Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (21 page)
“You’d best put that ax away,” Tim ordered. “I don’t want it flying out of your wet hands.”
“Hey, Boss, what’s with him?” Boaz frowned at her.
Tim’s eyes narrowed.
Sydney looked down and felt horribly sick. Her soaked shirt stuck to her skin, and the binding around her chest showed through very plainly. She closed her eyes in horror.
Rough fingers clamped her jaw and squeezed. “Kid, why didn’t you tell me you busted your ribs fishing Emmy-Lou out of the well?”
Shocked by his assumption, she remained utterly silent for a second. Her luck couldn’t take any more twists and turns than this. Sent down a hole, fished out, almost exposed, gaining another accomplice, then almost being revealed again by the presence of her bindings. Just thinking about the day made her dizzy.
“Did Miriam wrap you up good enough?”
Sydney nodded vigorously.
“Go on in the house. That wet binding will chafe. I’ll be up in a minute to rewrap you.”
She stepped back. “I’ll do it.”
“Nope. Tell you what—it’s muggy. Leave it undone and crawl into bed. Tomorrow, I’ll strap you up.”
“I’ll manage, but thanks anyway.” She hastened away before he became any more observant.
The next morning, Velma stationed herself in Sydney’s doorframe. “Leave the kid alone, Tim. He’s not complaining, but he’s not in any shape to get out there today.” She glared at the behemoth man.
“I’m checking on him, then.”
“I’m standing over you to make certain you aren’t too rabid.”
Tim plowed into the bedroom and gave Sydney a long, hard look. “Kid, your skin doesn’t have a drop of color to it.”
“You near sent Syd to his death down that well hole,” Velma accused.
“Close only counts in pitching horseshoes. Let me see your ribs, son.” Tim grabbed for the blankets.
Velma slapped his hands away. “No need. I just inspected them. I wrapped them right and tight, too. Right shoulder matches his back for color, too. Left one isn’t quite so bad, but it’s gotta hurt like the dickens. He’s got a huge rope burn ring around his waist and left ankle, too. Far as I can tell, little Syd ain’t budging for three, maybe four days.”
“Four days! If it’s that bad, I’ll have Bert fetch Doc.”
“Doc is a brainless leech. I know my stuff. You know that for a fact, as often as I’ve patched you back together.”
“Hey, I admit, Doc’s no prize—”
“You got that right. He near killed Slim Garner by rubbing goose grease and ashes on that nasty burn he had. Then, there’s what he did to the Tyson kid. That boy’s gonna have one leg shorter than the other because Doc didn’t set it straight!”
“Dear saints,” Sydney moaned.
“Yeah, but we can’t let Fuller’s nephew weaken.”
“Fuller went to Abilene to get squared away. He wouldn’t even let Doc see him! Leave Syd to me. Now get outta here. You make me nervous, what with the way you pace about.”
Tim threw them a disgruntled look and headed for the door.
Sydney barely choked back a surprised yelp as he came back in.
“How’s he breathing? When a broken rib pokes the lung, men go white like this.”
“But his lips would turn blue. He’s breathing good enough. Did you ever get that laudanum I told you to pick up in town?”
“Nope. The men prefer a stiff belt of whiskey.”
“I swear, you men nigh unto drive me out of my mind! Now get!”
After his footsteps died out, Sydney whispered gratefully, “Thank you, Velma.”
“I don’t know if you ought to be thanking me. I’m not doing you any favors by leaving you to Tim and his man-making ways. Long as Tim thinks you’re a boy, he’s going to find ways to work you, and you’re not strong enough to withstand much. Tim’s going to expect you to bounce right back.”
Tim got restless on the second day, and by the third, he propped his elbows on the dining table and stared at Sydney. One curt nod, then he pronounced, “You’ve got your color back. That means your breathing’s fine. After breakfast—”
“After he’s done eating, Sydney is going to rest.” Velma glowered at Tim. “You said you’d abide by my advice, and now you’re about to go off half-cocked and put the kid to heavy work. He’ll be bedbound for a week—maybe more—if you try that stupid stunt!”
“One more day,” Tim groused.
Tim watched Syd come downstairs. His eyes narrowed. The kid held the banister like a woman afraid of tripping over the hem of her ball gown. A few days lolling around, and the kid was back to being Fancy Pants again.
Fancy Pants paused for a brief moment. Strain flickered across his features.
Maybe Velma’s not completely wrong. At least the kid handles pain like
a man. Babying him would be an insult
. “You’re good enough to go on into town and pick up some supplies. Velma’s got a list.”
Syd bobbed his head.
“I don’t care what Velma said about Little Lord Fauntleroy. Your hair looks girly. While you’re in town, mosey over to the barber.”
Immediately after breakfast, Sydney left for town. Velma stayed at the table and gave Tim a scowl. “Creighton, you’re gonna live to regret how you’re treating Syd. Mark my words, one of these days, none too far off, you’re going to be one shamefaced devil.”
“Velma, the kid had to grow up sometime. Little Lord Fancy Pants has come a long way, and you have to admit it. He’s downright passable now—like a brother who grew out of being a pest and turned into a friend. Given more time, we’ll have him trained well enough to take over Forsaken when Fuller and I kick the bucket.”
“Yeah, if he doesn’t kick the bucket first! I swear, I’ve practically gone gray watching how you’ve whipped him into shape. He’s mucking stables, clearing fields, plowing, building a house—and then he yanked a little girl out of a well hole. Just you remember that he’s busted his ribs and been drunk as a skunk, too. To my way of thinking, he’s getting a far sight too much living crammed into two short weeks.”
“It’s been almost three weeks.”
“Yeah, and I’ll bet the kid thinks it’s been an eternity.”
“Give it up, Velma. He’s having the time of his life. Fact is, he’s pulling his fair weight. What more do you want?”
Velma huffed and walked off.
An hour and a half later, Tim squinted at the road. The kid hadn’t gotten home yet. “Probably talking to some woman about flowers and sachets,” he muttered.
Almost an hour more, and Tim started getting antsy. Velma didn’t fuss and squawk without reason. If she was right, Syd might have put on a manly front and still been hurt enough to run into trouble. Tim headed toward town.
Forsaken’s buckboard was parked by the saloon.
Filled with wrath, Tim pushed through the batwing doors. A few men stood at the bar, but Syd wasn’t among them.
The tacky, worn strip of reddish carpeting leading up to the stairs didn’t muffle the angry stomp of Tim’s boots. Taking the stairs two and three at a time, Tim reached the second story. The stairs ended at the far side of the room where just a tiny landing gave way to a hall. He stormed around it.
Four doors lay wide open, the rooms empty. Three soiled doves and the madam were using the fifth room as a parlor. A cursory glance let Tim know Sydney wasn’t there. He ignored the giggles and gasps, turned, and spied one last door. It was closed.
He heard a splash of water. “Syd!” He banged on the door.
Sydney didn’t answer.
Tim banged on the door again. When the kid didn’t respond, Tim threw the door open.
Syd’s clothes lay on the floor along with a woman’s unmentionables. Bubbles cascaded from the deep tub and surrounded the shoulders of a shampoo-frothed woman. She stared at him with enormous blue eyes.
Tim spun around and stayed in the open doorway. He crossed his arms. “Soon as the kid runs short on air and surfaces, I’ll pull him out of here.”
The madam stormed toward him while the chippies stared at him from the parlor. “Mister, get out of here.”
“Just as soon as Syd crawls out of the tub.”
A woman rounded the corner with an armful of towels.
“Syd, I—” She caught sight of Tim. The towels tumbled from her arms.
Anger at Syd and discomfort at being in such a place left Tim off-balance for a second. But something more was wrong.
Sydney should have come up for a breath by now. But he hasn’t
.
He glared over his shoulder. Yep. Those were Syd’s duds. Tim didn’t intend to look at the woman. He just wanted to be sure Syd wasn’t sneaking another breath. Then the girl’s wide blue eyes jolted Tim.
Four doors. Four whores. All accounted for
.
The stricken look on the face of the woman in the tub was all too familiar, too. His mood went as black and cold as a bank of thunderclouds as he bellowed,
“Syd!”
Tim paced downstairs like a caged tiger. A hungry, caged tiger. Sydney could hear the sound of his boots ringing on the floorboards as he made another circuit around the saloon. Each step sounded like a muffled explosion of dynamite.
The last thing she wanted to do was go down the stairs. After all, the grand finale and the biggest detonation of that dynamite would occur as soon as she made an appearance.
“You look lovely, Lady Hathwell,” Helene praised softly.
“Please, call me Sydney.”
The madam smiled and shook her head. “That wouldn’t do. You deserve to be treated in accordance with your station.”
“I don’t want that. Right about now, I need a friend more than anything else!”
And I just lost my best friend. Tim won’t ever
forgive me
.
“I’ll accompany you downstairs.”
“I don’t know how I’ll even make it back home. The man’s angry enough to shoot me on sight.” Remembering the power of his hands, she shivered. “Forget the gun. He’ll tear me apart with his bare hands!”
“Now, Lady Sydney, don’t carry on so. You’re letting your imagination run off with you. He’s mad, but he won’t raise a hand to you. Tim Creighton has a sterling reputation. He might bellow like a bull, but he won’t hurt you in the least.”
Sydney took a slow, deep breath to steady herself. In the past, it had always worked. This time, it didn’t. The sound of those angry steps grated on her nerves.
“Just one more stitch.” Nella threaded the needle through the fabric of the dress Sydney wore. “You’re too short for this dress, but tacking up the hem will get you through.”
Helene smiled as she finished uncoiling Sydney’s hair from the curling iron. The softly curled tresses caressed her nape and cheeks. A small, pale blue ribbon kept the weight of the hair off of her face and echoed the color of the demure, flowered dimity dress that one of the other girls had donated to the cause. The effect was spoiled the moment Sydney took a step, because she still wore her boots.
She looked at her reflection in a gilt-edged peer glass and tried to recall how it looked and felt to be a woman. The shapely woman who gazed back at her didn’t appear familiar in the least. Including her traveling time, she’d been in britches for almost a month. With short hair and a borrowed dress, her reflection was completely unfamiliar. She tentatively ran her hand down the skirt, as if to convince herself that this was real.
Nella bobbed her head in approval. “You know, Lady Syd, you’re right pretty all fancified. You must be a sight for sore eyes in a fancy ball gown.”
“That feels like a lifetime ago.”
Helene patted her hand. “Not really. Now that you’re back in skirts, you’ll slip back into your role as a woman. It’s more than skin-deep. Even as a make-believe man, you had gracious manners and speech. All of the decent folk are going to be thrilled—you’re high society.”
Sydney gave her a hesitant smile. “Honestly, after all I’d ever heard about . . . er, soiled doves, I must say something: You women have been kinder than most of the girls I knew in Londontown. I do hope that you’ll still do me the honor of a friendship.”
Tim’s steps grew more emphatic.
Helene grimaced. “That’s very sweet of you, but this is hardly the time to fret over such things. We’d do better to get you through the next day or so. I fear Tim Creighton’s a man who shouldn’t be crossed. His pride is going to be aching the minute he catches sight of you in a dress. He won’t fathom how he was fooled into accepting you as a boy.”
