Chapter 3 #2
Rawlins Dyer possessed a full head of gray hair and thick walrus mustache, the bearer of a vast oil empire and a fortune tantamount to her father’s.
With pride, she beamed up at Rawlins, an aristocratic, confident man who commanded a presence everywhere.
He did not suffer an inflated ego, a need for power and control, or the manipulations that lay rabid among his peers.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you, Rawlins.
You even took time from your busy work schedule to be with me today.
I can’t think of anyone I’d rather share my time with. ”
She referred to the new prospect her mother had arranged for her to marry, Isaac Havemeyer, heir to the most modern sugar refineries in the world.
The oil magnate’s lips twitched in amusement. “Ah, the interference of meddling mothers. I don’t like him either. I feel he is unsuitable for you. You may find him too…sweet?”
Elizabeth placed her gloved hand over her mouth and giggled and then drew a fatalistic sigh.
“How is it I can depend on you to brighten my day? What has distressed me is my mother’s recent push to marry.
On numerous occasions, she’s called me an embarrassing spinster, and provoked father enough to listen. Soon there will be an ultimatum.”
“Perhaps I can be of influence?”
Elizabeth leaned over and whispered to her confidante. “Do you think if I married, my husband would allow me to continue my work at the Fitzgerald Orphanage?”
Rawlins Dyer’s answer was lost to a sudden roar of laughter rippling through a surge of young bodies. Elizabeth viewed the back of a man winging out a lasso to snag a fleeing youngster. She couldn’t see his face, but caught the impression of dark hair, broad shoulders, and a long cocksure stride.
She took Dyer’s proffered arm and together they pressed close to get a view of the pandemonium, moving beside Shawn Fitzgerald.
“Rawlins,” greeted Shawn. “Miss Spencer, we owe this impressive addition to your efforts. And thank you, Rawlins, for your hefty donation.”
Elizabeth beamed with the profuse acknowledgement. “I’m delighted the orphans have additional space for their lessons and recreation.”
Elizabeth searched for her daughter, Caroline.
How she wished to take her daughter to shows, spend Christmas with her, and snuggle in bed with her at night.
Other than a brief hug which she gave to all the orphans, Elizabeth remained circumspect, betraying her secret to no one.
Visiting and teaching at the orphanage, and bringing little presents was the best she could do.
Often, she did find a reason to hug her daughter and perhaps, too overlong.
“What is going on?” asked Dyer.
“Some spontaneous amusement,” said Shawn.
Dyer gave a dismissive nod. “You hired cowboys for entertainment? And a Chinese cowboy, as well?”
Elizabeth cringed with Dyer’s snide condescension of the tall Chinaman.
Shawn gestured with his head to the one holding the rope. “That’s Zachary Rourke, my friend. He’s just arrived from out west.”
“Out west?” Why did the hairs rise on her neck? Ridiculous.
Mr. Fitzgerald’s voice came smooth and disarming. “I had no idea roping was one of his accomplishments. He’s not a cowboy, but a mechanical genius with many patents to his name, and is in New York hoping to obtain significant financing for his new endeavor.”
Elizabeth dismissed the whisper of unease that teased her senses. No way could her frontiersman be in New York. He’d be out west fighting Indians or prospecting. Wouldn’t he?
“I’m sure you can help the man out,” sniffed Dyer, avoiding the subject of supplying funds.
“He’s tapping both me and my sister’s two sisters-in-law, but it is not enough,” Shawn said.
The two men droned on about business speculation and politics while Elizabeth stood mesmerized with the skill of the cowboy, earning shrieks of approval from the children.
The morning sun sought him through the tall windows as if to confer a special favor, burnished the deep raw umber of his hair, slid light into the depths of it.
She admired the breadth of his shoulders and the play of muscles beneath his shirt as he cast the rope with amazing agility. There was no mistaking the sureness in his movements. He prowled, his frame shifting effortlessly. Why did every nerve in her body shriek with familiarity?
As if divining her presence, the cowboy turned.
He looked straight at her, a moment of locked glances: hers paralyzed, his cobalt and burning beautiful, in an utterly stunning face of male flawlessness…perfect…perfect beyond anything but dreams.
It was the strangest moment. He looked at her, knew her and had not expected to find her here.
It couldn’t be–not him.
Had the floor opened and swallowed her? Had a shattering earthquake taken place beneath her feet?
His eyes widened, greeted with a compilation of disbelief, and barely leashed hostility.
Trembling, she forced herself not to take a step back.
Violence hung in the air, a tangible vibration, and as he studied her, it seemed the cheering orphans and applauding benefactors, dignitaries, press, and teachers disappeared.
No sound other than her heart thundering in her chest.
Except he wasn’t a cowboy. He was a frontiersman. Her frontiersman. The one who delivered her baby. What were the odds?
His glance skimmed past her. To Rawlins, to where her hand lay on his arm. Did the frontiersman’s scowl deepen?
Run! Her brain seemed to say the word, but years of dignified training and her traitorous quicksand feet rooted her to the spot.
Was Rawlins mumbling apologies? His words churned a mishmash.
Emergency business? Something about conveying her home in a coach he’d later send for her.
A scream crowded in her throat, preventing her from responding.
Catching her breath, Elizabeth tore her stare from the frontiersman and sought the familiar, patrician features of Rawlins.
“You look pale, Elizabeth,” Rawlins said.
She hid her unease behind a carefully arranged mask of serenity.
“I’m fine,” Elizabeth croaked. She was far from fine.
Disaster loomed with the frontiersman’s appearance.
Her daughter would be exposed. Elizabeth would be ruined.
“Go on ahead. It’s a nice day for walking and a short distance from my home. ”
He started to protest.
Elizabeth waved him away. “I need the sunshine and exercise.” Must find a way to get the frontiersman alone. To speak with him.
When Rawlins left, the frontiersman threw the lasso again, all the while he glared at her.
His lips pulled back from white, predatory teeth to form a disgusted sneer.
Nerves rioted in her stomach. She glanced around.
Had anyone else noticed the fierce antagonism he directed to her or was she imagining it?
Was he that angry with her vanishing from Missouri? They were strangers. Why would he care?
Elizabeth had read about wild primitive mountain lions, learning the great hunting cats of the wilderness could make themselves remarkably still.
Making bold to conceal their terrifyingly powerful sleek bodies in shadows, trees, and rocky cliffs to such a degree that their prey could pass by without realizing a beast was about to spring on them and rip their throats out.
She shivered. His cobalt eyes, eyes that were so gentle when he delivered her baby, hard now, cold like a freezing wind. Would he blackmail her?
Her panicked gaze searched the room for her daughter. Where was Caroline?
At that moment, she saw her small blonde-hair child tug on the frontiersman’s sleeve. He nodded and she ran in the other direction while he swung his rope high above his head and in a perfect arc captured her giggling daughter like a roped calf.
Elizabeth had enough. The activity was inappropriate for her daughter. She stepped forward as refreshments were announced, and everyone moved toward the tables to be served.
The frontiersman remained, coiling the rope, taking his time, coiling the rope tighter and tighter. With her head held high she sailed across the room to stand beside him. Oh, how he dared to ignore her, pretending she didn’t exist. His shoulders tightened. His fists clenched.
Knees shaking, she said, “May I have a moment of your time, Mr. Rourke?”
He showed no surprise that she knew his name.
He nodded to the stoic Chinaman.
The frontiersman turned his back on her and left in long furious strides.
Elizabeth fought the nausea that climbed into her throat.
How rude he was, but what was she to expect from a boorish westerner?
Yet he possessed the capability to destroy the entire Spencer family’s reputation.
No way could she allow that…not to her father.
Grinding her teeth, Elizabeth ran to keep up, following him down a long corridor illuminated by transom windows.
In that moment, she was without rescuers.
Her mind spun with options. She could leave.
Where would she go? How would she support her child?
A teacher’s wages were below poverty level.
Having Caroline in the orphanage where she was safe, fed, clothed, educated, and had a roof over her head was paramount, and, allowed Elizabeth to see her daily.
Why wasn’t she a man? A fierce, dark fury moved through her, wave upon wave, like the sea itself, and oddly a comfort to her. Who did he think he was? Her greatest hope came in charming him, find out what he wanted and be gone with him.
Perhaps he didn’t remember her. Was it conceivable all her worries and wretched imaginings were for naught?
He stopped. She plowed into him. He turned, caught her before she plummeted to the floor.
He took her weight without a waver, his balance flowing into hers.
Held her, strong hands grasping her upper arms and began to pull her up.
“No!” she violently protested, placing her hand on his chest, trying to ignore how the warmth of his skin felt against her palm.
Elizabeth flushed to the roots of her hair.
Oh, how he stared at her like a predator identifying his desired meal and lying in wait to pounce as she haplessly wandered into his lair.
Time suspended. The air seeming to float around them. Flickering images. A whirlwind of memories. The walls, the muted sounds of returning orphans, the world just faded away.
She could feel him breathe. Smell the earthy scent of him. Was that her heart beating or his?
The muted daylight was…was what? Vigilant?
Expectant? Or was she being dramatic? A heat skittered across her skin that had nothing to do with the unseasonable late-spring warmth.
His gaze touched her. It peered past the art and artifice she’d tucked around herself, through the skin and sinew of her, to the cold and lonely darkness beneath.
“Are you able to stand?”
She felt his hands on her arms. How fiendishly strong. How vulnerable she’d be against that strength. Dear God. This was the man who could destroy her. Nostrils flaring, she pushed away from him as though to free a snake that had encircled her arms.
Shakily she stood, washed in the ghastly truth that the man in front of her, perfect and cold in profile, full of subtle potency and cast like a dark icon in his dusty clothes, had once touched her intimately.
“I’m at a loss for your name. That day when I delivered your child.” He spoke with clipped syllables mixed with a drawl her mind battled to place, and then he bowed to her with mocking deference.
Her mouth went dry. “You must be mistaken that you know me.”
His eyes turned cold and flinty as he kept his gaze on hers and waited. “I never forget.”
“Obviously, you have me mixed up with someone else.” Despite the growing lump in her throat, she managed to keep her voice steady.
“Then why is it you seek me out?”
“I-I–”
“One of the things I learned from an early age that has set me apart from other people is that I remember everything. I have the rare ability to recall information and visual specifics in great detail.”
She blushed, recalling how he’d seen her in her time of distress. “How did you get here?” she asked in an accusatory tone.
“By train.”
“Here…how is it that you are here?”
“I took a carriage and then walked.”
“That is not what I meant. How is it you are here? In this orphanage?”
“Answer my question first. What kind of mother would give up her child?” he demanded in a smooth, Virginia drawl, almost laconic, rolling off his tongue like heated honey. But not for one second did it hide his savagery.
“You don’t understand–”
A vein pulsed in his neck. “I understand plenty. You got yourself in a heap of trouble. Your family paid someone to house you until the child was born.”
“You don’t know me or my life.”
His lips flattened out in a curl. “I see a spoiled rich woman who didn’t have the guts to keep her child. Farmed your daughter out to some frontier farmer who’d raise her to be worked and beaten to death. You are all the same. Heartless bitches.”
He started to walk away from her when her daughter with her wide violet eyes blocked his path. “You will come back, won’t you? Promise.” Caroline peered around him. “Make him promise, Miss Elizabeth.”
Nerves rattled up Elizabeth’s spine as the frontiersman studied her daughter.
He curled a frond of Caroline’s light hair around his finger, released it, and then with the same finger lifted her chin staring into her daughter’s violet-colored eyes.
Jagged pieces of a nightmare sliced through Elizabeth’s brain. He knows.
The world seemed to drop out from under Elizabeth. She pressed in between them, and with her shaky gloved finger, wiped a stray crumb off her daughter’s face.
“She is a miniature of her mother,” he said.
Struggling to breathe, Elizabeth turned. “You won’t–”
He hesitated, deep in thought. After a long, pregnant silence where Elizabeth’s heart stopped, he said, “I promise.”
.