by Jacksons Way
God, he was losing his mind, had been all damn day long. Theirs was a business relationship and needed to remain only that. Mixing business and personal was never a good idea and he knew it. It clouded judgment and made for poor decisions. Why the hell couldn't he keep that bit of hard truth in the front part of his brain? Why was it so damn easy to slip into forbidden fantasies? There wasn't a thing he was willing to offer Lindsay beyond a decidely temporary and purely physical affair. She wasn't a cantina girl; she was a lady and an innocent and deserved to be treated accordingly.
And in spite of cool reason and common sense, he chafed at that reality and was angry at being unable to have what he wanted. Yep, he was losing his mind. All he required for a final surrendering of it was for Lindsay to look up at him and say that she didn't want to go back to MacPhaull House tonight. He'd set aside wisdom and common sense and all of his memories if she'd only ask him to.
She sighed and gave him a regretful smile. “I suppose that since Henry and Agatha are to be at dinner, we don't have any choice but to leave. Let me put my supplies back in the cabinet. I'll only be a minute.”
She walked away as he said, “I'll close up the windows,” and shook his head. Henry and Agatha. He'd forgotten all about her brother and sister and dinner tonight. Not a good sign at all.
He picked the key up off the end table while she slipped her arms into her pelisse. “I want to stop by the office on our way back to the house, if you don't mind,” he said, watching her button it all the way to the top. “Ben's working on getting me some information I need and I also want to get him started on a reply to the offer we got from Little, Bates and Company.”
“Are you going to accept it?”
“I'm going to counter it and see what happens.”
“I can tell you already,” she said with absolute certainty. “Percival Little will counter with the same amount he originally offered. In the meantime, the others Richard queried will respond with offers fairly similar to Percival's and you'll have to accept one because you'll be out of time to negotiate any further.”
He gave her a quick smile. “No, I won't. The St. Louis property was on the list to be auctioned. The minimum bid is the balance of the bank note on it. Anything we get above that is profit and more than ol' Perce is willing to pay.”
“Then why are you even bothering to respond to Little's offer?” she asked as they left Mrs. Theorosa's house.
“He's wasting our time and it's only fair that we waste some of his in return.”
“You can be quite vindictive, can't you, Jack?”
“You haven't seen me at my best,” he said, winking. “I'm just getting warmed up.”
Lindsay managed a smile because she knew she should, but the better part of her awareness was involved in watching Jack lock the door and knowing that she had only a few minutes left in which to change her mind. She didn't want to go back to MacPhaull House. Not tonight. And maybe never. There was something about Mrs. Theorosa's house, something about being in it with Jack, that made the rest of the world and all of its concerns disappear. It didn't matter that they'd brought no food with them. It didn't matter that Henry and Agatha would dine alone. It all paled beside the temptation to reach out, lay her hand on Jack's, and ask him to take her back inside and kiss her until propriety ceased to matter, too.
“There,” he said, putting the key in his pocket. He offered her his arm and a tight smile. “Ready to go?”
“Duty calls,” she replied, laying her hand on his forearm. “We must obey.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE FIRST DROPS OF RAIN had arrived as they'd left the porch and headed to the carriage. John, already in his raincoat, had smiled down at them and told her not to worry about him, that he wouldn't melt. It was pouring now, coming down in wind-lashed sheets, and the carriage rocked so hard that she couldn't imagine how John was staying in the box, much less controlling the team of horses and making forward progress. Lindsay clung to the corner strap and tried to look as though she wasn't concerned.
Jack had simply braced his feet on the supports for her seat and crossed his arms over his chest. She couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't also trying to conceal his concern. If he was, he was doing an excellent job of it.
“Does it rain like this in Texas?” she asked, as the carriage rocked hard to one side and then quickly righted.
“Oh, yeah,” he drawled. “And we can get hailstones the size of a man's fist, too. Of course, it's all right as long as you don't have hard rain followed by the hail. On the back side of the hail line is where you'll get your tornado.”
She hadn't thought about that possibility. The deadly columns of wind weren't terribly common in her world, but neither were they unknown. While she'd never actually seen one, she'd read newspaper accounts of them. It was an experience she hoped to never have for herself.
“Do you think there's a chance we might be having a tornado now?” she asked, trying to sound as though it was a casual question.
“Nope.” He chuckled and added, “The air doesn't feel right. It may be wet, but it's not heavy. And we haven't had any hail, either. I'd say the odds aren't particularly good for one.”
“That's good to know.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Are you afraid of storms, Lindsay?”
“No, not really,” she answered truthfully. “But I do prefer to be inside a strong house during the worst of them. I hate this rocking and pitching we're doing. I don't know how John's managing.”
“He's a good driver. I suspect that he's looking for a place that's a bit sheltered and once he finds it, he'll pull off and wait out the worst of the weather.”
“Poor John. He deserves a bonus for having to drive in these conditions.”
Jack made a contemplative sound and then said, “I didn't notice if Mrs. Theorosa's place had a carriage house or not.”
“It does,” she supplied readily. “I saw it through the kitchen window. It's for one carriage and has living quarters above.” She smiled, knowing what his next question would be. “And yes, I'll bring John with me if he'd like to continue in service.”
He grinned and then slowly sobered as he studied her. “Are you seriously considering moving up there, Lindsay?”
She nodded, the decision having been made almost the moment she'd walked in the door of Mrs. Theorosa's home. “How much do you think MacPhaull House would bring at sale? There's no mortgage on it.”
“It's hard to say,” Jack answered. “Mr. Gregory can probably give you a fairly accurate estimate.”
“I think that once Richard's gone, I'll have Mr. Gregory offer it. I'll send him a note tomorrow and let him know that it will be coming on the market. That way he can make discreet mention of it to parties who might be interested.”
“You don't have to sell MacPhaull House, Lindsay. There'll be money to support it.”
Lindsay started at the tacit suggestion. “It never crossed my mind that I wouldn't be able to afford to live there, Jack. I know you won't sell the roof from over my head. The honest truth is that I don't want to live there anymore. I want to live at Mrs. Theorosa's. If keeping Richard close to Dr. Bernard weren't important, I'd move in tomorrow. ”
He grinned and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I should probably remind you that I haven't bought it yet.”
“All right, quibble over the details if you like,” she laughingly countered as the carriage rocked in the wind. “I'll move in the day the deed is transferred.”
“Maybe you should hold off on the decision to sell MacPhaull House, though,” he suggested, his smile fading. “Live at Mrs. Theorosa's if you want and think it over for a while. It's a pretty big step you're thinking about taking. Once MacPhaull House is sold, you can't change your mind and undo it.”
“Why would I want to undo it? A choice between living in a bright and cheerful house and living in a dark and dreary mausoleum is no choice at all. No, my mind is made up.” She smiled at him. “Nothing in my life
has changed for years and years, Jack. And then you walked into the office and … and …”
“All hell broke loose?” he supplied.
“Well, yes, in a manner of speaking,” she agreed, still searching for the right words. How could she explain how very different everything had become in those few seconds? “At first the changes were so disconcerting, but as time goes on, I'm becoming more comfortable with the notion. I think I'm actually to the point of enjoying it all.”
“Enjoying having your world turned inside out and shook loose?” he asked dubiously.
“I know!” she exclaimed, suddenly seeing how she could make sense of it for him. “This morning when I woke up, my first thought was ‘I wonder what's going to happen today.’ Now, it wasn't the first time that's been my first waking thought, Jack. Before, it's always been a dreadful thing to contemplate and I've wanted to pull the blankets over my head and hide. But this morning it made me smile and want to hurry out of bed and get on with the day so I could find out.
“It's as if I've stumbled into someone else's life. And I've become a different person as a consequence. Life is interesting in a way it's never been before. I owe you a great debt of gratitude,” she offered sincerely.
“Oh, I don't know,” he drawled, his smile quirked. “Maybe you were just ready to break out of your old way of doing things when I came along and gave you a shove.”
“For which I'm most appreciative.” The coach lurched to one side and she held her breath while it slowly righted. “I don't think that time will change how I feel about selling MacPhaull House, Jack. It doesn't have especially happy memories in it, and while the decision to dispose of it may seem impulsive, I'm certain it's the right thing to—”
The carriage lurched again, more violently that it had before, pitching forward and to the left. Into the wind, she realized. In the same fraction of a heartbeat, she knew the cause and that the carriage wasn't going to right itself; they'd lost a wheel. Gasping, Lindsay clutched the corner strap with both hands in a desperate attempt to keep herself from being thrown off the seat.
Across from her, Jack bellowed, “Hang on!” as he wedged himself into the downside corner and shoved his feet hard against her cushion. The sounds and sensations were a jumble, wrapped and tumbling around one another; the wind, the rain, the whinny of horses, Jack's swearing, and the thundering of her heart.
And then there was only the horrendous, jolting impacts of wood and metal against stone. Lindsay was flung upward and down and then upward again, the force and speed rattling her teeth and blurring the world around her. She felt the leather strap wrenched from her hands, heard herself cry out as she pitched forward. Her heart hammering wildly, Lindsay instinctively put her hands out to break her fall and closed her eyes, unwilling to see.
An iron band clamped around her upper arm in the same second that she heard Jack growl, “Gotcha!”
The impact was hard, but it wasn't uncontrolled. The pressure about her arm instantly eased, replaced just as quickly by wide bands that encircled her shoulders and her waist and held her securely. Lindsay pressed herself hard into the circle of salvation and drew a deep breath of relief. The erratic movements of the carriage ceased as abruptly as they'd begun, allowing the luxury of conscious recognition. She was sprawled over Jack, his arms wrapped around her, the lapels of his coat fisted in her hands.
“Jack,” she whispered against his chest. “Oh God, Jack.” Lindsay lifted her head to look up into his eyes. “Are you all right?”
“I'm fine,” he assured her with a tight smile. “How about you?”
Lindsay did a quick mental evaluation and blinked in realization. She was lying along the entire length of him, one leg on either side of his outstretched ones. She could feel the hard heat and power of him from her cheek to the insides of her thighs. His pulse thundered into her body, igniting her blood. In her mind's eye flashed an image of lying with him like this on soft linen sheets. Her breathing caught as her pulse danced. Now wasn't the time or the place to indulge in fantasy, she sternly reminded herself.
“Fine,” she managed to say, her voice taut. In a most general sense. “And this is the second time we've had this conversation,” she added, trying to climb off him with some semblance of poise and grace.
“That's occurred to me as well,” he said, gently taking her upper arms in his hands. He lifted her up with ease, saying, “Let me slide out from under you here and I'll go check on your driver.”
“John,” she whispered as she was gently settled into the corner. God, what a selfish person she was; she'd been thinking of making love to Jack when she should have been concerned for her coachman's well-being. He could be lying on the roadway—or in a flooded ditch—injured or dead, and all she'd been aware of had been the feel of her body against Jack's. She was a miserable human being, a horrible person who—
“Stay put.”
Lindsay blinked, startled from her silent self-flagellation. She looked around the dim interior of the carriage to find herself alone and the downsloping door open just enough to permit exit. Rain splashed up from the paving stones. The sight triggered something inside her and suddenly she became aware of the pounding of it on the roof overhead. The wind was still blowing; it whistled and blustered through the openings of the door. Beyond it all, she heard the muffled sounds of two men talking. Two men meant that John was at least alive and able to speak. Lindsay slumped back against the squabs, relieved.
There were matters to be tended, she reminded herself. And to sit inside the carriage while others saw to them was unconscionable. At the very least the wheel had to be put back on and Jack and John certainly didn't need to attempt the task with her weight added to it. Grasping the edge of the open door, Lindsay pulled herself out of the slope of the seat and slipped outside.
The rain came down in torrents, making the roadbed a shallow but quickly running river of water that swirled around her ankles and instantly soaked both her shoes and the hem of her dress. The wind caught the brim of her bonnet and snapped it down over her face. A curtain of water poured off it and onto the bodice of her pelisse. Lindsay undid the ribbons beneath her chin and tossed the ruined straw hat into the open coach door behind her.
The afternoon light was leaden and dull, but there was sufficient light for her to see that the left front wheel was, as she had guessed, missing. She turned and looked back, searching along the deserted road for it and finding no sign of it anywhere. The sound of voices came to her on the wind. Lifting her skirts above the swirling water, she made her way around the back of the carriage and to the other side. John sat in the water, seemingly oblivious to it, but hugging his right arm close to his body.
“Dammit, Lindsay!”
She turned in the direction of Jack's voice and found him crawling from beneath the carriage itself. He was drenched to the skin, his clothing molded against his body, his hair plastered around his face, and the water streaming down his cheeks.
“Oh, hush,” she said, realizing that she was in much the same condition. “You didn't really expect me to stay in there, did you?” He scowled, but she ignored him and knelt down beside her coachman, saying, “John, how badly are you hurt?”
“It's my arm, Miss Lindsay. I think it's broken.”
“I'm afraid you're right,” she said, noting the odd angle at which his forearm drooped from the elbow. “Not to worry, though, John,” she added briskly. “We'll get you to Dr. Bernard just as quickly as we can. He'll set it and you'll never know it was once broken.”
“First things first,” Jack declared, dropping down beside her in the water. “We've got to get the wheel back on the carriage before we can go anywhere. Can you manage just a bit with one arm, John?”
The coachman nodded, said, “I'll give it my best, sir,” and leaned forward to gain his knees. He cried out and sagged back with a strangled moan. Jack caught his shoulders and kept him from collapsing completely.
“Don't try to move again,” Lindsay admonished, s
weeping his legs with her gaze, searching for some sign of further injury.
“It's my side, Miss Lindsay,” John explained through clenched teeth. “I'm afraid some of my ribs are broken as well.”
“Then you'll stay right here and I'll assist Mr. Stennett.”
Jack snorted. “You will not.”
“You have two choices, Jack Stennett,” she declared, meeting his gaze over John's head, her hands fisted on her hips. “You can stand out here waiting for an able-bodied man to happen along to help you put the wheel back on— and hope we don't drown while we wait for what amounts to a miracle—or you can accept my help so we can get out of here before we look more like wharf rats than human beings.”
“Have you ever put a wheel on a carriage?”
“Of course not,” she retorted. “But I'm quite capable of following instructions. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Get back in the carriage.”
“I won't,” she declared, vaguely aware that John was looking back and forth between them, following their conversation with an amused smile. “Think of something else; something that might actually be a step toward getting the wheel on.”
“Wheels are heavy and they're greasy. You'll ruin your dress.”
“It's already ruined,” she countered, holding her arms out from her sides so that he could see the truth of it for himself. “So are my gloves and my bonnet. And just in case you're wondering, I don't care.”
“And if I might point out the unfortunate obvious, sir,” John said with a decidedly pained and rueful expression. “You don't have any other immediate choice.”
Lindsay watched as Jack looked down the road and then back the way they'd come, then at the carriage. After a long moment he made a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh and climbed to his feet. Extending his hand, he helped Lindsay rise as he said, “See what you can find to bandage John's midriff and arm. The less he moves it all, the better. I'm going to unhitch the horses so they don't bolt on us and make things even worse.”