Remembered (12 page)

Hearing that, Véronique readied an objection. How was her driver supposed to escort her to mining towns while her wagon was at Monsieur Brennan’s constant beck and call? “
Excusez-moi, messieurs
. I must interrupt—”

“And you’ll get all this, Mr. Brennan,” Sampson continued, his tone unusually firm, “in exchange for allowin’ this person to ride along with you on your trips from time to time.”

Poised to argue, Véronique felt an imaginary veil being yanked away. She gradually let out the breath she was holding and turned to look at Monsieur Brennan.
He
was the driver to whom Jake Sampson had referred earlier? The one with all the experience, who came so highly recommended?

With that discovery, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. God had provided a driver to see her journey to its fruition.

A renewed sense of hope took hold inside. From Bertram Colby’s reaction to seeing Monsieur Brennan the other night, she had already guessed him to be an honorable man. He was exactly the type of man she needed to provide her safe passage to the mining towns where she could locate her father, Pierre Gustave Girard. The man her mother had loved in life and to whom she had remained faithful unto death.

Véronique felt it again—the same rising tide of emotion she’d experienced when speaking with Monsieur Baird at the hotel that morning. Only now she knew what it was . . . the fledgling love of a child. Like a tender green shoot, it sprouted from a root in dry and sterile ground somewhere deep inside her—the love for a man she couldn’t remember, and a father she might still never know.

Her gaze slowly trailed to the wagon, then back to Monsieur Brennan. She’d never been astute at bargaining, but this was one
négociation
she was determined not to lose.

CHAPTER | NINE

J
ACK WASN’T CERTAIN
he’d heard the woman correctly. Through a haze of lingering frustration and anger, he looked down at her.“You want me to be your
what
, ma’am?” “My driver, monsieur. I will compensate you well and will allow you use of my wagon when you are not escorting me on my journeys.”

“Escorting you on your journeys?”

She nodded, her smile leaving no doubt that she considered her offer acceptable, if not overly generous, and that the deal between them had been struck.

The woman could not have been more mistaken.

“Ma’am . . . mademoiselle,” he corrected, making sure he had the livery owner’s attention, “I don’t know what you and Mr. Sampson have cooked up between you, but if you think I’m going to agree to the two of us traveling up in the mountains together, going to mining towns, of all places . . .” He sighed and shook his head. “I wish to inform you as gently as possible . . . that you are mistaken.”

Frankly, he couldn’t believe Jake Sampson would even propose such a thing, much less be party to it. He would’ve thought the older gentleman had more respect—first for this young woman’s reputation, and second for his being a normal red-blooded male.

Jack had to admit . . . if he’d considered this lady pretty before, he had been wrong. She was captivating.

Her smile faded. Confusion clouded her features.

The sudden change tugged at his sense of honor, until he realized it was his sense of honor that wouldn’t allow him to agree to such a cockeyed plan.

“Mademoiselle—” Jack hesitated, realizing he didn’t know the woman’s name. From the awareness in her eyes, he guessed she was thinking the very same thing.

He could already tell she would be a handful to travel with. Not that he was going to—he wasn’t—but he’d seen his share of female travelers through the years. At the outset of a journey, he could pretty well peg which women would adjust to the hardships and make the trip fine, which ones would have more of a problem adapting, and which ones would most likely be the death of him along the way.

She offered a curtsy befitting an emperor’s court, gracefully sweeping her skirt to one side. “
Je m’appelle
—” she rose slowly, her smile radiant—“Mademoiselle Véronique Evelyn Girard.”

Oh, this woman was
definitely
part of the latter group. Jack couldn’t help but smile at that thought, then immediately feared she would misconstrue his reaction.

If the rekindled hope in her expression could serve as evidence, she’d done just that. “I am certain, monsieur, that we can come to some type of arrangement that will be agreeable to you. Your associates speak most highly of you, and your experience in being a driver is extensive,
non
?”

Jack supposed that what he’d dedicated the past thirteen years of his life to could be summed up as a kind of “driving.” But the way she said it made his past profession seem far less a contribution to mankind than he would have liked. And he’d always hoped to leave something of a lasting legacy. But that was his pride talking, and he knew it. “Mademoiselle Girard, I am honored that you would entrust me with your safety, but this arrangement is simply unsuitable, for more reasons than I care to number.”

She frowned. “You do not know the entire arrangement, as I have not told you what your compensation will be. And yet you find it unsuitable?”

Jack acknowledged the two men entering the livery just then, not missing the object of their stares or what manner of men they were. Another customer wandered in after them. “When I said unsuitable, I wasn’t referring to—”

“I have in mind to pay you seven dollars for each day that you escort me to these neighboring communities.” She opened her reticule. “I have monies with me now and can pay several days in
avance
, if that is your wish.”

“Ma’am, please” —Jack moved to shield the stack of bills from view—“put your money away. It’s not safe to flaunt cash in public like that.” As if the woman herself wasn’t enough of a temptation. . . .

“I was not
flaunting
my money, Monsieur Brennan.” Offense cooled her tone, as well as those brown eyes. “I was demonstrating that I am capable of providing remuneration for your services.”

Jack hesitated before answering. Seems no matter what he said, he said the wrong thing. “That fact was never in question, ma’am. I was only trying to protect your interests, not . . . correct some social blunder.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “You mean a
faux pas
.”

He stared for a second. “Pardon me?”

“A
faux pas
is a blunder of some sort. It refers to either an action or an utterance, and can be made in public or in a personal setting.”

Already familiar with the meaning, Jack allowed her to go on dissecting the word limb by limb as he kept a close eye on the two men nearby. Jake Sampson was assisting the other customer, but Jack instinctively knew the livery owner had eyes in the back of his head.

“But the word” —she squinted as if trying to recall something— “in the sense you wielded it, Monsieur Brennan, denotes making a mistake through stupidity or carelessness or ignorance.”

In addition to being captivating, the woman must’ve had one whopping dictionary as a child. Her expression mirrored such pride that Jack almost hated to burst her bubble—almost. “You’ve missed the point entirely, Mademoiselle Girard. I was explaining to you that when I asked you not to flaunt your money, my motives were rooted in trying to protect you. I was not accusing you of having committed some . . .
faux pas
, as you called it.”

“
Oui
, but . . .” She pulled some kind of book from her reticule and began flipping through the pages. She stopped, her eyes widening. “Ah . . . the word
flaunt
means ‘to display in a pretentious or disregarding manner.” ’ She tilted the page in his direction, her finger moving along as she read aloud. “‘To obtrude oneself to public notice, or to treat contemptuously.” ’ She snapped the book shut, both her smile and manner demure beyond question. “Of those listed behaviors, monsieur, I was quite innocent. That is why I felt the obligation to—”

Jack held up his hand, and would’ve gladly waved a white flag if he’d had one. “Perhaps I should have chosen a different word, mademoiselle.”

“Ah,” she said again, punctuating the air with a dainty forefinger. “Words carry very specific meanings,
non
? Which is why you must be more careful in your choice of them.”

Some fairly choice words for her came to mind at the moment, but Jack kept them to himself. He might’ve enjoyed her innocent observations under different circumstances, but as he caught a glimpse of his wagon—correction,
her
wagon—he could only think about what this mishap was going to cost him, both in time and money.

He would visit the other vendors in town this afternoon, see if any of them happened to have a freight wagon available for lease—even short term. If not, he’d be forced to visit the mercantile and advise Mr. Hochstetler that there would be a delay in the scheduled pickups and deliveries—something he wanted to avoid if at all possible.

Years of living like a nomad had taught him to remain flexible, to exercise eyes of faith in seeing beyond the crisis at the moment. In the whole scheme of things, not being able to purchase this particular wagon wasn’t that big of a setback. It wasn’t the loss of someone he loved, or of someone who had been entrusted to his care. Now, if only he could convince Mr. Hochstetler at the mercantile to see things that way.

The two men who had been loitering in the livery—shopping, as it were—finally left. Jack took that as his cue. “Mademoiselle Girard, I wish you all the best in your endeavors, and if you would allow me to be plainspoken with you, ma’am . . .”

What light her expression held slowly receded. “You are refusing my offer, Monsieur Brennan?”

Such innocence
. Part of him felt concern for her, and yet, he reminded himself, she was not his concern. “Yes, ma’am, I am,” he said quietly. “And I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least try to persuade you to stay away from the mining camps. You referred to them as neighboring communities . . . they’re nothing of the sort. They’re rough and crude— and tend to draw men who match that description. I don’t know your reasons for wanting to go, but I can tell you that those camps are no place for females, much less a young woman like you.”

“Yet you go to these places.” Honest query filled her voice. Not a hint of sarcasm lingered.

“It’s different for me, ma’am. It’s my job to carry freight to the miners. Plus, I’m a man.”

The tiniest smile touched her mouth. “If I were to be a man, monsieur, would you allow me to accompany you?”

“Don’t even let that thought take root, Mademoiselle Girard. If there’s one thing you could never be mistaken for, it’s a man.” This young woman was feminine through and through, but he detected a determined will that wouldn’t be easily swayed. Perhaps he’d assigned her to the wrong camp earlier.

Her smile was brief. “How will you manage without a conveyance?”

Again, not a hint of gloating tainted her voice. “I haven’t figured that out yet, ma’am. But I will.”

“If I offered you more money, would you be persua—”

“I told you before, there are many reasons I won’t agree to do this. And money doesn’t figure into any of them.” He’d already guessed from her clothes and the way she conducted herself that she came from wealth. Probably had a rich father somewhere who doled out double eagles to his daughter like they were raindrops in Oregon. The man hadn’t done her any favors. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but my answer is still no. I can’t state it any plainer than that.”

She slowly bowed her head. “There is no need for you to restate it, monsieur. I understand the meaning of that word quite well.”

Jack couldn’t see her expression, only the way her hands were knotted at her waistline. He intended to be the first to leave, but when she skirted around him, he let her go. He watched her as she walked away.

The crowd of shoppers cramming the street parted at her approach, as though a silent trumpet had blown, announcing the passage of royalty. She seemed oblivious to it, and he couldn’t help but wonder if everything in her life had come so easily.

He waited. Giving her a good lead felt like the right thing to do. She wouldn’t want to see him again anytime soon.

“You surprised me, Brennan. I expected you to take her up on that offer.”

Jack turned at the sound of Sampson’s voice. As he watched the old man pick up a saddle and stow it on a bench against the wall, he wrestled with what had just happened, unable to reconcile it. “Then you underestimated me, sir.”

“And I don’t customarily do that with people.”

Jack weighed his next question before asking. “Is it your custom to try and manipulate people into doing your bidding, instead?”

Sampson paused for a second, showing no offense. “No, but I’m not above tryin’ to give God a hand when I see something that needs to be done. Especially when I know it’s the right thing to do.” He picked up a horseshoe and a pair of tongs and carried them to the forge.

Jack followed. “You really think sending me and that young woman trekking all over the Rockies—alone—is the right thing to do? Do you have any idea what mining towns are like? Or what position you’d be placing Mademoiselle Girard in, not to mention what burden of responsibility you’d be saddling me with?”

“I know exactly what burden you’d be saddled with, Mr. Brennan, and I’d gladly strap it on your back right now, if I could!” Jake Sampson shoved the horseshoe into the bed of red-hot coals, sending sparks shooting upward.

Jack had learned long ago that when faced with someone’s anger, patient silence served him well. Deciphering the feelings behind the anger went much faster if he wasn’t so busy reacting to it.

“She’s bound and determined to get up to those camps, Brennan.” Sampson laid the tongs aside. “And if she gets hooked up with the wrong kind of man—or men—it won’t end up good. We both know that.”

“Then you need to find some way to convince her not to go.”

Jake Sampson’s unexpected laughter was brief and humorless. “I’ve got about as much chance of doin’ that as I have of wadin’ out in Fountain Creek and comin’ up with pockets full of gold.” He eased down on an upturned crate and gestured toward an old chair in the corner.