The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (95 page)

“We must go back for my hat,” she insisted. “The milliner made it especially for me, and I’ve no immediate plans to return to Paris.”

Lightning darted across the western sky, increasing the need for their quick return. “I told you to stop playing with the ribbons,” Alex said.

The light rain made the reins slick, but the road beneath them remained passable. Up ahead, however, darker clouds loomed over Leadville.

“Hold on,” he warned. Raindrops continued to pelt them.

She braced herself as the horses responded, remaining blessedly silent until the buggy reached the edge of the city.

“Perhaps a less direct route to the livery might be in order,” Charlotte suggested. “I look a fright.”

“You’re beautiful,” Alex said without thinking.

“And your poor eyesight explains the awful driving.” She grasped the fabric of his sleeve. “Please stop, Alex.”

“Don’t be silly, we’re almost to—”

“Stop!” Charlotte reached over him to yank back on the reins.

The horses stuttered to a sliding halt, and the buggy careened toward the precipice.

A moment later, the slide ended with the buggy thankfully on solid ground. Alex took a deep breath of the thin mountain air and willed his heart to slow its furious clamor.

Holding tight to the reins, he gave Charlotte a stern look. “
Never
do that again. We could have been … Are you crying?”

“No.” She sniffed. “It’s the rain.”

“It is not the rain.” He reached into his pocket and handed her his handkerchief. “Take it.”

Charlotte shook her head then wiped her already-damp cheeks with her sleeve. “No.”

“This is becoming a habit,” he muttered as he leaned over to dab her cheeks. “I’ve never seen a woman with so many tears to spare.”

“I’m not crying.” She snatched the handkerchief from his hand then lifted it to her nose and blew. “I just know what will happen when my father sees me looking like this, especially now that he trusts me again and is willing to allow me to go to Wellesley and then to …” Charlotte blew her nose again. “Well, anyway, never mind what my father’s allowing me to do.”

“No, let’s talk about that, Charlotte.” He shook his head. “So you’re working for your father?” At her weak nod, Alex continued. “Exactly how long have you worked for Beck Enterprises?”

“I don’t yet. I merely have a promise of a position once my studies are completed.” She tensed. “And this is not a conversation I wish to have with you.”

“And yet we shall have it all the same.” Alex placed his free hand atop hers. “Did you get your ‘promise of a position’ because of the information I gave you or did you get information from me because you were working for your father?”

“Papa loves me,” she said defiantly. “His wish has always been for me to someday take an active part in the business I will inherit. I’m sure of it.”

A not-so-subtle reminder of the disparity in their bank balances. Alex chose to ignore it.

“So why are you crying? The way I see it, you’ve won, no matter which scenario is true.”

She looked up into his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he said.

“All my life I’ve tried to make my father take me seriously. Elias says that’s why I was so much trouble as a child. I was trying to get my Papa to really notice me.”

“Elias?”

“Our, well … he’s just Elias.” Shaking her head, Charlotte continued. “That’s why I took up painting. My mother loved it, and I hoped my father would love that I loved it. And I am good at it.” Again her gaze collided with his. “Really good at it. And Papa is proud. Which is why I continue to paint for Colonel Cody even though I prefer the night sky to a stampeding herd.”

“Night sky?”

“Yes.” A raindrop traced down her cheek, or perhaps it was a tear. “The sky at twilight is lovely, but a night sky is so …”

“Beautiful,” he supplied as his knuckle brushed her cheek and swiped away the dampness.

“Yes,” she whispered. “There’s just something about the light and how the stars …”

“Sparkle.” He looked into her eyes.

“Yes,” she repeated, softer.

He became aware of the warmth of her hand under his and the chill of the raindrops as they splattered around them. But most of all, aware of the extreme nearness of the soggy, lilac-scented Charlotte Beck.

Without warning, Charlotte slid her hand from under his and bounded from the buggy.

“Where are you going?” Irritation fought with amazement at the lengths the woman went to ignore his wishes.

She gave him a stricken look. “I should never have told you all of that. I don’t know what it is about you that makes me lose my good sense.” She examined her surroundings. “There’s a stream on the other side of that rock. Give me a moment to wash my face and set my hair to rights, and we can return to Leadville.”

“You want to freshen up?” He lifted his face to the skies, and rain pelted his cheeks. “Wouldn’t that be better done back at your home or your hotel or wherever it is the Becks stay in this town?”

“The Clarendon,” she said as she turned her back on him and walked away. “Papa prefers the Clarendon. He and the management have a long history. Something about Papa and Gennie’s wedding. They joke about it, but neither will offer details beyond the fact that it involves a nightmare I used to have as a child. Oh, there I go talking too much again. I sound like Anna Finch. She never could stop talking when she was around …” And then her voice was drowned out by the sound of the rain hitting the parched ground.

Alex watched her walk across the damp prairie as if she were crossing a ballroom floor. Head held high, back straight, and curls bouncing despite their soggy condition. She glanced over her shoulder to meet his incredulous stare then disappeared behind a boulder.

“Come back here this moment,” he called.

“No!”

“If you don’t return to this wagon this instant, I’m coming after you.”

“No, you won’t,” she called.

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re a gentleman.” The words echoed from some distant place.

He stood and stretched, trying to see her, but found no trace of Charlotte Beck. Returning to his seat, Alex let the rain slide down his neck as he leaned his elbows on his knees and tried not to think of how the moment could be made any worse.

And then he heard the click. He turned his head and looked down the barrel of the sheriff’s rifle.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Alex said to the sheriff. “I wonder if you’d do me a favor and see if you can find Miss Beck. She’s run off in that direction and I cannot get her to return. Or I can go, and you can see that the horses don’t spook. With the weather such as it is, I’m afraid to leave them untended while I go after my missing companion.”

The sheriff shoved his hat back a notch. “Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.” Alex gestured to the path Charlotte had taken. “She’s a stubborn woman and refuses to listen to me at all. I should have used that hat ribbon of hers to tie her to the wagon instead of allowing her to wander free.”

The older man’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I reckon I’ve heard enough.”

The sheriff reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Before he could form a decent protest, Alex found himself cuffed to the wagon and on his way to the Leadville jail.

“Aren’t you going to wait for Charlotte?” he asked.

“Charlotte?”

Alex struggled to remain upright as the buggy lurched around a hole in the road. “Yes, Charlotte Beck.”

The sheriff chuckled as the rain splattered off the brim of his hat. “Mr. Beck promised a reward for whoever brought back his buggy. Didn’t say anything about bringing back his daughter.”

But when the buggy rolled up in front of the jail, Daniel Beck burst out the door and demanded to know where his daughter was. While Charlotte’s father argued with the sheriff, Alex sat in the pouring rain and marveled at the fact that once again, associating with Charlotte Beck had caused him nothing but trouble.

Finally, the sheriff tossed Daniel Beck the key to the handcuffs and unhitched his horse from the buggy. With a scowl, the lawman set out back in the direction they’d come, where he’d likely find a mad, wet Charlotte waiting for him.

Once released from his imprisonment, Alex climbed out of the buggy and regarded Charlotte’s father with an even stare. Several responses came to mind.
Thank you
was not one of them.

“Alex Hambly,” Beck said. A statement, not a question.

Alex shook off the rain. “I am, sir.”

“You and I are long overdue for a talk. Let’s get out of this weather, shall we?” Beck gestured to the building across the street. “My office.”

“Gladly,” Alex said as he bit back on his temper.

Mr. Beck adjusted his hat and gave him a sideways look. “Spoken like a man who has something on his mind.”

Alex let out a long breath. “Other than false imprisonment? Yes.”

“About that.” Mr. Beck paused. “There was some confusion when I sent for the buggy. I was told a man had driven off in it. Only after I sent the sheriff looking for it—and you—was I informed that Charlotte went along for the ride. So I owe you an apology.”

“Apology accepted.” Alex lifted the collar on his coat against the rain pelting his back.

“This way.” Mr. Beck paused to allow a wagon to pass then stepped into the street. “I don’t understand why Charlotte wasn’t in the wagon when the sheriff found you.”

“I don’t understand that either, sir. We were having a relatively calm conversation, given the limitations your daughter puts on my sanity, and then she took off. Said she had to freshen up. In the rain?” Alex sidestepped a puddle of muddy water and stepped up onto the sidewalk. “I did my best to talk her out of it.”

“With no luck, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Beck held the building’s door open for Alex, then gestured down the hall. “My office is at the end on the left,” he said, nodding to the man behind the front desk. “Go on in and make yourself at home. I’ll be right there.”

Alex did, though nothing in the rustic space felt the least bit like home. From the hand-hewn walls to the animal hide covering the lone settee in the corner, the room belonged in some hunter’s cabin rather than as the center of Beck Mining’s operations. Only the desk, of regal proportions and provenance, gave hint of the room’s purpose. Then there was the oddly elegant white marble fireplace. Strange in such a setting. Above it hung something even more odd: a painting of a meteor shower in the spring sky.

“The Lyrids,” Alex said under his breath.

“I believe so. Comes in the spring, around Charlotte’s birthday.” Daniel Beck closed the door behind him. “I understand you’ve an affinity for the stars and planets. So does my daughter, though she would not admit it.”

Alex’s heart lurched at the thought that Charlotte Beck might also enjoy stargazing. “Until recently,” he said when his thoughts untangled,
“I was employed by the Royal Observatory at Greenwich. I hope to return to that position once my business here is completed.”

“And this business,” Beck said as he settled behind the oversized desk, then gestured for Alex to join him, “it is of what nature?”

Alex took the seat across from Beck. “Forgive me, sir, but my business is none of yours.”

“Well done, Viscount Hambly. I like a man who stands up to me. There’s one problem with your statement, however. Your business here is none of mine, except for the property on Summit Hill.” Beck steepled his hands. “That piece of land is of great interest to you, isn’t it?”

“Only as it applies to my goal of settling debts and ridding the family of unprofitable property.”

“Your Summit Hill property isn’t worth the paper the deed is printed on.” Beck shrugged. “Neither is the plot I own, for that matter. So you can imagine my interest when I’m confronted with a group of investors keen on taking this worthless property off my hands for what they term a good price.”

Alex felt his rain-soaked shirt drying against his skin and tugged at his collar. By degrees, he realized he sat before the father of the woman whose kisses still haunted him. His traitorous mind immediately wandered to smoldering ribbons and the kisses they’d shared. When he realized Daniel Beck was staring at him, Alex cleared his throat and collected his thoughts.

“Yes, well, if there’s nothing further you require of me, I’ll be going.” Alex turned to leave but stopped when Beck called his name.

“Tell me about my daughter, Viscount Hambly.”

Alex froze. “What of her, sir?”

“What do you think of her?”

Alex swallowed hard and worked to keep his expression neutral. “I think she’s a fine young lady.”

“Go on,” Beck said slowly and with no small measure of menace.

“A woman of excellent reputation and—”

“Honesty,” Mr. Beck said, “is more highly valued in this office than flattery. I am well aware of my daughter’s good qualities. However, I also know of a few that are not so good.”

What to say?

“She’s a beautiful woman, Mr. Beck,” Alex said before he could stop himself.