Clarkson didn't know whether to laugh or cry at his predicament. What was that saying? "Be careful what you wish for." He'd been duped by a higher power. Well, he’d wished for her and now he had her, what in the world was he going to do with her? He didn't suppose having Kimberly bound and gagged then thrown into a cellar was an option.
Chapter 10
Joy, like the tapping of clog dancers, played on Missy’s heart. Her smile could not have been any wider. The moment she set eyes on Clarkson, the others paled into insignificance. They’d faded out of existence as she approached him, positive in the knowledge the love she felt for him was on display for all who had a interest to see. She didn't want to hide her happiness at seeing Clarkson again, she was home. His image would never be enough, not now not ever.
Her only problem was to get him to see her the way she saw him.
Missy hoped it wasn't her imagination. When Clarkson had greeted her, his eyes had lit up like fireworks, he had held her a little closer than was proper and when he kissed her cheeks she felt sure he'd inhaled and his arms had tightened around her, he seemed to linger. That is until Cal had taken her from him and gave her a hug, too, as did his mother. She was then introduced to Cal's wife Rilla and her friend Jewel. Two of the most beautiful women Missy had ever seen.
Their attention did not dally on her. She followed everyone's gaze to the carriage as Cal and Clarkson attempted to free Kimberly from the carriage. A glance passed between the other women. Missy felt sure if she were not there they would have commented at the spectacle. Oh why had she not been more conscious of what Kimberly had been up to?
How could she have missed so much frill and lace on the skirt of the dress Kimberly wore? It was impossible to hide. The last thing Missy had wanted was for Kimberly's behavior to cause Clarkson embarrassment. He relied on her the same as always to keep Kimberly out of mischief. She'd failed him.
Here she stood with the other onlookers, watching as the brothers struggled and fought to free Kimberly from the confinement of the carriage caused by that ridiculous dress she'd decided to wear and complain about the entire journey.
Missy rolled her eyes. She'd help but the men seemed to have it all in hand. She almost died when Kimberly came flying out of the carriage as if fired from a large cannon and would have met her maker had Cal not been between her and certain demise.
However, Kimberly had seemed unperturbed by the incident and didn't even pause for breath as she was passed from one brother to the next. Clarkson did not look pleased and Missy blamed herself for the crestfallen expression that wrinkled his eyes and brow. Kimberly, on the other hand, appeared unaffected by the ordeal she'd put everyone through.
Her evening gown bounced, sweeping the dusty road as she floated toward them, a ready smile for Mrs. Dalton on her lips. "Oh, how wonderful of you to meet me, Mrs. Dalton. It has been too long."
"Kimberly, my dear. How are your parents?"
"Very well, thank you for asking. Both Mama and Papa send their regards and apologize for being unable to accompany me. But as you can see, I still have Missy."
"Yes, I had noticed. Please don't let me monopolize you. I’m sure Clarkson is waiting to introduce you to everyone." Mrs. Dalton had placed Kimberly’s hand in Clarkson's.
Instinct proceeded as Kimberly went down the line with a smile painted to her lips, as she curtsied, offered words of salutation to Rilla and Jewel, thanking them both for coming out to greet her, even though she could see they were both heavily pregnant. Jewel did not hide her displeasure and was swift to assure Kimberly being with child did not hinder one from performing basic tasks, such as meeting and greeting new family members, as she felt very much a part of Rilla’s family.
In typical Kimberly fashion, she didn't acknowledge Jewel's rebuff but went on to tell everyone how horrendous the journey from Europe to the Americas had been.
As Kimberly went on and on about the heat, the dust, the wilderness and what did one do for fun in this no-man's land. Missy took the time to feast her eyes on everything Clarkson from the top his head to the tip of his boot. His clothes were figure hugging.
His jacket hung long and his shirt stretched across his broad chest giving the illusion that the smallest of motions would send the buttons flying as his muscle ripped through tearing at the material. His straight legged pants gripped his thighs lovingly.
No matter which one of the Dalton boys you were watching, they all had the same lazy swagger in their walk, as if rushing might cause them an injury. It was the kind of walk that would catch the attention of any hot blooded female who happened by.
Her gaze followed him as he made his return toward them after speaking with Cal a little distance away. Their eyes met, and he’d given her a weary smile, as he ran his fingers through his hair and replaced the hat he'd been holding. But he didn't come back completely. He stood a few feet away.
Missy watched his beautiful expressive face display the anguish he must be feeling, as he leaned against the pole, his hands in his pocket, before folding them across his chest.
The eyes, which only moments ago shone bright when he greeted her, lost some of their sparkle, which was replaced with deep rooted sadness. This was her doing. She should have tried harder to keep Kimberly under control.
Kimberly always had this effect on him and for years Missy had asked herself why Clarkson continued his pursuit of her. Was he trying to make sure he didn't have to live up to the promise he made to Missy all those years ago? Even if he had forgotten the words he told her, Missy hadn't. All Missy had to do was bide her time, she was invested in him. Clarkson would be hers, but not at the cost of his happiness.
If he wanted Kimberly, Missy would wait until he came to his senses. There was no way he could be blind to her faults, warts and all, forever. In a place like Longchapel, or even the ranch, it wouldn't be long before Kimberly revealed her true nature.
In the past, Clarkson had been subjected to her tantrums in small manageable doses. Living on the ranch day in and day out, he would see a side to her that would have him running for the hills. When that day came, Missy would be ready.
Unable to bear the sight of Clarkson battling his demons alone, as he stood with his hat now lowered over his eyes, Missy excused herself and went to his side.
"So, how are you doing?"
"I've been better," Clarkson said. It was hard to tell if his eyes were opened or closed, from their heavy lids and the brim of his hat.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
Missy didn't answer. Her gaze went to Kimberly and then back to him. Clarkson chuckled. "Oh, that. It's not your fault. I know you both well enough to know you had no part in that getup. Kimberly is her own woman. I’m sure you made your feelings known when you saw what she was wearing."
Missy couldn't help smiling. He'd laughed, although it wasn't a jovial sound, more of dry throaty noise, but it did hold a touch of humor in its tone and his face had relaxed a little. "So Missy, tell me about you. How have you been?"
"Still in service to the Montgomery princess, as you can see." She glanced over her shoulder at Kimberly and her captive audience. He grinned.
"You never wrote to me...not once," he said pushing his hat back, so he could look at her through squinting eyes.
"You never asked me to. Besides, you’re engaged to Kimberly."
"That I am. Although I hadn't considered it would stop us being friends."
"It stopped a lot of things. It wouldn't have been proper for me to be corresponding with the fiancé of my employer."
"I guess."
"So, I hear you've traded cotton for beef."
"You heard right."
"Do you know anything about being a rancher?"
"What I know about ranching would fit on a stamp." He laughed, this time the sound was lyrical, his face relaxed. Blood coursed through Missy's veins and her cheeks warmed as he stared into her eyes. His gaze moving to her lips as she moistened them and lingered. "What's that sc
ent you're wearing?"
"Violet and lavender water. Why do you ask?"
"It reminds me of something. Does Kimberly use the same scent?"
"Sometimes, we both have a bottle." So she'd been right when he held her he had sniffed her hair. Missy had no doubt he'd done the same to Kimberly, who favored the smell of honeysuckle.
He'd connected the scent to the letters she’d sent him. How could she have been so careless?
Chapter 11
Stepping away from the pole, Clarkson smiled and took Missy's hand. "Tell you what, how about I treat you ladies to lunch at the hotel restaurant. Cal will find us when he gets back with the extra carriage for Kimberly's dress," Clarkson said, his smile widened as he raised the hand he held and slipped it through his arm. Clarkson took off his hat and knocked their heads together. They laughed and walked over to the small group arm in arm. "Ma, I've decided to treat you fine ladies to lunch at the restaurant."
"What about Calvin?" his mother asked.
"What about him? He's a Pinkerton man. I'm sure it will take him no more than a few second to work out where we've gone. Are you ladies ready for some fine dining, on me?" Clarkson held his other arm out for his mother. Kimberly strolled over and removed Missy’s hand, to slide her own in the groove of Clarkson’s arm.
He gave Missy an apologetic glance, she smiled, and he got that pull in his gut again. Maybe he was hungry. The warmth in his left arm seemed to have cooled a little since Kimberly took Missy’s place.
What was he thinking? His arm, his whole being belonged to Kimberly now. They were to be married. He was happy to see both Jewel and Rilla had linked arms with Missy as they followed behind. The three of them looked like old friends on a day out. Missy was a much better fit for his sister-in-law and her friend. As opposed to whom?
Clarkson shook his head. What was going on with him? He’d never compared Missy to Kimberly before. Missy was his friend, regardless of the promise they had made to one another. They had been young and foolish, and it meant nothing.
If it meant so little, why was he thinking about it now?
At the restaurant, they were shown to a large table, which they all stood staring at. As with the carriage, Kimberly's dress continued to be a problem for Clarkson to solve. He hadn't considered that awful dress when he'd suggested they eat out. Clarkson glanced around the restaurant, determined not to be defeated by such a small problem in the grand scheme of things.
The solution was curved halfway around a large column with a bouquet nesting in a vase on top of it. He told the others to take a seat and for Kimberly to wait his return. Then he strode over to the column and lifted the vase and looked around him for somewhere to put it.
The manager of the hotel approached Clarkson and tapped him on the shoulder. "Can I be of assistance, Mr. Dalton?"
Clarkson stared at him for a moment, wondering how the man knew his name. Then it dawned on him. The manager must be mistaking him for Calvin. "Yes, you can. Hold this." Clarkson deposited the vase into the manager’s hands, picked up the three legged half-moon table and brought it over to where Kimberly stood. "This ought to do it," he said. He put the table down, got a chair for Kimberly, then retrieved the table and rested it on top of the pile of material, the weight of the wood flattened the fabric as the table wrapped round her. "There, now we can eat."
The manager, still holding the vase, slid up to Clarkson. "Really, Mr. Dalton, this is most improper," he whispered.
Clarkson rounded on him, using the same volume, he said. "I think the fact you think you can approach me in this manner is what's improper. As you can see, I'm in the presence of ladies and therefore will restrain from making a scene, but I urge you not to try my patience. We'd like to order."
The veins in the manager’s neck and forehead popped out, pulsating and blue in contrast to the red tinge to what was only moments ago a fairly healthy looking complexion.
Clarkson glanced over at Kimberly, who seemed oblivious to the upheaval her dress caused. Either that or she just didn't care. She looked poised and contented sitting at her round table fluffing out her dress making it seem even bigger, as if the size of it hadn't caused enough trouble.
In his vexation, Clarkson was almost tempted to reach under there and rip a dozen or more of those frills right off the garment. Instead, he turned his aggression and frustration on the red faced man in front of him. Without saying another word, Clarkson made a slight adjustment to his jacket. The manager's eyes followed the movement to the butt of Clarkson's gun, as Clarkson’s thumb stroked the handle. He obviously understood Clarkson’s meaning as his eyes widened and he began to stutter.
"I'll...I'll be reporting this to the sheriff. I don't care who you work for Mr. Dalton." His voice low enough for Clarkson’s ears only. Clarkson felt his jaw tighten as he curled and uncurled his fingers. He glanced over at his mother, who sat smiling and chatting with the other women, all peacefully unaware of what was transpiring between the two men. To an onlooker, they looked like two men in conversation.
Clarkson sighed and clenched his fingers. "I don't work for anyone, so go right ahead. However, I'm not sure my brother would take kindly to being accused of something he hadn't done. So run along and send someone to take our order."
The manager didn't move but continued to glare at Clarkson. Clarkson leaned in closer to the manager's ear. "You see that beautiful woman over there. That's my mother and you can thank her for the reason you're still standing. So if you continue to disappoint her, I'll be calling on you again at a later time, when she will not be around to save you. Like I said, we're hungry."
The manager stepped away, his eyes screamed defiance but his mouth spoke otherwise. "I'm only letting this go for the sake of the ladies. I'll send someone over." He walked over to the larger table. "I apologize for the confusion ladies. Someone will be along shortly to take your orders. If you will excuse me, I need to find somewhere to put this." He held up the vase while glaring at Clarkson, then stomped off.
The sound that left Clarkson’s lips had bought all eyes on him, even Cal’s who'd been staring after the disgruntled manager, who'd pushed past him slamming into his shoulder, saying "I can't stand either one of you."
Confused, Cal came to a halt by Clarkson’s side. "What did you do to him?"
"Nothing, he's just disappointed I wasn't you. I think he likes you."
"That's not the impression he gave me." Cal surveyed the room. "I see you found a table to fit the dress," he said, handing Clarkson his handkerchief to mop at the tears of laughter running down his cheeks. "So, are you planning to share the joke or not."
"Nope, I don't think you'll find it as amusing as me. Did you get me a carriage?" Clarkson asked, handing back the kerchief. Cal gestured for Clarkson to keep it and nodded.
"Yeah, and it's only big enough to fit one of your ladies."
Clarkson cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean it would normally seat four, but under the circumstances, I do believe Missy will have to ride shotgun."
"That's hardly fair."
"Well, I could always bring Missy back with us. I just figured you’d prefer a more stimulating companion to ride with than to listen to m'lady complaining all the way to the mansion.” Cal tipped his hat. “You're welcome. Have you ordered?"
"No, not yet."
"Good, because I could eat a horse." Cal walked over to his mother and wife and kissed both their cheeks before taking the seat beside Rilla. Kimberly was sitting at her own table, pushed up against the end of theirs. Clarkson didn't know why he did it, but he took the seat at the head of the large table, Missy on one side of him and his mother on the other, which left the chair between Jewel and Kimberly vacant.
Clarkson smiled when he saw Cal roll his eyes to something Kimberly was saying to him, then Cal glanced at the vacant seat in front of him, before turning to shoot a killer stare at his brother. It was all Clarkson could do to hold back the fit of hysterics, which threatened to burst ou
t of him from the look on Calvin’s face. Clarkson’s grin told Cal he was welcome, too.
Chapter 12
"Thank you." Missy felt shy as she gazed at Clarkson from under her eyelashes.
"For what?" Clarkson stared at her in confusion.
"For letting me ride with you. There is more than enough room for me to travel with Cal."
"I'm afraid I can't take credit for that. It was Cal's idea for you to ride with me."
"Oh, I’m sorry for being an inconvenience to you." Color rushed to Missy’s cheeks. She was such a fool to think he’d even think of her when he had Kimberly.
"You know I didn't mean it like that. I would have asked you. It's not my way to presume you'd want to ride up-top with me."
A twinge of happiness warmed her heart. "If you'd asked me, my answer would have been yes. I've been confined for too long. It feels good to have the wind on my face and away from Kimberly for a few minutes."
Clarkson gave her a sidelong glance. "You do know you don't have to stay once we're married—"
Missy smiled as she interrupted and neatened her skirt. "I know."
"You didn't let me finish. Although I hope you’ll stay. Is what I was going to end with."
"I know that, too." Their eyes locked. Clarkson’s gaze seemed to bore right through her.
"I guess you've always been a mind reader."
"Only yours. I've had years of practice."
Clarkson laughed. "Oh, really? What am I thinking now?"
"You're wishing you never made that promise to me."
"Huh? What would make you say that?" He slowed the horse and turned to get a better look at her.
"I saw the sadness in your eyes. You regret that I will be here for the wedding, and there is nothing you can do about it."
"I was thinking no such thing, although I can see why you’d think it. The promise I made you has nothing to do with what's going on in my mind."
Love Letters (Unbridled Book 3) Page 5