A Wedding Story (12 page)

“Who, then?” His gaze settled on her, a bit too sharply to be casual. “The doc, maybe? That he left you in such difficult circumstances?”

She didn’t want to talk about Doctor Goodale. That part of her life was over. She did not precisely regret it, but she certainly didn’t cherish it. And she did not want to be reminded that while the doctor had scrupulously lived up to his part of the bargain, she once failed in hers. And her lapse was all the worse for it having been with Jim. “If you must know, it was my sisters.”

“Fond of them, are you?” he asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

She blinked away the raindrops that smarted in her eyes. “Enormously so.”

“Oh, yes, I pegged that right off. All the kindness in your voice, and all that.”

“This is all their fault.” The rain picked up, droplets stinging cold when they hit her cheeks. “If they hadn’t gone and grown up so that they no longer needed me, not to mention run off to get married to prove it, I would not be here. In fact, I—”

They’d rounded a corner as they talked, passing a thick stand of oaks to their left. In the shelter of the trees someone had made camp, a neat little compound with two brown tents and a fire that glowed cheerily beneath the protection of a canopy mounted on poles. A tall figure in a yellow slicker, back to them, stirred a pot on the fire, the smell good enough to make Kate’s mouth water even from a hundred yards away.

The figure looked up as they approached and Kate recognized Mrs. Latimore, as composed and comfortable in the rain as she’d been in the ballroom. She was motionless for a moment, studying them, her face a mask. And then she waved them over.

Kate, thinking only of two things—warmth, and food—had her horse pointed that way before Mrs. Latimore completed the first gesture.

“Wait,” Jim said beside her.

“For what?”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She whirled on him, furious when he reached down and caught her mount’s reins, stopping her in place. “We can’t just ignore her. That’s so rude. You may not care, but I do.”

“I’m not saying ignore her. I’m saying let’s discuss this before we go charging over there.”

“Let me go.” She was cold. Her nose was dripping and no doubt red. It would take an hour to work the snarls out of her hair and longer to warm up her bum. A fire was mere steps away, and she could not believe he was delaying her from it for a second longer.
“Now.”

“No. Kate, I—”

“I don’t care!” She yanked hard on the reins, hoping he’d be forced to release her, but though her mare danced beneath her, his grip remained firm. “You’ve been doing nothing but telling me what to do for two weeks. Why did you even bother to ask me back at the Cuckoo’s Nest if we should go on if…” Guilt flashed across his features. “Oh. You thought I would say no, didn’t you?”

Chief—reliable, unflappable Chief—shied beneath him, as if Jim’s legs had suddenly clamped down, and Jim finally had to release her reins to calm his own horse. “I thought that was a strong possibility, yes,” he admitted.

“You were hoping to quit?” Try as she might, she couldn’t quite reconcile that with him. He seemed more the type to hang on to the bloody, bitter end.

He answered her with silence, a bulldog-stubborn look on his face.

“Hmm. You meant to go on without me?
Hoped
to go on without me?”

He sighed heavily. “It would have saved me this discussion now.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d tried to be rid of her from the start, hadn’t he? But when he’d stopped trying to sneak off without her she’d assumed he’d accepted, if not welcomed, her presence.

They’d—she’d thought—settled into an uneasy truce. It was not vanity but honesty, she considered, that made her understand that few men sought to free themselves from her presence. Though she’d known from the start that what she had to offer was of less value to him than most, she’d thought they’d moved beyond it. It pricked, maybe a little more than it should have, to discover nothing had changed.

She wheeled her horse around and headed for camp.

“I would have shared the prize!” he hollered behind her.

He really didn’t know or understand her at all. The fact that no man really ever had, that she’d never
allowed
any man to, didn’t seem to matter a bit.

She vaulted from her mount the instant she gained the small, orderly camp. Though she knew Mrs. Latimore and her party couldn’t have been there long, there was an efficiency and spare comfort about the enclave that appealed to Kate. She was willing to bet that not a single
man
competing had so cozy a home each night.

Mrs. Latimore, after setting down her spoon, folded her hands and waited patiently for their arrival. She wore a broad-brimmed hat draped with yellow oilcloth. Little showed of her features but that assertive nose and sharp-boned chin.

Jim gained Kate’s side before she took two steps. He gripped her elbow—not painfully, but decidedly commanding—to hold her up, then bent to her ear.

“Be careful,” he whispered. “She has a reputation for ruthlessness and a history of survival in the most difficult of circumstances. It is a dangerous combination when one is not used to dealing with such qualities.”

Kate faced him squarely. “I lived, quite successfully, with Doctor Goodale for over fourteen years. Do not speak to me about dealing with difficult qualities.”

She turned, briskly dismissing him, her steps quick until she ducked under the dripping edge of the tarp.

“I’m Kate…” Jim arrived just in time to jab her, less gently than he could have, in her ribs. Now, what name had he given her? Oh, yes. “Katie Riley.”

“Mrs. Latimore.” Her handshake was strong and brief. “I saw you in the ballroom. Thought you were a—” she shot a quick, accusing glance at Jim—“Well, it no longer matters what I thought. That annoying reporter says that you are Lord Bennett’s assistant.”

“After this experience I shall never believe the papers fully again. They simply cannot seem to get the details correct, can they?” Kate said smoothly. “To be precise, Jim and I are partners.”

“Really? Equal partners?”

“Hmm.” Ignoring Jim—and wouldn’t her life be so much easier if she could always ignore him?—she leaned slightly toward Mrs. Latimore. “Well, some of us are more equal than others, aren’t we?”

Mrs. Latimore laughed, an unselfconscious bray. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Behind her, Jim cleared his throat loudly. As far as Kate was concerned, he could loosen phlegm until he choked on it; she wasn’t paying any attention. “That is very kind of you. I would love to.”

“Am I invited, too?” Jim asked.

Mrs. Latimore’s mouth pinched in disapproval. “I suppose so.”

“It smells wonderful,” Kate put in.

“Yes, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Latimore smiled broadly. “I’m afraid I can’t take credit. Miss Dooley is camp cook and a finer one you’ll not find.” She indicated two folding chairs that hugged the far side of the fire. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” She addressed Kate alone, as if Jim was not hovering so near behind her that Kate could feel the warm brush of his breath against her neck each time he exhaled.

Mrs. Latimore strode off to the farthest tent and ducked inside.

Jim flopped into a chair, extending his big, booted feet toward the fire. “Well, isn’t she just charming?”

Kate pointedly dragged her own chair to the other side of the fire before settling into it herself.
Heaven.
“I liked her.”

It was the most pleasant evening they’d spent since they set foot in the Grand Ballroom. A warm, savory stew and golden biscuits filled bellies that had grown used to quick meals of crackers and jerky. The mellow glow of the fire dried out damp clothes and the rain clouds drifted away on a warmer wind.

Mrs. Latimore proved to be an interesting, if acerbic, raconteur. She and Jim spent much of the evening trying to top each other with outlandish tales of narrow escapes and harrowing triumphs, stories which had Kate praying fervently that their next clue would not send them hieing off to places that humans were clearly never meant to set foot in. They even found an uneasy truce when Jim admitted that he, as had Mrs. Latimore, had failed to fully conquer the summit of Cotopaxi.

Miss Dooley was quietly friendly, offering food and coffee, smiling and interested in the conversation, offering few comments even though she’d accompanied Mrs. Latimore on most of her journeys. Through it all the houseboy—man—Mrs. Latimore called Ming Ho served with silent, polished efficiency, filling glasses and whisking away soiled dishes.

“Well.” Jim patted his stomach in appreciation and stood. “Mrs. Latimore, I don’t know how you manage it, but your hospitality has managed to make me nostalgic for home and Africa at the same time. Truly a marvel. But we’d best be going, as we hope to get an early start tomorrow morning.”

“Do you?” Unsmiling, Mrs. Latimore stood as well, as if reminding him that she was nearly as tall as he. “Miss Riley, there is no reason to set up your own camp at this late hour. Wouldn’t you prefer to stay here? Ming Ho would not mind surrendering his cot for one night, and there is room for it in our tent.”

Kate hesitated and glanced at Jim, waiting for him to object. But he said nothing, his expression shuttered.

“I—”

“The mosquitoes promise to be quite fierce tonight,” Mrs. Latimore said.

A cot. A tent
. It sounded like heaven to Kate, who had once slept in a bed that had belonged to a duchess. Amazing how quickly one’s standards changed.

“Well?”

“Jim—”

“Can surely find himself somewhere to plop his bedroll.” She flicked him a dismissive glance. “He looks like a resourceful fellow.”

Oh, why was she worrying about what Jim would say, anyway? “That is very kind of you. Thank you.”

Mrs. Latimore nodded. “This way.”

“Katie.” Jim moved to her side and touched her elbow briefly. “A moment, please.”

Mrs. Latimore glared at him. “Miss Riley, you do not have to—”

“It’s fine.” When Mrs. Latimore raised one eyebrow, Kate went on, “No, really, it’s fine. We have a few details to settle, that’s all. I’ll be along in a moment.”

For a moment it seemed as if Mrs. Latimore would object. Then she nodded crisply, shooting one last warning glare at Jim, then disappeared into her tent.

“For some reason I don’t think that woman likes me.”

“A novelty for you, I’m sure.” Kate braced herself before turning to face him. “Jim, tomorrow you can rail at me about accepting her invitation all you wish. At least I’ll have had a good night’s sleep.”

“That’s not it.” He looked at her, and away; shifted once, twice, before shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “I did not mean…” He frowned into the distance. “I know it is my habit to issue orders. It is simply safer in the field for all parties to follow certain procedures exactly. On the few occasions I have lost that control…”

She knew there was nothing in that wavering edge where the firelight surrendered to the night that held his attention so fiercely. She had read and heard only fragmented details of his last, doomed expedition to the Arctic; it had happened during the doctor’s final illness, and her attention had been occupied. But it took very little empathy to see the lines that tightened around his fine mouth, the stark hunch of his shoulders, and know that his partner’s death haunted him.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I admit that I, too, have sometimes been accused of being overly controlling in certain situations. Though my sisters have been quite annoyingly successful at ignoring my very wise orders.”

The corners of his mouth lifted and he turned her way. The remnant of the day’s rain misted the stars behind him, a softness at odds with the clean, severely defined lines of his face. It was hard to believe that he’d sprung from the background attributed to him, from soft, pampered English aristocrats and luxurious, rose-entwined manors. He was so much a creature of the wild and brutal places, sure and strong, stripped of all the trappings of frivolous society, pared down to the vital and powerful; nothing else would have allowed him to survive.

“Did you just accept my apology before I made it?”

“I’m exceptionally accommodating that way,” she said with a grin.

“Accommodating. Yes, that’s always the first adjective that comes to mind when I think of you.”

“Well.” He was nearly smiling. She counted it one of her better victories.

“Good night, then. Sleep well.” His grin widened. “You’re going to need it.”

“Back to the taskmaster already, are you?”

“Did you expect anything else?”

“Hoped, perhaps. Expected? Never.”

He turned. The fading glow of the firelight clearly illuminated a large, green-tinged stain on the back of his shirt, vaguely hand-shaped.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Life would be
so
much easier without the inconvenience of a conscience. “Give me your shirt.”

“What?” He swung around, more surprised than she’d ever seen him.

“Your shirt.” She held out her hand. “I know your standards are somewhat…flexible, but truly, its condition is ridiculous. Ming Ho promised me some warm water in the morning. I might as well rinse that out when I’m doing a few of my own things.”

Surprise spun into open suspicion. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Was it so unbelievable that she would offer? “If you’d prefer to wear that shirt until it can stand on its own, far be it from me to interfere.”

“Hey, now, that’s not what I said.” He held up his hands, palms out. “You’re just the farthest thing from a washerwoman I’ve ever met, that’s all.”

“All right, then.” Slightly mollified, she gestured for him to hand it over. “Your shirt.”

“Right now?”

“Modest?”

“No, not really.” Jim had not been away from civilization so long that he’d forgotten ladies were prone to vapors when someone mentioned “legs.” Yet Kate seemed fully prepared to stand there and watch him strip.

Well, he thought with more than a touch of intrigue, might as well see if she meant it.