One Pink Rose; One White Rose; One Red Rose (4 page)

Her spine stiffened. “I didn't do anything to them. They became ill on the train, and I believe it was something they ate that made them sick. Quite a few of the other passengers became ill too,” she added. “The Johnsons stayed in Chicago. I'm sure they're fully recovered by now.”

“What happened to the second couple?”

“Do you mean the Porters? It was also quite tragic,” she admitted. “They also became ill. The fish, you see.”

“The fish?”

“Yes, they ate the fish too. I believe it had gone bad, and I did warn Mr. Porter, but he wouldn't listen to reason. He ate it anyway.”

“And?”

“He and his wife were carried off the train in St. Louis.”

“Bad fish can kill a man,” he remarked.

She gave a vigorous nod. “It killed poor Mr. Porter.”

“What about Mrs. Porter?”

“She blamed everyone else for her husband's illness, even me. Can you imagine? I did warn him not to eat the fish, but he was most determined.”

“Then why'd she blame you?”

“Because the Johnsons got sick. She didn't believe it was the food. She thought I was making everyone ill. You needn't fret about it, sir. If you don't eat any fish, I'm certain you'll be fine.”

“Did the third couple eat fish too?”

She shook her head. “No, but it was still quite . . .”

“Tragic?” he supplied for her.

“Yes, tragic,” she agreed. “How did you know? Have you heard what happened to Mr. Hanes then?”

“No, I was just guessing. What happened to Hanes?”

“He got shot.”

“I knew you shot someone.”

“I did not,” she cried out. “Why would you think I'd do such a terrible thing?”

“You tried to shoot me,” he reminded her.

“That was an accident.”

He decided to humor her. “All right, then. Did you accidentally shoot Mr. Hanes?”

“No, I didn't. He and another man were playing cards, and suddenly one of them—I can't remember which one it was—accused the other of cheating. A fight ensued and Mr. Hanes was shot. He wasn't mortally wounded, and the other man could just as easily have been the one injured because they were both shooting their pistols at each other. It was very uncivilized. I ruined my best hat when I scooted under my seat with Mrs. Hanes so I wouldn't be struck by a stray bullet.”

“Then what happened?”

“The conductor patched up Mr. Hanes's arm, stopped the train outside Emmerson Point and left him and his wife in the care of the town's doctor.”

“And you came the rest of the way by yourself?”

“Yes,” she said. “I'd go up to Golden Crest by myself too if I knew the way. The hotel proprietor told me I needed a guide, and so I've been looking for one. Then you offered your services. You are going to escort me, aren't you?”

“All right, I'll take you.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Clayborne,” she whispered. She clasped hold of his hand and smiled. “You won't be sorry.”

“You may call me Travis.”

“Very well. I appreciate your kindness, Travis, in escorting me.”

“I'm not being kind. The way I see it, I'm stuck with you, and the sooner we get started, the sooner I'll be rid of you.”

She pulled her hand away from his and turned to her luggage. “If I hadn't just remembered I'm not going to be honest and forthright anymore, I would tell you I think you're an extremely insolent and hostile man.”

“You've been nothing but honest and forthright since you started talking, haven't you?”

“Yes, but I only just remembered not to be.”

“I'm not going to ask you to explain this time,” he muttered. “Wait here while I get the horses. And by the way, Emily, you're only taking two satchels up the mountain. O'Toole will have to come and fetch the others. You can leave them in the hotel now. Olsen will make sure no one steals them.”

“I'll do no such thing,” she shouted so he could hear her. The rude man was already halfway down the street. “I'm taking every one of my bags, thank you very much.”

“No, you're not, but you're welcome, anyway.”

She gritted her teeth in frustration. She watched him stroll down the boardwalk, noticed how his shoulders and hips seemed to roll with each stride he took, and found his arrogant swagger most appealing. He was a striking fellow, all right. It was a pity he was also obnoxious.

With a sigh, she forced herself to look away. She was engaged to marry Mr. O'Toole, she reminded herself, and she shouldn't be noticing how fit any other man was.

She wasn't the alley cat in the family; Barbara was. Emily was the reliable and practical one, like an old but comfortable pair of shoes, she thought. No—she had always been reliable and practical in the past. She wasn't anymore.

Travis was just about to cross the street when she called out to him.

“Travis, I should warn you. I'm not at all reliable.”

“I didn't think you were,” he called out. “You don't have any sense either.”

She smiled with satisfaction. That reaction stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You don't think I have any sense?”

Honest to God, she seemed thrilled by his assessment of her. Didn't the woman realize she was being given an insult?

No, not an insult, he qualified. Just the blunt truth.

“Emily?”

“Yes?”

“Does O'Toole know he's going to marry a crazy woman?”

E
mily was holding a grudge. Her glares and her stony silence were vastly amusing, but Travis didn't dare laugh or even crack a smile. She'd know then he thought her behavior was humorous, and he'd never hear the end of it.

She didn't speak to him again until they stopped in midafternoon to rest their horses. At least that was the excuse he'd given her. She seemed to believe the lie too. He really called a halt so that she could rest her backside. She wasn't much of a horsewoman, and the way her bottom kept slamming against her saddle, added to the pained look on her face, told him she was taking quite a beating.

The poor woman could barely stand up straight when she finally managed to get down to the ground. She wouldn't let him help her and didn't think his exaggeratedly wounded expression was the least bit funny.

Because they'd ridden a good distance up the steep mountain path, the air was much colder. He took the time and trouble to start a campfire so she could shake off the chill. They ate a sparse lunch in silence, and just when he was beginning to think the trip wasn't going to be completely miserable, she went and ruined it.

“You did it on purpose, didn't you, Travis? Admit it, then apologize to me, and I just might forgive you.”

“I didn't do it on purpose. You were supposed to hook your right leg over the pommel, remember? You were the one who insisted on riding sidesaddle. How was I to know you'd never done it before?”

“Ladies in the South ride sidesaddle,” she announced.

He could feel a headache coming on. “But you're not from the South, are you? You're from Boston.”

“What does that have to do with the price of pickles? Southern ladies are more refined. Everyone knows that, which is precisely why I've decided to be Southern.”

He could feel the throbbing behind his temples. “You can't decide to be Southern.”

“But of course I can. I can be anything I want to be.”

“Why Southern?” he asked in spite of his better judgment.

“The little drawl in a lady's speech is considered very feminine and musical. I've done a complete study of it, and I assure you I know what I'm talking about. I believe I've perfected the drawl too. Would you like to hear me say—”

“No, I would not. Emily, not all southern ladies ride sidesaddle.”

The glare she gave him made him sorry he'd brought up the subject of saddles again.

“Most southern women do,” she said. “And just because I have never ridden sidesaddle before doesn't mean I couldn't have managed it if you hadn't interfered. You deliberately threw me over that horse, didn't you? I could have broken my neck.”

He wasn't going to take the blame for her ineptness. “I merely gave you a hand up. How was I to know you'd keep on going? Is your shoulder still sore?”

“No, and I do appreciate the fact that you rubbed the sting out of it for me. Still, my dress is now covered with dirt, thank you very much. What will Clifford O'Toole think of me?”

“You've been wearing a pair of gloves with a large bullet hole through them. He'll probably notice that before anything else. Besides, if he loves you, your appearance won't matter to him.”

She took a bite of her apple before she made up her mind to set him straight.

“He doesn't love me. How could he? We've never met.”

He closed his eyes. Conversing with Emily was proving to be as difficult as trying to win an argument with his brother Cole. It was hopeless.

“You're going to marry a man you've never met? Isn't that kind of odd?”

“Not really. You've heard of mail-order brides, haven't you?”

“You're one of those?”

“Sort of,” she hedged. She was, of course, but pride kept her from admitting it. “Mr. O'Toole and I have corresponded, and I believe I've come to know him quite well. He's an eloquent writer. He's a poet too.”

“He wrote poems to you?” he asked with a grin.

Her chin came up a notch. “Why is that amusing?”

“He sounds like a . . . pansy.”

“I assure you he isn't. His poems are beautiful. Will you quit grinning at me? They are beautiful, and it's apparent to me that he's a very intelligent man. You may read his letters if you don't believe me. I have all three of them tucked inside one of my satchels. Shall I fetch them for you?”

“I don't want to read his letters. You still haven't explained why you're so determined to marry a stranger.”

“I tried marrying someone I knew, and look how that turned out.”

“You decided on this course of action after you got jilted, didn't you?”

“Let's just say that it was the last disappointment I was going to suffer.”

“Is that so?” he remarked, wondering how she was going to prevent further disappointments.

She seemed to read his thoughts. “I stayed up all that night . . . my wedding night,” she said.

“Crying?” he asked.

“No, I didn't cry. I spent the entire night thinking about my circumstances, and I finally came up with a plan that I believe will change everything. I've always been forthright and honest. Well, no more, thank you very much.”

“How come you're being honest with me?”

She shrugged. “I shouldn't be, I suppose. Still, I won't ever see you again after today—at least I don't think I will—so it doesn't matter if you know I'm a fraud. No one else will.”

“Trying to be something you aren't will only make things worse.”

She didn't agree. “Being me didn't do me a lick of good, and once I figured that out, I decided to reinvent myself. I was sick and tired of working hard and being so boringly practical all the time.”

“You're overreacting, that's all.”
And crazy,
he silently added. “Your pride was wounded, but you'll get over it.”

His cavalier attitude irritated her. “I know exactly what I'm doing, and pride doesn't have anything to do with my decision. Working hard hasn't gotten me anywhere. Shall I give you an example?”

She didn't wait for his answer, but plunged ahead. “Randolph was studying to become a banker. He was just beginning his last year at the university when we became officially engaged. His studies were difficult for him, and because of his grades, he was worried he'd be asked to leave. I told him that if he wouldn't accept every social invitation that came to him, he would have time for his studies, but he wouldn't listen to me. He asked me to help him with his research, and because I was such a ninny and wanted to please him, I ended up writing several lengthy papers for him. He was supposed to use the papers as his study guide, but I later found out he put his name on the top of the first page and handed them in to his professors. It was a dishonest thing to do, of course, and do you know what his punishment was? He took honors for his last year's work and was hired by one of the most prestigious banks in Boston. He started out making an impressive salary, and that was when my sister became interested in him. Ironic, isn't it? If I hadn't helped him, he wouldn't have gotten such a fine position, and my sister would have left him alone.

“I've learned from my mistakes though, which is why Mr. O'Toole and I are going to do well together. Randolph broke all the promises he made to me, and I won't let Mr. O'Toole ever break his word.”

“How are you going to stop him?”