“Indeed. I imagine this to be the best entertainment in their monotonous lives.”
She plucked at the high collar of her dress, assaulted by the persistent humidity and press of the crowd. “We should be going.”
“In a minute. I want to see him in action.”
Shamefully, so did she. Her pulse skipped and she nearly forgot to breathe when the handsome rescuer forced heavy boards into the muck beneath the front wheels of the hearse. He ordered the nearby men to take action. The coachman, still wearing his dripping-wet top hat, snapped a whip and urged the horses forward. Another man stepped out to assist in guiding the team.
The wood being used for leverage began to sink. The hearse tilted toward Hercules. Stephanie gasped right along with the crowd. He pressed both hands to the shiny, lacquered side of the vehicle and pushed until his arm and back muscles bulged from the effort. At her side, Eric took two steps forward, perhaps thinking to help, but several other men rushed in with the same intent. At last, the team lurched forward and sprang into motion with enough force to pull the coach free.
Relieved, Stephanie exhaled sharply. People clapped and cheered. A few rowdy men blasted ear-piercing whistles.
“For a minute there, I thought the poor man would be joining the one in the box,” Eric joked. “Good thing he’s a big fellow.”
“Yes. He is, isn’t he?” she agreed, studying the nearly unclad man. He had the elemental rawness of a man in close touch with nature, an intrinsic wildness that made her nervous, even frightened. She imagined him working the docks, cutting timber, or hefting masonry blocks. Whatever his occupation, his strength had served him well today.
A man pumped the rescuer’s hand. “Good work, Mr. Langley.”
Langley? She gasped and shook her head. He can’t be . . .
Yet, another man called out his name. Good Heavens, Hercules wasn’t a dockworker. The gorgeous man with muscles like she’d never seen before was her father’s no-good, cheating partner.
Mud splashed about him with each step he took as Mr. Langley moved in her direction. Panic gripped her. She had no wish to greet the man disheveled as he was―no desire to be closer to his coarse manliness. Or maybe her desire was the problem.
The impulse to flee tore at her but a lifetime of fighting her own battles had taught her the necessity for supreme calm. “Eric, let’s go inside and secure our room,” she urged.
Eric held out his elbow to escort her when a tall fellow, with a small, scruffy dog tucked beneath one arm, burst between them, pushing them both off-balance. Stephanie tried to catch herself as momentum propelled her down the steps. The muck loomed in front of her. No! The cry caught in her throat just before she closed her eyes.
Her book flew from her hands and a jarring wrench vibrated through her when she hit something solid, immovable. But instead of landing in slimy mud, her hands descended on firm, slick skin, and her cheek rested against warm, wet smoothness. The scent of musky masculinity filled her nostrils. Unsure of her own senses, she moved her fingers up and down slowly, testing the texture. Hard muscles flexed beneath her palm, and her fingers ran over the edges of a torn, soaked shirt. She groaned in recognition. Opening her eyes, she beheld mud-splattered flesh.
Mr. Connor Langley.
Shock held her still. For an instant, a shameless part of her acknowledged that he felt wonderful, protective, and this seemed a good place to rest until her world settled. Then she returned to reality, recalling who it was she rested upon. She struggled to push away from him.
“Are you injured?”
His quiet baritone voice slipped through her defenses, touching a tender place in her heart. One strong arm encircled her waist, so close that she doubted even the rainwater could trickle between them. Her gaze traveled unbidden over muscular planes up to a square jaw and angular cheekbones until she met his cobalt-blue eyes.
He studied her with concerned intensity, two deep lines furrowing between his eyes. Though she knew he was only worried about her safety, Stephanie couldn’t get past the raw sensuality of being so near him, or the strange melting sensation that settled low in her abdomen.
Finally, she recalled his question. “No . . . No, I’m fine,” she whispered. Then, finding her customary sturdier voice, she added, “if you would please let go of me.”
He released her, and she recoiled from him like a person jumping away from a snake. She staggered backward until her heel hit the edge of the steps. Giving her hands a shake, she forced them into the folds of her dress and cleared her throat.
But all the while she simply wanted to slip right back into those strong arms.
~ ~ ~
Connor watched her square her shoulders and tilt up her chin, her hazel eyes shimmering with emerald sparks. Did she blame him for her mishap? He couldn’t comprehend her sudden display of animosity when seconds before she’d felt so soft and warm in his arms.
He inhaled deeply, catching her exotic scent.
Her green eyes narrowed. He knew those eyes. They were exactly like her father’s.
Without a doubt, she was his ex-partner’s daughter, Stephanie. His gaze slid to the man next to her before returning to the golden-haired beauty, noting the lack of resemblance yet air of familiarity they seemed to share. Other than the light hair, their features were indeed unalike. Who was the man with her? A relative? Escort? Husband? An intrinsic part of him refused to go there. John Davenport had flashed photographs often enough and hinted at his family’s lofty New England connections that there was only one reason alone would have brought Stephanie Davenport west.
Money.
John had sold his soul to lavish his brat with comfort, so it didn’t surprise Connor when she had refused Connor’s generous settlement offer. Greed was an insatiable hunger, and the thought of surrendering a nickel to this temptress turned his gut. Especially when Carmen and the boy—John’s other family—probably needed it desperately.
Damn. His old partnership landed him in one complicated mess after another.
He palmed the back of his neck and massaged tight muscled; it was so easy to slip back into this life. Connor forced himself to pause and take a step back. What was done was done and he couldn’t get involved in this time period. He needed to get the cobine and return to his own. He took another step away from the woman and brushed his hands together, only to smear the dirt on them.
A local errand boy, Danny’s high-pitched voice, with the out-of-tune tone common with a hearing deficit, brought Connor back to the situation. “I’m sorry, Miss. So sorry.” The gangly youth addressed Miss Davenport first, then turned to Connor. “Mr. Langley. I didn’t mean . . .” His words were almost unintelligible.
Connor clasped the young man’s shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze. He missed this lad. The youth he’d once taken in had grown into a fine young man, willing to face his mistakes and any challenges along the way. “I know, Danny.” He turned back to Stephanie Davenport as Danny scampered after a hobbling pup, half-smiling. “I apologize for my lad. He has mishaps now and then. He moves too quickly. But he has a good heart. Are you certain you’re all right, Miss Davenport?”
She raised a suspicious eyebrow. “How do you know who I am?”
“May I say, your pictures didn’t do you justice.”
“Pictures?”
“Photographs. Your father kept several.” He tried to keep his voice steady, his tone casual. However, their arrival couldn’t have happened at a worse time. The mesh of time was a complicated weave. He wasn’t clear on exactly how the lives in past time periods interplayed with each another. In theory, encounters could change someone’s future.
He bent slightly at the waist. “I’m Connor Langley.”
She slowly nodded and then immediately moved further out of reach, seeming to forget about the book that had landed by his feet. “Yes. I know. I heard them call your name,” she informed him with a passing glance before looking away.
Connor could read her unease. He couldn’
t blame her, given his present state of undress. Nevertheless, it amused him. “Forgive me, this isn’t the best of circumstances.”
The man she was with came up beside her, extending a hand. “I am Eric Bronson, Miss Davenport’s cousin and escort,” he said sharply.
Connor narrowed an assessing gaze at the man as propriety forced him to shake his hand. Cousin, my ass.
“Don’t you own a shirt?” she snapped.
Connor’s gaze shifted to find her looking him in the face. “Of course,” he quipped, “but what’s the point when I’m covered with mud?”
Her sparkling eyes never left his. “The point is to be a gentleman. Society has rules, Mr. Langley.”
He folded his arms. If she only knew how slack things had become in the future where celebrity culture reigned, people shared all sorts of private things on Facebook, foul language was abundant on TV, and rap music glorified sex, drugs, and violence. He wondered what her reaction would be then.
Lowering his voice, he murmured, “Ah. But I’m not a gentleman, Miss Davenport. And sometimes you will find that men make up their own rules.”
Her brows shot up so high they nearly touched her hairline. “Well,” she hissed, “San Francisco has turned out exactly as I’d expected. Crude. Depraved. And . . . and . . .” She pressed her lips together to end her outburst.
Eric coughed in surprise. “Stephanie!”
Connor stared at the duo. Nope, they didn’t resemble each other at all. Eric stood taller than she did, his brow narrow, his face long. Nothing like her wide-set, exotically expressive eyes and high cheekbones. Her noble features were a polished reproduction of her father’s. The one feature these two “cousins” shared was ivory skin that hadn’t seen a day’s work in the sun. Charmingly, her cheeks were now flushing a becoming shade of pink. He didn’t see many women blush like that in the modern age.
Before he could respond to her judgment, she waved an elegant hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
She quickly regained her composure. “Thank you for sending the letter informing us of Papa’s death. We are naturally very distraught.” Her speech thickened as if drowning in unshed tears.
“Naturally,” he repeated as he took a moment to recall the events of his past. Thinking about it now, it was odd that he and Stephanie Davenport had never crossed paths before.
“I simply honored your father’s request.” As much as he’d despised the circumstances, he’d been compelled to honor his promise to a dying man. Still, it was not for him to get involved now.
“We came to clear up the details of his finances right away,” she said. “It’s my hope to be on the train for home within a few days.”
Just like that. Straight to business. Without even inquiring about how her father had died. Maybe it was best just to settle up and send them packing before they learned the truth and things became even more convoluted. And really, why did he care? He wouldn’t be around long. Still, he couldn’t resist the jab. “If it was such an inconvenience to travel here, then you should have accepted the estate settlement I offered.”
Her eyes narrowed. “The amount was ridiculously low. However, I believe we should discuss such matters at a more appropriate time and place.” Golden wisps of hair sprang free of its upswept hairstyle with the toss of her head. “Do you prefer we contact you at your office, or will you meet us at Papa’s hotel?”
She was incredibly arrogant, when on the defensive, he thought. And incredibly beautiful―in a fine-porcelain sort of way. Rigid, yet breakable, like his mother’s flowered English china. His mouth curved into a smile at her nerve and tenacity. Admirable, but foolish. “I own the Bayfront Hotel and my office is inside.”
A shadow of surprise crossed her face. “Oh! I didn’t realize . . .” She paused, thinking. “It seems that we have a lot to discuss, then.”
Yes, a lot to discuss―such as why her father’s pockets were always empty. Connor had bought out John Davenport to offer the man relief from his debts. Perhaps he should have his lawyer review her father’s accounts with her. Yes, and free himself to do what he must. Sad how little the man had to show for his life.
“I’ll have my attorney contact you to go over the situation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have pressing matters to attend to.”
“Wait. I didn’t come all this way to meet with your solicitor. I would like to speak with you.” She crossed her slender arms over her chest.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be heading to Sacramento tomorrow,” Connor said. “Now, I believe we both need to freshen up. I take it you’ve have a room waiting for you?”
“Yes, I have a room. But I’m not going anywhere until you agree to meet with me. Can you not delay your trip for a day?”
“No,” he said emphatically. “I’m on a tight schedule.”
She pursed her lips and straightened her spine. “Then I will rise early and we can meet on your way out of town, if that’s all the time you have.”
Connor hesitated. Good God, he mustn’t get caught up in her dilemma. “I will be in my office in the morning at eight o’clock and will allow you thirty minutes before I depart.”
“Thank you, Mr. Langley. I’m not sure we can accomplish everything at that time, but it’s a start.” With a tilt of her head, her lips pulled slightly to one side, seeming somewhat pleased with herself.
It was all the time she was going to get from him, so she better accept it.
He flicked a glance at Eric, who bent to pick up the book she had dropped. Connor had forgotten about that and watched as the man wiped the mud off with his hand before handing it to Stephanie.
“I’m afraid it’s ruined,” Connor said, noting the author and title. Crofutt’s New Overland Tourist.
What he thought was disappointment glistened in her eyes as she reverently took hold of the book. Her grasp tightened on the worn binding. With remote interest, he asked, “Is Crofutt accurate?”
“I beg your pardon?” she said, a dazed look on her face.
“The book,” he indicated with a wave of his hand. “Was George Crofutt correct? Did he give you practical information?”
She stared at the book with attentive focus for a moment, as if she could read through its cover. Her brow wrinkled, creating delicate lines between her expressive blond brows. “His details were most helpful, but he romanticizes too profusely. ‘For once be natural while among nature’s loveliest and grandest creation . . . Above all forget everything but the journey,’” she quoted. “Really! If one did that, then one would have mush for brains.”
Then I must have mush for brains, Connor mused. He understood precisely what prompted Crofutt’s words. They were the elements that endeared him to this planet. The diverse land, the lone cry of the wolf, the soaring eagle, and the raging rapids were the very things that made him whole. They could heal his spirit. They fortified him to live the life he chose and let go of the land of his birth.
The rush he felt was the vampire blood running through his veins. He could deny his heritage to the world, and for the sake of his people, he would honor and keep their secret. But in his soul he knew that the untamed called to him.
The three of them walked up the steps toward the hotel, where he retrieved his shirt from the bench. “The West breeds a different sort of man. Perhaps that influenced Mr. Crofutt,” Connor said.
Tilting her head, she considered his words and then slowly nodded. However, there wasn’t even a glimpse of understanding in her eyes.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must clean up. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” He turned and walked toward Danny, who was standing to the side of the lobby, to give him instructions to take the note to his foreman and then report back with the man’s response.
~ ~ ~
Stephanie hung her coat on the rack in her room and placed her mud-crusted boots beside her luggage, which had finally been delivered. She would clean them later. Exhausted as she was, seeing to her belongings could wait, as well. Without even bothering to remove her travel
-worn clothes, she dropped onto the mattress. The ropes creaked under her weight, and she stretched. Rain beat on the roof, creating a soothing drone that comforted every aching muscle in her tired body.
Closing her eyes, she relaxed for the first time in over a week, safely cushioned by the softness of the down bedding. The maid had told her it would be at least thirty minutes before she would return with a tub and water for a bath. Mmm, hot water. How delicious.
She took in a deep breath and let it out on a deliberate sigh. The room smelled of fresh pine and oranges, and she couldn’t decide if the hotel suddenly appealed to her because of its appointments, which were nothing exceptional, or due to its sheer warmth.
Despite the perfect opportunity, the peacefulness did not last. Instead, her thoughts lingered on the problems she faced. This trip wasn’t going as she’d imagined. Her father hadn’t sent funds in a very long time, either, so she had virtually no savings to fall back on. She only hoped his properties were worth enough to help her set off on her own and be free of her obligation to her Aunt Betty.
Her mother’s sister had taken her in and cared for Stephanie along with her own four children, two boys and two girls. Stephanie recalled Aunt Betty at the train station saying farewell. Despite her short, top-heavy stature, Betty was anything but demure. Her aunt smacked her lips together in a show of displeasure at Stephanie’s departure. Although her aunt had not come out and admitted it, Stephanie thought she was hiding an illness. She would have breathing and coughing fits every now and then that had increased in frequency and intensity. The proud and private woman wouldn’t discuss the ailment, though. Another reason, Stephanie needed to secure her own independence and relieve her aunt of any obligation she felt towards her.
To that end, there was a lovely cottage house she longed to acquire, but her teaching salary alone wouldn’t be enough to maintain the house. She rolled onto her side and curled up. Was it too much to ask for just enough to make her dreams come true? She inhaled and exhaled a sad push of air. She supposed she could always return the boarding house.
Forever At Dawn: The Blood Keeper Series (The Blood Keeper Series, Novella Book 1) Page 2