Читать книгу A Christmas Waltz - Jane Goodger - Страница 7

“I can tell you’re upset.”

“Why would I be upset?” Amelia asked calmly. The strange thing was, she did feel calm, as if a part of her wasn’t surprised by a single thing that had happened since she’d left Meremont. “Is it because everything you told me was a lie? Why would that upset me?”

“You’re upset,” Carson said in a long, beleaguered sigh, as if he were the injured party.

“Take me to your ranch,” Amelia said, tapping her foot and crossing her arms. “And on the way you can tell me what happened to the grass and gazebo and roses and white picket fences that are supposed to be in this town. I haven’t seen a tree in hours, never mind a rosebush.”

Carson grinned, but Amelia noticed that much of the bravado he’d always had was gone. It was so wonderful to see him, but he’d changed in the months they’d been apart. He looked tired and beaten, older than he’d been in England, far older than his brother. She had no idea how old he was, in fact, because she assumed he had lied about that, too. His hair was not the gleaming, golden mass it had been, but hung in a tangle down his back, tied with a long string of rawhide. His mustache was too full, and the rest of his face looked like it hadn’t seen a razor in days. His clothes were, well they were filthy. Maybe it was all this dust, she thought, glancing around this poor excuse of a town.

He led her behind the store, and Amelia was surprised how large it was. From the front, it looked like a tiny building, but it stretched back, much farther than any of its neighbors. It was made from a hodgepodge of materials, and had obviously been built at different times. By the time they’d reached the back, Amelia found herself in a tiny little oasis, a courtyard that was filled with flowers and grass and a whimsical little fountain. Benches were set neatly around the perimeter of the courtyard, which was surprisingly cool away from the glaring heat of the sun. Just the sight of it made Amelia feel cooler.

“This is lovely,” Amelia said, nearly overcome with happiness to find a bit of color in this brown world. The back of the building was far more lovely than the storefront.

“My brother has his offices there,” he said, nodding toward the left side of the U-shaped building. “And we live there.”

“Oh.” As lovely as it was compared to its surroundings, it was far smaller and simpler than any home she’d ever been in. Her brother’s estate, Meremont, with its twenty rooms, was a castle compared to this. Even her childhood home, which was far more modest than Meremont, could fit this entire building twice over.

Carson turned her to face him, putting his hands gently on her upper arms and looking down at her. “All right. I lied. About everything. What was I supposed to do with you lookin’ at me like the sun rose and set across my shoulders? You saw Carson Kitteridge, American hero—not me.”

“But you are Carson Kitteridge,” Amelia pointed out, even though she knew what he meant. Finally.

Carson let out a sigh and gazed toward the mountains in the distance. “I’m nothing,” he said quietly. “I’m an actor. I’ve never been a Texas Ranger. Hell, I’d hardly been on a horse until I signed up for the Wild West show. Turns out, I’m pretty good at it, and the manager made me the star of the show. I fit the part. And the costume,” he added with a wry smile. “Might even sign up for the cattle drive over at the Three J’s ranch.” He shrugged and looked down at her.

“I know you lied, Carson. Part of me knew you were lying the whole time. But I don’t understand why. Didn’t you know I’d find all this out when I got here?”

He looked about to say something, but let out another sigh. “I figured I’d cross that bridge when I got to it. Guess I got to be crossing the bridge now, hmmm?” He grinned and Amelia’s heart squeezed in her chest. No matter that he wasn’t wearing the white fringed outfit she’d first seen him in, he still had a way of reaching her heart. He laid a hand on one cheek, and Amelia closed her eyes.

“I don’t care, Carson. I don’t care if you’re not a hero.” She sounded desperate, even to her own ears.

He let out a bitter sounding laugh.

“I don’t care,” she insisted.

“Yeah, well, maybe I do.”

She laid a hand against his and squeezed it. “I knew half of what you said was made up, anyway. Didn’t you know that?”

He looked momentarily surprised, then shook his head as if vastly amused by her. “And here was I thinking I was fooling you completely.”

“I’d have to be completely daft to think you rode with Custer. You’re not old enough to have done that. Are you?”

“Then why’d you come all this way if you knew I was lyin’ about near everything?”

She looked up at him and smiled at his confusion. “I love you,” she said simply.

He looked momentarily stunned, then drew her against him, tucking her head beneath his head. “Oh, darlin’,” he said, sounding almost sad. “That’s what I figured.”

Amelia let him hold her, loving the familiar feel of his big body even as her stomach gave a worried twist. She’d so wanted everything to be just as Carson had described. She’d pictured herself the mistress of a large rambling Texas ranch house filled with children and happiness. And servants. Yes, she’d imagined a neat little maid, a gruff housekeeper, an efficient butler. She’d pictured her life exactly as it had been, but in Texas and with Carson. If he’d prepared her in even the smallest way that he didn’t even have a proper house, she wouldn’t be looking with such dismay at where she was to live. But he’d drawn a picture of perfection for her, as if every fantasy she had about living in Texas were a reality.

Looking at the small portion of the building that Carson said was the living quarters, she doubted even a single servant lived there. She’d imagined being ushered into her own suite of rustic rooms by an apple-cheeked maid, as men carried her luggage into her room. In her imaginings, Carson happily introduced her to everyone. The sound of cows mingling with the familiar sound of crickets would have lulled her to sleep.

“Where shall I stay?” she asked, eyeing the house doubtfully.

Her question seemed to baffle Carson. “I don’t know. I suppose you could stay at the hotel.” A queer expression passed over his features, almost as if he’d eaten something awful. “No. Maybe not such a good idea. You could stay here. We have an extra room.”

Amelia looked shocked. “With two single men? My maid isn’t with me. I should have mentioned that. She came with me as far as New York, but she fell in love with one of the ship’s crewman and asked if she could stay in New York. Of course, I said yes.” Amelia, in the throes of adventure and love, had practically begged her maid to take a chance with the young sailor. It had been so romantic to watch the two of them fall in love. She’d been so happy, she wanted everyone to be in love as much as she was.

“You brought a maid with you?”

Amelia looked at him as if he were mad. Everyone knew a proper unmarried girl traveled with a maid—at the very least. It had been quite adventurous and quite improper of her to come all the way from New York on her own. “Of course, I did. How else was I to get dressed? As it is, I only have two gowns that don’t require assistance to get in and out of. And they are sorely in need of replacement.”

He grinned at her with the devil in his eyes. “I can help you now that you’re here,” he said.

Amelia laughed. “I’m sure you wish I’d let you. But no. Until we are married, it wouldn’t be proper.”

“As I recall, darlin’, I almost had you undressed that once.”

Amelia blushed, recalling that time during his visit to Meremont that she’d actually had the nerve to invite him into her room. She’d only done so when he’d promised not to touch her, a promise she knew—and was secretly glad—he’d been unable to keep. Just thinking about the things they’d done made her entire body flush. “Yes, it was quite improper,” she said, but she was completely unable to retain her spinster demeanor for more than a second before laughter bubbled up again.

He pulled her against him so she was aware of his arousal, and he bent to kiss her. “I’ve missed you sorely,” he said against her lips. With a groan, he deepened the kiss, and Amelia, sighing in relief and pleasure, felt herself falling into a pool of lust just as she had so many times before when Carson had stolen kisses.

They separated quickly when a door opened behind them.

“Carson, your brother says to get a room ready for the girl.” Standing before her was an older woman with dark hair sprinkled with gray, and sharp brown eyes that at the moment seemed to be shooting daggers at Carson.

“Amelia, this here’s Agatha. She’s our housekeeper, and she helps Boone out in his office and the store sometimes. Agatha, this is Miss Wellesley.”

“Lady Amelia, actually, though I suppose I shall have to get used to informalities. I am Carson’s intended,” Amelia said, slightly baffled by the familiarity between the two. No matter how much she adored her servants back home, none would have ever called her by her given name. It was almost unthinkable.

Agatha’s deeply wrinkled face split into a grin. “Ain’t you fancy,” she said, as if delighted by the discovery. “Your brother wanted to know if that is a good idea. I suppose the hotel won’t do for Lady Amelia. Not with your…”

“Thanks, Aggie,” Carson said, interrupting the older woman.

Amelia smiled, as it dawned on her that perhaps she could stretch propriety a bit since she was in the Wild West. If the Kitteridges had a housekeeper, she could certainly act as a chaperone. “This is perfect. Why didn’t you tell me you had a housekeeper? Agatha will serve as a chaperone, won’t you, Agatha?”

“Chaperone?” she asked haltingly, as if she’d never heard the word before.

“You shall make certain that Carson takes no more liberties with me,” she said, giving Carson a stern look.

Agatha smiled. “I could do that,” she said agreeably, ignoring Carson’s mock scowl, then looked instantly worried. “What about the night? I live down yonder with my husband.” She worried her hands in a blue and red apron she wore over her faded yellow dress. “My Dulce, my daughter, will do. She’s a widow and all she does is mope around the house doing nothing but complain that she has nothing to do.”

“No,” Carson said, and instantly, Agatha scowled.

“Why ever not?” Amelia asked. “I do need a maid. I didn’t realize how much until I let mine go.” She eyed Carson, who seemed adamantly opposed to the idea. “I suppose I’ll have to stay in the hotel.”

Carson and Agatha said “no” in unison.

“There is a puta there,” the housekeeper said darkly, glaring again at Carson.

“What’s a puta?” Amelia asked, and Carson nearly choked.

“It’s Spanish for a lady who is, um, free with her favors,” Carson said.

“Not free,” Agatha said.

Amelia felt her cheeks turn red. “I understand, Agatha. Don’t worry.” She turned to Carson, who looked pained. “What is wrong with Dulce?”

“Nothing’s wrong that a little hard work won’t cure. And I’m thinkin’ you’ll be a fine influence on her. Dulce could use a bit of polishin’ up,” Agatha said, letting out a sound that was decidedly cackly.

“I never said there was something wrong with Dulce,” Carson said in a placating tone. Then he spoke to Agatha in fluent Spanish, which Amelia found quite bothersome. However, it wasn’t difficult to tell that whatever it was he was saying, Agatha didn’t much like. After a few minutes of rapid-fire Spanish, Agatha looked smug and Carson looked decidedly dejected.

“I’ll go tell Dulce the good news,” Agatha said happily.

“What was that all about?” Amelia asked when Agatha had gone. “I hope you know it is terribly rude to speak in a foreign language in front of someone who knows no Spanish. I didn’t even know you could speak another language. You don’t know French or German, do you? Italian? I’m fairly proficient at each, but not Spanish.”

“I picked it up here and there. We had a bunch of those Spanish fellows in the Wild West show. Darn good cowboys. And Agatha’s married to a Spaniard.”

“What do you have against her daughter?”

“Do you know what Dulce means in Spanish?”

Amelia shook her head.

“It means ‘sweet.’ That girl is about as sweet as a lemon before it turns yellow.”

Soon after Agatha disappeared into the house, Boone came out looking unhappy. “Why don’t you go get Miss Wellesley’s bags,” he said to Carson, then turned to Amelia. “I hear your living arrangements have been resolved.”

“At least until the wedding,” Amelia said brightly.

Boone gave Carson a quick look, which Amelia saw but couldn’t quite interpret. “Right. Let me show you to your room. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do given the alternatives.”

Amelia began to follow Boone, then turned to Carson.

“Didn’t you think about this at all when you sent for me?”

“I just figured it’d work itself out,” he said, grinning.

For some reason that grin, that used to make her heart melt, was slightly grating. It was almost as if Carson thought he could grin everything away. If he murdered a man in cold blood, no doubt Carson would truly believe he could wink and smile at the jury and get off scot-free.

Boone led her into a cool hallway that seemed almost dark compared to the brightness outside. “The garden is lovely,” Amelia said.

“It’s a nice bit of color.”

They passed a door with frosted glass and the word “Office” stenciled in black on it. In the corner, in much smaller letters, were the words: Boone Kitteridge, M.D.

Amelia stopped dead.

“Mr. Kitteridge.”

“Yes, miss.”

“What is this here?” she asked, pointing to the door.

“My office,” he said, as if stating the obvious. Boone Kitteridge, unlike his brother, who could talk the paint off a wall, was a man of few words.

“Are you a medical doctor?”

He continued down the hallway. “I am.”

Carson’s lies about his older brother loomed even larger. He’d had her completely convinced that his brother was a simpleton who needed him. It was the reason, he’d repeated over and over, for his need to return home before they married. He could not wait, he’d said, because his brother needed him to help run their fictional ranch. His dimwitted brother.

“You went to university?” she asked.

“Tulane in New Orleans.”

Amelia stalked after Boone, feeling her anger and bewilderment toward Carson grow. Had everything been a lie? She knew many of the stories he’d told had been embellishments, or even downright fabrications. It had been part of his charm. But to lie about the most basic things, like what his town looked like, that his brother was slow, that he owned a ranch. Those lies seemed so unnecessary, and somehow cruel.

The lies were piling up so high it was beginning to get difficult to wade through them all. He told her that he loved her, but did he? He told her that he’d sent for her, but had he?

With her throat closing up from unshed tears, she found herself in a sunny, whitewashed room with a simple but clean bed in one corner and a chest of drawers in another. It was far smaller and far simpler than the meanest servant’s quarters back home in Meremont.

“The toilet’s down the hall. Second door. It’s the only one in Small Fork,” he said, with a hint of pride.

When she didn’t react, he said, “I suppose you’re used to such things.”

“What? Oh, the toilet,” she said absently, staring at the lacy curtain that fluttered limply in the arched window, as if it were unused to catching a breeze. “Yes. We have several. I…”

“You all right, miss?” Boone asked, taking a step toward her.

“Thank you, Mr. Kitteridge, I’m perfectly well,” she said, even though she felt completely horrid. “Or should I call you Doctor Kitteridge?”

“That’s not necessary,” he said, sounding almost embarrassed by the title. “I’d just as soon you call me Boone.”

Suddenly, Amelia felt light-headed, from the heat, the stress, the lack of food. “Boone,” she said calmly. “I do believe I’m going to faint.”

Boone immediately led her to the bed. She was deathly pale, her skin bathed with sweat.

“Agatha, I need a cool cloth,” he shouted, grabbing one wrist and holding it to feel her rapid pulse. “Are you wearing a corset, Miss Wellesley?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Well, I suggest you remove it. Or at least loosen it.”

She looked up at him and he felt the blue of her eyes as an almost tangible blow. “But, Boone,” she said, making the smallest attempt at a smile. “I hardly know you.”

And then she fainted dead away.

Boone watched her eyes roll back into her head and caught her before she tumbled forward to the floor. He laid her back and immediately began undoing the tiny buttons that started at her throat and moved down to just below her waist. When Agatha entered the room with the cloth, he laid it on the girl’s head and squeezed so that the cool water soaked into her hair.

“Agatha, could you please explain to me why women need to wear these things?” he asked as he began unlacing the offending garment.

“I don’t. And Dulce wouldn’t be caught dead in one.”

Boone was quite aware that Dulce didn’t wear a corset. In fact, nearly every man in Small Fork, with the exception of old Blind Pete, knew Dulce didn’t wear much of anything to cover up her body.

Within moments of his beginning to unlace her corset, those blue eyes opened and gazed at him with a certain amount of pique.

“You fainted,” Boone said. For some reason he found it necessary to explain why he was unlacing her. The girl made him extremely uncomfortable, and he had to fight to maintain his impassionate doctor’s demeanor, though for the life of him he didn’t know why it was such a struggle. Hell, of course he knew why. Lying before him in a state of half dress was perhaps the most beautiful bit of femininity he’d ever seen. And she was smiling at him.

“I fainted. And so you took advantage of that moment to undress me?”

Boone almost smiled. Almost. “The reason you fainted, I suspect, is a combination of the heat and this corset.”

“I’ve been wearing corsets since I was sixteen years old and I’ve never fainted before. It is this heat. I daresay I’ve never felt anything like it in my life.”

“Where is she from?” Agatha asked.

“I’m from Hollings, England. It’s near the sea. The wonderfully cool, refreshing sea,” she said darkly.

“Fancy talk,” Agatha muttered, but with absolutely no malice. It was as if everything that came out of Miss Wellesley’s mouth was a combination of amusing and amazing.

Amelia pushed Boone’s hands away. “I’m quite fine now,” she said, and sat up, only to instantly grab at her head, which no doubt felt as if it were about to fall off her slender shoulders.

Agatha disappeared and reappeared in less than a minute with a glass of water in her hands. “Drink this. And when was the last time you ate? Honestly, Boone, a good breeze could blow this one over.”

Boone watched as she reached for the glass with a shaking hand.

“I don’t understand it. You’re going to be thinking I’m some sort of pampered weakling. Honestly, I’ve never been fragile. My brother would joke how I should have been a boy because I like to climb trees.”

It suddenly dawned on Boone just why a young girl would travel from England to Small Fork, Texas, in pursuit of his brother. He didn’t know how he could have been so stupid. No woman in her right mind would leave her home to chase Carson, especially not a lady from England who obviously would have no trouble finding a husband. Unless, of course, she’d done something unforgivable. Unless, she was running away.

“Agatha, would you excuse us please?” Boone said, and watched as Agatha’s eyes widened.

“You think?”

Boone shook his head to silence the woman. Clearly Agatha had come to the same conclusion as he, at about the same time.

Lady Amelia Hollings was obviously pregnant, and it was just as obvious, given that she hadn’t seen Carson in seven months, that it wasn’t his brother’s child.