Chasing Adventure

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Footsteps in the dried grass announced her approach. But Harte swore he sensed Thora’s position even when he couldn’t see her. How was that scenario possible? Especially since she’d walked without speaking.

  “Is that my hat?”

  He held it out. “I don’t think the bull approved.”

  She picked at the item, creating a shower of straw bits. Finally, she pulled loose the ribbons and dropped the straw remains. “Maybe I can still use these…somehow.”

  After securing the rope, Harte untied the reins and stood at his horse’s head. “Blaze isn’t used to carrying two passengers. But I can boost you into the saddle.”

  “Would you mind if we walked?” She waved a hand toward the town. “I know the distance isn’t far, and I’ve spent about as much time as I like without having solid contact with the earth.”

  “Walking is fine.” Good, in fact, because their time together would be longer. This feeling of wanting to be with a woman who previously annoyed him was new. But Harte couldn’t deny that he liked her. “Can you see well enough?”

  “Not really. My legs are a bit shaky.” She ran her hands up and down her arms.

  Harte shrugged out of his jacket and draped the garment over her shoulders. “Take my arm. We’ll let Blaze guide us on this moonless night.”

  The first few steps were awkward with them bumping into one another as they crossed the uneven ground. Once on the well-trod path, they fell into step together.

  The dark night lit only by glittering stars, and the quiet broken by an occasional owl hoot or frog croak lent an intimacy to their trek. Suddenly, he needed to fill the silence. “What was so important you needed to cross acres of pasture to reach a ranch house? Or was the house your original destination?”

  “Acres? Really?”

  They walked across the wooden bridge, their footsteps echoing over the rushing river below. “Ranches in the West usually have hundreds, if not thousands, of acres. Whether cattle or horses are being raised is a factor in the total size.”

  “Oh, I thought the distance would be no more than a couple of big city blocks.” She heaved out a sigh. “Another fact to note about the western frontier. I wanted to chat with the ranch owner, Trent Melbyrne, about his cousin, Savina Lombard del Vado.”

  “Why do you use three names?” He’d never met a writer before. Maybe this habit was another eccentricity, in addition to how she often appeared unaware of her surroundings. Or if the three-name habit was because she’d been raised with privilege and rich folks often acted snooty.

  Her grasp on his arm tightened. “Mother always does, especially with married women. The practice recognizes and acknowledges their lineage.”

  “Interesting.” Not for many years had hearing the word ‘mother’ shot longing through his heart. Must be because of the fondness in her tone. Harte barely remembered his own mother, who died from consumption before he turned seven. He pushed aside the painful memory. “Would you have ordered Savina Lombard del Vado to be at a particular place at a certain time, too?”

  “Oh.” Thora gasped and stopped walking. “The interview. In my predicament, I forgot about our arrangement. Is that the reason you came?”

  “Six-fifteen. I’m a man of my word.” He crooked his arm so she’d take the hint.

  “Goodness me.” She shook her head. “Now, I’m sorry for being so insistent. Up there in the tree, I had a lot of time to think. I was wrong to confront you while you were working. I should have shown more restraint.”

  Although he agreed, Harte refrained from saying it aloud.

  “You went out of your way to locate me tonight, even after I almost got you in trouble with Mister Morgan.” She moved close and linked their arms. “Your rescue means a lot to me.”

  A contrite Thora instead of a combative one? This different aspect of her personality threw him. Frowning, he looked down into her face but, in the dim light, couldn’t discern any nuances in her expression. Was she being facetious about his efforts? “Missus Fitzhugh at the hotel was worried, too, and about ready to send out someone to look.”

  “I felt like The Lady of Shallot, trapped in one place and forced to watch the world go by.”

  The reference he recognized from a Tennyson poem, but he hadn’t studied much poetry. He steered them around the fork in the road and led them downhill.

  “I lamented my lack of a loyal and true knight and contemplated throwing myself from the tree and letting Fate decide my outcome.” Thora gave a dramatic sweep of her free hand. “But then I heard the hoof beats of your mighty steed.”

  How long had Thora been up there? Could she be delirious? Remembering her recitation from that large book earlier today, and her favorite parts being flowery and overblown, he realized she was in her writer’s world. For now, he just listened, content in the knowledge an innocent hadn’t come to harm while he was nearby. Rescuing Thora helped ease a bit of the pain and guilt from the fateful bank robbery.

  At the hotel steps, Thora pulled off his jacket and handed back the garment. “Mis—Harte, words cannot express my thanks.” She smiled then rose on tip-toe, stretching to brush a kiss on his cheek.

  Harte almost wished he wasn’t growing out his beard. He would have enjoyed feeling more than a whisper touch of her lips against his bare cheek.

  Then she tottered to the door, paused, and glanced over her shoulder. “Good night, my gallant Lancelot.” In a second, she disappeared inside.

  Her dreamy words floated around him, creating an ache in his chest. Stepping back to view the second floor, he waited until a light burned yellow through the last window on the left. Thora was safe.

  As Harte turned toward the livery, he realized Thora hadn’t received her desired interview. He bit back a groan, knowing firsthand of her tenacity. He’d already observed the lengths she went to in getting her story. Although intrigued by the woman, he could do without the inquisitive writer—at least regarding his own exploits.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, Thora rolled over then moaned as multiple aches and scratches made their presence known. Last night, she had no idea what she’d mumbled in response to Laura’s concern for her welfare. Vaguely, she remembered promising to provide details after she’d slept.

  Well, now she’d slept, and she wasn’t any closer to wanting to confess how her rashness had almost caused an injury. Or revealing her embarrassment at being discovered in that compromised position and later being forced out of necessity to relieve herself outdoors. A privy was bad enough but behind a bush…and with a gentleman standing not twenty feet away!

  Although, Thora had to admit, Harte accepted the predicament much more in stride than she had. Of course, in his line of work, he would have encountered lots of situations she couldn’t even imagine living through.

  Thora sat bolt upright. In her irritation at him yesterday, she’d never asked why a former United States Marshal was employed as a guard at a gold mine. Or why he’d served as a small-town deputy.

  Easing back to the pillows, she thought of her questions for their interview and how she’d prioritize them. Now that she’d met the man, she was more interested in his reason for going into law enforcement than in his crime-fighting methods. A debate waged in her mind about what aspect was more important for building her story characters.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she’d missed the previous night’s supper. If she were home, Thora would pull the tasseled cord near her headboard and have Tillie bring up her breakfast and draw a bath. That way she could eat while enjoying the comfort of her bed before stretching out in a hot bath to soothe her injuries.

  But here she needed to dress first, eat, and then ask for hot water for her bath. At the inconvenience, she sighed and tossed back the quilt. The sleeve of her nightrail slid upward and exposed a red scrape on her left forearm. Her other arm held a matching wound.

  Fearing what other injuries her mad scramble up the tree inflicted, Thora shuffled to the mirror and leaned clo
se to inspect her face. Only a faint line marked the side of her neck. Her shoulders sagged with relief. Visible scrapes would lead to more explanations than she wished to provide. Completing her quickest toilette ever, she entered the dining room only fifteen minutes later.

  “Morning, Miss Alviss.” Josie sat straighter, grinning. A beige paper with a row of arithmetic equations lay in front of the child.

  Laura turned with a cup poised near her mouth and smiled. “Good to see you up, Thora.” She waved a hand at the empty chair at the table with a napkin and place setting. “I kept a plate in the warmer.” She rose and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Thora eased into the chair, careful not to jar her sore behind. “Is that school work?”

  “Yes’m. Arithmetic.” Josie scowled. “Mama says I have to do my sums before I can go outside and play.”

  Thora tilted her head and smile. “I remember when I had to do the same thing.”

  The hotel manager returned with a tray holding crockery. “Here you are. This morning, we have bacon and oatmeal.” She set down a plate topped by a bowl. “Do you like butter or honey on your cereal? I’ll bring back your preference when I return with your coffee.”

  “I prefer honey, please.” Thora leaned back in her chair. “I appreciate not being awakened for the start of the meal. I needed the extra sleep.”

  “Of course.” Laura smiled. Using a towel to protect her hands, she lifted off the large bowl to reveal a plate with four crisp rashers and a smaller bowl of steaming cooked oats.

  “Honey, please. And thank you for letting me sleep in.” Thora lifted a slice of bacon to her mouth and nibbled on the salty meat. Cooked just right. She’d gobbled down another by the time she smelled the fragrant coffee Laura set in front of her.

  After pulling out the chair, Laura sat again and reached for her own cup. “Tell us what you did to be gone so long yesterday.”

  Thora ate as best she could while being peppered with questions about her experience from two eager listeners. In her explanation, she saw the potential for working a similar scene into a story, and a bit of her anxiety from the experience ebbed.

  “Mister Renwyck stopped by while you were still upstairs.” Laura glanced over the rim of her coffee cup.

  Heat flushed Thora’s cheeks. “He did?”

  “He came to the kitchen door before I even had the coffee beans ground and asked how you fared.” Laura’s eyes shone as she spoke. “He told me about you being treed by the Melbyrne’s bull.”

  Thora sipped her own coffee, doing her best to tamp down her pleasure at Harte’s display of concern. “Well, as you heard, we shared quite the adventure.” She rested her arm on the edge of the table then winced at the sudden pain. “Actually, I wanted to soak in a hot bath.” After unbuttoning her left cuff, she displayed the reddish mark. “I’m hoping to relieve the sting from a few scrapes.”

  “Oh, goodness.” Laura’s eyebrows winged high. “I get some salve to apply when you’re done bathing. Then I’ll bandage those for the next day or two.” She stood but remained by the table. “Do you want me to start the water heating?”

  Shaking her head, Thora waved a hand in dismissal. “You have enough to do, Laura. I’m sure I can manage the task.” Besides, I’ll be conducting research to add to my stories.

  After Thora followed Laura’s instructions for heating pails of water on the small bathing room stove, she stripped and stepped into the half-filled tub. The water, although not as deep as she preferred, enveloped her like a warm hug. Perhaps, performing the chore herself made her appreciate the warmth more.

  How had she never noticed the task was so time-consuming? Of course, at home she wasn’t the one doing the work.

  The warmth of the water performed its magical cure and relaxed her muscles. As she washed her hair with the lavender-scented shampoo she’d packed from home, she discovered an almond-sized lump on the ridge of her head. Her mind drifted to the feel of Harte’s body pressed against hers as he untangled her hair. Even while dancing, she’d never been so close to a man.

  The memory kicked up her pulse, and her skin heated, even in the cooling bath water. Harte Renwyck was not how she’d pictured him back in New York when compiling her scrapbooks. Nothing had ever been written about his caring side. But I’ll be the one.

  A tapping sounded on the door. “Thora, it’s Laura. Are you ready for me to tend your injuries? I’ve got a short break from my laundry.”

  “Give me two minutes, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” She reached for the last pail and rinsed her hair, biting back a squeal at the tepid temperature.

  Quickly, so she didn’t keep the hotel manager from her chores, she blotted the water from her skin with a length of toweling then wrapped it around her hair turban-style. After climbing out, she finished drying with another towel. Over her fresh chemise and pantalettes, she pulled on her silky, pale green dressing gown and tied the belt in a double knot.

  At the kitchen table, Thora sat, then pushed up her robe sleeves, and extended her arms. Outside, the edge of a sheet flapped into view out through the opened door, making her grateful she’d had enough from Mister Warren’s stipend to pay for laundry services. Another aspect of her life back home she’d never fully appreciated.

  The salve stung a little, but Laura worked with an efficiency that reminded Thora she should add similar nursing details to the boxer’s story.” She needed to finish that one and mail the manuscript to the publishing house before she could start on the new series. “When is the freighter in town again?

  “Regular schedule is Thursdays. Unless Cousin Michael has a special order that arrives on the train.” Laura snapped on the lid to the salve jar and tapped a finger on top. “Take this to your room and treat any other scrapes. I’ll be outside behind the kitchen if you need anything.”

  “Thank you again.” Thora returned to the bathing room to stack the metal pails, pull the stopper to empty the tub, and used the bath mat to wipe down the sides. She gathered her bottle of shampoo, her tin of soaps, and her hairbrush to return to her room.

  At the staircase, her foot was poised over the first step when Thora heard a tap on the front door. Looking over her shoulder, she sucked in a breath at the sight of Harte entering the foyer. Oh, no!

  Grinning, he swept off his hat and ran his gaze over her. “Morning, Thora. How are you feeling?”

  Embarrassment flooded her at being caught in such dishabille. “I’m well, thank you for asking.” She juggled the items in her arms to make sure the gown front was closed enough at the top then she stopped, reassuring herself that this garment covered more than the outfit she wore to Coney Island for ocean swimming.

  “Are those bandages?” Frowning, he moved close, his focus riveted on her wrist.

  Without her heeled boots, Thora stood at a worse height disadvantage and had to crane her neck to meet his dark-eyed gaze. “Minor scrapes from the tree branch. Laura is an adept nurse and assures me the wounds will heal fine.” Only to satisfy her curiosity, she took in the exposed skin of his face, neck, and hands. “You suffered no injuries, I hope.”

  “None. I wanted to let you know I’m not avoiding the promised interview.” He circled the brim of his hat in his fingers. “But I’m heading out in a couple hours to guard a shipment of ore destined for the smelter. I’m told the trip takes about four days, maybe five, depending on the weather.”

  The thought of not seeing him for so long brought a lump to her throat. A reaction that surprised her. Had their previously antagonistic relationship changed that much last night? “Well then, I wish you safe travels. We’ll arrange a time to talk after you return.”

  Narrowing his eyes, he tapped a finger on the end of her nose. “Stay out of trouble.” Then he winked and sauntered through the door.

  Her mouth gaped. The nerve! Telling her what to do like she was a child. Her mouth dropped open, and she fumbled the hairbrush, hearing it clatter across the floor and end up near the opposite wall. After retrieving
it, she marched up the stairs to her room. Seconds later, she inexplicably found herself at the window watching Harte walk up the hill and out of sight.

  ~**~

  Over the next several days, Thora concentrated on her writing. Sequestering herself in the room each morning and afternoon allowed her creativity to fill page after page. In the evenings, she socialized with the other boarders, playing games of Boston or Seven Up or Rummy. On one occasion, Bertha, the cook from the miner’s boardinghouse, visited and the four adults played bridge.

  During the games was when she thoughts most often of Harte, making her wonder what type of card player he was. Various other questions she wanted to ask popped into her mind, and she would head back to her table to add the questions to her notebook.

  The nights were the hardest because before she slept, Thora replayed each of their interactions in her mind. She couldn’t wait until she saw him again.

  One morning she headed downstairs, eager to find a new distraction. Maybe she’d check with Mister Morgan and ask for permission to observe the mining operations. If she were to write the story she’d been considering about a mine robbery, she needed background details.

  The thought of the mine conjured Harte’s face and his smug smile after his parting warning. But the image no longer fueled her ire. In his absence, she’d come to view his words as a fond caution.

  Turning into the dining room, she smiled at Laura, Josie, and Bill who were just dishing up their food. “Morning, all.”

  “Morning, Thora.” The three spoke as one.

  The next twenty minutes were a repeat of every other morning as the group chatted while eating. Thora noted the long glances between Laura and Bill and suspected a romance grew between the two.

  “Time for me to head to work.” Bill pushed back his chair and picked up his coffee cup for a final swallow.

  “Lunch pail is on the counter.” Laura reached for Josie’s plate to stack atop hers.