Tall, Dark, and Determined (36 page)

Chase reached for a sixth egg in an overcoat, his gaze never leaving hers as he bit into it.
Too good … but too much
. He put down the food and reached for more coffee, slugging back an entire mug before he bothered to answer. “Ready when you are.”

Her scowl got the better of her before she calmed. “I'll just fetch my cloak.” She slowly picked it up from where she'd laid it on the bench, a silent testament to her long wait. They were the only two people left in the dining room now.

Chase pushed away from the table, walked over to the peg by the door holding his hat, and grabbed it. Hat in hand, he gave her a long, assessing look. Two things struck him about the dress she'd chosen. First, it was green, so the woman had some sense that they'd need to sneak up on their prey. Second, it was the
same
green dress she'd worn the last time she followed him into the forest.
Must be her stalking dress
.

“What do you plan to go after today?” She sounded eager.

“Partridge. Since you volunteered me to provide something out of the ordinary for the picnic, we have two days to take down nine birds.” One for every member of the party.

“Eleven,” Miss Lyman corrected. “Mrs. Nash decided she'd like to attend if at all possible. Her brother will be coming along to offer his arm and support, so she doesn't fall.”

Despite his low expectations, Chase knew the picnic just got worse. Lawson wrangled his way in, even though he lost his first round at the cribbage tournament.
Selfish fool probably talked his sister into feeling like she was missing out
.

“Mrs. Nash shouldn't be trekking around the forest with the doctor back in town.” The woman looked ready to go into labor at any moment, and Chase didn't want the risk of it on his watch.

“Do you think we should invite him as well?” Miss Lyman fastened her cloak. “That's a splendid idea. Not only for Mrs. Nash, but for his own sake. The poor man stays cooped up in that house with Braden all the time. Clump even takes him his meals. Of course, he'll bring the number up to an even dozen.”

“Ambitious, but not impossible.” Chase reeled at how much the woman talked—and what she'd revealed. Why did she feel sorry because a man spent so much time with her brother? Did they arrange for the doctor to remain inside so he wouldn't talk to anyone? He'd bring down another bird for the chance to find out.

“Gun?” He didn't see a purse dangling from her wrist, and her cloak didn't have pockets. Remembering the day they'd met, Chase didn't think for an instant that she'd left it behind.

“Here.” She reached into a pocket cleverly tucked into the billow of her skirts and presented the mother-of-pearl inlaid pistol. Someone taught her elemental gun safety. It rested on her palm, barrel facing away from her, away from him, and away from the kitchen where her friends were still chattering.

No more than five inches long, it nevertheless boasted six cylinders. Impressive, but not nearly enough for hunting.

“You're going to need more bullets.” Chase knew he couldn't predict the day's events, but he planned on bagging several birds. In spite of her luck with the cougar, he didn't hold much confidence in her marksmanship abilities with that tiny thing.

“Check.” She checked the safety before sliding the gun into her right pocket then drew an entire box of bullets from her left. “If you're satisfied, I'll just get my bag and we'll go.”

Nothing snobby about that. She wasn't challenging whether or not her equipment met his criteria, but genuinely asking. For the first time since he'd known he'd be stuck with her for an entire day, Chase found hope it wouldn't be unbearable.

“Bag?” A quick look around the diner turned up nothing.

“I left it in the kitchen, since I noticed you didn't mention our expedition to the other men.” She hesitated, and Chase knew she was pushing back the thought that she was going alone into the forest, entirely unchaperoned, with an unmarried man. “It might've raised some uncomfortable questions.”

I have a few myself.
Chase nodded and waited as she slipped through the swinging doors and disappeared into the kitchen.
Like why she's not more concerned about propriety. Or why she's so determined to go hunting if it's not out of spite?

Because his first idea was that her decision to tag along had been simply to aggravate him. She'd accomplished that well enough last week, when she'd handed him his head over how little he knew what motivated her. But the woman had a point.

What do I really know about the woman claiming to be Lacey Lyman?
Once you got past her distractingly good looks, something more complex peeked through.
Brave
—she conquered the cougar without any hysterics.
Loyal
—she stayed in town to protect her friends.
Fiery
—not many could hold their own against her.
Ruthless
—no price too great, no obstacle she wouldn't overcome to get what she wanted.
The last one's the kicker
.

It would be dangerous to get in the way of anyone with that sort of relentless determination—even worse to cross her
. Because in spite of the intriguing traits, Miss Lyman didn't seem nearly as concerned with moral questions as she was with getting her own way. Chase didn't know if she was a believer or if she only put her faith in herself. In a lot of ways, she carried herself like a Christian, but the underlying motivation always seemed to come back to her plans for Hope Falls.

Did she hatch those plans back when the town housed a mine?

“Ready!” Excitement flushed her cheeks, as though she really looked forward to the grueling day ahead. Slung over her right shoulder, strap crossing her body, a leather game bag bumped against her hip. A
very full
leather game bag—which couldn't possibly be holding any game
before
the hunt.

“What all did you squirrel away in that thing?” Chase eyed it dubiously. They were in for a long trek, and she shouldn't be carrying any more weight than was necessary. Besides, she already packed her pistol and her bullets in her skirt pockets. What more did a fine lady think she'd need to go tracking?

“My canteen—I don't want too many things swinging around while I'm walking, so I put it inside.” She started ticking things off. “My pocket-knife, for field dressing. Some good strong twine to use for carrying small game, a few handkerchiefs because it's going to be dirty work …” The woman sounded like she'd swallowed a manual for beginners. Otherwise, how would a fine lady like Lacey Lyman know anything about field dressing?

She'd trailed off as though she couldn't remember everything she'd crammed into the pack. This was proven when she sidled close to a table and plopped the bag atop it. Then the intrepid and overly prepared Miss Lyman began rummaging through, continuing her list as she rediscovered her necessities.

“A fan to use when I'm overexerted.” She shot a quelling glance his way when he snorted at that find. “A fresh jar of feverfew infusion, so I can reapply it if the insects become troublesome later in the day. Oh, and lunch of course!”

For a moment Chase sat on the proverbial fence, trying to decide whether to laugh at her long laundry list or ask what she'd packed for their midday meal. It seemed a safe bet that anything from Miss Thompson's kitchen would prove better fare than the jerky and biscuits he kept handy while working.

It was a toss-up, but Chase figured he'd find out about the food later in the day. “Put your knife in the pocket with your bullets, put your canteen around your neck, and give the bag here. Anything you carry gets heavier as the day wears on; you can't tote that much.” But he could see his way clear to toting lunch around, once he'd gotten rid of everything else. Except the twine—that might come in handy but would tangle in a pocket.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Dunstan.” She slid the strap over her head and held it out. “That's very kind and thoughtful—what, precisely, do you think you're doing!” She ended on a squawk.

“Lightening the load.” He tilted the bag to one side, so things shifted. Chase reached in, pulled out an ivory fan, and tossed it on a nearby table. A garden of embroidered handkerchiefs bloomed in the emptied space. He chucked those, too.
What sort of nonsense is this?
A glass jar held some slightly cloudy liquid. Chase held it up for her inspection.

“The feverfew infusion,” she informed him, her arms crossed over her chest as though to hold back a flood of angry words.

“Don't need that either.” He placed it next to the hankies. “We'll stop by your shop and grab you a few bandannas, and that'll do. Everything else can stay here till we get back.”

“Very well, Mr. Dunstan.” She sounded as tightly wound as she looked. “If you insist on leaving the handkerchiefs and my fan, I'll not quibble. But the feverfew comes with me.”

“Won't do a lick of good.” He slipped her bag over his head.

“Oh, it most absolutely does!” Lacey fought the urge to pick up her fan and throw it at his obstinate skull. Her temper hadn't won her any favors, so she decided to appeal to his sense of competition. “In fact, I can prove it. Let me bring the infusion and use it, and as the day progresses we'll see who suffers more bites and stings. If I'm correct, I can bring whatever I like on our next outing together. If you win, I'll bring only what you approve on our future excursions.”

“Future excursions?” Genuine surprise colored the question.

“Of course.” She held out the jar. “I'm a quick learner, Mr. Dunstan, but I don't think either of us believes I'll catch on to more than the rudiments the first time around.”

He looked at the jar as though it might bite him. Then he looked at her, and Lacey knew with absolute certainty that Chase Dunstan never considered she might want more than one lesson. By taking the jar, whether he won or lost the game, he'd be agreeing to continue her education with additional trips.

“Or you could simply admit you're wrong, and we'll leave it at that.” Lacey knew she was goading him, but the stakes now went beyond keeping her insect repellent. It was about safeguarding her only opportunity to get outside the shop or the diner and actually learn something about all this land.

“I'm not wrong.” He swiped the jar from her hand, looking repulsed at both the idea she'd be right and the knowledge that he'd just agreed to take her on future lessons. “Let's go.”

When he turned to lead the way, Lacey grinned. No matter what Chase Dunstan thought, she knew this was going to be fun.

    THIRTY    

F
our hours later, Lacey was ready to admit that she might have been mistaken. While time seemed to trudge by more slowly than they did—Dunstan set a grueling pace and expected her to maintain it—an entire morning with nothing to show for it could put a damper on anyone's spirits.
Especially when the man who's supposed to be teaching you about the forest and how to track animals only opens his mouth to tell you to be quiet
.