Secrets, Spies & Sweet Little Lies (Secrets & Spies)

by Kingston, Tara

  A twinge in his low back provided a much-needed distraction. He rubbed the spot where his trousers hit his waist. The dull throb provided some relief from his thoughts of Emma. A little pain beat mooning over a woman any day.

  “You’re heavier than you look,” he mused as he molded small circles on his muscles with his hand.

  Emma blinked. A wide-eyed, parted-lipped stare followed. Was a bear standing behind him? A wolf? Cole glanced over his shoulder. Nothing. But her cheeks had taken on an intense red flush, and she looked at him with the horror she might reserve for a thug who kicked a puppy off a bridge.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head, though her eyes betrayed the gesture’s lack of truth. “If you did not choose to carry on like an uncivilized philistine, you would not suffer the effects of mistreating an unexpectedly heavy woman.”

  He cocked a brow. “Did you actually make a list of words to describe barbarian scoundrels who steal women from trains before you left Washington?”

  “If I’d had any idea I’d encounter the likes of you, I assure you the list would be longer and more scathing.”

  “The list is mighty impressive as it is,” he said with a nod. “I can’t say I’ve ever had a woman address me as a philistine. I like it…sounds imposing.”

  “You are a horrible man,” she said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.

  She hadn’t even looked at him like that when he’d taken liberties with her. Unexpectedly heavy. He stifled a laugh and forced a repentant look onto his features.

  “I did not mean to imply that your figure was anything but perfectly proportioned.” His hands curved around her waist. “My fingers can span your middle.”

  “Please remove your hands,” she said crisply. “Your flattery doesn’t change a thing.”

  The fire he’d roused in Emma had been replaced with a prim layer of frost. An unfamiliar sense of regret filled him. “It’s about time to get something to eat,” he said to change the subject.

  Drumming her fingers against the wood, Emma leaned against the porch rail. “I do miss my father’s cook. Mrs. McGinty’s biscuits are delectable.” Her voice trailed off as she stared into the distance.

  “What else do you miss?” For some reason he didn’t understand, he wanted to know about the life she’d been willing to leave behind to run off with a traitor.

  Her shoulders rose and fell. “Too many things to mention.”

  “Just tell me one…or two.”

  The rhythm of her fingers slowed. “I miss my father’s library. There’s a daguerreotype of my mother. I’m sitting with her in the portrait. I couldn’t have been more than six. Mama had arranged my hair with a beautiful velvet ribbon.”

  Her eyes misted and her fingers stilled as she leaned against the railing. Cole swallowed against the impulse to comfort her. He’d expected her to speak of the luxuries she’d left behind. He hadn’t planned to share in her memories.

  “How old were you when you lost your mother?” He took care to gentle his tone.

  Emma veiled her eyes with her lashes. “How did you know my mother is dead?” She studied him for the span of several heartbeats. “Of course, you would know that. You probably know quite a lot about me.”

  Cole tipped her chin with his fingertip. “It’s clear you’ve missed her for a long while.”

  “It feels like ages.”

  “Time doesn’t always make much difference.” He plowed a hand through his hair. “I still remember the day my brother was killed.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, and his gut told him the words were heartfelt. “You’ve suffered so much loss.”

  “That was a long time ago.” He watched the column of her throat constrict. He needed to change the subject. “Are you getting hungry?”

  She nodded. “Do you have a skillet and some lard?”

  “There’s a skillet in the cabin, but I don’t think we have any lard.” What was she up to?

  “I’m going a bit mad doing nothing but sitting around…and being carried around. I can make us something to eat.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I can fry up the potatoes with the meat. Father’s cook made something similar. Of course, she had lard. But I don’t think that will make much of a difference.”

  * * *

  Cole had subsisted for weeks on hardtack and beef jerky. During those times, he’d been glad to have food in his belly, but he vowed he’d never consume so much as a bite of jerky once he was out of the field. But one taste of the scorched potato and ham mixture Emma had scraped from the skillet, and an intense nostalgia for field rations washed over him. Somehow, she’d managed to prepare food that was both charred and undercooked at the same time. He sensed she’d taken her revenge.

  Her expectant eyes told another story. Jesus, she didn’t actually hope he’d be pleased with the concoction, did she?

  “What do you think?” Her sweetly voiced question sounded like a trap if he’d ever heard one.

  He’d err on the side of caution. If he told her the truth, he’d seem like even more of a monster.

  “It tastes just fine.”

  He nearly dropped his fork when her lips curved into something he thought was a smile. She speared a hunk of potato. “I thought it might have been overcooked.”

  “It’s just fine,” he repeated as he forced down more of the mixture.

  Emma chewed the dainty bite she’d placed in her mouth. Then she chewed it some more. She shook her head miserably. The hint of a smile had vanished. “No, it’s not. This is terrible.”

  He loaded his fork with another mouthful. “It’s extremely…filling.”

  Emma tapped the edges of the tin plate. She gave a little sniff and stared at her food. “Do you really think so?”

  He nearly choked on the potatoes in his mouth. A copious amount of water washed them down. “It’s hearty stuff.”

  She graced him with a smile and took another bite. “I suppose you’re right. It’s not so bad. I’m spoiled from Mrs. McGinty’s wonderful fare. Father’s cook has been with our family for as long as I can remember.”

  What a shame they hadn’t thought to snatch Mrs. McGinty away before he hauled Emma from the train. Cole smiled to himself as he forced another bite into his mouth.

  “I’ll get us some fish for dinner,” he said, gesturing toward the creek. “This stream is filled with trout.”

  A worried frown played on her lips. “I have no idea how to cook fish.” The words sounded like a confession.

  She obviously had no idea how to cook potatoes, either, but Cole kept that thought to himself. He smothered a grin and forced his mouth into a bland line. “Fortunately for us, I do.”

  * * *

  After Cole walked down to the creek, fishing rod in hand, Emma returned to her spot on the porch. Her book lay discarded on the floor where she’d left it. Aunt Elizabeth would be entirely displeased to see how careless she’d become. A place for everything and everything in its place. No doubt her aunt’s face would pucker in a frown at any sign of disorder, even here in her remote prison.

  The story beckoned her to resume reading, but a restless yearning filled her. She’d have enough time to be cooped up in this cabin. She’d enjoy an hour or two in the fresh air, even if that meant enduring Cole’s presence.

  Emma grabbed the novel and made her way back to the creek. She met Cole’s curious gaze without comment and seated herself on a stone near his perch.

  He stretched his long legs out before him. “Back so soon, Miss Davenport?”

  “I decided I could read out here as well as in that wooden prison.”

  One dark brow arched. “The company of a barbarian no longer offends you?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Emma said, scooping up a handful of pebbles. She skimmed one across the creek. “I suppose I’m not used to being so…alone.”

  He nodded as he jostled the line in the water. “So being with me is better than
solitary confinement?”

  Emma kept her focus on the flowing water. “It feels strange to have so much time and so little to do. My days were usually a blur of activity.”

  He tugged at the line without sparing her a glance. “Days at your dressmaker and nights at the theater—you must have been exhausted.”

  Emma bit back a retort. The thinly veiled criticism in his words stung. He was a scoundrel. His opinion shouldn’t matter one whit. Yet it did.

  She forced a sweet, vapid tone into her voice. “You forgot filling my dance card and wicked flirtations.”

  “Wicked flirtations? What kind of drivel have you been reading?”

  She pitched another pebble across the water. “Your thoughts about my literary tastes are completely irrelevant.”

  “Miss Davenport, do you have a hankering for ham again tonight?”

  “I can’t say that I do.”

  This time, he slanted her a glance. More of a glare, actually. “Then why are you driving the fish away?”

  “Oh, the pebbles,” she said, taking his meaning.

  “You don’t want to announce our presence. They can’t see us, but they sure can tell when you’re making ripples on the surface.”

  The small stones tumbled from her fingers to the ground. “Speaking of not announcing one’s presence—you followed me earlier, didn’t you?”

  He turned his attention back to the creek. “Someone needs to protect you.”

  She gave her head a curt little shake. “Certainly not you.”

  “Right now, I’m all you’ve got.”

  Chapter Nine

  Crystal clear water lapped over the smooth stones in the creek bed. Emma wiggled her toes against the confines of her shoes. The coolness and crisp smell of the stream beckoned. Such a temptation was too much to resist, even with an arrogant mule of a man watching her every move. She unlaced her shoes and slipped them from her feet, then peeled off her stockings.

  Hunched over his knees, Cole jiggled the fishing line. “You sure you want to do that? The local matrons would be scandalized.”

  She would not allow him to cloud this simple pleasure. Dipping her toes in the water, she skimmed them over the flat, smooth stones lining the bank.

  “That’s of no consequence now,” she said finally. “I’m sure the matrons—and everyone else in Washington—have already shredded my reputation. Anyone who knows about what’s happened would assume…well, you can imagine what they must think.”

  For an instant, Emma thought she saw the muscles in his throat clench, but the notion was ridiculous. A hardened desperado would not be affected by her words.

  “The only one in Washington who needs to know about this is your father.” He stared at the lure bobbing in the water.

  “What about all the people who saw you take me off that train?”

  “Those people weren’t headed to Washington. They have no idea who you are.” He kept his attention fixed on the lure. “Tell me, Miss Davenport, what possesses an apparently sensible young woman to leave her home in the middle of the night?”

  Her stomach knotted at his words. “You already know the answer.”

  “I sure as hell don’t. This man you’re planning to marry…why didn’t he come to fetch you?” Cole shook his head in apparent disgust. “Staton’s smart enough to know you’d be in danger.”

  “I was not in any peril until you forced me off the train.”

  “You were at risk from the moment you chased off after Staton.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Staton wanted you to leave Washington. He wanted you far away from your home—from your father.” Cole turned his gaze to her. The intense focus in his eyes sent a chill through her. “But he didn’t have the guts to come after you.”

  Oh, this man was impossible. A train robber and a scoundrel, casting aspersions on her fiancé. But still, his words chafed like a pebble in a too-tight shoe.

  She flashed him a glare beneath her lashes. “And you would have?”

  “I already did.”

  His words hit her with the force of lightning in a summer storm. If only his husky rasp bore a note of mockery, an air of gloating triumph. But spoken as they were, the words seemed a truth and nothing more.

  Drat the man! No, not drat. Drat was not nearly strong enough. Damn, damn, damn!

  Well, she’d had enough of this. She wasn’t about to let this heathen rile her any more than he already had, and she certainly wasn’t going to let on that he’d managed to pierce her heart without even trying.

  She came to her feet, absently smoothing her skirts. The prospect of returning to the cabin held as much appeal as the hours she’d endured practicing scales as a child. C Major. C Minor. B Major. Drudgery with a musical accompaniment.

  “Something wrong?” Cole’s husky tones had been replaced with a faint air of mockery. Good. Just what she needed to banish the faint hunger that gnawed at her heart.

  “Not at all.” She hiked her skirts past her ankles and slid her toes over the smooth surface of a large, flat stone. She snapped a quick glance over her shoulder, then focused her attention on the rocks beneath her feet. Gulping back her inhibitions, she hesitantly stepped onto the bank.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Cole observed casually.

  The hint of a smile playing on his lips added to her resolve. She stepped from one gleaming stone to another. Hesitantly at first, and then, her confidence grew as she navigated each in turn. Her bare toes peeked out beneath her cotton dress. “This is actually quite enjoyable. Pity I never tried this as a girl.”

  “You wanted a dip in the creek. Looks like you might get one.”

  She shot him another glare. “Let me assure you, I have more grace than that.”

  * * *

  Cole braced himself for the scream he felt sure would follow. Emma’s determination to navigate the slick rocks confounded his expectations. He’d embarked on this mission prepared for a spoiled mouse of a woman who would cower and whine and pout. The thought of the senator’s prim and proper daughter shedding her shoes and traipsing barefoot at the edge of the stream had never entered his mind.

  She was trouble wrapped up in a pretty package. Bad enough she’d marched into the woods and right into the path of an angry rattler. Solving that problem had been easy. He’d aimed his revolver, the snake died, and Emma was out of danger. Her precarious position at the creek bank created a dilemma. Should he haul her off the rocks before she had a chance to slip or leave her be until the inevitable happened?

  He propped his fishing pole against a tree and left his spot on the bank. If she fell in, he’d better be ready to go in after her. The creek wasn’t deep, but with her cumbersome clothing, he didn’t doubt Emma could manage to drown in four feet of water.

  Her eyes shone with an almost childlike exuberance. The unmasked happiness tied a peculiar knot in his gut. She was nothing like the spoiled brat of a woman he’d expected. Somehow, that made his job even harder.

  She tiptoed gingerly along the bank. “I told you I wouldn’t fall.”

  “Not yet, at least.”

  Emma extended her arms at her sides. “I have excellent balance.”

  As the words left her mouth, a squirrel dashed from a low-hanging branch, down a tree trunk, and bolted over the stones. Emma gasped and wobbled precariously. Depending on which direction she fell, he might be able to catch her before she went in. She teetered toward the creek. If she went in, he’d have to go after her. Damn.

  Emma swayed toward him. He reached out to catch her, but before he could make contact, she recovered her footing. The smile on her lips was real as she met his questioning eyes.

  “That was a bit of a fright,” she breathed. “For a moment there, I thought I’d take a tumble.”

  “I still think it’s a matter of time until you wind up falling on your—”

  “My, my, Mr. Barbarian…you seem disappointed.” The lilt in her voice added a charm he’d never believed possi
ble to barbarian. It seemed an endearment.

  “I’m not looking forward to going in after you.”

  “I can swim. My father insisted I learn.”

  “Were you wearing a corset at the time?”

  “Oh, I hadn’t considered that. I supposed I’d manage.” She turned her face toward the sun, then skittered off the stones. “I cannot tell you how long it’s been since I’ve ventured outdoors in my bare feet. I was a young girl at the time.”

  An image of Emma as a child flashed in his thoughts. With those emerald eyes flashing with mischief and her mane of chestnut brown hair, a ribbon tied in her windblown tresses, she would have been her father’s joy—and his challenge. The senator had reined her in, but he’d never stripped her of her spirit. That, at least, was in Jeremiah Davenport’s favor.

  “Well, that was exhilarating.” She spun away and sank onto the stone near her book. Opening the novel, she thumbed to a dog-eared page.

  He grabbed his fishing pole and turned his attention back to the creek. Her soft sigh drew his interest. Her eyes riveted to the page, she didn’t seem to notice his gaze upon her. “Is anything wrong?”

  She nodded but didn’t tear her gaze from the novel. Another tiny sigh escaped her as she turned the page. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure of that?” he pressed. Why on earth was she making distressed noises if nothing was wrong?

  Knitting her brows, she peered over the top of the volume. “This is the best part.”

  “You’ve read it before?”

  Emma’s eyes were the only part of her face visible behind the leather-bound volume. “Of course. It’s one of my favorite novels. It’s so…oh, I doubt you would understand.” She sat up a little straighter, and her nose joined her eyes over the top of the book. “It’s quite romantic.”

  He rubbed his jaw, searching his mind for something—anything—that might fit that description. “Like sonnets and Shakespeare?”

  Her brows formed a vee. “No.”

  “So there’s a happy ending?”