“Yeah?” Roman challenged. “What’s nine hundred and fifty-seven times three hundred and twenty-six?”
The man scowled. “I need paper to figure that out.”
“Then you fail the interview,” Roman announced.
“You ain’t the one who posted the ad.”
In answer, Roman drew his gun and cocked it. “No, but I’m the one pointing this Colt at you.”
“Roman, please,” Theodosia said, then turned her face up to the man. “Sir, I’m afraid you are not qualified. Thank you for your interest, though.”
Roman didn’t sit back down until the man had left the table.
“What’s the answer, Roman?”
“Answer to what?”
“What does nine hundred and fifty-seven times three hundred and twenty-six equal?”
“Damned if I know, damned if I care, and dammit, here comes another one!”
“Good evening,” a short, stocky man said as he arrived at the table.
“For the love of God,” Roman muttered. Once again, he stood, his Colt steady in his hand. “Get the hell away from the lady. Can’t you see she’s trying to get some supper? Besides that, you’re short!”
“I beg your pardon?” the man asked.
Roman stared at the man’s clothing. It was all black, except for the stiff white collar of his shirt. Gritting his teeth, he replaced his revolver in his belt and sat back down.
“I am Reverend Sommers,” the man said. “You, sir, look a bit familiar to me, but I don’t believe I have ever seen you here in Red Wolf, miss. I assume you are visiting, and I wanted to invite you to Sunday services.”
Theodosia gifted the minister with a brilliant smile. “How do you do, Reverend? I am—”
“She’s Irma,” Roman blurted, and gave Theodosia a look of warning. “Irma Sue Montana. And I’m Roman Montana.”
“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Montana, I hope to see you on Sunday. Enjoy your meal.”
When the minister left, Roman glowered at Theodosia. “Are you crazy? You were about to tell him your name!”
“And how does that make me deranged?”
“For God’s sake, you’re Theodosia Worth, the woman who posted the fliers! You’d have shocked him right out of his collar!”
“Shocking him would have been better than killing him, which is what you almost did. Honestly, Roman, what is the matter with you tonight? You are as agitated as I have ever seen you.”
He was saved from having to answer when the waitress brought their meals. Roman had ordered so much food, a second table was necessary to hold it.
But before he could take the first bite, he saw two men standing in the corner across the room.
Both held Theodosia’s fliers, and both were watching her. In the next moment, both began ambling toward her.
Roman had had all he could take. He stood and quickly gathered all the fried chicken, bread, corn, fruit, and cake into napkins.
“Roman, what on earth are you—”
“We’re leaving.” He tossed a few bills onto the table and took her hand.
She yanked it from his grasp. “I am not leaving, and I do not comprehend your—” She stopped speaking abruptly as Victoria sidled up to the table.
“Mind if I join y’all?” Victoria asked.
“I’m sorry, Miss Langley, but we were just leaving,” Theodosia said. “Roman?” She took his hand and dragged him out of the restaurant. Once outside, she started for the hotel.
“Wrong way,” Roman said, pulling her in the opposite direction.
“But earlier you said you wanted to eat in the room.”
“Well, now I want to eat outside!” Clutching her hand, he escorted her into an open field that edged the town. There, he sat her down in a cool mound of bluebonnets and tossed the bulging napkins down beside her.
Theodosia looked up at him. “Would you care to divulge the reasons for your anger, Roman?”
“I am not angry!”
She leaned against the cluster of large rocks at her back and opened the napkins. “Then would you care to eat now?”
“I’m too mad to eat!” He gave her his back, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and stared at the dusky sky. “I told you what would happen, Theodosia. But did you listen? Hell, no. You didn’t listen!”
“What happened?”
“What happened?” He spun to face her. “Didn’t you see all those—” He paused, trying to remember the name Theodosia had called the man who had attacked her in Wild Winds. “Didn’t you see all those lackivating meaflarants back there, for God’s sake?”
“Lackivating meaflarants? What—oh.” She smiled a secret smile. “I believe the description you seek is lascivious malfeasants.”
“Call them whatever you want! They were lined up wall-to-wall, just waiting—”
“Roman, they were doing no such thing. Granted, one man approached the table, but you dealt with him. The second man was Reverend—”
“Look, Theodosia,” he said, pointing his finger at her, “I’m your bodyguard. In order for me to do my job, you have to follow my rules. Rule number one is that you don’t wear what I tell you not to wear. Rule number two is that you never forget rule number one. Rule number three is—”
“I do not appreciate your domineering attitude.”
“Yeah? Well, I don’t give a damn whether you like it or not!”
Calmly, Theodosia removed the skin from a piece of chicken and ate the meat. She then picked up a strawberry.
Still scowling, Roman watched her bite into the ripe fruit. The contrast of the crimson berry against her cloud-white skin fascinated him. She kept the berry between her soft full lips, and he could tell by the way her cheeks moved that she was sucking the juice.
Desire slammed into him with such force, he began to sweat.
“Roman, aren’t you going to eat?”
“What? Uh, yeah.” His loins aching fiercely, he sat down beside her, then noticed the vivid contrast of her peach skirts, the thick emerald grass, and the brilliant bluebonnets. God, she looked so pretty sitting there eating her strawberry.
“Here.” She handed him a slice of watermelon. He bit into it and felt juice dribble over his chin.
Smiling, Theodosia dabbed at it with a napkin.
Her caring gesture tempered his desire. In passion’s place rose that same tender something she often managed to rouse within him.
“Have you ever had a friend, Roman?”
The sound of her voice brought him out of the daze her beauty had led him into. Mentally shaking himself, he laid down the watermelon and bit into a chicken breast. “I’ve met some people here and there,” he slurred.
“Meeting people isn’t the same as having them for friends. I’ve met several people since my arrival to Texas, but I do not know enough about them to call them my friends. Therefore they are only acquaintances.”
He got the feeling she was leading up to something. Whatever it was, he probably wouldn’t like it.
He resolved to throw her off track. “I don’t know a lot about you, either. Reckon that makes you only an acquaintance.”
She flicked the green stem of her strawberry into the moonlit field. “You wound me, sir. You know more about me than anyone else in Texas.”
He ate more chicken and thought about what she had said. “I don’t know hardly anything about you.”
“Truly?” She tilted her head toward her shoulder. “Well, I really haven’t told you much, have I? It wasn’t my intention to keep anything from you, though. I can only assume that I’ve been so profoundly interested in knowing more about you, that it slipped my mind to talk about myself. Later this evening, I promise to answer any question you might ask. But for now I must return to the hotel.”
She began gathering the food back into the napkins.
“Where were you born?” he blurted, determined to ask her a couple hundred questions before allowing her to go back to the room.
“New York.”
Rom
an grabbed more chicken from the napkin she held and tore into it as if he hadn’t eaten in days. “I’m not done eating yet, Theodosia.”
“Oh, very well.” She laid the napkins back down. “But please hurry.”
He chewed so slowly that the chicken turned to mush in his mouth. “What’s your favorite color?”
“I am fond of several colors. I like green, blue, and pink. Are you finished now?”
“No.” He ate some corn on the cob next, trying his best to get a lot stuck between his teeth so he could spend time getting it out again. “Did you have any dolls when you were a little girl?”
“A collection of over three hundred.”
At least she’d had some dolls, he mused. That was one thing normal about her. “Did you play with them every day?”
“Oh, I didn’t play with them at all. They were antiques and much too valuable to handle.”
So much for the one normal thing about her, Roman thought. “Who’s the most famous person you’ve ever met?”
She leaned back against the rocks again and took a deep breath of the cool, flower-scented air. “I met Ebenezer Butterick once.”
“Who the hell is Ebenezer Butterick?”
“He developed the first paper dress patterns. I have also met William Crooks, who discovered thallium, and Joseph Bertrand, who wrote a treatise concerning differential and integral calculus.”
Roman had never heard of any of the men she claimed were so famous. Of course, he didn’t travel through the same social circles she did, either. “I met Darling Delight a few years ago. Got her autograph too. She wrote it right on my…uh—she has good handwriting. Best handwriting I ever saw.”
“Darling Delight? Who is she?”
“Only the most famous showgirl in the world.” He slid a hunk of apple cake into his mouth and licked vanilla icing off his bottom lip. “You know what Darling Delight does?”
“No, and I am not altogether certain I desire to know.”
“She takes off her clothes.”
Theodosia retrieved the napkins again. “I have heard enough. We shall we return to the hotel—”
“She pastes yellow, orange, and red streamers onto her breasts, then moves up and down so the streamers start twirling. When I first saw them spin, I thought she’d caught on fire.”
Theodosia stared at him. “Miss Darling Delight is to be highly commended for her worthy contribution to mankind.” She rose from the ground and brushed bits of grass off her skirts.
“I’m still eating, Theodosia.”
“Roman, I am returning to the hotel now. You may stay out here and enjoy the rest of your meal at your leisure, or you may come with me and perform your job as my protector. The choice is yours.”
Some choice, he thought.
Grumbling every step of the way, he escorted her back to town.
“All you have to do is look into that man’s eyes to know he’s not the right man to father the baby, Theodosia,” Roman whispered into her ear. Sitting in a chair directly behind hers, he had a clear view of each man she interviewed and an objection to all of them.
Theodosia lifted a sheet of paper in front of her face so the candidate sitting across from her could not read her lips. “You didn’t like the first man’s weak chin, Roman,” she whispered in reply to his comment. “You said the second man’s pale complexion indicated poor blood that would certainly be passed on to the baby. The third man had a limp that you claimed would inhibit his coital abilities. Now, what in heaven’s name is wrong with this man’s eyes?”
“They’re messed up. Look close, and you’ll see for yourself. His problem isn’t real bad yet, but I’ve seen this before, Theodosia, and I can tell you that in a few years this poor guy will be completely walleyed.”
Theodosia lowered the paper and gave the candidate a smile while searching the depths of his eyes. She saw nothing about them that suggested any sort of disorder.
But Roman’s suspicions twisted through her mind like an impenetrable mass of vines. “I am sorry, sir,” she said to the man, “but you do not meet the requirements. I do thank you, however, for your interest. Good evening.”
Frowning, the man stayed seated. “What’s wrong with me? I’m tall, my eyes are blue, and I have black hair.”
Roman bolted out of his chair. “And I have two Colts that say there’s going to be a lot wrong with you if you aren’t out of here in three seconds!” He drew both guns. “One, two—”
The man stormed out of the room. Roman slid his guns back into his belt and sat back down, but he remained stiff with irritation as the fifth candidate walked into the room. “Tell him to leave before he even gets a chance to sit down, Theodosia,” he whispered.
“What? But—”
“I saw this man earlier,” Roman lied quietly. “He stepped out of the saloon and pissed right in the street. You don’t want someone so ill-mannered to sire the baby, do you?”
Theodosia frowned in disgust. “Sir,” she said to the man as he reached the chair, “I’m afraid you are a bit short in stature.”
“What?” the man asked.
“You look like a short statue,” Roman translated, “so get out.”
Shaking his head in confusion, the man departed.
“Roman, I did not say that man looked like a short statue,” Theodosia clarified. “I said he was—”
“Never mind.” Roman watched as the next candidate entered the room. Tall, with black hair and blue eyes, the man possessed all the physical requirements.
Running low on his supply of the lies he could tell about the candidates, Roman prayed this sixth man was an idiot.
“Good evening, Miss Worth,” the man said. He sat down and ran a long finger across his full moustache. “I am Melvin Priestly. I am twenty-six years old and am the schoolmaster in Red Wolf.”
The man was not an idiot, Roman seethed. “Theodosia,” he whispered. “He—”
“Roman, please.” She studied the candidate, highly pleased with his looks. “How long have you been teaching school, Mr. Priestly?”
“Four years, and please call me Melvin.”
Roman glowered. “She’ll call you Mr. Priestly, and you damn well better call her Miss—”
“Roman.” Theodosia swiveled in her chair toward him. “Please!”
“I’m only trying to make him respect you,” Roman explained. “The two of you have known each other for less than five minutes, and he already wants to use first names, for God’s sake. Listen, Theodosia. If you don’t get respect from these guys, they’ll—”
“I am receiving very little from you,” she snapped, turning back around. “Melvin, please tell me about your interests.”
Melvin crossed his legs.
“Look at that, Theodosia,” Roman whispered. “He’s sitting like a woman. I think he’s…well, you know. I bet he wears pink underdrawers.”
As imperceptibly as possible, Theodosia reached around the chair, intending to pinch Roman’s arm. But the second her fingers touched him, she knew it was not his arm she’d found.
Blushing, she snatched her hand away from his groin.
Roman leaned near to her again. “If you want me, all you had to do was tell me. I’ll be glad to accommodate you, but we’ll have to get rid of Melvin here first.”
Theodosia had to curb the urge to fan her face, for she felt unbearably hot. “Your interests, Melvin?”
Melvin rubbed his chin while deliberating. “I read a great deal, and I especially enjoy philosophy.”
“Philosophy?” Theodosia leaned forward. “Any philosopher in particular?”
When Roman saw Melvin’s gaze dip to Theodosia’s breasts, he realized the bastard was getting an eyeful of creamy cleavage. Quickly, he curled his hand around her shoulder and pulled her back into her chair. “You were slouching. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that slouching will make your back crooked?”
“I am quite fond of Aristotle,” Melvin announced, puzzled by Theodosia’s companion’s continued
whispering. “Pardon me, sir, but are you whispering about me, by any chance?”
Roman raised one black brow. “As a matter of fact, yeah. What was Aristotle’s middle name?”
“His middle name?” Melvin repeated, running his finger across his moustache again.
“Roman,” Theodosia murmured, “Aristotle was born in 384 b.c., and during that time period people were not given middle—”
“I’m not asking you anything, Theodosia,” he interrupted. “I’m asking Melvin.”
“Aristotle did not have a middle name, sir,” Melvin stated.
“Yeah?” Roman stood and folded his arms across his chest. “Shows how much you know. Get out.”
Theodosia bowed her head. Staring at her lap, she willed herself to remain poised. “Roman,” she said, lifting her head, “what was Aristotle’s middle name?”
Roman didn’t miss the smug look that flashed across Melvin’s face. Trying frantically to think of a good middle name for Aristotle, he looked around the room and spotted a painting whose artist had signed the right-hand corner. “Egbert,” he declared firmly, having read the name Egbert Booker on the painting. “His middle name was Egbert, and they called him Eggy for short. Not many people know that. It’s one of those rare facts that get lost in the pages of history, and since you failed to find it, Melvin, get out.”
Theodosia closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them. “Roman, Egbert is an Anglo-Saxon name. Aristotle was Greek.”
“Aristotle Egbert’s father was from Anglo-Saxon,” came Roman’s swift reply.
“Sir,” Melvin began, “Anglo-Saxon refers not to a dwelling place but to the Germanic people who conquered England in the fifth century a.d. and formed the ruling class until the Norman conquest. An Anglo-Saxon may also be described as a person descended from the Anglo-Saxons, or a white gentile of an English-speaking nation.”
Roman walked out from behind Theodosia’s chair.
Sensing his black mood, Theodosia rose and stepped in front of him. “Melvin, will you meet with me again tomorrow? I would enjoy a more in-depth conversation with you. Perhaps we could breakfast together?”
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