Heartstrings (20 page)

While his eyes widened, he licked his lips. “Two crates that’s got two hunnerd eggs apiece in ’em.”

She opened her reticule and withdrew two gold coins. “I will guess at all four hundred eggs. Will this be enough?”

One of the townsman stepped forward. “Ma’am,” he said gently, staring at the gleaming gold pieces, “it’s impossible to make four hundred right guesses. Are you sure you want to risk so much money?”

“I am sure, sir, but thank you for your concern.” She held the coins toward Mr. Jister.

He grabbed the gold, which was more than he usually made in a month of working his game, then hoisted the two egg-filled crates up to the table. “Be my guessin’ guest,” he invited, his gaze dipping to her breasts again.

“If I succeed at separating each raw egg from the boiled, will I win every prize you have?”

“Oh, sure, sure,” he said, grinning so broadly that the rat head above his ear moved. “Ever’ last one of ’em.”

Calmly, Theodosia removed her gloves and laid them over her lower arm. “Very well. Please pile all your eggs onto the ground, but keep the two crates on the table.”

Almost choking on pent-up laughter, he complied.

Theodosia turned to the crowd of gaping people. “There are four hundred eggs to separate, and I would appreciate it very much if some of you would assist me.”

“But we didn’t guess right when we played,” a woman cautioned.

Theodosia gave the woman a gracious smile. “None of us will make a wrong guess because guessing will have no part whatsoever in the choices we make. You see, there is a secret to this game, and I am delighted to be able to share it with you.”

Mr. Jister frowned. “Hold on a damned minute! You—”

“The raw eggs will not spin,” Theodosia quickly explained to the people, “but the boiled eggs will.” Quickly, she chose three eggs from the ground and, setting them upright on the table, she tried to spin them. Two rolled to their sides, and one spun like a top. “The first two eggs are raw, and the last is boiled.”

When she cracked them to prove her declaration, the crowd hummed with amazement.

“We shall put all the eggs to the test,” she continued. “Those that spin we shall place in the crate on the left, and those that fail to spin but roll to their sides will go in the crate on the right. Now, let us begin.”

“The game’s closed!” Wildly, Mr. Jister tried to put the eggs back into the crates.

Several men in the gathering hindered his efforts while the rest of the people surged forward to test the eggs. Minutes later, the two crates were again full.

Theodosia slipped her gloves back on. “Please break the eggs now, Mr. Jister, so we may see how well we
guessed.”

When the men who held him released him, he jabbed a finger toward her. “You ain’t gonna get away with this, lady.”

“I already have, sir. You may break the eggs if you so desire, but I believe you and I both know they are separated correctly. And now you must keep your word and give me every prize on that rack.”

“I cain’t run my game without no prizes!”

“Then it appears as though I have brought you to ruin.”

The fat beneath his chin shook as molten fury spewed through him. He lunged toward her, his arms stretched out before him, his hands ready to wrap around her throat.

But he never even got near her.

A solid mass of muscle appeared suddenly before him.

Roman knocked the carnival man to the ground with one blow, then, his motions blurred, whipped out his Colt. “What the hell is going on here? Miss Worth?” He scanned the crowd until he spotted her heading around the table to stand in front of the rack of prizes.

She handed a bottle of perfume to the young boy who had tried to win it. Upon further thought, she removed her bonnet, pulled a silken ribbon from it, and tied a bow around the neck of the scent flask. “There now, lad. You have a gift for your mother.”

He smiled up at her when she curled her hand around his cheek, then hugged her legs before racing off to find his mother.

As Roman watched the scene, a sense of wonder came over him. How was it possible for two strangers to demonstrate such affection? It was the damnedest thing he’d ever seen.

“Lady, you ain’t got no right to be givin’ that perfume to the snot-nosed brat!” Mr. Jister shouted. “That was genuine French perfume made all the way in New York!”

“Miss Worth,” Roman said, “would you mind telling me why I just punched this man in the face?”

“I suppose you did it because you are my hired bodyguard,” she replied as she came out from behind the table. “He was about to inflict bodily harm upon me. As for why you chose to strike his face, you—”

“She tricked me!” Warily, Mr. Jister rose from the ground, his huge chest heaving.

“Mr. Jister,” Theodosia began, placing her bonnet back on her head, “it was not my intention to reveal the secret of winning your egg game until you laughed over that little boy’s misfortune. That not being enough to feed your hunger for cruelty, you pushed him as well. I understand that your livelihood depends on your customers’ ignorance of the law of inertia. However, what I do not comprehend is the callous attitude you exhibit when people lose their money.” With a turn of her head, she dismissed him and peered up at Roman. “Shall we have our dessert now, Mr. Montana?”

Roman glanced down at the boxes of food he’d dropped the moment he saw Mr. Jister attempt to attack Theodosia.

“Oh, Mr. Montana,” she murmured, “when you struck Mr. Jister, you spilled our dessert.”

“Well, what did you want me to do? Stuff a piece of strawberry cake up his nose? Look, I still don’t understand what the hell went on here while I was gone, but you—”

“She ruined me, that’s what!” Mr. Jister blasted.

Calmly, Theodosia walked among the assembly of townspeople. “In gratitude for your assistance, I would like for you to please take your pick of the prizes.”

Squealing and hollering with delight, the people hurried toward the rack and promptly began stripping it of its treasures.

In an effort to salvage at least one of the valuable prizes, Mr. Jister started toward the rack, but he stopped instantly when he felt a gun barrel sink into the fat at his waist.

“Sometimes you win, Jister, and sometimes you lose,” Roman said, his revolver steady in his hand. “Today you lost.” With the glitter in his eyes, a stiff nod of his head, and a wave of his Colt, he ordered the game man to leave.

Mr. Jister slunk away.

“Let me congratulate you, Miss Worth,” Roman said, taking her arm and leading her toward the dessert stands. “You’re very talented.”

“That is a very poor choice of words, Mr. Montana. Understanding the law of inertia is not a talent but an acquired skill that is the result of years of study. To explain: Centrifugal force is the pull exerted by a moving object along a circular path on the body constraining that object. The force acts outwardly away from the center of rotation. In a raw egg, the center is liquid and is therefore unevenly distributed within the confines of the shell. When spun, the raw contents slosh—”

“A thousand thanks for making all that clear to me, Miss Fountain of Knowledge. But I wasn’t talking about your study habits of the past—I was talking about your amazing ability to find trouble! Didn’t it ever cross that brilliant mind of yours that winning all that egg man’s prizes might not sit too well with him?”

She skirted to the side when a youngster’s ball came flying toward her. “No. My only concern was gaining retribution for that dear little boy who wanted the perfume for his mother.”

Roman hadn’t the heart to continue scolding her over her lack of judgment. To her way of thinking, she’d performed a good deed, and she had. But even so, he vowed to keep a closer watch on her.

“You aren’t angry with me, are you, Mr. Montana?” Taking his hand into both of hers, she raised it to her upper chest and rested her chin upon his knuckles.

Her tender worry and gentle gesture affected him deeply. He felt vulnerable to her sweetness at that moment, as if he were standing unarmed before a benevolent, yet powerful force.

“Mr. Montana?”

He feigned a somber expression and resorted to teasing. “Yes, as a matter of fact I
am
mad at you. I told you to get me that Winchester if you won the egg game. Instead, you let someone else have it.”

“You wear two guns at your hips, have a knife strapped to your leg, and carry a rifle on your saddle. Why do you desire yet another weapon?”

“Well…just to have it.”

How like a little boy he was at this moment, she thought, watching his crooked grin and the naughty twinkle in his eyes. On impulse, she reached up and slid her fingers through his long black hair, then trailed them down his chest. Finally, she stopped her hand at his waist and caressed the stretch of muscle in his back.

Roman stood riveted, his heartbeat the only motion in his entire body. She’d never touched him like this before, and judging by the innocence in her eyes, he knew she had no idea that her simple caresses were arousing him to such a degree that it was all he could do not to ravish her in front of the whole township of Kidder Pass.

He had to be alone with her. Now. Right now. And when he had her all to himself, he knew exactly what he would do.

She hadn’t mentioned her sex-treat book in a while, but he hadn’t forgotten about those highly unusual things the dead Tibetan men had practiced. Maybe reviewing
The Sweet Art of Passion
with Theodosia would lead to some highly unusual fun. “Miss Worth, why don’t we go back to the room now?”

She dropped her hand from his waist, then picked a bit of lint off his shirt. “May we savor a bit more diversion first? I’ve a mind to see that number game.”

He couldn’t deny the pretty plea glistening in her eyes and resigned himself to waiting awhile longer before exploring the Tibetan sex secrets. In truth, perhaps it was better that he had a chance to cool down. “The number game, huh?” He looked at the booth.

Sensing he was in accordance, Theodosia picked up her skirts and headed toward the other carnival game, and Roman followed.

When they arrived, Roman saw that Burris Jister had joined the number game man. The men resembled each other, and both wore matching rat hats, leading him to realize they were brothers. He knew, too, that the other Jister brother was probably just as crafty as Burris.

“That’s her, Gordie!” Burris shouted. “Close down the game, and—”

“Well, afternoon to you, miss,” Gordie said. Smiling, he pushed Burris into a chair. “Hear tell y’ruined my brother.”

“She won his prizes fairly,” Roman stated, his voice a growl.

“Yeah, she sure did,” Gordie agreed, shoving his brother’s shoulder when Burris tried to get out of the chair. “Fair and square. And y’know? That’s how I run
my
game—fair and square.”

“Well, Mr. Montana,” Theodosia said, smiling, “we have finally come upon a fair game. One in which we may trust our own abilities.”

Roman studied the setup of the game. Strung along a clothesline were a multitude of wooden clothespins, and on each pin was painted a number. “All right, what’s the scientific secret to this game, Miss Worth?”

“There ain’t nothin’ scientific!” Burris yelled.

“Mr. Jister is correct,” Theodosia said. “There is nothing scientific about this game. All one needs to win is a good aim and a good memory.”

“Really?” Roman asked.

“That’s right,” Gordie said, sliding a sly look his brother’s way. “I run a real honest game. Y’want to play, mister?”

Before Roman could reply, a young couple approached the booth.

“I’d like to play,” the man said, patting his sweetheart’s hand. “Where are the prizes?”

“This is a bettin’ game, sir,” Gordie explained. “Put up your money, and if y’win, I’ll match what you’ve bet.”

The man dug two dollars from his pocket and laid them on the stand. “What are the rules?” Gordie turned and winked at Burris, who refused to take his eyes off the blond woman who had destroyed him. “As you can see,” Gordie said to his customer, “on seven o’ these pins is written number nine, sixteen, eighteen, sixty-one, sixty-six, eighty-nine, and ninety-eight.” With a cane, he pointed to the seven specific pins. “Them’s the winnin’ numbers. Get a good look at where they are, because I’m gonna turn all the pins over. Now, to win all’s y’gotta do is remember where one o’ the winnin’ numbers is and then toss a ring over it. If y’ring it, you’ll walk away with four dollars in your pocket. If y’don’t, I keep your money, and y’get—”

“A lemon drop,” Roman broke in.

“No, cherry,” Gordie said. He handed his customer a wooden ring. “Tell me when you’re ready for me to turn the numbers over.”

Aware that a crowd was gathering around the booth, the man studied the pins carefully, then nodded.

By means of a handle attached to one end of the clothesline, Gordie turned the pins so that their numbers faced the back of the booth.

“I’m going to ring number eighty-nine,” the man told his girl. “I know exactly where it is.” He threw the ring and shouted triumphantly when it landed over a pin.