“Think hard before you make any plans on your own.”
“What’s the difference if I ride in a carriage or on a train?”
“The train is full of coal dust.”
“It is not, and this is insane. You can’t stop me from doing what I came here to do.” But the bitter truth was with brute force, he could. She pushed a piece of sausage around the flower pattern on the china plate drawing designs in the congealing grease, considering how she could block or go around his power play. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
He folded his hands and crossed his legs. “I’m not making any deals.”
She picked up a cup and saucer and rose to fill it from a carafe on the sideboard, inhaling the fragrant aroma of freshly ground coffee. “You have to negotiate, Rick. That’s part of working together.”
His mouth twisted into a wry grimace. “Who said we were working together?”
“Oh, stop it.” She returned to the table with a cup of coffee. But approaching him from the side, she noticed a red mark on his neck. Teasingly, she flicked at the skin just below his jaw. “Looks like a hickey. I guess one of those scantily dressed women went vampire on you last night.”
He drew his head away from her fingernail, blushing. “It’s a razor burn.”
“Liar. That’s why you don’t want to leave town today. You’re planning on a little afternoon delight.” She glanced at her watch pin and did quick mental calculations. “If we leave now and don’t have any delays, we’ll be back in plenty of time.”
Except for a slight blush, there was nothing else to indicate what he was thinking. She thought she’d guessed wrong, and then he smiled. “You’re as good as any detective I’ve worked with. Okay, I’ll compromise. We’ll leave as soon as we can and take the next train to Morrison. When we arrive, we’ll have time to stretch our legs before getting back on the train for the return trip.”
“I’d like to stop at the hardware and lumber store to get supplies for a field kit. I saw one directly across from the Morrison depot. They should have the picks, chisels, and brushes I need. I’d also like to check at the livery to be sure we can rent horses tomorrow.”
“No, we’re getting right back on the train.”
“If you’ll agree to walk around Morrison and make plans for the next trip, I’ll agree to shorten our stay to, say…eight days.”
“Three days.”
“Forget it.”
He stood, leaned on the table with his knuckles and shifted his head until it came close to hers, looking far too menacing. And for the first time since meeting him, she saw the warrior beneath his sexy exterior.
“I thought we were negotiating, sweetheart.”
She could do menacing, too. Bending forward with her elbows placed squarely on the table, she came within inches of his face. So close, in fact, she could practically taste the apple butter seasoned with cinnamon he’d spread on his biscuit. “I’m trying to, but you’re being unreasonable.”
He leaned in even closer. “Moi?” Then he straightened and although he didn’t have a mustache, he did the one-hand, finger-thumb smoothing thing men with facial hair often did. “Okay. Five days. Last offer.”
“Seven.”
“Five.”
“Six and a half.”
“Six,” he said.
“Done.”
“Damn, Amber. Do you always have to win?”
“I get paid to win.” She popped up out of her seat. “Allow me to stand you a drink. Where’s the whisky?”
“I don’t want a drink. Finish your breakfast. You’re as ornery as my sister. I’ll go arrange transportation to the train station.” He walked out of the room, but she called him back.
“What’s her name?”
He smiled ruefully. “JL O’Grady Fraser.”
“I’m not asking about your sister.”
“I’m a discreet guy, sweetheart. I never kiss and tell. Besides, if you knew, you’d use her to finagle an extension when you run out of days.”
“I wouldn’t do that. I might be a hard-ass negotiator, but I always negotiate in good faith. I never go back on my word.”
“If you say so. I’m going to the stables. I’ll meet you in the foyer in fifteen minutes. Don’t forget your bear coat. You might not need it now, but Morrison will be cold.” He gave her an expectant look, as if he thought their business wasn’t yet concluded. If he suspected she’d change their Morrison itinerary, he was probably right. But she’d wait until they arrived there, and she had more control over their schedule. When she didn’t say anything out loud, he walked away, the thick rug in the back hallway muffling his footsteps.
Returning to her breakfast, she spread a dollop of apple butter on her own biscuit and considered how much time she had left and what she hoped to accomplish. The remaining hours would slip by like a rushing stream if she didn’t find a way to dam the creek. She laid her knife on her plate crosswise, wondering if there was a way to do that.
While munching on the crusty bread, the front door slammed shut and footsteps approached the dining room, echoing through the house. Noah, with Ripley trotting behind him, plowed into the room.
He stopped and stared at her, a question in his sharp eyes. “You’re dressed to go out, but Mrs. Murphy said you were resting today.”
She put down the biscuit and wiped her fingers on the cloth napkin. “Rick and I are taking the train back to Morrison. I need to buy supplies for a field kit and arrange transportation for tomorrow.”
“What’s a field kit?”
“Tools of the trade when fossil hunting—hammers and chisels and things.”
“Oh.” He patted Ripley’s head then snuck a piece of bacon from the buffet and slipped it to the dog. “Can Ripley and I go?”
She picked up her crystal water glass, taking her time before responding. She turned the glass right and left and watched sunlight flash from the facets and splinter into rainbows on the tablecloth. She didn’t know who was supervising Noah’s schedule in his father’s absence and didn’t want to assume she had any authority in that regard.
“Where’s your grandfather?” she finally asked.
“He went to work.” Noah hung his head, and although his body language said he was giving up, she knew he was marshalling his arguments and would march them out, one by one as needed. “Ripley and I don’t have anything to do.”
“I thought boys had dogs so they’d always have a friend to play with.”
He sat next to her, one arm resting on the top rung of the ladder-back chair, mimicking Daniel’s pose, the one she’d often seen at Mrs. Garland’s breakfast table. “I got tired of throwing sticks and Ripley got tired of chasing them. If I went with you, you could teach me more about dinosaurs. It would be a science lesson.”
“That’s an interesting argument,” she said. “But tell me this. What would you be doing if you were in Leadville right now?”
“I’d be at school.”
“Oh, that’s right. You should be in school here, too.”
Ripley sat next to her chair and whined for attention. She scratched the dog’s head and fed her a few scraps from her plate.
“My grandfather’s going to hire a tutor to teach me while I’m in Denver.”
“Do you like that idea?”
Noah sucked in his upper lip, and she could tell he was mentally weighing the pros and cons. “I’d rather have a holiday.”
“But a tutor can give you advanced instruction in math and science. You’ll be ahead of your class when you return to school, and you’ll be able to help other students who don’t know as much as you.”
“But that doesn’t help me today, Amber. So can I go with you and Rick?”
“It’s okay with me. Go ask Mrs. Murphy and tell her we’ll be back by mid-afternoon. If she agrees, grab your hat and coat.”
While Noah went to find Mrs. Murphy, Amber perused the front page of the Denver Times spread out in front of where Rick had been sitting. A quick read of a coup
le of newspapers always gave her a grasp of the town she was visiting and its leading citizens, regardless of the century.
An above-the-fold article reported on Senator Jerome B. Chaffee. He was retiring from the United States Senate and Nathaniel P. Hill was running to fill his seat. She turned the page and scanned the articles there, finding an interesting notice about Horace Tabor.
The Denver Times is involved in a nice libel suit. Mr. Tabor has sued it for libel and places damages at $30,000. He has employed able counsel and will push the suit energetically. If the suit should be successful we are sure the Times will not receive much sympathy, for its personal attacks on men of character have been unjustifiable in every way.
Employed an able counsel? Mr. Tabor should have hired her. But when the suit was filed, they hadn’t met. She thumbed to the next page. The first headline grabbed her and wouldn’t let go.
GIGANTIC AMERICAN REPTILES – Prof. O.C. Marsh, in the last number of the American Journal of Science, states that the Museum of Yale College has recently received the greater portion of the skeleton of a huge reptile, which proves to be one of the most remarkable animals yet discovered. It was found on the eastern flank of the Rocky Mountains, in beds which are regarded as corresponding nearly to the Wealden of Europe, and which may be classed as upper Jurassic. The remains are well preserved but are embedded in so hard a matrix that considerable time and labor will be required to prepare them for a full description. The characteristics already determined point to affinities with the Dinosaurs: Plesiosaurs, and more remotely with the Chebonians, and indicate a new order, which may be termed Stegosauria, from the typical genus here described.
In this specimen, some of the teeth preserved have compressed crowns, and are inserted in sockets. Others are cylindrical and were placed in rows, either in thin plates of imperfect bone, or in cartilage…
The present species was probably about thirty feet long and moved mainly by swimming. For its discovery, science is indebted to Prof. A. Lakes, and…
She closed the paper. At least they got the length right, but the swimming part was all wrong, but that wouldn’t be proven for a while. She tapped her fingers on the table thinking how opinions concerning the Stegosaurus had changed through the decades, through the centuries. Early on, Marsh believed the dinosaur was bipedal due to its short forelimbs, but he’d changed his mind. When was that exactly? Around 1890, she thought.
The other big controversy that continued for years concerned the plates on the dinosaur’s back. Dr. Marsh was convinced they’d been used as armor. But it was later decided, long after Marsh died, that the plates were too thin and too shallowly embedded in the skin to be a protective device. What would the good doctor think if he knew the prevalent idea was that the alternating plates were used as display structures to attract mates?
If Amber met him this week, could she—would she—tell him?
She folded the paper and set it aside just as Noah returned. The cadence of his boot heels sounded remarkably like his father’s, and she expected to look up and see Daniel. But it was Noah, and his head hung even lower than before. She knew immediately Mrs. Murphy had said no.
“She said I couldn’t go.”
Her stomach—eggs and biscuit and all—did an uneasy lurch. “Why? Did she give you a reason?”
“My grandpa isn’t working this afternoon, so he’s taking me shopping.”
“That’s awesome.”
“But I’d rather go with you and Rick.”
She patted the seat of the chair next to her. “Sit down, young man.” He plopped into the chair and Ripley laid her head in Noah’s lap. “You were so excited to come here. He’s your momma’s dad, and he wants to love you like he loved her. Enjoy every moment you have with him, because one day he won’t be here.”
Noah teared up. “One day you won’t be here either.”
The sad tone of his voice, the look of disappointment on his face, the slump of his body like the weight of the world was too heavy to bear, had tears burning the backs of her eyes. She scooted in her chair until the slats of the ladder-back dug into her shoulder blades, giving her a different kind of pain. If she broke down, Noah would, too. He wanted hope, but she couldn’t offer him a forever, and she couldn’t lie to him either.
“You’re right. One day I won’t be here.” She took hold of his hand, squeezed it lightly. “Wherever I go, you’ll always be in my heart.”
He pushed to his feet, knocking over his chair. “I don’t want to be in your heart.” He yanked his hand away. “I want you to be my ma. You like my pa. I know you do.”
Amber sat in shocked silence. Before Noah, she rarely spent time with kids. The law firm hired high schoolers to run errands, and the associates in the office had babies and toddlers she smiled and cooed over, but not kids with problems she couldn’t fix with a phone call or a diaper change. What would her granny do?
Amber warmed all over, remembering the hugs, the scent of fresh vegetables and roses from her granny’s gardens, the tickling hair that fell from her bun and brushed across Amber’s cheek, the softness of her shoulder. Her granny always stopped whatever she was doing and gave Amber her undivided attention, making her the most important person in the world at that moment in time.
That was what her granny would do.
“You can marry him,” Noah continued in a pleading voice. “We can all live with Mrs. Garland in Leadville.”
Holy Cinderella, Batman.
Marry Daniel? Live in Leadville? The train was leaving the station and her bags were still on the platform.
Holy nightmare.
All she wanted was to have sex with the guy. Noah wanted her to marry his dad and live in a boardinghouse.
Holy knit one, purl two.
Amber brought her feet under her and stood slowly, unsure of her next steps, or even if her legs would carry her there. The chair creaked in response. Or was that her bones creaking? Ripley paid her only a smidgeon of attention before lowering her head and closing her eyes. Oh, the life of a dog.
“Do you suppose we can talk about this without getting angry?” She bent to pick up Noah’s overturned chair and set it right again. This situation was so far out of her element, she couldn’t think of what else to do. Setting a chair upright was an action step. Did she have another?
Noah swiped at a tear dripping down his cheek. “I’ll try.”
Remembering her granny’s hugs, Amber put her arm around Noah’s shoulder. “It sounds like you want to have a grown-up conversation.”
That’s a good start.
“Let’s go to the parlor where adults do that. Okay?” She needed time to think of a plan and changing rooms would give her a moment or two to come up with something. Or maybe Rick would intervene. He’d been a boy once. He’d lost his mother. He’d know what to say to Noah. That was an excellent idea. But where was he now? If they walked slowly, took baby steps, executed a few roundabouts, maybe Rick would rescue her—again.
She took Noah’s hand—because that was what her granny would have done—and led him away with Ripley tagging along behind them. They reached the parlor entirely too soon, and she bought another minute by closing the large divider doors, first one side and then the other, instead of pulling them together at the same time.
The room smelled of lemon oil and fear. No. She had to lay claim to the fear smell. It was all hers. The morning sun beamed in through two floor-to-ceiling windows, and she thought of Star Trek and beaming up to Starfleet, and her amber brooch and spinning wildly out of control.
Stop it, Amber. Focus. Focus on the furniture. Focus on anything except marrying Daniel and becoming an instant mother.
The sun glistened off the tops of the polished mahogany furniture, and the pianoforte positioned in the corner with a music book opened on the stand.
Okay. That’s a good start.
A modest fire crackled in the fireplace throwing off much-needed heat in the chilly room that bristled with decorum.
That works, too. Keep going.
Noah stood in front of a patterned, tufted parlor chair with embroidered piping, hands clasped behind his back.
Okay.
But when she realized he looked like a miniature of his dad, she thought of marriage and a life in a boardinghouse, and she started wigging out again.
Poke the fire. Do something.
She grabbed the fire iron, poked and poked and poked, but all she was doing was taking her confusion out on the damn log. She set the poker aside and brushed off her hands. Noah remained standing by his chair, waiting for her to sit first.
“Please, sit down.” She took a seat opposite him on the floral velvet sofa, demurely crossed her legs at the ankles, and rested her clenched hands in her lap.
Relax. You’re sending the wrong signals.
She released her fingers and worked up a nervous smile.
Noah sat, feet firmly planted on the oriental rug. Ripley sat attentively at the side of the chair, guarding her master. Noah looked up expectantly.
Amber cleared her voice. “Now, why exactly do you want a mother? And why do you want me to fill that role?”
“Well, Miss Amber,” he said formally. “The reason I want you as my mother is because…well…because…you see…well… Since my ma died, my pa’s been sad. I’ve heard him cry at night when he thinks I’m asleep. He tosses and turns in bed, and sometimes he gets up and goes downstairs. When he comes back, I smell whisky. I don’t mind when he drinks whisky because he never gets mean or anything like that, but when he cries, that hurts me because I can’t help him. Sometimes he looks at my ma’s picture in his watch, and there’s such longing in his face that I have to turn away.”
Noah shuffled his feet, stared at his hands, then continued. “When I saw Pa look at you for the first time, I saw a look in his face I’ve never seen before. It wasn’t that you had just saved me, it was…well… He wanted you to save him, too.”
Amber’s heart cracked and splintered. She opened her arms and pulled Noah in for a fierce hug. “Noah, you’re such a caring soul. You’re always thinking of other people.” She sniffed. “Your dad is so lucky to have you.” She dug into her pocket for a handkerchief and wiped her nose.
The Amber Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 8) Page 41