Flora's Wish (39 page)

But on his right, Flora Brimm sat straight and still in her ridiculous costume, her gaze trained on him as if she expected him to say something brilliant and conciliatory that would make everything between them right again. Something that would excuse her dangerous and irresponsible behavior.

All he could manage through clenched jaw was, “You don't
believe
me?”

“No,” she said, though Lucas thought he detected slightly less starch in her spine than before.

He waited a moment. Counted to ten. He even searched the sky until he found the North Star. Any diversion to bring his temper below the boiling point and his words to something that he would not regret.

“That is your problem, Flora,” he finally said as he swiveled to face her. “You never seem to believe me.”

Oh, but she was beautiful in the moonlight. Even wearing an outfit that looked as if she'd stolen things at random from a clothesline and then dressed in the dark with her eyes closed.

“That's not true,” she stated as she gave him a triumphant look and pulled the tweed cloak closer around her.

“Give me one instance since you and I joined up on this ridiculous endeavor that you've simply done as you were told without question or comment. Or, worse, without ignoring my orders altogether and doing whatever you please. Can you do that?”

Her smile was broad and immediate, the look of satisfaction that followed curious to Lucas. What could she possibly be thinking, this woman who vexed him so?

“Of course I can.”

“Well, go on. Let's hear it.”

Flora crossed her arms in front of her. “All right. Just yesterday when we boarded the
Americus
. You told me to meet you at the seating area on the deck.” She paused and gave him a triumphant look. “And I did.”

“Any other examples?” He cocked his head to one side to make a show of listening intently for the answer he knew she couldn't give.

She shook her head. “You're insufferable. Truly.”

“Me? I am the one trying to keep you alive. Trying to catch a man before he breaks your heart and leaves you ruined like he did to Mary-Margaret, and
I'm
insufferable?”

Silence fell between them as, by degrees, Lucas realized how much he'd just revealed. How much he wanted to take back and pretend he hadn't said.

Flora leaned forward to press her index finger against his lapel and, despite the borrowed costume, Lucas caught the scent of lilacs. Sweet lilacs. Likely dabbed on her neck from one of those expensive perfume bottles he had seen in her suite back at the Crescent Hotel.

“So,” she said slowly as she smiled sweetly up at him. “You think I'm adorable?”

“No!” He shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts. Still there were the lilacs. And her smile. “Yes. Oh, I don't know.”

He'd already decided she was insufferable. Unscrupulous, as witnessed by the deception she'd played on him tonight. And decidedly dangerous, as witnessed by the way she had of making him feel like a fool just by leaning closer.

By smiling up at him with lips that begged to be kissed.

By allowing the index finger pressing into his lapel to slowly become the palm that rested against his furiously beating heart.

Night sounds enveloped them. The slap of an oar oddly echoing from down on the river, the call of a night bird, the chirp of night creatures. Everything seemed amplified in her presence.

The ire.

The interest.

And then she sighed. “Lucas,” she whispered.

“What?” Though he intended to say the word sharply to indicate his displeasure with her, instead his question fell from his slack mouth in a single barely breathed syllable.

“I think you're adorable too.”

L
ucas turned around and grabbed the reins, leaving Flora to hang on tight as he maneuvered the buggy over the ruts in the road. The only measure of satisfaction she took from the man's discomfort was the change of topic.

“Did I say something wrong?” she managed while trying to keep from sliding off of her seat.

“Nothing any worse than the things you've been saying tonight.” He shook his head. “Adorable,” he muttered. “One more mistake to add to the growing list.”

Though she'd been too frightened to let on, Lucas was right. The entire evening had been a mistake. From the lack of cooperation she received while trying to talk sense into the stubborn telegraph office manager to the rudeness of the band of ruffians near the buggy, nothing had turned out as she had hoped.

Sliding a glance at him, Flora's heart softened yet again. He had told her too much with his slip of the name Mary-Margaret. Who was she? A relative? A friend? A sweetheart?

This last thought caused the oddest twinge of jealousy.

She wouldn't ask, of course. Not after seeing the discomfort in his eyes when he realized he had said her name. So she sat next to him in silence, knowing she would eventually have to explain her reasons for being in that awful tavern and wondering how she would make sense of it all when the time came.

At least Father and Grandmama would never know of her transgressions. She planned to distance herself from Lucas McMinn as soon as she could manage it. For should either of them get wind of the fact she went down to Natchez Under-the-Hill in clothes she borrowed from the charity bin, she would never hear the end of it.

That is, if she arrived home in one piece. At the rate Lucas was driving the buggy, the likelihood was growing dimmer by the moment.

“You can let me out to walk the remainder at any point,” she said sharply as he once again took a bend in the road far too quickly for her liking.

“You? Walk? Not likely.”

“Why do you think I'm some sort of helpless woman? I assure you that I'm not.”

His snort of derision only served to make her smile.

“I'd rather take my chances with coyotes and highwaymen than to be thrown from the buggy due to your excessive speed.”

“I doubt you'll find either in this part of Mississippi, though you didn't mind associating with vermin tonight, now did you?”

“Nor did you, apparently, or you wouldn't have been in Natchez Under-the-Hill. I don't suppose you want to tell me why you were there.”

A lock of dark hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it away. “No, I do not.”

“And I would further guess it didn't completely have to do with Mr. Tucker, did it?”

She was digging in a sensitive spot. She could tell that from the way the muscle in his jaw jerked at the question. A sensible woman would have left the topic alone.

But not when curiosity tugged at her and there were still a few miles to go before the gates of Brimmfield would appear.

She leaned over to see if he smelled of alcohol. When he did not, her heart sank. With it, her ire—or was it jealousy?—rose.

From what she could discern, there were only three things men went down to that part of town for. Two of them were business and drinking. Lucas had already eliminated the first with his admission that Pinkerton duties were only part of his reason, and Flora's sense of smell had eliminated the second.

“Do you frequent these places because of Mary-Margaret or in spite of her?”

No response.

Flora cast a covert glance at the lawman and found his expression grim, his knuckles white. She'd gone too far with her question. Amends were due for stomping all over what was obviously very private territory.

And yet an apology refused to form.

Then she caught him staring at her.

“Whatever you're thinking you want to say…do not.” He bit out the words and then turned away from her again.

Surely he didn't mean it. He was just irritated because she hadn't apologized for her indiscreet remarks.

“You don't have to explain yourself to me,” she said gently. “You're entitled to spend your free time however you wish without being accountable to—”

“Flora.”

His voice held far too much warning for her to ignore, and yet not enough to completely take him seriously. Instead, she decided an apology was the only way to remedy the situation.

“All right. I'm truly sorry that I brought the subject up at all. It's just that when you mentioned Mary-Margaret, I assumed you might be looking for some conversation and maybe—”

“Not…another…word.”

This time she felt his look before she turned to see it. She opened her mouth to agree, or apologize further, or something—anything to placate the unreasonable man.

“No.”

So she clamped her mouth closed and turned to shut him out of her vision even as she tried to keep his bad-tempered attitude out of her thoughts. For though she hadn't succeeded in her mission to find Mr. Tucker's telegraph operator friend, she had come extremely close. The man in the tavern had at least admitted he knew the Wilson fellow Will Tucker had addressed his coded telegram to.

Returning to Natchez Under-the-Hill during daylight hours would be difficult, but she would somehow manage it. And when she did, she would find Jack Wilson.

A thought occurred, and Flora caught her breath. What if Will Tucker was trying to reach her? What if he depended on her to be at a certain place at a certain time, and that dependence had been somehow conveyed through the message he'd left.

She sighed. There was nothing for it now. If she'd missed his attempts at contact, she could only pray that Will Tucker was still in Natchez and willing to wed.

Perhaps she could find a way to ask Lucas about this. Surely in all his Pinkerton training he encountered the need to get a secret message to someone or to make contact without being found out.

“So,” she said slowly, “if you were looking for a woman, how would you—”

“You just cannot let it alone, can you, Flora?” he snapped.

She let out a long breath. The man was absolutely impossible. He was, however, the only person who might be able to answer her question.

Thus, she decided to try one more time. “But, Lucas, I'm just trying to ask about—”

“Stop. Asking.”

That did it. She'd had enough.

“Fine. I'll just handle the matter myself, but remember when you get mad at me that I tried to talk to you about it, only you refused to let me and then I did it and…” She paused to take a breath and found he'd not only stopped interrupting her, but he had also stopped the buggy.

“Go on,” came out as menacing as two innocent words could.

Flora let out a long breath. “I'm just asking your advice.” She paused. “If I've missed Will Tucker's attempts at finding me, how do I find him?”

“You don't find him, Flora,” he said with what appeared to be difficulty. “I am the one who will find the man. You have nothing to do with it.”

“I have
everything
to do with it. Without me, you can't catch him. If you could, you would have by now.”

Even in the moonlight she could see the vein throbbing in his neck. “And
with
you I am so busy playing nanny to a spoiled child that I'm too distracted to do my job.”