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 Secrets, Scandals,
And Seduction

A Historical Romance Boxset

Authors included are Lynn Donovan, Sofie Darling, Alyssa Drake,

Emily E K Murdoch, Cat Cahill, A.S. Fenichel, Marie Higgins, Robyn
DeHart, Christine Sterling, Linda Rae Sande, Adara Luann, C.K.
O’Connor, Marianne Spitzer, Rose Pearson, Sophie Smith, RL Ashly
Secrets, Scandals, and Seduction
Copyright 2022 Celtic Hearts Press
Published by Celtic Hearts Press
Cover Art by MIBL Art
Formatting by Celtic Formatting
Published by Celtic Hearts Press
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this
book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead,
organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
 Table of Contents

Sweet White Lies by Lynn Donovan

It Was Only A Kiss by Sofie Darling
A Perfect Recluse by Alyssa Drake
Wartime with a Warrior by Emily E K Murdoch
Charlotte by Cat Cahill
An Honorable Arrangement by A.S. Fenichel
His Lady by Marie Higgins
A Marriage Most Convenient by Robyn DeHart
The Letter Wife by Christine Sterling
The Bride of a Baronet by Linda Rae Sande
The Earl’s Unlikely Wager by Adara Luann
The Laird’s Promise by C.K. O’Connor
A Hero for Amaryllis by Marianne Spitzer
The Truth about the Earl by Rose Pearson
Duke of Despair by Sophie Smith
Isle Celare by R.L. Ashly
Sweet White Lies
 Sweet White Lies by Lynn Donovan

Lynn Donovan
 Copyright

Sweet White Lies © 2022 Lynn Donovan

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of
this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or
dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the
FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Edited by Cyndi Rule
 Sweet White Lies

How can one sweet white lie cause this much trouble?

Sight unseen, Emilia Higginbotham’s parents will present to her the groom of their choosing at her
birthday soirée. With one sweet white lie, she turns the table on their plans and selects the most
ruggedly handsome cowboy in the room to claim as her secret betrothed. Little does she know he is
the one that her parents had chosen.
Jasper Weatherby has come to town immediately from a cattle drive, summoned by his father to
meet the bride they have arranged for him. He knows nothing about her except that she is from a well-
to-do family in Colorado and her dowry is substantial. Side-tracked by an amusing, yet audacious gal
who coaxes him to go along with her pretense, he soon realizes she is the one he was sent to marry.
Sweet white lies lead to misunderstandings and bigger untruths for Emilia and Jasper. Can they
recover from the deception and uncover true love out of sweet white lies?
 Chapter 1

Salida, Colorado June 1883

“I won’t do it!” Emilia Higginbotham stamped her foot in protest, turning her back, she crossed her
arms over her chest. “And you can’t make me!”
She peeked out of the corner of her eye to see if her behavior was working. No surprise to her, it
was not. She’d seen a girl act this way back home in Georgia outside of church. She had managed to
dissuade her parents from their way of thinking.
Of course, that was over ice cream. This was much more serious than a frozen treat on a hot
summer day in Atlanta. This was for the rest of her life, until one or the other died. Wasn’t that the
promise: ’Til death do us part? Besides, she was older than that girl now, much older. Practically
spinster age. This birthday that her parents were determined to ruin with a marriage arrangement
would be her twentieth.
Her family had established themselves well near a tiny new town called Salida in Colorado. It
meant “exit” in Spanish. That certainly was an appropriate name for it. The way she saw things, few
people came here to stay. They came here to exit from the harsh Rocky Mountains and find a better
way of life in California or even Oregon. She’d lived here three years, and in that amount of time,
Salida had established a post office, a bank, a schoolhouse, and even an opera house. There was a
new building popping up every week.
But she had no idea why. Who’d really want to live here? Perhaps it wasn’t such an exit after all,
now that she thought about it more thoroughly.
The main business district had talented craftsmen setting up shops. While it was not Atlanta, she
had to admit, it was a town full of gifted people and the quality of merchandise she and her mother
could purchase was outstanding. Father invested heavily in land and that had paid off significantly,
because those who did want to settle here bought small portions of that land from him and Father had
become quite wealthy in this short period of time.
Still, it wasn’t Atlanta!
Acting like a child was not going to win her any favors with her stern, business-minded father.
Especially not today! Her father’s mind was made. There was no changing it. He was more stubborn
than the Nubian goats they raised. Unfortunately, this particular subject had been put off as long as she
could manage to divert their minds to other, more important topics.
With her twentieth birthday filling her parents’ minds with worry for her future, she now faced the
inevitable— marriage.
“It is time, Emilia.” Her father spoke purposefully, making his long mustache puff out whenever his
words passed from his lips. It was amusing to watch. As a child it made her laugh, but she didn’t dare
let her amusement show now. He was serious and determined to have his way.
“Your mother and I have put a lot of thought and effort into this social event. We will celebrate
your birthday, of course, but the truth of the matter is… well, it’s all for the sole purpose of you
meeting the man we have painstakingly chosen to be your husband. He comes from a good family—”
“You mean a rich family!” She uncharacteristically interrupted her father while he was speaking.
Lifting her chin a notch, hoping the defiance disguised the tremble her bold outburst had caused.
He paused, mouth agape, the next words still hanging on his lips. Her outburst had stopped him
from uttering them. With a deep, patience-seeking inhale, he closed his mouth and lifted his bushy
brows. “Yes. That term can accurately be applied to the Weatherbys’ financial status.”
“But Daddy!” She resorted to whining.
“Mister Alastair Weatherby” —her father leaned toward her for clarity— “is a self-made man. His
son, Jasper, will be no different. As we have built our… financial status by purchasing and selling
land, they have built their successes through raising, breeding, and selling cattle. Both are a lucrative
business these days. You will want for nothing—”
“Except true love,” she muttered under her breath.
“And… your mother and I” —he continued as if he hadn’t heard her, when she knew he had. Her
father had excellent hearing— “can go to our graves knowing you are well taken care of.”
“Oh Daddy, you and mother are young!” She twisted her fingers, trying her best to convince him
there was time. “You’re healthy! Let’s not worry about going to your graves. You have years, decades,
in which to enjoy life. Please, don’t make me marry this… Jasper Weatherby. What sort of man is
named Jasper? He sounds like a Nancy-boy.”
“Emilia Louise!” Her father barked. “I will not have such low-bred language spoken by my only
daughter in my house! Your grandmother would roll over in her grave if she heard your coarse
language!”
“I’m sorry, Father.” Emilia assumed the appropriate humble, ashamed posture. “It’s just… how
can you honestly expect me to marry a man named Jasper? It sounds like an evergreen tree. I would be
just as likely to call him Cedar, or Birch… Willow—”
“Jasper Weatherby is a fine name” —Oliver Higginbotham shook his head— “and you will adapt
to calling your husband whatever you work out between the two of you. Your mother called me Mister
Higginbotham until you were born. Only then did she start referring to me affectionately as Oliver…
and now Ollie.”
 A smile twitched under her father’s long mustache. A crimson blush filled his cheeks. She never
saw such strong emotion in his face except when he spoke of her mother. Their marriage of
convenience had turned into a marriage filled with tremendous love and admiration for both of them.
Could she hope for the same… with a man named Jasper?
The door to his den opened slightly. “Ah, here is my lovely bride now,” he announced.
Emilia’s mother floated into the room. “Well? Have you convinced your daughter to attend our
soirée?” She smiled at Emilia with hope in her eyes.
Father bristled, his mustache puffed slightly. “How is it that when she’s being… difficult, you refer
to her as my daughter?”
Mother turned the hopeful smile into a mischievous grin and focused it on him. “Because, Ollie
Dear, when she’s being difficult, she most resembles… you.” Maria teased with a playful touch on his
nose. But there was a twinkle in both of her parents’ eyes. She knew they were not arguing.
“Mother…” Emilia continued with a loathsome whine when she spoke. She hated acting this way,
but desperation was strangling her at the moment. “Must I go?”
“Yes, darling. You must. This is for your own good. We know best. You would be wise to
remember that.” Her mother tipped her head slightly, then lifted her chin.
“Argh!” Emilia stomped out of her father’s den, defeated. He wasn’t the only stubborn goat in this
family. When her mother’s mind was made, it was even more solidly set than her father’s.
Emilia trotted up the stairs and flung herself on her bed. The tailored ball gown hung on the door
of her wardrobe. Mother had picked it out and the local seamstress, Mrs. Tucker, had made it for her
birthday soirée without seeing Emilia at all. She kept a card file on everyone from the first time she
took thorough measurements and could create perfectly fitting gowns without a single new
measurement. Emilia peeked through her lashes at the dress, hanging there, taunting her.
She had to admit the gown was beautiful. The light blue, silk-blend rococo print with short trumpet
sleeves, layered over a champagne colored sheer fabric that fell gracefully from the waist over taffeta
of the same cream shade. The square neck delicately trimmed with a hand-made lace, a Tucker
signature to most gowns, that softened the look of the bodice.
Emilia lifted on her elbows, glaring at the gown. She hated it. And yet, she couldn’t wait to see it
on herself. Not having gone with Mother for fittings, she had never laid eyes on it until now, and she
had certainly never worn the thing. The color was exactly right to accentuate her brown eyes. It would
make her the belle of the ball…but she had no desire whatsoever to go to this party. It was a farce!
Her birthday would end in an engagement and a public announcement that the Weatherbys and the
Higginbothams were uniting their families by wedding their children and combining their two
businesses into one monstrosity that would control land and cattle for thousands of miles.
 She turned onto her side so the gown was behind her and huffed.
Ilsa Brown, the house maid, tapped softly on Emilia’s door.
“Come in.” Emilia sighed.
“Your mum asked me to, and I quote, ‘hurry you along.’” The maid smiled sheepishly.
Emilia sighed. “I’m sure she did.” She couldn’t be angry with Ilsa. She was the closest thing
Emilia had to a friend here in Salida. With an enormous sigh, Emilia lifted herself off the bed and
sighed again, hoping for an empathetic effect. “Oh, all right. But I promise you this. I am not going to
enjoy this birthday soirée one bit!”
“My job is not to make you enjoy anything. My job is to help you get dressed.” Ilsa said jovially.
Emilia glanced at the ball gown with yet another sigh. “It is a beautiful gown.”
Ilsa gazed admiringly at the frock. “Yes ’em, ’tis that.”
Emilia sighed once more and began the arduous task of getting out of the day dress she currently
wore and into the formal attire. Guilt swamped Emilia heart for being so unappreciative of her
parents’ gift. There were many a girl in Salida who’d give her eye-tooth to have such a lovely dress
to wear. Emilia was blessed and she knew it.
Blessed and cursed at the same time. Because her parents were so wealthy, her future would be
determined not by true love, but by a solidly sound business arrangement.
Ilsa brushed Emilia’s hair until it had a golden-brown sheen, then she twisted, and braided, and
pinned it into a lovely design that flattered Emilia’s heart-shaped face.
“Anything you can do about these sun spots?” Emilia glared at her reflection in the mirror. She had
always hated the dots on her face.
“Actually, there is.” Ilsa smiled. “Try this.” She pulled a small jar from her apron pocket. “I made
this from the goats’ milk. It’s good for your skin and I added an herbal pigment to help cover up
unwanted age spots for your mother. Let’s see what it does for those freckens” —She used the old
Scottish word as a term of endearment— “Although, I think they are adorable on you.”
“Oh, Ilsa.” Emilia chastised the maid. “They are called freckles in America. You know that.”
“Yes, I forget sometimes. Been calling ‘em freckens all me life.”
Emilia frowned while Ilsa went to work. Touching her little finger gingerly to the creamy, beige
content, she dotted Emilia’s face and then smoothed it out, hiding her discolored spots.
Next, Ilsa lifted a tiny rouge jar from Emilia’s table and opened it. Emilia’s mother had given her
the rose-colored pâté when she turned sixteen. The maid lightly touched the thick cream and made
three dots along Emilia’s cheek bone, then smoothed it out, blending it with the beige. “Here, put
some on your lips.” Ilsa handed the tiny jar to her.
Emilia did as told and popped her lips, making a smacking noise that made them both giggle.
 “You look lovely, Miss.” Tears filled Ilsa’s eyes.
Emilia looked more closely at her reflection. Did she look lovely? Well, she looked as good as
she could. Ilsa was talented with hair and kind as a mourning dove. Emilia stood from her dressing
table and turned to have a look in the full-length, oval mirror.
“Oh, my!” she exclaimed. Taking in all of herself, ball gown, light makeup, and hair done up so
expertly. She did look… dare she say, lovely.
“Thank you!” she uttered in an awestruck whisper.
“You’re quite welcome, Miss.” Ilsa smiled and stepped over to her bedroom door, opened it, and
stood back for Emilia to exit.
Her destiny awaited her, ready or not.

***
Jasper Weatherby leaned on his saddle horn with the rising sun to his back. He watched the long
shadows made by his men and their horses as they funneled the divided herd into each livestock car.
This cattle drive ended here in Salida.
The train depot was new, about a year or so, and much more convenient than the eastern route for
getting his father’s herd to market. While the trek to Salida was further, it was better than trying to
herd the bovine over the continental divide and then through Denver City streets where they would get
too stressed and even wounded. Salida provided for an easier transition to market with the cattle
retaining their profitable market weight and health. Thus, better sales for the Weatherbys.
He looked forward to lying on a soft bed at the hotel before riding home. At least the ride home to
Alma and the Flying W Ranch would be at a quicker pace than the one that brought him here with two
hundred head of cattle.
“Mr. Weatherby?” a boy shouted.
He turned, shielding her eyes with a flat hand to see who called his name. The leather saddle
moaned under his weight. “I’m Jasper Weatherby.”
The boy ran even faster toward him and leaned up on tiptoes with an envelope Jasper recognized
as a telegram.
“Thank you.” He fished out a silver dollar from his jacket pocket and flipped it in the air for the
kid to catch, which he did.
“Gee. Thanks, Mr. Weatherby!”
The boy ran off before Jasper could correct him as he always did when anyone addressed him so
formally. “My name’s Jasper. Mr. Weatherby is my father.”
His words were lost in the breeze. The boy was long gone. He sighed as he tore the end of the
envelope off and pulled the folded telegram into the sunlight. Then he sighed even harder.
“What are they up to?” he muttered as he read over the faint ink-printed words a second time.
“I’m in no shape for a social event. Tomorrow? It’ll take a week’s worth of soaking in a bathtub to
scrub off all this grime. All he wanted was a long rest and to head home at early light.” He resisted
sniffing the underside of his arm, knowing full well he stank to high heaven after running these cattle
along the western trail. The cattle would be shipped further west to San Francisco and he would soon
pocket a hefty profit from the marketeer for his father. His hopes of falling into a soft mattress in the
Manhattan Hotel were dashed with the telegram’s arrival.
His parents would arrive soon and check into the Manhattan Hotel. He was to join them this
evening for a birthday party, dance, meet-n-greet, whatever his folks wanted to call it, for a local gal
named Emilia Higginbotham— what kind of name was that?
The Higginbothams had made a lucrative marriage arrangement with his parents. The party would
be an opportunity for him to meet his bride, celebrate her twentieth birthday, and announce their
engagement. That was why his parents were joining him for this auspicious occasion. They wanted to
be present for the public announcement.
His days of being a free man were coming to an end. His parents were determined it was time he
settled down. He couldn’t imagine himself married! Sure, it was a fine institution for his parents and
some of his friends, but he’d never seriously considered himself the husband-type or under the
controlling whims of a female. He’d seen how his friends changed as soon as they said “I do.” It was
not for the faint of heart.
But it seemed, lately, it was the only thing his mother thought about since he reached what was
considered adult status. Now she and his father had made a business arrangement for him to have a
wife. A wife with a substantial dowry, according to the telegram. Was that the only item of importance
when choosing the woman he’d spend the rest of his life looking at from across the breakfast table?
He loved his parents, but he loved his life as a bachelor, too. Why couldn’t his mother realize he
would gladly settle down when he was ready? He wanted to find a gal that was right for him. A gal
that he knew in his heart was the one.
A shiver ran down his spine. The last of the bovine entered the last livestock car. He turned his
steed to address the marketeer. The man licked his finger and counted out the paper money until he
had what was owed the Flying W Ranch. Jasper folded the bills and stuffed them in his inside breast
pocket.
“Been a pleasure doing business with ya.” Jasper said as politely as he knew his mother would
have wanted and shook the man’s hand.
Turning to his waiting men, he shouted, “All right boys. Here’s your pay.”
 He divided out their portions of the earnings, including his own pay so he could get a room, and
the profit for his father’s coffers he stuffed back into his vest pocket. “Let’s secure some hotel rooms
and get some rest. You’ll be heading back early tomorrow morning.”
“Hotel room?” Cheyenne Ferguson laughed. “Nah, boss. I’m gonna find me a saloon and rent me a
room upstairs, if you know what I mean.” He said with a wink and a wicked grin.
Jasper nodded, but he didn’t approve. That just wasn’t how he had been raised. “Well, just make
sure you’re ready to go at sunup. My folks are meeting me here… for some business we gotta take
care of in Salida, so I’ll put Cookie in charge” — he met the older man’s gaze to confirm he accepted
the new assignment— “He’ll see you all get home all right. We don’t want to leave anybody behind,
so don’t give him no trouble.”
“Don’t you worry none about Cheyenne, boss.” James Black trotted off beside Cheyenne, several
others rode alongside them. Only two of his men, Cookie, the chuckwagon master, and Scout, a native
employee and friend who did as his name implied, scouted ahead of the herd to ensure they had plenty
of streams and shade for the cattle, joined Jasper to check into the hotel.
Cookie squinted one eye. “I’ll make sure they get home, Jasper. You’ve got enough on your mind.”
What did he know? Had Jasper’s father told the old hand about this matchmaking party happening
in Salida? Not unless his parents had known they were going to do this before he left on the cattle
drive. Otherwise, why would they inform him with a telegram? Telling him of their plans while he
was home would have been less expensive. But Jasper had to admit, it would have been less
effective. Now he had no choice but to meet his parents and attend the party.
Jasper nodded to the two morally respectable men with a smile. He was too tired to get into what
Cookie might or might not already know. They rode in silence to the Manhattan Hotel. He asked for
three rooms, so they’d each have the privacy they deserved after sleeping together under the stars,
paid for the three rooms out of his own pay, so it didn’t come out of their pay, as a reward for their
good behavior. Then he bid them good rest.
Alone in his room, he did sniff his armpit. “Whew!”
It was disgusting even to himself. He smelled like campfire smoke, cattle, dirt, and soured sweat.
Not a pleasant odor to be walking into a birthday dance for his future wife. His imagination began to
wander. Her name was Emilia. He thought he liked the name, Emilia, but he just couldn’t abide by the
idea of getting married. He was young, still. Never sewed a single wild oat, as they say. He wasn’t
sure what that meant exactly, but he’d never done it, and if he married this gal his mother and father
had chosen, he never would.
Should he join Cheyenne and James at the saloon for one last chance to go to tiger town. Maybe
later, right now that soft mattress was calling to him. After a nap, he’d decide what he could do to
enjoy his last few hours of being a single man.
Jolted awake by a knock at his door, Jasper sat straight up. “What?”
“Jasper, Darling, it’s Mother.”
“Mother!” Jasper repeated, trying to shake the cobwebs from his mind. “I just woke up. What room
are you in?”
His mother called the room number through the door. “So, we’ll see you in a bit? We should go
down together.”
“Uh, I don’t know.” He stood beside his bed. “I was thinking I should buy Emilia a birthday
present. I may just meet you in the ballroom.”
“Oh, how nice. Yes, you should do that.” Mother’s voice softened. “All right, then. We’ll see you
at the party.”
Glancing at himself in the small mirror behind the water bowl and pitcher. He had not planned on
attending a formal affair, he had nothing with him to get gussied up, as his mother would want. Sure,
he could probably pick something up for himself off the hook at the mercantile when he found a
suitable birthday gift for Emilia, but the desire to dress up in an ill-fitted suit was not in his bones.
Stepping into the hall, cautiously looking for his parents in an effort to avoid them, he strode to the
front desk. “May I have my clothes brushed, and my boots polished, please. And could you send up a
bathtub?”
The man behind the counter seemed tickled pink to accommodate his every wish. Such a different
attitude from when he and the other two checked in. Obviously, Father had let the hotel know who
they were. Jasper rolled his eyes. He hated being pretentious. His father seemed to thrive on it.
Once he had cleaned up, he’d go to the mercantile. He couldn’t arrive without having his present
for the birthday girl wrapped nicely for her to open. What kind of cad shows up at his intended’s
birthday party without a properly adorned box? Besides, he needed a diversion from his lingering
cattle-drive aroma, his gift should be just such a distraction, and an excuse to prevent his mother from
knowing what he was wearing until it was too late.
If his future bride didn’t like the smell of cattle and dirt, then she wasn’t right for him anyway. The
sooner he discovered her tolerances, the better. He just hoped she wasn’t long in the tooth and ugly as
the day is long. A substantial dowry usually meant there was something lacking in her appearance or
personality. What had his folks gotten him into? He wasn’t sure if he should pray for a pleasant
appearance or a pleasant personality. Did he have to settle for one or the other?
After all, this was the woman he’d be looking at first thing in the morning and last thing at night. A
shiver ran down his spine.
“Lord, don’t let her be ugly!” he prayed, then headed back to his room for that hot bath while the
valet gave his leather jacket and britches a good brushing and his boots a good clean shine.
 Chapter 2

Emilia chewed the inside of her cheek as she and her parents rode to the Manhattan Hotel for her
party. She faced the thin gap between her father and mother. Father had to allow for the fullness of her
skirts by positioning his legs far to his right, while her mother angled away from him to avoid
entangling with Emilia.
Emilia was glad for the horse drawn carriage her father had ordered the yardman, Bill Ferguson,
to lease for their trip into town. Riding in the wagon would have been uncomfortable, and when they
arrived, her hair would be a complete mess from the breeze, not to mention how dirty her dress
would be, and they would look like rustic provincials who didn’t have two coins to rub together.
Being a land baron, her father certainly had more than two coins. He had built a lovely home that
sat above Salida in the mountains. It was a handsome estate with three stories and a basement. Emilia
appreciated its grandeur after living more lowly in Atlanta, Georgia. Her father’s success here in
Colorado was not wasted on her sensibilities. It was the insistence on her marrying a complete
stranger that had her sensibilities ruffled like a rooster standing with his tail feathers to the wind.
It was her twentieth birthday and yet, it was ruined by this betrothal nonsense being forced upon
her. She moved from chewing on the inside of her cheek to chewing on her lip. She had to figure a
way to convince her parents this was not a good idea. But how? They were dead set on going through
with this lucrative business deal. Did her father care nothing for her happiness?
“You’ll want for nothing.” Her father had said. Well, she would want for something! She knew she
would. She’d want for a husband who loved her with all his heart and wanted her to be happy above
everything else. Simply married and wealthy was not enough for her. What if he was ugly! Or old!
She had not thought to even ask about this Jasper Weatherby. She only knew his name and that he was
a cattle baron’s son. Surely, if he was the son, he would not be old. Could she hope he would not be
hideous to look at either?
Emilia swallowed.
“What is it, Dear?” Her mother looked concerned.
“Nothing.” Emilia quickly answered before she blurted out her mind’s true thoughts. “I’m a bit
nervous, is all.”
“Well,” Father chuckled. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’ve been to parties like this
before.”
“Yes, but—” She closed her mouth. There was no need to remind Father that this birthday party
would end with an announcement that she would be wed soon. This evening, she would have to stand
in front of everyone, smile, and look like the happy, blushing bride-to-be, while inside, she was
afraid she would be ill from fighting the vapors. She stared out the little window instead.
“Oh, come on, Darling.” Mother coaxed. “You love birthdays! This one is simply extra special!”
Emilia pressed a smile toward her mother and gave an agreeable nod, to make Mother happy. In
truth, Emilia was fighting tears.
Soon, the driver stopped the carriage. The Manhattan Hotel, which sat on the Arkansas River in
the center of downtown Salida, was beautiful. Built with locally quarried granite stones, it had a low-
rise castle look about it. Emilia had to admit, this was the perfect place to throw a party. The
ballroom was enormous, and the staff were graciously accommodating. Her mother knew how to put
together a soirée that would be the envy of the whole town, and maybe a few nearby.
They were intentionally forty-five minutes later than the hour that the guests had been told to
arrive. Another of her mother’s social schemes, allowing Emilia, the guest of honor, to arrive
poignantly as if she were the queen or something just as worthy. Her father exited the carriage first,
put out his hand to her mother, who stepped down gracefully.
Emilia prayed she could move as smoothly. She was known to step on her hem and trip easily, or
lose a shoe and end up hopping until she found it. She gathered her skirts in one hand, gripped the
inside of her shoes with curled toes, and reached for her father’s hand with the other. Slowly, she
emerged. The taffeta skirts rustled as she moved through the small door. At last, she stood, in one
piece, with her parents, and drifted to the entrance of the hotel.
The string instruments could be heard playing, as they ascended the lovely wooden staircase
toward the ballroom. Stone and wood adorned everything from walls to windows. And every
window gave way to a view of the river and mountains. It was a lovely hotel.
Her nerves were balled up and it was a struggle to float, as she had been taught, toward her grand
entrance. The birthday girl! Would her fiancé be the first to greet her inside? She had no idea what
Jasper Weatherby looked like. Would she make a fool of herself by not realizing it was him?
She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and paused outside the doors that were about to be
opened, ceremoniously, just for her.
“Are you ready?” Her father asked as he grasped the ornamental door handle. Her mother took
ahold of the other handle. Together they would open the door, and Emilia would walk in.
She nodded, with a single jerk of her head, and closed her eyes again.
She felt the whoosh of air as the doors opened. The string instruments swelled louder as the
barrier was released for the music to spill into the hall. She drew in another deep breath and opened
her eyes. Anticipating an overwhelming reception from those inside the ballroom.
Couples were dancing, people were walking past the door, some were talking along the perimeter
of the room, a waiter carrying a tray of edibles walked by, while another crossed the opposite
direction with a tray of fluted glasses filled with bubbling champagne held over his shoulder. Emilia
stood there— smiling brilliantly— unnoticed.
Her father stepped into the room and cleared his throat. No one heard him. He snatched a glass of
champagne, and a spoon from the other waiter with food, and tapped the silver against the bell-like
glass. The tinkling drew the attention of those closest to him.
“May I present!” Her father projected his voice over the noise as if he were on stage at a theater.
“Miss Emilia Higginbotham, birthday girl and honoree for the evening!”
The people gasped, and laughed, and someone began clapping. It was contagious, soon the entire
ballroom stood looking at her, and applauding her appearance. Heat filled her cheeks. She feigned
humble dismissal of their applause, and shook her head, dismissing the attention as nonsense. Her
father handed her a fluted glass, and then her mother, and lifted his own high over his head. “Happy
Birthday! My Darling Daughter! Emilia!”
The crowd did the same and the chant was echoed throughout the ballroom. “Happy Birthday,
Emilia!”
She sipped her drink and smiled graciously at everyone who caught her eye. Where was this man
to whom she was to be betrothed this very night? Why hadn’t he approached her or made a toast.
Jenny Sanders, her best friend, ran to her, squealing about how beautiful she looked. Hugging Jenny,
she looked around for someone who might be the man she would soon wed.
“Come.” Jenny grinned. “You must get a dance card. I’m sure all the men will want to sign it.”
Jenny pulled her over to a table with the embossed cards and pencils. Emilia lifted one and wrote her
name across the top. She slipped the ribbon over her gloved wrist and stood back with Jenny to see
who asked her for the first dance. The string quartet resumed playing and the couples resumed
waltzing or dancing to what the musicians played next. Emilia watched the couples walk elegantly
and sway through three other dances before she had had enough.
Was the man she had been promised to in marriage even here? She looked across the ballroom at
all the faces. No one seemed interested in her at all. Whoever this Jasper Weatherby was, he either
had not bothered to come to her birthday party, or he was ignoring her entirely. Did she want him to
find her and sweep her out on the dance floor? Just then, the doors opened again, and in walked a
ruggedly handsome cowboy. How she wished her betrothed could be this extremely stunning man. Her
heart pounded. Could others hear her silly heart? Then an idea came to her. She bit her lip, acting on
the idea before she returned to her senses, and marched toward the cowboy.
He looked out of place, glancing around for the appropriate location to put the little decorated box
he held. Was it a birthday present for her? What else could it be? She marched up to him, closer than
she should without introductions, and clasped his arm as if they were old friends.
“Play along, and I’ll give you ten dollars,” she hissed.

***
Jasper looked at the woman clasping his arm with a mischievous grin. Who was this little minx?
Did she think him a vagrant off the streets who wandered in looking for food? Surely she realized he
was an invited guest with the gift in his hand. Had his disdain for dressing formally left him to appear
needy? He chuckled to himself at the idea that ten dollars would entice him to play along with
whatever scheme she was about to do.
Rather, it was curiosity that caused him to see how this played out. Cautiously, he let her drag him
across the ballroom, handing off his gift to a helpful hand that came from nowhere. He was here to
meet Emilia Higginbotham and her family. Would they be upset to see him allowing this unruly gal to
lead him into some game of… whatever this would turn out to be? Ever vigilant, he was prepared to
state he had nothing to do with this woman’s game, should it turn into an awkward or unkind situation.
He wished, not for the first time, that he had some idea of who he was here to meet. At least then
he could be aware if she or her family were watching this impromptu interaction.
He stumbled and then matched her pace, surrendering to whatever prank this was. Soon, they stood
in from of a man and woman who could easily be her parents. She had their combined features. His
eyes, her hair color and high cheekbone structure, the jaw of the father and the beauty of the mother.
Someone had snatched his gift and put it wherever they were being held. So his hands were free.
The mother was engrossed in some tale, and turned upon their abrupt appearance, with her mouth
gaping with surprise.
“Mother, Father.” The woman spoke breathlessly. Her confidence seemed to have faded while they
traversed the room. He felt a slight tremble in her hands, although her grasp on his arm had not
lessened. “I tried to tell you earlier, but you were not listening.” She began. “I cannot marry the man
you have chosen for me.”
Whoa! Is that what this was about? Jasper nearly jumped away from her, but her grip was tighter
than he had imagined the little gal was capable of. Did she cling to him for strength or tomfoolery?
Her mother gasped and her father clinched his jaw. Her mother’s eyes darted to see who might
have overheard her outburst, and her father followed through with clinching his fists into white-
knuckled balls. Was he about to punch Jasper in the nose? She had his right arm clamped down at his
side, could he defend himself with his left arm?
“And why not, may I ask?” Her mother breathed.
“Because.” Emilia raised her chin a notch. “This is my fiancé.” She jerked his arm a little for
emphasis.
Jasper opened his mouth to protest he had no knowledge of her claim. He turned to glare at her.
But the pleading bulge of her eyes caused him to close his mouth.
He was here to meet his future bride, not this crazed woman who claimed him to be her fiancé!
How did he get into such a pickle so soon? He had just arrived. How could he get out of this mad
woman’s clutches? He stiffened, prepared for someone to take control of her. What could he say to
make anybody around them understand he had nothing to do with this little theatrical display? What
was she really up to? Why had she chosen him out of everybody else in this ballroom to make her
declaration?
She darted a glance toward him. He met her gaze. A slight smile took over his mouth. She was
lovely and didn’t seem to have a glint of crazy in her eyes. What was this about? Furthermore, who
was she? Where was his true fiancée and her family? Surely by now, they were watching this
boisterous exchange. Prepared to deny everything, he stood statue still except to lift his chin and look
her father directly in the eyes. He opened his mouth to say, “Sir, forgive me, I do not know this
woman.” But before he could utter a word, she continued with her fabrication.
“We met several months ago, and he and I have been secretly betrothed. He is why I cannot marry
the man you have bargained for my hand.”
The father locked eyes with Jasper. How many marriage arrangements had been planned for this
evening’s gala? Could he convey with his eyes that he was innocent in all these claims she was
making? He felt like the father was gawking at him like a gunfighter in the street, looking for a
weakness or a twitch, so he could lift his side arm and kill him graveyard dead.
“Uh.” Jasper moved at last. “I can see that this has caught you off guard.” He peeled his arm out of
her grip. “I’m just going to go over there.” He pointed at some arbitrary location away from the
parents. “And let you talk this out.”
He scurried through the people and found a table with mugs of beer already poured and little
crackers topped with what looked like sliced sausage and cheese. He filled a little plate and grabbed
a mug and moved into a corner where he could hide for a little while. He had to think. Where were
his parents? What had the vixen gotten him involved in? Would walking away resolve the dilemma?
Had his future in-laws seen the entire altercation?
He didn’t know who that feisty little gal was or why she had commandeered him to be part of her
joke, or whatever that was. If his parents saw him standing with her, spouting claims of being
betrothed for several months, his mother would probably march him out to the nearest woodshed and
tan his hide, regardless of how old he was. His mother’s switches knew no bounds and his twenty-
seven years did not prevent her discipline. He had been sent here for a purpose and he couldn’t
embarrass his parents by getting mixed up in some other family’s sordid affairs.
He looked across the ballroom. That little gal was not with her parents. Where had she gone. He
scanned the crowd. She wasn’t terribly tall or easy to find. Neither were his parents. Where were
they? He wanted to get this meeting and announcing his engagement over with and get back to his
hotel room.
“Hey.” The vixen slid up beside him.
He jumped as if a rattlesnake had shaken it rattler at his feet.
 Chapter 3

Jasper followed his mother across the ballroom to where his father stood at a counter for drinks
other than water or lemonade. A sharply dressed bartender expertly blended the contents in a metal
canister with ice and covered the top to precisely shake it five times.
Ah, Father’s preferred drink. A Gentle Martini, he called it. Father looked undone. What had
happened to cause them to arrive so late and in such a state? Perhaps Jasper was relieved that they
had arrived late and avoided his little theatrical charade that the audacious gal he had left across the
room caused. She had dragged him into a lie for her own sake. There would be no shock on his
parent’s part when it was revealed the vixen was to be his betrothed.
Glancing at his mother’s pale, weary face, he realized there was cause for concern for both his
parents’ well-being. They were never late to anything! Ever! Something devastating had to have
happened to keep them this long.
“What’s wrong?’ Jasper focused on his father’s pale cheeks and tautly compressed jaw.
Alastair Weatherby accepted the drink and tossed it back like it was a one-ounce shot of whiskey,
handed the man the glass and gestured for another.
“Father! Tell me, what is wrong?”
He turned to Jasper gasping for breath from the nerve-taming vodka and vermouth. He swallowed
hard, “I have never in my life experienced such a thing. These passenger trains will be the death of
me. I swear, I intend to invest in our own Pullman when we get back home.
“Now, Dear, it wasn’t the railway’s fault… we made the mistake.” His mother tried to soothe him.
She turned to Jasper, “And we met some very nice people today. I promised to send the missus my
momma’s Dutch apple-caramel pie recipe.”
His father’s face burned a brighter shade of anger. “I don’t want to discuss it. It’s all sorted out
now. We don’t have to keep bringing up my grievous mistakes—”
“Grievous— Father! What happened?” Jasper exclaimed with much less patience than he had ever
been allowed to address the patriarch.
Father sighed forcefully.
“We picked up the wrong travel case, Dear.” Claudette Weatherby blurted. Her cheeks instantly
filled with a flush so red, Jasper wondered if she would succumb to the vapors.
His father darted a hostile glare at her, sighed heavily, again. “Yes. We have spent this entire time
searching for our correct luggage. Thank God, the person who had taken ours by mistake returned to
the station to resolve the error. But it took a coon’s age to sort it all out.”
 “Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry.” Jasper pursed his lips to stay the chuckle that tried to get him into deeper
trouble. “But you’re here now, and everything is all right?”
“Yes, Dear.” Mother replied with a nervous smile.
Father slammed back the second martini. “Now, let’s meet your future in-laws and get this
wrapped it.”
Jasper sighed. “Right. Uh, about that—”
He glanced around, wondering if the little vixen was staying put with her friend in the opposite
corner. He didn’t want her interfering with this important next step in his journey of enslavement by
marriage. Drawing in a deep, settling breath, he followed his parents to another part of the ballroom.
The two fiddles and bass played spirited dance tunes as the three Weatherby’s ignored the dancing
couples. His father perused the people, finally landing his gaze of the target of his attention. He led
the family purposefully to a couple who was sitting regally, next to a table strewn with ribboned gifts
and a two-layer cake that had piped icing spelling out Happy Birthday Emilia across the top layer.
Sugar flowers cascaded along the edge and over the sides. A display of talent to be sure.
The closer they got, the farther Jasper’s gut sank to his knees. This cannot be!
Jasper let his father and mother go first, since Father knew the man with which this arrangement
had been made.
“Ah, Oliver Higginbotham!” Father addressed the man seated.
Mr. Higginbotham replied, “Alastair! You made it, at last.” He and his wife stood.
“Yes, I must apologize. It seems there was a mix up with our luggage and it took us a while to sort
things out and get changed.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” The man bellowed a laugh. “Train travel is a blessing and a curse,
isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Father glanced back at Jasper, gesturing for him to move closer. Jasper struggled to loosen
his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Never had he been so cotton-mouthed. Perspiration saturated
his shirt. Thank God he still wore his leather coat, or they would notice the stains encircling his
armpits. He grabbed a frosty glass of champagne as the waiter walked by and downed it in one gulp.
“May I introduce my lovely wife, Claudette Weatherby.” Father put his arm around Mother’s back
and presented her with a slight shove.
“My wife, Maria Higginbotham.” Oliver stated.
Mother curtsied slightly and shook the mother’s hand. Jasper hung back a little, dreading this
moment. He drew in another calming breath and prepared himself to step forward when Father
introduced him, but he also anticipated the explosive reaction when Mr. Higginbotham laid eyes on
him for the second time.
 “Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham,” Father began formally. “I am proud to introduce to you our son,
Jasper Richard Weatherby. He has just completed a most profitable cattle drive to market here in
Salida. We neglected to inform him about this soirée, and I’m afraid he was not properly prepared to
dress formally, as he should. My apologies.” Father bowed his head.
“Oh, that’s quite alright.” Mr. Higginbotham replied. “I, of all people, understand mixing business
with pleasure. Right, Dear?”
There was an awkward silence. Jasper assumed Mrs. Higginbotham was supposed to reply but
had not and everyone waited a moment to see what she would say. Jasper took the moment to look
around the ballroom once more. Would that vixen appear out of nowhere, like before? He didn’t see
anyone who looked like her on the dance floor. And she was too small to be seen among those who
stood around it. He glanced at the wallflowers to see if perhaps she sat among them with her friend.
Why weren’t they kicking up their heels with the waiting gentlemen? Why was he so fixated on that
gal? Louise, she said her name was. He needed to get her off his mind and focus on what was about to
happen. His utmost attention was needed for this introduction. He couldn’t ruin it by scandalously
searching for some other woman.
Jasper turned to meet his father’s pugnacious eyes. He stiffened and stepped forward, as silently
commanded. Turning from his father, with his best, most personable smile, he extended his hand in
greeting, as he stepped from between his parents, and—
Gawked in awkward silence.
“Oh. I, uh,” Jasper couldn’t find the words. He stood before the very same parents that he had
participated in the theatrical lie about being Louise’s secret betrothed. This birthday soirée and
marriage arrangement had been for Emilia Higginbotham. Was Louise her sister? Did they have both
daughters’ marriage arranged without their first knowing the gentleman to whom they were being
betrothed?
The mother gaped at him. The father clinched his teeth. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
Father’s face faltered, with shock. “No. I assure you, this is our son, Jasper. I’m sorry he is not
dressed appropriately for such an auspicious occasion, but please don’t—”
“Enough!” Mr. Higginbotham growled. “Where is Emilia?”
“I’ll find her.” Mrs. Higginbotham scrambled, but only took one step. Jasper turned to scan the
crowd, as if he knew who he was looking for. Was the friend who approached Louise the other
daughter? She was attractive. It would not be so bad to be married to her. He searched for either of
them. Just then, the same girl popped out of the throng of people. Jasper smiled at her, thinking this
must be Emilia.
“Mr. Higginbotham, Mrs. Higginbotham.” The excitement in the girl’s voice made her sound
breathless. Mrs. Higginbotham joined her husband, listening to the girl.
“Our birthday girl isn’t feeling well. She asked me to let you know she has gone to her room
upstairs to lie down.”
The Higginbotham’s looked alarmed, and then concerned. “What now?” Mr. Higginbotham
muttered.
Jasper rubbed his hand down his face. She could not be Emilia if she addressed them in this way.
This was getting very complicated.
Mrs. Higginbotham touched her husband’s arm in a wifely way and whispered. “I’ll go see about
her.”
Jasper watched the woman float through the people and out the main doors of the ballroom.
“Now what?” Jasper’s father complained. Mother whispered something to Father, and he turned
back to Mr. Higginbotham. “It seems we have an engagement to announce without the betrothed
couple to stand and be recognized.”
“Yes.” Higginbotham replied with a hiss. “And a birthday girl absent from her own birthday
party.”
 Chapter 4

Maria Higginbotham rushed into the ballroom, frantically searching for her husband. She, like
Jasper’s father, looked undone. Her voice sounded as if she had been screaming and gone hoarse
when she called out to him. “Oliver!” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Oliver!”
Mr. Higginbotham excused himself from Jasper and his parents, aimed to attend to his wife’s
concerns. Weaving around some folks who were engrossed in conversation near a linen-covered table
adorned with a bountiful flower arrangement and dodging between a couple dancing close to the edge
of the designated floor, he made a determined path to his wife.
Jasper, with instincts for trouble burning in his gut which had been honed by many years of driving
herds to market and anticipating problems before they happened, continued to watch the man as Mr.
Higginbotham gently took his wife’s hand into his and peered into her reddened, distressed eyes.
“What is it, Dear?”
He glanced around as if he were embarrassed to be having such an intimate, yet public moment
with her. She spoke quickly near his shoulder. He turned as if to scan the crowd. Jasper noticed how
the dancers continued to dance and the wallflowers continued to eat and drink. The party continued
despite the obvious, if one were to take notice, concerns being exhibited by the hosts. Not a one of the
guests were bothered or interrupted from their jovial activities, while the Higginbotham’s appeared to
be falling apart.
They quickly approached the Weatherbys, apologetically. “I’m so sorry, it seems our daughter is
truly missing from the hotel, and we must attend to this matter immediately.”
“Oh, Dear.” Jasper’s mother empathized. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Jasper snickered to himself. Leave it to Mother, head of the women’s auxiliary and always
gracious and kind, to offer help when the girl had, in all reality, insulted his family by not appearing
when she should. He had no idea what she looked like, but if Louise was her sister, then surely he
could find Emilia.
“I’ll go look for her,” he volunteered.
The two sets of parents stared at him a moment. Emilia’s father bobbed his head. “Yes. Yes, you
should be the one to… find her and bring her back here.” He turned to his wife. “What has gotten into
her?”
Maria shrugged and shook her head. Emilia’s father continued, “I thought surely after—”
His words faded as Jasper moved through the celebratory crowd toward the doors. “Jasper?” His
mother eased up to him. “Do be careful. It’s dark out and I fear for your safety.”
 “Mother.” Jasper clasped her hands against his chest. “If its unsafe for me, what chance does a fair
lady such as Emilia have?”
“True.” Mother nodded. Resolve tightened her mouth into a straight line. “Go find her, Dear.”
He kissed her cheek and darted from the room. How do you find a woman you have never met?
Would simply looking for a Louise lookalike be good enough? Then again, this late at night, surely a
well-bred woman wandering the streets wouldn’t be that hard to identify.
He rushed down the stairs and out the front doors. Looking left and then right, he closed his eyes,
letting his gut instincts, which hardly ever were wrong, tell him which way he should go.
A high-pitched scream echoed through the dark streets. Jasper leapt in that direction and ran like a
scalded dog. Whoever the scream came from may not be Emilia, but it was definitely a woman in
trouble! Darting his eyes about the streets, he homed his hearing to where the scream had come from.
Another scream redirected him, and he turned toward it. Ahead, about three blocks to the west, he
saw a black surrey buggy in the middle of the road. The horse whinnied and pranced uneasily in its
breeching. The surrey rocked back and forth as if someone inside was tussling about. Another high-
pitched scream rent the air, and Jasper ran even faster to get to the buggy.
He rounded the back side, clinging to the surrey’s frame, to slow his momentum, and spun into the
woman’s side. She jerked toward him, wild eyed, gasping for air, and screamed in his face. “Help
me!”
In that instant he realized it was the mischievous trickster from the party! “Louise?” He stammered.
Glaring at the filthy, dirty scoundrel clinging to Louise’s arms still wrestling her about in the buggy,
Jasper barked, “Let go of her!”
Anger roiled in Jasper’s gut. Grabbing the driver’s wrist, he squeezed hard enough to break bones
and caused the man to release her arms.
She leapt into Jasper’s arms, and he pulled her from the buggy, standing her on her feet. Looking
back at the driver, he ordered. “I don’t know what you thought you were doing, but you made a big
mistake with this one.” Jasper took one step, rising on the step of the buggy, cocking this right arm
back, he swung his fist into the man’s jaw! The would-be rogue crumpled like a rag doll across the
seat.
Springing back to the ground, he turned to Louise. “Are you alright?”
Tears stained her pretty face. “Yes. I hired him to take me home, but I don’t think he really worked
for the livery.”
Jasper glanced back at the limp form lying unconscious in the buggy. “Well, then, he doesn’t belong
in this buggy.” He pulled the man’s arm and flopped him in the dirt beside the vehicle. He never
stirred.
 “Come on, we’ll take this and get you back to your sister’s party. Your parents are worried enough
with her missing. When did you leave? Do you know where your sister went? Did you know she was
missing, too?”
Louise, stared at him. “What? What sister?”
Jasper spun around to look into her golden-brown eyes. He considered her odd question. Slowly
realization dawn on him. “You’re Emilia?”
She jerked, as if the excitement of being accosted wore off and awareness that he had her in a lie
sunk in. Her eyes darted about quickly. “No. No, I’m not.” She paused. “Th-that girl you met, who
picked up the coin, she… she’s Emilia.”
Jasper tucked his chin close to his chest and squinted his eyes. “No.” He spoke slowly,
deciphering the situation as he spoke. “She isn’t. She’s the one who alerted your parents that you were
feeling ill and had left the party. Your mother went looking for you and was distraught when she
couldn’t find you in your room.”
A wave of guilt, or concern, flashed in the girl’s eyes. “Oh, dear.”
“You’ve been lying to me this whole time?”
“I-I, it was just a sweet white lie, really. I didn’t do any harm.” She lifted her chin a notch.
“Besides, you lied to me, too.”
He dropped his jaw in dismay. “When did I ev—”
“You said your name was Richard.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Her wide-open sleeves,
like a lily blossom, trailed down in front of her bodice.
He glared at her. “Well, in my defense—”
“In your defense, you lied to me!” she snapped.
“Not really. Richard is my middle name. What about you? You said your name was Louise!”
“Louise is my” —she yelled, then softened her voice— “middle name!”
“So, we both lied.” He concluded.
“I guess so. But—” She tilted her head. “Why are you out here?
“I told you, your parents are frantic. They don’t know where you went, so I agreed to find you.”
“Even though you thought I was my sister?”
He glared at her. “Well, it wasn’t like you had made it very clear who you were. I had to figure
something out when I was dragged over to your parents by my parents to meet my future in-laws and
realized it was the same people you had just denounced your engagement to—“ He stiffened! “Wait a
minute! You picked me out of the crowd, a random cowboy, and lied to your parents about us being
secretly engaged! Whoa! You are something else.” He shook his head.
“Well. I had no idea who they had made this business deal with. I was terrified you would be some
horrible old man with false teeth or worse.”
Jasper stared at her a long while. “What could be worse than false teeth?” He resisted letting a
smile give away his mirth.
She shrugged. A grin quivered on her mouth, too.
“Look. I’ve gotta take you back to the party. Your parents are worried sick. But I gotta be honest,
I’m not so sure about this engagement. You… you’ve got a problem with telling the truth and I’m just
not so sure I can abide by that.”
Emilia cocked her head back on her shoulders. “Huh. Well, that’s fine with me. I have no intention
or interest in being married to you, either.”
She huffed and spun to turn her back on him.
“Fine with me.” He blurted.
“Fine.” She spat.
“Get in the surrey, and I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
“No. I don’t want to go there.”
“Well, you’re gonna go whether you like it or not.” He scooped her up into his arms and slung her
into the seat. Climbing over her, to keep her in the seat he held her down with one arm and lifted the
reins with the other.
“Yah!” He flicked the reins and the horse hurried forward.
“No! I won’t go with you!” She yelled, kicking and pounding her fists against his arm.
“Yes, you will!” He barked back at her. “Ow.” She could hit hard! Her fists felt like rocks against
his forearm.
She kicked and fought but could not get out from under his restraint.
Pulling up to the front of the hotel, the doorman tilted his head questioningly as he realized Emilia
was being held down by Jasper. He looked unsure whether to help her down, or punch Jasper in the
nose.
“This is Emilia Higginbotham.” Jasper struggled to tell the doorman. “She needs to be upstairs at
her own birthday soirée.”
The door man nodded and steadied the horse’s reins instead.
Jasper scooped Emilia into his arms and leapt down from the buggy. She huffed, as if the lunge had
knocked the wind from her lungs. He strode into the hotel with her kicking and fighting the whole way.
People at the desk turned to look with concern, but everyone seemed to realize he had the situation
under control and allowed him to climb the stairs without interruption.
He kicked the ballroom doors open, causing them to swing and bang against the wall. People
gasped and turned quickly to see what the commotion was about. They stepped back, parting a path
for him to carry Emilia inside. She had given up the fight and hung limp in his arms. He marched up to
where the Higginbothams stood gaping at the spectacle and set their daughter on her feet in front of
them.
She huffed and turned at last to face her parents. With an exaggerated sigh, she shoved her hair out
of her eyes. “This man!” She began slowly, lifting her arm to point at him. “This man… has violated
me!”
Her mother gasped and her father, once again, clinched his fists at his side. He pursed his lips and
glared at Jasper.
“She’s lying!” Jasper grunted. “And—” He turned to his own mother and father. “If you think for
one minute I’m going to be strapped down to the likes of her for eternal matrimony, you got another
think coming.”
He turned on his polished boot heels and strode from the ballroom. Leaving silence in his wake.
Even the string instruments, who had been unbothered by anything that happened in the room thus far,
stopped playing and everyone stared at his retreating form.

***
“Emilia! What have you done?” Her father growled.
She didn’t respond to him. She was too absorbed in glaring at the door that Jasper had just
slammed shut.
“Uh,” Mr. Weatherby stammered. “Let’s get together tomorrow and discuss this.”
“Yes,” Emilia’s mother said. “Over tea, er, uh, in our home.”
With a nod between them it was decided. Emilia snapped out of her burn-him-to-the-ground stare
when her mother grabbed her arm and pulled her to a specially arranged chair next to the table that
bore her birthday gifts. Mother leaned ominously into Emilia’s face and spoke through gritted teeth
against her ear. “You will sit here and open your gifts from these generous people, and you will smile
and be gracious about every single piddly trinket you receive. Then we will go to our room and
discuss how we will repair the damage you have caused.”
Her mother stood, with a lovely smile on her face and gave Father a nod. Father clapped his hands
to draw everyone’s attention and announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen. Thank you so much for coming
this evening to celebrate our daughter’s twentieth birthday. She has asked if she might open her
presents now.” He chuckled. “I think we should let the birthday girl do just that, don’t you?” He
clapped, beginning the round of applause that filled the room.
The people cheered as they clapped. No one was the wiser about Emilia’s devastating dismissal
of her parents’ plans for marriage. Champagne was poured into fluted glasses and passed out on
silver trays quickly by the staff while Emilia pulled a gift into her lap and began untying the string.
One by one, she opened each gift and thanked the giver with as much decorum as she could muster.
Deep down, she was still angry, and yet, she knew she was in a lot of trouble with her parents and
probably Jasper’s parents as well. Whatever Jasper thought of her or the encounter they had just had,
she couldn’t care less. He was a cad and a rogue… and… she sighed. “The most handsome cowboy
I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“What, Dear?” Her mother leaned in to understand her mumbling.
“Nothing, Mother.” She turned to the person who anxiously waited to know she liked their gift.
“Thank you, it’s lovely.” She said as genuinely as she could.
Her father handed her another package. She read the card. “From Jasper Weatherby,” she muttered.
How could she set this one aside without aggravating her parents further?
Looking up at her father, she asked, “Could I get something to wet my throat. I’m parched.”
While father took his eyes off her and snapped his fingers to order a waiter to bring her a
lemonade, she shoved Jasper’s gift behind her skirts. Whatever he had bought her, she didn’t want to
know. Certainly, she did not want to open it in front of all these prying eyes. He wasn’t here for her to
thank anyway. Nor were his parents. She’d noticed them slip out the door several packages ago.
With a pursed smile, she accepted another gift from her father and pulled the lovely ribbon. “Oh,
what a lovely ribbon. I shall keep it for my hair.” She looked up to find the giver. Jenny stepped
forward with a sweet smile. “Jenny? Is this from you?”
Jenny nodded with excitement. “Well, thank you.” Emilia peeled back the paper and opened the
box. “Oh!” she exclaimed. Inside were two beautiful mother-of-pearl combs for her hair. “These are
lovely! You’ll have to show me how to wear them.”
Jenny grinned from ear to ear. “I will.”
Another gift was shoved into her lap. She glared at her father for being rude when she was ordered
by mother to be gracious. One last smile aimed toward Jenny, she untied the next package.
At last, all the packages but one were opened and set aside. Her parents thanked the guests for
coming and began gently gesturing them toward the door. Mother and Father were as tired of this
soirée as she was. Feeling rather reluctant for the people to leave, she engaged in conversations with
as many of them as she could. Stalling to avoid the tongue lashing she knew she would receive once
they got to the hotel suite.
But at last, the ballroom was empty except the hotel staff who were standing by to begin the
cleaning process. Even the quartet were packed up and were walking out. Emilia sighed heavily.
Father had disappeared, settling accounts with those he owed for their service during the party,
Emilia assumed. Her mother waited for her at the door. Emilia drew in another breath and let it out.
She held the gift from Jasper behind her back. “I’m coming.”
Following her mother, they walked to the suite Father had rented for them, anticipating the
celebration would go long into the night and traveling home would be far too weary. She was indeed
weary, but it was barely past midnight. Solemnly entering the lovely suite, Emily kept her back to the
wall, as she bid her mother goodnight and slinked into her designated room. Making her way to her
traveling case, she tossed the gift box on the bed and laid out her sleeping gown. How she wished
Jenny were here to help with her lacings.
“Emilia!” Father bellowed from the common room. Emilia jerked at the unexpected level of his
voice. He never hollered like that while indoors. Apprehensively, she walked to her door, and
opened it, cautiously peering out.
Her father stood with a horse whip in hand, held against his pant leg.
Emilia gasped. She was in bigger trouble than she ever imagined. Father had never whipped her in
her life, was this evening’s fiasco worthy of such a brutal punishment. Surely her father did not
realize what a monster Jasper had been. Even though he did save her from that horrible man
pretending to work for the livery, he had otherwise been horrible.
“Father?” Emilia attempted a gentle, heart-felt approach to reason with him.
“Emilia Louise Higginbotham, you humiliated your mother and me this evening. You are spoiled
and unreasonable.”
Her eyes widened. “Yes. I was.” She decided honesty was her best policy. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t
mean to cause you and Mother such embarrassment.” She eyed the whip and prayed she could talk
him out of using it on her.
“Embarrassment! This was much more than just an embarrassment! This was a gentleman’s
agreement. You cost me a sound relationship and business opportunity with an extremely lucrative
potential partner.”
“No, Dear.” Mother, who had gone completely pale, tried to reason with him. “The Weatherbys
said they wanted to get together tomorrow… er later today, to discuss our options. Let’s not jump to
conclusions—”
“Be quiet, woman, or you will be next.” He snarled.
Mother collapsed onto a divan at his harsh words. Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears.
Emilia gasped, stepping back from him, covering her gaping mouth with the back of her hand.
She’d never seen Father this angry. “Father, please! I’m so sorry.” She hated the tremble in her voice,
but now was not the time to project anything other than vulnerability and fear. Surely he would soften
with a sincere apology. “I didn’t realize the extent of… your investment in this… arrangement. I’ll
make amends… tomorrow. I swear!”
 Her father snapped the horse whip against his leg. His lips went taut and his eyes narrowed.
Would he truly take the stiff, leather-covered whip to her behind! She was a grown woman after all.
But as an unwed twenty-year-old, she was a liability to him, and apparently he was through carrying
that burden. She really had little choice in this matter.
Afraid to run into her room, terrified of moving any closer to him, she stayed where she was, but
grasped the door frame to keep her knees from giving way. She wouldn’t collapse to the ground. The
thought of sinking to her knees and begging him not to whip her crossed her mind, but her stubborn
pride just wouldn’t allow her to sink that low. She’d take the whipping if she had to before she’d do
such a thing.
Enduring her father’s penetrating glare, she waited.
A whimper came from the couch. Emilia turned her gaze, as did Father, to see her mother pale as
death, yet covered in dew as if in a fever. Her lips trembled as she squeaked barely above a whisper.
“Ollie, please don’t.”
Father held his ground a moment longer, then rushed to Mother’s side. “Maria, Darling. I’m sorry.
Don’t fret so. You’re right.” He took her limp hand into his and stroked it gently. “We will settle this
matter later over tea. I-I lost my temper is all. Come, let me take you to lie down. Do you have your
heart tonic?”
She nodded weakly.
Emilia watched the exchange with her parents. What heart tonic was this? Was mother truly this
ill? How had she not known. Father gathered Mother into his arms and slowly walked her to the
larger bedroom on the opposite side of the hotel suite. Relieved she would not be whipped, but
scared for her mother’s obvious frail health, Emilia backed into her room and closed the door.
Kneeling beside her bed, she prayed for her mother. When she said Amen, she lifted her head. Her
eyes were level with the covers and in the center was the box, keenly wrapped by an someone other
than Jasper, she decided.
Rising, she sat on the bed and pulled the ribbon. What could he have possibly thought she would
want for her birthday? He didn’t know her at all when he arrived with this gift. He didn’t really know
her now. She had not revealed her best traits to him at the party, or when he saved her from the
would-be assailant. She had accused him of assaulting her in front of the entire company of party
attenders. She’d been awful!
Laying the ribbon aside, she peeled the paper away and slid the lid off. Inside was a red velvet
box. Emilia turned the outer box over and let the velvet one slide out into her hand. She paused. What
could this be? Slowly, she pulled the top of the box open. Its hinge creaked with a slight resistance.
Emilia stared at the contents, tucked into a white satin lining. She couldn’t believe her eyes.
 This was his birthday present to her? The most beautiful oval ruby set in black gold and flanked by
two small white diamonds on either side, then two oval aquamarine diamonds. It was a dazzling ring.
She’d never seen anything this exquisite. Had he intended it for an engagement ring?
He was supposed to propose to her this night and the birthday party was supposed to change into a
betrothal celebration instead? It only made sense. Her heart ached. She had really ruined this night for
all involved. A man who would pick out such an exquisite ring to propose marriage couldn’t be
nearly as horrible as she thought Jasper to be. Could he?
Had she completely misjudged him? Would he ever forgive her?
 Chapter 5

Emilia dragged herself from the bed when a valet knocked on the suite door. Apparently, Father
had ordered a wake-up call at ten o’clock. Emilia and her parents staggered into the common room,
looking haggard. Apparently, no one slept well. Could anyone truly rest after everything that had
transpired? A coffee cart was brought in, and Emilia poured herself a cup, splashed some cream into
the dark brown liquid, and added a cube of sugar. The caffeine was welcomed by her exhausted mind.
Mother emerged from their room with red, swollen eyes and headed to the coffee as desperate for
caffeine as Emilia.
After coffee and sweet rolls were consumed, Emilia retreated to her private room to powder her
face and comb through the rat’s nest that had been her lovely hairdo designed by Ilsa, her mother’s
ladies’ maid. Brushed, tied, penned into a loose bun on top of her head, she changed into a traveling
dress for the short ride to their home just outside of town. She hoped for a moment to lie down once
they returned home. Mother had invited the Weatherby’s to tea to smooth things over. That would be at
four o’clock, and Emilia would be expected to be on her best behavior once they arrived.
She had a new-found respect for her father’s demands, recalling the snap of the horse whip at his
side last night, or was it earlier this morning? She’d never thought her father would resort to such
cruel punishment but apparently her encroaching spinsterhood weighed heavily on Father’s mind, or
at least the lucrative business deal he had made, pending her marriage to the Weatherby’s son, was
more important than any precedent established between her and her father.
Mother, Emilia had discovered, suffered from an ailment and had to go to bed with some sort of
elixir to calm her heart. When were they going to tell Emilia about that? She didn’t ever want to cause
her mother to worry to the point of having another spell like she did last night, or was it earlier this
morning?
Emilia shook her head. Her mind was filled with cobwebs from lack of sleep. She needed more
rest. Surely she could slip up to her room and catch a catnap before afternoon tea.
Glancing at the red velvet box she had set on the dressing table, she thought back to the ruggedly
handsome cowboy she had mistaken for some random fellow that she could manipulate and trick her
parents into forgetting about the marriage agreement. He had been one and the same person to whom
she was to be engaged. And he had brought this ring to seal the proposal. She hadn’t even tried it on.
There was something strangely uncertain about the ring. It just didn’t feel right for her to wear it until
he officially gave it to her.
She knew she’d be wearing it by sundown. Her father was very clear that she truly had no choice
in this matter. She pulled the top open and stared at the lovely red ruby and soft blue stones on either
side. The black gold was unusual and set the stones off in a lovely contrast. She reached to lift it from
the satin lining but stopped herself. No. Jasper needed to be the one to put it on her finger.
She closed the box and put it into her reticule. Gathering her birthday gown, wrapping the folds of
the skirt in tissues like Ilsa would have done, and gently placing it in the box it had arrived in, she
placed it with her overnight case. A bellboy would show up soon to take everything down to the
carriage Father had rented. This had been an expensive ordeal for it to have turned out so miserably
wrong. Her contribution to making it all wrong weighed heavily on her heart. Hanging her head, she
walked into the common room to join her mother in waiting for the bellboys to let them know the
vehicle was ready.
Mother looked better, having powdered her face and added a touch of rouge. Emilia smiled at her
and looped her hand through Mother’s elbow. “Are you feeling all right, Mother?”
“Yes, Dear. Do not worry about me.” She patted Emilia’s hand at her elbow. “It’s you I worry
about.”
“Why? I’m fine.” Emilia furrowed her brow.
“I know you are. You’re much stronger than I ever was. But that may be your undoing.”
“What do you mean?” Emilia didn’t want to press her mother, but she really needed to know what
Mother was talking about.
“Darling, a woman these days has few choices. We raised you to think differently. That was our
mistake. All we women can truly hope for is a kind husband and sturdy sons.”
Emilia glared at her. “Is that really all we can hope for?” She felt her world spinning like a child’s
top, skipping and falling over the edge of a table, only to crash to the ground and break into useless
pieces. Tears rushed into her eyes, but she blinked them away. The last thing she wanted was to upset
her mother again.
“Well.” Mother patted her hand again. “Perhaps not for you. I believe this Jasper Weatherby is a
different sort of man than the ones we encountered in my day.”
Emilia gawked at her mother. “You mean… Father?”
“Oh no, Dear.” Mother said quickly. “Your father is the crème de la crème, of course.”
“Of course.” Emilia echoed, but now she wasn’t so sure. He had always shown kindness to her
mother, even a tenderness toward her, that Emilia saw him express for no one else. While stern, he
had always conveyed a genuine love for Emilia, his daughter, but she always wondered if she had
been born a boy if he would have been more pleased?
The bellboys arrived, gathering their luggage under their arms, and led them downstairs, where
Father was waiting at the front desk. He joined them, then helped mother and then Emilia into the
carriage. A wagon stood behind their carriage, filled with her presents and covered with a canvas
tarp. A driver waited in the buckboard seat. He would follow them home and return with the wagon
and carriage.
The sway of the vehicle lulled Emilia into a drowsy state. She thought she saw Jasper and his
mother with shopping bags in each hand, walking the boardwalk, but couldn’t be sure. Her eyes
blinked one last time and she fell deeply asleep.
In the darkness, she heard her father demanding she come and sit down. Emilia unquestioningly
obeyed, but she didn’t like it. Only the chair and now her father had an eerie light shining down on
them from above. She sat in the light-bathed chair, feeling very vulnerable. Her father switched a
riding crop against his leg.
“You will marry this man!” Her father barked.
“Yes.” She answered, but she didn’t mean it. There had to be a way out of this disastrous
arrangement. A sweet white lie would keep her from getting whipped by the riding crop, but would it
actually give her time to find a way to change her circumstances?
Then Jasper emerged from the thick darkness and knelt in front of her. She looked into his
darkened, stormy eyes. Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she thought perhaps this marriage
would not be such a terrible arrangement. He lifted the red velvet box for her to see, and asked her a
question, “Emilia, are you ever going to wake up, Dear?”
It was mother’s voice. Not Jasper’s. Emilia jerked upright out of the light-saturated chair, but the
cone of light as well as the chair vanished. She was in the carriage seat facing her parents. Mother
and Father both stared at her with concern. Once she opened her eyes, her father sighed.
“Well, I’ll get our things unloaded.” He rushed out of the carriage. Bill Ferguson, the yardman,
rushed to them to assist Mother down, and then Emilia. She staggered to her feet, seriously needing to
go to her room and take a nap. Would Father’s punishing whip or Jasper invade her dreams again?
In a way, she hoped Jasper would. Her father had made it very clear she had no choice in this
arrangement, she might as well start considering Jasper as an enjoyable companion in her life. She
walked straight to her room and laid down.
At three o’clock Ilsa tapped on Emilia’s door, but she was already awake. She yawned and
stretched, and spoke incoherently for Ilsa to come in. Slowly opening her door, the ladies’ maid stuck
her head in and giggled.
“I’m s’pose to help yew get ready for your afternoon tea.” Her brogue accent seemed heavier than
usual. That happened when she was tired or overworked. What had she been up to to make her so
tired so early in the day?
Emilia nodded. “Yes. They will be here at four, I assume.”
 “That’s what I’m told.” Ilsa came farther into the room. “Let’s see, what do you suppose you want
to wear, Miss?”
“Oh, any old thing will do.” Emilia started, but then, remembering Father’s forceful use of the
riding crop, “On the other hand, perhaps something really nice would be better.”
Ilsa snorted. “All right. Let’s see…” She riffled through Emilia’s gowns. “How about this?”
Ilsa pulled out a boned, ivory satin tea gown, trimmed with ruffle-edged black silk. She held it
high for Emilia to approve.
Thinking of the ruby and aquamarine diamond ring, Emilia decided the dress would be perfect.
“Yes. I’ll wear that one.”
She moved to her dressing table and began pulling pins from her hair, and running the silver-
backed, hog-bristle brush through her long tresses.
Ilsa smoothed the skirt of the tea gown and hung it on the wardrobe door, then moved to assist
Emilia with her hair.
At a quarter to four, Emilia stood before her oval mirror, admiring the lovely configuration the
maid’s talented hands had made of her hair. It looked like a bouquet of braids and basket weave.
Delicate curls framed her forehead and temple, softening her face. Ilsa handed her pearl-dangle
earrings and Emilia slipped them on her lobes.
“Ilsa, you’ve done it again.” Emilia praised her work.
A slight blush colored Ilsa’s cheeks. “Just doing my job, Miss.”
The clock downstairs struck the hour. Emilia’s tummy turned a somersault. She swallowed hard
and turned to the maid. “I guess that’s my cue.”
Ilsa nodded with a smile. “You’ll do fine, Miss.”
“Will I?” Emilia bit her lip. Never had she anticipated or dreaded walking out of her bedroom so
much as she did now.
“Oh, go on with you.” Ilsa shooed her along. “Enjoy your tea. We’ve been cooking all afternoon
for your mother to have just the right specialties for these people. You’ll enjoy the little pastries with
apple and cinnamon, and the little cherry-jelly filled shortening bread cookies.” Ilsa laughed. “It’s me
own marm’s recipe.”
Was that what had her so weary? She’d been cooking for mother’s tea all afternoon, while Emilia
slept the day away? Suddenly, she felt guilty for not helping. If this tea went as planned, she should be
engaged by evening and planning a wedding by tomorrow. Soon it would be she who was in the
kitchen rustling up some tea biscuits and separating the cream for a delicate slathering of butter.
Emilia drew in a steadying breath, glanced at the mirror one last time, and let it out. This was it.
All she could do was pray Jasper and the Weatherbys forgave her behavior last night and Father
could convince them the business deal was still a viable plan.
“Oh!” Emilia turned back. She grabbed her blue reticule.
“You won’t need that.” Ilsa chortled.
“No, I need… this.” Emilia held up the red velvet box.
“Oh!” Ilsa eyed it in awe. “Yes, I suppose you will.”
Emilia tucked the box in a pocket between the seams and pleats of her skirts and lifted her chin a
notch. “Here goes nothing.”
She walked into the hall and down the stairs. A casual conversation went silent when she entered
the parlor. Her mother and father sat on a divan, with a cup and saucer in their hands. Mr. and Mrs.
Weatherby sat across from them with the same. A teapot, two cups in saucers, and a plate of the
mentioned treats were on the low table between them. Emilia entered the room and glanced around.
“How do you do?” Emilia said hesitantly.
The men rose upon her entrance. The women turned to look at her. Mother smiled sweetly.
“Where is Jasper?” Emilia asked.
The two couples glanced at one other, then turned back to Emilia. She felt as though her knees had
turned to gelatin. She tilted her head and steeled her legs to continue to hold her up. “Mother?”
Mr. Weatherby addressed her. “It seems we may have made a mistake.”
Emilia stood statue still. She nearly received the whipping of her life last night. She had resolved
and accepted her fate to this marriage, and now she was being told it was all a mistake? She opened
her mouth, but Father leapt to speak before she could. “Now, Alistair, ‘mistake’ might not be the right
word, exactly. It’s still a good business plan. It’s… just that we didn’t approach these two with
enough…” He turned to Mother.
“Delicacy.” She offered.
“Yes, delicacy. We just tossed this in their laps and expected them to abide by our wishes without
any mental preparation for what it would mean to them. You know, children these days… it’s different
from when we were young?”
Emilia stared at her father. What was he saying? What happened to, “You cost me a sound
relationship and business opportunity with an extremely lucrative potential partner”?
Her temper roiled in her gut. She gritted her teeth. “Where is Jasper?”
“He-he’s gone home.” Mrs. Weatherby uttered and hung her head.
Emilia’s brow rose high on her forehead. “Gone… home? Do you mean… to your ranch?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. He asked us to tell you to please keep his gift.”
Emilia couldn’t move. She didn’t understand. How could he change his mind when the decision
had been made by their parents and it wasn’t theirs to change? She absently touched the bulge in her
pocket.
“Has he left Salida?” she stammered.
“I believe so.” Mrs. Weatherby spoke softly.
Emilia couldn’t believe her ears. She turned on her heels, ran back to her room, and scrambled out
of her tea dress, leaving it in a heap on her floor. Ilsa ran in behind her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m changing into my riding habit. That man is not going to humiliate my family. If I’m not
allowed to choose, neither is he.” She spat and stepped away from circle of fabric, yanked out her
riding skirt and blouse, a riding jacket, and kicked off her slippers. Quickly, she shoved her riding
boots on her feet. Noodling into the pocket of the tea gown, she grabbed the velvet box and slipped it
into her riding skirt’s pocket instead. Soon she stood. “Thank you for your help.”
She stomped down the back stairs and out into the yard. “Bill!” She hollered.
The yardman came to the barn door, curiously wiping silver polish from a harness buckle with a
soft rag. “Yes, Miss Emilia.”
“I need a horse!” She demanded and marched into the barn, not waiting for him to reply. He tossed
the tack aside and hurried to saddle a mare for her. Soon she was in the saddle and kicked the horse
into a gallop. Bill stood in the wake of her dust, gawking in confusion.
There were only two ways out of town, the east and west road, and a northern route. He had to be
taking the northern road since the Weatherbys were from a small town east of Denver. She leaned
over the horse and let her have her head.
It wasn’t long until she saw a rider ahead on the lonely road that followed the valley between two
mountain ranges. She drew her horse up, to decide if that rider was indeed Jasper Weatherby. It
looked like him.
He wasn’t in a hurry like she was. Thank Goodness, or she might not have caught up with him. Her
mare huffed and side stepped, anxious to be done with this exhaustive excursion. Emilia patted her
neck. “Just a little further, girl.”
She shoved her heels into the mare’s sides and urged her to catch up with the distant rider.
Apparently hearing hooves pounding behind him, Jasper turned in his saddle. Recognizing her, he
reined his horse to a stop. She halted her mare alongside his gelding. Her horse wheezed.
“What do you think you are doing?” Emilia panted.
A smile quivered on the corners of his mouth.
How dare he laugh at her! She turned her horse, fighting to keep her aligned with his. “I asked you
a question, Mr. Weatherby.”
He sobered. “Look, it’s obvious you don’t wish to marry me and I—“”
“The way I understand it, Mr. Weatherby,” She adjusted her horse. “WE do not get a choice in this
matter! WE are being told what we will do by our parents. It’s a business deal between them and WE
DON’T HAVE ANY SAY IN IT!”
He stared at her, fighting with her mare who would not stand still. “Your mare needs to cool
down.” He stated flatly.
“I know!” She pulled the reins, trying to gain control.
His brow knitted. “Do you even know how to ride?”
“Uhhhh!” She screamed and leapt from the mare’s back. Pulling her toward his horse she looked
up at him. “And why would you tell your parents to tell me to keep the gift! Who does that?”
The smile broke free and he grinned, infuriating her to no end. “DO NOT LAUGH AT ME!”
“How can I help it?” He laughed. “You are being ridiculous!”
“I’m not—” She gritted her teeth and counted to ten, then counted to twenty. “Can you get off your
horse?” She said in an eerily calm voice.
His eyebrows shot up on his head and he shrugged. Swinging his leg over, he landed beside her.
Her mare flinched back as if she hadn’t realized he was dismounting. “Look, I know you don’t like me
telling you what to do, but we really need to get your horse cooled down.”
“You’re right.” She looked around. “Let’s walk her to that stream.”
Jasper nodded and walked with her. They let both their horses drink, while they stood in silence.
Once the mare seemed better, Emilia turned to him. “You can’t leave.”
“Why not?”
“Because. I nearly got… never mind. My father made it very clear to me that we” —she gestured
between the two of them— “do not have a say in this.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Well, I say we do.”
She stared at him. “What’s so bad about being married to me?”
He gawked at her, a quivering smile tugged at his mouth. “Really?”
“Yes, really?” She lifted her chin and planted her fists on her hips.
“Well, for one, you’re a liar.”
“So are you!” She scoffed. “Besides, it was only a sweet white lie.”
“There’s no such thing.” He balked.
“Oh yes there is! A sweet white lie doesn’t hurt anybody, not really. Like, if I asked you if this
riding skirt made me look stunning and you said yes, but you didn’t really think it did, that would be
all right, cause you would be sparing my feelings.”
He tossed his head back and came forward. “I see.” He walked a few steps with his horse. “So,
when you used me to tell your father that you could not marry the man they had chosen it was a kind of
lie to spare their feelings?” He narrowed his eyes on her.
 “Well… all right, that’s not the best example. I honestly had no idea who they were trying to marry
me off to. I told you, I was scared and desperate. It wasn’t fair that they made all these arrangements
behind our backs and we had no idea—”
“But now that you know it was me… would you have agreed to marry me?’
She stared at him. “I—”
“Um hum.” He mounted his horse. “Look, I’m going home. I’ve been gone a week. What with the
cattle drive and your soirée, I’m exhausted. I’ve spent all my earnings from the market sale, and I just
—”
“No!” Emilia yelled. “No, you haven’t lost all your earnings.” She pulled the box from her pocket
and threw it at him. He fumbled with it, and it fell to the ground.
She stared at the box, covered in dirt, and it broke her. She sobbed into her hands.
“Now what?” Jasper dismounted and picked up the box. “Here.” He handed it to her. “I told you to
keep it.”
“No, you didn’t. You told your parents to tell me.”
“Semantics.” Jasper sighed.
She glared into his stormy deep-blue eyes. “You are the most… frustrating human being I have
ever met!”
“So are you!” Jasper grabbed her shoulders and pulled her against him. Dipping his head to meet
hers, he kissed her soundly. She stiffened in his grasp but let him kiss her. Her muscles relaxed in his
embrace, and she kissed him back.
The mare whinnied, causing Emilia to stumble back from Jasper. “What was that for?”
“You don’t know what a kiss is for?” He chuckled.
“Of course, I know… I meant, why did you do that?”
He ran his hand through his hair, ending at the nape of his neck. “I don’t know. It just seemed like a
good way to get you to stop yelling at me.”
She glared at him with seething fire in her heart. “I hate you!” She leapt into her saddle and kicked
her horse into a gallop heading back to Salida.
Expecting him to catch up with her any minute, she rode as if she were not expecting it. But he
didn’t come. After a while, she glanced back. He had continued heading north. “Uhhhh!” She growled
and slowed her horse to a comfortable walk. There was no reason to hurry home.
 Chapter 6

Guiding his horse under the Flying W Ranch header gate, Jasper gazed across the homeland with
fondness in his heart. It was good to be home, at last. His parent’s attempt to saddle him to a
mischievous gal who would rather tell a lie than face the prospect of growing up, had failed. He only
felt relief to have broken free from the clutches of that ornery, misbehaving, beautiful, fascinating
woman. He sighed.
He had narrowly escaped a life of uncertainty, confusion, and…?
But…would it have been so bad to be married to her? Life would be a non-stop adventure trying to
keep ahead of her rebellious spirit. Was that what he wanted? A spirited woman in his life… in his
marriage bed?
He recalled the kiss they had shared. The exhilaration remained in his thoughts. He had to
reposition in his saddle. It was uncomfortable remembering how good she felt in his arms. Her beauty
was easy on his mind, as well. He could stand to see her face first thing in the morning and last thing
at night. Hadn’t he said that was an important criteria for his future wife? But the ease at which she
told lies, that could be troublesome. Assuming that trait would remain a common occurrence for her
once she was settled into marriage. Would she need to lie, if she were happily married?
Reining his horse toward the barn, he instinctively entered and put his horse away, but his mind
remained on Emilia. Gus approached to help, but Jasper waved him off. He needed the work to calm
his mind.
In his room, he emptied his filthy bedroll and filthy clothes, stripped down and washed from the
bowl and pitcher. Redressed, he wandered through his chores, hardly noticing the ranch hands, or
cattle in the field lowing with unease, or the cow dogs growling in the distance, or the coyotes—
“Wait!” He turned to look out at the field. The cattle were nervous. The dogs were barking. There
were a pack of coyotes stalking the young calves!
Snapping out of his pining reverie for Emilia, he quickly saddled his horse. Grabbing his double
barrel shotgun, he rode out to the herd. “Cheyenne! James!” He yelled as he rode past the bunkhouse.
“Coyote in the field!”
The men stumbled out, shoving various stages of clothing onto their bodies. Had they been up all
night drinking? No matter, coyotes were after the calves, every man available needed to help.
“Scout!” Jasper called, knowing he was in the field somewhere.
The men gathered with Jasper and rode toward the south field where they had put the cows with
young calves at the beginning of the summer. It was a bountiful field of grass, perfect to sustain the
Another random document with
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 “You must not go again.”
“I can hardly avoid it. I am dining there to-morrow night.”
“She asked you to dinner?”
“Certainly I did not invite myself.”
There was a short pause, and then Nellie said, with determination:
“Bob, I am to a certain degree responsible for your being here at all.”
“You are entirely responsible.”
“I feel the responsibility. I feel it is my duty to make you behave
rightly while you are here. It is not behaving rightly to try and acquire
an influence over an inexperienced child like Louisa Overton.”
“My dear Nellie, how women jump to conclusions! Is an evening
visit a sure prelude to acquiring an influence?”
“Yes, for a man like you.”
“Be careful, or I shall interpret that as a compliment, if you don’t
change the form of your sentence.”
“You may interpret it as you like,” returned she. “I repeat that it is
quite possible that your looks, your size, your manner, and your
adventures might be very dazzling to a girl, who,” she added
relentlessly, “did not know much about you.”
“But every one here seems to know everything about me, to judge
by their disapproving glances.”
“I don’t believe that Louisa does. But I tell you frankly, Bob, if you
go there again——”
“Another threat, Nellie? I never knew any one who believed so
completely in government by threat.”
“How else can I treat you?”
“Well, you might try being a little bit nice to me. Don’t you think that
would be rather more likely to make me stay at home? But to be left
alone in the garden, while you and Emmons——”
“You do not need to be told that you were at liberty to join us.”
 “Ay, there’s a prospect to keep a man at home. Three of us, so
congenial, sitting up making conversation. A dangerously alluring
proposition, Nellie, upon my word!”
“You can hardly expect me to refuse to see Mr. Emmons because
you have come home.”
“I do not say what I expect: I ask you to be a little more civil to me.
I don’t make it a business proposition, and I don’t make it a threat,
like you; but if you really want me to stay at home, and behave
myself, there is only one way to do it.”
Nellie looked very grave and then began to smile.
“You know that sounds rather like a threat to me,” she said.
“Then you see the force of bad example. I did not use to threaten
my friends.”
“I am not your friend,” she answered quickly.
“What are you?”
If he had expected to hear her reply “your enemy,” he was wrong.
“It seems to me that for six years I have been your slave——”
“I wish I had known it.”
“And now I intend that you shall be mine.”
He laughed. “Well, you are frank, at least. But let me tell you that it
has never been found good commercial policy to treat even slaves
too badly. Your whole position is based on the assumption that I shall
always prefer this house to State’s Prison. But be careful. There is
many a good criminal whom I should prefer to Emmons as a
companion, and a warder is tender and human compared to you,
Nellie. Have a little common sense, my dear girl. If I am to stay, you
must be civil.”
She turned sharply away from him, and he made no effort to
detain her. They walked side by side across the hall, absorbed in
their own thoughts. Nellie’s were obvious. She was plainly weighing
the claims of an excellent fiancé against those of a worthless cousin.
Vickers was asking himself, for the first time, whether, after all, he
any longer wanted to prove to her that he was not Lee. If he had the
proofs in his hand at that moment, would he show them to her?
There would be one splendid scene, one instant of triumph. It would
be worth a great deal to see Nellie humble; but would it be worth
going away for all time? He had to choose between leaving her, a
rehabilitated character, or at least partially rehabilitated, but still
leaving her; or remaining to be despised. It struck him with some
force that on the whole he preferred to remain.
It was at best a very pretty question.
 Chapter VII
When Vickers came downstairs ready to start for Mr. Overton’s,
Emmons was just arriving to dine at the Lees’. The two men met at
the front door. Emmons eyed Vickers suspiciously. Evidently he and
Nellie had had some discussion as to the advisability of allowing the
renegade as much liberty as evening visits implied. Indeed, the little
man almost blocked Vickers’s path for a moment.
“Going out?” he asked.
“Going to dine with a friend,” returned Vickers. The reply made
Emmons curious. In the first place he did not approve of Vickers’s
roaming over the country by moonlight; in the second there were few
people in Hilltop who would receive Bob Lee into their houses.
Perhaps it was not so much curiosity as distrust that was aroused in
him. On reviewing the situation he simply did not believe a word, a
state of mind his manner did not entirely conceal.
“I am sure it is very nice to see you making friends so quickly,” he
said.
“Oh, I usually make friends quickly, if at all. And the same way with
enemies. As I am a little late,” he added, with the utmost geniality,
“perhaps you will just step aside and let me go.”
Reluctantly Emmons allowed the other to pass, but as he did so,
he hazarded one more question.
“Going far?” he said.
Vickers did not answer. He was some distance down the path, and
possibly did not hear; but it is irritating to be left with an unanswered
question on your lips, and Emmons came storming in to Nellie, who
was standing in the hall.
“Where is he going, Nellie? I don’t think we are justified in letting
him loose on the countryside—a man like that.”
 Nellie was watching Vickers’s back as he swung out of sight, and
she returned rather absently, “He is dining at the Overtons’.” She did
not at first observe the expression of surprise and annoyance that
appeared upon the face of her betrothed.
“The Overtons’!” he exclaimed.
Now we all know that strangely petty ambitions are laid away in
the minds of even the greatest; and Emmons had always cherished
a secret wish to be on terms of intimacy with Overton, whom he
often described as the “ablest man in New England.” But, though the
compliment must necessarily have been repeated, it had never won
for its inventor the cordiality which it deserved.
“To the Overtons’,” he repeated. “Well, you will excuse my saying
that seems to be about the most extraordinary thing I ever heard.”
“Does it?” returned Nellie. “It doesn’t to me. People like Bob are
such a rarity in Hilltop.”
Emmons glanced at her to see what in the world she could mean,
and not being very much the wiser for his glance, answered
contemptuously: “A rarity! Fortunately.”
Nellie appeared to be willing to take up the subject from a
thoughtful and scientific stand-point.
“I don’t know that I think it fortunate,” she replied. “It does not
seem to me that the absence of fine-looking, amusing young men is
a matter for any community to congratulate itself upon.”
It would have been impossible, of course, that any girl with a
profile like Nellie’s should wish deliberately to annoy another human
being—least of all a thoroughly domesticated fiancé. Certainly such
an idea never occurred to Emmons, and yet none the less he found
himself distinctly irritated.
“I hardly think you would find the community improved by changing
men like Dr. Briggs and the Reverend Mr. Fowler for men of the type
of your cousin.”
Nellie laughed. “I only suggested that Mr. Overton would find them
more amusing at dinner,” she said.
 “I think,” said Emmons, “that you are talking without thinking.”
She seemed at any rate quite willing to think without talking, and a
pause fell upon the conversation. It was almost with relief that they
heard the sound of the village fire-bell break in upon the silence.
Ding-dong, ding-dong—a regular, terrible sound of warning, almost
like a human voice calling for help in the darkness. Nellie started up.
The sound brought recollections of old tragedies. Fire seldom visited
Hilltop, but when it came the little town was almost helpless.
Emmons rose, too, but more slowly. They went to the door and
listened.
Already the quiet night was full of the sounds of shouting and
hurrying feet, and then the tinkle of the little hand fire-machine. The
fire was at some distance, for the tinkling grew fainter and fainter,
and finally died away entirely.
“Oh, let’s go, James,” said Nellie.
A man may be pardoned for not wishing to take his fiancée to one
of the few situations where he can not shine. Emmons shook his
head, pouting out his lips slightly.
“Oh, I don’t think you want to go, my dear. It’s a long way off and
the dew is heavy.”
“Yes, but I do,” said Nellie. She opened the coat closet, and began
hunting for an old cloak.
“It’s probably nothing at all—a false alarm,” he continued; but
seeing that she persisted—and she could be very persistent when
she wanted to—he added: “Oh, very well; I’ll go up to the corner of
the road, and if it is anything worth seeing, I’ll come back for you.”
Left alone, Nellie sat down on the steps of the front piazza and
waited. Now that Emmons had gone so meekly, her conscience
began to reproach her for her treatment of him throughout the
evening. No wonder he disapproved of Bob. He was quite right to do
so; she disapproved of him, herself. Yet, the result of a day’s effort to
be, as he had asked, a little more civil had rendered him more civil in
return. Even if one did disapprove of a man’s morals, one could not
help noticing the extraordinary quickness with which he caught one’s
ideas and anticipated one’s wishes. He never shut his eyes and
repeated the same thing in exactly the same tone of voice—a trick of
Emmons’s which for the first time she noticed annoyed her
excessively. It was in the small things that Bob was so considerate of
her feelings; and yet there was something ludicrous in talking about
a man’s consideration for her feelings when he had stolen her
patrimony before she had put up her hair.
At this point she began to appreciate that Emmons had had more
than time not only to run, but to walk, to the corner of the road and
back. She went down to the gate, and looked up the road. There was
no sign of him. He had been right then. It was only a false alarm.
And then to contradict this hypothesis she saw the heavens
suddenly lit up with the unmistakable glare of a conflagration.
Emmons had played her false.
Nellie did not hesitate an instant. She started out by herself.
Guided first by the glare in the sky and soon by the sound of
shouting, she cut across fields. Before long she came in sight of the
fire. It was in the barn of a neighboring farmer. She could see the
people crowding about it, and the thick rolling smoke that turned the
full moon to a dull reddish brown.
Coming up from the darkness she was unnoticed. Every one was
watching the flames, except those who were trying to put them out.
The first person she saw was Vickers. His coat was off, and from the
rather dangerous eminence of a woodpile he was playing the hose
upon the roof of a neighboring stable. Among the lookers on, she
observed Overton, and then the perfidious Emmons. She might be
excused for a feeling of anger against her betrothed; and she was
just approaching him in order to thank him for his consideration of
her wishes, when her attention was distracted. Vickers, who had
come down from the woodpile, was suddenly approached by a
sobbing, expostulating child, the daughter of the farmer. She had
evidently escaped from the parental supervision and had seized the
knees of the first passer-by. Nellie saw Vickers stoop to listen, saw
him lay down a bucket he had taken up, saw him hitch his trousers
with a peculiarly energetic motion, and run toward the blazing
building. Some one shouted to him, another caught his arm, and was
shaken off. He disappeared into the blaze. An instant later he
reappeared carrying a small bundle which turned out to be nothing
more than a puppy.
A voice reached her ears in the pause that followed.
“Well, I would not risk my life for a dog.” And Emmons’s voice
replied: “A pretty even risk. Bob Lee against a blind puppy.”
The sentence fell coldly on Nellie’s enthusiasm. Her heart beat
quickly with something very like contempt for the speaker. Nearby,
the child and the mother dog were holding a solemn thanksgiving,
utterly indifferent to the excitement about them. Nellie preferred their
society. She had had some thought of saying a word to her cousin,
but something held her back. There seemed a sort of meanness in
keeping herself aloof from him at home, and then stepping out to
share his public triumphs.
As she moved back she found herself near Overton, who was
talking to Mr. Fowler, the Presbyterian clergyman.
“The fellow’s as wild as a hawk, Fowler,” Overton was saying, “and
yet I rather like him.”
“It was a brave action,” returned the clergyman dubiously.
“Aye,” said Overton, noting the hesitation; “a good many of the
brave actions of this world have been done by those the church
damned in the next.”
“I think,” answered the clergyman tartly, “that it takes some
courage to be merely good, Mr. Overton. Morality is a kind of
courage.”
Overton laughed. “I’m not so sure of that,” he said; “but I rather
think courage is a kind of morality.”
The sentence impressed itself on Nellie’s mind. She admired Mr.
Overton, and was accustomed to give attention to anything he said.
Of course, courage was a kind of morality—Bob’s kind—not so
difficult and praiseworthy as a steady industry, like James
Emmons’s; but, oh, so much more interesting!
 She amused herself listening to the different comments on her
cousin’s action. She noticed, for the first time, how such unlikely
phrases as “the young fool,” or “well, if that isn’t the darndest,” could
be made to express a very poignant form of masculine admiration.
She chuckled softly to herself: “it certainly was the darndest,” she
repeated, deriving no little pleasure from the unaccustomed form of
words.
The barn was now seen to be doomed. The flames burst out of the
roof, licking it up. There was nothing more to do, except to keep
neighboring buildings wet, and as there was no wind the danger to
these was not great.
Seeing Mr. Overton standing alone, Nellie drew near to him to ask
if the loss of the farmer was serious.
No, Overton thought not. The barn was old, and fortunately there
was no live-stock in it. “Except,” he added with his crooked Yankee
smile, “that puppy your cousin pulled out.”
“I am afraid Bob was very foolhardy,” Nellie replied, not quite
ingenuously.
Overton laughed. “Why, so they are all saying,” he answered. “But
I don’t know. The little girl says she had promised the old bitch to
preserve one puppy when all the others were drowned. A lady’s
promise is a sacred thing, isn’t it, Miss Nellie? Oughtn’t a gentleman
to risk his life to help her keep her word of honor?” He looked at her
whimsically.
“I don’t think a gentleman need trouble himself to do anything that
you don’t do, Mr. Overton,” she answered, “and I notice you did not
rush in.”
“I? Oh, dear no. I am too old and stiff, but if I had been a romantic
young giant of twenty-eight or nine——”
“You flatter him,” said Nellie dryly. “Bob is thirty-five.”
Overton looked at her gravely. “Impossible,” he said. “But of
course you know. All I can say is that he is the youngest-looking man
for his age that I know. I must ask him how he manages it.”
 “Perhaps by avoiding all his responsibilities,” said Nellie, and
regretted her speech the next instant. Her position was really absurd.
She seemed to be equally annoyed at those who praised her cousin
and at those who blamed him. Whatever was said of him stirred her
to contradiction.
The lights and shadows cast by the fire were very sharp, so that
Nellie, standing behind Overton, was almost invisible when a little
later Vickers himself came up.
He was quite hoarse with shouting, and was enjoying himself
immensely.
“It’s a fine sight,” said Overton.
“What? Oh, yes, bully. I’ve had the time of my life. But I am afraid
it’s almost over.”
Nellie moved forward. She had not forgotten Emmons’s perfidy,
and she said: “Will you tell me when you are going, Bob? I should
like to go home with you.”
“You here, Nellie? Of course I’ll take you home any time you say.
Has Emmons deserted you? I thought I saw him here earlier.”
“Yes, I saw him, too, looking on.”
“The same occupation he was engaged in when I saw him. In fact
of all natural-born, first-rate spectators——”
She thought Overton need not have laughed, and she said, “Bob,
if you can not speak civilly of Mr. Emmons——”
“There, there, I’ll not say another word. Where is my coat? Are you
ready? Let’s be getting along. Shall we go by the road or across
lots?”
Nellie chose to return as she had come. She was glad that he did
not wait to be thanked, and slipped off without any notion of being
missed.
They walked in silence through alternate patches of woods and
moonlight. Occasionally he would offer a friendly hand to help her
over a fence, but Nellie did not accept it. She had climbed fences
unaided all her life. A strange impression of loneliness crept over her.
She listened with a certain breathlessness to the quiet of the woods.
Even the moonlight looked different; and then she realized that she
had not often seen the full moon so high.
Her companion, too, was unusually silent, and it was she who
spoke first. “Bob,” she said suddenly, “why did you risk your life for a
dog?”
“Oh, Lord!” cried Vickers, “if any one else asks me that—! Every
one seems to think I had a plan. I didn’t. The kid asked me to, and it
seemed to be up to me. I quite forgot I was risking your precious
salary. It would have been a good joke to send you home my corpse
to pay the funeral expenses—the funeral expenses of a total
stranger.”
“Perhaps it would not have been a very expensive funeral, Bob,”
she answered dryly.
He was irrepressible, however.
“That would have been a shame, for we gave your cousin a
splendid blow-out—a camellia wreath! You ought to have seen it,—
equal to the best artificial. Oh, Nellie,” he went on, “you don’t know
how the idea of your following my remains to the grave touches me.
Would you wear mourning for me, Nellie?”
She would not smile. “Yes,” she said gravely. “But only because I
should not wish to hurt my uncle’s feelings.”
“And would it be for me, or my two hundred dollars a month, that
you mourned?”
“Entirely for the two hundred.”
“Then mourn for it now, you cold-hearted girl,” he answered,
vaulting lightly over a fence beside which they had been walking;
and grinning teasingly at her from the other side, he added, “I’ve had
enough of it and of you. Good-night. Good-by.”
Nellie caught his arm in both her hands, and held it with all her
strength.
 “I’ll call for help, Bob. Be careful. No, no, you shan’t slip through
my fingers.”
“Do you really suppose you could hold me, my dear Nellie?” he
asked, looking down at her, and touching for an instant the two
hands on his coat-sleeve with his large hand.
For all answer Nellie lifted up her voice and sent as loud a call as
she could achieve into the empty night.
“Oh, they’ll never hear that,” said Vickers, “let me do it for you,”
and he shouted loudly: “Help, help, help! She’s holding me against
my will. Won’t somebody remove this terrible young woman? Help!”
Nellie could not resist smiling at his obvious enjoyment of the
noise he was making. “How silly you are, Bob!” she said. Perhaps
she unconsciously relaxed her grip, for the next instant he had
wrenched himself free, and retreating a few paces, addressed her
from a safe distance.
“Shall I really go, Nellie? Good-by to the old house and poor
Emmons, and to you and our inspiriting little scraps. Well, I rather
think so. Don’t be so sharp with the next victim—that’s my parting
word. Good-by!”
He waved his hand lightly and set off across a moonlit field toward
the woods on the other side.
Nellie did not hesitate an instant; she climbed the fence and
followed him with all the speed of a long and active pair of legs.
Once in the shadow of the woods, however, he was pleased to
pause—to disappear into the darkness to reappear at her elbow, to
lean out and speak in her ear from behind a sheltering tree-trunk.
At last, seeing that she was getting exhausted without having the
smallest intention of giving in, he stopped of his own accord, and
leaning his back against a tree, shook his head at her.
“Aren’t you ashamed, Miss Nellie,” he said, “to be out playing tag
with an utter stranger at this hour of the night? What would Mr.
Emmons say if he knew it? I’m surprised at you. Come home
directly.” (He tucked her hand under his arm.) “You ought to have
been in bed two hours ago.”
And Nellie, somewhat bewildered, but very tired, allowed herself to
be led home.
 Chapter VIII
Emmons stopped at the Lee house the next morning on his way to
the train. Vickers, fortunately, had already left. Emmons came in
reality to explain, but like so many of us, he made the mistake of
thinking that his explanation would be strengthened by a little
reproach.
“Well,” he said, “I came to find out whether you got home safely. I
was really alarmed, Nellie, when I heard you had been at the fire
after all. I don’t at all like the idea of your running about the country
by yourself after nightfall.”
“I don’t think there was much danger, James.”
“You don’t? Let me tell you we are all very much afraid something
dreadful happened after the fire. Several of us heard hideous
screams in the direction of Simm’s woods.”
“What did you do?”
“We went there, of course, but we could not find anything. They
ceased in as mysterious a way as they began. Some of the men
went out at sunrise to-day to search the woods. I have not heard
whether they found anything. But you will see the folly of imagining a
place safe just because you have always lived there. I have been
anxious all night. I kept imagining it might be you——”
“Bob took me home,” she answered quickly.
“Well, as long as you’re safe that’s all I care about. I just stopped
in,” he ended, moving slowly down the steps, but at the foot he could
not resist adding:
“I suppose you saw that grandstand play of your cousin’s?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you think of it?”
 He looked at her insisting on an answer, and after a moment got it:
“I thought, James, that you would never have done anything so
foolish.”
“I most certainly would not,” he returned; and he had walked as far
as the corner before it struck him that as an answer it was not
entirely satisfactory, but it seemed too late to go back.
Later in the morning she had a visit from Louisa Overton, who
drove over from her own house, in her umbrella-topped phaeton with
the bay cobs which her father had so carefully selected for her. She
came, as she explained, to welcome her dear Nellie, but her dear
Nellie noted with uneasiness the unusual promptitude of the visit.
There could not, of course, be the smallest chance of seeing Bob at
that hour, but Nellie’s heart sank as she observed how often her
cousin’s name was introduced into the conversation. It seemed to
grow up spontaneously like a weed, and yet Nellie was sufficiently
experienced in the peculiarities of her own sex to know it was a
danger-signal. She wondered if the time had come for delivering the
warning against her cousin which Emmons had advocated. She felt
strangely adverse to delivering it.
She tried a new mode of attack as the girl rose to go, after a final
comment on Vickers’s conduct at the fire.
“Upon my word, Louisa,” she said good-temperedly, “Bob seems
to have made a most flattering impression on you.”
Miss Overton smiled. “He is a charming person,” she answered.
“Apropos, Mrs. Raikes says that the three best things in the world
are a good novel, a muskmelon, and a handsome cousin.”
“She has not the last, I am sure, or she would have learned to
value it less highly,” Nellie returned.
Miss Overton did not immediately answer. They had walked to the
front door, and as she climbed into her trap, she observed that it was
warm.
Nellie put up her hand to her face. It was warm. She hoped her
own heightened color had not suggested Louisa’s remark.
 The heat, she could see, wore on her uncle. He looked older and
frailer than ever. Even Vickers showed it after three almost sleepless
nights; and Emmons’s temper, she thought, was not quite as smooth
as usual. He scolded her about Overton’s manner to Bob. The great
man had actually sought him out in the train and had been seen
walking along the platform with a hand through his arm. Emmons
thought it a mistake to show approval of such a person as Bob.
“Really, I think you are a little too severe, James,” she answered;
and all she could say for herself was that she showed less irritation
than she felt. “It seems hard if, as long as Bob is behaving well, he
should be denied all human companionship.”
“Oh, if you consider that Bob is entirely rehabilitated by two or
three weeks without actual crime——”
Nellie turned away. She thought the heat was affecting her temper,
too. Mr. Lee’s slavish devotion and Emmons’s continual criticism of
her cousin alike angered her. She found herself wondering whether
James were not rather a trying employer—whether he did not take it
out of Bob down town. For the first time she felt a little sorry for her
cousin. At least he never complained.
He did not complain, but a steady contempt for Emmons grew in
his mind—a contempt which would have been hatred, if he had really
been as bound down as Emmons thought him. As it was, he still
played daily with the idea of flight. Certainly, he told himself, he
would wait no longer than to get the farm on its feet under a new
farmer.
To make the situation more trying his friendship with Overton had
not been without results. He and the great man had had several long
talks over the farm and the condition of Mr. Lee’s affairs. Overton
had been impressed. The morning after Louisa’s visit to Nellie, he
had offered Vickers a position of some importance. The offer gave
Vickers satisfaction. As the Lees’ lawyer, Mr. Overton must know all
about Bob Lee’s past. Vickers felt that at last his own individuality
had overcome Bob’s. Nevertheless he had declined. The position
would have taken him to another city. He saw that Overton was
puzzled and not very much pleased at his refusal.
 “If the difficulty is with your father,” he said gently, “I think I could
arrange that for you.”
Vickers said that it was not with his father, and Overton said no
more. Vickers was sorry to see that he had lost ground.
He came up by a later train than usual. He felt put out with life and
with himself, and stood frowning on the station platform looking for
the trap that would take him to the house, when suddenly he saw
that not the coachman, but Nellie, was driving it. For an instant his
heart bounded. He looked round to see if Emmons were there, too.
But few people patronized the late train. He was alone on the
platform when Nellie drew up beside it.
“If any one had asked me in the train,” he said, “what was the most
unlikely thing in the world, I should have answered ‘that Nellie should
come and meet me.’”
To his surprise she assented quite gravely. “I wanted to see you
before you went home. There is a man at the house asking for you.”
“What sort of a man?”
“A very queer-looking man, Bob,—an old man. He speaks very
little English, and has very dangerous-looking eyes.”
“What’s his name?” said Vickers. He had begun to be nervous
about Lee’s past. He could not tell what was about to overtake him.
“He won’t give his name. He just bows, and says to tell you a
gentleman. He keeps calling you Don Luis, and then correcting
himself and saying Meester Bob Lee.”
“The deuce,” said Vickers. He thought for a moment that the Señor
Don Papa and the lovely Rosita had found him out. “Is he old?” he
asked.
“Yes,—middle-aged, or more.” Then seeing his obvious anxiety,
Nellie went on quickly: “And so I thought, Bob, if it were anything
very bad—I mean if you did not want to see him, that you might go
on to Mr. Overton’s, and I would tell him you had gone away.”
“Tell a lie, Nellie?”
 “Oh, don’t be stupid and irritating, Bob. My uncle has not been well
lately. He could not bear anything more. It is of him I am thinking. It
would be too terrible, if, if——”
“If they jugged me at last. Well, I don’t think that they will.”
His light-heartedness did not entirely relieve her mind, and at their
own gate she stopped again.
“Do be careful. Think before you go in, Bob,” she said; and then,
seeing him smiling, she added, “Oh, I almost wish you had never
come back at all!”
“What!” he cried, “am I more trouble than the two hundred dollars
a month is worth?”
“Yes,” she answered crossly.
“Perhaps if you will tell that to Emmons, he will raise my salary.”
She was not at all amused. “Bob,” she said as she drew up before
the door, “don’t go in. I really do not feel as if I could bear another
scandal. Don’t be foolhardy. This man is terribly mysterious.”
“Why, you excite my curiosity,” he said, and gently putting her out
of his path, he went into the house ahead of her and found himself
confronted by Doctor Nuñez.
The ensuing conference was long. Dinner came and went; but still
Vickers was shut up in the little library with his strange visitor. Mr.
Lee had gone to bed, Emmons had long since arrived, but his
fiancée gave him but a strained attention. She sat listening for the
opening of the library door. If the voices within were raised enough to
become audible, she thought that a quarrel was in progress; if they
sank, the silence terrified her more.
“Now some people like a straight southerly exposure,” Emmons
was saying, “but give me a southwesterly. You get the sun in——”
Nellie suddenly stood up. “What can they be doing?” she said.
“That queer-looking man has been here over three hours.”
“Up to no good, the two of them, I have no doubt,” said Emmons,
and added, “I hope you don’t keep much money in the house.”
 She turned on him sharply. “How absurd you are, James. You
can’t suppose—” but she was cut short by the opening of the library
door, and the sound of the two men’s voices, as they crossed the
hall.
“Do you know any Spanish, James?” she asked quickly.
Emmons shook his head.
“I speak no language but my own,” he answered proudly.
As the front door shut, Nellie left him unceremoniously, and went
out to the front piazza, where Vickers was standing after having said
good-by to his visitor. His head was bent and his hands were in his
pockets.
Nellie came and stood silently beside him. She was conscious of
being nervous. She could feel her heart beating. She felt that
something important had happened. They stood like this for several
seconds, and then fearing that Emmons would join them before she
had heard, Nellie said:
“Bob?”
The monosyllable was plainly a question, but he did not answer it.
He merely took her hand and drew it within his arm and continued to
stare meditatively at the boards at his feet.
Driven to desperation by the thought of the shortness of her time,
Nellie at length asked:
“Was it very serious?”
He looked at her.
“Pretty serious, Nellie.”
She felt frightened.
“I don’t want to be too curious, but you must tell me. Are you in
danger?”
“I am in danger,” he answered, “of the only thing which at the
moment I fear. I am in danger of having to leave you.”
 She withdrew her hand quickly, and stepped back. He made no
effort to detain her.
“Yes,” he said, “go back to Emmons, or we shall have him ramping
out here to know what the matter is. I am going up to the Overtons’.”
Nellie turned and went into the house.
Emmons was sitting with his elbows on his knees, tapping his feet
up and down so as to give a rocking motion to his whole body. He
did not like being left alone.
“And where is Bob?” he asked.
“Gone out,” and Nellie added more candidly: “Gone to the
Overtons’.”
“Oh, of course, naturally,” retorted Emmons. “And may I ask who
his visitor was?”
“He did not tell me.”
“He has gone, I suppose, to confide it to Louisa Overton.”
Nellie looked at him quickly. She had not phrased the notion quite
so clearly to herself, and yet it had been there. Bob had never
mentioned Louisa Overton’s name, and yet his cousin could not be
ignorant that he was at the Overtons’ house almost every day. She
glanced at James. Would any one turn to James in a crisis? She
thought all this before she became aware that he was saying:
“I think we shall have to inquire into this a little more. There is
something behind these constant visits to the Overtons’, if I am not
very much mistaken. Why a clever man like Balby Overton allows it,
is more than I can see. Is it possible that Miss Louisa can have taken
a fancy to him? Is it possible that any decent girl could take a fancy
to him?”
There was a long pause. Perhaps Nellie was not listening, for he
had to repeat his question before he got an answer.
“Very possible, I should think.”
The answer did not please Emmons.