Rosamunda's Revenge Page 10

  Oh, no! Rosamunda huddled down in her rabbit fur, stunned. This was terrible.

  As a pup, she’d been warned about human beings. She’d been told they were fickle creatures, the lot of them. Her mother had explained to her how inexplicable was the behavior of humans. She’d also been cautioned that they often adopted strange allegiances, allegiances that were baffling to more sensible creatures, like Yorkshire terriers.

  Why, even her mother, the most magnificent female in the history of the breed, had been forced to endure the attentions of an inferior human male when her own mistress had married. He’d claimed to be interested in Yorkshire terriers in general and Rosamunda’s beloved mother in particular, but he’d only said so to steal his way into Rosamunda’s mother’s mistress’s foolish affections.

  Beasts. They were all beasts. Rosamunda was so upset, she was almost unable to eat her dinner that evening, but not quite.

  # # #

  Thank the good Lord and Jed Hardcastle, Tacita thought, nothing further untoward threatened them after Farley Boskins beat his ugly retreat into the trees. They were making good time and would surely reach San Francisco when Tacita needed to be there. Now they rested by the fire, digesting after supper.

  “Your dog all right, ma’am?”

  Tacita had been contemplating the unfamiliar emotions she’d been subjected to for the past several days, and started when Jed’s deep voice intruded on her musings. Looking up quickly, she found him watching her from across the campfire. Her heart immediately began performing the same alarming acrobatic exercises which had puzzled Tacita for those same several days.

  “Yes, I believe she is.” A little shyly, she added, “Thank you for asking.”

  Rosamunda growled. Tacita, wondering what the matter could be, petted her.

  “She don’t—doesn’t seem to be as pig—that is, she don’t seem to be as interested in her food as she usually is, is the reason I asked,” Jed explained.

  “Do you think not?”

  “Just seemed to me, is all.”

  Tacita inspected her adored pet more closely. She didn’t see anything amiss, thank heavens. Tacita wasn’t sure what she’d do without Rosamunda. She couldn’t even bear contemplating the possibility. “No. No, I do believe she’s fine, thank you.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  She offered him a tentative smile, still stroking Rosamunda. Really, even if Jed was a bit rough around the edges, it was sweet of him to ask about Rosamunda. After all, Tacita knew he didn’t much like the dog, although the reason for his distaste eluded her. After all, Rosamunda was a paragon among Yorkies. And who wouldn’t simply adore such a darling, cuddly dog? She nuzzled Rosamunda’s soft, albeit somewhat dusty-smelling, fur.

  Still, Jed had proved himself to be more than competent when it came to this awful trip. Oh, granted, she’d been annoyed with him at first. Yet since that second day out when he’d rescued Rosamunda from the dreadful Mr. Picinisco, her feelings about him had undergone a change. Tacita had even begun to wonder if it perhaps it had been she who was a trifle hard to please, and not he.

  Why, he’d not even made a fuss when she finally gave up on her sidesaddle, even though he’d made it plain at the beginning of their trip that he considered sidesaddles ridiculous. Granted, his sigh had been somewhat heavy, at least he hadn’t scolded or, worse, said “I told you so.” He’d merely changed the saddle on her mare and lifted her into it.

  It had taken her a while to get used to riding astride, since it was such an indelicate way for a lady to travel, but he hadn’t fussed about that, either. She appreciated his forbearance.

  As the days wore on, moreover, Tacita was becoming ever more keenly aware of Jed’s manly graces. He was a truly handsome man, in a rugged, rough-hewn sort of way. Besides, he’d started being nice to her ever since Rosamunda attacked that second vicious criminal, and she was grateful to him for it.

  “Well, I’m glad she’s all right,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said back, feeling oddly reserved. She chucked Rosamunda under her chin with her finger.

  Rosamunda bit it.

  “Ow!” Tacita looked down at her darling pet, shocked. She found Rosamunda wagging her adorable little tail, so she chalked up her lapse in manners to a flaw in her own behavior. “Oh, my poor dear darling. Did I pet you too hard?”

  “Did she hurt you, ma’am?”

  At Jed’s growl, Tacita glanced up from her contemplation of Rosamunda to find him looking annoyed, but quite concerned. She thought that was sweet.

  “Oh, no. I think she was just telling me to stroke her more gently.”

  Jed grunted. “Don’t hold with dogs who bite the hand that feeds ‘em myself.”

  Sweeping Rosamunda up into her arms, Tacita said, “Oh, my precious darling would never bite me.” She kissed her head. “Would you, sweetheart?”

  When she looked at Jed again, he was rolling his eyes, a gesture she resented.

  “Well, she wouldn’t,” she told him stoutly.

  “She just did.”

  With a small frown, Tacita said, “That wasn’t really a bite.” She kissed Rosamunda, who sighed contentedly. “Was it, sweetheart?”

  Jed grunted again.

  Tacita, who had always deplored grunting and eye-rolling as rude behavior confined to the lower social orders, began to revise her softened opinion of him. As she considered whether or not to take him to task, she gazed into the trees surrounding their camp and petted Rosamunda—very softly.

  They’d climbed into the mountains by this time, and the scenery appealed to something deep in Tacita that had until now remained untouched. Stately pine trees towered over their heads, while shorter oaks and junipers fluffed out the rest of the landscape nicely. Patches of pretty wildflowers bloomed here and there, looking delicate and strangely out of place in the otherwise craggy countryside. The low-growing wildflowers shared space with the everlasting greasewood and scrub brush that seemed to be part and parcel of this wild land. The weather was dryer here than in Tacita’s home along the Gulf of Mexico, although these mountains were much greener than the desert they’d left behind.

  A fragrance both sharp and sweet surrounded them in the forest. It was very much to Tacita’s liking. She’d never smelled anything quite like this pungent tang of balsam, pine tar, wildflower and dusty soil. The combined effects of the scenery and the aroma and her guide’s large presence gave her a tingly feeling of excitement.

  This was an adventure. She was conquering the wilderness. Sort of. With the help of Jedediah Hardcastle, of course. In truth, except for the occasional unpleasantness brought about by thieving drummers, vicious outlaws and the odd snake or thorny plant, she was enjoying herself immensely, even if she did miss warm baths. And gas lighting. And full meals with fresh vegetables. Well, and toilet facilities and clean underthings.

  Still and all, she guessed this could be considered “roughing it.” Or, perhaps, it more nearly resembled “camping out.” Either way, the experience was a thrilling one. She knew people back home who did things like this for fun. Near as she could figure, Tacita had never done anything for fun in her life. She frowned, deciding it was probably best not to think about that aspect of her life, which was just one more boring thing about her.

  “How about you, ma’am?” Jed asked, once again startling her out of her thoughts and into a tiny jump.

  “How about me, what?”

  “Are you feeling all right? Do you need to start a little later tomorrow morning in order to rest up or anything?”

  Why, how sweet! Tacita took note of his complexion, which seemed to have darkened a bit. On the other hand, it was hard to tell by the light of the campfire. Besides, it would be totally out of character for this hard man to be blushing, wouldn’t it?

  “What about our schedule, Mr. Hardcastle? Aren’t you worried about falling behind?”

  “Not yet,” he said, and Tacita was reminded once more about his terse conversational style.


  Inhaling a deep, refreshing breath of clean mountain air, she said, “It’s very kind of you to ask, Mr. Hardcastle.”

  Jed mumbled something incomprehensible.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He looked up and cleared his throat. “I was just sayin’ as to how my ma and pa always told me that if I was responsible for something, it was best to treat it as kind as I can.”

  Tacita was positive he blushed this time. She was perfectly astounded. And charmed. Yet again, Jed Hardcastle had managed to shoulder his large way into her good graces. Heaving a big sigh, she said, “That sounds like good advice.”

  “My ma and pa always gave us kids good advice, ma’am. I expect all parents try to do their best by their kids.”

  “Yes. Yes, I suppose they do.” Tacita frowned down at Rosamunda, thinking about her own parents, remembering how they seldom gave her any advice at all. Or anything else of a verbal nature, for that matter. It was difficult to converse with people who weren’t there.

  Jed cleared his throat again and she lifted her gaze. As though he were making an effort to relax, he shifted himself and leaned back against the trunk of a huge pine. “What about you, ma’am? Your folks give you any tips to live by?”

  Had they given her any tips? Tacita chewed her lower lip as she pondered. Casting her memory back to her childhood, she recalled several “don’t touch that, darling’s”, one or two “not now, dear’s”, and about a million “we’ll write to you as soon as we get there, sweetheart’s”. For some reason, thinking about her childhood always made her sad. For some other reason, she didn’t want Jed Hardcastle to know it.

  She said lightly, “Of course they did.”

  He nodded. “Reckon all folks do.”

  “Yes.”

  Jed picked up a twig and twirled it between the fingers of his right hand. He’d draped his left arm over his knees, which he’d drawn up when he sat. The casual pose suited him. His buckskin breeches drew taut against his knees, and his fringed shirt hugged his form in a manner Tacita had never seen until she’d met him. She enjoyed looking at him and wondered if it was depraved of her to do so. He seemed relaxed and comfortable and as if this outdoorsy atmosphere fit him to a T. In spite of her pleasure in it, Tacita knew that, deep down, it didn’t fit her at all. She wished it did.

  “So, you told me your folks had an import-export business. They travel a lot?”

  His eyes looked dark and faintly mysterious from across the campfire. He shaved every morning before they set out for the day, but tonight a beard shadowed his cheeks, giving him a rugged, outdoorsmanlike appearance. Of course, he was a rugged outdoorsman. Tacita felt warm all of a sudden and couldn’t account for the sensation by any logical means, as the evening air was quite chilly. It was she who cleared her throat this time.

  “Er, yes. Yes, they did. They traveled a lot.”

  “Must have been an interesting life. You must have seen lots of places the rest of us only read about.”

  “Oh, I never went with them.” She’d spoken before she’d thought about it, and wished she hadn’t when she saw one of his eyebrows lift in inquiry.

  “You mean they didn’t take you with them?”

  “Er—no.”

  “Never?”

  “Well—well, I was too young. You know how much trouble youngsters can be.”

  He didn’t answer for fully long enough for Tacita to feel like squirming. At last he said, “I kind of like bein’ around kids myself.”

  “Oh, well, of course my parents liked being around me. They loved me, for heaven’s sake.” Her giggle came out high-pitched. She shut her mouth and cleared her throat again. “It’s just that taking children along on long sea voyages can be—” The word that sprang to mind was tiresome, which sounded wrong. She struggled for a moment before she came up with, “—dangerous.”

  His other brow lifted to join its brother, giving him the look of a man who was trying to understand something that made no sense. “Dangerous?”

  “Yes. Why, anything could have happened to a little girl along on trips like that.”

  He cocked his head. “Yeah?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wouldn’t your folks have looked after you, ma’am?”

  Now she was getting peeved. “Well, of course, they would have! It’s just that my mother found looking after children on long voyages—tedious.”

  After a moment, Jed said, “Oh.”

  Tedious? Jed kept watching Tacita, searching for any sign that she considered her parents’ attitude towards their little girl unusual. She looked serious, and he had a feeling she didn’t. And that made his heart hurt something fierce.

  His parents had hollered at him and his brothers and sisters to beat the band, but that was because they cared about them. They’d sure as hell never found them tedious; he’d take bets on it. Tedious? He could hardly stand it.

  Hell, he’d also take bets that the child Tacita Grantham used to be was about the prettiest, sweetest little girl in the world, with all her fluffy blond hair and big blue eyes and the longing to please. Criminy, if Jed ever had a little girl like that, he’d never want to travel. Damned sure, if he did travel, she’d go with him because he’d never want to be separated from her. He’d sure as the devil never trust anybody else to look after her the way he would.

  Because he was so mad at Tacita’s parents, he said, “Well, ma’am, I reckon that if a body finds children tedious, he might ought to consider not havin’ ‘em in the first place.”

  The look she gave him was so eloquent of distress that Jed felt like a big cruel beast and mentally swatted his own rear end much as his mother used to do when he misbehaved as a boy. Even though he still resented her parents, he said, “Although maybe your folks had their reasons.”

  She sighed, a mournful sound that sliced through him like a knife. “I’m sure they did,” she said softly.

  The rat on her lap licked her wrist, and she smiled down at it tenderly. He guessed maybe that idiot animal had the right of it this time; at least it seemed to sympathize in a manner Tacita understood. Jed appreciated it for that.

  He didn’t suppose Tacita’d approve of the kind of comfort he wanted to offer. What he wanted to do was pluck her up off the ground, settle her on his lap, and hug her and pet her and kiss her until she forgot all about her stinking parents and that stupid animal. He’d probably crush her if he did—and she’d undoubtedly hate him for it, too. Not that she didn’t hate him already, he mused glumly.

  “What about you, Mr. Hardcastle?”

  Her question startled him out of his brown study of the twig twirling in his hand. “What about me what?”

  She gave him a brittle smile. “It doesn’t sound as though your parents considered you tedious.”

  His laugh caught him by surprise. “Tedious? I reckon they didn’t have time, ma’am. There were so many of us, they didn’t have time to catch their breath, much less get bored.”

  There was a small pause. “Perhaps you and your siblings were more interesting than I.” Her voice was as tiny as the dog in her lap.

  “Huh?”

  What was she talking about, interesting? Kids were kids. They weren’t interesting or not interesting. They were kids and, therefore, of intense concern to their parents.

  She pinched her lips together in a gesture Jed recognized as one of disapproval. He guessed she didn’t appreciate his huh’s. Too bad. He was beginning to seriously dislike Tacita Grantham’s parents.

  “Ma’am, I don’t think I understand your question. I don’t guess kids are supposed to be interesting. Parents love ‘em and raise ‘em and that’s that, I reckon. There’s eight of us,” he added and grinned, remembering episodes from his past. “I’m the oldest, and when my ma and pa were too busy, I whupped my brothers and sisters for them.”

  Her eyes went big and round and reminded Jed of some of those fancy Christmas ornaments he’d seen once in a big-city mercantile store in Houston. “You struck your siblings?�
�� She sounded horrified.

  “Sure did.”

  “My goodness.” It looked to Jed as though she disapproved.

  “Nobody ever smacked you when you was—were a kid, ma’am?” Of course, she was so tiny, maybe they’d been afraid to.

  “I tried very hard never to give them a reason to want to,” she said.

  Then she sniffed, Jed guessed to show her superiority. She didn’t have to do that. He already knew she was superior.

  “You mean you was—were good all the time?”

  “I tried to be.”

  “Didn’t that get awful dull, ma’am?”

  “Being good? Heavens, no.” She looked away, as if embarrassed. “Well, maybe just a little bit.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe you ought to have misbehaved some every now and then.” Grinning, he added, “Your folks might have paid more attention to you.”

  Jed was sorry he’d said it when he saw the stricken expression on Tacita’s face. Her rat growled at him, too, which he recognized as being its normal behavior when he’d insulted her mistress.

  With a sigh, he said, “I didn’t mean that, ma’am. It was a joke.”

  Her smile looked anemic. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Miss Amalie Crunch—back home in Busted Flush?—she’s told me more than once that I ought to think before I talk. Reckon she’s right.”

  Tacita looked up quickly. “Miss Amalie Crunch?”

  “Yeah. Miss Amalie and me—well—er—I reckon we’re promised. Sort of.”

  “Oh!”

  Her pretty rosebud mouth fell open when her startled exclamation tumbled out, and Jed felt himself get warm again. Shoot. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d blushed, but this evening he seemed to be blushing every other second or so. “Kind of like you and that Mr. Jeeves fellow, I reckon,” he muttered.

  “Mr. Jeeves? Oh! You mean Mr. Reeve. Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”

  After fumbling around for a moment in the mush that used to be his brain, Jed asked, “So, you expect you and that Mr. Reeves fellow’d want kids someday, ma’am?”