Wildcat Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  She couldn’t deny his comprehension. Jack was smart and insightful. She’d known that from the beginning. He’d see through a lie in a heartbeat. She simply shrugged her shoulders, for in all honesty, she had no answers.

  “So why are you running away from him?”

  “I’m not.”

  He laughed. “Is he returning to Kansas, too?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve never pressed you for information you didn’t want to share. Have I?”

  She shook her head. He’d never asked anything of her she wasn’t willing to provide.

  “I’ve always been honest with you. Right down to how I spend the money I make off your paintings.

  I know others questioned the profit margin, but with my fifty percent,” he waved a hand, “I pay for all this. I don’t expect you to.”

  He hadn’t. Even September’s expenses had been paid by Jack. Other than the incidentals they both purchased—like the miniature Statue of Liberty for Ma. “You’ve made me a lot of money the past two years, I won’t deny that, and the possibilities in the future are unlimited.” His eyes asked her opinion.

  This time she nodded in agreement.

  “I’m saying all this, because I want you to know, what I’m about to say is from my heart, not my bank account.” He leaned back, bracing both hands on the table. “I don’t want you to give up your career for some man. Not because I don’t want to lose your income, but because I believe in you. You are a gifted woman. Your paintings could grace the halls of the richest homes and buildings in the world. People are touched by your work. You have the ability to make your pictures talk to people. They evoke feelings, memories, hopes, and dreams. I’ve known this since I first saw that picture back in Dodge.”

  Silence fell upon the room like a gentle snowfall, clear and clean. She let it completely settle and took a moment to consider his confession before replying, “I’m not giving up my career. I’m just going home.

  I’ll keep painting.”

  “But will your heart be in it?”

  “Of course, nothing’s changed.”

  “You came to New York hoping to run into Bug Quinter, didn’t you?”

  She knew even before he shook his head that her startled expression had given her away.

  “Oh, Eva.” He pushed away from the table and walked around it, stopping next to her chair. “I hope this Bug knows what he’s missing.”

  “What he’s missing?”

  “You said he’s not returning home.” He lifted his brows. “Is he?”

  “No.” She shook her head and shrugged at the same time. “I’m sure he will someday.”

  “And you’ll be there waiting for him.”

  “Waiting for whom?” September asked, poking her head out of the door that lead to the bedroom of the hotel suite.

  Eva held her breath. She hadn’t told September about seeing Bug last night, but she hadn’t asked Jack not to mention it. She shot a nervous glance up to Jack.

  Jack twisted about. “Good morning, sleepyhead,”

  he greeted. “I almost ate your breakfast.”

  September, reed thin as most girls her age are, walked across the room, smiling. “Thanks for leaving some for me. I’m starving.”

  “As you usually are,” Jack commented, patting her sleep tousled blonde curls.

  “Waiting for whom? Who were you talking about?” September wasn’t one to let a subject drop.

  Pushing up the floppy sleeves of her dressing gown, she sat down and lifted the cover off the third place setting on the small table.

  “The carriage driver,” Jack said, staring steadily at Eva. “He’ll be here by two to take you to the rail station. Be sure you’re ready for him.”

  “So we are leaving today? We’re going home?”

  September asked, clearly happy.

  “Yes, young lady, as much as it pains me to say, you’re leaving today.” Jack moved across the room, picking his hat off the side table near the door. His gaze landed on Eva. “I’ll go make all the arrangements and meet you for lunch downstairs at noon.”

  “Thank you, Jack. Thank you.”

  He nodded her way and then winked at September. “Don’t eat too much; lunch is only four hours away.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t.” Looking his way, September took a big bite off the piece of toast in her hand.

  Jack chuckled and pulled the door closed behind him. “I like him,” September said.

  “I do, too,” Eva agree, lifting her cup of tea.

  “Enough to marry him?” September asked.

  “No,” Eva answered, sipping her tea.

  “Me neither.”

  A fit of giggles struck them both.

  ****

  It had been two days since the art show, but Bug felt as if it had been a year. Chester and Jenny Staples had left for Pennsylvania this morning. The event had left a mixing of emotions gurgling about in his stomach. Chester had been amicable enough.

  Yesterday, the man had cornered Bug in his hotel room for a good three hours. It appeared that Jenny had the same idea as her Papa. That she and Bug would get married. He apologized, both to her and to Chester. He’d never said anything, done anything to imply that action, yet, Bug sincerely didn’t want to hurt either the daughter or father. They were good people, and he held great respect for both of them.

  Spending time with Jenny had started about nine months ago. Bug had met her before then, at the mansion during holiday gatherings and such, but it hadn’t been until last summer that Chester had asked Bug to escort her to a play. A troupe from New York was performing in Bradford, and Chester wasn’t able to take her.

  Bug had, and they’d had an enjoyable time.

  Since then, Jenny started setting up places for them to go once a month or so. Then it became more often, and the past couple of months, it had been every weekend. Some of the things she chose to do were fun, but others, like the screeching women and underwear-dancing-men were downright awful.

  She’d wanted to attend the art show, and at first Bug had refused. He had no reason to go to New York, but then Chester had suggested they all go, since he wanted to meet with some men at the stock exchange.

  The price of oil was steadily climbing, and Chester was hoping to compile a group of investors to build a subsidiary company of American Refinery.

  Rockefeller and his Standard Oil Company controlled the market on refining the oil. Bug wasn’t overly interested in the refinery business. His love was discovering the oil—knowing where to look and how to coax the black tar out of the ground.

  He shook his head, and glanced about, making sure he was still on the right street. Once he started dreaming about oil, everything else took second fiddle. Except for Eva these past two days, not even Chester’s offer to make Bug American Refinery’s newest prospector enticed him enough to set thoughts of her aside.

  Spying the hotel he’d learned she was staying at, he picked up the pace, jogging across the road, dodging a wagon or two while in route. He jumped onto the curb, and ignoring the obscenities the wagon drivers shouted his way, he brushed off his suit jacket, tugged his cuffs in place, and marched through the rose etched glass doors.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not at liberty to give you that information,” the little eye-glass wearing man behind the desk said. A nasty smile sat on the man’s lips, as if he enjoyed stating he wasn’t at liberty.

  Bug leaned across the desk, his fingers itching to grab the man’s shirt—bow tie and all. “Not at liberty?” he repeated.

  “Yes, sir.” The man’s head bobbed up and down.

  Bug’s hand was half way up, just getting ready to swing around and shoot across the desk top to snatch the man’s shirt front, when someone grabbed it. “Hold up there, my good man.”

  The voice was unmistakably unforgettable. Bug spun about, pulling his arm from Jack’s grasp at the same time. “Where is she?” Bug demanded.

&n
bsp; The man didn’t answer, instead he started walking. Off to one side, Jack crooked a finger, signally for Bug to follow. Figuring it was the only way he was going to find Eva, but not too happy, Bug trailed Jack into the hotel’s dining room. Jack took a seat at a table near the big window that displayed the never ending traffic and gestured for Bug to take the seat on the opposite side of the table.

  Convincing his commonsense to overrule his ire wasn’t easy. Exhaling through his nose, Bug sat.

  Jack leaned back, arms folded across his chest.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, but since you already practically choked me to death, a formal introduction isn’t necessary, is it?”

  Bug blinked, trying to decipher exactly what the man had said.

  “Name’s Jack Houston. And you are Bug Quinter. Also known as Brett Quinter. The youngest of the bunch.”

  The muscles in his neck were so tight, nodding was tough, but Bug did so, agreeing with the man’s greeting—if it could be called that.

  “You have four brothers, Kid, Skeeter, Hog, and Snake. And one half-brother, at least that’s how he considers himself, Buffalo Killer.”

  Again, he nodded. Eva must have told Jack all about him.

  “You left Kansas almost three years ago, to visit the Pennsylvania oil fields, hoping to learn enough to go back home and start drilling for oil. You only planned on being gone six months or so, but, Chester Staples discovered you, and convinced you to stay on for a bit longer. He offered you a chance to learn more about the oil fields and refineries.”

  Bug squirmed in his seat. “You got more you want to tell me?”

  Jack shrugged, and then held up one hand as a waiter walked their way. “Shall we order?”

  Bug simply shook his head when the waiter looked his way after taking Jack’s order. He wasn’t hungry, hadn’t been for two days. Jack lifted his silverware off the sparkling white napkin and rearranged the utensils neatly on the table. He then flayed the napkin open and settled it on his lap, preparing for his beefsteak to arrive.

  Tired of waiting, Bug asked, “Where’s Eva?”

  The waiter was back, setting a cup of coffee in front of Jack and a glass of water in front of him.

  When the young man left again, Bug glared at Jack.

  “She left.” Jack shrugged.

  “I learned that much from the pipsqueak behind the desk. Where’d she go?”

  Jack gazed out the window as if the never ending traffic held his attention. Bug clenched his fists. The man turned then, and met his stare with one just as serious. “I won’t allow you to hurt her.”

  “Hurt her?” Bug slapped the table hard enough to jostle water over the rim of his glass. “Eva’s the last person on earth I’d hurt. I—” he stopped shy of saying he loved her. He did, but Jack sure as hell didn’t need to know that.

  “You what?”

  “Where is she?” His patience was running thin, but at the same time a heavy weight bore down on his shoulders. “Just tell me where she is.”

  Jack looked him over, as if sizing him up. Acting as if he had all the time in the world, the man took a leisurely sip of his coffee, and then returned the cup to its saucer. “Hold your horses, Bug. I’ll tell you, but I have something else to say first.”

  Bug arched a brow. Who the hell did this man think he is?

  “I’m the man who stepped in when you left,”

  Jack said.

  “What?” Bug exclaimed.

  Murmurs filled the room, the people at every table stared their way.

  He lowered his voice to seethe, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Jack took another sip off his coffee cup, as unaffected as a duck in a rainstorm. When he set the cup down, he replied, “Just that. After you left Kansas, I became the man Eva needed.”

  Steam now boiled in Bug’s head.

  “Calm down,” Jack said. “This isn’t Dodge City.

  A temper tantrum will only result in getting you thrown out of here.”

  “After I break your neck,” Bug growled across the table.

  Jack cracked a smile—a sincere grin that took Bug aback. “I really want to hate you,” Jack offered.

  “But try as I might, I can’t seem to.” He waved his hand casually. “Sit back and relax. I’ll explain what I mean.”

  Even though his nerves jumped around like crickets in a corner, Bug leaned back and folded his arms. “Start explaining, but I gotta warn you, I’m finding it real easy to hate you.”

  Jack laughed. “I’m sure you are.”

  The waiter arrived and as he set the plate down, Jack pointed across the table. “Bring the identical thing for my friend.”

  Bug met the waiter’s expectant glance with a nod. He still wasn’t hungry, but if that’s what it took to get the story out of Jack, so be it.

  Jack cut a slice off his steak and rolled the bite size piece in the juice oozing from the inside of the meat. He poked the fork in his mouth, and chewed appreciatively. After he swallowed, he stated, “It’s good. You’ll like it.”

  Bug doubted, but didn’t comment.

  “The best steak I ever ate was at the Majestic in Dodge. Your brother Hog’s place. I was on my way to Denver, and the train engineer highly recommended the passengers try the fare at the hotel during our brief layover.” Jack poked another piece of meat into his mouth and chewed.

  Bug’s stomach growled, telling him he hadn’t eaten in two days, and needed to.

  “I never made it to Denver.”

  “Why?” Bug asked, hoping conversation would get his mind off his stomach.

  “Because I saw Eva’s painting. I spent a couple of days at the hotel, learning about her from your brother and his beautiful wife Randi. They’re good people.”

  “Yes, they are,” Bug agreed readily, feeling more than a touch homesick. Hog and Randi were the best cooks to ever grace the earth.

  He had to wait until Jack swallowed again before the man continued, “I drove over to Eva’s then. Willamina, hunched over and glaring at me behind the sites of a rusty rifle met me before I dismounted.” Jack chuckled as if the memory made him happy.

  Bug had to grin, too. Willamina was as protective as a mother bear and could be quite menacing if you didn’t know her. The remembrance made his mind twist. He’d thought about wiring his family, asking about Willamina, but didn’t think he wanted the information that way. “When did she pass?”

  Jack set his fork down. His gaze was sincere.

  “No one told you?”

  Bug shook his head, swallowing the lump forming against the back of his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack offered. “It was about two years ago.” “Two years ago?” Anger zinged up his spine.

  He’d thought maybe it was just a few weeks or maybe months at the most. The fact his entire family held the news from him for years was mind boggling. Why would they do that?

  “She was happy for Eva, you know. If anyone besides me, that is, saw the potential in Eva’s work, it was Willamina,” Jack said.

  Bug nodded—it was the only reaction he could afford right now. Anything else might make him unable to control the stinging in his eyes and chest.

  “I had to prove myself to all of your brothers, including that Indian who lived in the barn.”

  “What?”

  “Prove that—”

  “No, not that, Buffalo Killer lives in whose barn?”

  Jack swallowed his food. “Eva’s.”

  “Since when?”

  “It appears your family hasn’t kept you up on much have they?” Jack gazed over the rim of his coffee cup. His eyes held an inquisitive stare.

  “No, it appears they haven’t.” The pain had grown dull, leaving Bug empty—and lonely.

  The waiter set a plate in front of Bug, and he stared at the food, his appetite once again gone.

  “Eat up,” Jack said. “You may not feel like
it, but you need it. I have a feeling you’ll be traveling for the next few days.”

  “Oh?”

  “Why haven’t you told Eva you love her?”

  Bug cut off a large chunk of steak and shoved it in his mouth, rendering him incapable of answering, which is exactly what he wanted.

  “It’s written on your face larger than the Statue of Liberty.”

  The food in Bug’s mouth could have been hooves and lips for all he tasted, yet he chewed as if he relished the flavor. Of course he loved Eva. His entire family did. He swallowed. “How long has Buffalo Killer been living in her barn?”

  Jack chuckled. “I’ll be honest with you, if you’re honest with me.”

  Bug nodded. The food hadn’t erupted when it hit his stomach so he tried another piece.

  Jack accepted the silence and offered, “I think Buffalo Killer only stays there while I’m there. Kind of like a chaperone. But, I’ve only been at Eva’s three times. The first time Willamina was still alive, so he wasn’t there then, but the last two times, he showed up the same day I did. Eva was surprised to see him both times, so I can’t imagine he lives there all the time, but I never asked.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s none of my business.”

  Bug eyed the other man up. “What is your business?”

  Jack sat back in his chair and tossed his napkin onto his now empty plate. “To see that Eva, or Eloisa Reynolds, becomes a world renowned artist. And I will. That is if you’ll let it happen.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. You’re the only thing in her way.”

  “How do you figure that? I’m not even in Kansas. Haven’t been for three years.”

  “I know. I also find the fact that no one in your family or Eva mentioned you as very interesting.”

  Bug laid his fork and knife down. “No one mentioned me?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Ever?” Hell, he might as well have been dead for all his family cared.

  “Nope. And that says a whole lot more than if they had.”

  Bug tossed his napkin on the table as well. “How so?’ “If they’d told me about you, I would have known what I was up against. I’d have been able to learn what you were up to, tell Eva about Jenny Staples, and possibly convince her you no longer loved her. She’d have been crushed, but I’d have been there to pick up the pieces, and encouraged her to focus on her artwork, washing you from her mind.”