Jane Goodger (14 page)

“I’m not your girl,” she spat, feeling a rage build in her so swiftly it nearly blinded her. She might be the world’s biggest fool, but she would not fall for his insouciant charm again.

“Now don’t be getting all mad,” Carson said, holding up his hands as if fending her off. “A man can be sorry, can’t he?”

Amelia felt her nostrils flare. “And are you sorry?”

“I am.”

“You should be,” she said with a decisive nod.

“I heard you’re heading home soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

Carson smiled at her and she refused, absolutely refused to smile back. Why couldn’t she hate him? She wanted to, she knew she should. Not two minutes before, she could have happily killed him. And yet all it took was one of his smiles and an “I’m sorry,” and she could feel her insides melting.

“I don’t want you to hate me, Amelia, though I understand if you do,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

“I don’t hate you,” she said softly, her throat closing painfully. “But I don’t love you, either.” She said it, but wondered if she was lying to him and to herself. She truly didn’t know how she felt, beyond the anger and the hurt. Carson was her first love, the man she’d thought she’d spend the rest of her life with, the man she’d thought would father her children. She’d counted on that, dreamed about it, and now everything was gone. “Good night, Carson.”

He gave her a crooked smile that reminded her of Boone. “Good night, darlin’.”

Amelia hugged her arms around herself as she walked back to the store. It was nearly dark now, just a glow on the horizon hinting that the sun had been up not long ago. In the distance she heard something howl and she shivered, even though it was still warm. She’d heard that howl before but forgot to ask if there were wolves about, and found herself running to the door and closing it quickly behind her, her heart beating frantically as if a wolf were breathing down her neck.

Laughing at her own foolishness, she locked the door and made her way through the dark store toward the apartment, wishing she weren’t alone. She didn’t like it, but with Dulce refusing to stay with her, there wasn’t much she could do. She wished she could forget about propriety for once, and let Boone stay. She’d feel safe and not quite so alone. Then again, she might not be as safe with Boone as she’d thought.

That kiss. She wished it had never happened. She didn’t want to have to worry that Boone wanted to kiss her. Or that she wanted to kiss him.

None of it mattered. She’d be home soon, in her own bed, in her own room. She’d go to balls and the opera in London, and she’d meet another man whom she would no doubt want to kiss.

She touched her index finger to her lips and smiled.

Boone entered his office quietly, carrying a turned-down oil lamp so as not to disturb Amelia. It was three o’clock and he was bone tired. Enrique was sleeping, and though his voice was still slurred and his movements on his right side were uncoordinated, Boone didn’t think the man would die. At least not that night. Perhaps in time and with treatment, he would recover enough to live out his years in comfort.

Boone took the medications from his bag and replaced them carefully on their shelves, making certain each label faced front and each was precisely where it should be. He was still working when he heard her bare feet on the tile behind him.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he said without turning.

“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep. How is Mr. Benavente?”

Boone put the last of the medications back and turned, almost reluctantly, to answer her.
Damn
. She was so beautiful. She wore a thin, white, high-necked nightgown and wrap; her blond hair was loose and bed-messy. Despite her claims that she hadn’t been sleeping, she looked like she’d just woken up. She had a rosy-cheeked drowsy look that made his groin tighten. He turned away, embarrassed that he was unable to control his obvious lust, and pretended to look for something in the cabinet behind him. “I think he’ll recover with the right care,” he said gruffly.

“How’s Agatha?”

Please go to bed. Please
. “She’s crazy with worry. She’ll be fine.”

“Boone?”

He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry about that kiss. I shouldn’t have allowed it.”

Boone swallowed heavily. “No. I suppose not.”

“As a gentleman, you are required to say you are sorry, too,” she said, laughter tingeing her voice.

He turned back to her, unable to find humor in the fact that he was falling in love with her, that he wanted her so badly he could hardly speak. “I’m not sorry.”

“Oh.”

Her mouth was so soft, so sweet, and at the moment was shaped perfectly for another kiss. Boone clenched his jaw and shoved his hands into his pockets in a desperate attempt to stop himself from reaching out and pulling her into his arms.

“I’m leaving,” she said, as if that explained everything. Which, in fact, it did. “I’m going home,” she said more forcefully. “There’s nothing here for me. I’m going home.”

Boone took that cruel blow to his heart like a man. He smiled. “It was just a little kiss,” he said, as if mystified why she was making a to-do over such an insignificant thing as that one, perfect kiss.

“Well, yes. I know.”

He stood there, looking at her as if he were wondering why she was still pestering him. “Good night, Miss Amelia,” he said, still smiling at her as if bemused by her confusion.

A little crease formed between her eyebrows. “Good night.”

When she was gone his smile slowly faded. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew what she was saying oh so politely: Don’t you get any ideas in your head, Boone Kitteridge. I’m not yours, and I never will be.

He understood. He understood enough to feel familiar humiliation wash over him. She’d been flirting with him, and he’d mistaken that for real interest. He had so little experience dealing with women, he was so naïve about such matters, that he’d actually hoped, in the recesses of his heart, she might…

Stay.

Amelia stood behind the counter drumming her fingers against the smooth, pristine wood. The store had been unusually busy that morning, and Boone had warned her that men were returning from the cattle drives and would likely be stopping in for various sundries.

She didn’t mind, for at least it gave her something to do while she waited for the train. She’d hoped she’d get some word from Meremont’s staff, at least informing her that they were attempting to get word to Edward. It was likely far too soon for a reply, but she couldn’t help hoping.

All morning men came in, looked at her with surprise, quickly pulling their hats from their heads and slicking back their hair. Amelia took their reactions in stride, and in fact, enjoyed flirting with a few of the more charming of them. They were real cowboys, wearing chaps and spurs and well-worn, sweat-stained cowboy hats, and talked in a slow drawl that she was becoming familiar with.

But now the store was quiet and she was growing rather bored. She perked up when she heard the sound of the train approaching in all its noisy, smoke-spewing glory. She ran to the door to watch, as if she’d never seen a train before, and dreamed of the day she’d get on and head home. She’d never leave Meremont again, never complain about missing balls or suppers in London. She’d stay in her room, wander the grounds, visit her stepaunt, and play with her cousins. Perhaps she’d marry a neighbor, someone she’d overlooked, someone who never lied and truly loved her. The word “home” had become a silent prayer that she said over and over. If she were home it would be as if she’d never been foolish enough to fall in love with a man who didn’t love her, as if she’d never come to Texas. That train, now giving a final groan as it came to a stop, was her tie to cool sea breezes, to green grass and shady trees.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Boone crossing the street from the hotel, and she backed away, feeling awkward in front of him. He must think her a terrible flirt, and perhaps worse, because she’d allowed him to kiss her. It had been a lovely kiss, she had to admit, but entirely improper. She was behind the counter before he pushed the door in.

“I’m expecting some supplies today, so I’d appreciate it if you could stay on in the store for a bit more,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes. Apparently he was feeling a bit awkward as well.

“How’s Mr. Benavente?”

“Well enough to complain about my orders to keep him in bed,” he said. He handed her his bag, meeting her eyes for a brief moment. “Could you put this in my office?”

Amelia took the large bag, surprised at the weight of it, and headed back to the office, putting it on his table. When she returned to the store, Boone was still there, a strange look on his face.

And behind him, unaccountably, stood her brother and his new wife.

Edward was so relieved to see his sister seemingly alive and well, he let her water his shoulder for a few seconds before pushing her gently back so he could get a better look at her. Despite her tear-ravaged face, she looked quite well. And her ring finger quite empty.

“Oh, Edward, I’ve missed you so much,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “What are you doing here? How ever did you receive my telegram so quickly?”

“I received no telegram. I came as soon as I realized my errant little sister had forged a particular letter,” he said darkly, and watched as Amelia lowered her head. “And since I don’t see a ring, I’m assuming that you and your Mr. Kitteridge have not yet married. You’ve been here nearly two weeks, now.”

“It seems much longer,” she said, giving him a watery smile. “I sent the telegram so you could send me funds to return home. Anne stole my money, you see.”

“She didn’t,” gasped Maggie.

“She fell in love with a sailor on the ship and stayed in New York City,” Amelia said. “At the time I was happy for her.”

“Why were you coming home?” Edward asked, trying not to let his growing rage show.

Amelia immediately ducked her head again, but not before giving the man standing quietly behind the counter a quick look. “Carson has changed his mind,” she said softly.

Edward felt his entire body stiffen with rage. How dare that man ask for his sister’s hand and then renege?

“Where is Kitteridge?” he barked.

“I’m Boone Kitteridge,” said the tall man standing behind the counter. He held a quiet strength, his gray eyes level and completely emotionless—until they flickered to Amelia. “But I’m assuming you’re looking for my brother, Carson.”

“Indeed I am.”

“He’s not here,” Amelia said quickly, her facing flushing. “It seems there was a terrible misunderstanding.” Edward’s heart wrenched a bit when his sister gave him a brave and tremulous smile. “He never did plan to send for me. I don’t think he ever planned to marry me at all.”

“The hell he isn’t,” Edward said, nearly shouting.

“Edward.” He felt his wife’s gentling hand on his arm. “Let’s find out what happened before we do anything rash.” As always, Maggie’s touch instantly soothed him. “Amelia’s safe and well and that’s all that matters at the moment.”

Just then, Amelia remembered her manners. “Edward, may I introduce Dr. Boone Kitteridge. Boone, my brother, Lord Hollings, and his wife, Lady Margaret Wellesley.”

A doctor? He thought he’d remembered something about Carson’s brother being simple and childlike. Apparently Carson’s mendacity had no bounds.

“Please call me Maggie,” the countess said, smiling. “I keep looking around for someone else in the room when I hear that title.”

“Would this be the same brother Mr. Kitteridge spoke of?” Edward asked.

“Yes.” She looked sheepish.

“On behalf of my brother, I would like to apologize for what’s happened here,” Boone said. “I assure you, Amelia’s been kept safe and well.”

“I shall be the judge of that, Dr. Kitteridge,” Edward said, his voice cool. While he had no issue with Dr. Kitteridge, he very much wanted to throttle the man’s brother. “Is Carson in town?”

“Are you carrying a weapon?” the man asked, seemingly without humor.

“He’s not going to kill him,” Amelia said, then hesitated. “Are you? Oh, Edward, I’m no worse for the wear. We’ll take the next train and be home before we know it, and this will all be behind us.”

Edward gave his sister a sharp look. She couldn’t really be thinking that she could return to England now. Her reputation would be in tatters. Though he would have liked to kill Carson, he knew it would be far better for everyone if the man simply married his little sister as promised.

“I suggest we retire to the estate and discuss this with level heads,” Edward said.

At his words, Boone coughed. He almost appeared as if he were trying not to chuckle.

“Carson wasn’t completely honest about his situation,” Amelia said cautiously.

“What do you mean, Amelia?” Maggie asked, coming to her side and gazing gently at her. Amelia simply dropped her head in abject misery, and Edward watched helplessly as tears splattered onto the cool, red tiles.

“My brother lied about just about everything,” the doctor said, and it seemed to Edward that he was nearly as angry with Carson as Edward was. “There’s no ranch. My brother earns most of his money gambling.”

“Oh, Amelia,” Maggie said, pulling Amelia into her embrace. His sister started sobbing against Maggie’s shoulder, and curiously, the doctor took a step toward the two women before stopping himself.

“I’ll go get Carson,” he muttered, as if the sight of Amelia’s tears had been the last straw. Or perhaps Dr. Kitteridge realized that if Edward found his brother first, he’d beat the living hell out of him. As the doctor passed Amelia, he pressed a handkerchief into her hand, his expression unreadable. It was, no doubt, not the first handkerchief he’d had to give his sister.

Maggie looked up at Edward, clearly feeling the same helpless rage he now felt. Amelia had gotten herself into an untenable situation, one that had no good resolution. She could either stay here and marry a complete cad, or return home and resign herself to spinsterhood. Neither solution seemed sound.

“Do you still love him?” Edward asked, his voice gentle.

Amelia looked at him, the heartbreak clear in her eyes, even as she shook her head angrily. “I hate him,” she said feelingly. “But…” And she began to sob again. “Why did everything have to be such an awful lie? I just want to go home, Edward. Please. Take me home.” Maggie hugged the girl, her own eyes filling with tears.

“Oh, honey, who knows why some men do what they do?” Maggie asked. “Why, your own brother broke my heart. Remember? And now we’re married. Perhaps things will work out with Carson, as well.”

Edward scowled at his beautiful wife, completely unsure whether he wanted things to “work out” with the scoundrel who’d broken his little sister’s heart.

Boone swore beneath his breath with every step he took toward his brother. If he were a different sort of man, he’d probably enjoy seeing the look on Carson’s face when he was informed that his future brother-in-law, an English earl, was in Small Fork. But he was far too concerned for Amelia to care about his little brother at the moment.

He entered the saloon and stalked toward the stairs, not even sparing George a look.

“How’s Ricky?” he asked.

“About the same. But you’d best have Sutter prepare a coffin for my little brother.”

“The two fancies that stepped off the train?” George yelled, then gave the empty stairs a frustrated look. This town had had more excitement in the past weeks than in the five previous years, and he didn’t know what was going on.

Boone opened the door to Geraldine’s room without knocking, took two long strides to his brother, who was still lolling about bed at eleven o’clock in the morning, and grabbed him by his long, greasy hair, hauling him up without a word.

“What the…”

Boone didn’t even let him get out the curse. “Lord Hollings and his lovely wife are in my store. Get your ass dressed and cleaned up and get ready for your wedding, little brother.”

Carson’s answer was to vomit.

“I’m not doing it. They can’t make me. You can’t make a man get married against his will,” Carson said as they crossed the street.

“You can tell that to Lord Hollings,” Boone replied grimly. His brother still reeked of Geraldine’s perfume, but at least his hair was pulled back and his face wasn’t completely grizzled and he did have on a clean shirt. A pure miracle, that was.

Boone walked in ahead of Carson, keeping the door open for him, then shutting it and pulling down the closed sign after him. The earl and countess were standing by Amelia’s side, two angry sentinels staring daggers at his younger brother. Amelia stood between them, looking so sad it tore at Boone’s heart. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks pale, her lips pressed together as if she were fighting tears. Hell, if Hollings didn’t punch his brother, he would. He positioned himself behind the counter, away from the others but close enough should someone need assistance. At the moment, he wasn’t sure whether he would help Lord Hollings beat his brother, or try to stop him.

“Mr. Kitteridge,” Lord Hollings said, his voice clipped, like a pick chipping against ice. “Explain yourself. Explain why my little sister is crying. Explain to me, if you can, why she is not married after you asked for her hand in marriage. Explain to me why you lied about your income, your wealth, even your brother.”

Carson swallowed and Boone would have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t so angry.

“I suppose,” Carson said, drawing out the words. “I’d never seen any girl as pretty as Amelia, and lost my head for a bit.”

To his disgust, Boone saw Amelia’s expression soften, as if she were falling for Carson’s smooth-talking ways.

“And your heart? Did you lose that as well?” This from the countess.

Carson didn’t hesitate. “No, ma’am. No.”

Amelia let out a little sound and Boone flinched.

“I didn’t send for her. She came on her own,” Carson said, losing his apologetic tone.

“I’m quite aware of that,” Lord Hollings said. “However, it was also clear that the two of you had an understanding. Amelia believed in her heart that she was traveling to Texas to marry her fiancé. She informed everyone she knew of this fact. She cannot return to England and hope to live anything like a normal life. She is, to put it perfectly clear, ruined.”

“But that’s not true,” Amelia said, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I’ll simply say that…that…”

“What? That you traveled to Texas, unescorted, and then were spurned by this man? What do you think society will say or think? You’ve been here for two weeks, Amelia, two weeks without a proper chaperone. It doesn’t matter if you’ve behaved properly or not, the appearance of it all is extremely damaging.”

“I don’t care.”

Lord Hollings let out a puff of frustration, and Boone was, frankly, surprised that he seemed to be trying to convince Amelia to marry Carson, despite knowing he’d lied about nearly everything.

“But you will care when you are not invited anywhere, not even by your friends. You will care when you see their children, their homes, their lives, while you will be a spinster with a sullied past.” Lord Hollings took a breath. “I blame myself. I never should have allowed him to court you. I should have listened to my instincts. I am to blame, and I will have this fixed.”

Amelia shook her head, denying everything her brother said. “It is my fault, and I alone will suffer the consequences. I don’t want to marry. I just want to go home.”

“Amelia,” Maggie said softly. “You say that now, but someday you will feel differently. There will be stories about you, most of them unkind. I know what it’s like to pretend none of it matters, but once you are tied to scandal, it is impossible to escape. And it hurts, terribly so. I can tell you truthfully that I never would have married if I’d remained in this country. You must know that no respectable family will allow their son to court you now. I know it seems terribly cruel to say to you when you’ve done nothing worse than follow your heart, but you cannot believe it will all just disappear.” The countess gave Carson a pleading look. “Surely, the two of you must share something upon which you can build a marriage.”