“What does she want?” he asked, hoping the banker might know that, too.
Beekman chuckled. “Don’t try to pretend with me. The cat’s out of the bag, Tanner.” The banker leaned forward. “But how you managed to keep that secret is beyond me,” he said in a whisper loud enough to draw the interest of everyone in the bank.
That? That what? While Tanner wanted to demand that Beekman explain, he had the feeling that he wouldn’t want whatever it was told to the whole town. Noting the inquisitive looks he was getting from the other patrons, he uneasily ran a finger around his collar. “You said she’s at the hotel?”
“Yes. And if I were you, I wouldn’t keep a lady like that waiting,” Beekman boomed out.
A lady like that?
Fearing the banker would blurt out more, Tanner whirled and pushed through the gilt-lettered doors.
Cat’s out of the bag? Secret?
Tanner had the feeling he was in big trouble—even if he didn’t have any idea what it was. The only person that could tell him was at the hotel, and he didn’t even know her name.
Although he wasn’t a drinking man, he wistfully eyed the saloon down the street. But the nearer he got to the hotel, the more he decided that it might be better if he faced whoever it was cold sober. He had a feeling he might really need that drink later on.
Pausing on the sidewalk in front of the hotel he checked his reflection in the glass windows. Not exactly dressed for calling on a lady. With his patched britches, wild hair and heavy mackinaw, he looked like a scarecrow. Seeking to improve his appearance, he dipped his hands in the horse trough and slicked down his thick black hair.
He checked the window again, then snorted in disgust. He still looked like a scarecrow—with wet hair. Deciding there was no way he could make himself any more presentable, he opened the door and entered the hotel.
The lobby was empty. He picked up the brass bell on the counter and gave it a shake.
The ring brought the clerk to the front desk.
“Can I help you?” the small man asked, peering disapprovingly over his spectacles.
“Name’s Blaine, Tanner Blaine. I understand somebody is looking for me.”
The clerk smiled. “Yes, sir. She will certainly be happy to see you.” He reached under the counter and took out a ledger. “The banker vouched for you, so I put Miss Deveraux’s noon meal on your tab. I expect you’ll want to take care of that now.” He handed Tanner the bill.
Tanner stared at the paper, then shoved it back. “Two dollars? For one meal? I could feed my whole family for half that much.”
“Somebody owes me for Miss Deveraux’s lunch,” the clerk insisted, waving the ticket.
“Who is this female? And how come she expects me to pay for her eats?”
“Mr. Beekman assured me you’d take care of it.”
“Just because Beekman owns the bank don’t give him no call to be so free with my money. He’s got more than I do. Get him to pay for her meal.”
The clerk drew himself up like an outraged banty rooster. “But Miss Deveraux said—”
“I’ve never heard of this Miss Dever— whatever her name is, and I’m not paying her bills. You can tell her that next time you see her.”
“You tell her yourself.” The little man twisted away and called, “Miss Deveraux, would you come in here?”
“What is it, Mr. Perkins?” a soft feminine voice inquired.
Tanner whirled.
A curvaceous vision in blue glided through the doorway and walked toward him. She was little. Her crown of ebony curls would barely reach his shoulder. Young, too, he decided. But not any schoolroom miss. Her features were delicate: a small, slightly tilted nose, a bow-shaped mouth, and bone structure that told him she would be beautiful even in old age. Her skin was pale as fresh cream and just as smooth. Clearly a lady of refinement. Certainly nobody from around here. He couldn’t imagine what such a creature would want with him.
“It seems your feller’s finally got here,” the clerk announced.
Her feller?
He gave her a questioning look, but the gaze of her long-lashed violet eyes slid right past him.
She peered toward the hotel entrance. “Where is Mr. Blaine?” she asked, her voice soft and Southern.
“I’m Tanner Blaine.”
She jerked her head and stared at him. The color draining from her face, she shook her head. “That’s impossible. You can’t be.”
He scowled. “I am Tanner Blaine.”
“Oh, my,” she murmured. She studied him from head to foot and back again, apparently finding him sadly lacking. “Oh, my.”
Feeling more than a bit insulted, Tanner eyed her as intently in return. But unlike himself, she looked even better the second time than she did the first.
“Mr. Blaine refuses to pay your bill,” the hotel man announced.
“Why?” she asked, tilting her head to meet his eyes.
“Why should I?”
“Surely you aren’t refusing?” Her eyes widened. She swayed, as if about to swoon.
Tanner reached out an arm to support her. She smelled sweet, like summer flowers in a high mountain meadow. He drew her closer and took another whiff. She felt womanly warm and soft, reminding him he hadn’t been with a female in a long, long time. It might be worth two dollars at that. “If I’d known you looked like this, honey, I’d have gladly paid your bills,” he said, his voice low, husky.
She drew in a sharp breath, and moved out of his arms. Her eyes narrowed. “Then kindly do so, sir.”
He crossed his arms to keep from grabbing her again. “Give me one good reason why I should—other than your looks, that is.”
“Because it’s expected, as you well know.” She eyed him up and down. “Or should know, if you were any kind of gentleman.”
Expected? “I can understand a lady being down on her luck and needing a handout. What I can’t understand is how you happened to pick on me.”
“Handout indeed!” She whirled toward the clerk, who was straining to hear every word. “There has to be another Tanner Blaine. That must be the explanation.”
“I’m the only Tanner Blaine in these parts.”
“Then how can you pretend not to know who I am?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.
He frowned in confusion. “Lady, I’m not pretending. I don’t know you, and I don’t understand why you think I should.”
“You don’t understand?” She stomped her foot. “I don’t understand either. After all I’ve gone through to get here... leaving everything—everyone. I wouldn’t have believed you would desert me over one measly meal,” she said in a furious whisper.
“All right, I’ll pay for your damned dinner.” He whipped two silver dollars out of his pocket and slammed them down on the counter. “There. Now, Miss— whatever your name is, unless there is something else, I’ll be on my way.”
“Kathleen Deveraux,” she stated emphatically. She took hold of his sleeve. “And of course there’s something else. We might not have formally met, but we have corresponded.”
“Corresponded?” He was getting more confused by the minute. “Like in a letter?”
“Mr. Blaine, in case you have forgotten, you sent for me. I came all the way from Georgia to marry you.”
“You—you what?” Tanner recoiled as though she had hit him. He couldn’t have heard right. She couldn’t have said what he thought she said. “Married? You—and me?”
She nodded.
Married? Somebody had to be playing a joke. Beekman. He started to laugh, but the sound died in his throat. The look in her eyes told him she was dead serious.
Chapter 5
Looking furious enough to hit somebody, the man yanked the hat from his head and crushed it between his hands. “Lady, I think we ought to have a talk.”
Kathleen swallowed and took a step backward. Tanner Blaine, or whoever he was, for she certainly had her doubts, was the biggest man she had ever seen. And although handsome
in a wild, rugged sort of way, he was also most disreputable in appearance. His faded pants bore patches, and his coat showed frayed strands of cloth along the edges of the sleeves.
His hair, black as the devil’s heart, hung straight to his shoulders, much too long to be fashionable. His eyes like cold, dark steel were narrowed. Above a square chin and shadowy growth of whiskers, his mouth appeared set and stubborn.
She shook her head. This had to be some sort of cruel prank. He couldn’t be her intended.
“If you’re through gawking, we need to have a talk.”
“A t-talk?”
He glared at the curious desk clerk, who blanched and found something to do at the other end of the counter.
“Somewhere private. Your room?” he suggested.
“No!” She could not—would not—allow the man in her room, even if she still had one, which she didn’t. Just the idea of being alone with him filled her with terror. “Somewhere... outside?” she said, quickly dispelling any notion he might have that she had anything of that sort in mind.
“Outside it is.”
She could have sworn he almost smiled, but decided she’d probably imagined it.
He strode ahead of her, not even allowing her to precede him through the hotel doorway, making it clear to her and anybody else that might be watching that Tanner Blaine made no claims on being a gentleman.
He took up a position smack in the middle of the wrought-iron and wood bench that sat a short distance from the hotel entrance. Extending his long legs out onto the boardwalk, with a calloused hand he patted the seat beside him. “I don’t bite.”
Not so certain, Kathleen spread her skirts and took a position as far away from him as she could manage. To hide her nervousness, she folded her hands in her lap. Good breeding had carried her through the Yankee occupation of Georgia. She had no doubt it would see her through a conversation with this backwoods lout.
“All right, Miss De— De—” He paused. “Hell, what was that again?”
“Deveraux. Kathleen Amanda Deveraux.”
His hand closed over and swallowed hers. “That’s quite a mouthful for a country boy. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll call you Kate—especially since we’re supposed to be betrothed and all.”
“Sir, I haven’t given you leave to call me anything.” She tugged her hand free. “And I haven’t been called Kate since I was a child.”
“Well, you don’t look all that old now.” He crossed his arms and gave her the once-over. “You look to be just about right—for the things I have in mind.”
Heat rose to flood her cheeks. “Mister Blaine...”
“Don’t be so stuffy, Kate. You can call me Tanner. That only seems fittin’, us being so close and all.” He grinned, flashing her a mouthful of white, even teeth.
She didn’t find his expression comforting. She felt like a bird about to be eaten by a very large cat. “You don’t seem to be taking this seriously.”
His grin grew even broader. “Should I? Do you?”
“I wouldn’t have come all this way if I hadn’t.”
The smile left his face. “Yeah. That’s right. You mentioned something about a letter, and Georgia.”
“The letter. Of course.” She rummaged in her reticule. “Here it is.” She carefully took out an envelope, unfolded it and held it toward him. “You can see it has your name on it.”
Tanner scanned the newspaper clipping. He smoothed the letter and read it, too. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m not going to marry you,” he declared.
“What?” Confused, she stared at him.
“I didn’t send for you, and I’m not going to marry you.”
“What?”
“Are you deef, or just plain stupid?”
“Sir, I’m neither ‘deef,’ as you so quaintly put it, nor stupid. And I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth. I’m certain there must be some kind of mistake. The Tanner Blaine who sent for me certainly could have no connection with you.” She pointed to the advertisement.
“Handsome, prosperous lumberman?” He stared from the letter to her and back again. “There is no other Tanner Blaine. This thing has got my name on it, but I sure as hell didn’t write it.”
“If you didn’t write it, sir, then who did?”
His eyes narrowed, he studied the writing again for several long seconds, then his eyes widened and he let out a growl. “Holy hell!” He crushed the papers in his fist. “Damn them! Damn them one and all!”
Kathleen sucked in a breath. “Mr. Blaine, must you curse?”
“I know who did this,” he said, biting out each word.
“Who?”
“My lame-brained brothers. They were the ones who sent for you, not me. And if any one of them were old enough, I’d see to it that you got the bridegroom you expected. But the oldest featherhead is only sixteen, and that, I’m afraid, is far too young even for you.”
“Even for me? How dare you, sir!” Kathleen jumped to her feet before she would lose the rest of her aplomb and physically attack the man. Even the Yankees had not insulted her so. “Even if you didn’t write the advertisement, it is your responsibility just the same. Luring a poor woman thousands of miles. Why, you deserve to be shot!”
“I didn’t lure you anywhere,” he declared, eyeing her clenched fist. “But you’re right, it is my responsibility.”
“And as for marrying you, Mr. Blaine, or any of your kinfolk, I’d sooner be committed to an asylum.” She gave him her most scathing look. “Although, sooner or later, I’d probably be sharing the establishment with you. I’d wager most of your kin are already there.”
His face turned red then purple as if he were about to strangle in a fit of apoplexy, then a laugh burst from his throat and exploded into a hearty guffaw.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me!”
“It’s better than all that catawallerin’ you’re doing.”
He took her hand and pulled her back beside him on the bench. Then he lifted a calloused finger and gently wiped away her tears. “All right, Miss Kate Deveraux, it seems we’re both the victims of a misguided matchmaking attempt. Since you’re already here, there’s not much I can do about that part of it. The question is, what do we do now?”
* * *
The sun was sinking on the horizon when Tanner picked up the mule and headed home. His hands clenched on the reins, imagining them to be his brothers’ necks. Of all the tomfool things they’d ever done, this was the absolute limit. He wondered when they had intended to tell him. A mail-order bride was hardly something you could keep a secret. Especially from the would-be groom.
If they were old enough I’d make one of them marry her. But they weren’t old enough. And this latest escapade only reinforced his notion of how young and irresponsible the boys really were.
Handsome prosperous lumberman...
What imaginations. Luke must have dreamed that one up.
Prosperous?
Thanks to them, he didn’t even have a penny to jingle in his pocket. After paying for her meal and the mule’s shoeing, the little he’d had left he’d given to Miss Deveraux. He figured she had more need of it than he did. He was grateful he found her when he did, otherwise he might have had to sell his horse to pay for her room.
He had settled Kathleen Deveraux at Madame Jeanne deRoboam’s boardinghouse and made arrangements for her room and board on credit—with interest, of course, for even though Madame Jeanne was a friend, she was also a shrewd businesswoman.
Her boardinghouse, called the Franco-American, was probably nothing like Kate was used to, especially since it catered to all kinds of people—miners, loggers, drummers. Even the local soiled doves rented rooms on a permanent basis. Not exactly the kind of place to take a lady, but until he sold the timber and had the money to send her home, it was the best he could do.
He thought about the advertisement again.
Handsome?
He ran a palm over his unshaven cheek
and pushed back a strand of long, shaggy hair. He’d needed a haircut months ago, but somehow never found the time. He’d seen tramps that looked better. No woman in her right mind would be willing to marry anybody as wild and unkempt as he was. Unless she was blind, she’d take one look and run the other way.
But Kate Deveraux wasn’t blind.
She had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen, like violets along a mossy creek bottom.
And she hadn’t run.
He frowned. In fact she seemed to warm up to him real good. Was she still hoping he’d marry her?
Pondering that question, he kicked the horse into a faster pace. But the memory of how good she felt in his arms pursued him.
“I’m not getting married. And that’s that!”
The sound echoed off the canyon, mocking him most of the way home.
* * *
“Boy, Tanner. It s-sure took you a long t-time,” John said.
“Too long to just shoe a mule,” Matt amended, hurrying to put the biscuits into the oven. “Did you have any trouble?”
“Depends on what you call trouble.” Tanner dumped the sack of flour on the counter and hung up his coat. Then he stood there, arms crossed. He stared from one of them to the other, then back again.
Mark glanced at Matt, who had blanched white as the flour he was wiping up from the tabletop.
“Think I’ll fill that wood box.” Luke bolted for the door.
Tanner stopped him in his tracks. “Nobody’s going anywhere.” He removed the newspaper clipping and the letter from his pocket and placed them on the table. “They say confession is good for the soul,” he said, his tone deceptively soft. “Anybody want to save their soul—or at least some of their hide?”
“She’s here?” Matt whispered.
“Who’s here?” Tanner asked.
“Tanner, I think you already know, but you’d better sit down anyway,” Mark said.
Tanner pointed toward the table. “You sit.”
The boys slid into their seats, each of them pale as death. “All right, who wants to start?”
Matt snuck a look at him, then ducked his head and concentrated on the floor. “We sent for a wife for you.”
Courting Kate Page 5