”
“Understood. Let’s not run, then.”
He chuckled. “Good idea.” He felt what must be her forehead press into his back between her hands.
“Are you watching them?” Her whispered words ended in a squeak.
“Yes, ma’am. And they haven’t moved.”
“Whew.” She patted his shoulder blade. “And that’s Martin to you, remember?”
Her attempt at levity strengthened his admiration of her. This was no simpering female he was protecting. “So does that mean you want me to say, ‘yes, sir’?”
The pressure between his shoulder blades increased again as she giggled. “Stop making me laugh, that’s not fair. And no, I’m supposed to be your younger brother, so get it right.” Another pause. “Mar–tin.” She drew out the syllables.
“Mar–tin it is.” They were almost out of sight of the bears. “Which reminds me, Martin.” He couldn’t help but be a little sarcastic every time he used it. She was definitely too feminine to be “Martin” in his book. But he would do his best to appease her. “You haven’t told me about you. You’ve heard all about me, now it’s your turn.”
“Ugh. I was hoping you would forget.” She smacked him in the back this time. “Did I just say that out loud?”
“Why yes. Yes, you did.” He looked over his shoulder. “And I’m pretty sure you grunted … and you hit me, too … Ow.”
More giggles. “Stop it.”
Using his right arm, he gently took her right arm and pulled her out from behind him. “I think we’re safe.”
“Are you sure?” She crouched down a little and looked off into the distance.
“Pretty sure.” He grabbed her left hand and led her away. “It’s going to take us a little longer to go around them, but now that we know they are there, we should be safe.”
Her stomach rumbled loud enough for him to hear. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten much lately, so my stomach is protesting.” She sighed. “It’s very unladylike for me to even say, but I don’t care anymore. Maybe more people should spend time in the wild to see what real life is all about, and then maybe we could throw some of these ridiculous rules out the window.”
“Why don’t we walk for a little while longer to put more distance between us and our furry brown friends, then we can eat.” She hadn’t taken her hand away, and Charles found he enjoyed it, so he held on to it as they walked side by side through the waist-high brush. He needed to protect her, right?
“Sounds wonderful. I should be able to survive without swooning for a good while yet.”
Her sharp wit was amazing. And very unexpected. Especially after all she’d been through. But he understood she was doing what she could to shove her grief aside. “So which rules would you get rid of first?”
“It’ll never happen … but after today? I’m thinking dresses and skirts. Why must women always wear them? With all the petticoats and such underneath—which is another completely inappropriate topic to discuss with a man, but I’m dressed as a boy, so it shouldn’t matter. Good heavens, I wouldn’t have made it up that hill, as you called it, with all that on.” She grimaced.
“But …” Maybe he shouldn’t mention it.
“But what?”
“Well … it’s just that … women are beautiful in dresses.” Especially the one beside him. In that white dress she wore the day he met her.
She yanked her hand away and stopped. “And women dressed up as boys in pants covered in dirt are not?” She planted her hands on her hips.
He chuckled and kept walking. “I don’t need to answer that.” He cut a glance over his shoulder. “But I will say this. Women in pants are … distracting.” As he turned back, he winked and caught sight of her mouth forming an O—Good. Enough said.
Chapter 8
Why did she have to yank her hand away? Just because she wanted to make a point? Mary Margaret shook her head and swatted at a mosquito. The grass was so high, with tons of brush, rocks, and tree roots to maneuver around—she could’ve used his stability. Oh, who was she fooling? She missed the warmth and feel of her hand enveloped in his.
No one other than Father had ever held her hand.
Thoughts tumbled around in her brain. Trying to corral them proved difficult. But one fact remained. She couldn’t give in to the grief. Even when she was tired. And sweaty.
Yuck. Another thing ladies were not to discuss. But it was true and a fact of life.
“You still with me, Martin?” Charles threw over his shoulder.
“Yes.” Her stomach rumbled again. “But I might faint if we don’t eat soon.”
He laughed. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those women that’s an expert at fainting?”
“No. In fact, I’ve never fainted in my life. But I am a hearty eater. So please, don’t make me wait much longer, or I might get grumpy.”
Shaking his head, he stopped walking and laughed even harder. “You do beat all.�
� As he turned, he pointed a finger at her. “I’ll make you a deal.”
She crossed her arms. This sounded fun. Squinting her eyes, she tapped her foot. “I’m listening. But wait. First, I’d like to say that I think it’s unfair to hold my food ransom.”
He held his palms up as in surrender. “Who said anything about a ransom? And don’t you have half the food in your bag?”
She widened her eyes. Of course! She began to rummage around again. “So what’s this deal?”
“We take a short break and eat, but you have to agree to tell me about you now.”
But that would mean thinking about Father. All the beautiful memories … and now he was gone. All of a sudden, she wasn’t very hungry anymore.
Charles sat on the ground under a tall mountain ash tree and leaned against the trunk. Chewing a piece of jerky, he stared at her. “Why did you stop digging in your bag?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t seem possible. I’m a witness to your stomach’s protests. Remember?”
She shook her head as tears burned her eyes. Not now. There would be time to grieve later. Didn’t the Bible say that in Ecclesiastes? She hated feeling hot one moment and cold the next. Happy, able to laugh and enjoy life. And then overwhelming sadness. She didn’t know how to control all the emotion rushing through her. Poor Charles. He probably hadn’t bargained for escorting an emotional female through the woods.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push, honest. I’ll just sit here and be quiet.” He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes.
It was gracious and considerate of him to give her a moment to compose herself. But it made her feel that much worse.
Mary Margaret allowed a few of the tears to burn trails down her cheeks. Who cared what she looked like? She was covered in dirt and grime anyway. She could allow herself a moment or two of grief, and then she could buck up and move on again.
“You know”—so much for giving her a moment, Mr. Talkative was back—“when my parents died, I was crushed. But I still wanted to be happy. Knew they would want for me to be happy. And I wanted people to talk about them. Remember them. But instead, they ignored the fact that I’d lost them. They tried to pretend like it didn’t happen. Maybe to spare my feelings? To keep from causing me pain? I’m not sure. But what I am sure of is that it hurt worse, not to talk about them.”
Maybe he was right. Charles was safe. She could talk to him about Father. Besides, he’d asked. Several moments passed as she thought it through. Should she shove her feelings down or open up?
He went back to eating his jerky then drank from his canteen.
She wiped her face and drew in a deep breath. “My mother died when I was only five. Martha and Mabel—my younger sisters—were barely two and three years old.” Her stomach growled, and she bit into her own jerky. Not the high-class food she was used to in Denver, but it was sustenance. “Martha and Mabel don’t remember our mother, but she was a beautiful and kind lady.”
Charles leaned forward as if there were nothing he’d like more in the world than to listen.
“My memories are few of Mother, but I’m grateful for them. When she passed, Father doted on all of us but had his hands full with the business, so he hired a governess. She was prideful and had a huge influence on my sisters. But I was the oldest and didn’t want anyone else in my life, so I pushed her away from the very beginning.
“As we got older, I excelled in math and loved to talk about Father’s plans and business ideas. Poor man. I didn’t understand a lot, but I asked tons of questions. I think he just needed someone to care about what he did. While Mabel and Martha were concerned with dolls and hair ribbons, I wanted nothing more than to follow Father around all the time. Our governess convinced him that if my sisters were to be true ladies that they should be sent to a prestigious finishing school. And so he sent them.” She ate a few more bites.
“What about you? Why didn’t the governess think you needed it as well?”
“She said I would never succeed as a lady, that I was too stubborn, strong-willed, and fascinated with things that were best left to men.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t mind. Father knew I wanted to follow in his footsteps, and he was all right with that. Besides, I think he’d been seeing the true colors of Martha and Mabel—they hurt him so many times.” Talking had a way of making her hunger return, so she finished the jerky and started on a biscuit.
“What do you think the problem was?”
She chewed for a minute longer. “Personally … it’s hard to say, but I think it’s because neither one of them have ever had any place for God in their life. They’re self-centered and greedy—even though Father provided everything they could have ever wanted. Anyway, off they went to finishing school to become even more selfish, and I stayed at home with Father. Over time, he told me he was proud of me and that I reminded him of Mother. It’s the best compliment he could ever give.” The memory made her smile.
“When did they marry the ne’er-do-wells?”
“You’ve been talking to Mr. Dillard, I see.” Her uncle was the only one who called her brothers-in-law by that name. “They were both nineteen when they married. Two lavish weddings within a year. Father didn’t approve of either one, because—if you haven’t noticed—he investigates and thoroughly researches anyone who has anything to do with our family or business. He learned that the hard way a long time ago. And it became a lonely life for him as so many people wanted to befriend the great Arnold Abbot—for his money. From the very beginning he knew that both grooms-to-be were only after the Abbot fortune, but the girls wouldn’t listen.”
“Your father was a very wise man. I’m sorry I couldn’t have known him better.”
She smiled at the thought. Father had invested a lot in Charles. Had trusted him. For some reason, that made her very happy. “Me, too.”
“What happened after the weddings?”
“I turned twenty-one and everyone then found out that I was the sole heiress to the Abbot money and businesses. Father still gave them rich dowries when the girls married, but he had written them out when they decided to marry against his wishes. I understood and knew that he did it because he loved them, but they thought he was just being mean. I don’t think he really thought they would go through with marrying the weasels—and who knows why they did? I don’t even know if Martha and Mabel are capable of true love. But they married those horrible men anyway.
“So while I learned everything at my father’s side, they connived with their spouses and each other to try and gain access to Father’s legacy. Of course, Father has always had the best lawyers—thanks to Uncle—so they’ve never gained any ground. But if they are truly behind the threats—I think I’ve sorely underestimated them and how far they are willing to go.”
Charles raised his eyebrows. “It sounds like maybe they need to hear a good sermon or two on hellfire and brimstone to straighten them out.”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know how to pray for them anymore. It’s sad.”
“So what did your friends think about your family and the way your sisters treated you?”
The question was sure to have been innocent, but it stabbed her heart. “I didn’t have any friends. Not since I was a small girl.” She sniffed and tried to keep the tears at bay. “Father was my best friend.”
No friends. Of course, it made sense. Especially when you were worth as much as the Abbots financially. She’d already mentioned that her father had been guarded, but how hard was that for Mary Margaret to grow up … so alone? Charles hated to think about it.
She shrugged and looked away. “Please don’t look at me that way. I don’t need your pity, Charles.”
“Good. Because I’m not giving you any.”
Her head snapped back toward him. “Good.”
“But that doesn’t mean I can’t care about you and what has happened.”
She shook her head. “You don’t care a
bout me. You’re just invested in the business. If you get me to Denver, you will then own the mine you love.” She shoved things into her bag.
“That’s not fair, Mary Margaret.”
“Martin. Call me Martin.” She huffed.
“I care about you—a human being—and your safety far more than I care about the mine. Is that why you think I came along?”
She shrugged. But he couldn’t help but notice the tears shimmering at the corners of her eyes.
“Yes, you and your uncle made me a wonderful offer to help you out. I appreciate it.” He reached out and covered her hand with his. “But that is not why I am telling you that I care.”
She pulled away and stood. “Maybe we should get moving again.” Wiping her hands on her pants, she let out a jagged breath then slung her bag onto her back.
Charles watched her for a moment. She wouldn’t look him in the eye. Pain radiated from her small frame. “All right.” He would let it go for now, but he’d have to find a way to convince her that people could care about her for her.
He packed his bag and started walking. She fell in step just behind him. He could sense her nearness. Silence reigned in the woods as they trekked on, and Charles felt the weight of her loneliness and grief on his shoulders.
When darkness fell, they hadn’t spoken for hours. He stopped and looked back at her. Had the quiet caused more damage than good? “I think we need to rest for a few hours and then continue on before the sun rises.”
She nodded and took off her bag. Laying it down, she plopped down beside it and then rested her head on it and closed her eyes. Without looking at him, she spoke. “I will make sure that Uncle takes care of everything before you journey home.”
Her protective wall was back up. Charles understood a little more clearly. Taught well, she could snap back into business mode without a thought. It must be the way she guarded herself. And it made even more sense that she had responded to his question when they first met with, “Do you accept the job or not?”
Mary Margaret Abbot had many layers. He’d seen her quick wit, her fear, a little of her grief, and the stubborn spitfire that must have made her father proud. As he watched her now, she looked exhausted and sad.
The American Heiress Brides Collection Page 57
