Heidi’s eyes grew huge. “Girls like me?”
Tim shot Sydney an approving look. “Yeah, Half-pint. Like you. And all the kids on the Smith farm, right, Sydney?”
“Precisely!” A thrill shot through her. Big Tim not only understood her plan; he backed it. For the first time in days, she tasted a hint of the camaraderie they’d once shared. She craved to reestablish their friendship. It would have to be on different grounds—but they both cared about their neighbors. Working together again felt so right. She smiled at him. “What do you think of the plan, Tim?”
“It’s good.”
Once upon a time, that answer would have crushed her. After having been a “man,” Sydney understood that men didn’t get all flowery. Curt as it was, his response qualified as a strong endorsement.
Tim tore his gaze from her and hefted Heidi onto the counter. “So what do you like best?”
Sydney’s heart warmed at how gentle and kind he was toward Heidi. Some men couldn’t be bothered with children— especially if they weren’t related. He’d remembered how she once said they’d concoct a way of helping the Smiths. Teamwork. He’d told her how important it was to work together. He’d been talking about heavy physical labor—but now he showed a willingness to be a partner in her scheme.
“Mandy likes blue.” Heidi wiggled. “It’s ’portant for me to tell you that. It’s my job, right?”
“Indeed.”
“Why don’t you gals go ahead and get all the foof and poof. I’ll go take care of a few things.”
Heidi giggled. “Foof and poof!”
Tim colored. “What else do you call all that ribbon and stuff?”
“Ribbon?” Heidi almost fell from the counter. Tim righted her, and she clung to his sleeve. “Really? We get ribbon, too?”
His gaze darted to the ends of her unadorned braids and back. “Yup.” He spoke over in the corner to the storekeeper, and Mr. Clark cast a quick look at Sydney. He went red, then blanched and nodded. Tim slapped him on the shoulder and walked out.
For having been so very talkative earlier, Mr. Clark hardly spoke a word while helping her. Sydney wasn’t sure what Tim had said, but she suspected he was the reason Mr. Clark suddenly managed to keep to the other side of the cutting counter. By the time Tim returned, Orville Clark finished wrapping up their purchases. Tim eyed the packages. “That doesn’t look like very much.”
“We got ’terial for me and Mandy and April and Angela and Susannah and ’Lila and . . .” Heidi’s brow furrowed.
“Melody,” Sydney added.
Mr. Clark reported to Tim, “A frock and an apron apiece.”
“And ribbons and buttons. Beee-you-tea-ful buttons!”
Tim cleared his throat.
Sydney’s breath froze.
I bought too much. I didn’t ask what we
could afford to spend!
“Why don’t you, um . . . get a bolt of white?” Tim’s gaze slipped away as he mumbled, “For underpinnings.”
Heat enveloped her.
Tim paced over to a shelf and grabbed a handful of bandanas. “Put these on the tab for Forsaken, too, Orville.”
“I have a full bolt of the best quality white cotton in the back room. Do you want all thirty yards?”
Tim nodded. “I’m sure the ladies will find ways of using it.”
“A bolt of white cotton, and . . . how many bandanas do you have there?” Mr. Clark took the pencil from behind his ear and dabbed the lead on his tongue.
“I like to count.” Heidi tugged on Tim’s jeans. “I’m good at it!”
Tim plunked her up on the counter once again. “Okay, Sunbeam. Count ’em.”
A minute later Tim got ready to set her back down. Heidi clung to him. “When I grow up, I wanna marry you.”
A flicker crossed his face and his jaw hardened.
“Nonsense.” Sydney puffed the shoulder of Heidi’s sleeve. “Mr. Creighton is far too old for you. Why, when you marry, he’ll be an old man in a rocking chair.”
“Mommy says she’s too old to marry. Maybe you and Mommy—”
“I’m not a marrying kind of man.” Finality rang in his tone.
“I need to marry her at once! What do you mean, you’ve hit a dead end?” Rex Hume clenched his fists at his side and stared at his investigator, Tyler.
“The Chicago fire destroyed records up to and including 1871. Marriage, birth, death—all of the essential information went up in flames. I’ve hit an impasse. At this point, you have two choices: Either you abandon your search, or you permit me to speak to the Hathwell family and obtain any facts—however obscure they may seem—in order to locate Lady Sydney.”
“There have to be ways of tracing her family.”
“I’ve tried.
Debrett’s
provided important information by citing that her father was an attorney. Unfortunately, the name of Robert Johnson is absurdly common. I tracked down Roberts, Robs, Bobs, even R. Johnsons—any and all in the Chicago area.”
“Interviewing only attorneys was foolish. He could have retired!”
Tyler flashed a grim smile. “I’m well aware of that, so I tracked down every last one I could locate. Furthermore, there was the possibility that he was appointed into a judiciary position. I spoke with several judges. I’ve exhausted all leads.”
“A woman cannot simply vanish into thin air.”
“You’re right. At this point, my experience tells me one of two things have happened: Either she was overly trusting and fell in with someone unsavory, or she made contact with a party whom she already knew. In either case, she’s lost to you.”
“No.” Hume slammed his fist down on his desk. Several files slid and fell into a jumble across the carpet, as if to emphasize how his well-ordered existence was precarious and sliding toward a shambles. He refused to stand by and allow that to happen. “Women change their minds. There’s the strong possibility that she got cold feet, flitted out, and is too embarrassed to contact me now.”
Tyler hitched his shoulder and gave a noncommittal grunt.
“She’s my responsibility. I refuse to give up.”
“The only other possibility—and it’s slim, at best . . .”
Hume leaned forward. “What?”
“Lady Hathwell received a remarkable education. It’s possible that she’s working under an assumed name as a governess for a wealthy family or teaching at an exclusive finishing school. She wasn’t here long enough to send out inquiries. That being the case, she might well be under our noses.”
“That makes as much sense as anything else.”
The investigator grimaced. “You need to know the chances of that being the case are extremely slim. My advice to you is to go to her family and—”
“Out of the question!” Anger streaked through Hume. Just yesterday
the
local magnate, Blade Rutherford, made a point of stopping by. Rex craved to build a business association with him. Rutherford had just returned from England and heard about Lady Hathwell—and suddenly he’d expressed an interest in exploring the possibilities of doing business together. Of course, he’d invited Rex to bring his bride over for supper.
Only Rex didn’t have a bride. He didn’t even have a bride-to- be. He’d concocted a story about Sydney doing a little sightseeing and visiting a friend before they settled down and married.
Rutherford’s demeanor shifted. Instead of being so congenial, he put up his guard. “I see. Well, then, I can see you’re busy. Once the little lady returns, be sure to let us know.”
He’d walked out, and Rex knew a fortune blew out the door with him. He couldn’t afford for anyone to discover Sydney had gone missing. Especially now.
“There’s the matter of my expenses. I’ve itemized each expenditure to date.” Tyler handed him a stack of pages.
Flipping through the pages, Hume quickly ascertained the costs to be within reason. Tyler wasn’t listing exorbitant fees for meals, and he traveled by standard train car, not by Pullman sleepers. Even so, this debacle was costly—and Tyler’s charges were the mere tip of the iceberg. Thousands and tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of business dealings hung in the balance.
The inheritance Lady Hathwell would receive upon their marriage was a mere pittance compared to all he’d gain once she became his wife—but if this went on for much longer, that inheritance would be squandered on this ridiculous, maddening search. The woman didn’t know how much she had already cost him; he’d been gentleman enough not to reveal Hume money had covered her cousin’s indiscretions and had even bought her trousseau. He’d considered it all an investment—a very safe one. Until now. Well, he couldn’t afford for this deal to fall apart. “I’m not giving up. Find her.”
Tyler hitched one shoulder. “I’ll keep looking, if that’s what you want.”
“It is. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll fetch the cash.” He left the study and went upstairs to his bedchamber. A wall safe located behind the portrait of his parents opened easily. Hume pulled out what he owed the investigator and added more. Incentive. Men always worked better with incentive.
Before he shut the safe, he picked up his mother’s wedding ring: a flawless one-carat diamond encircled by a row of sapphires. A more beautiful piece of jewelry didn’t exist. After he caught up with Lady Hathwell, it would grace her left hand. She wasn’t worthy of such a piece, but she was worth it financially.
“That’s a lot of fruit.” Sydney cast a surprised look at the back of the buckboard Tim rented from the livery. Since he’d had the blacksmith see to Kippy’s shoe, she’d been surprised that Tim rented the buckboard at all . . . until she realized they weren’t returning to Forsaken with just the fabric and “foof and poof.” In his practicality, Tim used the time in town to load up on necessities.
“June’s my favorite month. The last of the strawberries and blackberries are still around, and peaches are coming ripe. So are apples. You haven’t tasted an apple till you have one grown in Texas.”
She looked amused. “Is that so?”
He nodded. “I’m not boasting—it’s a fact. The longer an apple stays on a tree, the sweeter it grows. Our sun lends the apples that extra bit, and—well, see for yourself.” He leaned back, snagged an apple, and straightened up. After polishing the apple on his sleeve, he handed it to Sydney. “Here you go.”
“May I please have your knife?”
“Nope.” He crooked a brow. “Remember me telling you not to use tools when they’re unnecessary? Just bite.”
She took a bitsy nibble.
Tim grabbed her hand, dragged it upward, and took a chomp out of the apple. Pushing it back toward her, he said around his mouthful, “Do the job right, Syd.” The nickname slipped out as naturally as could be.
Her eyes grew enormous, and a beautiful smile lifted her lips.
Crunch
. She took a decent bite.
“Good girl.”
“Mmmm.” She swallowed. “It is wondrously good!”
He yanked the apple from her fingers and munched through it in a few decisive bites. “Nobody’s keeping you from taking what you want.”
“Is that so?” Her eyes sparkled.
He nodded.
She grabbed the reins.
Tim threw back his head and let out a shout of laughter.
She gave him a saucy grin. “I noticed you bought peaches.
They’re so far back there, I can’t have one until we reach Forsaken, and you’re driving too slow.”
Throwing the apple core to the side of the road, Tim figured he’d climb back and fetch her a peach.
“Whoa!” The buckboard came to a halt. “Tim Creighton, you can’t do that.”
“Huh?”
“It’s not just manners. If it were, since it’s just the two of us, I’d not take offense. But that could become dangerous.” Bobbing her head with great certainty, she said, “Go ahead, but remember how much I want a peach. We don’t have all day.”
He stepped into the back of the buckboard, got a peach for her, and another apple for himself. “Here.”
“Why, thank you.” She seemed surprised. When he sat back down, she blinked in confusion.
“What’s wrong?”
A giggle escaped her. “Oh, Tim, you really do love apples. You’re so greedy, you forgot to take care of your road apple. What happens if it takes root? It’ll ruin the road.”
His hand stopped halfway to his mouth. Incredulity streaked through him. “Who told you that?”
“My father.”
How he’d manage to tell her “road apple” happened to be a polite term for . . . Well, he reckoned he might mention mucking and let her draw her own conclusion. But Tim couldn’t. Not when her daddy said otherwise. He put his apple on the seat, jumped down, and strode toward the core.
“If you kick it to the side, do you think it really could grow into a tree? Your Texas apples are delicious.”
“It’s worth a try. We’re mighty short on rain this year, though.” He jabbed his heel into the dirt, toed the core into the depression, and scuffed a little earth over it. When he sat back down next to her, Tim swiped back the reins. When he grabbed his apple, his fingers dipped into a juicy depression.
“You’re right about two things, Big Tim.” Sydney’s voice rang with merriment. “As I agreed, Texas apples are wondrous. Furthermore, nobody was keeping me from taking what I wanted.”
“Speaking about what you want . . .” Tim set the buckboard in motion. “I’ve thought about it, and I’m standing firm on what I said back at the boardinghouse. You belong at Forsaken.”
She nestled the peach in her hands and stared at it, as if fascinated. “America is the land of opportunity. I can make my way—”
“You already made your way straight into Velma’s heart. She’s delighted to have you there.” He pressed on, “Chalk up stuff I said to the heat of the moment. Your uncle has mellowed with age—he’ll be tickled to have you here. And me? I think we did pretty good today.”
“Teamwork,” she said softly.
“Yep. Teamwork.” Relieved that she got the drift, he let the subject go.
A yawn overtook her.
Tim’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes. As soon as he got her home, he’d send her upstairs to that rose room she thought was so pretty. Order her to take a nice, long nap.
The breeze made the fabric of her sleeve flutter a little, calling his attention to her narrow wrist. How had she managed to clear the garden plot of those rocks? Even more astounding, how did she keep hold of Stauffer’s daughter and pull her from the well? That was an absolute miracle.