“Fine,” said Georgina, her tone clipped. “Then let’s try the song again.” She nodded to Sally Voorhees, who played the introduction once more.
“Come, Christians, join to sing.”
Ash and Pierce squinted at each other over Georgina’s head. Ash really, really, really didn’t want to be doing this.
“Alleluia! Amen!” He didn’t bellow this time. Neither did Pierce. Ash felt deflated somehow.
Then Georgina smiled at him, and he felt better all of a sudden.
“Loud praise to Christ our king.”
“Alleluia! Amen!”
They finished the whole first verse without a fight breaking out. Ash decided maybe singing in church wasn’t too asinine an occupation for a grown man to participate in after all. At least it earned him another smile from Georgina, which almost made it worthwhile. Then she smiled at Pierce, and Ash’s mood soured again. Well, he guessed he could stand it. It might hurt, but he could stand it.
Georgina started the second verse. “Come, lift your hearts on high.”
“Alleluia! Amen!”
“Let praises fill the sky.”
“Alleluia! Amen!”
Silence.
Ash glanced at Georgina. Her mouth was open, but nothing was coming out. She looked shocked. Without thinking, Ash pulled his gun out of his waistband.
“What is it?” His voice was as crisp as autumn leaves. After another several seconds of silence, during which Ash looked wildly around the sanctuary for whatever invading desperadoes were lurking there, he heard Georgina whisper, “Henry?”
Henry? Who the hell was Henry? What the devil was she talking about?
Then he saw him. At, the door of the church there stood a man. A skinny, pasty-faced, sickly-looking man. He had a fancy suit on, a fancy hat in his hand, fancy shoes on his feet, and a sappy smile on his face.
Georgina said in a slightly stronger voice, “Henry? Is that really you?”
Ash looked from Georgina to the putative Henry to Payton. He looked as troubled as Ash felt. Confound it, what was going on here?
“Hello, Georgina,” the sap at the door said. His voice was even thinner than Pierce’s. “I considered writing, but thought it would be more fun to surprise you.”
Georgina whispered, “Good Lord.” She sounded surprised, all right, and not particularly happy.
Ash considered shooting whoever this Henry fellow was, decided it was probably a bad idea, and stuffed his gun back into his waistband. He did it reluctantly. This looked like bad news to him
As for Georgina, she was not at all pleased to see Henry Spurling standing in the door of the one lone church in Picacho Wells, New Mexico Territory. In fact, she was hard-pressed to keep from stamping her foot and demanding to know what he thought he was doing, chasing after her in this absurd way. She had a feeling such a question asked in such a way would be improper and impolite, so she didn’t ask it. She did, however, force a smile to her lips.
“Good heavens, Henry, this is such a shock.”
With some effort, she managed to step down from the small raised platform upon which the choir sang and walk in a dignified manner to the door, holding her hand out for Henry to shake, and trying to appear glad to see him. It took her no time at all to realize she wasn’t glad at all; rather, she wished Henry would fall through a hole in the earth and vanish from her sight forever.
That wasn’t fair of her. It wasn’t Henry’s fault he was Henry Spurling and not Ash Barrett.
No, no, no! That’s not what she meant. What she meant was that it wasn’t his fault she held only tepid affection for Henry.
The blithering fool! Why had he come all this way in order to spoil her visit to the territory? Georgina felt very put out, but she tried not to show it. She tried even harder when Henry took her hand and kissed it. Pooh. His kiss was as watery as his eyes. She didn’t want his lips anywhere near her.
He didn’t release her hand and, since he was Henry and he probably thought she was going to marry him, she didn’t snatch it out of his grip. She even managed to maintain her smile.
“I’m over my sore throat and croup now, Georgina.”
“Yes, Henry, I see that.”
“So I thought I’d come out here and find out how you’re faring in your mission of mercy.” He gave her one of the smiles which he considered knowing, and which Georgina had always considered ludicrous.
“My mission of mercy?” She knew what he meant. He meant he believed her to be honorable and magnanimous for coming all the way out here to help her aunt in nursing her insane grandmother. Georgina knew she was being unreasonable when she experienced a strong urge to bust Henry in the jaw.
He lowered his voice. “You know. Your you know.”
“Yes, Henry,” she said, her voice as sweet and syrupy as molasses. “I know.”
“It was an awful burden you assumed, Georgina.” He made his voice even softer. He sounded like a hoarse mouse when he did that. Georgina figured he was trying to sound loving and compelling. Maybe even seductive, perish the thought.
“It’s not been bad at all, actually.” She tried to sustain her friendly attitude. She wanted to punch him and then shoot him with her new derringer.
“But this place, Georgina!” Henry looked around, an unpleasant expression on his face. “How can you abide living in such a—a rugged, ugly place. You, who are used to the best of everything and who cherish beauty and theater and opera and so forth. It makes me want to weep for you, my dear, brave girl.”
His dear, brave girl? Good heavens. “Nonsense, Henry.” She made her voice brisk and lied like a rug. “I haven’t experienced a single second of unpleasantness since I arrived.” She continued, no longer lying, “I adore living here. I may just remain, in fact.”
Henry’s head whipped around and he goggled at her. Good. Let him goggle, the imbecile. She smiled.
“You mean to say you like living here?”
“I love it.”
“My goodness.”
Georgina doubted that Henry could appear any more amazed than he did just then. He gazed around the sanctuary once more, and Georgina did likewise.
Oh, Georgina allowed that the accommodations were sort rough in Picacho Wells. The citizens here hadn’t had a couple hundred years to perfect their living conditions as those in New York had, for heaven’s sake. Things would improve in time. Georgina thought it was awfully stuffy of Henry to hold their lack of sophisticated trappings against them. “I think it’s quite remarkable that the town has managed to become so settled in so very few years. Why, imagine, Henry, only twelve or fifteen years ago, the place wasn’t even here.”
Henry frowned. “I wonder if the world was better off twelve or fifteen years ago.”
Before Georgina could take Henry to task for his snobbish attitude or stomp on his shoe and hurt him, footsteps, loud and echoey, sounded from behind her. She knew to whom they belonged, because every time she heard them her heart sped up.
She turned around, and her smile for Henry turned upside down as she took note of Ash’s expression. He looked like he wanted to shoot Henry, too, the beast. If anyone was going to shoot Henry Spurling, it would be her, not Ash. What had poor Henry ever done to him? Whereas only seconds earlier, Georgina had wanted to send Henry to perdition, she was now unaccountably assailed by an impulse to protect him
She said, “Sheriff Barrett,” and gave him a formal nod.
Ash looked like he was holding himself back from committing havoc only with difficulty. “Who’s that?” He ground the words out from between clamped teeth.
Georgina thinned her gaze to tell him to behave himself. She turned and took Henry’s hand, hoping in that way to soothe Henry’s nerves, which had never been awfully good, and also to annoy Ash Barrett. She was gratified to see that her ploy unquestionably achieved both aims
“Henry, please allow me to introduce you to the sheriff of Picacho Wells, Mr. Ashley Barrett. Mr. Barrett, this is a friend of mine from New York
City, Mr. Henry Spurling.”
“A friend?” Henry sounded hurt. Georgina was sorry about that, but she wasn’t about to introduce him as anything warmer or more intimate than a friend. She had a lot of thinking to do about that particular matter.
“Yes, Henry, you’re one of my oldest and dearest friends.” Georgina gave him a glittering smile of warning, which made poor Henry jump slightly and appear taken aback. Hmm. How interesting. Perhaps she’d learned a few new and useful social skills, as well as some new and useful frontier skills, since she’d come to the territory.
“Er, yes,” he said. “Yes, Miss Witherspoon and I have known each other for years.” He held out his hand for Ash to shake. Georgina thought it was peculiar that Ash seemed to find it difficult to take the newcomer’s hand and shake it civilly. He looked rather as if he’d like to wring it off of Henry’s arm. Which he could probably do, since he was so much bigger and stronger than poor Henry, who had always been a weakling.
Georgina told herself not to be catty. “Where are you staying, Henry?”
“There’s a hotel here in town. It’s not much, but—”
“Ah, yes. The Picacho Wells Hotel.” Georgina thought it wise, if not polite, to interrupt Henry’s assessment of the local hotel, particularly with Ash Barrett standing nearby and in a touchy mood.
“It’s certainly not like any hotel in New York City,” Henry said, and laughed.
Georgina could have slapped him, “Of course it isn’t. This is a young, vital, new country. It’s not old and stuffy like New York.”
Henry blinked at her. Georgina realized her tone had been a speck tart. She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, you must come to Grandmother’s farm tomorrow and visit with us all.”
He lifted his eyebrows at her suggestion. Shaking his hand as if it hurt—apparently Ash, hadn’t been able to resist squeezing it harder than was necessary, he said, “Is that wise? I mean, is it safe—er—I mean, is it prudent to visit?”
Georgina felt her lips tighten and made an effort to relax them. “Of course it’s wise, Henry. Neither Grandmother nor Aunt Vernice have ever met you. They’d be thrilled.”
Ash snorted softly at her back.
“They’d be thrilled,” she repeated, “to meet you. And they’re both lovely ladies.”
Another snort, this one louder. Georgina turned her head and gave Ash a good glower to let him know what she thought of him. Or wished she thought of him, anyway. He glowered back, which seemed so typical, Georgina almost grinned.
Her almost-grin vanished as soon as it had begun. Oh, wonderful. Here came Payton. He looked as grouchy as the sheriff. She sighed before she could stop herself.
“And here is another gentleman who lives in the great new territory, Henry. Please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Payton Pierce, Picacho Wells’s banker. Mr. Pierce, this is my dear friend from New York, Mr. Henry Spurling.”
Since Ash refused to step aside, Pierce had to jog around him in order to shake Henry’s hand. Georgina thought Mr. Pierce and Henry resembled each other—not in physical appearance, perhaps, but in inner essentials. They were e both as exciting as day-old biscuits.
“How do you do, Mr. Spurling?”
Very well, thank you, Mr. Pierce.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
They sounded alike, too. Georgina stared at them, amazed. Fancy that. They might have changed places and no one would know the difference. And she’d all but agreed to marry Henry Spurling. What an appalling thought. Thank God she’d come to the territory before she’d thrown her life away on the mouse!
A sound from behind her made Georgina turn. She caught Ash’s eye and knew without words that he’d guessed her thoughts. He even grinned. It was a devil of a grin, and it made Georgina blush and wish she could hit him. Or kiss him.
Oh, dear.
Chapter Thirteen
Henry Spurling rented a horse and buggy and drove out to the Murphy farm the day after his arrival in Picacho Wells. Georgina was surprised by her enormous sense of disappointment when she heard the buggy, looked outside, and saw Henry—instead of someone else whom she chose not to name—driving down the path through the twin rows of pecan trees.
Maybelle walked up to stand next to her. She squinted through the window, too. “Looks like you hooked yourself another banker, girl.” She didn’t sound at all approving.
Georgina sighed deeply. “Yes. He is a banker. He’s in business with my father.”
“Humph. That figures. Why do you favor those milk-and-water boys, Georgina? Hell, isn’t there enough Irish in you that you can tell Ash is the man for you? You’d die of malaise in twenty minutes if you ever went to bed with Pierce or this pasty-faced banker fellow.”
“Let’s see this new lad of yours.” came a voice from the ceiling.
Georgina sighed, looked up, and saw Devlin O’Rourke hanging there, as handsome and immaterial as ever. “He’s not my lad,” she muttered, knowing her protest would do no good.
“He don’t look real promising, Georgina. Why don’t you dump him and take up with Ash?”
“I am not attached to Mr. Spurling. And I don’t want to take up with Ash, or anyone else, for that matter!”
“Pooh,” scoffed Maybelle. “Evelyn wrote and said she was looking forward to the day she could call that simpleminded twit her son-in-law.” She pointed out the window, where Henry seemed to be having a little trouble with his horse and buggy.
Georgina said, “He’s not simpleminded,” in a perfunctory tone. Then she sighed again and glanced out at Henry who was still having trouble with his horse. Henry had always preferred taking cabs or walking to dealing with horses, which he rather feared.
Oh, very well, Georgina thought. Perhaps he was a blockhead. “Anyhow, nothing has been settled between us.” Feeling defensive and worried about what her grandmother might say and do to Henry, Georgina decided to anticipate his arrival.
She left the window and went to the front door.
“Oh, Georgina, it’s so thrilling to meet new people!” claimed Vernice who had moved to stand beside her. Georgina smiled at her. Vernice always tried to offer the best interpretation of things, even for boring people like Henry. Georgina appreciated her for it, particularly in this instance. “Yes, I’m sure it must be exciting. In New York, of course, a body sees strangers every day.”
“I remember it well.” Vernice sounded nostalgic. “Out here, it’s exhilarating when new people come to town.”
“Yes, I can understand that. One very rarely sees strangers here.” If she could remember to look upon Henry’s visit in that light, Georgina guessed she could stand it. She’d lain awake for a long time last night, contemplating Henry, Picacho Wells, and her own life. It didn’t surprise her any when she came to the conclusion that she no longer had the slightest desire to marry Henry Spurting. Her feelings about marrying him had always been lukewarm; now they were positively negative. What had surprised her somewhat was that she realized she hadn’t been lying to Henry when she spoke to him in church. She really did love living in Picacho Wells, and she honestly didn’t want to leave the territory. She was having the time of her life here. The notion of going back to New York and resuming the insipid lifestyle to which she’d been accustomed literally made her stomach ache.
But what could she do if she remained here? She had no idea. She supposed her grandmother and Aunt Vernice would allow her to continue living with them—perhaps they’d even welcome her presence—but Georgina had always sort of anticipated setting up housekeeping on her own someday. Well, perhaps not exactly on her own.
Actually, she’d always expected to marry. She’d even sort of looked forward to marriage, since the married state afforded women more freedom than they had as young, unmarried ladies. Since, however, the only eligible men who’d ever expressed a desire to marry her were Henry and Payton, that idea no longer held much appeal.
If Ash were, to ask her . . . But no. She cou
ldn’t think like that. They hated each other, didn’t they?
It was all too confusing. She’d gone to sleep under the influence of her chaotic thoughts and thus, this morning she hadn’t been surprised when she awoke with a brutal headache.
As she gazed at Henry, she wondered if he might not be the biggest headache of all. She figured it was a toss-up between him and Payton—she couldn’t figure out who was worse.
Bother.
At, any rate, Henry was here, and so was she, and she now had to deal with him. She opened the front door and prepared to do her duty.
“Lord, child,” she heard at her back. “The man looks more like a ghost than I do.”
“He’s been ill,” said Georgina, and rolled her eyes in exasperation; as if the situation wasn’t bad enough already. The addition of Dev and Maybelle’s comments was liable to push her over the edge.
“Oh, the poor fellow,” whispered the ever-compassionate Vernice. “He looks like he needs a decent meal, too.”
“He looks like he needs a kick in the butt to me.”
Georgina and Vernice exchanged a glance after Maybelle’s caustic comment, then faced their approaching guest. They both smiled at him, knowing their smiles would be the only hint of friendliness Henry was likely to receive inside the Murphy house.
Ash sat at his desk in the sheriff’s office, brooding, and he couldn’t help but hear Georgina’s voice since she was standing on the boardwalk right outside his door. He jumped up from his desk, hated himself for it, and sat back down again. She was nothing—nothing—to him. Nothing. Not a thing. Nothing.
“And here we have the sheriff’s office, Henry. You remember Mr. Barrett, one of the men you met yesterday? The one who sings baritone in our trio?”
“Ah, yes. He was the large, dark man, wasn’t he?”
Ash had picked up a newspaper just arrived from Santa Fe, and was trying to pay attention to it rather than the conversation going on outside. Henry Spurling’s voice penetrated his office, and Ash’s hands bunched up on the paper, wrinkling it into a tight little ball.
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