Flora's Wish (23 page)

“Of course, I understand if you're unwilling to admit you've made a mistake. A man of your experience likely doesn't have much cause to retract his statements or, for that matter, to apologize to persons who have been falsely accused.”

This time he not only refused to respond, but he also crossed his arms over his chest and stared out into space rather than admit he'd even heard her. Well, two could play this silly game.

“Wake me up when it stops raining, please. Or if you receive an epiphany and require me to listen while you admit fault.” Flora offered her sweetest smile. “Make that faults. I've counted several.”

Rather than wait to see if her jab had hit its target, she closed her eyes and pulled the tablecloth up to her chin. By stretching her legs out, Flora found some measure of comfort, and resting her head on the back of the bench provided just the position she needed to happily close her eyes.

“Remember,” she said as she felt her limbs grow heavy. “Wake me up the minute it stops raining. I'd much prefer to prepare for my wedding downstairs in my own room.”

Instead, she slept through the rain and the sunrise. She discovered this when the sun rose high enough over the trees to shine brightly on her face. Only when she slid the pocket watch out of the sleeping Pinkerton agent's pocket did she discover that she'd missed her meeting with Will Tucker by almost half an hour.

Miss Brimm looked as mad as a wet hen. Groggy from sleep and aching from his choice to sit guard duty rather than get comfortable and perhaps fall asleep—which had happened anyway—Lucas watched her pace the floor like a man waiting for his firstborn to arrive. Then he scrubbed his face with his hand and rose to stretch. “What has you all in a lather?”

Miss Brimm thrust a pocket watch in his direction.
His
pocket watch. “You were supposed to tell me when the storm was over!”

He made a show of looking around and then returned his attention to his companion. “Miss Brimm, the storm is over.”

“I know it's over. And so is my wedding unless I can figure out a way to get out of this mess you've caused.”

“I've caused?” He shook his head. “You're the one who wanted to have a picnic on the roof.
I
suggested we go back to—”

“All right, never mind,” she said as she waved away his protest with a sweep of her hand. “I accept responsibility for talking you into coming up here, but you said you would wake me up when the rain stopped.”

“I said nothing of the sort.” Lucas shrugged. “As I remember it, I didn't answer you at all.”

Miss Brimm's swift change of expression told him he was correct. Then, slowly, she pointed his watch at him, and Lucas took hold of it.

“Stealing another watch, Miss Brimm?” he asked as he stuffed the timepiece back into his vest pocket.

“Never mind,” she said as she halted her pacing to reach up to feel the damage the combination of sleep and rain had done to her hair. “Oh, I'm a mess.”

Though her just-awakened look with the tangle of curls cascading down her back, the tug of a sound sleep still evident in her eyes, and the wrinkled dress made her look more beautiful than ever, Lucas doubted she would agree. Nor would that imperious grandmother of hers.

“I should have been in the lobby a half hour ago.” She continued to fret with her hair. “Worse, I need to be at the church
right now
. That is, if he's even there. What if he thinks I'm not coming? Surely he knows I wouldn't miss—”

“Here,” Lucas interrupted as he spied a pair of hairpins dangling from her once-elegant hairstyle. “Let me see if I can help.” At her skeptical look, he added, “I had a younger sister, so I have some experience in the arrangement of a lady's hair.”

Lucas stuck both hairpins in his pocket as well as the other three he found as he ran his fingers through her snarled curls. Slowly he coiled one thick strand and then reached into his pocket for the hairpin to anchor it in place.

“Ouch,” she said under her breath.

“Sorry,” he said as he repeated the process, this time applying a bit less pressure to the hairpin as he slid it into a spot equidistant from the other.

Four more hairpins later, he'd completed his work. Now what to do? She stood close, far too close for comfort, and yet the last thing he wanted was to move away.

“Mr. McMinn? Is something wrong?”

Yes. He'd sat up most of the night watching her sleep. He'd even allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder so as to be more comfortable. And worse, he dozed off himself and missed the chance to catch Tucker as planned.

“Mr. McMinn?”

“That ought to hold,” he said as he let his hands fall to his sides. “It won't fool anybody with decent eyesight into thinking a lady's maid did the work, but at least you won't look like you spent all night on the hotel roof after dancing in the rain.”

Miss Brimm whirled around to meet him face-to-face. “I thought we had an understanding about that.”

He lifted one brow and waited until she decided to elaborate. In the meantime, he allowed his gaze to slide across eyes as blue as the Arkansas sky. Across cheekbones dusted by thick dark lashes that shouldn't have belonged to a redhead. Finally his attention stalled on soft, pink lips.

They were moving. Speaking to him. Was it lack of sleep that wouldn't allow him to hear or did he just not care what she said? Could have been either.

Or both.

“Mr. McMinn?”

“What?” he said as her use of his name hauled him out of his thoughts.

“We agreed that anything we did up here would not be fodder for discussion at a later date.”

He heard what she said. Knew what she meant. And yet from somewhere deep inside him, the most ridiculous thought surfaced.

Kiss her.

Lucas blinked twice. Then twice again. Still all he could think was:
Kiss. Her.

“Well, let's go,” she said.

He stared down into eyes that seemed even bluer than just a minute ago. “Go?”

“To the church,” she said as she turned to stalk away. “If I'm to have any hope of getting married, I'll need to get there quickly.” She stopped short and turned to look in his direction. “We'll have to leave a note with the kitchen manager letting him know we've left some of the hotel's things up here. I don't want to take up extra time returning them. Is that awful?”

“No.” He adjusted his coat lapels and closed the distance between them. “After you, Miss Brimm. Let's see if we can salvage a wedding.”

Not that he held out much hope that Will Tucker would be waiting at the church, not with deputies stationed both at the entrance to the Crescent Hotel and at several strategic spots downtown. Last time, his mistake had caused Tucker to escape. This time, that wouldn't happen.

Because if Tucker wasn't cuffed to a deputy or waiting at that church, Lucas intended to keep his fiancé in custody until she could tell him exactly where the criminal had gone. Somehow that prospect seemed a whole lot more interesting this morning than it had last night.

One thing was for certain. He would never get so close to her again that he'd find himself thinking he ought to kiss her.

The red curls he'd sought to repair bounced a few steps ahead of him as they began their descent. As he watched one pin fall, releasing a curl cascading down the center of Flora Brimm's straight and proper back, Lucas had to remind himself of the promise he'd just made.

No kissing Flora Brimm. Ever.

F
lora rushed across the lawn and up the steps toward the atrium lobby, only slowing her pace to a more sedate walk once she came close enough to be seen by other guests. Conscious of her wrinkled dress and patting at the mess Lucas McMinn had likely made of her hair, she nonetheless squared her shoulders and stepped inside.

The lobby was almost empty as she paused long enough to catch her breath. Other than a pair of elderly gentlemen playing checkers beside the fireplace and a matron reading a newspaper near the entrance, only the hotel staff appeared to be in attendance.

She reached for her handkerchief to dab at her forehead lest anyone appear and catch her glistening. Ignoring the man shadowing her, Flora did her best to search the expansive space without appearing to be looking for anyone.

“He's not here,” Mr. McMinn said when she stopped a few feet away from the front desk.

“I can see that, though I'm not completely convinced he's not watching us from a place where he cannot be seen.”

“Such as in the shadows over by the elevator?” He offered a rakish grin. “Yes, I saw you there yesterday. Or maybe he's found a spot behind a large plant somewhere. We both know that kind of hiding place works well.”

The door opened and two men of middle age walked in. Their conversation kept them from taking any notice of Flora and the Pinkerton agent. Still, she kept her silence until they were safely out of the range of hearing.

“You're not the least bit humorous, Mr. McMinn.”

“And you look as if you just came in from dancing in the rain, Miss Brimm.”

Flora tried not to groan. “What an awful thing to say.”

“No, actually I like this side of you. And, for the record, there was nothing awful about watching you dance in the rain.” He made a show of covering his mouth as if he'd said something wrong. “Oh, I'm sorry. We weren't going to talk about what went on up on the roof, were we? One of the things Brimms do not do.”

“You're the worst sort of cad, Mr. McMinn, but at this moment I do not wish to discuss it, you, or anything you've just mentioned.” She gave him a look that matched her mood. “If you'll go and get that transport, I'll see what I can find out from the desk clerk regarding my fiancé.”

He appeared to consider her statement a moment. “All right, but do you see those two men by the fireplace?” When she nodded, he continued. “If you attempt any sort of escape, they will alert me. Understand?”

While the pair in question appeared to be oblivious to anything other than the checkerboard between them, Flora wasn't completely sure whether her companion was telling the truth or not.