"You may call me Travis."
"Very well. I appreciate your kindness, Travis, in escorting me."
"I'm not being kind. The way I see it, I'm stuck with you, and the sooner we get started, the sooner I'll be rid of you."
She pulled her hand away from his and turned to her luggage. "If I hadn't just remembered I'm not going to be honest and forthright anymore, I would tell you I think you're an extremely insolent and hostile man."
"You've been nothing but honest and forthright since you started talking, haven't you?"
"Yes, but I only just remembered not to be."
"I'm not going to ask you to explain this time," he muttered. "Wait here while I get the horses. And by the way, Emily, you're only taking two satchels up the mountain. O'Toole will have to come and fetch the others. You can leave them in the hotel now. Olsen will make sure no one steals them."
"I'll do no such thing," she shouted so he could hear her. The rude man was already halfway down the street. "I'm taking every one of my bags, thank you very much."
"No, you're not, but you're welcome, anyway."
She gritted her teeth in frustration. She watched him stroll down the boardwalk, noticed how his shoulders and hips seemed to roll with each stride he took, and found his arrogant swagger most appealing. He was a striking fellow, all right. It was a pity he was also obnoxious.
With a sigh, she forced herself to look away. She was engaged to marry Mr. O'Toole, she reminded herself, and she shouldn't be noticing how fit any other man was.
She wasn't the alley cat in the family; Barbara was. Emily was the reliable and practical one, like an old but comfortable pair of shoes, she thought. No-she had always been reliable and practical in the past. She wasn't anymore.
Travis was just about to cross the street when she called out to him.
"Travis, I should warn you. I'm not at all reliable."
"I didn't think you were," he called out. "You don't have any sense either."
She smiled with satisfaction. That reaction stopped him dead in his tracks.
"You don't think I have any sense?"
Honest to God, she seemed thrilled by his assessment of her. Didn't the woman realize she was being given an insult?
No, not an insult, he qualified. Just the blunt truth.
"Emily?"
"Yes?"
"Does O'Toole know he's going to marry a crazy woman?"
Chapter Three
Emily was holding a grudge. Her glares and her stony silence were vastly amusing, but Travis didn't dare laugh or even crack a smile. She'd know then he thought her behavior was humorous, and he'd never hear the end of it.
She didn't speak to him again until they stopped in midafternoon to rest their horses. At least that was the excuse he'd given her. She seemed to believe the lie too. He really called a halt so that she could rest her backside. She wasn't much of a horsewoman, and the way her bottom kept slamming against her saddle, added to the pained look on her face, told him she was taking quite a beating.
The poor woman could barely stand up straight when she finally managed to get down to the ground.
She wouldn't let him help her and didn't think his exaggeratedly wounded expression was the least bit funny.
Because they'd ridden a good distance up the steep mountain path, the air was much colder. He took the time and trouble to start a campfire so she could shake off the chill. They ate a sparse lunch in silence, and just when he was beginning to think the trip wasn't going to be completely miserable, she went and ruined it.
"You did it on purpose, didn't you, Travis? Admit it, then apologize to me, and I just might forgive you."
"I didn't do it on purpose. You were supposed to hook your right leg over the pommel, remember? You were the one who insisted on riding sidesaddle. How was I to know you'd never done it before?"
"Ladies in the South ride sidesaddle," she announced.
He could feel a headache coming on. "But you're not from the South, are you? You're from Boston."
"What does that have to do with the price of pickles? Southern ladies are more refined. Everyone knows that, which is precisely why I've decided to be Southern."
He could feel the throbbing behind his temples. "You can't decide to be Southern."
"But of course I can. I can be anything I want to be."
"Why Southern?" he asked in spite of his better judgment.
"The little drawl in a lady's speech is considered very feminine and musical. I've done a complete study of it, and I assure you I know what I'm talking about. I believe I've perfected the drawl too. Would you like to hear me say-"
"No, I would not. Emily, not all southern ladies ride sidesaddle."
The glare she gave him made him sorry he'd brought up the subject of saddles again.
"Most southern women do," she said. "And just because I have never ridden sidesaddle before doesn't mean I couldn't have managed it if you hadn't interfered. You deliberately threw me over that horse, didn't you? I could have broken my neck."
He wasn't going to take the blame for her ineptness. "I merely gave you a hand up. How was I to know you'd keep on going? Is your shoulder still sore?"
"No, and I do appreciate the fact that you rubbed the sting out of it for me. Still, my dress is now covered with dirt, thank you very much. What will Clifford O'Toole think of me?"
"You've been wearing a pair of gloves with a large bullet hole through them. He'll probably notice that before anything else. Besides, if he loves you, your appearance won't matter to him."
She took a bite of her apple before she made up her mind to set him straight.
"He doesn't love me. How could he? We've never met."
He closed his eyes. Conversing with Emily was proving to be as difficult as trying to win an argument with his brother Cole. It was hopeless.
"You're going to marry a man you've never met? Isn't that kind of odd?"
"Not really. You've heard of mail-order brides, haven't you?"
"You're one of those?"
"Sort of," she hedged. She was, of course, but pride kept her from admitting it. "Mr. O'Toole and I have corresponded, and I believe I've come to know him quite well. He's an eloquent writer. He's a poet too."
"He wrote poems to you?" he asked with a grin.
Her chin came up a notch. "Why is that amusing?"
"He sounds like a… pansy."
"I assure you he isn't. His poems are beautiful. Will you quit grinning at me? They are beautiful, and it's apparent to me that he's a very intelligent man. You may read his letters if you don't believe me. I have all three of them tucked inside one of my satchels. Shall I fetch them for you?"
"I don't want to read his letters. You still haven't explained why you're so determined to marry a stranger."
"I tried marrying someone I knew, and look how that turned out."
"You decided on this course of action after you got jilted, didn't you?"
"Let's just say that it was the last disappointment I was going to suffer."
"Is that so?" he remarked, wondering how she was going to prevent further disappointments.
She seemed to read his thoughts. "I stayed up all that night… my wedding night," she said.
"Crying?" he asked.
"No, I didn't cry. I spent the entire night thinking about my circumstances, and I finally came up with a plan that I believe will change everything. I've always been forthright and honest. Well, no more, thank you very much."
"How come you're being honest with me?"
She shrugged. "I shouldn't be, I suppose. Still, I
won't ever see you again after today-at least I don't think I will-so it doesn't matter if you know I'm a fraud. No one else will."
"Trying to be something you aren't will only make things worse."
She didn't agree. "Being me didn't do me a lick of good, and once I figured that out, I decided to reinvent myself. I was sick and tired of working hard and being so boringly practical all the time."
"You're overreacting, that's all." And crazy, he silently added. "Your pride was wounded, but you'll get over it."
His cavalier attitude irritated her. "I know exactly what I'm doing, and pride doesn't have anything to do with my decision. Working hard hasn't gotten me anywhere. Shall I give you an example?"
She didn't wait for his answer, but plunged ahead. " Randolph was studying to become a banker. He was just beginning his last year at the university when we became officially engaged. His studies were difficult for him, and because of his grades, he was worried he'd be asked to leave. I told him that if he wouldn't accept every social invitation that came to him, he would have time for his studies, but he wouldn't listen to me. He asked me to help him with his research, and because I was such a ninny and wanted to please him, I ended up writing several lengthy papers for him. He was supposed to use the papers as his study guide, but I later found out he put his name on the top of the first page and handed them in to his professors. It was a dishonest thing to do, of course, and do you know what his punishment was? He took honors for his last year's work and was hired by one of the most prestigious banks in Boston. He started out making an impressive salary, and that was when my sister became interested in him. Ironic, isn't it? If I hadn't helped him, he wouldn't have gotten such a fine position, and my sister would have left him alone.
"I've learned from my mistakes though, which is why Mr. O'Toole and I are going to do well together. Randolph broke all the promises he made to me, and I won't let Mr. O'Toole ever break his word."
"How are you going to stop him?"
She ignored the question. "He might not be as rich as Randolph is, but almost, and he lives out here, in this beautiful, wild, untamed land, and that makes him just as appealing to me. I really hated living in the city. I could never seem to fit in. I know you don't understand because you've lived here all your life, but I felt as though I were suffocating. The air's dirty, the streets are crowded, and everywhere you look are buildings so tall you can't see the sky."
"Weren't you willing to live in Boston with Randolph?"
"He promised we would move west after one year of marriage. Father was horrified. He thought Randolph 's handsome salary at the bank was far more important than my suffocation problems."
"Money isn't more important. I still remember what it was like living in New York."
Her eyes widened with surprise. "You lived in the East?"
"Until I was around ten or eleven years old."
"Why did you move?"
He was only going to answer her question and tell her a very little bit about his past, but she was such an easy woman to talk to, he got carried away and told her far more than he'd intended. He wasted a good half hour telling her about his brothers, his sister and her husband, and his Mama Rose. She seemed fascinated by his family and smiled after he mentioned he was going to become an attorney. He could have sworn tears came into her eyes when he told her Mama Rose was finally home.
"You're very fortunate to have such a loving family."
He nodded agreement. "What about you?"
"I have seven sisters. It's my hope that one day some of them will come and visit Mr. O'Toole and me. He has a grand house with a curved staircase. He told me so in one of his letters."
Travis didn't care about the house she was going to live in. "You'll be sorry if you marry a man you don't love."
She didn't show any reaction to his remark. He watched her thread her fingers through her hair. No matter how much she messed with it, the curls floated back around her face. She could be a real charmer all right. She was also an amazingly feminine creature, and if she could only learn to be a little less crazy, she'd be just about perfect.
He decided to tell her so. "You know what your problem is?"
"Yes, I do," she replied. "I should have learned from my sister. Barbara doesn't have a practical bone in her body. She doesn't have any common sense either. She pretends to be helpless too, and she's a marvelous flirt."
"No man wants a helpless woman, but a practical one is real handy to have around out here."
He stood up before she could start arguing with him, stretched the muscles in his neck by rolling his shoulders, and then began to gather stones to put the fire out.
She surprised him by helping. It took only a couple of minutes to finish the task, and he was suddenly anxious to get going. He'd spent entirely too much time talking about himself and his family. He didn't understand why he'd told her so much, because it wasn't like him to ever tell an outsider personal facts.
He didn't consider Emily an outsider though. She was… different. He couldn't put his finger on what it was about her that got to him, but affect him she did, and in such a strange way his instincts warned him to keep his distance. His body had other ideas. He'd already had several fantasies about making love to her. He'd tried to picture her without her clothes on, which took quite a bit of imagination on his part, since she was covered from her chin to her toes.
He had a feeling she'd be spectacular. The way she filled out the top of her dress, the tiny waistband, and the narrow hips all suggested to him that she was well put together and that he wouldn't be disappointed. The woman had all the right curves and in all the right places.
Still, thinking about it and doing something about it were two different kettles of fish. He wasn't about to give in to his urges, but he didn't feel at all guilty picturing it in his mind. She was a sensual woman, and he appreciated a good-looking female as much as every other man living in the wilderness.
No, he wasn't concerned about his physical attraction to her. He could easily deal with that. What bothered him was the fact that he was actually beginning to enjoy her company, though why he liked being around a woman with such strange notions was beyond him. Emily made him smile, but only because she said the craziest things.
He enjoyed looking at her. Nothing wrong with that, he told himself. Why, it would have been wrong for him not to look. He was a healthy man with normal inclinations, and she was getting prettier by the minute. That didn't mean he was smitten with her.
He felt better once he'd analyzed his situation. He quit frowning too. He watched her feed the rest of her apple to her horse, thought it was a sweet, practical thing to do, and wondered if she had any idea how difficult it was going to be for her to keep up the pretense of being helpless around Clifford O'Toole.
He waited by the horses while she went to the stream to wash. He got a peculiar little catch in the back of his throat when she came running back to him. Her cheeks were rosy from washing in the cold mountain water, and she was smiling with pleasure over what she declared was a glorious day. He thought about kissing her then and there, and it took a good deal of discipline to keep his hands off her.
"I'm ready to go now, Travis."
He was suddenly all business. "It's about time. We've wasted almost two full hours here."
"It wasn't wasted time. It was… enjoyable."
He shrugged. "Do you want me to help you get up on your horse?"
"And get tossed over the top again? I think not."
She hopped about for a minute or two while she tried to anchor her foot in the stirrup, and just when he was going to demand that she let him assist her, she made it up into the saddle on her own. She gave him a victorious smile. It didn't last long.
"A helpless woman would have requested assistance," he said.
He was smiling as he swung up into his saddle. He must be crazy too, he decided, because he was beginning to really like Miss Emily Finnegan.
Chapter Four
They didn't speak until they reached the gully he had hoped to use to shorten their journey, but just as Adam had predicted, it was flooded.
"You don't want to cross the river here, do you? Surely there's a bridge we could use."
"There aren't any bridges up here," he answered. "And this isn't a river, Emily. It's just a gully."
Her mount obviously didn't like being so close to the
water's edge and began to prance about. Travis reached over, grabbed hold of the reins, and forced her horse closer to his side so he couldn't rear up.
"He must think he has to go in the water. He doesn't, does he?"
He could hear the worry in her voice. "No, he doesn't," he assured her. "We can't cross here."
His leg was rubbing against hers. She noticed, of course, but though she could have moved away, she didn't. She liked being close to him. He made her feel safe and yet uneasy too. What in heaven's name was the matter with her? She didn't seem to know her own thoughts anymore.
"We can't cross here." She repeated his words while she patted her horse in what Travis assumed was an attempt to reassure the animal.
"Now what?" she asked him.
"Your journey to Golden Crest has just been lengthened by at least two more days, maybe three."
It took all she had not to shout with relief. God help her, she was actually weak with it. It certainly was a peculiar reaction to hearing she wouldn't have to meet and marry Mr. O'Toole for at least two more days. She should have been disappointed over the news, shouldn't she?
Then why did she feel as though she'd just been given a stay of execution?
"Cold feet," she whispered.
"What did you say?" Travis asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing important," she said.
She wasn't about to tell him the truth. She wouldn't look at him either because she was certain he would be able to see the relief in her eyes. Travis already thought she was out of her mind to want to marry a complete stranger, and, honest to Pete, she was beginning to think he might be right.
Perhaps she was having before-the-wedding jitters. Some brides did, didn't they? Yes, of course they did, and all she needed to do now was read Mr. O'Toole's letters again. She was sure to feel better then. The man she was going to marry had poured his heart out to her and had proven beyond a doubt that he was a sensitive, caring man who would love and cherish her until death did they part. What more could she ever want from a husband?
One Pink Rose, One White Rose, One Red Rose Page 3