Heartstrings (5 page)

Severed buildings away, in front of the feed store, three burly, well-armed men stood watching her. Even from where he stood, Roman could tell they were up to no good. And whatever evil thing was on their minds, it involved Theodosia.

His steps long and purposeful, he strode across the street, careful to keep his instincts trained on the three outlaws.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Montana.” Theodosia greeted him with a smile.

The sparkling prettiness of her smile captured his attention. He was halfway tempted to smile back.

But only halfway. He frowned instead. “You aren’t buying that horse. Miss Worth.”

She ran her hand down the horse’s sleek flank. “Yes, I do believe I shall, Mr. Montana. This gelding is a Thoroughbred. He is not the finest I have seen, but I find his spirit highly desirable. I’m quite familiar with this breed because my father—”

“That horse is
too
fine,” Roman flared. “Claff, show her a few sturdier—”

“I have already seen the others,” Theodosia announced, smoothing the back of her hand across her moist forehead. “I cared for none of them. And I would sincerely appreciate it if you did not become roinous over the matter, Mr. Montana.”

The warm, whiskey-induced mellowness that Roman had hoped would see him through a few hours in Theodosia’s company quickly turned into cold anger. “I’ll be as roinous as I damned well want!” He had no inkling what the word meant but wasn’t about to cow before the might of her vocabulary. “Now, pick another horse, because you are
not
taking the Thoroughbred.”

John the Baptist screeched from within his cage, which Theodosia had placed on top of several bales of hay. “I’ll be as
roinous
as I damned well want,” he called out.

Theodosia bristled. “Now look what you have done, Mr. Montana. My bird has never—not once—spoken a profanity. Five minutes in your company, and he—”

“The word
damned
ain’t s’bad, Miz Worth,” Claff ventured. “There’s a helluva lot worser words he might could learn to say. Why, I know some that near ’bout turn my mouth inside out when I say ’em.”

“Please don’t tell me what they are,” she entreated, then turned back to Roman. “I am anxious to get to Templeton, Mr. Montana. That is why I was not inclined to accept your suggestion that we stay here tonight and begin our journey in the morning. It is also why I prefer this Thoroughbred. Thoroughbreds are well known for their speed. I happen to know a great deal about them because my father—”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to realize that you know a lot about a lot, but you don’t know much about much. Take that Thoroughbred, and by tomorrow night I’ll be forced to shoot him to put him out of his misery. Templeton is almost a three-day ride away and over rough terrain. The Thoroughbred is famous for its speed but not for its ruggedness.”

“That chestnut over there’s a strong ’un,” Claff offered. He ambled forward, a long piece of straw hanging from his mouth. “Trained to pull a wagon too.”

Playing with the fragile gold chains that dangled from the bottom of her ruby brooch, Theodosia glanced at the small scraggly animal Claff had indicated. “That is a mere pony. And a sick one at that.”

“It’s a healthy mustang,” Roman corrected her. “No horse in the world has as much stamina. It might not be pretty, but that horse’ll get you wherever you want to go.” He nodded at Claff, then turned his attention to the group of vehicles. “And she’ll take that buckboard.”

“That rickety wagon?” Theodosia exclaimed.

“It’s small and lightweight, and the wheels are made of seasoned orangewood.”

“And what, may I ask, is so special about orangewood, Mr. Montana?”

“Seasoned orangewood won’t shrink much, Miss Worth.”

“Really?” She looked at the wheels. “How interesting. But be that as it may, I have already chosen my conveyance.” She pointed to a dainty buggy whose black lacquered body gleamed in the late afternoon sunshine.

Roman flicked a bothersome fly off his arm. “May as well sail through a hurricane in a paper boat. The bolts on the running gear aren’t riveted. They’ll come off, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop every ten miles to—”

“But—”

“Get the wagon, or walk. The choice is yours. How’s that for being
roinous?”

Theodosia swallowed further argument and reminded herself that in only a few days she would be parting company with the arrogant man and his insufferable obstinacy. “Very well, sir,” she said to Claff. “Do as the roinous Mr. Montana says.”

When Claff finished hitching the horse to the buckboard, Theodosia dipped her hand inside the bulging velvet pouch that swung from her elbow.

Sunlight dazzled off the fistful of gold coins she withdrew.

The blinding glitter nearly stopped Roman’s heartbeat. Never having seen so much money at one time, his mind reeled with disbelief even as his body tensed with apprehension.

Sliding his gaze to the right, he saw the three men. They continued to watch Theodosia and had no doubt seen her gold.

Damn.

He grabbed her hand and dragged her inside the stable. “Have you lost your mind, woman? What the hell are you doing, flashing all your gold around like that?”

“All my gold?” She attempted to pull her hand away from him but succeeded only in wrenching her arm. “Mr. Montana, the gold I carry in this bag is but pocket money. The rest is in my blue trunk.”

Roman swiveled in the hay and saw her blue trunk lying beside her other belongings. Surely it wasn’t filled with gold, he tried to convince himself. No one in their right mind would travel with such a fortune.

But then, Theodosia didn’t seem to possess the sort of mind normal people did.

“As for what I was doing with the gold I withdrew from my bag, Mr. Montana,” Theodosia continued, “I was merely trying to pay for the horse and wagon. In order to successfully accomplish the task, it was necessary for me to remove the money from my bag and hand it to—”

“You should have counted out the money where no one could see you do it!”

“And how, pray tell, might I have managed such a procedure when the price of the horse and wagon was unknown to me?”

“
What?”
He jammed his fingers through his hair. “For God’s sake, all you had to do was ask Claff! Any simpleton could figure that out! Use some common sense, if you have any. Look, you aren’t at some peaceful, elegant garden party, surrounded by your top-hatted, lily-white-handed gentlemen admirers. You’re in Texas, where a lot of men are leashed and led by pure greed. They can sniff out women like you the way sharks smell blood from miles away.”

“Mr. Mon—”

“Dr. Wallaby is paying me to escort you to Templeton, and I’m sure as hell going to get you there in one piece. If I don’t, I won’t get a measly cent of the money he’ll owe me for doing the job. When you get to Templeton, you can glue your gold to your face for every thief in the world to see, for all I care. But for now, give me that damned bag before someone slits your pretty little throat for it.” He yanked the pouch off her arm.

“Mr. Montana! You—” She broke off; through her mind drifted words of wisdom that had served her well in the past.
“Aequam servare mentem,”
she murmured. “Yes.
Aequam servare mentem.”

Roman saw fire. Here he was doing his damnedest to see to her welfare, and she was spitting foreign curses at him!

He decided they were French profanities; they sounded a bit like the love words a French saloon girl had once whispered to him. “I might not speak fluent French, Miss Worth, but I know an insult when I hear one,” he spat smugly. Giving her his back, he took a few coins from the bag, stalked out of the barn, and handed the money to Claff. “Thirty dollars, Claff. The horse and rig aren’t worth more than twenty-five, but I’m giving you a tip for having put up with Miss Worth.”

Theodosia emerged from the stable as Roman began to load her belongings into the bed of the buck-board. Through the thin fabric of his beige shirt, she saw the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back. They bulged, then coiled, then stretched in rhythm, as if he worked to the sound of some graceful melody.

Only when he reached for her blue trunk did she lose her concentration. “Mr. Montana, that trunk is frightfully heavy. It took two men to deliver it from the train station. If you lift it alone, you might injure yourself.”

Her concern caused him to spin in the dirt and face her. An unfamiliar warmth settled over him, a gentle heat far more comforting than the sunshine.

Why should she care if he got hurt? he wondered. But maybe she really didn’t. He’d probably only imagined her worry. After all, he was nothing but an escort to her.

God, he must have downed more whiskey than he realized. It wasn’t like him to fantasize over a woman’s feelings.

“Perhaps your friend Mr. Claff will assist you,” Theodosia added.

Friend? Roman thought, glancing at Claff. Oh, Claff was a good man, but Roman had never considered him a friend.

Truth was, he’d never had a real friend; had never had the chance or time to make any.

“Mr. Montana, did you hear what I said?” Theodosia asked. “Mr. Claff could—”

The remainder of her suggestion faded into nothingness as she watched him lift the trunk from the ground. It might as well have been filled with feathers.

“Did you buy all the supplies I told you to?” Roman asked after setting the trunk in the buckboard.

Lifting her skirts, she walked to the wagon and climbed in. Never having taken to wearing the multitude of underwear most women wore, she had little trouble adjusting herself to the wooden seat. She picked up the reins, then pointed to a small pile of merchandise. “The supplies are there, Mr. Montana.”

Roman loaded up the provisions.
“Vamanos.”
He smiled inwardly. She might know French, but he knew Spanish.

“
Si,”
she answered.
“Ahora que estamos listos comencemos nuestro viaje.”

“What’d she say, Roman?” Claff asked.

“I said, Mr. Claff,” Theodosia replied, “that now that we are ready, let’s begin our journey. Oh, and Mr. Montana?
Aequam servare mentem
is Latin and means ‘to keep an unruffled mind.’ It is my intention to ponder the quote while you and I travel. I advise you to do the same.”

Roman folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah? Well, let me tell you what you can do with your advice, Miss Worth.”

“No, I don’t believe I shall.” Her fingers whitened around the reins as her poise began to waver. “Mr. Montana, I have always endeavored to maintain self-control in any given situation. However, after only a few hours in your company, I find myself not only exasperated but at a loss as to how to regain my composure.”

“The little genius mind’s getting a little ruffled, huh?”

She stared into his snapping blue eyes for a long while. “How utterly convenient it is that you already understand that the definition of
roinous
is nasty and contemptible. I suspect I shall be using the word frequently during the next three days, and your knowledge of it will save me the task of having to explain it to you.”

Her intellectual sarcasm snapped the last shred of patience Roman possessed. To hell with the money he’d receive from Dr. Wallaby for taking the woman to Templeton! There was money to be made right here in Oates’ Junction making parlors bigger! “And your going to Templeton alone, Miss Worth, will save me the bother of having to take you.” He tossed her bag of gold into her lap and a sardonic grin into her eyes.

“But I don’t know where—”

“No? I thought you knew everything. Well, you can always ask a Comanche for directions. You’ll probably meet up with a few along the way. Or maybe the Blanco y Negro Gang can help. I hear they’ve broken out of jail and are back at their usual work of robbing, murdering, and ravishing anything wearing a skirt. You’ll recognize them right away, Miss Worth. They all ride white horses, and they all wear black.”

Theodosia refused to show the rogue one more hint of her shock. Surely she could find Templeton on her own. “Fine. When I arrive in Templeton, shall I inform Dr. Wallaby that you are no longer working for him?”

“You don’t think he
shall
figure that out by himself, when I don’t show up?”

“Good-bye, Mr. Montana. And the very best of luck with—with whatever it is you do.” Theodosia slipped the strings of her velvet bag around her wrist and set the horse into a brisk trot, leaving Roman and Claff in a cloud of dust.

“She’s headin’ north,” Claff drawled, still chewing on the piece of straw.

Roman grinned. “I know.”

“Templeton’s nigh on a hunnerd miles south o’ here.”

“I know.”

“She’s got right much book learnin’, but she sure don’t got much sense.”

“I know.” Still grinning, Roman turned and started to head for the saloon. But one glance at the feed store erased his grin and brought him to an abrupt halt. He’d forgotten about the three outlaws.