Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) (25 page)

And he’d been fool enough to believe she was a boy.

Parson Bradle’s eldest son slipped into the pew in front of them and turned. “Miss—I mean, Lady Hathwell, Ma—she said to invite you to Sunday supper. We’d all be glad to have you.”

He looks at Sydney like she’s what’s for lunch
. Tim glared at him.

Sydney gave her head a small, definitive shake. “Thank you for your kindness, but I cannot. As Mr. Creighton has said, it’s only proper my uncle be consulted.”

Well, at least she had the good sense to follow suit.

Mouth opening and shutting like a dying trout, Bradle went beet red. “Velma, you and Tim could come, too.”

“No, thanks.” Tim locked eyes with him. “Velma already has Sunday supper all planned.”

Monday at lunch, Velma stuck one plate—albeit heaping— on the table in front of Tim. Sunday dinner was the only meal he and Sydney had shared since he’d discovered the truth. Velma’s cooking tasted great, but the crackling silence at the Sunday table yesterday made it clear everything was out of kilter. Today wasn’t going any more smoothly. In two short days, Sydney had turned Forsaken upside down.

He rubbed his knuckles along the edge of the snowy linen tablecloth. “What’s this doing out?”

Velma cocked a brow and said nothing.

“You prize this. It only comes out for special occasions like Christmas.”

“What good does it do, moldering away in a cabinet?” Velma smoothed out an invisible wrinkle. “Irish linen. You have to admit, it’s mighty fine looking.”

“Too good for everyday,” he muttered.

“Since when did you care about how the house looked?” Velma moved an arrangement of flowers over a few inches, then scooted it straight back to where it had been in the center of the table. It wasn’t just a fistful of blooms jammed into a jar. Three different kinds of green stuff wiggled and stuck out around a variety of flowers that were all varying shades of blue. Nothing other than blue. In a crystal vase. Tim hadn’t ever seen the vase before.

Syd had gone all girly on him. Every last fussy frill festered— no matter where he looked, something reminded him of his foolishness and her betrayal. He refused to ask Velma where Sydney was.

“While we were at the mercantile, Sydney heard that the parson and his wife are both feeling puny. We paid a mercy call.”

Tim raked his fingers through his hair. Sydney was about the same size as Louisa. This was exactly why he didn’t want a woman around. They were too fragile. “Why take her somewhere she could get sick? What if it’s the cholera or typhus or—”

“Nah. Parson’s back has a kink in it again, and his missus got hornet-stung, so she’s itching something awful. Sydney offered to stay and help out.”

“She’s more likely to set their house afire.”

Velma shot him a murderous look.

“Fine,” Tim huffed. “Maybe while Sydney’s there, they can calm her down a notch or two. The woman is as touchy as a ready-to-foal mare.”

“You’re the antsy one.”

Tim scowled at her. This whole thing was a mess. Friday, he’d gone back to town and sent Fuller a telegram. Wording it had been tricky. He didn’t want the whole nation knowing he’d been duped, so he’d settled on an informative directive:
Your
niece, Sydney, needs to meet with you
.

Saturday, no reply. The telegraph office was closed on Sunday.
Today. Today I’ll hear from Fuller. He’ll hightail it home now. He
has to!

But the day passed without any contact.

Velma’s mood hadn’t improved at all when he sat down to the supper table that night. She slid a plate in front of him and headed back toward the kitchen.

He felt utterly ridiculous, sitting at a flower-decked, linencovered table all by himself. “Where’s Sydney?”

“She’s spending the night over at the parsonage. Ella Mae’s broken out in the worst case of hives imaginable, and Parson Bradle can’t help her. As for their sons—well,” she sniffed, “they’re as useless as horns on a hound.”

A wave of anger swamped him. “You mean to tell me you left Sydney in that household, overnight, knowing they have three full-grown sons?”

“All three are mighty fine-looking bucks”—Velma nodded—“ but Sydney didn’t seem to take much notice. She was busy reading aloud to the parson and putting baking soda compresses on Ella Mae.”

“Do you think I care if Sydney noticed those boys? No!” He shoved away from his untouched meal and rose. “I care if
they
noticed
her
, and I can tell you here and now, every last one did. Fuller’ll skin me alive if any of them lays a finger on her.”

“Land o’ Goshen, Tim, she’s in the parsonage! Only place safer would be the church!”

“I’m going to go get her.”

Velma planted herself squarely in his path and stared him in the eye. “No, you’re not. It takes a fair bit to rile me, but you’ve succeeded, Tim Creighton. You’re a fine one to talk about how anyone else treats that gal. Those boys are treating her like she’s every bit as special as she really, truly is. You tromp in there, breathing fire, and they’ll wonder why you’re so overprotective.”

“I don’t care what they think!”

“Perhaps you ought to. You’ve kept to yourself too much, too long. You stopped caring about everything when your wife died. Folks cut you plenty of slack, but time’s come for you to move on.” She put up a hand to silence the protest that had him opening his mouth. “You may not want to admit it, but truth’s the truth. The minute you go thundering around and kick up a fuss about little Sydney, it’ll make folks sit up and take notice. They’ll think you’re claimin’ her as your very own.”

He froze. “Oh no! Now you just wait a minute!”

“No, you wait a minute. You stop and think, and you’ll know I’m right. ’Sides, this buys you some time. I know you sent Fuller a telegram. I’ll wait till afternoon tomorrow to go fetch her back, and by then maybe you’ll have a reply.”

“Of course I can do it.” Sydney took the sheets from Mrs. Bradle. “Would you care for a cup of fresh-brewed chamomile tea? It promotes rest, you know.”

A tired smile flitted across the parson’s wife’s face. “I doubt I need it. I’m so exhausted, I could sleep through the Second Coming.”

“If you and the reverend need anything, don’t hesitate to summon me.”

“You’re a dear. Good night.”

Sydney opened the door to the other bedchamber. The Bradles’ sons were sleeping elsewhere tonight so she’d have a bed. If she’d ever had brothers, Sydney knew they would have been just like the Bradle boys. The three of them were just over a year apart, stacked in size just like porch steps. They all washed up and combed their hair neatly before sitting down to the supper table. Sydney recognized the “best behavior” look on their faces—she’d worn it herself more times than she could count.

Sydney stripped the linen off the center bed and lifted a crisply folded sheet. For the first time ever she set about changing the sheets on a bed. She managed to bungle the job; the mattress kept slipping when she lifted it to tuck the sheet underneath. The sheets wanted to migrate anywhere other than where she intended them to stay, and she had no idea how to make the corners lie flat at the precise angles they did when her chambermaid back home saw to the matter.

A giggle welled up inside her.
I’ll strip the bed at daybreak so no
one will ever see what a terrible job I’ve done
. Sydney crawled into bed wearing a borrowed nightgown and lay there for all of a minute before she felt a wrinkle beneath her shoulders. She squirmed, and the wrinkle seemed to widen like the Thames until it ceased irritating her upper arm . . . and started feeling like a bale of barbed wire beneath her hip. “Princess and the Pea, my foot.” She crept from the bed and gave the sheet an impatient jerk. The wrinkle almost disappeared before her eyes. Delighted with that discovery, she gripped it more firmly and gave it another tug. The feather mattress came sliding off the rope straps and fell around her knees.

By the time she hauled the mattress back up, Sydney came to a firm decision. She’d been a fool when she thought cooking and cleaning and all of the other myriad domestic chores were far less physically demanding than ranch work! She swept the sheet toga-styled around herself and fell onto the mattress.
Tim
thought I made for a pitiful man, and he was right. But I’m no better at
being a woman
.

Tim was rubbing bag balm on a cow’s udder when Velma walked out to the fence. She waved a piece of paper and called out, “Fuller responded!”

“It’s about time,” he groused as he stood and wiped his fingers off on his pant leg as he strode over to meet her. “What did he say?”

Velma made no pretense at having left the contents private. “It’s hard to tell what he thinks.”

Her words didn’t exactly encourage him. Tim had hoped it was a simple notice of, “I’m on my way.” Obviously, it wasn’t. His molars grated back and forth.

“Here.” Velma handed him a bucket first.

Tim accepted it and drank from the dipper. “Is this your way of trying to cool my temper?”

“No call for you to be in a temper, but if you were, there’s not enough water in all of Texas to do the job.”

He drank more and said in a wry tone, “There’s not much water, period. We’ll have to drill.” He set down the bucket, took the telegram, and unfolded the paper.
Take good care of Sydney for
me. Treatment promising. Need to stay here longer
.

His hand fisted, crumpling the telegram into a small ball.

“Now, Tim. It’s not half as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

His eyes shot fire at her. “It’s worse!”

“Aw, stop whining. Sydney’s a sweet gal. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.”

“Don’t mention her body!” He took off his hat and smacked it against his thigh. “Likely every randy cowhand in the territory is already lusting after her, and Fuller expects me to chase ’em all off!”

Velma poked out her lower lip, then sucked it in, raked it between her teeth, and stared at him for a long, uncomfortable interval. “Seems to me you’re mighty antsy about it. No reason to be. Just keep her here and don’t allow any visitors till Fuller gets back to deal with her. That announcement you made in the churchyard put all the men on notice.” She let out an irritating laugh. “If your words didn’t scare them off, your scowl should have.”

“There’s a world of difference between what should happen and what does. All I have to do is turn my back for one minute, and some yahoo can try to sneak by. It’s not neighborly for me to break an arm, but I’ll do it if I have to.”

“Now, Tim—”

“Don’t you ‘Now, Tim’ me!” He kicked a small stone in frustration. “Orville Clark took a mind to suddenly come deliver supplies this morning. He’s never left his mercantile and brought stuff out to Forsaken. Never. Not once. He thought I wouldn’t know you’d just stocked up on flour and sugar.”

Velma had the nerve to shrug. “Could always use more.”

Tim stared at her. “I sent him back to town with his wagon fully loaded. Velma, I’m counting on you to back me up.”

“I will, I will. Besides, all the hands here will help out. Forsaken’s men think she’s cuter’n a bug’s ear, but they treat her like a cross between a fairy princess and a baby sister, so you don’t have to worry about them.”