18. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
“ W ell, well, Gramps. Aren’t you looking dapper.” Emily leisurely sat on the barstool, leaning on the counter and stretching one leg. “All you need is one of those sheriff stars and you’re ready to go.”
“I had considered that,” Will said, “but James advised that me posing as a lawman could provoke MacPherson and the gang further.” His smile, though looking like it always did, was still far from reaching his eyes.
He had definitely spiffed up, though. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, matching black vest, pants, and jacket—and to add to it all, someone had lent him a finely made, embossed black leather belt. That, and a gun.
Emily had to admit, Will could get far with a look like this.
Stop being obsessed with cowboys already.
Well, at least her problematic cowboy-gunslinger was nowhere in sight, despite him and Will leaving soon.
“By the way, the pendant is safe in my room,” Emily said. “I’ll inform Sylvia I’ve lost it later.”
Will nodded. “Something is troubling you,” he said after a while .
Emily huffed. “Funny, I was just about to say the same thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you afraid to go? It’s okay, Gramps, you can tell me. I can still go in your stead.” Although that would put her with James, and Will here alone with Sylvia— nope, nope!
“It’s not that. I’m sure we’ll get it done without a hitch. We have the gold, after all.”
“Then what?”
Will licked his lip and looked to the ground.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” The words slipped before she had a chance to think them over. Did she really want to tell Will that James could turn her into a hot, barely coherent mess with one look, and she’d nearly slipped and done what landed her in this trouble to begin with?
No. She definitely didn’t want to tell him that last part.
“Why do I have a feeling you’ll make me go first, then find an excuse not to tell me your troubles?” Will said.
“You know me so well.” That cheered her up. She couldn’t tell him everything, sure, but Will was a nice, rational being. He’d help her. Or he’d at least comfort her. “Let’s go at the same time. Condense your troubles down to one short sentence. You got it? On three.”
Will nodded. Wow, he got that sentence fast.
“One, two, th—”
“I kissed Sylvia.”
“I kissed James.”
Emily covered her mouth. Will’s eyes widened.
“You did what?” they shot out simultaneously.
After that, Will was the first to speak. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with him. ”
“I didn’t. I don’t. And I told him so,” Emily said determinedly. “It was a slip. It won’t happen again. He’s leaving now anyway, and after you get back, we’re leaving, so it doesn’t really matter, and it’s done. We’re done.” She suddenly felt strange in her own body, as if her every movement was being observed and judged.
“Emily, take care of her,” Will blurted out.
“What?”
“Lady Ross. You have to take care of her. You have to watch—” He blinked and drew his eyebrows together. “I trust you know best.”
It took Emily a few moments to figure out the last sentence related back to her issue with James. “I thought we were giving each other advice.”
“Given what my issue is, I’m probably not the best for this kind of advice,” Will muttered.
“Also that, yeah. How did that happen?” Emily checked to make sure they were alone in the saloon and leaned closer. “I thought you were better than going around kissing married women.”
Will sighed. “I didn’t … she asked me .”
Emily nearly fell off the chair but caught herself on the counter. “Sylvia asked you? When did that happen?”
“Last night. At the dance. We met outside the barn. Unintentionally.” Will’s movements were stiff, too. “Nothing else happened.”
The dance. Sylvia rushing off.
Shit. She had done this, provoked her with that talk of marriages and kisses and whatnot.
Emily bit her tongue hard to prevent herself from asking how it was and what exactly Will felt. “I think I suck at giving advice, too.”
“It’s not what you think,” he said. “It was only … it’s nothing. Like you said about James. It doesn’t matter. ”
Emily stayed silent. So did Will.
“You called her Sylvia,” she whispered.
Will, again, said nothing. Then he launched off the barstool and headed for the swinging door.
“What the—Gramps?”
“I have something to do before I leave,” he called, not bothering to stop on his way out.
“That’s it then, I guess,” Emily said to the empty room.
“You can put it down right here.” Molly deposited a crate of spirits on the bar counter and showed Emily where she could put down hers. “Thank you. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I can help.” It’s been two days since Will and James had left, and Emily was grasping at activity straws. One could only ride that much, and she wasn’t going to spend all of her time perched in front of Sylvia’s room. One, Sylvia had plenty of protection here, and two, she hated Emily hovering over her just as much as Emily hated doing that.
“All right. I’ll take these to the back, and you can arrange the shelf.” Molly picked up some bottles and left her alone. Emily unpacked her crate and started arranging the freshly acquired alcohol, mixing and matching bottles based on shape and color to create a chaotically organized look for the bar. She stepped back and admired her work.
Not too shabby. Maybe she should become an interior designer. She had to figure out something with her life eventually.
“Nicely done,” Molly said as she came back. “Looks like you’ll fit right in here.”
“Huh? ”
“If you want to help with the saloon, that is. I suppose you and Jimmy will have a talk about what you can do now that you’re staying.”
Emily shook her head in confusion. “I’m not staying.”
“Oh. I thought since you two were married …”
“It’s complicated.”
Molly shrugged. “Love often is, or so they say.”
“No—I—ugh.” Emily leaned on the counter and hid her face in her palm. “What did James tell you?” For god’s sake, she told him she was leaving. If he’d been scheming …
“Jimmy didn’t say nothing.” Molly weighted her head, considering. “All right, I heard him and his sister talking on the day of your wedding, and she seemed to think you’d stay because a proper married woman stays by her husband.”
“Does she realize the irony of that sentence?”
Molly smiled. “She seemed rather certain. Quite excited, actually. Especially since your cousin would also stay.”
“He’d—no! When I’m leaving, he’s leaving. Why would Sylvia think he’s going to stay?”
“Because you would?”
So Sylvia thought if Emily married James, she’d stay here, and therefore, Will would as well. She narrowed her eyes as she stared into the far corner of the saloon. Sylvia had been the one insisting on the marriage the most. Could it be it wasn’t because she wanted Emily’s reputation preserved … but because she wanted someone else to stay here?
Will’s words from their last conversation replayed in her mind. She asked him to kiss her.
“Give me five minutes, yeah?” Emily said .
“Sure,” Molly drawled as Emily rushed out.
After a few strong knocks on Sylvia’s door, the latter finally opened, and Emily pushed past her into the room.
“You told Will to kiss you.” She faced Sylvia with folded arms. “Just what were you thinking?”
“He told you? He said he wouldn’t—”
“He tells me everything. So don’t you think you can mess around behind my back, Lady.”
Sylvia locked her jaw. “I’m not messing around behind anyone’s back. And I don’t see what this has to do with you.”
Emily let out an exasperated laugh. “You insisted I marry James because you thought that would keep me, and in turn Will, here. You didn’t give a shit about how James and I felt and how it would affect us—”
“Clearly, it barely has.”
“But you didn’t know that. For all you knew, it could’ve ruined my life!”
“Oh, please,” Sylvia huffed. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”
Her dismissive tone and utterly straight posture only made Emily’s insides bubble in anger. “Well, someone has to show emotion.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean …” she stalked toward Sylvia. “You told me you didn’t care about love and romance. To you, marriage is a business transaction. Will is not an emotionless robotic machine like you are. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you’re going to stop now. He’s my friend, and I won’t let you hurt him.”
“I would never—”
“Never what? Scheme to get more time with him? What do you intend to do, huh? Are you going to cheat on your husband? Are you going to divorce him?”
“Of course not. A divorce is unthinkable—”
“Then stay out of his life.” Emily leaned down in a threatening glare. “And stay out of mine.” She rushed out of the room and slammed the door so hard she was surprised it didn’t fall off its hinges. But she stopped just outside the boardinghouse, shaking half from anger, half from a sudden burst of panic.
In the end, Sylvia’s tampering with Emily and James’s situation didn’t matter. Sure, it was a pretty scummy thing to do, but it wasn’t what bothered Emily the most.
Ever since she’d found out Sylvia’s full name, she’d been afraid she was the woman Will would end up marrying. He’d end up with someone Emily didn’t like. Someone she didn’t think deserved him.
It had seemed so unlikely: Sylvia was already married, and Will would never fall for someone like her—all posh and pesky. But almost as if fate was laughing at Emily, signs popped up here and there. Safe to say, Sylvia liked Will.
Emily hugged her middle as she stared down the dusty, empty street.
What if Will liked her back?
***
Sylvia stayed up late into the evening, wearing out the already bare wooden floor. Every word Emily said rang in her mind over and over again; some of them were overly dramatic, but others were very true and very painful. What had she been thinking?
Emily had always leaned toward hyperbole, and Sylvia wasn’t sure her request had affected Mr. Marshall as direly as Emily had painted it. Even knowing as little of men as she did, she knew they were not as easily affected by emotions as women were. Just look at James—he’d consorted with multiple women and always came out unscathed.
At the end of the day, a kiss was only a kiss.
She poured herself a glass of water from the freshly delivered pitcher. It had a vile taste—probably someone mixed alcohol in it again. And it didn’t help from distracting her one bit.
Why did that kiss feel like it had changed the very fabric of her existence? Like it had reached into her depths and altered everything she was, the way she was, and the way she’d look at Will from now on?
She pulled out the floral tie from the dance and wrapped it around her fingers. She had no right to call him Will. Mr. Marshall. She’d better remember that. She could never divorce Sir Richard—even if matters between them were resolved amicably, her family could not withstand another scandal. They’d barely recovered from what James had done; Mama would not survive such a shock. Anywhere she looked, Sylvia saw nothing but her personal limbo, with no way back or forth.
Frustrated, she stuffed the tie back into her skirt pocket just as a knock came from the door. Probably Emily, back for another round. Maybe she’d remembered more strange words she could fling in Sylvia’s face.
Her hand hovered above the knob, but she decided against it. She didn’t need to listen to any more of it. She already knew what she’d done was wrong, and that her heart was in deep, deep trouble. No additional salt on the wound needed .
Sylvia turned away, then froze when the door behind her slowly drifted open. The back of her neck prickled.
She turned around, her scream cut halfway through as a strong hand covered her mouth.
***
The saloon in Georgetown was bigger than the one in Richling Creek, with a bar that ran the length of the wall and an impressive assortment of spirits behind it. Several men watched James and Will with suspicion as they entered; James had told the barkeeper to notify MacPherson, and they had been sitting in a corner for over an hour now.
“Are you sure the notification will work?” Will asked.
“News will spread around. Patience.”
“Patience is not the issue. I’m merely questioning efficiency.”
James did another scan of the saloon. The suspicious group still lingered, but one man was absent. There we go.
“Remember, look firm,” he said to Will. “Like you’re tired of all this shit and just want to get it over with.”
A corner of Will’s mouth quirked up. “Not far from the truth.”
James snorted. “And don’t say much. It’s better they think you’re one of the dangerous, silent types. You can spit, though. You should.”
“Excuse me?”
“Spit. Like this.” James sent a bit of spittle flying in a low arc. “It’ll make you look even tougher.”
“Sure,” Will said slowly. “Any other, uh, interesting directions? ”
“We’ll probably be outnumbered. This shouldn’t be a problem because MacPherson is getting what he wants, but he might get a little daring. In that case, it’d be good if he thinks we have an advantage. We could make him think we know something he doesn’t.” James rubbed his chin. “A different language, like a code. They’ll speak Spanish. How is your French?”
“My mother is French.”
“No problem, then. Just follow my directions.” The door swung, and the ground trembled under several heavy-booted, spurred feet. “There he comes.”
James leaned back in the chair, assuming a relaxed pose. “MacPherson, old pal! Never thought I’d see you again.”
MacPherson let out a dark laugh as he headed for their table, three men trailing him. Coward . “Never thought I’d see you again either. I was expecting you’d be halfway to Mexico by now.”
“A bit too hot for my taste.” James stood and flung the heavy canvas bag across the table, the gold inside making a dull thump as it landed. “Luckily for both of us, I’ll stay in better climates, and we part as unlikely friends.”
MacPherson munched on a cigarette as he brushed the fabric to reveal a glimpse of gold. He opened the bag further, revealing two more lumps. His cronies murmured amongst themselves.
“You’re a flashy bastard, Winters. What’s wrong with greenbacks?”
James shrugged. “I thought I’d make an impression.”
MacPherson lifted a lump and put the edge between his teeth. “It’s gold, all right,” he proclaimed to his companions. He brushed the bag close and handed it over to one of them.
Leave. You got what you wanted, leave now .
“I’ll consider my debt paid, then,” James spoke. Next to him, Will shifted in his seat but maintained his strong, silent persona.
“The debt is paid when I say it’s paid.”
James sighed inwardly. He cocked his head to the side to indicate he was talking to Will but kept his eyes locked on MacPherson. “On dirait qu'il va être difficile. Nous devons leur faire peur.”
Will gave them all a pensive look—a good move. “Etes-vous s?r qu'ils ne comprennent pas?”
James studied MacPherson and his compatriots. They looked wary. One of the men stared dumbly. “Non, je pense que c'est bon.”
“Comme vous le dites.” Will stared at the men, eyes slightly narrowed. The men stared back.
Then Will flicked his head and spit on the floor.
The men slightly relaxed their stances—all but the dumb starer, who shifted his hand, almost covering the gun on his belt.
Let’s hope he’s not too jumpy.
The man’s hand hovered closer, but before he could touch the gun, before James could draw his, before he even saw Will stand up, Will showed up behind the man, gun pointed at his head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
He moved between the blinks of an eye. Like Flicker.
What was up with him and Emily?
MacPherson turned to Will. For a few stretched, tense seconds, their eyes battled.
“Let them go,” MacPherson barked to his compatriots. James let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, stood, and sauntered past the group, never turning his back on them. “Bonsoir, mon amis.” He tipped his hat, and they were off. Will put the gun away once they were out of the saloon, and they rushed to the back, where they’d left their horses. James kept his eyes peeled but saw no signs of an ambush.
“When we found the gold, there were five lumps in total, plus a few flakes,” Will spoke. “You gave one lump to Molly, I believe?”
Observant fellow.
“That leaves four. When we were leaving, you said it’d be enough.”
“So I did.”
“You handed MacPherson three.”
“And so I did.” James lifted himself on the horse. Will took his silence correctly as a sign no answer was coming.
“Well done,” James said after a few moments. “I gotta say, you’re mighty fast with a gun.”
“I wouldn’t have shot him.”
“I know. But he didn’t.” James clucked his horse, and they sped out of town.
By keeping a fast pace, they reached the valley of Richling Creek as dusk descended. Lights popped up across the town to greet them from afar and guide them home.
Home.
Of all the places he’d been to in the past few years, James had spent the least amount of time here. If five years ago someone would’ve told him where he’d end up, he’d laugh them off—then pick up his cronies at Oxford and go fencing or boxing or bet on the horses. And if he kept doing that, without one small mistake with Vanessa, he’d still be there, by now probably arguing over cards and women at some smoke-filled club in London .
Richling Creek may be a shit hole, but in comparison with that, it seemed like heaven.
But it didn’t become the real heaven until a mouthy, green-eyed girl came right up to him and offered him a beer.
Frustrating as it was, the last sane part of James’s brain also realized it was quite fitting. After him leaving all the women, finally one was leaving him. After him not wanting a wife, a wife didn’t want him.
He had thought of talking to Will about Emily’s reasons, but decided against it. As Will had said before, Emily was her own woman—and it felt wrong going behind her back and trying to fix things from Will’s side after she’d clearly told him no.
He just wished he could feel that “no” in her words as much as he’d heard it.
The joy and bane of his existence was sitting in front of the boardinghouse, biting her nails, as they rode in. She spotted them, then ran to them as Will called to her. There was an anxiety to her movements that made James the wrong kind of uncomfortable.
“Now, before you say anything,” Emily started. “I know this is my fault, and I fully acknowledge the responsibility. I also didn’t know anything until I went upstairs ten minutes ago, and no one in town has heard or seen anything.”
James’s skin prickled.
“What’s wrong?” Will asked.
Emily swallowed and looked at James. “Sylvia is missing.”