“I love the idea,” said Molly in a louder, almost defiant tone. “I think it sounds—wonderful.”
Plainly annoyed, Emma lifted the fan attached to a lime-green ribbon around her wrist and began plying it with furious strokes. “Well, that’s all you know. You’d better have servants galore, James Yancey, because I ain’t liftin’ a finger on any of that manual labor. Why, back home, we had darkies t’ do all those things.”
Somehow Molly choked back a retort. Darkies? Darkies! You and the Southern rebels lost the War, Miss High-and-Mighty, remember that little fact? Those slaves are free now, and they won’t be doing “any of that manual labor” either, unless you pay them a wage.
“Yes. Well.” And James began to repeat exactly what she had been thinking. As if he had some sort of power to see straight through her brain, read every idea bouncing around in there, and form it into speech. “We’ll just see how it goes,” he finished up, rather lamely.
“Yes, we cert’nly will.”
IV
“It’s very—uh—it’s very—uh—” Try though she might, Emma could not loosen her tongue enough to go further.
Molly could. Pink-cheeked and glittery-eyed with excitement, she had scooched forward to hang over the front seat and stare. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Absolutely beautiful. As if someone waved a magic wand and the house just appeared here, growing into these hills and these oaks like a natural part of the world.”
Now it was James’ turn to stare. Halted short in the very act of helping his affianced down to the dusty ground, his intense dark gaze met Molly’s in startlement and dawning awareness. “You’ve got—quite a way with words,” he managed.
Safely alighted, Emma turned slightly, questioning, with frost edging every word. “You all surely do. Why, it’s just amazin’ what you come up with, Molly. Wherever did you learn such things?”
“Just—um—experience, I suppose. Here, I’ll help carry our luggage inside.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” said James firmly. “I’ll get a couple of the men t’ take care of chores. C’mon, you two, I wanna take you through the hacienda and see what you think.” He turned to assist Molly, but she had already lifted her skirts and hopped easily out.
If the interior were as welcoming, as charming, as attractive as the exterior, then James Yancey would have gotten his money’s worth, whatever he had paid for the property. A low stone wall encircled the house proper, enclosing with it native shrubs, flowering plants, and sky-high gnarly old buckeye and oak. Built of cream-colored adobe, this dwelling-place, with a clay tile roof all around, its floor plan had been laid out as a square, with terraces opening outward to the ranch land and inward onto a large enclosed patio, complete with fountain and more riotous greenery.
Molly could imagine a festival here, with lights glowing at every window and joyous music from guitar and violin wafting forth from every door.
“I’ll have to learn Spanish,” she said enthusiastically, as they moved forward.
“That would be good,” agreed James, opening the front door. “I’ve been workin’ on learnin’ some myself.”
The tour continued, from room to room to room, with the overall impression being one of somber, hand-carved wood everywhere, thick painted walls, heavy draperies, and…
“Red,” sniffed Emma, wielding her fan. “Too much red.”
“Oh, well, that’s fixed easy enough.” James shrugged, ushering them at last into the great room where two fireplaces took center stage, and patterned rugs lay scattered across a smooth wooden floor. “You go on back through the house when you have time, darlin’, and we can make any changes you wanna make.”
“And it’s all just one floor,” went on Emma, in a fretful tone, looking around like a lost child. “And so very dark, and gloomy.”
Ready to leave to take care of other pressing business, James stopped and turned slowly back to her. Tossing his hat onto the nearby table, he held her still with both hands set onto both her creamy bare shoulders. Enticing shoulders that he desperately wanted to kiss and caress and ease cap sleeves away from and downward in a search for more hidden delicacies.
“Emma, sweetheart,” he said quietly, “I warned you this would be different from what you’re used to. I warned you it would take some gettin’ used to.”
Her liquid blue gaze ignored his to search rather agitatedly for Molly. “You understand, don’t you?” she pleaded. “I don’t like this place. I don’t think I could ever get used to it.”
There. It was out in the open, lying flat and malevolent like some poisonous reptile, waiting to strike.
“Emma!” Shocked, James released his grip and stepped away.
“Emma.” Not nearly as shocked—in fact, expecting something of the kind—Molly moved quietly in, as lady’s maid, to take command. “You’ve traveled 3000 miles, Emma, from coast to coast, and you’ve done wonderfully well. This could be the life you’ve dreamed about. Don’t give up now.”
With passion and poignancy her words rang out, words that accorded a different meaning to each of the three hearing them. Silence. Digestion.
“I need to rest for a little while,” Emma finally stated flatly and unequivocally. “Will you show me which room I might use to freshen up?”
More clenching of jaw muscles and gritting of teeth. James was seriously beginning to question whether any enamel would be left on his back molars by the time this wedding was set to take place.
Thus, a series of orders: Ramón, bring in the ladies’ luggage; Hiram, move the surrey away and unhitch and care for the horses; Rosa, fetch fresh water and tend to Miss Palmer.
“And you?” James turned to Molly, once everyone and everything had been squared away.
Molly’s mouth twitched with humor. “What, no pressing chore for me at the moment? Then, if you don’t mind—” she cast a longing glance toward the windows, invitingly open to the terrace, “—I’d like to go for a walk.”
“A walk? In truth?”
“Absolutely in truth. My only exercise in weeks has been on the deck of a ship. Getting out to explore this fabulous ranch of yours will be a godsend.”
“Then a walk it is. Need an umbrella or some such thing?”
Molly grinned up at him. “No, I think I’ll be able to survive the sun’s rays.”
“Fine.” James grabbed his hat. “Then I’ll walk with you. C’mon.”
The tour began with the gardens, a huge expanse given over mostly to herbs and vegetables, partly to annuals and perennials. Bordering that, running off into long neat rows, stood…
“Are those grapevines?” asked Molly, surprised.
“Yes’m. Not enough to produce wine for sale, but plenty for ranch use, anyway. We’ll see what happens. Someday you may see grapevines up and down all these California hills.”
From there they proceeded on to barns and the stable and other outlying buildings. As a quiet man, a man of reserve, James now, oddly enough, found himself keeping up a stream of conversation. As if he were anxious to share all the possibilities of this fertile place, and all his dreams of what could be accomplished, and needed only someone to pay attention.
At one of the far corrals he paused, resting his arms across the top rail to watch several beautiful horses browsing in the shade. “You’re a good listener, Molly,” he finally said, out of the blue.
She smiled. Bold sunlight washed her hair in bronze, sprinkled several new golden freckles across the bridge of her nose, painted soft apricot across her cheekbones. “It isn’t such a talent, Jim. I’ve had to be.”
“Yeah, I figured. Heard some of your background t’day from William, down t’ his office. Sometimes it’s a hard life, ain’t it?” Sombrero doffed, he shook his shaggy head much as a dog would, emerging from water, thrust his fingers through the thatch of black hair, and lifted his face to the kiss of the sun. “And sometimes we can hope t’ make it better.”
For a long moment, while crows cawed off in the distance and th
e Condor’s blacksmith pounded away somewhere at a white-hot horseshoe, Molly studied him, this tall attractive Southerner whose war scars lay hidden away from sight. “We can always hope to make it better,” she agreed. “Jim, I suddenly find I’m ravenous. Will we be eating supper soon, do you think?”
He squinted at the horizon, judging time. “Why, bless me, I didn’t realize it was so late. Sure, let’s go see what the cook has planned for us.”
And let me get away from you, thought Molly on a surge of desperation. You’re promised to someone else, someone I’ve taken responsibility for. I’m alone, I’m on my own. I don’t want to consider what you’re beginning to mean to me, you dear South Carolina man, with that melancholy face that I want to touch; and that tumbled hair that I want to play with; and that nicely muscled body that I want to see more of…
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Trudging along, suddenly tired, she was jerked back to the present by the sound of his voice.
“Just—uh—just wonderin’ if there was anything you—and Emma, o’ course—might want special for the evenin’ meal.”
He was looking and acting a trifle skittish. Wonderful. Now, for whatever reason, she’d scared him off for all and good. “For me, no. I’m anxious to try whatever it is you might serve on a Mexican-style ranch. But for Emma—well,” she managed a small, thin smile, “I do believe you know the answer to that better than I do.”
“Hell.” James flapped his hat against his thigh, in resignation. “Yeah, I can imagine. Cold cucumber soup and hummin’bird’s tongues.”
Molly giggled. “My, how poetic. Probably not quite that ritzy, Jim. But close. Very close.”
Of the three meals served to their guests at the Goddard residence, Emma had made her opinion known to her companion, in no uncertain terms. Heavy and fattening and fried; was food in this outlandish country ever prepared in some other way besides frying? Given that experience, Molly held out no great hope for improvement here at the Condor.
She might have found occupation as a seer.
“Heavy and fattening and fried,” Emma replied, when James innocently asked what she thought of the fare.
Freshened by her nap and, with Rosa’s ready assistance, a change of clothing, Emma rejoined her betrothed and her maid in the dining room. This was, it must be admitted, a rather gloomy place, put together with dark wood and weighty furniture and too much red.
But all the windows to both terrace and patio were open to cool night air, pointed out Molly (and bugs, pointed out Emma); and the chandelier overhead held sweet-scented candles set alight, pointed out Molly (dripping wax from above, pointed out Emma); and the chosen design did add a sense of history, pointed out Molly (and blood, pointed out Emma).
“Well, anyway, it’s delightful to try something different, don’t you think?” Molly was nothing if not determined to put a brave face on it. “Please, tell me again what this is called, James?”
“An enchilada.”
“That’s it, an enchilada. Like a very thin pancake, and some sort of filling made of beef and vegetables, and this delicious sauce. You must compliment your cook for me, James. Or—never mind, I’ll do it myself, later on. Try this, Emma. Do take a taste.”
Emma had put aside her fork to dab a napkin across her chin. “Oh, for a nice chilled slice of melon,” she murmured, as dramatic as a stage play’s grande dame. “Or a dish of sweet lemon sorbet.”
Conversation stalled after that. Molly had temporarily given up fighting an uphill battle, and James sat silent and morose at the head of the table, steadily consuming whatever he had been served. Salad greens. Bread. Entrée. Ranch wine.
When the meal finally dragged to a close, Emma once again requested Rosa’s services “so that dear Molly can enjoy some freedom for a little while,” she said in a pathetic, poor-me tone.
James rose stiffly to wish his intended a quiet good night as she betook herself back to her suite of rooms.
Then he let out a great whoosh of breath. “Good God,” he exclaimed irritably to Molly, who was lingering over her dessert of caramel flan. “Does the woman do anything but sleep?”
“Uh. Well. She does seem to require more than the usual eight hours. Some people do, you know.”
“Huh.” Frustrated, exasperated, he unfastened his light blue frock coat to throw over a chair back, untied his brown cravat and tossed it aside, unfastened his silk brocade vest with a rip of the buttons.
Watching him with a gleam in her eyes, Molly finally asked, “Are you planning to go any farther with this?”
“What? Oh. No, ma’am, I reckon not.” He gave her a reluctant, sheepish grin. And just like that, her teasing words had managed to put out the flame and destroy the tinder. No powder keg explosion tonight. “I apologize for the display of my manners, Molly.”
“That’s all right, Jim. You can’t use what you haven’t got.”
“Huh. Have so got ’em…more’n you’ll ever realize, t’ put up with—oh, hell, never mind. No point draggin’ you into somethin’ beyond anybody’s control.” Half-dressed, but with a cooler head, he sank down at the table and poured more wine into his empty goblet.
Much as Molly would like to stay and commiserate, it was too late, and her heart as well as her head was hurting. “Go easy on that stuff, Jimmy. It may just be stronger than you are.”
Already on his way to some other less disruptive realm, he lifted his glass to her in salute. “Guess we’ll haveta find that out, won’t we?”
“You may. Thank you for a lovely afternoon and wonderful dinner, James.” She slid her skirts aside to rise, and he obediently climbed to his feet in response. “I think I’ll say good night now.”
“Don’ wanna stay and keep me comp’ny, huh? All right, then. I c’n send Rosa along t’ your room, if you need a lady’s maid.”
She allowed him the luxury of a sweet lopsided smile. “You forget, James. I am a lady’s maid.”
And swept grandly away.
V
The next morning, a duplicate of the prior, might aptly have been entitled “Waiting for Emma.” While others on the ranch had been up and about for many industrious hours, tending livestock, culling the garden, cleaning or cooking or laundering, Emma, unconscious of any need for labor, slumbered sweetly away.
Stirring at last, only after occasional repeated knocks at her bedroom door, she required that her bath be filled with fresh water and lavender salts, that a nice soft towel be supplied, that her ivory corset and crinoline and pink pin-striped low-cut gown be laid out.
“That should be simple enough even for James,” Emma commented, after a moment’s thought.
Molly, attending to her charge, wondered if it were calculated or unintentional wit being laced into that remark.
“And, please,” she directed charmingly, “could someone bring me a cup of coffee, and possibly a croissant to nibble on?”
By noon she was pressed, dressed, tressed, and ready for the day.
“Just in time,” Molly informed her, following behind her down the hall, “to greet your guests.”
“My guests? Oh, that’s right. Those Goddard ladies were plannin’ on comin’ out today, weren’t they, with the rest o’ my things?”
“Yes, and I believe I heard the sound of a wagon outside. They’ve evidently just arrived.”
On what might have been wheels instead of small slippered feet, Emma glided into the great parlor, where Rosa had rightfully settled the company.
“Good day t’ you all!” cried Emma, very much the lady of the manor as she handed out hugs and light kisses all around. “And thank you so much for payin’ us a visit.”
“No trouble, no trouble a’tall,” harrumphed William. “Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on in the city that my deputies can’t handle. ’Specially Matt.”
“Sadie and I decided it would be a good idea, having some male muscles along for this trip,” Frances confided with a smile. “So William accompanied us. My goodness, Emma, you do look lovely. H
ow you can manage that is beyond me, with this huge house to run and all this work to tend to.”
That teeth-gritting disease must be contagious, Molly decided after a minute of dealing with the effects. Right along with tongue-biting. Two symptoms of the same unavoidable casualty, caught in the environs of that phenomenon known as Emma Palmer.
“Would you take us around and let us see this beautiful place?” wondered Sarah.
“Why, o’ course, I’ll be delighted to. Molly—uh…would you just see to—uh…” A casual wave of the hand, passing her off into the domain of housekeeping staff.
Which, by rights, she was. No point getting her back up about the position. Especially since James had already spoken with her, early this morning, about making arrangements with the cook for lighter fare, and giving directions for whatever household duties must be performed. Sadly neglected for some time, according to James, as new owner, and with no one really in charge of anything.
“Well, then, while you ladies are so occupied,” rumbled William, “I reckon I’ll mosey on out and see what—ha. Speak of the devil, here comes the master himself.”
The front door had opened, and boot heels tapped evenly across the tile floor as James entered the room. “H’lo, Will, glad you could come on out t’day,” he greeted the older man with a handshake and his usual oblique smile. The smile that made Molly, seeing it, almost want to cry. “Ladies, welcome. About t’ take the grand tour, are you?”
“We are, Jim. This looks to be a wonderful house.” Sarah offered a friendly little wave as they set off.
“Well,” said Molly, with the effect of dusting off her palms. “I think I’ll go check on dinner preparations with Sinbad.”
As she turned away, William glanced at his host. “Sinbad?”
“The cook,” replied James, his smile broadening into a full-fledged grin. “Don’t ask. I’ve got Hiram and Lemuel startin’ to unload all the baggage, and then Ramón is standin’ by to take care of the hawses. Wanna walk on out with me, Will? Got a sweet little chestnut filly in the corral you might like t’ see.”
A Western Romance: James Yancey - Taking the High Road (Book 3) (Taking the High Road series) Page 5