Romancing the West (26 page)

“What the hell?” Pinkerton lifted her off of her horse and settled her on his lap. “Relax,” he said, smoothing a hand down her back. “You’re panicking, honey. Take it easy. Breathe slow.”

He pulled her against his chest, rested her head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me, Em. I don’t need particulars.”

It took a minute, but the panic eased. Her lungs contracted and expanded and her heart thumped hard but slower. “I’m sorry,” she rasped. “That’s never happened before.” Tears pricked at her eyes. “I’m so embarrassed.”

He shushed her and held her close.

She melted against him, grateful for his comfort, his strength. She felt foolish, but she also felt cherished. It was a first. Overwhelmed, hot tears flowed. The more she tried to hold them in, the greater her sobs.

“Oh, hell, Em. Don’t cry.” His voice sounded gruff, but his touch was gentle. He brushed away tears with the pad of his thumb.

She fought for control. She wasn’t a crier. This wasn’t like her at all. She sucked in a hiccupping breath, pushed off of his shoulder, and swiped her wet cheeks with the heel of her hand. She gazed into his soft green eyes, so full of compassion. “No one’s ever . . . you’re the only one . . . I don’t want you to think ill of me.”

“Not possible.” He took her face in his hands, studied her expression. He cursed softly then leaned in and kissed her.

It was different from their first kiss. Softer. Sweeter. Yet her body tingled and ached in response. The heart-melting moment ended too soon.

He eased away, struggled for words. “This is complicated.”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to hate me when this is over.”

She managed a small smile. “Not possible.”

They took their time in Napa City. After fitting her with new spectacles, they strolled the boardwalk, stopping to peruse the occasional shop. She had the feeling Pinkerton was trying to take her mind off of her embarrassing breakdown. Maybe he needed the distraction as well. He’d been troubled by her tears. Or maybe he’d been shaken by the kiss. Maybe she’d reawakened his interest in women. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? One thing was certain, her breakdown had triggered a pensive Pinkerton.

He surprised her by treating her to lunch at a fine cafe. She’d never dined out with a man, not like this. It felt so . . . intimate, and her heart fluttered throughout. Conversation was light and minimal. She had no way of knowing his thoughts, but her mind settled back on her plan. Never had she had such an intense desire to be with a man. Her infatuation with Rome paled in comparison. Where he was concerned, she’d imagined a fairytale marriage, perpetual hearts and flowers. Since meeting Pinkerton, her views on a blissful relationship had broadened. She understood now about respect and companionship. Sharing and trust.

By late afternoon, they were back on the road. As soon as they cleared town, Emily kicked Guinevere into a gallop. She reveled in the sun and wind on her face, in the possibilities of the future. Racing across open fields, her inhibitions fell away.

She smiled over at Pinkerton, enjoying the crystal clear vision as he raced his mount alongside hers. His strong and handsome profile, the menacing tilt of his Stetson, the way his frock coat billowed behind him, revealing his holster and gun.
A warrior of God.
Streak was a handful, but the enigmatic poet handled the spirited horse with easy expertise, making it seem as though he’d spent more time in the saddle than on stage.

Phineas Pinkerton was a puzzle. Quite possibly a person with more secrets than she. She didn’t care. She knew at heart he was a good man. Although it was fanciful, she felt they were destined to share an adventure. All she had to do was ask. All he had to do was say yes.

Garnering her courage, she pulled back on the reins, easing Guinevere to a walk. Pinkerton followed suit and she urged her horse closer. This was it. Time to state her argument.
Spit it out, Em.

But he spoke first. “Met Paris’s niece and nephew when I was in Phoenix. A little on the wild side.”

It took a second to focus on what he said. Not the discussion she had in mind, but maybe she could swing the subject around. Besides, she missed her friends. If she couldn’t be with them just now at least she could reminisce. “Zach and Zoe are good kids. They just need boundaries. Athens is lax in that area. He’s afraid of alienating them. Thinks they blame him for their mother’s death.”

“Do they?”

“The only person who blames Athens for Jocelyn’s death is Athens. I do think Zach and Zoe resent him for not being around very much. He stepped away from politics to amend that.”

Pinkerton looked thoughtful. “How did his wife die?”

She shivered remembering that awful day, three years past. The Garretts never spoke of it. Athens never spoke of it. She felt a little funny discussing something with Pinkerton that was so painfully personal to a man he barely knew. Still, the words tumbled out.

“Shot and killed during a train robbery. She was on her way to Calistoga to visit her sister who’d fallen ill. Nothing life threatening, but Jocelyn insisted on visiting right away. Athens wanted to cancel business meetings to accompany her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. The issues being discussed were too important, she said, plus he needed to stay with the children.”

“He thinks he could have saved her if he’d been there.”

She could hear his intuitive detective wheels turning. “Probably. Or that he shouldn’t have let her go, period. She was sweet tempered and he was very protective of her.”

“Were the outlaws apprehended?”

“Not by the local authorities,” she said, unable to keep the disgusted tone from her voice. “Don’t get me wrong, they tried. But the outlaws outsmarted them.”

“Let me guess. They didn’t outsmart Rome and Boston Garrett.”

“Very intuitive.”

“Not really. She was family. They’re expert trackers. My guess is Jocelyn’s killers never made it to trial.”

“They made the mistake of drawing on Rome and Boston. I know it’s not Christian of me,” Emily said, “but I think they got what they deserved.”

He glanced at her. “How did Athens feel about his brothers avenging his wife’s death?”

She shrugged. “I assumed he was relieved. I don’t think he could have . . . that is to say, he’s not like his brothers. He’s a gentler man.”

He looked thoughtful again, as if he were drawing conclusions about Athens. She was curious as to why, but they were nearing home and she wanted to pose her question out of Mrs. Dunlap’s earshot.

“Zach and Zoe,” he said, again beating her out. “I guess you knew them pretty well.”

“I looked after them quite a bit after Jocelyn passed on. Athens focused on work more than ever. To keep his mind occupied and off of Jocelyn, I suspect.”

“You got on with them? Even though they’re ornery?”

“I’m quite fond of them.” She smiled. “Especially because they’re ornery.”

“What about Athens?”

“Athens is not ornery. He’s,” she pursed her lips, “stable.”

“Do you like him?”

“What’s not to like?” Why was he so focused on Athens and his kids? She spotted the house. She told herself, now. “He’s a nice man, a good man, and I sincerely hope that he marries again. He deserves someone special and any woman would be lucky to have him.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she kept rolling. “Just like any woman would be lucky to have you.”

He pulled up short.

She reined Guinevere around so they were facing one another, moved in close so that her knee brushed against his. She forced herself to look him in the eye.
Just say it.
“I think we’d make a good match.”

He remained silent.

“You and I,” she added, lest his mind was still on Athens.

“I’m not the marrying kind, Em.”

“I know what you are.”

“No. You don’t.”

“I know you prefer the company of men to women.” There. That was direct. “I want you to know I’m all right with that. I don’t understand it precisely, but, well, I don’t condemn it. We can’t choose who we’re attracted to.”

“Christ.” Frowning, he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t want to shock you.”

“Too late.”

“But I know about some things. Like how sometimes a man . . . like you . . . will take up with a girl . . . like me . . . so that people don’t talk. She’s like a pretend wife, or fiancé, or . . .” she swallowed hard, “girlfriend.”

He looked like he wanted to run for the hills.

“We’d make a good match. We could travel the theater circuit together. You could write and perform poetry. I could write plays, hopefully sell them. People wouldn’t shoot at you or make fun of you for being . . . different. Because you wouldn’t appear to be different. We’d be . . . a couple.”

He shifted in the saddle. He was definitely uncomfortable. “This is insane.”

“No, its not. It’s advantageous. You like me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Care about me?” He nodded.

“You want to help me, right?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“I want to leave this town. Travel to Arizona Territory. I want to be there when Paris’s baby is born and then I want to go anywhere and everywhere. Wherever the theater circuit takes us. I want to wake up not knowing what to expect of the day. I want an adventure.” Her heart thumped against her ribs. “With you.”

He swiped off his hat, sleeved sweat from his brow. He looked at her and her heart bumped up to her throat. “Em--”

“I know I goaded you into that boner-inducing kiss and that I was . . . overzealous. If my behavior concerns you, I want you to know you don’t have to worry about me conducting research with anyone else. I’m not promiscuous.”

“I am.”

She bit her bottom lip, dug deep. He’s your
friend,
not your lover. “As long as you’re discreet--”

“That doesn’t make it right! Jesus, hon.” He jammed his fingers through his hair. Clearly, she’d hit a sore spot. He tugged on his hat, pinned her with those striking green eyes. “Promise me you’ll never settle for less than a fully committed relationship.”

He truly did care. She smiled. “You’re a good man, Poet.”

“Not good enough. Now listen to me.”

“No. Don’t say it. Don’t say anything. Think about it. Sleep on it. Tell me you’ll at least consider it.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Good,” she said, then turned Guinevere and raced toward the barn.

He was screwed. This mission was a disaster. His only course was to accomplish his objective and to accept that the woman he loved was lost to another man.

Together they unsaddled and fed the horses. Twice he tried to speak. Twice she shushed him. “Sleep on it.”

She had to be joshing. She’d just proposed they take up as a couple. She hadn’t mentioned marriage, but she was all for an adventure. Of course, she probably wasn’t thinking about sex because she thought he favored men.

Together, they walked to the house. There was a bounce in her step and she was smiling. Her good humor unsettled him as surely as her tears.

Seth tried to focus on Emily’s blackmailer, but all he could think about was her proposal.
“We’d make a good match”
Except she thought he was a poet, a writer, a like-minded artist. She wouldn’t want anything to do with him when she learned he’d been lying to her all this time. He’d be lucky if she ever spoke to him again.

He’d never given due thought to the consequences of his ruse. He simply assumed it would all work out. He’d rid her of the blackmailer, marry her off to Athens, and return to fighting crime. He hadn’t counted on falling in love. Even so, he still thought he could rope his tender feelings and wrestle them into submission. He’d work hard and play hard and forget he ever loved Emily McBride.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

“We’d make a good match.”

Except, in the end, he’d cheat on her. Wouldn’t he?