Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (30 page)

“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 England 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.”