Authors: Alice Duncan
“There’s
no need to apologize. I’m sure you have many duties. Please feel free
to dine with me, though. I’d enjoy your company.”
“You
would? I mean—thank you, I will be happy to take breakfast with you
in the morning. Most mornings.”
Looking
around with a smile, Tom said, “This is really a beautiful place.
If I’d known how pretty California was, I might have visited Uncle
Gordon once or twice. As it is—especially in light of his remarkable
generosity to me—I regret that I didn’t.”
“He
would have enjoyed your visits,” Claire said softly. She smiled at
Jedediah, who had joined them. Tom was, she noted, taller than Jedediah.
His limp gave him an aura of intrigue sadly lacking in the kind-hearted
accountant, too. Jedediah Silver, while an admirable person, was not
a man to stir one’s passions. At least he left Claire’s passions
unstirred.
“Yes.
Well, my life didn’t allow much time for visiting, I’m afraid.”
“No.
I’m sure that’s the case.”
“Mr.
Silver and I were discussing how much my uncle Gordon valued your services,
Miss Montague.”
“You
were? How very kind!” Claire felt ridiculously pleased.
“Indeed,
the late Mr. Partington held you in the greatest esteem, Miss Montague,”
Jedediah said. He smiled at her, too, and Claire decided the day wasn’t
half as bleak as it had been earlier, even without the glorious weather.
“We
were going out to the barn, Miss Montague. Would you like to join us?
Mr. Silver thinks my ambition to breed Appaloosas might be on its way
to being realized.”
“That’s
wonderful, Mr. Partington. I went to the library and found this book
about horse ranching. I’m afraid there isn’t anything in it about
Appaloosas.” She felt silly talking about horses, although in truth
she knew quite a bit about them as she’d had to research horses in
order to add veracity to her novels.
“Why,
for heaven’s sake,” Tom exclaimed. “Thank you very much. May I
take a look at that book, Miss Montague?”
“Certainly.
It deals primarily with equine ranching and mentions only a couple of
breeds in depth.”
He
gave her such a warm look, Claire could not maintain his scrutiny, but
felt compelled to drop her gaze.
“I
feel honored that you would go to the bother, Miss Montague.”
“It
was nothing, really,” she said in a stifled voice. He was such a gentleman!
Why, he just took her breath away.
He
walked beside her all the way to the barn, which perched atop a grassy
slope. It was used at present to house the Partington cattle, two Morgan
horses Gordon had kept for riding, two mules used for plowing, and a
big rawboned farm horse.
With
a sweeping gesture, Jedediah said, “You see, these fields are generally
planted with alfalfa, but it’s not crop that Gordon found particularly
profitable. You could build stables here, and a couple of corrals over
there. I think it would work quite nicely as a horse ranch, Mr. Partington.”
“My,
yes,” Claire added, getting into the spirit of Tom’s new venture.
“And if you needed to grow fodder for the horses, why, the old beet
field could be converted. I don’t believe Gordon cared much for beets.”
Tom
chuckled, sending a warm feeling sliding around through Claire’s middle.
She looked at him and found him smiling at her in quite a friendly fashion.
“You
truly are a paragon, Miss Montague.”
“Nonsense!”
“Well,
Claire has a sensible idea there, anyway.” Jedediah stopped speaking
suddenly, his attention diverted. Squinting toward the house, he murmured,
“I say, isn’t that somebody drawing into the drive?”
They
all turned to look down the hill where, sure enough, a carriage had
just been driven down the circular driveway. It stopped in front of
the door, and a gentleman emerged. He appeared to be carrying a large
package under his arm.
“Oh,
good Lord, I believe it’s Mr. Oliphant.” Horrified, Claire turned
to face Tom and Jedediah. “If you two gentlemen will please pardon
me, I’d better see what he wants.”
Without
giving them time to answer, she hurried down the hill.
“Who’s
Mr. Oliphant?” Tom stared after Claire, puzzled by her abrupt departure
and her even more abrupt descent into nervousness. She’d seemed really
excited about the horses. When she relaxed like that, she was an extraordinarily
appealing woman. Not a beauty perhaps, but quite attractive in her own
way. And she’d actually seemed to be interested in horse ranching.
He breathed deeply of the fresh morning air, and decided there was more
to like about California than the weather.
“I
think he has something to do with those books you hate so much,” Jedediah
said with a grin.
“Oh,
no! You don’t mean to tell me Uncle Gordon wrote one that’s going
to come out now, even after he’s dead?”
“Well,
as to that, I can’t tell you.”
“You’re
his man of affairs. Don’t you know about his books?”
Shaking
his head, Jedediah muttered, “I don’t know a blessed thing about
any books. If he wrote them, he sure kept it a secret from me.”
Tom
looked at him, puzzled. “I don’t understand. I wonder if he kept
separate ledgers and accounts for his writing enterprise. He must have
made a fortune with those damned books.”
“I
expect so. They’re everywhere.”
“I
know.”
Jedediah
laughed. “Aw‚ don’t sound so gloomy about ‘em! You’re famous
now, because of those books.”
“Maybe.
But I didn’t want to be famous. All I wanted was to do my job and
someday raise horses.”
“Well,
it looks as though you’re getting your wishes, in spite of the books.”
Tom
smiled, his moment of irritation lifting. “You’re right. And I guess
I shouldn’t be too hard on Uncle Gordon. He did all right by me. And
he brightened my mother’s life a lot. There’s something about knowing
you’re making a man miserable that seems to make women happy.”
Tom’s
words provoked another hearty laugh from Jedediah. “I’m afraid I
don’t know much about that. I don’t know much about women, in fact.”
“You’re
not alone there,” Tom said with a sigh. “Miss Montague’s about
the only good woman I’ve talked to for five years or more. I’m afraid
the frontier attracts a certain type of man, and a certain type of female
generally follows.”
Jedediah
went so far as to blush, a fact Tom considered astonishing until he
remembered that this part of California had been more or less civilized
for a number of years now. He muttered, “Didn’t mean to shock you,
Mr. Silver.”
“No,
no. Of course not.”
Now
he was embarrassed. Tom could tell. He turned back to a view of his
pastures-to-be and said a little cynically, “But there are several
genuine ladies around here. I have to watch myself.”
Jedediah
cleared his throat. “I see. Well, yes, I can understand how it must
be.”
Chuckling,
Tom asked, “Can you?”
Blushing
even more hotly, Jedediah said fervently, “No. Actually, I can’t.
I’d give anything to have had your experiences, Mr. Partington. My
life has been so—so—so damnably dull!”
Tom
could tell it took a lot for Jedediah to utter his mild blasphemy, and
he felt like sighing. “You’ve read those lousy books, haven’t
you?”
“I
must admit that I have.”
“And
you believed them.”
Looking
terribly embarrassed, Jedediah mumbled, “Well, I suppose I did. To
a degree.”
“Hmmmm.”
“You
have to admit your life has been more fascinating than that of an accountant,
Mr. Partington.”
“I’d
love to have had the opportunity to be an accountant, Mr. Silver.”
“I
don’t believe it for a minute.”
This
time Tom did sigh. “It’s the truth, though. But let’s talk about
something else for a while, shall we? Tell me, Mr. Silver, do you know
many of the residents of the Pyrite Arms? Miss Montague seems to set
quite a store by the artists who live there.”
Taking
his cue with good grace, Jedediah said, “Yes. The residents of the
Pyrite Arms are all well known in Pyrite Springs. And Miss St. Sauvre,
well. . . .” Jedediah’s words trickled out. Tom got the impression
he didn’t quite have the proper ones with which to describe the angelic
Miss St. Sauvre.
“Yes,
indeed. I understand Miss Montague is going to be setting up one of
her evening art things, and Miss St. Sauvre will attend. With the rest
of them, of course. You are cordially invited, too.”
Jedediah
brightened, embarrassment forgotten in a flash. “That would be splendid,
Mr. Partington. I’ll enjoy that.”
All
at once, Tom decided there was one custom prevailing in civilization
that annoyed him. “Do you suppose I could convince you to call me
Tom, Mr. Silver? I’m not used to being called Mr. anything.”
“Of
course. If you will reciprocate, and call me Jedediah.”
Jedediah
looked quite pleased, and Tom congratulated himself on having performed
a civil social function without blundering. He actually rubbed his hands
together.
“Good.
Well, then, Jedediah, let’s talk horses.”
Chapter 5
Claire’s
heart was battering her ribs like an artillery barrage and her lungs
were fairly bursting by the time she reached the house. Corsets, she
decided, were not designed to assist ladies in the act of running.
She
couldn’t stop, though. Panic propelled her. When she’d seen Mr.
Oliphant with those books under his arm, sheer terror had seized her
and she’d felt compelled to reach him, thrust him into the house,
and hide him somewhere—anywhere—before Tom Partington could discover
her black secret.
Mr.
Oliphant apparently heard her dashing down the drive towards him, because
he whirled around, his round, usually benign face registering alarm.
When he saw Claire, he smiled, and his plump cheeks turned rosy.
“Miss
Montague! What a delight to see you, my dear.”
Gasping
for air, Claire managed to wheeze, “Mr. Oliphant!” Then she grasped
the pillar supporting the porch awning, pressed a hand to her heaving
bosom, and hoped she wouldn’t faint and disgrace herself.
Scruggs
opened the door and blinked at her. Then he blinked at Mr. Oliphant.
Claire couldn’t speak yet, but managed to wave her hand in a gesture
entreating Mr. Oliphant to enter the house. She wanted him off the porch
this instant, in case Tom should happen to decide to investigate the
visitor.
“Are
you all right, Miss Montague?”
Mr.
Oliphant’s polite question bespoke only honest concern for her health,
but Claire wasn’t in a mood to be impressed that a publisher’s representative
should exhibit a spurt of human kindness. She actually stamped her foot
and hissed raggedly, “Get into the house!” Then, using her last
ounce of energy, she shoved him. Mr. Oliphant stumbled into the cool,
tiled entryway of Partington Place, bumping into Scruggs, who danced
backwards under the blow.
When
both men stopped staggering, they gaped at her. After Claire caught
her breath, she realized they’d been staring at her in silence for
at least two or three seconds. She smiled, hoping the expression didn’t
look as sickly as it felt.
“I’m
so sorry, Mr. Oliphant. Scruggs, please forgive me.”
Palm
flattened against his solar plexus, which is where poor Mr. Oliphant’s
well-padded shoulder had connected, Scruggs uttered blightingly, “I’m
sure I shall survive, ma’am.”
Mr.
Oliphant’s cheeks had deepened in hue from rose to burgundy. “Are
you quite all right, Miss Montague?”
“Yes.
No. Yes.” Striving for a calm that seemed to elude her every grasp,
Claire finally announced, “Mr. Oliphant, you are the only person in
the world who can save me!”
Mr.
Oliphant’s eyes, which were of so dark a color that they resembled
ripe olives to Claire’s inventive mind, widened until the pupils were
surrounded by a halo of white. “Good heavens, my dear Miss Montague,
whatever can the matter be?”
Feeling
more foolish than she could remember feeling in a good many years, Claire
grabbed Mr. Oliphant’s arm and dragged him down the hall towards her
office, leaving Scruggs behind, his moose’s face longer than ever.
She wasn’t sure how she was going to do it, but she knew she must
enlist Mr. Oliphant’s support. Mr. Oliphant was, unfortunately, another
of her admirers. She generally regretted the fact, but today she experienced
a thrust of gratitude for his unrequited affection.