Theodosia swallowed further argument and reminded herself that in only a few days she would be parting company with the arrogant man and his insufferable obstinacy. “Very well, sir,” she said to Claff. “Do as the roinous Mr. Montana says.”
When Claff finished hitching the horse to the buckboard, Theodosia dipped her hand inside the bulging velvet pouch that swung from her elbow.
Sunlight dazzled off the fistful of gold coins she withdrew.
The blinding glitter nearly stopped Roman’s heartbeat. Never having seen so much money at one time, his mind reeled with disbelief even as his body tensed with apprehension.
Sliding his gaze to the right, he saw the three men. They continued to watch Theodosia and had no doubt seen her gold.
Damn.
He grabbed her hand and dragged her inside the stable. “Have you lost your mind, woman? What the hell are you doing, flashing all your gold around like that?”
“All my gold?” She attempted to pull her hand away from him but succeeded only in wrenching her arm. “Mr. Montana, the gold I carry in this bag is but pocket money. The rest is in my blue trunk.”
Roman swiveled in the hay and saw her blue trunk lying beside her other belongings. Surely it wasn’t filled with gold, he tried to convince himself. No one in their right mind would travel with such a fortune.
But then, Theodosia didn’t seem to possess the sort of mind normal people did.
“As for what I was doing with the gold I withdrew from my bag, Mr. Montana,” Theodosia continued, “I was merely trying to pay for the horse and wagon. In order to successfully accomplish the task, it was necessary for me to remove the money from my bag and hand it to—”
“You should have counted out the money where no one could see you do it!”
“And how, pray tell, might I have managed such a procedure when the price of the horse and wagon was unknown to me?”
“What?” He jammed his fingers through his hair. “For God’s sake, all you had to do was ask Claff! Any simpleton could figure that out! Use some common sense, if you have any. Look, you aren’t at some peaceful, elegant garden party, surrounded by your top-hatted, lily-white-handed gentlemen admirers. You’re in Texas, where a lot of men are leashed and led by pure greed. They can sniff out women like you the way sharks smell blood from miles away.”
“Mr. Mon—”
“Dr. Wallaby is paying me to escort you to Templeton, and I’m sure as hell going to get you there in one piece. If I don’t, I won’t get a measly cent of the money he’ll owe me for doing the job. When you get to Templeton, you can glue your gold to your face for every thief in the world to see, for all I care. But for now, give me that damned bag before someone slits your pretty little throat for it.” He yanked the pouch off her arm.
“Mr. Montana! You—” She broke off; through her mind drifted words of wisdom that had served her well in the past. “Aequam servare mentem,” she murmured. “Yes. Aequam servare mentem.”
Roman saw fire. Here he was doing his damnedest to see to her welfare, and she was spitting foreign curses at him!
He decided they were French profanities; they sounded a bit like the love words a French saloon girl had once whispered to him. “I might not speak fluent French, Miss Worth, but I know an insult when I hear one,” he spat smugly. Giving her his back, he took a few coins from the bag, stalked out of the barn, and handed the money to Claff. “Thirty dollars, Claff. The horse and rig aren’t worth more than twenty-five, but I’m giving you a tip for having put up with Miss Worth.”
Theodosia emerged from the stable as Roman began to load her belongings into the bed of the buck-board. Through the thin fabric of his beige shirt, she saw the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back. They bulged, then coiled, then stretched in rhythm, as if he worked to the sound of some graceful melody.
Only when he reached for her blue trunk did she lose her concentration. “Mr. Montana, that trunk is frightfully heavy. It took two men to deliver it from the train station. If you lift it alone, you might injure yourself.”
Her concern caused him to spin in the dirt and face her. An unfamiliar warmth settled over him, a gentle heat far more comforting than the sunshine.
Why should she care if he got hurt? he wondered. But maybe she really didn’t. He’d probably only imagined her worry. After all, he was nothing but an escort to her.
God, he must have downed more whiskey than he realized. It wasn’t like him to fantasize over a woman’s feelings.
“Perhaps your friend Mr. Claff will assist you,” Theodosia added.
Friend? Roman thought, glancing at Claff. Oh, Claff was a good man, but Roman had never considered him a friend.
Truth was, he’d never had a real friend; had never had the chance or time to make any.
“Mr. Montana, did you hear what I said?” Theodosia asked. “Mr. Claff could—”
The remainder of her suggestion faded into nothingness as she watched him lift the trunk from the ground. It might as well have been filled with feathers.
“Did you buy all the supplies I told you to?” Roman asked after setting the trunk in the buckboard.
Lifting her skirts, she walked to the wagon and climbed in. Never having taken to wearing the multitude of underwear most women wore, she had little trouble adjusting herself to the wooden seat. She picked up the reins, then pointed to a small pile of merchandise. “The supplies are there, Mr. Montana.”
Roman loaded up the provisions. “Vamanos.” He smiled inwardly. She might know French, but he knew Spanish.
“Si,” she answered. “Ahora que estamos listos comencemos nuestro viaje.”
“What’d she say, Roman?” Claff asked.
“I said, Mr. Claff,” Theodosia replied, “that now that we are ready, let’s begin our journey. Oh, and Mr. Montana? Aequam servare mentem is Latin and means ‘to keep an unruffled mind.’ It is my intention to ponder the quote while you and I travel. I advise you to do the same.”
Roman folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah? Well, let me tell you what you can do with your advice, Miss Worth.”
“No, I don’t believe I shall.” Her fingers whitened around the reins as her poise began to waver. “Mr. Montana, I have always endeavored to maintain self-control in any given situation. However, after only a few hours in your company, I find myself not only exasperated but at a loss as to how to regain my composure.”
“The little genius mind’s getting a little ruffled, huh?”
She stared into his snapping blue eyes for a long while. “How utterly convenient it is that you already understand that the definition of roinous is nasty and contemptible. I suspect I shall be using the word frequently during the next three days, and your knowledge of it will save me the task of having to explain it to you.”
Her intellectual sarcasm snapped the last shred of patience Roman possessed. To hell with the money he’d receive from Dr. Wallaby for taking the woman to Templeton! There was money to be made right here in Oates’ Junction making parlors bigger! “And your going to Templeton alone, Miss Worth, will save me the bother of having to take you.” He tossed her bag of gold into her lap and a sardonic grin into her eyes.
“But I don’t know where—”
“No? I thought you knew everything. Well, you can always ask a Comanche for directions. You’ll probably meet up with a few along the way. Or maybe the Blanco y Negro Gang can help. I hear they’ve broken out of jail and are back at their usual work of robbing, murdering, and ravishing anything wearing a skirt. You’ll recognize them right away, Miss Worth. They all ride white horses, and they all wear black.”
Theodosia refused to show the rogue one more hint of her shock. Surely she could find Templeton on her own. “Fine. When I arrive in Templeton, shall I inform Dr. Wallaby that you are no longer working for him?”
“You don’t think he shall figure that out by himself, when I don’t show up?”
“Good-bye, Mr. Montana. And the very best of luck with—with whatever
it is you do.” Theodosia slipped the strings of her velvet bag around her wrist and set the horse into a brisk trot, leaving Roman and Claff in a cloud of dust.
“She’s headin’ north,” Claff drawled, still chewing on the piece of straw.
Roman grinned. “I know.”
“Templeton’s nigh on a hunnerd miles south o’ here.”
“I know.”
“She’s got right much book learnin’, but she sure don’t got much sense.”
“I know.” Still grinning, Roman turned and started to head for the saloon. But one glance at the feed store erased his grin and brought him to an abrupt halt. He’d forgotten about the three outlaws.
They’d vanished.
And every instinct Roman possessed told him they’d left to follow the scent of gold.
He found her buckboard fifteen minutes out of town, stopped beside a persimmon thicket. Her trunk of gold was still in it.
But Theodosia wasn’t.
“Here I am again, Secret,” he muttered to his stallion. “Right back where I started, taking care of women. Which means I’m as stupid now as I was then. Damn that asinine Worth woman to hell and back!”
But even as he spat the curse, his apprehension rose.
He dismounted swiftly and secured Secret to the back of the wagon. Both Colts drawn, he followed the trail of footprints that led into the grove of trees and soon came upon a scrap of lace-edged white silk on the ground. Crumpled beside a rotting log, it was spotted with what could only be blood.
He stuffed it into the waistband of his breeches and proceeded deeper into the woods. The sun-dappled persimmons gave way to dense patches of willow and cottonwood, which grew near slushy areas of stagnant water. The musty smell of plant rot filled his nostrils, somehow intensifying his anxiety. He quickened his pace, soon exiting the thicket and coming to a leaf-strewn slope.
At the bottom lay Theodosia, face down.
In his haste to get to her, he slipped in the thick layers of leaves and made the downward trip on his belly. When he finally stopped, he found himself nose to nose with a wide-eyed Theodosia.
She’d taken off her bonnet. Her golden hair poured over her shoulders like streams of melted butter and looked just as soft. He almost reached up to touch it, but the impulse passed when he remembered why he’d come after her. She was supposed to be hurt or dead, but the confounded woman didn’t have a scratch on her. On the contrary, she was looking at him with bright, curious eyes that held not a tinge of discomfort.
“What the hell,” he rasped, as if he had gravel in his throat, “are you doing?”
With the exception of Upton, she’d never been so physically close to any man. Roman’s thick black hair pooled over her hands, causing tingles to glide up her arms. His breath whispered across her cheeks, and the heat of his body filtered toward her, warming her as surely as the sunshine pouring down from the endless Texas sky.
“Miss Worth,” Roman ground out.
“Yes?” Blinking, she touched her fingers to her forehead and tried to remember what he’d asked her. “I—my goodness, my mind has gone blank. Such a thing has never happened to me before.” She sat up and saw she held a fistful of bright red phlox. “Oh, yes. I was gathering these—”
“I thought you were dead!” Roman knifed to his feet and stuffed his Colts back into his belt.
His shouting served to bring back her presence of mind. “Dead, Mr. Montana? But what might have killed me?”
He noticed her velvet bag hanging from the crook of her elbow. It was safe, her trunk was safe, she was safe. He decided not to tell her about the three men. If he did, she’d probably cry with fear, and he’d dealt with enough female tears to last him several lifetimes.
He yanked out the blood-splattered scrap of silk. “What else was I supposed to think when I found this? Then I find you sprawled facedown at the bottom of this—”
“That is a piece of my petticoat. I cut my wrist on a nail that protrudes from the seat of the wagon, and I stemmed the bleeding by using a bit of my petticoat to apply pressure to the wound. I’m sure the lesion will heal quite nicely, and—”
“I don’t give a damn about some stupid scratch on your wrist! What the hell are you doing out here?”
She picked a few more phlox and smiled. “I was and still am collecting these fine samples of Phlox drummondii. It is cultivated in Boston gardens, but I have never had the opportunity to see it growing wild. Lying on the ground better enabled me to examine it. It is not only the visible elements of plants that interest me but the root system as well. Would you care to hear an amusing story about the Polemoniaceae family, Mr. Montana?”
“Why would I want to hear a story about a family I don’t even know, Miss Worth? And what the hell does that have to do with those flowers?”
She smiled gently and raised her crimson blossoms. “Phlox belong to the Polemoniaceae family. It is not a human family but a plant family.”
“A plant family?” He looked at her flowers, then touched three of them. “Don’t tell me. This is Papa Flower, this is Mama Flower, and this is Baby—”
“Excuse me if I interrupt your witty flow. You see, Mr. Montana, plants and animals are classified—”
“Never mind all that scientific hogwash! Now get back to the wag—”
“But I was going to relate the amusing story. In 1833, a Scot by the name of Thomas Drummond visited this area to collect a wide variety of specimens. He harvested more than seven hundred species of flora. These,” she said, holding up her flowers, “he liked especially. So he sent seeds to Edinburgh. From Edinburgh, the plants were marketed all over Europe. Finally, they reached Boston and New York, where they became highly prized. The New Englanders, you see, were under the misconception that this plant was a rare and fine European import. Several years passed before they came to realize that it was actually a lowly native of the Republic of Texas. Now, isn’t that one of the most amusing anecdotes you have ever heard?”
“Hilarious. Now, get back to the wag—”
“Thomas Drummond died of cholera.”
“Sad. Now, get back to the wag—”
“I was under the impression that you were not going to accompany me on my journey, Mr. Montana.” She rose from the ground, careful not to crush her phlox. “I haven’t had the slightest difficulty with my travels as of yet.”
“No? I thought you wanted to get to Templeton.”
“That is precisely where I am—”
“Templeton’s near the coast.” He retrieved his hat from the blanket of phlox and slid it on his head. “Keep traveling north, and in about nine or ten days, you’ll cross into the Oklahoma Territory.” He waited for her reaction to his revelation. Surely someone as smart as she was would be embarrassed by having made such a dumb mistake.
“How do you know I’m traveling north? Are you carrying a compass?”
“No, I just know.”
“But how—”
“For God’s sake, I’ve lived in Texas all my life! I know what it looks like, smells like, sounds like, and feels like. Hell, I can even taste it! I know what is where, and where is what. Rivers, animals, rocks—everything has a way of telling me where I am. Now, get back to the wag—”
“But what if you were lost outside of Texas? How would you—”
“I’d study the trees and wind!” Totally irritated, he started toward the embankment.
“The trees and wind, Mr. Montana?” She hurried to join him, her insatiable curiosity not to be denied. “But what would it be about the trees and wind that would aid you?”
He spun to face her, instinct telling him that she, wasn’t going to give up until he answered her question. “The tops of tall trees lean toward the strongest sunlight, which comes from the east. Trees felled by strong winds—and not by rot, lightning, or human hands—fall toward the south because it’s usually a norther that’s felled them. And last, the direction of wind doesn’t normally change during the day. If a southern wind is at my bac
k in the morning, it’s probably a southern wind at my back in the afternoon. All right? Satisfied?”
She deliberated upon his explanation, finding it quite sound. “How interesting. And what—”
“Can we start for Templeton now. Miss Worth?” Roman demanded. “Or would you rather keep beheading this flower family and then continue on toward the Oklahoma Territory?”
Lifting her skirts, she started up the hill. “I assure you, Mr. Montana, that by nightfall I would have realized my error in direction. I would have understood immediately that I was following the North Star, which, of course, would have alerted me to the fact that I was traveling north. To find the North Star, I would simply have had to locate the constellation Ursa Major. Across from said constellation is another, Cassiopeia. Cassiopeia is composed of five stars. The North Star is located between the middle star of Cassiopeia and the star at the end of Ursa Major’s bowl. So you see? I would not have even come close to the Oklahoma Territory.” She reached the top of the slope and continued into the dim thicket.
Following her, Roman decided that the three would-be gold thieves presented no danger to her. She was perfectly equipped to defend herself by attacking them with her intellect.
They’d die of sheer boredom.
And he had no doubt that he would meet the same fate before reaching Templeton.
Chapter Three
Tugging at the neckline of her thick flannel nightgown, Theodosia emerged from the private spot she’d found in the woods.
Roman decided her nightwear was about as sexy as a burlap sack. Irritating though she was, she did have a few nice curves he’d hoped to get a peek at.
“I’ve never bathed in a moonlit stream before, Mr. Montana. Nor have I ever eaten rabbit cooked over an open fire.”
How like a woman, he thought. No matter what a man did, they were never satisfied. “The nearest hot-water-filled tubs and restaurants are in Wild Winds, a town about five miles northwest of Templeton. A cool stream and charred rabbit are the best I can provide. If you don’t like it—”
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