Liz Ireland (4 page)

Oh, she’d thought it would be so simple to live a fiction. After all, she’d always
imagined
herself as a lady of leisure; how else could she have endured the drudgery of being a housemaid? And she’d read so much about rich people in books. But now that she was supposed to be really filling the role of Mrs. Eleanor Fitzsimmons, rich widow, imagination escaped her. She hadn’t been able to answer Roy’s probing questions about how she filled her day, so she’d evaded him by focusing all her attention on Ike. Had Roy noticed? Was he piecing together her falsehoods?

Her heart thundered in trepidation.
Found out, found out, found out,
its insistent beats shouted in her ear. If Roy could see through her, how long would it be until the others did, or until he told them that she was a fake? She could only hope it would be long enough for her to get her feet on the ground and decide what she could do here in Nebraska. Paradise was a bustling, industrious little town. Surely there was some occupation she could fill there.

But what if there wasn’t? What if she had a baby to feed and care for, and no one in Paradise needed a sales clerk or a maid or a seamstress? What alternative did that leave her but the most dreaded, oldest profession there was?

She shuddered, remembering the many seedy back-of-barroom brothels near the train depots of various towns. Just looking at them had made her feel filthy. And her miserable experience with Percy Sternhagen, consisting of an unpleasantly frantic coupling in the upstairs linen closet, certainly did not make her eager to repeat the experience with other, rougher men.
How could those unfortunate women by the railroad tracks stand it? Was there some trick that would make the attentions of greedy, heavy-breathing louts less sickening? Could an exchange of money make the coupling less vile? Or maybe if the act were performed
on
a bedsheet, instead of simply being pressed against them in a cupboard….

But surely,
surely,
it would never come to that. She would certainly do any kind of degrading work before prostitution became an option. She could be a laundress or a cook. She frowned, trying to remember the last time she’d successfully cooked anything on her own more complicated than a tin of beans. But she could learn, couldn’t she? If men here were accustomed to eating the kind of tasteless boiled and burned mess she’d sampled tonight, could she do any worse?

The thought of only having to meet that low standard cheered her. This wasn’t a time for panic, she reminded herself. She was beginning a new life—just as she was carrying new life. She hugged her rounded belly under the covers, trying to will herself into believing her fiction. She was a widow. Percy Sternhagen—who she would refer to now as Percy Fitzsimmons—was dead. That, at least, was a state of affairs she could savor playing to the hilt! She could tell the McMillans that her dear departed husband had made some bad investments, and that she now had to earn her bread. People, believing she was a widow, would feel sorry for her when her baby arrived. No one would look down on her child because he or she had no father. The baby wouldn’t be branded as illegitimate.

A loud rap sounded at the door, and Ellie shot up to sitting. “Yes?”

In an instant, Roy McMillan bolted into her room,
his glaring eyes focused sharply on her. Then he stared around the room hungrily, as if looking for something. When his gaze came back to her, alone in the bed, where she’d pulled the covers up to her chin, she stared at him in mute bewilderment. He was wearing boots and the same long overcoat he’d worn at the depot, but peeking out from underneath were only red leggings that appeared to be some sort of nightclothes.

“I came for another blanket,” he blurted out.

Ellie blinked at him, uncertain how this could pertain to her. “And?”

“It’s in a box on the shelf.” His gaze was still fixed on her. “I won’t trouble you but for a minute.”

Even a minute alone with Roy McMillan was too much in her book. “Should I call Parker?”

“Why?” His dark brows raised suspiciously.

“To help you, naturally.”

“Oh.” He seemed almost disappointed with her answer. “When did Parker go to bed?”

She shrugged. “A while ago, I believe.”

He grunted, still seeming vaguely unsatisfied. “He usually stays up later.”

“Maybe I’ve upset people’s schedules,” she said. “Though I hope not. Are you comfortable out in the…what do you call it?”

“Barn,” he said flatly.

Oh dear. Parker had called it a bunkhouse or something, but Roy’s description conjured up the image of him and Mr. Gray bedding down in adjoining stalls, right next to the milk cows. It certainly didn’t sound very comfortable. “I’m afraid I’ve put you out.”

His lips flattened into a thin line. “Not at all.”

He turned, looking up at the long carved shelf that ran along the length of the room over seven feet up. On it, neatly stacked, were old books, a few periodicals
and boxes of different sizes. At the end, there was a large wooden box. Roy focused on it.

“May I help you?” she asked, jumping out of bed. “I’m sure I could reach it.”

His gaze fastened on her gown, making her cheeks glow with heat.
Why
had she gotten out of bed? She’d just hopped-to on practiced impulse—still a maid.

Only now she was a maid in her nightclothes, and Roy McMillan’s burning gaze was pinned on her. His eyes roved from the cheap eyelet trim of her simple muslin gown up each cloth button until they reached her breasts, where his attention stalled. She could well imagine why! She flushed with embarrassment, wishing she’d gone ahead and buttoned her gown right up to the top, even though it felt as if she might choke when she did that. He probably thought her immodesty was appalling. She only prayed the gathered folds of her nightgown hid her six months’ swollen belly, as well as the tears in the muslin that she had neatly patched.

She lifted her chin proudly, trying to recover a somewhat regal bearing, even if her gown was torn.

His dark eyes met hers. “How the hell is a puny little thing like you going to help me?”

Puny? She hadn’t been called
that
since grammar school! “I could stand on a chair.” Responding instinctively to the challenge, she pointed to a cane-back chair in the corner and ran over to it. “This chair.”

He shook his head. “Never mind. I can reach it.”

“It’s no bother,” she said, scooting past him efficiently. The sooner she got that blasted box down, the sooner Roy would be out of her bedroom. His bedroom. She felt a little twinge of uneasiness to think that she would be sleeping in his bed, a fact that hadn’t seemed to register until she saw him staring at
her in it. That slightly different scent, fragrantly musky, which she’d noticed when her head was on the pillow—that was his. The sheets and blankets that covered and warmed her were the same ones that also performed the same service for him. The realization made sleeping in his bed seem almost inappropriately intimate now.

He grabbed the top of the chair, sending her spinning toward him. “This isn’t necessary, Eleanor.”

“Actually, I’m usually called Ellie.”

Now why had she blurted that out? A fine lady would never tell a man to call her a silly name like Ellie! Besides, she’d never even invited Parker to use the diminutive, and she’d been writing to him for months. She sputtered to correct herself, lifting her chin proudly. “I mean, I would be so happy if you wouldn’t stand on formality.”

His full lips quirked up for just a moment. “Why thank you,
Ellie,
but even without the formalities, I believe I’m capable of getting a box off a shelf. You’re a guest here, not a servant.”

She flushed. “I know that!”

Clutching the chair back to her chest, she stepped to the side, watching him as he reached up to get the box off the shelf. Unfortunately, it was pushed far back enough, and the shelf was just high enough, that it was a little beyond Roy’s reach. Also, he seemed to be self-conscious about keeping his coat closed.

“Maybe if
you
took the chair…?” Ellie suggested.

He flicked a red-faced glance back to her. “I can manage.”

“Or if you stood on tiptoe, that would help.”

He replied with a noise that was more a grunt than an answer. “I think I…
oooph!
…can just about—”

With just the tips of his longest fingers he managed to pull the box forward till he could get a grip on it—
but by that time the box was tipping precariously on the edge of the high shelf. Ellie let out a cry of alarm and ran forward with her chair. It was only male pride keeping him from accepting help from her, and that was silly!

She sprang onto the chair and held one end of the box. “I’ve got it,” she told him. “If you’ll just let me hand it down to you—”

Just then, the door in front of Ellie banged open, hitting the chair and frightening her out of her wits. “Oh!” She cried in surprise and sprang straight up in the air like a startled cat, but when she came back down it was definitely not with feline grace. One foot lost the chair altogether and the other barely glanced down on the edge, so that the chair tipped away from where Roy was standing.

“Ooooh!” she cried again, realizing she was in trouble. Her right arm still was trying to keep hold of the silly box, while the other whirled in loopy circles in a doomed battle for balance. Roy’s eyes rounded in surprise when they registered that she was about to tip over. Now he had a dilemma. He could keep hold of the box overhead, or he could rescue her from a nasty fall.

Chivalry was by no means dead in Paradise, Nebraska. With self-sacrifice Ellie thought worthy of the best of Walter Scott, he let go of the box and with both hands grabbed at her. Ellie, however, was already in midfall, so that all he was able to grab was a hank of hair and some nightgown, causing Ellie to yelp both in pain and at the sharp
rip!
of her gown tearing. Fortunately, Parker—who had been the cause of the door banging open—stepped inside in time to catch Ellie before she fell.

But poor Roy! His letting go of the box had dire consequences, since it placed him directly under the
heavy wood container as it came crashing down, first hitting his head and sending him reeling backward to the floor, then finishing its path of destruction by banging even more forcefully on the toe of his boot.

Sprawled on the bare floor next to the fallen chair, he released a howl of pain.

“Oh, sir, I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” Ellie sprang to kneel next to him. She didn’t even need to see his annoyed glare to realize how foolish a question she’d asked. His poor head—a bump the size of a goose egg was already lumping on his temple beneath the line of his hair. And yet it didn’t seem to be his head that was bothering him. Or even his male pride, this time.

“My toe,” he gritted out, wincing.

Ellie looked down at his boot, wondering if anything could have penetrated the thick leather.

“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Parker asked, looking down at the scene with concern and just a touch of amusement. “Roy!” he scolded gently. “I thought I could trust you!”

Roy scowled defensively. “I was just getting a blanket!”

Parker’s brows rose in interest. “What’s the matter with the one in the cedar chest in the parlor?”

Roy grimaced as he attempted to stand. “I forgot—ouch!”

Ellie threw a worried glance at Parker. “We’ll have to get a doctor.”

“No doctors!”

Parker laughed. “Roy can’t stand Dr. Webster coming out.”

“The man’s an alarmist,” Roy said. “He’ll look at my bruised toe and order me to stay in bed for three months.”

“Well maybe you should.” Ellie’s conscience
pricked her. None of this would have happened if he’d stayed in his own bed to begin with. “And I insist you stay here.”

He looked up at her with a frown. “And have you sleep out in that igloo with Ike?”

Parker chuckled. “
I’ll
stay with Ike. Ellie can stay in my room.”

Roy frowned. “Don’t mind me,” he said, stumping past them. “I’ll be just fine.”

But when she was back in Roy’s bed, breathing in the whisper of his scent, she began to worry again. Was he all right?

Then there was the problem of the blanket sitting in the cedar chest in the parlor…. Why had Roy really come in here in the first place—to check on her?

More troublesome still, when would he begin to wonder why a fine New York lady had called him
sir
precisely as a servant would?

“B
roken.”

Dr. Webster’s declaration was met by a moan from Roy—not just because the broken toe in question throbbed like the devil, but because he could just guess what the old sawbones was going to say next.

“What you need is bed rest,” the doctor advised. “Plenty of it. Stay off that foot for a month.”

“A month!” Roy bellowed. Even by Webster’s dire standards, that was outrageous. There was work to be done. And though he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he didn’t want to spend the next two months hobbling around like a fool in front of Ellie.

He glanced up at her hovering in the doorway, looking as guilty as if she’d purposely caused the trunk to land on his foot, and felt his face redden. He should never have come into her bedroom last night, and not just because he regretted being in the accident. On the contrary, what he most regretted was the memory of Ellie that floated in his memory—her in her soft nightgown, unbuttoned enough that he could see the pale skin of her full breasts. Of her long red hair, loose and flowing, its curly tendrils all but inviting the touch of a man’s hand. Most of all, he
couldn’t forget the way her pink lips parted in surprise when he appeared suddenly in her doorway. His toe didn’t ache nearly so much as he ached to kiss those lips of hers.

Dr. Webster stood and patted Roy on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Roy. You’ll be better by the time of the school dance.”

Parker smirked. “As if Roy cares about that!”

Roy bristled and took pains not to glance over at Ellie again for her reaction. What was Parker trying to do, make him out to be some kind of barbarian? “I’ll be back at work next week, Doc.” He glared at Parker. “I’ll be dancing next week, too, if I’ve a mind to.”

This time he couldn’t help tossing a look over at Ellie, just to make sure she realized that he wasn’t as uncivilized as his brother had intimated. She smiled her encouragement at him, which made her appear girlishly sweet, even if her clothes would be more appropriate for an old schoolmarm. Her bulky black dress had a high neck that seemed austere for such a young beautiful woman, to say the least, and to make her look just a little more uncomfortable, she wore a loose black pinafore over the outfit. Her hair was pulled back in a tidy chignon, denying him the vision of it in its full blazing glory. But her lips—she couldn’t tuck those away. They were pink and full, lips that seemed to beg a man’s attention.

Ellie had been apologizing nonstop since the accident, despite his assurances that he didn’t blame her one bit for the incident. And he didn’t. But he couldn’t say he minded all the attention that she’d lavished on him since then.

Today he’d been awakened by her bringing him hot coffee and a freshly warmed foot warmer. And all morning until the doctor arrived, she’d hovered
nearby like a protective shadow, watching over him, but then skittering away before he could engage her in conversation. She was ever-present and yet maddeningly elusive.

Parker smiled at the doctor and took his arm. “Don’t worry, Doc, Ike and I will see to it that my brother doesn’t take up the ballet any time soon.”

Roy scowled as the doctor, chuckling, was escorted from the room.

When they were gone, Ellie came up to the side of the bed where he was sitting. “We forgot to ask the doctor if he had something to ease your pain.”

Roy barked out a laugh. “All Doc Webster would have done was hand me some little white pills and said to take two with a slug of whiskey. It’s the whiskey that does the work, but Doc got snookered by a patent medicine man about a decade back, and he’s been trying to get rid of those white pills ever since.”

“Oh.” She smoothed back a few of the loose tendrils of hair framing her face. “Would you like some whiskey, then?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Tea?”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to play nurse, you know. I’m sure a lady of your station doesn’t do things like that.”

She blushed. “Well…I did take care of my father in his last days.”

“Your father is dead?”

She nodded. “He was the only family I had.”

Roy frowned. “Besides your husband.”

“Oh yes!” She bit her lip and clasped her hands till her knuckles were white. “Dear Percy! I’ll never forget his departure.”

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and Roy felt low as a worm for reminding her of her late husband.
Percy.
He felt an unwarranted dislike for the man. How could a fellow up and die when he had such a beautiful woman in love with him, depending on him?

“What happened to him?” he couldn’t help asking.

“To whom?”

“Your husband. He must have been very young.”

She looked stricken, and he immediately wished he could take back his words. “He…he…drowned.”

Poor thing. She could barely get the sentence out.

“In New York City?”

Her fingers twiddled nervously. “No—it was during a vacation. In South Carolina. It was so sudden, and shocking, of course. Poor Percy—he prided himself on his swimming prowess, but I suppose no man is a match for the Atlantic’s tide. Now the ocean is his grave.”

“They never found him? He just disappeared?”

She shook her head. “No. I waited weeks and weeks. Months. It was hopeless.”

Ellie lifted a hand to her eye. Even if she was wasting an outpouring of emotion on a man who, in Roy’s admittedly biased opinion, probably didn’t deserve it, he could only admire the depth and honesty of her grief. It showed a steadfast nature he didn’t usually associate with members of the weaker sex.

Instinctively, he reached out to touch her other hand, to give comfort.

At his touch, Ellie jumped back as if she’d been burned by a cattle prod. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to become so mired in self-pity.”

“That’s all right. Your feelings are perfectly understandable.” Then, gritting his teeth, he added, “I’d like to hear more about Percy Fitzsimmons, if you want to talk about him.”

Her eyes rounded. “Oh no. I won’t bore you with that—not that he wasn’t a fascinating man…”

“What was his line?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Line of work.”

“Well…he was in business. He had a factory.”

Roy laughed. “You don’t sound too sure of what your husband was doing with his days.”

She licked her lips nervously. “Well, you see, I’m a little confused as to…well, some financial things. It seems Percy made some unwise investments….”

“What in?”

Her face had that frantic confused aspect of a person not used to discussing money. “Um, silver, I believe.”

“Silver!” Roy laughed. “And he
lost
money?”

She swallowed. “Well, there was something about a mine….”

That
explained it. The idiot had probably thrown his life savings into a mine scam. He frowned. This revelation coupled with Percy Fitzsimmons’s death sounded rather suspicious. “Have you ever wondered about the veracity of this drowning story?”

She practically jumped, and he reached out a hand to hold her. “What do you mean?” she asked indignantly. “That I would lie?”

He shook his head frantically. “No, I only meant…” He softened his voice. “Well, have you ever considered that your husband might have been a…suicide?”

Her eyes widened. “You’ll have to excuse me. This is a more painful subject than I anticipated.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distress you.”

“No, of course not. I’ll get you some tea.”

She backed out of the room so quickly he didn’t have time to apologize again. What a thoughtless oaf
he was—tossing out a shocking idea like suicide when she was already in low spirits. He wanted to call her back, to explain that he could very well be wrong….

“Eleanor? Ellie!”

But when the door opened again a few moments later, Parker walked through it. “Well, you were right,” he announced.

Roy shifted, trying to adjust to the change in tone. “’Course I was. Why the minute old Doc Webster hears a sniffle he’s ready to call it pneumonia. I’ll be up and running again by tomorrow, I’ll bet.”

Parker tilted his head. “I wasn’t referring to Doc Webster, I was talking about Eleanor.”

“Ellie?” Roy frowned. At first he hadn’t thought the diminutive suited her, but now he found he liked the sound of it.

Parker nodded. “I’ll have to admit that I didn’t believe you. I thought you were just bitter toward all women. But the minute I saw her last night I knew. She
is
a scheming widow.”

Roy was so astounded by the bald statement that it took a moment for him to be certain he’d heard his brother correctly. Indignation made his backbone ramrod straight. “A scheming widow!” he repeated, incredulous. Parker—sweet, trusting Parker—was saying this about their guest? The woman who, for all intents and purposes, he himself had invited into their home?

Parker’s brows arched. “Why so upset? You were the one who first called her that.”

“That was before I’d even seen her, and I only said she
might
be.” Roy felt anger rising within him. “I haven’t seen any evidence of her being a schemer.”

Parker crossed his arms. “What about the baby?”

“The what?”

“The baby she’s carrying that she failed to inform either of us about. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice last night when you saw her in her nightgown.”

He’d noticed no such thing! Roy sputtered. “I—I noticed she was a little plump. Surely you’re mistaken.”

Parker shook his head. “When I caught her—while you were tumbling to the floor—her nightgown outlined her figure. I’ve never seen a woman who was plump only in her belly. She’s carrying a child, Roy.”

Roy could only stare speechlessly at his brother for a long moment. Ellie. Pregnant. Of course he hadn’t noticed—he’d only noticed her beauty. But now that he thought of it, she had been wearing rather bulky clothing, and the pinafore pinned over her dress today might have had a purpose besides protecting her clothes from all that coffee and tea she’d been serving him.

No wonder she’d been so touchy. She was a woman carrying a deceased man’s child—and Roy had insulted the memory of her child’s father!

He sighed. “Poor Ellie.”

Parker’s eyes narrowed. “Roy, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

His brother obviously expected him to be indignant that Ellie hadn’t told them of her condition. Which just goes to show Parker didn’t know him as well as he thought he did. “Think of it, Parker. She’s all alone in the world with a baby to raise. And she just told me that her husband had been hornswoggled in a mining scam. What is she going to do?”

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that
that
might be the reason why she came here?”

“What might be?”

“Marriage. To one of us.”

Roy went still.

Parker shrugged. “Even Ike wondered this morning whether Ellie might have travelled this way to find a father for her baby.”

Roy barked out a laugh. “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard. For your information, Ellie just ran out of here distraught because I brought up the subject of her late husband. She’s obviously too devoted to his memory to marry again any time soon. Besides, she didn’t tell me she was destitute…not completely. And if she did choose to marry for money, why in tarnation would she pick you to hitch up with when she could probably have a Vanderbilt?”

Parker looked perplexed. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re just not using your potato if you think that woman has designs on one of us!”

“You’re being generous giving Eleanor the benefit of a doubt, Roy.”

Roy bristled. “Naturally I’d be pretty riled up if I thought the woman had come here with an ulterior motive, but I’m just not so sure that’s the case. Why, there are all sorts of reasons she might have chosen not to tell us about this baby. Maybe she needed to get out of town and she was afraid we wouldn’t want her if we knew she was near motherhood.”

Parker pursed his lips skeptically. “Why would she have to flee town?”

“Maybe the surroundings there reminded her of her husband and she couldn’t go on living there. There could be all sorts of reasons! Besides, even an oaf like me knows that fine society ladies don’t talk about intimate subjects like pregnancy, probably not even among themselves. So why should she feel the need to sound off about it to us?”

Parker nodded slowly. “I wondered if that was the situation.”

“Well of course it is.”

His brother’s blue eyes focused on him intently. “You surprise me, Roy.”

Roy tried to shrug off his brother’s piercing gaze. Forget Ellie’s ulterior motives. He was afraid Parker thought there was a reason he was defending her…aside from his understandable desire to be a good host. Which of course was all there was to it.

“Well for that matter, I’m not sure I’d want some woman bursting into song about some other man’s baby growing in her belly,” he grumbled. “Would you? Not that I’m squeamish, mind you, only it just doesn’t seem…seemly.”

Parker laughed. “Why, Roy—I never knew you had such delicate sensibilities!”

His cheeks heated and he sent his brother a thin-lipped glare. “Fine—go ask the woman if she’s got something in the oven, Parker. Mortify the supposed friend who travelled halfway across the country to visit you.”

“You’re right,” Parker said. “Shocked as I am to admit it.”

“I guess I know about as much about good manners as the next person. We shouldn’t be inhospitable to a guest.”

“All right then,” Parker said. “I’ll tell Ike that we should just ignore the whole subject…as long as it can be ignored.”

“Of course. Now that she’s here, the least we can do is make her feel welcome.”

When Parker left, Roy lay back against the pillows. The questions swirling around in his head exhausted him. Ellie was going to have a child? When? Why would she choose to visit a place as far removed from her world as Nebraska when it was so close to her time?

Oh, he had more doubts than he’d let on to Parker. For one thing, contrary to what he’d told his brother, he truly wondered whether Ellie hadn’t come here hoping to find a new father for her baby—a possibility that upset him far more than he would have ever admitted to his brother. And not just because he thought it would be underhanded of her, either. Not at all.