Romancing the West (11 page)

Artists have to stick together.

Maybe, just maybe, her luck was changing for the better. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you stayed on a week or so.” She had the ridiculous urge to whoop and kick up her heels. Instead, she walked calmly out-doors, toward the house, Pinkerton at her side. “About your name,” she ventured.

“What about it?”

“You brought it up earlier. As if there was a problem.”

“Ah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was going to suggest that we dispense with formalities.”

She pondered that. “I feel funny calling you Phineas. Somehow it doesn’t suit you. No disrespect intended.”

“None taken. Trust me. Not a name of my choosing.”

“What should I call you then?”

He grasped her forearm, saving her from another fall when she slipped on the wet grass. “How about
friend?”

He’d expected her to ask him to put the fear of God into Cole Sawyer. To threaten her blackmailer. To plug a pheasant for dinner. Shooting lessons never entered Seth’s mind.

“I have the entire afternoon free,” she informed him as she loped down the stairs sporting two tight braids and loose men’s clothing.

He fixated on those suspenders. Normally he wouldn’t be so all-fired fascinated, but they accentuated her small, firm breasts. Not that he had any business considering the breasts of his boss’s future wife, but he’d gotten a peek at them compliments of her thin chemise and they’d been on his mind since.
Stop staring, start detecting.
“Library closed today?”

“Operating hours are Monday through Friday, ten to five.”

“Been working there long?”

“A year. It doesn’t pay much, but the benefits are priceless.”

“Benefits?”

“Being surrounded by books.” She breezed past him, wrenched open a door and reached for something in the back of the closet. The trousers stretched and emphasized her backside. Another tantalizing vision he could have done without. Damn Josh for waylaying his tumble at Fletcher’s. Surely his over-appreciation of the quirky librarian’s physical attributes was due to his lack of physical intimacy with a Calico Queen.

What were they talking about? Ah, yes. Books.

She backed out of the closet, armed. “I’ve spent the past three months honing my sharp shooting skills.”

“With that?” An older-than-dirt 14-gauge double-barrel shotgun. He couldn’t imagine her muscling the long gun. He could imagine the kick knocking her on her pretty backside.
Don’t think about your boss’s lady’s backside.

“It’s the only thing I have. Father kept it for protection, although I’m not sure he knew how to use it.”

“Do you?”

She smiled.

Okay. He was charmed. Charmed and intrigued. Emily McBride was an enigma. A mystery he wanted to solve. He’d never been able to ignore a woman in distress. Normally, they welcomed his aid. Not this one. She wanted to solve her own problems and that it involved
honing her sharp shooting
concerned and impressed him at the same time.

What had caused her to storm the barn in a panic? Although her explanation had amused him, he knew a lie when he heard it. What was she scared of? What was she hiding? He’d wager she had more than one secret. He itched to learn each one. Paris had suggested that he earn Emily’s confidence. Assimilating their conversations thus far, he concluded her weakness was her love of literature. She’d confide in a poet. The lawman she’d send packing.

Pinkerton it was.

She stroked the walnut stock, sighed. “Sorry to say the locking mechanism busted a couple of days ago. I wanted to take it into town to see if it could be fixed but thought better of it. Thought, if someone, you know like a criminal-sort--”

“You mean blackmailer.”

“--trespassed, I should have a weapon to threaten them with.”

“Only it’s busted.”

“They wouldn’t know that.” He frowned at her reasoning. “I can argue a gopher into climbing a tree,” she said with confidence. “By the time I finished spinning my tale, they’d believe the gun was loaded and that I had no qualms about giving them a belly full.”

“Have you had to test that theory?”

“No.”

“No criminal-sorts, no trespassers, no one lurking about?”

“Not that I’ve seen.” She turned her back, wedged the weapon into the corner of the closet, and dragged out a box filled with empty bottles and cans. “For target practice,” she explained.

Seth nudged her aside and pulled the box into the hall. He eyed the shotgun. “Looks like a Parker Brothers.”

“One of their first.”

“Locking mechanism’s operated by a lever under the breech mechanism. Crude and inconvenient. You’d be better off with a newer model. Better yet, purchase a Remington.”

“I wouldn’t have expected a poet to know so much about guns.”

“I could say the same for a librarian.”

She quirked a shy smile. “At any rate, I’ve decided a shotgun doesn’t suit my purpose. I’m interested in purchasing a revolver. Easier to travel with.”

“Going somewhere?”

“Eventually.”

Mrs. Dunlap waddled out of the kitchen with a picnic basket. “I made you young’uns something to eat.”

“We just had breakfast a couple of hours ago.”

“Mr. Pinkerton had breakfast.
You
had a biscuit. Besides, this is for later.” She looped the basket over Emily’s arm and disappeared back into the kitchen.

“She worries about you,” Seth said.

Emily shut the closet door with her hip. “I worry about her.”

“What’s her story?”

“I’ll fill you in later,” she whispered. “Her memory’s iffy, but her hearing’s just fine.”

Seth nodded and hefted the box of targets. He doubted she’d hit a third of what she aimed at. A shotgun and revolver were two different animals.

“Speaking of stories,” Emily said as they neared the front door. “I do a bit of writing myself.”

“Paris mentioned.”

“I was wondering if, later, well, if you might be willing to help me with a pesky plot point?”

“Sure.” In his youth he’d been an avid reader. Hopefully that, logic, and a bit of imagination would be enough.

“Good. Great. Thank you.”

She didn’t look at him, but he could feel her pleasure. Yup. For sure and certain he’d know her secrets within two days, if not sooner. Then it was a matter of dealing with the blackmailer. He was used to wrangling murderers and thieves. A spineless bully would pose little challenge. Less of a challenge than delivering Athens’s proposal and obtaining a favorable reply. What had she said to Sawyer?
The last thing I want or need is a husband.

My kind of woman, Seth thought with a wry grin and quickly shunned the notion. That kind of trouble he didn’t want or need.

Territory of Arizona

This was a bad idea. He knew it. Yet it didn’t stop him. In fact, he’d had to caution himself not to run. Twice between his house and hers, Athens had had the overwhelming urge to sprint. Now that he was standing on her veranda his heart thumped as hard and fast as if he’d done just that.

“You’re an idiot, Garrett.” Even now, Seth could be reading his proposal of marriage to Emily. Regardless, Athens knocked on Kaila Dillingham’s front door.

He knew where she lived because he and Zoe had walked her home yesterday. She’d invited them inside, but he’d declined. He needed to get his daughter home, needed to address that fight with Zach. He also needed to burn the midnight oil, reviewing several criminal cases, only he’d ended up burning for the Englishwoman instead. He’d tossed and turned reflecting on her in those bloomers, in his arms. Imagining her out of those bloomers and in his bed. The images had been erotic and unrelenting. Restful sleep, even after self-satisfaction, had proved impossible.

Since moving to Phoenix, he’d been obsessed with establishing the Peacemaker Alliance, going so far as to work seven days a week. He couldn’t focus on those files any more today than he could last night. Maybe if he saw her again, talked to her, maybe the intense infatuation would cease. Maybe he’d learn she was pretentious or ignorant. Or that he’d been blinded by the sun and she was, in fact, butt ugly.

The door swung open.

Or not.

“Mr. Garrett.”

“Mrs. Dillingham.”

He took off his hat and fingered the brim as he grappled for a sane thought. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. It was more than her striking face and figure. She exuded a raw sensuality that summoned his most primal urges. The devil of it was she personified sophistication. Her green bustled gown was European chic. Her fiery red hair tamed and twisted into, what did they call it, a chignon. He visualized pulling loose the hairpins, one by one, and setting free thick, long ringlets. Erotic images filled his head. The same as last night only more intense because here she was. In the flesh.

She peered around him. “You’re alone?”

“Parker, my assistant, took Zach and Zoe over to watch the J.P. Fishburn outfit pitch a big top tent. Although I think they’re more interested in catching a peek at an elephant, Parker included. A traveling circus rolled into town this morning,” he explained, wondering if he sounded as foolish as he felt.

“I read the posted advertisements regarding their performances. I’m most keen on attending.” She fingered a locket around her neck, calling attention to her left hand. Yesterday she’d worn a wedding band. This morning it was conspicuously absent. “You look surprised.”

He started to comment on the ring then realized they’d been speaking of the circus. “I would have figured you a fan of more highbrow entertainment.”

“Such as the opera?” She smiled, and his heart rate tripled. “I’ve been to dozens of operas, Mr. Garrett. I’ve never been to a circus.”

That was his cue to invite her, but the words stuck in his throat. He hadn’t courted a woman in years. He wasn’t free to start now, what with his impending engagement.

“I was hoping you would call,” she said, filling the awkward silence. “I wanted to apologize for my brisk manner yesterday. It would seem I’m not entirely fond of heights.”

“Yet you climbed up after Zoe.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t realize I’d developed a fear until it was too late. Nevertheless, I was, as Zoe pointed out, flustered. Thank you again for saving me from a potentially disastrous fall and the embarrassment of having to walk home in my bloomers. If your daughter hadn’t recovered my skirt . . .” She shook her head, laughed. “Although, perhaps the risqué scene would’ve increased business at Cafe Poppy. People wandering in for a firsthand look at the scandalous Englishwoman. If I could just get them through the door . . . But I digress.

“To show my appreciation, I baked a sugar cake for you and the children. Zoe seemed fond of my Ginger cookies and I’m rather fond of baking. I was going to bring it over, but here you are and . . .” She waved off her words. “I’m babbling. How did your talk with Zach go?”

Generous, good humored, and sensitive. Just his luck. “I managed not to whup him. Barely.” He smiled as her cheeks burned brighter. “Where’d you hear that term anyway?”

“Zoe.”

“Ah.”  Sultry eyes.   Sultry voice.  
That accent.
Besotted. He was utterly, hopelessly besotted. He fingered sweat from his brow.

“Where are my manners? We should be having this discussion inside where it’s cooler.” She opened the door wider, a silent invitation.

“Bad idea.”

“Why?”

“Best not to put it into words.” He saw mutual desire sparking in those brown eyes, felt himself harden. He subtly lowered his hat to crotch level. Good God.

She smiled. “I had intended an afternoon stroll. Would you like to join me, Mr. Garrett?”

“I would.” In truth, he had other ideas, but he’d take what he could get.