Tempting a Texan
Autorzy
Carolyn Davidson
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19,0K
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17
Chapter One
Collins Creek, Texas, April, 1897
“I don’t have a sister,” Nicholas muttered beneath his breath, reading for the third time a scribbled message carried into his office only moments before.
“It seems you do,” the sheriff said, grinning widely. He stood in the doorway, the messenger of tidings ill-received; and if the smile he wore was any indication, seeing Nicholas Garvey at a loss was well worth the time he’d spent delivering the message.
“Are you sure Henry got this right?” Nicholas asked, his mouth taut as he lifted the lined paper for the sheriff’s scrutiny. “Were you there when it came over the wire?”
“Sure was,” Cleary answered. “That’s why I offered to deliver it by hand. I figured it was important when Henry sputtered out the words and then tried to cover up his scribbles when I looked over his shoulder.” He moved to a chair in front of the wide, mahogany desk. One booted foot lifted and rested against his other knee as he removed his hat and appeared to settle in.
“Did you read the whole thing?” Nicholas asked, sinking into his own chair, a scowl creasing his forehead.
“Nope. Only got as far as the words…” He looked up at the ceiling, his thought processes obviously in good order as he spoke. “Let’s see. It said something about you being named a guardian of your sister’s child. A girl, I think.”
“There’s been a mix-up somewhere,” Nicholas growled with a ferocity that matched his dark, angry visage. “I’ve never had a sister.”
“Somebody back East doesn’t agree with you,” Cleary said mildly.
“Well, they can just look elsewhere for a dumping ground,” Nicholas said harshly. “I don’t know what this lawyer expects of me, but raising a child is not on my schedule.”
“You seem to be quite taken with your godson,” Cleary said, his index finger following the crease in his hat brim. He looked up, his initial reaction to the message apparently diluted by Nicholas’s somber behavior.
“That’s different, and you know it. I won’t be saddled with a child purported to be my niece, when I know good and well that my background doesn’t include her mother.”
Cleary stood up, a lengthy procedure, adjusting his gun belt and glancing toward the open door. “I don’t suppose…” He hesitated, frowning.
“What?” Nicholas rose from the depths of his leather chair, discarding the wrinkled message on his desktop. Hands widespread on his blotter, he leaned forward. “You know a little about the law, Cleary. Is there anything I can do to put a crimp in this?”
“Is the child on her way here?” Cleary’s innocent expression denied the knowledge he’d gained by reading the message, and Nicholas felt the urge to grind his teeth in frustration.
“You know damn well she is.” He glanced down at the scribbled note. “Accompanied by a companion, is what it says here.”
“Who sent it?” Cleary asked.
“A law firm. Under orders from the court. According to this, the child is alone in the world.”
“Well,” Cleary drawled quietly. “You oughta make a good pair, then. I’ve never heard you mention any family.”
“That’s because I don’t have one.” Frustration emphasized every word as Nicholas repeated his original statement. “Where the hell somebody got the idea of sticking me with a five-year-old is beyond me. I’ve got other fish to fry.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Patience Filmore, would it?”
Nicholas looked up, suddenly feeling defensive. “I’ve spent some time with her.”
“Planning marriage?”
“Not yet. But it’s a definite possibility.” And yet, his instincts were even now pushing that reasoning to the back burner. At least until this matter was cleared up.
“You want to send back a reply?” The lawman motioned to the crumpled message, lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“And what good would that do? According to this, my visitors will arrive any day now.”
From the doorway a young man, his hair slicked back with pomade, his shirt starched to within an inch of its life, cleared his throat. “Sir. Mr. Garvey.”
“Yes.” The single syllable held the force of a bullet and the clerk winced.
“You have a visitor, sir. A young lady, accompanied by a child, sir.”
“Well…sh—” A hissing sound died upon leaving his lips as Nicholas turned again to Cleary. “I don’t believe it. How could she have gotten here so soon?” He snatched up the message, smoothing it across his wide palm. “Has the morning train arrived already?”
“Yep. Pretty near two hours ago.” Cleary turned back and settled once more in the chair he’d vacated. “Maybe I’ll stick around for a while, after all.”
Nicholas nodded wearily at the clerk. “Show her in.” And then he turned to Cleary, his eyes narrowing in an unmistakable warning. “Not a word from you.”
A look of solemn promise was obliterated by the glittering humor in the sheriff’s eyes as he watched his friend stride to the doorway. And then, as if the woman who appeared just beyond the threshold had the ability to change his demeanor, the sheriff stood as she spoke to the banker, her accent soft and genteel.
“I’m Carlinda Donnelly,” she said, extending a hand. “I’ve brought your niece to you, Mr. Garvey.”
Nicholas felt helpless anger engulf him as the russet-haired female waited for the courtesy of his palm to meet hers. At his obvious reluctance to offer her the simple gesture, her stilted smile faltered, and as he watched, her hand fell to her side. It was snatched up by a tiny female creature whose eyes widened in dismay as she gazed at him.
Eyes the exact color of blue he’d observed in his mirror every morning of his life. Her dark hair hung in curls past her shoulders, and her petite form was garbed in a dainty flowered dress that met the tops of high-buttoned shoes. The delicate rosebud mouth trembled as she spoke.
“Are you my uncle?” she asked timidly. And then she looked up at the woman beside her, her whisper loud in the silence as she confided her fear. “I don’t think he likes me,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I’m your uncle or not,” he admitted after a moment. “If I am, it’s news to me. I’d have sworn up until ten minutes ago that I was alone in the world.” He squatted before the child, his sharp gaze taking in the long lashes, the wide brow, and finally, the small beauty mark beside her mouth. Without thinking, his hand rose to touch an identical brown speck beside his upper lip.
“It isn’t a matter of not liking you,” he said quietly, unable to be cruel to an innocent child. “It’s just that I can’t imagine who decided you were my responsibility.”
“A judge in New York City,” the woman said quietly. “Her mother and father were in an accident while traveling in Europe. A fatal accident. She became a ward of the court until your whereabouts were discovered. I’d been caring for her in their absence, and I’ve been hired now by her father’s estate to bring her to you. Another party is vying for her custody, but the judge decided in your favor.”
He needn’t have given me his blessing. Nicholas scowled at the thought.
Miss Donnelly retrieved a package from beneath her left arm and placed it on his desk. “This is the result of the court hearing, and includes a copy of the will. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need in here.”
He glanced down at the envelope, then at the child, his gaze caught by the turmoil in her face. “May I ask for an introduction?”
Carlinda Donnelly nodded quickly. “Of course. This is Amanda.”
As if hearing her name spoken aloud was a signal, the child extended her dainty fist, uncurling the fingers as she offered it to the man before her. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” she whispered, obviously well mannered and primed for this introduction.
Nicholas took the fingers in his, looking down at the hand that was resting like a small bird in his palm. “Hello, Amanda,” he said politely, then glanced up at the woman beside him. “Miss Donnelly—” He broke off abruptly, as words failed him. What did a man say to a woman who had just invaded his life, whose courteous gestures he had scorned, and who waited now for his reaction to her presence?
He glanced aside at Cleary and noted the subtle shake of the man’s head and slight lift of shoulders. No help there. In fact, it looked obvious to him that the sheriff was about to make an exit, standing and brushing the brim of his hat.
“I believe my wife’s holding dinner for me,” Cleary said, smiling blandly at the visitors and waiting for the doorway to clear.
“I’m in your way,” Carlinda said. “I’m so sorry.” Stepping back, she allowed him to pass, almost swaying on her feet. She looked confused, travel-weary and disheartened, Nicholas decided. None of this was her fault, and yet he found her a ready target for his anger as he watched Cleary stride toward the front of the bank.
“I’m not certain what I’m expected to do, Miss Donnelly,” Nicholas said abruptly. “I haven’t the proper facilities to care for a child.”
“Are you married?” she asked quietly.
He shook his head. “Certainly not. I’m a businessman, and marriage is not in my immediate future. Right now, I see no need for a woman in my home.”
She flinched at his words. “You don’t like women?” she asked, flicking a look of conjecture in his direction. “I mean—” Her mouth thinned as if she regretted the inference her words suggested.
“I like women just fine. In their proper place,” he retorted.
“And that is…”
Her hesitance was deliberate. He knew it from his depths, and even as he bristled at her words, he silently saluted her bravery at defying him. “Wherever I decree they are the most useful,” he said smoothly, watching as a red tide washed upward from her throat to cover her cheeks. Beneath her bonnet, her hair was a deep shade of auburn, caught up in a heavy, somewhat untidy knot at her nape. Several curling strands touched her forehead, softening the brown eyes that glared in his direction.
“I see,” she said harshly, although he very much doubted that she was nearly as sophisticated as she would like him to believe. “Well, perhaps you’ll have to seek out someone to help you in your care of Amanda,” Miss Donnelly suggested. “I’m only the person hired to deliver her into your hands, sir. I suppose there’s no reason not to be on the early train tomorrow morning, back to Saint Louis and then on to New York.”
She’s bluffing. The thought pleased him. “I don’t think that’s an option,” he replied smoothly. “You can’t leave me here with a child and sashay off without a by-your-leave. It would be grossly unfair to—” he looked down at the little girl, and then continued with a cool smile “—to the child.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her chin lifted defensively. “I beg your humble pardon, Mr. Garvey, but I can do anything I please. I am not a servant in your employ.”
“That’s true enough, but this is a small town, ma’am. You might find it difficult to board the morning train, should I decide to say otherwise.”
“You’d keep me here against my will?” Her blush faded quickly, leaving her pale beneath a naturally creamy complexion. Her lips were compressed, their fullness narrowed by the gesture, and he caught sight of a glimpse of panic in her brown eyes.
“No, of course I wouldn’t. I didn’t mean to say that,” Nicholas answered quietly. He glanced down at Amanda, whose eyes were glued on his face. Sparing her a quick smile, he directed his attention to the young woman before him. It might be time to backtrack and let her off the hook. “Let’s rethink this a bit. I’ll make it worth your while to stay. This whole thing needs to be sorted out.”
“And where would you suggest I live while I’m at your beck and call?” she asked. Her jaw was taut and he sensed a quality of brittleness in her demeanor, as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces should she loosen her grip on the situation enveloping her.
It would not do for the woman to lose control, here in the bank where he prided himself on his immaculate reputation. He reached for her, grasping her wrist and drawing her into his office. Reaching behind her, he closed the door. A hum of voices reached him and he winced, aware that several customers had been privy to the low, murmured argument he’d allowed himself to be involved in.
She reacted to his maneuvers, tugging at his hold as he led her from the door to a chair across the room. “Please release me, sir,” she said sharply. Beside her, Amanda caught her breath in a sob; and Miss Donnelly looked down, her face reflecting the sadness the child expressed.
Nicholas felt a tide of confusion sweep over his entire being. Always in control, priding himself on his grasp of business and aware of the enormity of his influence, he’d never felt so totally at sea in his entire career. His early years were another story. But in the past twenty years, he’d come a long way from the young man who’d dug through the refuse in alleyways for food.
Befriended at fifteen by a man whose life he’d saved during a nighttime robbery attempt, he’d been sent to school, then on to a university. His boyish rescue of the wealthy stranger, who, beset by thieves, had taken the scrawny youth home with him, led to a future he’d never in his wildest dreams thought to hold within his grasp.
His upward climb in the financial market, bulwarked by the tidy fortune left to him by his childless benefactor, had led Nicholas here. Here to Collins Creek, a small town north of Dallas, where he was known only as the owner of the town’s bank. A situation he’d chosen, where peace and security were his for the asking. Where he was considered to be, over the past two years, the town’s most successful citizen, and given the friendship of the simple folk surrounding him. His past was just that, those years behind him as he sought the tranquillity available in this small town.
Now, in barely thirty minutes’ time, he was swept back to that life in the city by the appearance of a young woman and her charge, a child alleged to be his niece. Miss Donnelly was dressed in a simple gown, yet wore the look of a woman from New York. That distinctive air of refinement clung to her, and her voice was overlaid with a soft, cultured accent she did not attempt to conceal.
Yet, there was no guarantee she was what she appeared to be. He’d learned early on not to take people at face value, and years of living had not eased the pain of experience. She faced him with pride and anger at war within her, her expressive face reflecting the turmoil of the situation in which she found herself.
Crouching beside Amanda, only the crown of the woman’s hat was visible to his discerning eye. It was circled by a narrow band of grosgrain ribbon, simple, yet stylish, and beneath its brim, he sensed her smile was warm as she spoke to the child.
“It’s all right, Amanda,” she said quietly, the soothing syllables having an immediate effect.
“Where will we go, Linnie?”
Linnie? Nicholas felt a warmth expand within his chest as the child spoke the name she’d chosen for her nurse. And he inhaled sharply as he considered his harshness. “You’ll go to my home,” he said, dropping to one knee, the better to look squarely at the little girl. No matter the woman’s mission here, the child deserved decent treatment.
Yet Amanda appeared not to welcome his offer. “You don’t like us,” she said firmly. “And I don’t think I like you, either. You’re not a nice man.”
“That’s not polite,” Miss Donnelly stated matter-off-actly, holding Amanda’s hand tightly. And then she turned her head to look directly at Nicholas. “I’m sure there will be room at the hotel for us. We wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I’ll keep Amanda for the night and talk to her about the situation. I can’t force the issue with her.”
Nicholas grasped the woman’s elbow and assisted her to her feet, rising to look down into her dark eyes. “I have a comfortable home just down the street,” he said politely. “My housekeeper will be happy to settle you in. In fact, we’ll leave now and I’ll see to it myself. Amanda will be more comfortable there than in a hotel. You and I will talk this evening, Miss Donnelly.”
She attempted to withdraw from his hold and his fingers only tightened, putting force behind his statement. “There isn’t room to argue the point,” he told her flatly. “The child must be weary, and I think you’re ready for a chance to sit and relax, yourself.” He reached toward the rack by the door, snatching his wide-brimmed hat from a hook, then ushered her from his office.
“I’m going home for a while, Thomas,” he said to his clerk. “I’ll return soon. In the meantime, send someone to the train station to collect Miss Donnelly’s things. And those of the child. Have them delivered to my house.”
The wide-eyed young man nodded, his gaze enquiring as he shot a sidelong glance at Nicholas’s visitors. “Yes, sir, Mr. Garvey. I’ll handle things.”
The door opened onto a wide, wooden sidewalk, and Nicholas offered his arm, turning to the right. To her credit, Miss Donnelly accepted his gesture, and he looked down to see her narrow fingers ease past the crook of his elbow to rest on his forearm. A warmth settled into his flesh where that elegant hand rested, and his eyes sought her face, intrigued by the rush of heat that coursed throughout his body.
Her face averted, she seemed to be concentrating on the child who walked nicely on her other side, who, even as he watched, lifted a tiny hand to cover a yawn. He was right, he decided. These two females needed a place to rest, a cool, clean refuge in which to recuperate from their travels. He could think of no other place more fitting than his own home. He’d spend the rest of the day deciding his next move.
Thus far she’d accomplished her purpose, although living in Nicholas Garvey’s home had been more her goal for Amanda than for herself. Irene had wanted her brother to have his niece, and if being under his roof would accomplish that purpose, Carlinda would stay as long as necessary. She recalled her threat to leave and shook her head. He’d upset her and she’d responded with haste, and now she’d be the one to backtrack.
Her only hindrance in staying here until Amanda was well settled was the appeal of the man himself to her female person. Handsome didn’t begin to describe him, and autocratic didn’t start to pay just due to his confident aura.
She looked around the comfortable room she’d been assigned and released a deep breath. The house was large, two-storied and surrounded on the front and two sides by a wide veranda. Sitting over a hundred feet from the sidewalk, it was situated behind a tall fence built of wood, painted white and woven in an intricate pattern, with a wide gate and arbor at its center.
Her surroundings were cool and comfortable, with fine carpets and gracefully hung draperies at the windows. She’d noted comfortable couches and gleaming wooden tables filling the parlor, visible from the central foyer, where a dining room flanked it on the opposite side of the wide hallway.
As she’d climbed one side of the two-pronged staircase to the second floor, she’d looked back to see her elegantly clad host watching her progress from below. His lifted hand offered a salute, and then he’d turned to depart through the front door.
Katie, the woman who kept this place immaculate, had given Carlinda a searching glance as she opened the bedroom door and ushered her inside. “I’ve already put the wee one in the room next door,” she said. “Tucked her in nicely, and barely had her shoes and dress off before she curled up and closed her eyes.”
That was one mark in the woman’s favor, Carlinda decided. Treating Amanda kindly gave the housekeeper points. It bode well for the child’s future.
Now, Carlinda walked to the double windows overlooking the front yard and the street, easing aside the white curtain, the better to search the sidewalk below. He was there, walking briskly, crossing the street almost a hundred yards away. His stride was long, his back straight, his hat at a jaunty angle atop dark hair.
She’d noticed his eyes first, that brilliant blue that proclaimed him as Black Irish. The same blue that had been replicated in the small face of the child she’d brought to him. He was wary. Of that there was no doubt. And well he might be. Nicholas Garvey was a man with secrets, a man with a fortune at his fingertips, and a past that didn’t lend itself to investigation. She’d known all of that. But she hadn’t expected the effect of dark hair and blue eyes, and the flash of white teeth as he spoke and smiled.
She knew of his past, had heard his sister’s whispered words of confession before she left Amanda behind as she’d set out on the final journey of her life. That she’d been able to furnish the court with a sealed document identifying Nicholas Garvey as the child’s only living relative had been fortuitous for Amanda’s well-being.
Irene knew about her brother, knew of his success, and was shamed by her father’s series of affairs, one of which had produced Nicholas. Before her marriage to the man who’d given her child a name, she had refused to call on Nicholas for help. But after Irene’s death, Carlinda determined to make the rich financier aware of his sister’s life and death, and place him under obligation to the child left behind by her mother’s tragic end.
“I’m doing my best, Irene,” she whispered, tracing a line in the wavy glass before her. “He’ll never know, not from me anyway, about Amanda’s beginnings.” Her sigh was deep, her eyes filling with tears as she turned away from the window. Unless she had overplayed her hand, Nicholas Garvey would do his best to persuade her to remain here in his home, at least until Amanda was settled in and made a part of the household. And she would be wise not to protest too much.
There was nothing left for her in New York City.
She awoke late in the afternoon in the big bed, its comfortable mattress forming to her slender body, and for a moment she looked around her in confusion. And then her memory kicked in and she recalled the long climb up the staircase, remembered looking back at the dark-clad figure watching her from below. He wore the look of a worthy opponent, and she girded herself for whatever he might say or do. Swinging her feet to the floor she looked around, searching the room for her dress.
She’d unbuttoned it and placed it on a chair before crawling beneath the sheet on the wide bed. Now it hung over a rack near the wardrobe, freshly pressed by an unknown hand wielding an iron. No doubt that of the housekeeper. Katie by name, she recalled.
From the hallway beyond the closed door, she heard a tinkling laugh, almost a giggle, and recognized the voice immediately. Amanda at her best, cheerful and lighthearted.
Overlaying the child’s tones, a deeper, masculine tone prevailed, and Carlinda hurriedly slid the dress over her head, aware of Nicholas Garvey’s presence just a few feet away. Even as she buttoned the small, black fastenings on her bodice, she heard the single rap of a knuckle on the wooden panel.
“Yes, I’m coming,” she said, hastening across the room to turn the handle. It swung wide and she looked up into the dark, masculine features of the man she’d traveled halfway across the country to find. “I’m sorry. I only planned to rest for a bit, and I’m afraid I slept longer than I thought.”
“That’s not a problem, Miss Donnelly,” he said nicely, his gaze sliding down the length of her. “We came to rouse you, since Katie announced that supper was served, and Amanda thought you were likely hungry. She tells me you didn’t eat much today.”
Carlinda flushed deeply. The child saw more than she should, and this morning had been a hodgepodge of activity, arriving in Collins Creek, pausing only at the hotel for breakfast before they sought out the bank. Unable to eat the meal she’d ordered, her stomach protesting as she planned her approach to Nicholas, Carlinda had only watched and encouraged Amanda’s halfhearted attempts to get through the plate of eggs and sausage before her.
“I wasn’t hungry,” she said now. “The journey was tiring, and I fear I’d lost my appetite.”
“Well, you’d do well to locate it now. Katie has outdone herself. We don’t often have company,” he said, taking up Amanda’s hand in his and leading the way to the double staircase.
“Mr. Garvey has two sets of steps and two bannisters,” Amanda announced gleefully. “And lots of bedrooms.” With her free hand, she tugged at Carlinda’s skirt, and her whispered words were an easily heard suggestion. “I’ll bet he’s got plenty of room for us to stay here.”
“Yes, I have,” he said, unabashed at listening to her murmured suggestion.
“I had the impression we weren’t as welcome as the flowers in spring,” Carlinda said, her forced smile for the child’s benefit apparently not lost on Nicholas.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “We’ll have to take this one step at a time. Right now, I think it would be unforgivable to keep Katie waiting. She likes to serve her meals hot.”
Carlinda’s feet were silent against the carpeted stairs and she slowed her pace, the better to observe the first floor below. Besides the parlor and dining room, two other doors led from the wide foyer, both of them open. As she moved downward, a desk was visible inside one room, probably Nicholas’s private retreat, she decided. The other appeared to be a small sitting room, a woman’s room by the looks of things. She was entranced by a glimpse of a delicately constructed sofa and chair, and late-afternoon sunshine pouring through a window.
“You have a lovely home.” The compliment was sincere, probably the first entirely honest thing she’d said or done today, she thought. And felt a pang of guilt as she considered her omission of all the facts.
“Thank you,” he answered gravely, although a smile flashed as he met her gaze. “I don’t often have an opportunity to offer my hospitality. I was amiss in not extending a welcome to you and Amanda when we first met today. I fear my thoughts were in a state of flux, and my mind did not function as well as it should have.”
“You were presented with a done deal, as they say, Mr. Garvey. I can’t blame you for being taken unaware and being less than welcoming.”
“Nonetheless,” he said with a shrug, and she looked up to catch a glimpse of heat in the depths of his blue eyes, a quickly masked impression. He’d looked at her as a man might who sought the interest of an available woman. For just a moment, she’d felt the warmth of masculine interest, and she stiffened against the lure of such a thing being cast in her direction.
Perhaps staying in this house was not a good beginning. He might think she was obtainable, a woman of loose virtue, should she agree too quickly to his hospitality. And yet, she could not in good conscience leave Amanda here without her. “We don’t want to put you to any trouble,” she murmured, reaching the bottom of the staircase. “I’m certain the hotel would do very well for us.” She looked up at him. “At least until you have an opportunity to check out the facts of this matter.”
“I won’t hear of it.” His tones were clipped, bringing an abrupt end to the discussion and she subsided, unwilling to argue in front of Amanda. As though he understood her position and agreed, he nodded at the open door of his study. “After supper, perhaps you’ll join me in here and we’ll discuss this at greater length.”
Carlinda nodded, and stepped up her pace to the dining room, where a long table was set with three places and, at one end, a tureen of soup sent up a steam of fragrance. She was seated with a courtly gesture, and she opened the linen napkin beside her plate, aware of Amanda’s copycat gesture as the child followed her example.
Nicholas served the soup, waving Katie’s offer of help aside as the woman brought a plate of fresh bread from the kitchen. It was delicious, a clear broth with traces of rice and bits of chicken adding flavor, providing a light beginning to the meal. It was followed by a roast, again served by Nicholas, who stood before his chair and offered thin slices of the meat to his guests. Small potatoes, cooked with the skins intact, were accompanied by whole green beans, redolent with the scent of bacon and onions.
It was a filling repast, and when Katie brought forth a tart for each of them, Carlinda was tempted to refuse. And then she caught sight of the dark, thick juice of purple berries that spread before the force of Nicholas’s fork as he cut into the dainty bit of pastry.
“I shouldn’t,” she sighed, even as she watched the tiny wisps of steam rise from the delicacy.
“It’s a specialty of Katie’s,” Nicholas said, coaxing her with a smile. “She’ll be insulted if you refuse a bite.”
“I fear I’ll eat the whole thing,” Carlinda said, tasting carefully of the hot offering. “Don’t burn your mouth,” she warned Amanda.
“I’ve got cream to put over it, if you like,” Katie said from the kitchen doorway, then approached with a small pitcher of golden liquid as Amanda nodded her agreement. “It tastes good this way,” she told the child, pouring a generous amount.
“I’ll take some, too,” Nicholas said, offering his dish.
“And you, miss?” Katie asked.
“If it tastes better that way, I suppose I should join the group,” Carlinda agreed.
The meal was long, Nicholas asking Amanda about the trip, skirting the topic of her parents and offering small glimpses of his life in this small Texas town. He delivered an occasional aside to Carlinda, but his attention was focused on the child who sat at his right hand.
The resemblance between the two of them was obvious to anyone who cared to look, Carlinda decided. Even Katie glanced back and forth between the man and the young girl who absorbed his interest, and before the end of the meal, she had shot a look of understanding at the other woman.
Nicholas pushed away from the table finally. “I believe I’ve eaten more than my share, Katie,” he said, watching as she cleared the plate from before him.
“You don’t usually eat enough,” she snipped. “About time you sat down and did my cooking justice.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obligingly, looking suitably chagrined. And then he rose and spoke kindly to Amanda. “Would you like to sit on the porch for a while?” he asked. “Or perhaps look at the stereopticon in the parlor?”
“Stere—” Amanda halted halfway through the word, obviously puzzled at its meaning.
“A stereopticon is something you hold up to your eyes and then look at pictures with,” he said. “I have a whole box of prints you can see.” He took her by the hand and led her from the room, sending an apologetic look in Carlinda’s direction.
“In the parlor?” Amanda asked brightly, double-stepping to keep up with his long strides. “What kind of pictures do you have?”
“Some of Rome or Venice or even London,” he said. “And lots of New York City and other places here in America.”
“I’ve already been to New York,” the child told him flatly. “I’d rather see somewhere else.”
“How about Niagara Falls?” he asked. “Or maybe ships on the ocean?”
“Let’s steer clear of P-a-r-i-s,” Carlinda said quickly, spelling the city’s name in a rush of letters, lest Amanda get the drift of the word she attempted to avoid speaking.
“Is there some reason for that?” he asked in a muted tone as he stepped to a bookcase where the instrument lay. Amanda settled herself on a sofa, smoothing her dress over her legs with a practiced hand, anticipation alive in her blue eyes. He glanced back at her, and Carlinda detected a softening in his eyes, those eyes so like the child’s.
“The accident took place in Paris,” she murmured. “I try not to mention it. She was quite traumatized for days after we heard the news.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew her mother. You were with Amanda, even back then?”
Carlinda hesitated, then nodded briefly. “Shall we light a lamp, so she can see these better?” she asked, changing the subject deftly.
Yet, even as he acceded to her suggestion, she was aware that the issue would be raised again. And she prepared herself for a battery of questions.
