Chapter 9 #2
“You’ll have to take elocution lessons. You can’t be giving speeches, speaking the way you do.” She smiled then reached up to fix the ridiculous hat on her head. “I can teach you how to move gracefully and dress appropriately once we’re married.”
Again, he said nothing. He finished his pie and sat back, waiting for the moment he could end this, but she hadn’t stopped talking. Or criticizing. Not for one moment. Not only could he not dress himself or keep his hair neat, but, according to her, he couldn’t even choose the correct pie.
He looked up at the clock on the wall and stifled a groan.
They’d been here over an hour, and he’d barely said anything.
How could he? She wouldn’t stop speaking.
How long did he need to stay before he could leave without being rude?
Was now too soon? What he wouldn’t give to be sitting across from Sheridan.
She didn’t feel the need to fill every silence with inane chatter.
Nor plan out his entire life. Or make him change everything about himself.
He drew in his breath as his gaze lowered from the clock, which seemed to have stopped keeping time, and noticed several people staring at him.
Some were smiling, but it wasn’t that friendly smile he was used to seeing.
The others? They were giving him pitying looks, probably wondering why he was sitting across the table from Tamara.
Even Elsie gave him a sympathetic glance the last time she refilled his cup and dropped off the check.
Tamara took a bite of her pie, which she hadn’t touched before now, then pushed it away, as if it wasn’t good enough. He took that moment, while her mouth was closed, to stand up and end this fiasco. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Tamara, but I’m afraid I need to be going.”
“Going? Going where? I thought…I thought we might catch that traveling troupe of musicians at the town hall.” Her eyes opened wide with faked innocence.
“Any husband of mine needs to be educated in the fine arts, if we’re going to spend any time in Washington, DC, although in this little town, I wouldn’t call anything fine. ”
No, definitely not. The sooner he could remove himself from her company, the better, and sitting through a musical revue at the town hall was not the way to do it.
“I’m afraid I have too many chores on the ranch to attend a musical review.
” He grabbed his hat from the spindle of the chair beside him but didn’t put it on.
Instead, he just stood there, looking at her, worrying the brim between his fingers. “I’ll take you home.”
She stared at him, the smile that had been on her face throughout their time together, disappearing, replaced with a look that was full of disdain while still appearing disappointed.
She threw her napkin on the table and rose from her seat in one angry, fluid motion.
“Take me home? I think not!” She glared at him as if he’d done something wrong, picked up the drawstring purse that matched her ridiculous hat, and flounced out of the restaurant.
Elsie approached to clear off the table. “She’s not the one for you, Wyatt.”
He nodded in full agreement, pulled several bills from his pocket and handed them to her, then left the restaurant.
He walked down the street to where his buckboard waited, musing over what his next step should be.
He’d done what Lucy had asked of him. He’d visited Julia at her father’s home and invited Tamara for coffee.
There was only one of the three Lucy had suggested, Aricely, he hadn’t paid a call on.
And at this point, he wasn’t going to. He already knew her and yes, she was a sweet, gentle woman, but he also knew how she felt.
She’d made it quite clear to anyone who would listen that she wasn’t interested in falling in love again.
She’d been lucky to fall in love with Enrique Davilos the first time. Once was enough, according to her.
No, he was done. He could go to Lucy with a clear conscience and tell her to stop looking for a wife for him. That it wasn’t his time. He certainly wasn’t interested in anyone else she thought might be a possible match for him. Lucy Hart, Matchmaker, had, indeed, lost her touch.
“Wyatt!” He heard his name called and froze. He recognized that voice. He stopped beside the buckboard and glanced around.
And then he saw her, heading his way from the Town Square, looking as beautiful as ever. The last person he ever wanted to see again.
Katie.
He hadn’t known she’d come back to town, not this time at least. The last time, she’d come out to the ranch, demanding to see him, batting her lashes at him, begging him for a second chance.
When that didn’t work, she asked for money, claiming she was broke, which he had believed.
He hadn’t offered to give her what she wanted, but he’d had to fight the inclination to do so.
At that time, he still fancied himself in love with her, despite how she hurt him.
That was then. This was now.
He could pretend he hadn’t heard her, hadn’t seen her, but it was too late.
She rushed across the street and threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around him, then standing on her tiptoes to kiss him.
He turned his head at the last minute, and her lips harmlessly landed on his cheek.
He untangled her arms from around his neck and stepped back, but he could only go so far, because the wagon was right there.
She gave him a moue of disappointment, but he wasn’t the lovesick man he’d been before. He wasn’t going to fall for her wiles again. Once was enough. “Hello, Katie.”
“Hello, yourself,” she purred even as she reached out again and laid a gloved hand on his chest.
Every muscle in his body tensed before he clasped her hand and physically removed it from his person. “What do you want?”
She smiled coquettishly and batted her long lashes. “I don’t want anything, Wyatt. I saw you and wanted to say hello.”
He didn’t believe her. Katie always had an ulterior motive, always wanted something.
“Buy me a cup of coffee? I thought we could catch up. I’ve missed you.”
“I need to get back to the ranch.”
Again, she gave him that moue of disappointment.
At one time, that would have worked on him, and he would have given her everything she asked for—and did—but not anymore.
Still, it wasn’t in his nature to be cruel, no matter how badly she’d hurt him.
Katie couldn’t help what and who she was, something he learned long after she left.
“Maybe another time,” he said, keeping his voice neutral, despite his discomfort.
She nodded, making her brunette ringlets bounce before she smiled that smile he’d loved for so long. “I look forward to it. I’ll be in town visiting my folks for a while. Why don’t you stop by? Mama and Daddy would love to see you.”
He didn’t commit, didn’t promise her anything. “It was nice seeing you, Katie. Be well.”
She reached out to touch him one more time, then seemed to think better of it and walked away.
He watched her go, the sway of her hips seemingly more pronounced than they used to be, perhaps because she knew he was watching, then he climbed into the buckboard.
He gathered the reins in his hands but didn’t shake them.
Instead, he just sat there, his thoughts a riot in his mind, but surprisingly, his heart didn’t hurt.
Not as much as it used to, where she was concerned.
Perhaps, he had finally gotten over her, and that, for reasons he couldn’t explain—or maybe reasons he didn’t want to—made him smile.
Maybe he’d stop for a beer before heading home to celebrate that fact. Conrad’s was on the next street over. He shook the reins.
As he turned the corner, he could see something was happening in front of the saloon.
A trio of men, former cowboys from a neighboring ranch, all of whom he recognized, were standing in a small circle on the sidewalk and, in the middle of them, he saw her.
Sheridan. She didn’t look happy. In fact, she looked scared, which he could see even from this distance.
He flicked the reins and brought the buckboard to a stop. He jumped from his seat as rage surged through him. “Duggan! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Take your hands off her! Now!”
“I was just having a little fun.” Duggan snickered and pulled Sheridan closer to him, his hand gripping her upper arm hard enough to cause bruises. She fought him and eventually landed a smack across his face. Duggan didn’t take too kindly to that but didn’t let go.
“She isn’t having fun.” His hands balled into fists as he climbed up to the sidewalk and approached the young man. “Take your hands off her.”
“Or what?” The man puffed out his chest, his grip on her arm seeming to tighten. “She’s a whore, ain’t she? Saw her at Josie’s.”
“She’s not one of Josie’s girls. And even if she were, that’s no way to treat a woman.
” Wyatt reached out and gripped the hand that held Sheridan so tightly.
He managed to free her from Duggan’s iron-like hold.
He did it as gently as he could, as he didn’t want to hurt her more than she’d already been, but it wouldn’t bother him in the least to break a few of Duggan’s fingers.
He pulled her away from Duggan. “Go wait in my wagon.” She wasted no time hurrying down the sidewalk and climbing into his wagon. He made sure she was safe, then turned and focused his attention on the young man. “You’re drunk, Duggan. Go home and sleep it off.”
“The hell I will!” He said a few other choice words no one should say, then made a move to go after Sheridan.
Wyatt had no doubt he would try to pull her from the wagon, determined to get what he wanted.