by Brenna Todd
Waite turned away from the portrait, deciding he'd have no part in whatever Della was cooking up. He frowned, remembering his living arrangements for the time being. Until his new home was finished, he'd accepted J.B.'s invitation to stay in the Munro guesthouse. That was far too close for comfort. But then, where Della was concerned, there wasn't enough distance between here and China.
CHAPTER SIX
ERIN RACED UP THE STAIRS, looking back over her shoulder, half expecting all the hounds of hell to be nipping at Della's shiny black heels. In reality, it was only one particular hound she was worried about.
Waite MacKinnon.
She dashed through the second-floor hallway, taking a turn here, a turn there, trying her damnedest to find her way back to Della's bedroom. She didn't know why, exactly. She should be looking for an ax to break down the door to the runnel, but all Erin could think of was putting a thousand miles between herself and Waite.
So Waite had given Della the locket. Waite, the gorgeous railroad magnate, and Della, the wife of his business partner, were intimately involved. Erin's face flooded with heat at the thought. Good Lord, she was Della now. For all intents and purposes, and for however long it took to get out of here, she was stuck living Della's life. Waite had seemed angry with her in the fireplace; in fact everyone she'd met in this decade seemed to feel that way toward Della. But there was no telling when Waite's anger might fade, and then what? And what about J.B.? What if he decided to demand his marital "rights"? It didn't bear thinking about.
For heaven's sake, she thought, glancing upward. I needed a life, okay? I'll admit it— I was definitely life-challenged for a while. But come on, isn't this a bit too much?
But it wasn't intimacy with J.B. that filled her thoughts. It was the picture of Waite that dominated her mind, and she felt the heat leave her face and make a molten journey through her body. She saw them together in all manner of places, all manner of positions, his hands caressing her, hers clutching his strong shoulders. She heard their mingled sighs and groans, felt his mouth on her skin, and hers on his—
"Oh! Have a care, missus!"
Annie's warning came too late, and Erin, her mind deep in fantasy, collided with the poor maid as she exited a bedroom, her arms loaded down with boxes. Annie fell hard on her backside, her cargo pitching hither and yon. Had she been wearing her Nikes, Erin probably wouldn't have lost her balance, but no amount of arm waving could save her from landing squarely on her posterior, as well.
"Oh, missus!" Annie crawled quickly to Erin's side. "Are you all right, missus? I'm that sorry, I am!"
"It wasn't your fault, Annie. It was an accident."
"But had I warned you quicker it might not have happened. And you with your head already injured! I had my thoughts in the clouds as usual," she said with a groan.
Erin chuckled and stood, helping Annie up. "Believe me, you weren't the only one whose thoughts were elsewhere." Warmth flooded her cheeks when she remembered just where her mind had been.
Annie began restacking the boxes.
"Let me help," Erin said, and picked up the two closest to her.
"No, missus. You just sit still." The maid snatched the boxes from Erin's hands and then, in a flurry of movement, had them restacked in a wink. She stood, lifting her burden.
Erin got to her feet, frowning. Annie was slight of stature, and the armful she carried was obviously too heavy. "Here, let me have some of those."
Annie gave her a curious look. "It's me job, missus."
"But I don't mind help—"
"Oh, I wouldn't hear of it. And you'll pardon my sayin' so, but should you be up and around, dashin' about the halls so soon after hurtin' your head?"
"Oh, no, I'm fine now," Erin said, and took two boxes off Annie's stack. "Where to?"
The maid's brow creased and she sighed. "This way, then." And she struck off down the hall, mumbling under her breath.
"Oh, come on, Annie. I'm not an invalid," Erin said, right behind her.
Annie shot a glance over her shoulder. "Well, it's none of my business, of course, but you coulda stood another day's bed rest. As me ma will tell you, your health's all you have, you know."
"A wise woman, your mother."
Annie opened a bedroom door and led the way in. She set down her boxes next to a closet. Erin placed hers on top of them. "Oh, she's that, and don't you forget it. She'd be advisin' you against the party tonight."
Annie opened the closet door, grabbed a box and rose up on tiptoe to put it on a shelf. Erin, taller than the petite maid by several inches, grasped her by the shoulders and switched places. "You hand them to me, I'll put them on the shelf."
Annie's brow puckered and her jaw set. Erin chuckled. "Oh, stop worrying. You were telling me about your mother."
Annie handed her a box. "Yes, and I'll tell you this. You wouldn't be gettin' past her to go to the 101 tomorrow, thaf s for certain."
"The 101? What's that?"
Annie gave her a highly suspicious look. "What's that? You don't know what the 101 is, you're tellin' me?"
Oh, hell. She'd slipped again. "Well, no, I mean—"
"I knew it! You're not well, missus, and I'm sure of it. My own brother, Rory, he got conked on the noggin once, too. Forgot his own name, he did. Even thought we were back in Ireland! Took months for him to get over it. And I don't think you ought to be out in the weather, breathin' in all that dust the cowmen'll be kickin' up."
Dust? Cowmen? Was the 101 a rodeo?
Erin touched the bandage, thinking about Annie's brother, wondering for a moment if the injury really had jarred her brain. Who knew, maybe she really hadn't traveled back seventy years. Maybe this was still 1994 and she'd fallen and cracked her noggin like Rory. Maybe this was all a very creative hallucination her injured brain was conjuring up. Yeah, and maybe, like Dorothy, she'd wake up back in bed in Kansas.
"Annie, I'm okay." Relatively speaking. "I'd just forgotten about the.. .uh, rodeo, that's all. I've got other things on my mind." Waite MacKinnon, for one, she thought, then impatiently pushed his image from her thoughts.
Of more importance was getting home. Which meant finding J.B.'s key ring to unlock that door. Or finding the other entrances to the tunnels the tour guide had mentioned. They were all over the property, she remembered. A gatehouse, boat-house, guesthouse, artist's studio. She'd seen the other doors from inside the tunnels. They had been locked, too, but it might be easier for her to break in undetected. Sudden inspiration hit, and Erin eyed Annie speculatively. A servant employed by the Munros might have an inkling as to where the tunnel entrances were.
"You're probably right. I should be resting," she said to Annie.
Annie smiled brightly. "Good."
"But, Annie," she said, placing her hand on top of the maid's, "I just won't be able to rest until I get something taken care of. I lost a piece of jewelry last night when I was in the tunnels. Do you think you could help me get it back?"
The maid's smile vanished, and she caught her lower lip with her teeth. She glanced around the room, then said in a whisper, "Mr. Munro.. .he has a rule. No staff is allowed near the tunnels without his say-so."
"Oh, I'm not asking you to go into the tunnel. I'll do that myself. I just need to know where J.B. keeps his key ring and—"
"Should you be doin' this thing?" she asked, then looked away, her cheeks turning pink. It was clear she felt it presumptuous to comment on her employer's behavior. "It's just that... he'll be angry, and Edith says... Well, I shouldn't be tellin' tales out of the schoolroom, but she says he'll send you away if he catches you down there again."
"Annie, trust me, he's not going to catch me. All I need to know from you is where the other entrances to the tunnels are. Or where J.B. might keep his key ring."
"Other entrances? I... didn't know there were any others."
"What about his key ring?"
The maid shrugged and slowly shook her head.
"What's going on in here?" J.B. stood in t
he doorway, a scowl etching deep lines into his forehead.
Oh, great. How much of that had he heard? "Nothing. I was just helping Annie put these boxes away."
Erin placed the last one on the shelf, noticing Annie's tensed shoulders and wide eyes. Erin patted her arm reassuringly. "She looked like she could use some help. That's all."
J.B.'s gaze was dubious, but he didn't question her further. "I have to go out for a few hours. Business. I want you to stay away from the stables this afternoon. A ride might tire you," he said, nodding toward the bandage on her head. "I want you at the party tonight, no arguments. And see that your behavior is exemplary. You have a great deal to make up for."
ERIN WAITED UNTIL J.B. was good and gone before she left the room. She found Della's bedroom surprisingly quickly. Locking the door behind her, she went into the connecting bathroom. When she'd stumbled out of the room this morning, there hadn't been time to examine her injury. Now she peeled away the bandage, wincing at her reflection in the mirror. It looked terrible—much worse than it felt, in fact. The bump wasn't large; it was surrounded by an angry purple bruise and bisected by a small, jagged cut. She saw no signs of infection, but wished she could get her hands on a tube of Neosporin, just in case.
And she would, she told herself. As soon as she got home. Then there'd be no more need to worry about J.B. locking her away in an asylum or living in the disguise of an unhappily married Jazz Age floozy, or even playing mistress to a yesteryear hunk.
She could begin her quest right now. The rest of the afternoon was hers: J.B. was out of the house and had unknowingly given her the best idea before leaving. He wanted her to forgo her ride. Wanted her fresh and alert so she could handle damage control. Had he never mentioned the stables, Erin wouldn't have thought of it.
What better way to scout out such an enormous estate? She would save time, and perhaps not arouse as much suspicion, since riding seemed to be part of Della's daily routine. She felt certain she would be out of here soon, but just in case she wasn't, Erin would much rather stay out of J.B.'s bad books. She shuddered, remembering his threat about the asylum.
The trouble was, her only riding experience had been with trail horses she'd rented out by the hour. Still horses were horses.
Flinging off Della's designer dress, Erin stepped out of the torturous heels, then peeled out of the silk hose. She slipped into her jeans, feeling more human the moment she felt the denim slide across her skin.
THE STABLE HAND, wearing a battered cowboy hat, beat-up boots and well-worn Western attire, looked out of place in Munro's pristine stables. He had stepped out from behind a fiery-looking stallion he was grooming, then nudged up the brim of his hat and given her clothing and the panama hat she'd purloined from Della's collection a frown. "Miz Munro? You're here for your ride a bit early, ain't you?"
"Yes, but I just had a whim to ride now."
The man nodded, gave her attire another curious look, then hung the grooming brush on a hook. "Well, I'll get Sophie saddled right up for you. Won't take a minute."
Erin grinned, her nervous stomach settling a bit. Sophie. She could probably handle a Sophie. With a name like that, the horse was probably as easygoing as the two trail horses she had ridden, Butterscotch and Clem.
The cowboy left the stall, latching the gate behind him. Then he loped down the aisle and disappeared into another stall to be greeted by soft whickers of welcome. Erin heard him talking to the horse in a gentle, singsong voice.
There were no soft whickers coming from the horse he'd left, however. In fact, the horse seemed furious at being abandoned midgroom. He pawed the earth with lethal-looking hooves, then glared at Erin and shook his great head, flinging his jet black mane in a spray of anger. Thunderation, Erin read on the shiny brass plaque mounted on the stall door, then shuddered when the horse snorted and gave her another glare. Thank goodness ole Thunder wasn't Della's.
When the stable hand came out of the stall moments later, leading Sophie, a smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. "She's raring to go."
Raring to go and... beautiful. The mare was a gorgeous chestnut color, with a delicate head and a slim body. Her legs were long and her coat was as sleek and shiny as those fancy cars Erin had seen in J.B.'s drive. She was a delight to look at, and aside from a tendency to prance, she seemed as gentle and tame as Thunderation seemed wild.
Erin smiled and forgot for a moment that this horse was simply a means to an end. She stepped up to Sophie and brushed her hand over the horse's neck. "You're a beauty, Sophie, aren't you?" she whispered.
"Oh, she's a beauty, all right. And high-spirited, as always." The man passed Erin the reins, then cupped his hands and bent down to offer her a leg up.
Erin noticed Sophie's saddle wasn't like the ones Butterscotch and Clem had worn. This one was tiny, and there was no horn thingie to grab on to. She glanced at the stable hand, suddenly afraid her ignorance might give her away. "Something wrong, ma'am?"
"Oh... uh, no. No, nothing's wrong."
Erin heard him mumble something under his breath about little English pie plates. "What did you say?"
He stood straight and scratched his brow. "Aw, I just can't for the life of me understand why you put them silly little Anglish pie plates on these big hosses." Then he shrugged. "But what do I know? It's never given you any problems."
Right. Erin wanted to shout for a Western saddle anyway, but he'd bent again and laced his work-roughened hands to help her. Erin shoved her fear aside, reminding herself that begging for a saddle that Della never used might draw even more attention to herself. She put her foot in the man's hand, then reached high and clutched at Sophie's mane with one hand, managing to hold on to the reins with the other. She threw her leg over, then found both stirrups with her feet.
Sophie was just as wonderful to ride as she was to look at. Erin got used to the "Anglish" saddle quickly enough, but nervous as she was about Sophie's size and the distance from the ground, she kept the mare at a gentle canter.
It was finding her way around the estate that proved difficult. The property was huge. In her time there hadn't been all these wide-open spaces on Munro's property. Obviously J.B. had later sectioned off some of the property—maybe even sold some. Equally obvious was the fact that Sophie was used to the wide-open spaces, because that was where she headed immediately. And no amount of dissuasion from Erin was going to change her mind.
Erin decided to let the horse have her head until she was certain they were completely out of the stable hand's earshot. Then, she thought, she'd circle back and find all those outbuildings.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WAITE DISMOUNTED AND dropped Cherokee's reins, watching as the horse dipped its muzzle into the cold creek. He found a large, smooth rock on the bank and sat down, pushing up the brim of his hat and resting his forearms on his bent knees. A solitary flycatcher in a nearby tree screeched and took wing, and Waite followed it with his eyes, squinting at the bright winter sky. The line of trees sheltering the small stream was naked now of the colorful fall foh'age it had worn only weeks ago, providing a clear view of the western edge of Waite's new property.
He liked the sight of Oklahoma in winter best of all. Others, mostly the Easterners J.B. had persuaded to populate his town, complained about the stark, colorless landscape. Too flat, too barren, they grumbled. And too damned windy. But to Waite, there was nothing more beautiful than the wide, unbroken plain, stretching out forever beneath winter's pewter sky.
When he'd first laid eyes on the vast prairie he'd been fourteen years old. Waite had made his way west from Virginia, poor as a church mouse but determined to become a wealthy Oklahoma rancher. He'd been full of bravado and completely convinced that everyone who lived in Oklahoma was either a rich oilman or cattle rancher. He would make his fortune by his sixteenth birthday or he'd die trying.
He'd nearly done just that. He looked at Cherokee and remembered another horse—the one he'd decided would be his first test of manhood. All the o
ther hands at the famed 101 Ranch where Waite had hired out had known there was too much devil in the horse to break him to saddle. Not Waite. In his eagerness to prove himself, he'd climbed into the corral with the dangerous animal.
When they'd carried him out again, he was a mass of injuries: a bashed-up face, a broken arm and several broken ribs. When George Miller, the owner of the 101, had approached him afterward, J.B. Munro happened to be at his side. Waite had tried to arrange his battered features into an expression of respect for both men, but had only managed a pained grimace. Miller had shaken his head, and said, "Boy, if you're not the stupidest son of a bitch I've ever known! What the hell were you thinking?"
J.B., however, had grinned down at Waite, an expression that looked like pride in his eyes. "But you rode him for a moment there, didn't you? If you live, son, come see me about a position with Munro Railways. George, old man," he'd added, slapping Miller on the back as they'd walked away, "I value nerve and guts in my organization. I thought you did, too."
Well, he'd lived, of course, but hadn't taken J.B. up on his offer right away. Instead, he'd chosen to stay at the 101 in hopes of soaking up all the knowledge he could. He traveled with the Wild West show and learned a thing or two about trick riding. The other hands had said he was a fool for choosing the harsh life of a cowboy over a position with Munro, but Waite hadn't cared. He'd saved his money, the goal of owning a ranch always close to his heart, he'd spent only what was needed to put himself through college. Then, with a degree in animal husbandry and a minor in business, Waite had come back to Munro, taken the job J.B. had offered and begun saving once again.
Falling in love with Della had changed his mind about a lot of things. He finally understood what the 101 hands and performers had been talking about when they'd complained about their vagabond lives. Della had made him want to settle down, right then—even put all thoughts of a ranch aside—and start a family.