Jane Goodger (6 page)

He led Amelia to the small waiting room and sat her down. “You may begin crying as soon as I leave,” he said matter-of-factly.

She looked at him as if he were mad. “I’m not going to cry.”

“You sure looked like you were going to back in the store,” he pointed out.

“That may very well be, but I certainly have no intention of crying now. I’m going to pack my bags, see to my funds, and…and…wait. But I’m not going to cry.”

As Boone watched, her eyes filled with tears and he felt about as helpless as a kitten facing a mountain lion. “I’ve got to get back to the store,” he said, handing her his last clean handkerchief.

She simply nodded and pushed the cloth against her already red nose. How she could make crying look lovely he didn’t know, but the urge to draw her into his arms was nearly overwhelming. The strange thing was, he’d seen women suffering far more than Amelia, and the urge to comfort them had never hit him before. He’d always maintained a professional attitude. But this woman needed only to shed a couple of foolish tears for his recalcitrant brother, and he wanted nothing but to heave her against him and draw out all her pain. Of course, he never would.

Instead, he patted her on the shoulder, the same way he patted his dog’s head, stopping cold when she reached out and clutched his hand, pressing it against her shoulder in an almost desperate gesture. He could feel her body shuddering as she tried to control herself, and he let her hold his hand as he stood there, awkwardly wishing he had the courage to hold her.

She let go abruptly, as if sensing his discomfort, and turned away slightly, her back bending as if she were trying to hold herself together.

“I have to get back to the store,” he repeated stupidly. And then he walked out of his office, his face set so that no one, not even Agatha, who knew him so well, would recognize the murderous rage he now felt for his brother. If Carson were to stick his smiling face within punching distance, he’d knock his head off.

“She all right? It took my Dulce quite a while to get over that heartbreak,” Agatha said. “And they never got close to talking about marriage.” She tsked and shook her head. “Can’t understand why that fool girl would travel all the way from England.”

“Apparently, they were actually engaged. Carson even asked her brother’s permission, and the announcement appeared in the newspapers there.” As he said the words, he realized he likely had been unfair to the girl. Carson had proposed, had asked her brother for permission. What girl wouldn’t have thought they were going to get married after all that? It just made what his brother had done even worse. “He spun tales so rich this time that I think he half-believed them himself.”

When Carson had returned from England, it had been as if he were returning a hero. Always self-assured, Carson had been brimming with confidence after his days as the star of the Real Wild West Show. He’d had tales of balls and ladies, and being welcomed into some of the most exclusive men’s clubs in London. He’d had flyers and posters featuring him in all his glory, wearing a ridiculous white costume. And for the first time in his life, he’d had a bit of money.

But all that was gone now. The money, the bravado, leaving behind a man who was slowly realizing he could no longer pretend his life was better than it was.

Agatha snorted. “If he asked her to marry him, then he should have done the right thing and married the poor thing.”

“She’s better off with a broken heart than married to my brother,” Boone said with painful honesty. Carson might not have been as mean as his father, but they were too much alike in other ways. And Lord knew his father had been just about the worst husband a woman could find. But he’d been damned charming on those rare occasions when he wasn’t roaring drunk.

“She’s leaving on Friday’s train?”

“I don’t think that’s soon enough for her.”

“No doubt she’s feeling a bit foolish as well as brokenhearted, poor thing. Can you imagine traveling halfway across the world for someone?”

“I can’t imagine crossing the street,” Boone said, making a rare joke.

Agatha laughed. “Someday you will. Mark my words. Though probably not in these parts. Other than my Dulce, there aren’t many respectable women.” She eyed him carefully. “What about that Stella?”

“Stella?” he asked. “She’s fifteen.”

“She’s eighteen. About the same age as that girl back there,” she said, jerking her head in the general direction of his office.

“Eighteen? Stella looks twelve.”

Agatha smiled. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Probably when she was twelve.”

“You’d better believe Stella Henderson don’t look twelve anymore.” Agatha got a speculative look on her wrinkled face.

“I’m sure Stella has her sights held a bit higher than me, Agatha. Or her parents do.”

Agatha sniffed. “You’re right. You could do far better than to end up with in-laws like the Hendersons.”

“I think I can do far better staying a bachelor,” Boone said truthfully. He didn’t want a wife and kids and all that worry. He liked his life the way it was, taking care of the store and the few patients that came his way. The last thing on his mind was getting married.

Amelia stared at her trunk as if staring at it would change the fact that her emergency money, the money she needed to return home, was not there. No one knew about the secret compartment except her. And her maid.

She let out a groan and buried her head in her shaking hands as she kneeled by the empty trunk. It all made sense now, her maid’s tears, those strange looks she kept giving her new love, the way she’d practically run off the ship and disappeared into the crowded New York City wharf. At the time, Amelia had been so happy for her maid, she’d simply assumed the girl wanted to hurry up and get married. If she wasn’t the most gullible woman, she didn’t know who was. She wondered if anyone she knew was what they seemed. Her maid, and now Carson, had betrayed her in ways that just a few weeks ago she could never have imagined.

“He ain’t worth your tears,” Dulce said, standing at the entrance to her room, looking on with pure disgust at her display of despair.

Too overcome by the desperation of her predicament, Amelia could only shake her head. She couldn’t leave. She was stuck here in this hellish place. Stuck until her brother sent money—her brother who was on his honeymoon somewhere in Europe. She didn’t even know where to reach him. Lord only knew how long it would take for him to get the funds. She knew no one in this country, not a soul.

“Oh, God,” she moaned.

“Should I get Boone?” Dulce asked, sounding bored.

Amelia could only nod and let out another groan. She heard him come into her room and tried to get control of herself.

“Dulce said you wanted to see me,” he said so gently Amelia nearly launched herself into his arms in gratitude. But Boone had a way about him that told her he would not welcome her with open arms. At that moment she just needed someone, anyone, to hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right—even though she knew in her heart that nothing ever would.

“M-my m-money,” she managed to get out. “It’s gone.”

“What money?”

“The money I was going to use to go home with. It’s gone. And now I’m stuck here, in this godforsaken place,” she wailed.

“Slow down,” Boone said, helping her to stand. “What money? Where was it?”

“It was in my trunk in a secret compartment. No one knew where it was except me and my maid,” she said bitterly. “She must have taken it. I can’t believe it. She was my friend. And now I’m stuck here
forever
.”

She could tell Boone thought her histrionics were slightly amusing, for he looked as if he were fighting a smile. This dour man whom she’d only seen smile once, was now fighting a smile when faced with her abject misery. The cad.

“How much was it?”

“Five hundred pounds sterling.”

Boone let out a slow whistle. That was more than two thousand American dollars.

“It was my brother’s wedding gift,” she muttered. “It was a bit of a nest egg, to help us out. Just in case.” The full extent of all she had lost was starting to hit her. She was reeling from it. How dare her maid steal from her? And how dare Carson lie and lie and then disappear as if she’d meant nothing more to him than a flirtation? He’d said he loved her. He’d asked her brother for her hand. She felt her fist clench, and she glared up at Boone as if he were to blame for all her troubles.

“Where is he?” she demanded.

“Who?”

“That dastardly fiend you call your brother. Where it he? I know you know.”

Boone looked momentarily confused. “He didn’t steal your money. He may be low, but he’s not
that
low.”

“I know he didn’t steal my money, he stole yours. But I want to know where he is so I can…I can…”

“You can what?”

“I don’t know,” she said, growing frustrated. “I want to hurt him. I want to scream at him. I want him to know what he’s done to me. How dare he run away like a frightened rabbit. Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?” she shouted over and over, then took her fists and aimed them toward his chest. He gripped her wrists in an iron grasp before she could make contact, immediately stopping her tirade.

“Don’t. Hit. Me.” He said the words succinctly, low and harsh.

Amelia was breathing hard and staring at his large hands gripping her slim wrists. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” she said, and he immediately dropped her hands and stepped away. She gazed up at him, her anger quickly replaced by confusion. “I just want you to tell me where he is.” She looked up at him but he wouldn’t meet her gaze, and it was only then that she realized how very angry he was, how tense was his body, how he held his arms rigid by his sides. “I’m sorry. You are not to blame. You do not deserve my anger. Unless you know where he is. Then I must warn you I might very well get angry with you.” She watched carefully as he visibly relaxed, as a sheepish look replaced his anger.

He shook his head. “I don’t know where my brother is. And if I did, I’d drag him back here and tie him up while I fetched the preacher.”

“I wouldn’t marry him now if he were the last man on earth,” Amelia said, crossing her arms.

He let out a grunt as if he didn’t believe her.

“You don’t think I mean it?” she demanded.

“I think my brother could come back this minute, hat in hand, beg your forgiveness, and that would be that.”

Amelia’s nostrils flared. “You don’t know me well enough to predict my actions.”

“I know you came here all the way from England to marry a man who forgot you existed the minute he stepped on American soil.”

Amelia could not believe how insufferable this man was. He might look like an angel with his curling brown hair and freshly shaved face, but he surely was the most disagreeable man she’d ever met. “There is no need to be cruel,” she said, hoping to make him feel a bit of shame for causing her to feel even more foolish.

Boone shrugged. “Just stating the facts as I see them.”

“You are the rudest, most despicable man I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. It is eminently clear to me that you have never had the occasion to move in polite society. Obviously you have no idea how to comport yourself with a lady.” My, it felt good to give this man a thorough tongue-lashing.

He clenched his jaw and for a moment Amelia thought she’d made him angry. A closer look, though, showed that he was really trying to stop laughing. Those cold slate eyes were twinkling. Twinkling! And that really incensed her.

“You, sir, are a misogynist.”

“I like women just fine,” he said, letting out a low chuckle. “That is, women who use their brains and not…other parts.”

Amelia gasped and turned beet red. “How dare you!”

Boone looked momentarily confused, and then it was his turn to blush. “Oh, Lord, I meant your heart. Women who think with their hearts instead of their brains are doomed to heartbreak. And my brother has a way of making seemingly intelligent women do the dumbest things.” Boone had been trying to soothe her ire, but apparently this was one woman who could not be soothed with calm reason.

“Do you not think for a moment that I don’t know just how stupid I was to travel here? Do you think I need it pointed out on an hourly basis? Perhaps you should borrow some of your brother’s charm because you, sir, certainly need a large dose of it. I’d rather be charmed to death than bored to death.” Amelia smiled smugly, obviously proud that she’d come up with a suitable insult for him. But if she thought to hurt him, she was going to be sorely disappointed. He threw back his head and laughed.

“Bored to death,” he repeated, as if she’d made the funniest of jokes. “You are something else, Miss Amelia. I haven’t had this much fun in years.”

“So happy to have been of help,” she grumbled.

He gave her a lopsided smile, because he knew full well how horrid he’d been. “I’ll keep my ears open for news about Carson. If he’s nearby, I’ll go get him, and then the two of you can sort out what you’re going to do.”

“Is murder an option?” she asked darkly.

“Unfortunately, no,” he replied goodnaturedly. “I’d give you a loan but my charming brother ran away with nearly everything I had. And that wasn’t much. I could probably get you as far as St. Louis.”

“Where’s that?” Amelia asked, hopefully.

“About nine hundred miles west of New York City.”

“Oh.” It seemed as if, right before his eyes, some of her bravado left her, for she sat down on the bed as if she could no longer bear the weight of all that had happened to her.

Boone wished he could help her, he really did. Because the last thing he needed around him was a woman like Amelia, a spoiled rich thing who probably hadn’t suffered a day in her life. No one with hands that soft and skin that pale had ever worked for anything.

Other than Agatha, who was about as tough a woman as he’d ever met, his experience with women was limited to his practice. He’d never had a sweetheart, never lain between a woman’s legs, never kissed a girl on her lips. With that thought, his eyes drifted to her soft, well-formed lips and he felt a flood of lust so strong he turned away abruptly. He’d gone twenty-eight years without a woman and had thought, perhaps, he’d go another twenty-eight years. The one time he’d tried, with the whore Geraldine, he’d been so nervous, his body had failed him miserably. She’d laughed, not in a cruel way, but because she thought it was cute that a twenty-year-old was shaking like a leaf, staring at his uncooperative male part in horror. She’d told him he could try again another day, but the thought of lying between her legs where dozens of other men had been, including his own sixteen-year-old brother, made him slightly nauseous. And that made him think there was something wrong with him, for wouldn’t a man, a real man, want to bed a woman, any woman?