Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (42 page)
Friday afternoon, Tim returned from the Smiths’ to find Jake Eddles yammering at Sydney as she helped Velma weed the garden. All three of his boys squabbled under a nearby tree.
“Ben! Bob! Buck! Knock it off!” Jake hollered, then turned back to her. “They’re good boys, Miss Hathwell. They need a woman’s touch is all.”
Velma sat back on her heels. “Jake, the gal’s told you no twice now.”
“If you don’t wanna marry up, I’ll understand.” Jake shuffled. “But I’m willing to hire you as a housekeeper. The boys can move into my bedroom and you can have theirs.”
Sydney tugged at a dandelion. “I’m afraid—”
“You don’t gotta be afraid of anything. It’ll all be on the up-and-up.”
“Eddles, forget it.” Tim put down the sack he carried and stepped in front of him.
“She writ a letter!”
Something about Jake’s desperation evoked sympathy. Tim said in a low tone, “Things change.”
“Yeah. So if she changes her mind—” His voice died out as Tim shook his head.
“Sydney is where she belongs.” Tim looked him in the eye. “With me.”
Velma stood and dusted off her hands. “Jake, come on round to the kitchen. We did some baking; I’ll send you home with a pie.”
Jake traipsed after Velma. “Heard tell ’bout Miss Hathwell’s chili. Brimstone in a bowl. Women like her are rare as hens’ teeth.”
Kneeling, Tim muttered, “I feel bad for him.”
“Remember that when you see him walk by with an apple pie.” Sydney looked up at him. A smile faltered on her face, then she turned away.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Uncaring of her frilly skirts, she sat in the dirt. “I know you were trying to be kind . . .”
“But?”
“I saw you take Moustache away. You were right. I grew quite attached to him. I’ve never had a pet, you see.”
“I took him to the Smiths. They can raise him, and I traded so you could have a real pet.” Tim reached over and grabbed the sack. “Here, Sugar.”
Sydney’s eyes widened as the sack wiggled. “What’s in there?”
“Take a look.” He felt downright smug.
The knot came loose, and a damp black nose poked out. “Oh!” Delight rang in that single sound. The pup wriggled from the burlap bag and gamboled into her lap. “You’re darling! Tim, really? Is he for me?”
He grinned as the puppy lapped at Sydney’s fingers. “Yes,
she’s
for you. Looks like she’s as taken with you as I am.”
Sydney lifted the puppy and rubbed noses with it. “You’re darling, too.”
Stunned, Tim looked at her, then chuckled. “Did you call me darling a second ago?”
A self-conscious smile tilted her mouth. “Yes. I suppose it doesn’t sound very masculine, though. Was I too forward in speaking such a sentiment?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve waited for half of forever.”
“Truly?”
“When you came down those stairs at the saloon with your head held proud and those pretty shoulders tilted back in an I-dare- you pose, I couldn’t imagine ever feeling such fire in my veins.”
She giggled. “That’s because you were mad!”
“Yep. But that should have told me plenty. I thought I’d lost a good friend. Only I didn’t, did I?”
“That was the worst part of it for me, too. I was so certain you’d never forgive me.” A beautiful smile lit her face. “You did forgive me, and God has, too. I’ve never been happier.”
“I’m glad, Sugar.”
Her eyes sparkled. “You used to call me something else.” She looked at the puppy and played with her ears. “What are we going to call you?”
“The Smith kids already named most of the litter. They were calling this one ‘Boots.’ Boots for my Fancy Pants.”
She laughed as she tapped the puppy’s brown paws. “Yes, look at her markings. She’s a lucky little rascal. Nothing’s more comfortable than cowboy boots. Let’s keep that name.”
Tim slid his hand atop Sydney’s. “I’d like to change your name, though. I love you. With all my heart, I love you. Nothing would sound better to me than calling you mine. Will you marry me?”
Her eyes shone brightly. “Tim, I’ve never known a better man. My heart overflows with love for you. Yes, I’d adore being your wife.”
He leaned close, took Boots from her lap, and pulled Sydney into his arms. “Seal it with a kiss.”
Just before their lips met, Fuller hollered, “Hey! That’s my niece!”
Tim groaned and pulled back. “She’s your niece, but she’s going to be my wife!”
“No kissing until you’re at the altar.”
Sydney had turned a fetching shade of pink and giggled in embarrassment. It was all Tim could do to keep from kissing her silly. He heaved a sigh. “Syd, Sugar, desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re going to follow a family tradition. I’m hauling you to the pastor right now.”
“We can’t! You’ve seen me today. It’s bad luck. Father waited to marry Mama until the next day.”
“Tomorrow, then. That’s it.”
“You look like a princess!” Heidi hopped up and down as Velma and Mrs. Orion helped Sydney with her veil.
“Thank you.”
“There.” Velma stepped back. “I’m going to dash over to the church now and remind him what to say. If I don’t, instead of giving you away, he’ll stand there and tell everyone what a good man Tim is.”
“God never made a better man.” Sydney smiled.
“Yes, well, it’s too hot today for everyone to spend extra time sitting there waiting to see a wedding.”
As Velma, Mrs. Orion, and Heidi crossed the street, Forsaken’s cowboys all crowded around the boardinghouse parlor. Hair slicked down with pomade, crisp white shirts and string ties on them all. “Handsome. Every one of you,” Sydney pronounced.
Pancake stepped up. “We’ve got it all figured out. Juan and Gulp are gonna carry you. The rest of the men’re gonna hang on to all them skirts and train so’s they don’t drag in the dirt. I’ve got your posies here.”
The church was across the street and down about twenty yards. Sydney wanted to run the whole distance herself—but she couldn’t very well behave like a hoyden when she’d started making inroads with the Richardson girls.
To her relief, the men decided to cut across the street diagonally to expedite the trip. Suddenly, Pancake held up his hand. “Someone’s coming. Let me stop ’em so’s Syd’s dress don’t get all dusty.” He trotted ahead about ten feet and motioned the two men to stop.
They didn’t. One kneed his dappled gray past Pancake and came right up to her. Sydney gasped.
“Well, well.” Hume’s gaze passed over her gown. “This is convenient. I’ve waited long enough to marry you.”
“Mister, you’ve got the wrong gal,” Merle growled. “Back off.”
“Lady Hathwell,” he said her name in a clipped tone, “is to marry me.”
The men couldn’t decide exactly what to do. Juan and Gulp both pulled in opposite directions, almost dropping her. Pancake stood in the street and gave her an odd look. “Syd, do you know this feller?”
Whoever was playing the piano in the church started playing louder.
Uncle Fuller stepped out of the church. “What’s taking so long?”
“Fuller, we got us a problem. Get Big Tim out here.”
A moment later, Tim barreled out of the church. He came straight up to Sydney, pulled her into his arms, and looked at her. “What’s wrong?”
His strength poured into her. “Nothing.”
“Only because she didn’t make it to the altar with you.” Hume dismounted. “I’m Rexall Hume the Third and that woman is my bride. It’s all arranged.”
“No, it isn’t.” Sydney shook her head. “I told you we didn’t suit.”
“Nonsense.” Hume brushed dust from his jacket, and another man joined him. It didn’t escape her notice that the other man wore a double holster.
“Just because I came to America didn’t mean I had to marry you.”
Hume’s eyes narrowed. “There was far more involved.”
Tim’s hold tightened imperceptibly. “Sydney is entitled to marry whomever she wants. I’m that man.”
She nodded.
“Tim?” Parson Bradle drew close. At that moment, Sydney realized everyone had exited the church and was watching the scene.
“I see from your collar that you’re a man of the cloth.” A stingy smile flickered across Hume’s face. “You, of all people, understand matters of honor. I suggest we retire to a private setting and resolve this.”
“There’s nothing to resolve.” Tim’s rock-steady voice carried the assurance Sydney needed.
Parson Bradle’s chin came up. “The Good Book says, ‘Come now, let us reason together.’ We’ll follow that admonition. The parlor in the parsonage will serve nicely.”
It took a minute of haggling, but the pastor allowed Hume’s man to come along—provided he left his weapons with the sheriff. Fuller insisted that as Sydney’s uncle, he was entitled to be there.
As Tim carried Sydney to the parsonage, Velma bustled alongside them, fussing about how her skirts and train were getting filthy.
Hume stopped her at the door.
Velma stuck out her forefinger and prodded him in the center of his chest, poking with each syllable as she said, “I’m not about to leave that gal in there without a woman present. You’ve already caused enough trouble. Now get out of my way.”
Velma came over, got up on tiptoe, and whispered, “Big Tim, put Sydney down. It’ll save time when you have to punch that man in the nose.”
A grim smile crossed Tim’s face, but he gave Sydney a reassuringly tight squeeze before setting her down.
“Let’s all take a seat,” the parson urged.
No one seemed to think that was a good idea.
Hume folded his arms across his chest. “Lady Hathwell is to be my wife.”
“Lady Hathwell,” Tim said, “is to be
my
wife.”
“I’m certain we can clear up this matter.” The preacher clasped his hands together. “Surely, there’s a misunderstanding.”
“There’s no misunderstanding.” Sydney tucked her hand into Tim’s. “I want to marry Tim.”
Hume’s face went ruddy. “Enough of this, Sydney.”
“Oh, so at least you got her name right this time.” Velma planted herself on Sydney’s other side. “She told me about you. You called her Cindy the last time you ordered her to marry you.”
“Well!” Mrs. Richardson huffed from outside the parsonage window.
The man accompanying Hume strode over and slammed the window shut.
Sydney held tight to Tim. “I knew I could never love him. I told him so twice. You’re the man I love.”
“There was an agreement.” Hume’s face was hard as stone. His expression told Sydney that it didn’t matter to him that she didn’t love him. Worse still, he didn’t even care that she loved Tim. “You’re honor bound to marry me.”
“She doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to.” Tim stepped in front of her.
“I had a gentleman’s agreement. I even waited for a whole year so she could mourn her father.”
She fought her skirts and sidled up beside Tim. “I promised Father I’d come meet him. I didn’t agree to become his bride.”
“Your cousin made the commitment.” Hume pulled a packet of papers from the inside of his coat. “I have all of the documents here.”
Tim squeezed Sydney close. “I’ll take care of this, Syd. We’ll be at the altar in just a few minutes.”
“She’ll be there with me. I have the marriage license. Harold Hathwell is Lady Hathwell’s guardian. She has not yet reached her majority, so his consent is necessary for her to wed. He gave that consent to me.”
“Cousin Harold?” she gasped.
Hume gave her a frigid smile. “I might add, Lady Hathwell, I paid dearly for his consent. I can see the money was well spent, too. I approve of that gown.”
She shuddered. “You didn’t—”
“Oh, but I did. Harold seems to have a predilection for card games, and his luck is abysmal. He was more than happy to accept my money. Appearances are important, and I stipulated that you were to be well-outfitted when he sent you to me.”
“Slavery was abolished twenty-five years ago, Hume. You can’t buy anyone”—Tim’s voice dropped to a rumble—“and Sydney is not a woman who can be bought or paid for.”
“She is a woman accustomed to cobblestones and carriages, not dirt and drudgery. I’ll continue to provide for her in accordance to her station.” Hume’s gaze swept out the window, then across the parsonage’s humble parlor and finally settled on Sydney. “This does not suit you.”
“It’s perfectly suited to me, and I’ll be happy here.” Sydney looked up at Tim. “My father wasn’t like Laban. He wouldn’t force me to marry a man who didn’t love me and be miserable all of my life as Leah was.”
“You have no justification for thinking you’d be miserable as my wife.”
Sydney pressed closer to Tim. “I overheard you, Mr. Hume. All you wanted were legitimate heirs and access to the peerage to further your business.”
“You planned to use Sydney as a pawn so you could make more money?” Outrage vibrated in Tim’s words. “What kind of man are you?”
“I won’t apologize for being successful. I’ll provide for Lady Hathwell far better than any cowboy ever could.”
“Gentlemen, let’s keep this civil.” The parson cleared his throat. “Mr. Hume, I’m sure you didn’t mean to imply Miss Hathwell’s happiness hinges solely upon material wealth.”
“My happiness wasn’t his concern.” Sydney stared at Hume. “You ignored me while I was a guest in your home. And . . .” Her voice trailed off.
