Wishing on Buttercups (17 page)

His mouth dropped open, and he stared.

“My thoughts exactly. Recently they asked me to do a series of four illustrations.” She picked up her tablet and flipped the pages. “This is the one I sent in a couple of weeks ago.”

He leaned closer and peered at the paper for long moments, not speaking.

When he sat back, she closed the pad. “I also received a letter asking me to include a picture of a boardinghouse in a small town set in the West.”

Jeffery choked on a sharp breath. When he regained his composure, he tapped the cover of the tablet. “I didn’t see anything like that in here.”

“No. I lost this before I got the letter. I purchased a new sketch pad, completed that drawing, and sent it off. Have you …”

“Gotten any proofs to look at yet?” He shook his head. “None. They have several of my completed chapters, though, and I assumed I’d be given the opportunity to view whatever they planned before the first installment goes to press.” He turned a hopeful gaze on her. “But you said they’ve only contracted four illustrations. If it were for my book, I’d think it would be more.”

She shrugged. “Maybe they plan on viewing what I send before they decide. I can’t say. And it’s very possible that my work isn’t tied to yours.”

“I’d say that’s highly unlikely. What are the odds we’d both be working for the same magazine with a boardinghouse included in the subject matter and it not be the same project?” His tone held a bitter tinge.

Beth nodded slowly. “You’re not happy about it.” She smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt as birds chirped overhead. Now that he knew it was possible she was the artist, their budding friendship would end. Just like every other friendship she’d had. People came close, then backed away as soon as they got wind of anything “unusual.”

At least Jeffery had the grace to duck his head. “You noticed. I’m s—.” He clamped his lips shut.

“You don’t need to say it, regardless. It
is
your manuscript, and you have a right to how you feel. In all fairness, I suppose I wouldn’t appreciate someone dabbling with my work, or telling me it wasn’t good enough to stand alone either.”

He cocked his brow. “You think I’m upset that
you
are the illustrator?”

She hunched one shoulder and turned her face away, staring out over the valley. “I gathered as much, yes. You needn’t deny it. I do understand.”

Jeffery shifted beside her and touched her chin, gently urging her to face him. “I do deny it, although not entirely.” His lips quirked in a rueful smile. “I was dismayed they thought my work couldn’t stand alone—angry if the truth was told.” He released his hold and tenderly moved one finger to the tip of her nose. “But it has nothing to do with you. I seriously contemplated rejecting their offer and continuing my quest for a publisher, in the hope my book would be printed in its entirety from the outset. But once I thought it through, I realized the serialization was an economic decision. After all, I’m an untested author with no following, and they’re taking a risk publishing me. If it were a typical dime novel, it might be different, but this is more of a literary work.”

Beth’s heart lurched at the swelling tumult of emotions created by his tender touch. She didn’t really know this man; how could she be drawn to him? Men weren’t to be trusted. Brent had spoken sweet words and declared his undying love, then disappeared. Jeffery had never indicated a personal interest beyond using their Christian names. Letting a man get close either emotionally or physically was not something she cared to attempt again.

A light breeze rustled the leaves, and Beth brushed a loose strand of hair off of her face. “I think I understand.”

“No. I don’t think you do, and I’m making a hash out of explaining.” Jeffery scrunched his brows. “It’s not you I’m upset with, or that they chose you to do my illustrations. It wouldn’t have mattered if they’d assigned the most famous artist in the nation, it still would have bothered me. At first, anyway.” He touched her hand. “But after seeing your incredible talent, I’m adjusting my attitude.” He squeezed her fingers lightly but didn’t let go. “If anyone can convey what I’m trying to say and bring attention to my words, it will be you.”

Peace settled again over Beth’s spirit, and for a moment, she was content to allow it to stroke her bruised heart. Sitting here with Jeffery felt so right, allowing him to hold her hand. She wanted to lean into his quiet strength.

Then reality intruded. She’d heard this type of thing before. Granted, not about her work, but she’d made friends among society people, only to have them back off when they discovered grains of truth about her past. Not that any
one
thing was so terrible to drive a normal person away, but the shadows that surrounded her—the unknown circumstances of her birth, childhood, and rescue—all these served to place a wall between her and possible happiness.

She’d learned long ago to keep herself covered, and not only in a physical sense. The scars were hard enough to explain, but trying to sort through all the questions Jeffery would ask was too much to deal with. And what of his family? From what she’d learned, he came from deep roots. She couldn’t allow herself to dream of a future with someone like him.

She scooped up the buttercup that had fallen to the ground. “You are too kind. I should be getting home. Aunt Wilma is probably wondering why I’ve stayed away so long.”

He studied her for several seconds, then stood and held out his hand, a careful expression masking his features. “Allow me.”

Guilt hammered at Beth, insisting on entry. He had wanted to discuss his manuscript, but she hadn’t given him a chance. The subject of her illustrations had arisen, and that brought with it the fear of discovery. She was choosing to run, like she always did. Beth placed her fingers in his, gratified that he hadn’t pushed. She needed time to sort through all the emotions swirling over this newest discovery.

Never would she have believed she’d be hired to create illustrations for Jeffery’s novel. She didn’t even know what the book was about, apart from the obvious setting of a boardinghouse in a mining town. That had been enough to keep her from wanting to know more, and now she regretted her hasty decision. Was it too late to take a step back—maybe suggest they sit and chat awhile longer?

Jeffery released his hold. “I’ll walk you to the house if you’d like, then I will retire to my room.” He swept the rug from the ground and offered his arm.

Beth hesitated, stung at his aloof manner. But what should she expect? He had complimented her work, and she had as good as thrown his words back at him. She took his arm, knowing this wasn’t the time to try to set things right. That had been done too many times today, and from the look on his face, another attempt would only transform that hardness to marble.

They walked down the hillside in silence. When they reached the trail, Beth stepped out ahead of him, moving along the path that bordered a meadow on one side. They neared the place where she had fallen and pitched her tablet. A shiver of awareness ran along her skin. She worked to still her rapid breathing.

Beth hazarded a glance at Jeffery, then quickly turned forward. Stoic calm covered his face with no hint of the emotions cascading through her. They’d started out so amiably, only to come to this—silence. A hush that didn’t denote the peaceful stroll of two friends lost in their own thoughts. No, this was more of a brooding silence of disillusionment or, at best, disappointment. And it was her doing.

Again.

They passed the place where Jeffery had gathered her into his arms. Could his heart be pounding at the same rate as hers?

Up ahead, a boot scraped over a log and someone grunted. Surely Aunt Wilma wouldn’t worry and come to check on her? Though, after the doubt she’d expressed about Beth’s behavior, it was very possible.

They rounded a corner to see a finely clad, masculine figure stopped in the middle of the path, the house visible not far beyond. A delighted smile tipped his mouth, and his arms were crossed over his chest. “There you are, Beth. I thought I’d never find you. But now that I have, I will not let you get away again.”

Beth stumbled and nearly fell. Jeffery’s hand grasped her wrist and steadied her, setting her back to rights. All other sensations faded as she stared into the smoldering gaze of Brent Wentworth.

Chapter Eighteen

La Grande, Oregon

Isabelle Mason stood on the edge of the boardwalk in front of the stage station, praying her strength would hold up until her son arrived. Steven had been gone over two weeks with only one letter. He’d assured her of his safety and advised that his employer was taking advantage of every daylight hour while in Baker City, so he’d been unable to write more often. He hadn’t said a word about the other affair, but right now that didn’t matter. Nothing did but having her son back home.

People bustled by, intent on their own errands. Isabelle clung to the hitching-rail post, barely able to stand. Thank the Lord no horses were tied nearby. She cast a glance at the two chairs to the right of the open doorway. Two old-timers sat tipped back against the wall, chewing the fat as though they hadn’t spoken in years. She wouldn’t disturb them, although she was certain they’d willingly give up their seat for her. No, the stage would soon be here, and then she’d have to get on her feet again, in any case.

Maybe she should have listened to Karen and stayed home, letting Steven come to her. She had been certain she could walk from the cabin to the station, but it suddenly dawned on her she still faced the return trip. Urgency had driven her from the confines of her home. She’d walked the five blocks—something she’d not attempted in months. She must see Steven. Must know if he’d stumbled across any information. Why didn’t the stage come? Her arms trembled as she tightened her grip, determined to stay on her feet and greet her son. She’d been ill too long and hated this terrible weakness.

A rumble in the distance, accompanied by a cloud of dust spewing into the air, signaled the stage’s arrival. She lifted the watch that hung on a chain around her neck—a precious gift from her father and one of the few family treasures she still retained. Right on time. She must have arrived earlier than she’d realized.

A man stepped up beside her and doffed his hat. “Ma’am.”

Isabelle didn’t reply. There wasn’t an extra ounce of strength left in her limbs to so much as lift her hand or nod.

He touched her shoulder. “Are you all right, ma’am? Would you like to take a seat under the porch roof?”

She swayed slightly. “No. Thank you.”

His brows scrunched together. “I fear you aren’t well. Please—”

The stage rounded the corner a block away, the driver pulling back on the reins of his team. The springs protested, and dust rolled as the horses trotted the remaining distance. “Whoa there, fellas. You’ve earned your rest. This here is the end of the road for today.” He leaned over the side and spat, then waved to the man standing beside Isabelle. “Grab the hitch line and tie them up, would you, mister?”

The door swung open, and Steven stepped out, his short hair covered by a hat. A fine coat of dust layered his suit, and he appeared weary. A smile flitted briefly, then he helped two ladies alight from the stage.

Isabelle’s heart soared, and strength spurted through her body. Her boy was home. No harm had befallen him as she’d feared as she’d lain sleepless all those nights.

He turned, and a wide smile broke the solemn planes of his face. “Ma. I didn’t expect you to meet me.” Plucking his valise off the ground, he tucked it under his arm. “Let’s get you home.”

She loosened her grip on the rail and extended her hand. All would be well now that Steven was home. He’d have good news at last, and her world would be back to rights again. She took a step. Her knees started to shake and she wobbled, then caught herself.

“Ma? You all right?” Concern laced Steven’s tone, and he dropped his valise.

“Fine. Fine.” Black spots danced before her eyes, and she wobbled again. Hands reached toward her through the dark haze, but she couldn’t make out a face.

Beth gaped at the man standing before her and tried to gather her wits. Brent Wentworth in Baker City? She’d never expected to see him again. Confusion exploded inside, quickly replaced by a raw, burning anger. This man had deserted her after filling her head with tales of love and commitment. How dare he follow her here?

Jeffery stepped up beside her. “Beth? Do you know this man?”

She gave him a firm nod. “I used to. He is …
was
… a … an acqaintance of mine in Topeka.” Beth didn’t miss the wince that passed across Brent’s face. “But that was a long time ago.” She lifted her chin and drilled Brent with her gaze. “This is Mr. Tucker. Jeffery, this is Mr. Wentworth.”

Jeffery didn’t move or offer his hand. “Mr. Wentworth. Did Mrs. Roberts send you to find Beth?”

Brent assessed Jeffery with a calculating stare, then shot a glance at the house. “I didn’t stop. She’s not aware I’m in town yet.” He tilted his head to Beth and smiled. “I asked around and discovered where you were staying. I remembered how much you enjoy walking in the afternoon, and I waited, hoping to accompany you.” He cast a dark look at Jeffery. “I’m sorry I missed the opportunity.” He took a step forward and extended his arm. “I’d like to talk with you alone, if you’d give me a minute of your time?”