Shifter’s Baby (Alpha Fantasy Paranormal Billionaire Shifter BBW Romance) (99 page)
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Authors: Faye Summers
Copyright 2015 by Lisa Cartwright All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission
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Clara held on to her small suitcase, in fact, she held on to it so mightily that her knuckles were turning white.
“Ma’am?” The man on the seat across from her was trying to get her attention. Afraid of what his attention might bring, she stared blankly out of the window and pretended not to hear him. “Ma’am?” This time he stood up and shook her shoulder gently. Clara looked at him, shocked that he would touch a single woman traveling alone. “Excuse me for botherin’ ya, but your knuckles is as white as if this is the first time you’ve been on a train.” He helped himself to the empty seat beside Clara.
“Well, not that it's any of your business, but it is the first time I have been on a train.” She said shortly.
“That’d explain it.” He said with a nod. Clara watched him through the reflection of the glass.
“Explain what, exactly?” She asked, this time turning to look at him. He was a fairly handsome man, slender with a thick black mustache and plenty of black hair atop his head.
“The way you're hangin’ on to that suitcase like an armadilla hangs on to its shell.” He said. Clara frowned.
“I'm sorry…a what?” She asked. The man laughed quietly.
“You ain't from around here are ya?” He asked. Clara looked at him suspiciously. He certainly was asking a lot of questions. “It's alright, you don't have to tell me. I already know anyway, cause if ya were, you'd be knowin’ what an armadilla was.” He brushed his mustache with his thumb and pointer finger. “Here…” Clara watched him as he reached in to his jacket pocket and pulled out a pen and a small notepad. Flipping the notepad open, he proceeded to begin drawing. First he drew a C turned so it was facing downward and then he drew a rodent-like snout followed by four small feet and a long tail. He finished by adding thinner C shaped lines along the back of the bigger C. Finally he capped his pen, put it in his pocket and handed the notepad to Clara. “That,” he pointed at the paper, “there, is an armadilla.” Clara cocked her head
“Sir,” she said, handing him back the notebook, “while I am sure that your parlor games work on other ladies on this train, I regret to inform you that I am an educated woman. I have not, nor do I ever believe I will see one of these ‘armadilla’ creatures either back in Virginia nor here in Texas.” The man took his notebook back and slipped it back in to his jacket pocket.
“Well, ma’am, I can't rightly speak for Virginia, but seems to me yer gonna be mighty surprised when you get to where yer goin’.” The man said. Then, after a few moments of silence he added, “where might you be headed, anyhow?” Clara turned away from him and looked back out of the window. Hope that he would remove himself from her proximity if she ignored him, was dashed when he started to talk again. “I, myself, am from El Paso. Born and raised.” He said with extra emphasis on the ‘or’ opinion born. Clara sighed loudly. “The name’s Buck.” He said and Clara could see him thrust his hand towards her through the train window. “Buck Holliday…but everyone just calls me Buck.” Clara inhaled deeply and turned to him.
“Forgive me, Buck, for being as rude as to ask you to please kindly take your appropriated seat. It is not appropriate for a man of any type to approach a woman traveling alone and continue conversation when she quite plainly just wishes to be left alone.” Clara said. Buck whistled between his teeth and got up from his seat shaking his head.
“Boy, you're a feisty one, I'll give ya that. If you weren't so pretty a guy might be offended.” He said. Clara scowled as she turned back to the train window. She had no idea what Buck might have meant by that, but she wasn't going to waste any time on working it out. She was going to sit quietly and watch the stations go by until she got to El Paso herself. And then, when the train stopped and she got out on the platform, she would be greeted by Mr. Andrew Montague, the man to whom she was promised to be wed.
Clara James was the daughter of Abraham James, the most prominent attorney in Richmond, Virginia. She was raised in a life of privilege, afforded the best tutors, the finest threads and always thrown the most opulent balls. However, as Clara blossomed in to a young woman, her father began to worry about her keeping. There would come a point, he knew, when he would no longer be there to care for his three daughters, and so, he began searching for their grooms.
Clara’s sisters had been angered by the idea of their father choosing their betrothed, however, Clara was simply delighted that she was to be kept in the life of luxury to which she had become accustomed. So, when Andrew James packed his eldest daughter off to El Paso to wed oil magnate, Andrew Montague, she went happily. At least, that is, she went happily until the train set in to motion.
Clara knew very little about Andrew Montague aside from the fact that he had made his money in oil and that he was prepared to take her as his wife. She had seen his picture in the newspaper clippings her father had given to her and while he was not particularly handsome, he was, likewise, not an unfortunate gentleman either. He wore a thick greying mustache that turned up in the corners, and in every picture she had seen, he had been wearing a high collared jacket with a handkerchief folded neatly in the pocket. He may not have been a man that she would have chosen for herself, but Andrew Montague was respectable and to Clara, respectable and wealthy was all that she could ask for.
“Next stop, El Paso station!” The conductor bellowed at the top of his lungs, startling Clara from a light sleep. She sat upright, rubbing her face gently where it had been lying against the firm leather of her suitcase. “Next stop, El Paso station!” The conductor bellowed again. Clara set her case on the seat beside her and with one hand on its handle, she tried to stand up, only to fall back in to her seat. Buck chuckled.
“Might wanna wait ‘till the train has stopped, else you'll just keep fallin’ down.” He said nodding at her. Clara pretended not to hear him, but heeded his advice anyway.
When finally the train screeched to a halt a few minutes later, Clara stood up again, gripping her suitcase.
“Good afternoon.” She said curtly in Buck’s direction, before picking up her case and stepping out in to the walkway.
“I'm comin’ out that way myself.” Buck said, standing up and following Clara out in to the walkway. She sighed, admonishing herself for speaking to him at all and encouraging his interest. “Need any help with that there suitcase?” Buck nodded to her suitcase. Clara gripped it tighter.
“No, thank you.” She said. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself.” And with that she bustled towards the exit with an undeterred Buck hot on her heels.
When Clara stepped out on to the platform, the heat of the afternoon sun all but slapped her in the face. She wished she had packed her pocket fan where she could get at it, but she had nestled it safely in her trunk which wouldn't be in El Paso for at least another month. She hadn't expected the late fall weather to be quite so warm.
“Hot enough for ya?” Buck said from behind her. Clara turned and looked at him, a look that by now, Buck knew meant that he would get no verbal answer. He smiled broadly and she turned back around, scanning the platform for any sign of Andrew Montague.
El Paso station was most certainly one of the busiest stations on the line out west. A fact that Clara was learning quite quickly. As she stood on the platform searching the faces, a large porter dragging a dolly behind him, shoved her out of the way.
“You can't stand there, Miss!” He shouted as he continued on his way. Clara pursed her lips angrily, so far her journey had been everything she hadn't expected and she was quickly tiring of it all.
Clara shuffled forward, making sure not to touch anyone for fear of everyone in El Paso being like Buck and her giving them the wrong impression. When she was, what she deemed, a sufficient distance from the train, she stopped again and stood on her tiptoes. Scanning the faces, she saw no one who even remotely resembled Andrew Montague. Perhaps, she thought, he was late. A man like Andrew Montague was likely a very busy man and it wouldn't surprise her if he had meetings to attend and important business to take care of before collecting her from the station. Convincing herself that this was exactly what had happened, Clara carried her suitcase over to a small wooden bench and sat down to wait. After all, it wasn't as though she knew where she was going.
After the Texas Express pulled out of the station, and the crowds of people had all but vanished, Clara still sat patiently waiting. Andrew Montague was now more than an hour late to collect her and she couldn't help but begin to feel shunned.
“Excuse me?” Clara flagged down one of the station porters. “Do you know Mr. Andrew Montague?” She asked hopefully. The porter’s nostrils flared.
“Wouldn't have nothin’ to do with the fella even if he paid me.” He said before rushing off. Clara sighed heavily and looked around for someone else who might be able to help.
“Still here?” A familiar voice came from behind her once again. Turning around Clara came face to face with Buck.
“Yes.” She said. “As you can plainly see, I am still here.” Buck laughed.
“Well, I can see waitin’ around ain't changed yer disposition.” He said. “Whatcha waitin’ for anyhow?” He asked. Clara set her suitcase down on the ground and brushed her hands against the front of her dress.
“If you must know, I am waiting for my fiancé.” She said. Buck’s eyebrows shot up.
“A fiancé? What a lucky man he is.” He said, his sarcasm passing straight over Clara’s head. “And where is this fiancé?” He asked.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but he seems to be running a little behind schedule.” Clara said, reaching down and picking up her suitcase once again.
“Seems to me…not that it's any of my business,” he added, “that a fiancé shouldn't keep a his lady waitin’” Clara turned to check the platform for any sign of Andrew Montague before looking back to Buck.
“You're right,” she said. “It isn't any of your business.” And with that she took her small suitcase back out to the bench on the platform and sat down to continue waiting. No sooner had she sat down, however, than Buck appeared beside her. When she looked at him angrily, he shrugged.
“You're waitin’ and I'm waitin’, seems only right that we might wait together.” He said. Then, staring out at the tracks he mumbled, “who knows, maybe while we’re here we might see an armadilla?” Clara laughed. She couldn't help herself and God knows she tried to suppress it, but the vision of an ‘armadilla’ standing out on the platform waiting for a train crossed her mind and she laughed. She laughed until Buck laughed. She laughed until her sides hurt. And she laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. She hadn't laughed like that in years. And then she offered him her hand.
“Clara James.” She said with a smile.
Buck regaled Clara with plenty more Texas culture as they both sat on the platform, Clara waiting for Andrew Montague and Buck waiting for…something. It was only after an hour passed, that Clara realized that Andrew Montague was now more than two hours tardy to fetch her from the station.
“I'm afraid that I don't think Mr. Montague will be coming to collect me.” She said. “Perhaps I mistook the day…” both she and Buck knew that that wasn't the case because if she had, then the conductor wouldn't have accepted her ticket.
“Perhaps…” Buck said, “Something important came up. He is an important man here in El Paso.” Clara’s eyebrows shot up.
“You know Andrew Montague?” She asked. Buck smiled.
“Everyone in Texas knows Andrew Montague.” He said. “So he is your fiancé, hm?” Clara nodded.
“Yes. Well, he hasn't technically proposed yet, but he sent my father a promissory note and made his intentions quite clear.” She said. Buck nodded, he didn't have the heart to tell her that Andrew Montague had also promised marriage to hundreds of other wealthy women as well.
“I am sure you will be very happy together.” He said half heartedly. Clara smiled, her rosy cheeks plumping.
“I do hope so.” Then she paused. “Buck? Can I tell you something?” She asked. Buck nodded.
“You can tell ole Buck here anything.” He said, tugging his earlobe.
“My father promised my hand in marriage to Andrew Montague because he is rich. I'm marrying him because he can keep me as my father did.” Then she sighed heavily. “I doubt there should be any love involved at all. He seems much too busy of a man for that.” Buck’s forehead wrinkled with lines of concentration as he thought of how best to comfort Clara. Then, reaching over, he patted her arm lightly.
“Well, seems to me that any good father would do the same and any smart woman would accept.” He said.
“But what about love?” Clara said wistfully. “My sisters both refused their marriages. They said they would rather marry for love than for money.”
“But you wouldn't?” Buck asked. Clara’s brow knitted together.
“I don't really know what I want.” She said. “I thought I did, but now I'm here and I'm all alone and he didn't even send someone to fetch me…” She trailed off as her bottom lip began to tremble and tears filled her eyes. Buck pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her.
“I can tell you one thing,” he said as she dabbed at her tears. “You're not alone. Old Buck is here, and if I have to wait all night with you until Andrew Montague shows up, then I will.” He said. Clara giggled and clutched the handkerchief in her hands.
“Thank you, Buck.” She said, finally locking her pale blue eyes on his dark brown eyes. “And I'm sorry for before. For being so rude, I mean.” Buck patted her arm again.
“Everybody has their mind on something.” He said.
“Do you suppose one of those carriages out front might be ale to take me to Andrew Montague’s residence?” Clara asked.
“We could ask?” Buck said, standing up and offering her his hand. Clara took it and got to her feet. Then, before she could pick up her suitcase, Buck had picked it up for her. “Come on.” He said, tugging her by the hand. Clara nervously followed. She had never had a stranger clutch her hand quite so tightly before.
At the carriage stand, Clara and Buck found an older man in a three piece suit, despite the sweltering heat. He was brushing a large chestnut colored horse.
“Excuse me, sir?” Buck said. The man turned around and his face lit up.
“Buck! Nice to see ya again!” He said, putting down the brush and shoving out his hand. Buck released his grip on Clara’s and shook the man’s hand.
“Nathaniel! How’s Angela and the little one?” Buck asked. Nathaniel nodded.
“Oh, fine, fine.” He said. Then he nodded at Clara. “And who is this pretty young lady?” Buck looked at Clara and then back to Nathaniel.
“This pretty young lady is a new friend of mine, Clara.” He said.
“It's lovely to meet you, Mr…Nathaniel.” Clara said clumsily. Nathaniel laughed, a deep booming laugh.
“Just call me Nathaniel.” He said. “Were you two looking for a carriage?” He asked, looking back at Buck.
“Well, Clara here is affianced to Mr. Andrew Montague.” Buck said and suddenly Nathaniel’s face became significantly less cheery. “And she was wondering if you might be able to take her to his place of residence. You see, Mr. Montague was supposed to pick Clara here up from the station over two hours ago.” Nathaniel whistled through his teeth, but stopped quickly when Buck widened his eyes at him.
“Well, I'm afraid I can't go takin’ you to someone's house, Miss Clara, but I can take you to the nearest public house if that would be of any assistance?” Nathaniel said. Clara looked at Buck who looked pleadingly at Nathaniel. Nathaniel shook his head. “Sorry, Buck, you know I'd do it if I could. Besides, I was forbidden from ever returning to his property when Albert here shi…umm…used the facilities on his lawn.” Nathaniel gestured to the horse. Clara couldn't help but smirk. “My apologies for the language, ma’am.” Nathaniel added quickly.
“What do you think?” Buck asked Clara. “We could wait together at the public house? It'd be better than waiting here. At least there we could have lunch?”
“Yes, but how will Andrew Montague know where I am?” Clara asked. Nathaniel chuckled.
“Seems like he doesn't know where you are now if you ask me, ma’am.” He said. If it weren't true, Clara would have been angry, but the more time passed, the more she was convinced that it was true- Andrew Montague had forgotten her.
