Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (33 page)
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 they 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.”
“Ahhh. The sewing bee.”
“Nope. We decided to have it a week from next Tuesday.
That way, we can announce it at church twice,” Velma said.
“And it will permit me enough time to write out invitations.”
Tim frowned. “Why bother? It’s a lot of fuss. Everyone will know about it.”
Sydney smiled at him. “It’s all part of my grand plan.”
Velma gave Tim a warning look. “Sydney promised to start teaching the Richardsons how to act like ladies.”
Tim glared at Sydney. “Impossible.”
“Timothy—” Sydney clasped her hands. “ ‘In order to attain the impossible, one must attempt the impossible.”’
“Let me guess: That’s another thing Cervantes said.”
“It is, and it’s right. Just you wait and see.”
The next evening, following a fruitful visit from the Richardsons, Sydney carried her picture-perfect pie to the table.
Tim perked up. “Maybe you working with the Richardson gals isn’t such a bad idea.”
Sydney laughed. “You may have the honors.” She set it down in front of him and gave him the server.
Tim cut generous wedges. She sat and waited to take a bite of her own. She wanted to enjoy watching him taste the first bite. He used the side of his fork and cut off an enormous hunk, scooped it up, and grinned as he hefted it to his mouth. As soon as he started to chew, the grin wobbled, faded, and his chewing slowed. His eyes went wide; then his gaze slid from hers. He bravely swallowed but quickly took a big gulp of coffee.
Sydney cast a helpless look at Velma, only to see the desperation paint her features as she tried to make her first bite disappear.
“Oh no! What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” Tim blurted out. His answer was too rapid, and the guilty look on his face made it clear he was stretching the truth. “That bite—it just went down the wrong pipe is all.” He gamely took another mouthful—but this one was remarkably smaller.
She had to know for herself. Sydney took a dainty bite, and the moment she started to chew, she knew the truth. She choked it down, snatched up her teacup, and tried to politely rinse out the salty taste. “Oh! It’s dreadful! How did that happen? Marcella’s was delicious!”
“It’s a mite salty,” Velma admitted.
“It’s horrid!” Sydney wailed.
Tim tapped his finger to the glittering crust and dabbed the pad of that finger to his tongue. “Salt.”
“That’s what Linette and Marcella did,” Sydney passionately claimed. “After we crimped the top crust and cut the designs, we sprinkled sal—”
“Supposed to be sugar, child.” Velma laughed softly.
Tim peeled back the top crust and continued to eat the filling and bottom crust.
“Oh, do stop! There’s no reason to suffer just to assuage my feelings! I’m not a child to be humored!”
“Oh, come on, Syd! The rest of it’s just fine. Betcha you don’t make that mistake again, so it’s no big deal.”
“I just wanted to do it right! Linette’s and Marcella’s were perfect!”
Tim looked over the rim of his coffee cup. “They’re country girls.”
“I hardly need to be mollified.” He’d just as much as told her she didn’t belong here. She’d show him. Sydney determined to impress him if it killed her.
