Authors: Tamera Alexander
Remembered (24 page)
The hour was still early, so only a few folks braved the morning’s chill. Jack glanced at the empty place beside him on the bench seat. Funny, even though they’d only been on one trip together, it felt sort of odd not having her—
‘ ‘Monsieur Brennan!”
He pulled back on the reins, wondering if he was imagining her voice.
But when he spotted Véronique striding toward him, her cheeks flushed, a scowl darkening her pretty face, and the fancy little feathered hat atop her head bobbing up and down, he knew he hadn’t imagined it. And he also knew that she was
très
unhappy about something.
M
ONSIEUR
B
RENNAN,
may I ask why you are departing town at this hour?”
Holding the reins in check, Jack couldn’t help but grin at the smartness of her tone and the way her tiny hands were knotted on her slender hips. Her frown deepened, and he guessed that humor was apparently not the reaction she’d hoped for.
“Good morning, Véronique. How are you today?”
Momentary shyness replaced her frown, as though she only now realized what a serious breach of etiquette she’d committed by addressing him so curtly. This woman was indeed a handful.
Jack eyed her fancy getup, the rich purple skirt and matching jacket. Her sleeves had little flowers sewn on the edges, same as graced the front of her jacket. What exactly had this woman done, or been, back in Paris? If Sampson at the livery knew, he’d never let on. Whatever her occupation before Willow Springs, her budget on clothing had been exorbitant. But he had to admit, the garments suited her.
“Good morning . . . Jack. I am well,
merci
.” She offered a cursory smile—just enough to satisfy the merest guideline of etiquette—then indulged her previous frown. “I will ask you again,
s’il vous plaît
. Why are you departing with
my
wagon at this early hour?”
“I’d think it would be obvious, ma’am. I’m heading out of town on a supply run.”
She stepped closer. Her brown eyes flashed. “And to what destination are you . . .
headed
?”
Her strident voice sliced a portion of Jack’s humor. “To Duke’s Run, Véronique. One of the mining towns Scoggins mentioned to us the other day.”
She nodded. “And why, may I ask, was I not informed of this trip? Only yesterday you said our next journey would be on Friday of this week. And yet, here you are” —she made a sweeping gesture with her arm, her voice growing louder—“supplies loaded and secured, and not a word to me about this premeditated and deliberate expedition!”
“Actually, ma’am,” Jack said, working to keep his tone light, aware of the attention of curious onlookers, “the use of premeditated and deliberate in the same sentence is redundant. Since the word
premeditated
actually means to think, consider, or deliberate beforehand.” He winked and nodded at the reticule hanging on her arm, hoping to ease her ill temper. “You can check your little book on that one, if you’d like. Now if you’ll please get into the—”
“Ah!” Her mouth dropped open. Her face turned three shades of crimson. “Why you did not inform me of this trip?”
At the undainty stomp of her foot, Jack’s own face heated. He kept his voice low. “Véronique, please get into the wagon and we’ll—” “Please provide an answer to my question, monsieur!”
His patience went paper-thin as two shop owners appeared on the boardwalk, evidently enjoying the scene before them, their grins amused. He looked back at her. “We had an agreement on the front end, mademoiselle, that the trips involving an—”
“
Oui!
And you have apparently set aside our agreement with no concern for our discussed terms. I demand that you—”
He set the brake and jumped down. Managing a stiff smile at the men on the boardwalk, he gently took hold of Véronique’s arm and leaned close. “I’m asking that you please get into the wagon, mademoiselle. I’ll gladly discuss this with you
again
, at great length, but only in a more private setting.”
She glanced about, then raised her chin in an imperious fashion. “I will go with you, but only because I consider it prudent to do so.”
Jack took a calming breath and aided her ascent into the wagon. “And we both know you’re nothing if not prudent.”
She spun on the seat. “What was that you said?”
He climbed up beside her and released the brake. “I said such prudence becomes you, ma’am.”
Jack guided the wagon down a lesser-used side street and reined in. She was staring straight ahead, jaw tense, her posture straight as a board, and with an aura about as welcoming.
“Mademoiselle, we clearly have had a misunderstanding.”
“
Oui
, and I am thinking you believe it is
my
fault.”
Sighing, Jack removed his hat and scratched the back of his head. “I honestly haven’t gotten that far in my thinking. You give me too much credit if you think I have. I’m just trying to figure out what’s got you so all-fired angry.” Seeing her pert little mouth drop open, he held up a hand. “I offer you my apology if I misrepresented anything about our travels to these towns together. But I thought I made it perfectly clear, Véronique, that you would
not
be accompanying me on the overnight trips.”
That pert little mouth clamped shut. But only briefly. “I remember our discussion quite well, Jack. I also remember voicing my concern regarding my personal interests being properly managed in my absence.” She turned toward him on the seat. “I have given more thought to the subject at hand. With you being in my employ, and understanding that we are both two mature adults, I desire to broach the subject again.”
Jack stared, not following. “You desire to broach what subject again?”
She huffed softly. “The subject of the overnight trips. I am certain I could manage to find an appropriate
chaperon
, and therefore would be able to confirm for myself whether my father has been in that particu—”
“That subject is not open for discussion, mademoiselle.”
A single manicured brow arched in determination. “Let us not forget who is the employee here, monsieur, and who is the
patronne
.”
“I’m hardly forgetting that, ma’am. But let’s also not forget who’s the man, and who’s the woman.” As he had anticipated, her eyes widened. “I realize, more than I care to distinguish in conversation, what differences there are in our genders. Suffice it to say—” he paused and looked at her pointedly—“
please
, let it suffice to say . . . that while I consider traveling with you to be a pleasure, it also presents a . . . challenge, from time to time.”
She stared at him, unflinching. “I am aware of these . . . challenges. Christophe has told me of such things. But I was also under the impression that a gentleman possesses the ability to not act on such challenges, even though he may be tempted to do so.”
Jack looked away. He suddenly felt like a schoolboy attempting to explain why he’d been caught cheating on a test. Why was nothing ever easy with this woman? And how could he explain this to her without embarrassing them both?
And who on earth is Christophe?!
Then it hit him. “Have you ever walked by a dress shop, Véronique, and had something catch your eye? Say a dress or a bonnet?”
She shook her head, laughing. “Certainly not here in Willow Springs.”
Jack bit the inside of his cheek. “In Paris, then. Use your imagination, please.”
She gave him a curt look. “
Oui
, I have experienced this. What woman has not?”
“Very good, we’re getting somewhere. Say that when you left the house that morning you had no intention of shopping for a dress or a bonnet. You were on your way to the mercantile to do your shopping.” Anticipating the shake of her head, he quickly added, “Or on your way to see a friend. You
did
visit friends on occasion in Paris, did you not?”
Again, the look. “
Oui
, I visited friends. On occasion.” She mimicked his tone.
“Wonderful.” He ignored it. “You’re passing by this dress shop, and a bonnet in the window draws your attention.” He shrugged. “You don’t need a bonnet, you weren’t thinking about bonnets. But nevertheless, there it is, and you’re thinking about it now. In fact, you find you can think of nothing else but that bonnet.”
She looked at him as though he had sprouted another head. “There is nothing wrong with thinking about a bonnet.”
Jack slowly exhaled through his teeth. “Mademoiselle, you do realize this is an analogy. Correct?”
Her expression clouded. She reached for her reticule and pulled the tiny book from within. As she turned the pages with enthusiasm, Jack rested his forehead in his hands.
She whispered under her breath as she read. “Ah . . .” She looked up again, her expression brightening. “The story you are telling bears resemblance to the subject at hand,
non
? I will be able to draw a comparison between the two when you have reached the conclusion.”
Jack didn’t dare blink. “That is my sincerest hope, mademoiselle.”
She looked at him through squinted eyes. “Continue with your . . . analogy,
s’il vous plaît
.”
“Okay, where were we . . . ?”
“I have seen the bonnet,” she supplied in a none-too-serious tone. “I do not need a bonnet, but I find I can think of nothing else but that bonnet.”
Jack quelled the urge to throttle her, quite a challenge in itself. He cleared his throat. “You go into the dress shop to inqui—”
“Millinery, you mean.”
“What?”
“I would see a bonnet in a millinery, Jack. A hat store. Not a dress shop.”
He ran a hand over his face. “Fine. As I was saying . . . you go into the
hat store
and inquire about the bonnet. But as it turns out, you don’t have the means to buy it. Nor do you have the right to—”
“But what if I do possess the means to buy it?”
He sighed. “For the sake of the analogy, Véronique, let’s say that you do not.”
Frowning, she nodded.
“So not only do you not have the money to purchase the bonnet, you also realize that you don’t have the right to buy it. Because the bonnet is being held for someone else.”
“For whom is it being held?”
“It doesn’t matter
for whom
. The point is—”
“Because in the most prestigious shops in Paris, you may only hold a bonnet for one day. If you do not return with payment within that time, then—”
“It’s being held in the interest of someone who is the rightful owner of that bonnet.” He silenced further interruption with a raised forefinger. “Though this person has not yet purchased the bonnet, though she has never seen it, she is the rightful owner. Because when the seamstress created this special bonnet, she had that particular customer in mind. She uniquely fashioned it for that person. And for no one else.” He waited, frustrated, fearing he’d made a mess of things in trying to paint a more vivid picture for her. He wondered why he’d even attempted to explain it in the first place. “For you to demand ownership of that bonnet just because you saw it and wanted it, though it seemed like the perfect fit and selection for you at that particular moment, would be wrong.” He held her gaze. “Are you following this story at all?”
She stared at him for a moment, giving a faint nod. A light slowly dawned in her eyes, then flickered and died. “
Non
, I am afraid I do not. I understand wanting the bonnet, and . . . almost I can imagine not having the means to purchase it, but that is where my understanding parts most abruptly with your story.” She reached out and patted his hand. “I am sorry, Jack.”
Jack closed his eyes, unable to look at her as he spoke next. “If you and I were to travel together on these overnight trips, Véronique, the temptation for me to want to be closer to you could present itself . . . from time to time.”
Would
present itself, and often, if his unexpected reaction to her now was any indication. How could he so desire silence from a woman while also wanting to kiss her . . . thoroughly. He blinked to clear his imagination. “I do not want to put myself—or you—in that circumstance. I
will
not put us in that circumstance, mademoiselle. And I humbly ask that you
please
not pursue this subject further. Now, or in the future.”
When he finally lifted his head, she had turned away.
All at once, he felt clumsy and boorish. “It was not my intention to offend you, Véronique. I was trying to do just the opposite, in fact. I’m sorry.”
When she looked back, unshed tears filled her eyes. “
Au contraire
. . . You have not offended me, Jack. You have made me want for home, and for my conversations with Christophe.” She nodded, her smile fragile. “I understand your story now and will abide by your wish. I give you my word not to broach this subject again.”
Jack let out a held breath. “And I give you my word, Véronique, that I will be your mouthpiece in these towns when you are not with me. I’ll seek information on your father, I’ll follow every lead.” He caught her eye and smiled. “As though you were standing right beside me, with my rifle aimed and at the ready.”
She chuckled and tears slipped down her cheeks.
But Jack resisted the urge to catch them, recalling in vivid detail what it had been like to be with Mary as her husband, and how she had responded to him when he had comforted her at times like this, when her emotions were tender and raw. His body responded to the memory, and to the woman sitting beside him, and he hungered for the intimacies shared between a husband and his wife.
Desire fed imagination, and imagination needed no prompting.
He made himself look away from Véronique, knowing full well that for him to console her now would be like him opening the door to the millinery . . . ever so slightly.
B
E MINDFUL OF THE PASS
on your way up to the Peerless today, Brennan.” Monsieur Hochstetler paused from his task, and Véronique read warning in his expression. “Remember, right around Maynor’s Gulch is where Zimmerman went—”
“Will do, Mr. Hochstetler. Thank you!” Jack’s quick response seemed a bit overly sincere, even for him. “I appreciate your advice.”
