Heartstrings

by Rebecca Paisley

  She couldn’t suppress a small shiver.

  “How come you’re so afraid of lightning?” He moved her hair away from her face so he could see her eyes.

  “My parents were killed by lightning when I was five.”

  Shock almost knocked Roman to the ground. He’d never dreamed her dread of lightning was connected to something so terrible. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I want to.” She gave him a soft smile when he put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Chancellor and Genevieve,” she began quietly. “Those were my parents’ names. The day they died, we were picnicking. While I gathered flowers into a basket, they watched from beneath a large tree. The sky became suddenly dark as a storm blew over the area, and Father called that it was time for us to return home. Just as I started toward the tree, lightning struck it. Mother and Father died instantly. I’ve been terrified of lightning ever since and have found no way of ridding myself of the fear.”

  Roman took her hand and thought about how horrible it must have been for a five-year-old to watch her parents die so suddenly and by such stunning means. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Theodosia.”

  A flood of affection washed through her as she listened to the sincerity in his deep voice. She squeezed his hand in gratitude.

  “What happened after the accident?” Roman probed gently, surprised by his own intense interest.

  “I was devastated, of course, and very frightened about what would happen to me without my parents. But Upton and Lillian traveled to New York and took me back to Boston with them. They raised me as if I were their own daughter, Roman, lavishing upon me everything they had to give, most especially their love. If not for their kindness, I would not have recovered from the terrible ordeal of watching Mother and Father die.

  “As I’ve told you once before,” she continued, “I am deeply indebted to them, and that is one of the reasons why I have resolved to give them a child.”

  “One of the reasons?”

  “Guilt is another. You see, Lillian and Upton wanted to devote all their time to me while I was small, and so they postponed having children of their own. When they began trying to start a family, Lillian had great difficulty conceiving, and then she suffered four miscarriages. Her physicians have said that she should have begun a family long before she began to try. If she could possibly manage to carry a child past the first three months, her chances of delivering a healthy infant are significantly higher, but unfortunately she does not seem capable of remaining with child for longer than seven or eight weeks.”

  “And you think it’s your fault.”

  Theodosia let go of his hand, picked up a stick, and drew circles in the soft dirt beside his boots. “It is my fault, Roman, and the sole way I can ease Lillian’s heartache is to bear a child for her. A baby of her own flesh and blood would mean the world to Lillian, and I am the only person who can make her dream come true.”

  For a while, Roman said nothing but only watched her draw in the dirt. “I understand that you want to do something nice for your sister, but isn’t having a baby for her taking it a bit too far? I mean, people just don’t do that kind of thing, Theodosia.”

  His question and statement filled every corner of her mind. In only a few moments a startling, yet sad realization came to her.

  “When you truly love someone, Roman, no sacrifice is too great to make.”

  He made no reply to her revelation; she offered no further comment.

  In the warm quiet, Theodosia pondered the fact that Roman had never known real love…

  …and Roman wondered what such unselfish love felt like.

  Chapter Twelve

  Pulling aside the curtains that draped one of the windows in the lobby of the Red Wolf hotel, Roman watched the newspaper boy pass out Theodosia’s fliers on the street outside. The lad distributed the freshly printed circulars to young and old alike, but no matter the age of the man who received one, he saw, not a single one of them failed to cast a glance toward the second floor of the hotel.

  Roman hoped Theodosia wasn’t dressing for supper in front of an open window, but he suspected she probably was. She didn’t have enough sense not to.

  He glared at the crowd of men outside for a moment longer, then snatched the curtain closed. As soon as the dark of night fell to hide their activities, the whole slew of randy bastards would come slithering into the hotel like hungry snakes after a chick. And why wouldn’t they?

  There wasn’t a man alive who would willingly turn down the chance to receive a hundred dollars in gold for sleeping with a woman as beautiful as Theodosia.

  He wondered what she would say if he told her she wasn’t well enough to go through with her plans yet. Maybe he could lie and say that head wounds got worse when the injured person tried to engage in anything sexual. He could say it caused rotting of the brain.

  Rubbing his chin, he mulled over the idea, then rejected it when he remembered he’d already used it. For a solid week and a half after the encounter with the Comanche warrior, he’d successfully kept Theodosia out in the middle of nowhere, well away from any towns. It was true that he’d wanted her wound to heal before he allowed her to travel, but he admitted to himself that a full ten days was overdoing it a bit. After all, her head had a bump on it, not a bullet in it.

  During the ten days, Theodosia had done nothing but sleep, eat, bathe, read, and share her intellect with him. And he’d done nothing but sleep, eat, bathe, hunt, and be aggravated by her intellect. Finally, after a week and a half of resting, she’d dressed, climbed into her wagon, and started driving, giving him no choice but to follow and then lead her to the next town.

  Once in Red Wolf, her shoes had barely touched the street dust before she’d hurried off to the newspaper office to have her dumb fliers printed.

  Roman had always liked Red Wolf, and he visited the town whenever he had the chance. He decided now, however, that he didn’t like the town anymore. God, he’d never realized how many womanizers lived here!

  He kicked a potted plant that sat by the window and ignored the hotel manager’s loud throat-clearing. In deep contemplation, he ambled toward a large velvet chair, sank into it, and stretched out his long legs.

  Why the hell did it bother him that Theodosia would soon give herself to some horny genius? It wasn’t as if he were being forced to share her. To share something, one had to own it.

  And Theodosia did not belong to him.

  “I don’t want her to belong to me anyway,” he muttered.

  “Pardon me?” the hotel manager said, looking up from the registration desk. “My name’s Parks. Oliver Parks. Did you say something to me, Mr. Montana?”

  Roman looked at Mr. Parks without even seeing him. “She’s not the woman for me. Hell, I don’t like women! But even if I did, she wouldn’t be the one I’d pick. Well, what man do you know who would want a woman who doesn’t understand how to have fun? Oh, she said she had fun at the fair in Kidder Pass, but you want to know what kind of fun she had? Intelligent fun, that’s what. Yeah, the only reason why she had a good time was because she found ways to use her damned genius.”

  “Of course, Mr. Montana,” Mr. Parks said, repositioning the inkwell that sat on the desk. “Yes, of course. Whatever you say. Oh, by the way, if you plan to ride out of town anytime soon, be careful. Word has it that the Blanco y Negro Gang is in the area. We just got the news this morning that they shot and killed three people over in Kane’s Crossing, and one of them was a fifteen-year-old girl.”

  Mr. Parks shook his head. “You ever heard of any men more dangerous and arrogant than the five in that gang? I’ve never seen them, but I hear tell they wear black from head to toe and they all ride white horses. Sure hope to God they don’t come here to Red Wolf. Thirty bounty hunters have been chasing them since they broke out of jail, but not a one has gotten them. I guess it’ll take a wish granted from heaven to get rid of them. That, or the Devil himself.”

  Roman nodded, bu
t his thoughts remained on Theodosia. “How many men do you reckon live in Red Wolf, Mr. Parks?”

  “What?” Mr. Parks scratched his whiskered cheek. “Oh, I don’t know. About a hundred and seventy-five or so. Maybe two hundred.”

  Two hundred! The number spun through Roman’s mind like a tumbleweed caught in a dust devil.

  He ran his thumb over the butt of his Colt, silently vowing that if a single one of the Red Wolf applicants met the requirements for Theodosia’s lover, that man would sorely wish he’d been born short, blond-haired, green-eyed, and extremely stupid.

  When Theodosia heard the door open, she spun away from the window and watched Roman walk into the room.

  “Let’s go, Theodosia. I’m hungry.”

  “Roman, did you see?” she asked, pointing to the street below. “A little boy is already passing out my circulars. Why, he has even posted them on the front of various buildings.”

  Fondling his gun again, Roman slid his gaze down her body, savoring each beautiful part of her.

  He’d never seen her wear her hair the way she wore it tonight. She’d arranged little braids on top of her head and stuck green-velvet flowers in it. A few shimmering curls lay upon her slender neck, touching the strand of pearls there. Pearls almost the same pale hue as her skin.

  The color of her silky dress reminded him of dawn. Kind of pink, kind of orange, kind of yellow. And just the way those soft colors clung to the morning sky, the dress molded to Theodosia’s curves.

  The gown dipped low in the front. Roman suspected that if she sneezed, coughed, or even laughed, she’d spill right out of it.

  He wondered what amusing thing he could tell her that would make her laugh.

  “What are you staring at, Roman?” Even as Theodosia asked the question, she stared back at him. He’d changed into a black suit and stark white shirt, which looked even whiter next to his dark skin. He wore a black string tie. Its ends fell over his broad chest, as did his thick charcoal hair.

  But his dinner clothes did nothing to conceal the raw power that coiled through every part of his massive frame. Indeed, his formal attire emphasized it.

  A sweet ache pulsed warmly within her.

  “What are you thinking about, Theodosia?”

  She noted his crooked yet knowing smile. “You are already aware of my thoughts. Therefore, I see no need to discuss them.” She smoothed her peach skirts. “Upton and Lillian bought this gown for me in Paris. Do you like it?”

  He traced her curves with his eyes again. She wore her beauty the way other women wore perfume, he mused. He doubted a man in the world could resist her charms.

  The thought made him remember that he would not be the only man enjoying the gorgeous vision she presented tonight. Red Wolf’s townsmen would be treated as well.

  Horny bastards all of them, and as her bodyguard, it was his duty to put an end to trouble before it even began.

  He folded his arms across his chest, his stance rigid as a frozen tree. “No, I don’t like the dress, and you aren’t wearing it. Put something else on.”

  “Something else?” She picked up her skirts and swept them outward. “But Roman, this gown is perfectly suitable to wear to supper.”

  He glared at the gown, trying to think of something wrong with it. “It’s too tight. You won’t be able to eat—”

  “I will be able to eat just fine.”

  He watched the play of shadow between her lush cleavage. “Button up the front.”

  She looked at the bodice. “This dress has no buttons on the front.”

  He stared at the gown again. “It’s dragging the ground. The streets are dusty.”

  “I can have it laundered.”

  “Well, the chairs at Victoria’s are full of splinters. Jagged splinters. They’ll rip that dress to shreds when you sit down, so take it off and put something else—”

  “Victoria’s?”

  “Victoria’s Cafe. It’s the only restaurant in Red Wolf, and the chairs aren’t fit for more than firewood!”

  She slid her gloves on. “Roman, perhaps you should tell me the truth about what is bothering you about my appearance.”

  He suspected if he didn’t tell her, she’d analyze it out of him. “All right. The truth is that that dress is going to attract every ruttish son-of-a-bitch in Red Wolf. You’ve already had your ridiculous fliers distributed, Theodosia, and the men here have already read them. You’re probably the only new woman in town, so they’ll know right away that you’re Theodosia Worth and are willing to pay gold to be bedded. They’re going to crowd around you—”

  “As my hired bodyguard, you will take the proper measures to—”

  “I can’t fend off a whole damned herd of panting—”

  “A herd?” Theodosia smiled. “Really, Roman, you exaggerate.” Still smiling, she draped her lacy shawl over her shoulders and headed out the door.

  Roman followed, growling curses all the way. Before they’d even left the hotel, he’d glared down three men, elbowed another four out of the way, and revealed his Colts to two others.

  “I don’t know why we couldn’t have eaten in the room,” he muttered, escorting her down the boardwalk.

  She slipped her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow. “I thought it would be nice to dine in a restaurant, but let’s not linger. It’s possible a few men will come to the room later, in answer to my circular, and I must be there to meet them.”

  Roman decided he would keep her out well past midnight. He’d order a twenty-course meal, then relax for hours over coffee. After that, he’d walk her around the town and show her… Show her what?

  Damn Red Wolf for being such a boring place!

  “This is it,” he said, stopping her in front of Victoria’s Caf6 and escorting her inside.

  The small restaurant charmed Theodosia. Clean, well-starched tablecloths of yellow-and-white gingham and small terra-cotta vases filled with red poppies covered every table. Shiny copper pots and pans, baskets, and paintings of flower gardens hung on the bright yellow walls, and someone had swept the polished wooden floor clean of all debris.

  “Judging by this restaurant, I would venture to guess that there dwell civil people in Red Wolf, Roman. That, of course, raises the odds that a few intelligent men will be calling on me.”

  Roman scanned the gathering of people in the cafe, his gaze meeting that of every man who looked at Theodosia. Some turned back to their meals, but others defied his silent warnings and ogled the woman at his side. “They all look pretty damned stupid to me.”

  “Roman!” a woman called from across the room. Theodosia watched as the well-endowed woman sashayed toward Roman. When the lady reached him, she circled her arms around his waist and kissed him full on the mouth.

  A totally unfamiliar emotion sizzled through Theodosia, melting the smile from her lips. She tried to step away.

  Roman wouldn’t let her. “Theodosia, this is Victoria Langley. Victoria owns the cafe.”

  Theodosia decided the woman thought she owned Roman as well. “How do you do, Miss Langley. I am Theodosia Worth.”

  Victoria’s painted eyebrows rose. “The same Miz Worth who’s willin’ to pay gold for stud services?”

  Theodosia’s own brow rose higher. “The words stud services are not accurate descriptions of—”

  Victoria’s throaty laughter filled the cafe. “I ain’t above takin’ a little thank-you money from my own lovers, but I’ll be damned if I’ll ever pay any of them!”

  Theodosia bristled. “Miss Langley—”

  “You from England, Miz Worth?”

  “Boston.” Goodness, Theodosia thought. Why did everyone in Texas assume England was her home?

  Victoria waved to a young girl across the room. “Meg, show Roman and the lady to a table!”

  Once the waitress had seated and left them to study the menus, Theodosia gave rein to her irritation. “Am I wrong in thinking that you are one of the men who has given that woman a little thank-you money, Roman
?”

  “Wrong as wrong can be.”

  Mollified, she glanced back down at the menu.

  “Why should I pay Victoria for what she gives to me for free?”

  She had no chance to release her stinging rejoinder. The waitress arrived to take their orders. “I would like a small portion of chicken and a plate of fresh fruit,” Theodosia said. “Oh, and would you mind removing the skin from the chicken, please?”

  The girl’s freckled nose wrinkled. “It’s fried chicken, ma’am.”

  “Still, I prefer that the skin be removed.”

  Roman leaned over the table. “Why have fried chicken if you aren’t going to eat the skin? That’s the best part.”

  “I don’t care for the skin.”

  “Ordering fried chicken when you don’t like the fried skin doesn’t make any sense!”

  “Why don’t you concentrate on your own order?”

  Shaking his head, he looked at the menu again. “I’ll have fried chicken with the skin, roast beef, catfish, and baked ham. Creamed potatoes, corn on the cob, turnip greens, cowpeas, butter beans, stewed okra, and baked squash. Biscuits and cornbread, too. And for dessert, I want peach cobbler, blueberry pie, and apple cake. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”

  He handed his menu back to the waitress, saw Theodosia staring at him, and began to drum his fingers on the table. “I’m hungry.”

  “But you are not a bottomless pit. You cannot possibly eat—”

  “I’ll eat it.”

  “It will take you hours.”

  He certainly hoped so.

  “You Miz Worth?” a man asked as he arrived at the table.

  In his haste to stand Roman knocked over a glass of water.

  It spilled into Theodosia’s lap. “Roman!”

  “What do you want?” Roman demanded of the man.

  “I come in answer to her ad.”

  “Here?” Roman blasted. “In a restaurant? The ad says to go to room nine in the hotel. Can’t you read?” He stuffed his hand into the pocket of his trousers, thus revealing one gleaming Colt.

  The man looked at the gun, then laid his hand over his own. He lowered his eyes down to Theodosia. “I’m tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, and smart.”