“No indeed.” Randolph said. “We know how to put up a building here.”
“What we need from you is just what you said.” The shopkeeper ticked the list off on her fingers. “Decor, design, details.”
The sheriff chuckled. “We didn’t figure you could tell us how to build the damn thing.”
Relief flooded through her. “I simply thought with all this…” Ophelia swept her hand toward the papers and plans littering the table and shrugged. “Well, I must say I am relieved.”
“And rather, what we need from you now, ma’am, is this here part.” A big, hulking, sweaty man she believed was the town’s blacksmith selected a large paper from the debris on the table and spread it before her. A rudimentary sketch of what the building would allegedly look like was drawn in pencil. He traced a line with his finger. “We ain’t sure if this is…”
Was this all they wanted? Ophelia listened to the blacksmith’s questions with a surging sense of excitement. She’d been just plain silly to think they wanted her to tell them how to build anything. They simply wanted her to make certain their opera house was as civilized and respectable as it could be. This might even be fun.
Helping with this project was, after all, the least she could do for the town. Or rather, for the ladies of the town. Ophelia realized she couldn’t possibly get Big Jack’s money out of the bank until after the ceremony. And if she hung around until then, she’d surely be exposed and wouldn’t be allowed to claim the money anyway. But the ladies of Dead End offered her salvation.
She’d played with them yesterday and the day before, and both times had left considerably richer than she’d started. They wagered shocking sums on every hand, almost as if their money had no real worth. Ophelia had seen such disregard for money before, among the very rich, the very bored or the very good. And there was no doubt about it, the publicly proper, apparently upright, staunchly moral ladies of Dead End were sharps.
Plainly and simply, every single one of them was a better player than most men she’d met. She could put just about any of them in any saloon from here to St. Louis and they’d break the house. Playing with these women was more than enjoyable, it was something of a challenge. They were good, but thankfully, Ophelia was better.
The blacksmith smiled and nodded his approval, then strode off shouting orders right and left. Ophelia glanced up and down the street. The opera house was under construction at the north end of Main Street, and from here Ophelia could see clear down to the train station that bordered the town on the south.
It wasn’t a bad little town. In fact, it was almost charming in a rustic sort of way. The buildings had all been recently painted, no doubt part of the effort to achieve respectability. The streets were fairly clean. Even the horses tied up here and there along the rails were relatively well behaved.
Beyond the flurry of the construction area, there was still quite a bit of activity in town. Some centered on the saloon, but most seemed to be the typical ebb and flow of life in a small but vital community. A community to be proud of with nice people who worked together. Exactly the type of town she wanted for Jenny and herself. A pang of regret twinged through her, and she pushed it firmly aside.
This would never be their home. No matter how nice the people, or how respectable the opera house or how handsome the mayor.
“Countess.” The banker’s wife, Henrietta, hurried toward her with a sheaf of papers in her hand and a query in her eye. “Countess, we were wondering if the…”
Ophelia gratefully turned her attention to the myriad of questions Henrietta threw at her. Anything to get her mind off the one subject her thoughts were always on these days. Damn, where was the man anyway? She still hadn’t seen Tye since the day she shot him, and she did hope he wouldn’t hold that minor accident against her.
No, he had sent her that charming piece of glass, after all. But time was fleeting. She only had three weeks before she had to get out of Dead End. Three weeks to win as much as she could from the Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society. And three weeks in which to seduce Tyler Matthews.
The very thought sent delicious shivers of fear and anticipation up her spine. Now that she’d made her decision, she really did want to get on with it. Of all the things she planned to accomplish in the time she had left here, seducing Tye would probably be the easiest. There was no question the man wanted her. No doubt the tiniest hint of her willingness to submit would be enough to attract him to her bed. Any man who sent baubles to a woman who’d shot him was obviously deep in the throes of mindless lust. And wasn’t lust what this was all about? On both sides?
An odd thought picked at the back of her mind, and the more she tried to ignore it, the more it nagged and badgered and refused to go away. Ophelia believed she knew a great deal about lust simply from backstage observation, and she freely admitted she knew nothing at all about love and had probably never seen that emotion displayed. But there was one tiny aspect of Tye’s behavior that didn’t quite seem to fit under the heading of lust. Not that it could possibly be love, of course. Love was a far cry from lust. No, it was probably a gesture of insignificant affection. That was it. Tye might very well like her.
The man had kissed her on the tip of her nose.
He definitely liked her. A kiss on the tip of the nose was something one bestowed on a beloved sister or a dear child or a close friend. It was completely innocent, with no meaning to it whatsoever, and easily explained away. Still…
Why had he called her “my love”?
There she was. His lovely liar. His beautiful thief. His future. Ophelia stood in the midst of a crowd of people waving her arms in gestures of drama and grace, obviously telling them how to build this new folly. Lord, she looked like a genuine countess in that group. Who was she really? He’d find out eventually. Wives didn’t keep secrets from husbands and women didn’t keep secrets from lovers. He grinned and strode toward her. Ophelia would soon be both. He’d make an honest women out of her, in more ways than one.
The crowd scampered off to do her bidding, and he stepped up beside her. “Morning, Countess. How’s your opera house today?”
Warmth flashed in her eyes as if she was glad to see him. “Very well, I think. I can’t believe how fast it’s going up. Of course, we’ve got everyone in town working on it.” She narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. “Everyone but the mayor, that is. Wherever have you been for the last two days?”
He’d meant to be here yesterday for the start of this nonsense, but mooning over Ophelia with a book in hand and nursing his shoulder had put him off schedule. “Here and there. Trying to catch up on work at the ranch. But it hasn’t been easy.”
“Oh? Why not?”
He rubbed his shoulder and grimaced. “I’m still not quite healed. You know, it’s not easy to recover from a bullet wound.”
“Mr. Matthews. Tye.” She favored him with a tolerant smile. “I am truly sorry. But it really wasn’t much of a wound. And it was an accident. I didn’t mean to shoot you.”
“I realize that.” He released a long-suffering sigh. “If you’d meant to shoot me, you probably would have killed me.”
“That goes without saying.” Confidence and conviction rang in her voice. Was she really a good shot? What else was she good at? And what else didn’t he know about the fair Ophelia?
She grinned and turned, casting an assessing gaze over the construction site. “The shell will be up in a day or two, and I should think the whole thing will be completed by the end of next week.”
The building was progressing with astonishing speed. Grudging respect for the people of the town, his town, seeped through him. He’d obviously been away far too long. How could he forget what they could do when they put their collective minds to it? Maybe he hadn’t given them enough credit. Maybe their goal of civilization wasn’t so ridiculous after all. And maybe, just maybe, Dead End was a community with a real future. Or rather, Empire City was. “It looks like it’ll be done in p
lenty of time for the big celebration,” he said.
“Indeed.” She nodded, and an awkward silence fell between them. It was ridiculous, of course. He had a great deal to say to her. Odd that he wasn’t quite sure where to start.
“Tye.”
“Ophelia.”
They stared, then laughed in that uncomfortable manner that marked two people struggling to choose their words with care. He drew a steadying breath and tried again.
“I would consider it—”
“I was wondering if—”
Once more silence settled between them. Hell. What was wrong with him? He’d never had a problem talking to a woman, any woman, before. Of course, he’d never planned to marry one before either.
“I was just going to say”—she straightened her shoulders, as if gathering courage, and smiled—“how much I’ve missed you.”
“You have?”
“I certainly have.” She seemed distinctly encouraged. What was she up to now? “I was wondering, hoping actually that we could spend some time together.”
“You want to spend time with me?” He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. There was no doubt about it. She was definitely up to something.
“Um-hum. I think it’s important.” Her eyes widened with a candor that was at once difficult to believe and impossible to dispute. Had he ever seen eyes so green before? “I very much fear you have some reservations about my dealings with your uncle,” she added.
“I have a number of concerns.” Her eyes were so deep and intense they were endless and inviting, calling to something buried inside him, capturing his soul.
“And I believe you also have questions about whether I am who I say I am.” Her voice was breathless, a shade huskier than he’d remembered, with that accent that tensed his stomach and curled his toes.
“Well…yes.” Why was his mouth so dry?
“It’s been quite obvious. I’d very much like to answer those questions and alleviate those concerns.” Lord, he could listen to that accent, so sweet, so sultry, forever. She reached out and trailed her finger along the line of his jaw. “I’d hate for you to distrust me,” she murmured.
“Would you?” He swallowed an odd lump caught in his throat. What was she doing to him?
“I would.” The words were little more than a seductive sigh.
“Perhaps I should spend more time at Jack and Lorelie’s?”
“Perhaps you should.” Her voice was ripe with an unspoken promise.
“Well…I suppose…” He couldn’t seem to get his words out or his mind straight. He couldn’t seem to get anything past the thought of those lush lips pressed against his, that lovely body crushed beneath him, that captivating accent murmuring words of passion and surrender and love in his ear. “I mean…I guess…” He laughed self-consciously. He really had to pull himself together. He took a long breath. “I should go help. Shouldn’t I? With the building?”
“By all means.” How could he tear himself away? All he wanted was to take her right here, right now, right in the middle of Main Street. “Perhaps I’ll see you this evening?” she said.
“Sure.” He nodded, turned and took a few steps. Oh, what the hell. Without a second thought, he swiveled back to her side, pulled her into his arms and planted his lips firmly on hers in a kiss of urgency and desire and warning.
Her body stiffened with surprise, then relaxed, and her arms wrapped around his neck, her response eager and without reservation.
Abruptly he pulled back and grinned. “I’m going to go build your opera house now.”
“Wonderful.” A blush shaded her cheeks, and bemusement tinted the emerald of her eyes.
This time when he turned away he couldn’t keep the satisfied grin from his face. Damn, this was going well. And lust, for a woman, just might be the first step to love. Of course she’d made it easy for him.
His step faltered. Too easy. Obviously, this was a woman skilled in the art of enticing men. She did it extremely well. He didn’t quite believe that widow nonsense, but he was certain she was an experienced woman. He drew his brows together in a troubled frown. Just how experienced was she? He didn’t like the question or the possibilities.
Did it really matter?
No, of course not. Ophelia was the woman he loved regardless of how many men had come before him. After all, it wasn’t as if she was the first woman to have fallen. And he himself was scarcely virginal, although he had rather expected that quality in a wife.
No, he could be noble about this. He could forgive her transgressions.
It was just one more thing about her he’d have to reform.
Throughout the long morning, she tried not to stare at him. But it seemed everywhere Ophelia’s gaze fell, there was Tye. He’d catch her eye and smile, a secret, private smile that fluttered her stomach.
Well, this was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Confidential glances and mysterious smiles? She’d brought it on herself, of course, and quite well too. Whoever would have thought flirting would require that much effort? The actresses and other women she’d watched in her youth had always made it seem so easy and natural. Perhaps it was for women with experience. She shrugged to herself. She would never know.
Tye was the only man who would ever share her bed. She knew it with a certainty that shocked her in its steadfastness and strengthened her resolve. It was obviously fate that drew her to this one man in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Odd how strangely life worked. Ever since her father had died she’d wanted to come to Wyoming, not for her sake but for Jenny’s. Ophelia suspected Jenny’s true parents lived in the territory somewhere, but she’d never managed to get here before now. And here and now there was Tye.
She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from his strong, tall figure. His shirt was open nearly to the waist, and she caught glimpses of hard, bronzed chest. The fabric strained across his back in a caress of broad muscle and taut strength. The hot Wyoming sun gilded his hair into a golden halo. He worked on the open framework of the building, looking for all the world like the master of everything he surveyed, like a king or a god. He was magnificent, and if her determination to have him was wrong in the scheme of her life or her future, well, it was, very likely, worth it.
“‘Think you there was or might be such a man as this I dreamt of,’” she said under her breath.
“Pardon me, my dear?”
“Anthony and Cleopatra.” Her manner was absent, her thoughts intent on the golden figure in the sun.
“He is a handsome man, isn’t he?”
“Um-hum.”
“He’ll make someone an excellent husband.” The words and the voice finally penetrated Ophelia’s thoughts and snapped her attention from Tye to the woman beside her.
“No doubt he will.” Ophelia paused for a moment. “Just out of idle curiosity, mind you, Lorelie, tell me, why isn’t Tye married?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Lorelie heaved a sigh of forbearance. “I’ve wondered that myself on occasion. Lord knows, he’s had plenty of opportunity. Women have always thrown themselves at Tyler.”
“My goodness.” Ophelia struggled to hide her sarcasm. “What a surprise.”
“Do you think so?” Lorelie raised a curious brow. “I don’t. Tyler’s just the type of man I would have found attractive in my younger days. Why, just look at him.” She nodded toward her nephew, and Ophelia’s gaze followed hers. “He’s tall and nicely shaped, quite dashing really, with all that blond hair and those brown eyes, dark as—”
“Chocolate,” Ophelia murmured.
“Chocolate! What a delightful comparison.”
“I love chocolate.”
“Most of us do, dear. It’s no wonder he’s usually had his pick of women.” Lorelie leaned toward her in a confidential manner. “He’s always been something of a rogue when it comes to the fairer sex.”
“But he never found someone to marry?”
“Not yet, but I’m certain he will someday. He just needs to find the right
woman.”
“What kind of woman do you think would be right for him?” Ophelia said with a casual air.
“Idle curiosity again?” Innocence rang in Lorelie’s voice, and Ophelia slanted her a quick glance. The older woman still studied her nephew.
Ophelia shrugged. “Just wondering.”
“I suspect if you asked Tyler, you’d get a completely different answer, but I think, and Jack agrees with me, my nephew needs a woman who’s as intelligent as he is.” Lorelie shook her head in resignation. “But you know how men are. They are more than likely to prefer a pretty face and a fair figure to attributes that are more lasting. And then there are those moral qualities men seem to insist on in women—well, women they marry, at any rate—that they don’t feel at all compelled to abide by themselves.”
“Moral qualities?” A weight settled in the pit of her stomach.
“Yes, indeed. Let me see.” A thoughtful frown creased Lorelie’s forehead and she counted the items on her fingers. “There’s loyalty. Men do seem to insist on that in their horses and their dogs and their wives. There’s fidelity. A man can sow his wild oats when and where he pleases, but women are expected to confine their amorous activities to just one man. Not that I mind, not at all, but it does seem dreadfully unfair that what’s good for the gander isn’t allowed for the goose. And there’s honesty.”
“Honesty?” The weight grew heavier.
“Men are a real stickler for honesty.” Lorelie paused. “Although there are ways to skirt the issue.”
“What kind of ways?”
“First and foremost, never volunteer information. Take the Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society, for example. There would be, well, quite frankly, hell to pay if Jack or any other man in this town knew we were playing poker. And my gracious, if they had any idea of the stakes”—Lorelie clucked her tongue—“I wouldn’t even want to imagine how the scandal would rock this community. There would be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.” A wicked twinkle sparked in her eye. “And the women would get upset too.”
The Emperor's New Clothes Page 19