Romancing the West (29 page)

“Oh, no. I’m late.” She sprinted toward the bank.

“This is bad.”

“Maybe not.” Rome saddled his horse. They’d been watching Emily all morning at the request of Seth Wright. He’d knocked heads with the man when they first met, months back. They had different ideas on justice. Still, he respected Seth’s reputation and he
was
his brother-in-law’s best friend. He felt obliged to give him some leeway. If he were anyone else, he would’ve cold cocked him last night. He may not have touched Emily, but he sure as hell seduced her. He himself had seen that look in many a woman’s eye.

“You saw her expression when she read that letter. She withdrew money from the bank then hightailed it to the livery and talked Chet into loaning her a horse that
he
has to make arrangements to pick up in Napa.” Boston tightened the cinch on his Mustang. “Still can’t believe how she sold him on that notion.”

“She told Paris how to elude us when she ran away from home,” Rome reminded him. “She’s a bright girl.”

“She’s reckless. Heading for San Francisco on her own. You know damn well she’s meeting her black-mailer. How is that good?”

“As soon as she makes contact, we’ll kick his ass.” Rome swung into the saddle. “Ride out and let Seth know. I’ll track her. You know where we’re headed.”

Boston mounted, shot his brother a thoughtful look. “He’s sweet on her, you know.”

Rome raised a sardonic brow. “Ya think?”

He’d meant only to glance at her journal, a leather binder stuffed with fifty or so handwritten pages. But once he started reading, he couldn’t put it down. Constance and Antonio grabbed him and didn’t let go. He’d suspected that Emily had talent, but he never imagined this.

With carefully chosen words, she swept him away to the Caribbean islands. She wrote as though she’d been there herself. Weaving the reader along the glittering coastline in a creaking schooner. The tropical sun beating down on a bared, tanned shoulder, begging to be kissed.

He’d dropped into a chair when he came to that love scene. Antonio and Constance’s first kiss. Only two paragraphs with fairly tame wording, but he’d broken into a sweat. She’d skillfully described a boner-inducing kiss.

Christ. This is what he’d inspired?

He could feel the couple’s passion, and because he cared about them, related to them, he kept reading. He was disappointed when he reached the end, because it wasn’t the end. This was only the beginning of their adventure.

In awe of Emily’s storytelling, he carefully replaced the pages into the binder and returned the journal to the desk. He found the second key and hastened to the barn, assuring Mrs. Dunlap for the third time that he was fine. Better than fine, he was intrigued. He couldn’t wait to read more.

Once he climbed into the hayloft, he easily located the chest. His palms were slick with sweat when he unlocked it and opened the lid. His heart pounded with anticipation when he noted a few books and several journals. Her life’s work.

First he skimmed the books. The first two were explicit, though scientific, studies on human sexuality. The third, an art book, probably supplied by that bastard Herman Beeslow. Some of the sketches dated back several centuries and depicted graphic, creative sexual positions.

“Holy shit.”

What kind of a man supplied a reputable, young woman with graphic material? Had Beeslow no scruples? At the same time he admired Emily’s conviction to her art. She didn’t know the particulars of man/ woman relations, so she’d researched the facts. Had she been shocked? Titillated? Given her passionate response to his kiss, probably a little of both.

Smiling, he set aside the books and examined the first layer of manuscript pages. Different versions of the story he’d just read and--whoa--extreme versions of the love scene. Explicit words. But the more he read, he realized there was no . . . passion. There were pages and pages of erotic passages. Her research showed, but Constance and Antonio lacked a real connection. Regardless, the material was pretty damned scandalous.

This
is what the blackmailer had on her.

This
constituted tawdry.

He dug deeper and found several different stories, much tamer, but all full of adventure and romance. The handwriting differed at times. These, he assumed, were written when she was younger. Curious, he flipped through pages looking for the story on the skinny-dipping knight.

He dug deeper. What he found were stories about Rome and Boston Garrett. Handwritten drafts of stories he’d read in dime novels. Adventures written by--

Son of a bitch.

The erotica was tame compared to this explosive revelation.

The sounds of an approaching horse and the shout of his name punched through the haze of his paralyzing shock. He shoved everything back into the chest, locked it, and pocketed the key. He hustled down the ladder. “In here!”

Outside the open barn doors, chunks of grass and dirt flew as Boston Garrett reined in his horse. He’d been riding fast and hard. “Mount up,” he said, expression grave. “Emily’s taken things into her own hands.”

Territory of Arizona

A
thens glanced from the telegram about his marriage to the article about his brothers. Toss up as to which irritated him more. He wasn’t surprised Rome had seduced another man’s wife, just that he hadn’t been smarter about it. Athens had faced off against Osprey Smith over legislation in the past. The senator was a ruthless blowhard with full pockets and an uncanny ability to get his way. Rome had gotten off easy with the suspension.

Still, it was a devil of a thing to see his little brothers’ names dragged through the mud.

He cursed I. M. Wilde.

He could spend the morning concocting ways to bring down the dime novelist who catapulted his brothers to fame then compromised their careers in the space of a year. But he dropped the article to his desk and returned his attention to the telegram. He’d received the wire yesterday. MISSION IN PROGRESS. He’d read the one line countless times, trying to accept that he’d set a future in motion that he could not change. His future with Emily, not Kaila.

It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel right. Yet he couldn’t retract the proposal. He couldn’t, wouldn’t do that to Emily. At the same time, she deserved better than a husband who spent every hour of his existence aching for another woman.

Mission in progress.
Seth couldn’t have been more specific? Obviously, Emily hadn’t jumped at the chance to become Mrs. Athens Garrett. Of course, in her mind he was the wrong Mr. Garrett. He’d known her infatuation with Rome would be a barrier, but he’d expected Seth to find a way around it. He took the message to mean he was doing just that. Explaining the advantages of a practical, amiable marriage. Persuading her to marry a man she didn’t love. A man who didn’t love her.

He should’ve hired another nanny, or a live-in housekeeper who cooked and cleaned every day, but, unlike Maria, did not go home every night. He should’ve just been more selective in his hiring. Someone Zach and Zoe could not run off. But, deep down, he didn’t want someone too tough or rough. After all, their mother had been sweet and fun loving. Was it so wrong to want them to be raised with that similar care? Kaila flashed in his mind. Her white bloomers flashing from a tree on Washington Street.

He shook his head and instead thought of Emily. They loved Emily.

It was then that Athens acknowledged the sick truth. The union he’d claimed to be mutually beneficial was mostly beneficial to him. He wanted not only a mother for his children but also someone to ease his guilt so he could focus on PMA.

He dropped his head in his hands. “You are an ass.”

“If you say so, sir.”

Parker.

Athens straightened and focused on the newspaper on his desk. “I thought you had business at the general store.”

“I did. Got back a minute ago. You were absorbed in the newspaper. Probably why you didn’t hear me come in.”

“Uh, huh. I think you like practicing your stealth skills on me.”

The man’s lip twitched.

The door slammed open and Sammy Kirk burst in, wide-eyed and winded, for the second time in less than a week. “Mr. Garrett, come quick!”

Parker groaned.

Athens stood, realizing he did not feel his usual frustration at the interruption. It occurred to him that it was time to care for his children himself. Not just keeping them in line and providing food, clothes, and shelter. But offering the affection of a parent, which he had not since Jocelyn’s death. He’d pulled away from Zach and Zoe, and no doubt they were confused and angry. It made him angry at himself. He’d been throwing up barriers between himself and his children for too long. Afraid to get too close again. Afraid what he might do if he lost someone else he loved.

PMA allowed him to protect them without getting close.

He’d been fooling himself. He couldn’t protect his heart. It was too late for that. He’d already lost his heart to them long ago.

He’d also, more recently, lost it to Kaila.

He could admit it now, which gave him a sense of relief. He was growing tired of holding up the dam against his emotions. Still, he had no idea how to untangle this web he had spun and that left him more than a little miserable.

He shrugged into his frock coat. “Where are my children?”

Kaila hesitated when Zach and Zoe pounded on her front door, asking to come inside. She and Athens had agreed to keep their distance. Visiting with his children, delightful as they were, seemed ill advised.

Then she saw the boy’s swollen eye. Someone had socked him good.

She studied Zach’s disheveled clothes, his hair sticking up every which way, his freckled face, and the chipped tooth when he spoke. “Zoe says you make good cookies.”

“The best!” Unlike her brother, the little girl didn’t bear markings of a tussle. She looked sunny and cute as the dickens in her yellow gingham dress. Instead of wearing her bonnet, she carried it. Hence the wind-blown curls and sunburned cheeks.

Kaila wanted to hug them, instead, she invited them in and ushered them into her kitchen. After serving them iced tea and a plate of cookies she asked why they weren’t in school.

They spewed their story at the same time, stepping on each other’s’ sentences, but she got the gist.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t defend yourself,” she said after Zach described the pummeling.

“Papa said words are more powerful than fists. Said I should use my head and reason my way outta fixes.”

“Yes, well, one should avoid violence when possible. I agree. But if the other boy failed to see reason--”

“He called our uncles graces,” Zoe piped in. “Disgraces,” Zach corrected. Kaila handed the boy a used tea bag. “Press this to your eye and hold it there.”

“Why?”

“It will ease the swelling.”

“Papa just slaps a piece of raw beef on it.”

She frowned. “How many black eyes have you had?”

“Lots,” said Zoe.

“It occurs to me that your reasoning skills are not up to par, Zach.”

Zoe swiped crumbs from her mouth. “His fightin’ stinks worse.”

Kaila handed her a napkin. “Perhaps you should ask your father for some tips,” she said to the boy, “for defense purposes only.”

He snorted. “Like he’d know how to throw a punch.” He gulped the remnants of his iced tea, bit into another cookie. “Now, if my uncles were here,
they’d
show me how to fight. They’re heroes.”

She understood why he admired Rome and Boston Garrett, but not at the expense of his own father. “There are all kinds of heroes. Teachers. Lawyers.”

“Papa’s a lawyer,” Zoe said.

Kaila nodded. “As such he defends people’s rights. When he was a state senator, he helped create laws, also for the good of the common man. He’s fought many battles, and won.”

Zoe scrunched her nose. “So, he’s like a soldier?”