His Tempting Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch - Spicy Version Book 5) (3 page)

Miriam gasped. “Oh, uh, just plain tea for me, thank you.” Her cheeks burned.

Libby looked at her oddly.

“It’s the troupe, you see,” Miriam confided, leaning closer to her. “We…we have very little money. Miles would throttle me if I spent the meager salary he can afford to pay me on such frivolities as scones.”

“Miles Kopanari?” Mr. Gunn asked.

Miriam peeked up at him. “Yes.”

Mr. Gunn’s kind smile broadened. “We were introduced yesterday when he secured the rooms for your company. I informed him then that meals are included in the price of your rooms.”

Something in the flash behind Mr. Gunn’s enigmatic blue-green eyes told Miriam he was fibbing. Or at least that there was more to his offer than rested on the surface.

“Tea isn’t a meal,” she whispered to him.

“My treat, then,” Mr. Gunn whispered back.

There was nothing Miriam could do but concede.

“He’s rather grand, isn’t he?” she asked Libby in a hushed voice once Mr. Gunn had left.

“He’s the most remarkable man I’ve ever met,” Libby agreed with a warm smile. “He helped me out of a…delicate situation shortly after I arrived.”

“Oh?”

“I believe that’s what the man does. He helps people out of trouble. And it seems to me that you and your troupe are in some sort of trouble.” Libby steered the conversation away from herself and the enigmatic Mr. Gunn so quickly that Miriam couldn’t help but smile.

She also couldn’t help but talk about herself. She was only human, after all.

“It’s been a difficult winter,” she sighed, sitting back in her chair. “Miles has done his very best to book us into music halls and theaters across the West, but it’s a tricky time of year for entertainment. The last show we performed was in Salt Lake City almost a week ago. Our receipts were reasonable, but the theater that booked us took more than sixty percent, claiming our show was too short. Alas, we only have a handful of performers these days, and Madame Kopanari is more of a fortune-teller than a performer, so…” She ended with a shrug.

“A fortune-teller.” Libby brightened in surprise. “How intriguing.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Miriam leaned forward, filled with energy. “She’s a real, live gypsy. Miles is too, technically. Although, perhaps not technically.” She tilted her head to the side. “Miles’s father was an American sailor who made port in Greece while Madame Kopanari’s family was resting there. Well, when Miles came along, Madame Kopanari wanted to marry his father. Her family forbid it, so Madame Kopanari ran away with him. Madame and Miles stayed in Europe while Miles’s father was at sea, and they tried to join up with another band of Romani, but it was tough. Her family disowned her, and when Miles was three, his father was lost at sea. It wasn’t until Miles was an adolescent that they had the money to come to America to search for Miles’s father’s family, but even after they located them, that family rejected them. Since then, they have been forced to wander the United States, attempting to earn enough money for Miles to take Madame Kopanari back to her homeland. Isn’t that romantic?”

Libby arched an eyebrow doubtfully. “That isn’t precisely the word I would use.”

“Anyhow.” Miriam waved away her friend’s lack of romantic imagination and leaned back again. “There were more performers in Miles’s troupe, but we lost several to a grander troupe that was on its way to a tour of the Orient. Only Miles and Madame Kopanari, Juan Bertran, myself, and the Chinese twins are left.”

“Chinese twins?”

Miriam nodded enthusiastically. “They’re acrobats. They’ve been trained with the finest performers in all of China. They’re identical too. You should see some of the shapes they can twist and fold themselves into.”

“I
should
see.” Libby blinked, then shifted forward. “You should perform here in Haskell.”

“That’s what I told Miles when I realized the train we were on would pass through here,” Miriam replied, then let out a defeated breath. “But I forgot that Haskell doesn’t have a theater.”

“And yet, you thought to stop here anyhow?” Libby eyed her suspiciously.

Miriam was struck with instant guilt under that look. “Well, I knew you would be here,” she rushed to make an excuse. “And you insisted that Haskell was a good, kind place during our conversation on the train.”

“And is that the
only
reason you wanted to stop here?” Libby’s lips tipped up into a sly grin.

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Miriam said, though she couldn’t look Libby in the eye.

Fortunately, she was spared the need to try when a plump and cheerful young woman in a hotel uniform wheeled a cart containing a tea set and plates of goodies over to their table.

“Thank you, Olga.” Libby smiled at the girl as she finished transferring the small, dainty feast to the table.

“You’re welcome,” Olga replied with a faint accent, curtsied, then rushed off to greet Miles, Madame Kopanari, and Meizhen and Meiying as they entered the restaurant.

“Oh. Those must be your friends.” Libby twisted in her chair to smile at them. “You’re right, the twins
are
identical. And what beautiful clothing they have on.”

Meizhen and Meiying were dressed in the traditional costume of their homeland. But that wasn’t what caught Miriam’s attention. The next person through the restaurant door behind them was none other than Cody Montrose. He was dressed in his native costume too, complete with tough trousers, a long coat, thick-soled boots, and a Stetson, which he was in the process of removing. His rugged good looks plucked at the strings of Miriam’s heart the way Juan plucked sensual notes from his guitar.

A moment later, Cody’s searching glance landed directly on Miriam. For one shining moment, his face lit up in a smile. Then it collapsed into a frown.

“Oh, dear.” A tiny wail squeaked out of Miriam’s lungs as he strode across the restaurant toward her table.

“Now, now.” Libby reached for Miriam’s hand. “Cody is just a man. I’m sure he understands all of the reasons you chose not to marry him before. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Are you certain?”

Libby never had the chance to answer.

“Ladies.” Cody came to a stop beside their table, nodding curtly.

“Cody, how nice to see you,” Libby greeted him. “It’s such a rare treat to see you in town in the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday.” Her eyes flashed as if she knew something Miriam didn’t. “Why don’t you pull up a chair and join us?”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose, I just thought I’d—”

“I insist,” Libby said in a voice that absolutely, positively insisted.

Cody snapped his mouth shut. Miriam swallowed hard, eyes unable to focus on any one thing, and definitely not able to meet his. She reached for the teapot and poured a shaky cup of tea, spilling on her saucer.

“Allow me.” Mr. Gunn appeared out of nowhere, sweeping a chair away from an empty table and positioning it at Miriam and Libby’s table. He gestured once, and Olga was back at the table with a third teacup and napkin.

Within seconds, Cody had joined the tea as if he’d been invited from the beginning. Miriam’s heart trembled with fear and attraction.

“Miriam was just telling me about the members of her performance troupe.” Libby attempted to begin a conversation. “What did you say the troupe was called, Miriam?”

There was nothing left to do but put on her best imitation smile and pretend that tea with Cody was exactly what she wanted right then. “The Kopanari Company,” she answered. Her teeth sparkled with the intensity of her smile as she sloshed tea into Cody’s cup.

“Kopanari.” Cody sniffed, holding his hand out when she’d poured enough. “Yeah, Juan said that was the name of the guy from the train station, and that he keeps you all organized. Says he’s a bit of a sissy.” He lowered his voice, casting a quick glance to the other side of the crowded restaurant where Miles sat having tea and conversation with his mother.

Miriam’s back snapped straight. She was halfway through tipping the teapot back, and her sudden movement sent hot liquid jetting across Cody’s place, a bit splashing on his coat.

“Miles is a respectable gentleman who has the impossible burden of caring for the members of his company,” she fired at Cody—careful not to speak loud enough for anyone else to hear—as she plunked the teapot down. Its porcelain lid rattled. “He is not a
sissy
.”

“I didn’t call him a sissy.” Cody raised his voice a hair. “Juan did.”

“Juan would
never
,” Miriam informed him.

“Juan said he was—and I quote—the kind of man who keeps his collars crisp and his ducks in a row.” Cody narrowed his eyes.

“That means he’s fastidious and well-organized,” Miriam hissed, eyes narrowing.

The sharpness in Cody’s eyes faltered. “Doesn’t ‘fastidious’ mean,
you know
?”

Miriam licked and pursed her lips, willing herself not to fly off the handle. “No, Mr. Montrose, it means that he has discerning tastes and wants the best for himself and
for his troupe
. It means that for the last four months since I met him, he has gone out of his way to care for his employees above himself, and in the most trying of circumstances. It means that—”

“All right, all right, I get the point.” Cody held up his hands. “Your Mr. Kopanari is a swell guy.” He paused, shoulders dropping, a decided pout coming to his mouth. “So. You two, uh, got an understanding or something?”

Miriam huffed in frustration. “Why must a woman have ‘an understanding’ with any man that she admires and puts her trust in?”

“Well, if a woman is as beautiful as you are, it would only be reasonable that every man you give the time of day to would fall all over themselves for you.”

Dead silence reigned over the table as soon as Cody snapped his reply. Something hot and sweet blossomed through Miriam’s chest, as if he’d given her a glowing compliment. So why did she simultaneously want to stand up and bash him over the head with the teapot?

The impasse was broken when Libby cleared her throat and reached for the tea. The corners of her mouth twitched as she poured herself a cup. “I had just suggested to Miriam before you arrived that she persuade Mr. Kopanari to mount his show here in Haskell, Cody.”

Cody scooped the sugar bowl from the center of the table and added two sickeningly large spoons to his tea. “Well, why the hell did you stop in Haskell in the first place if you weren’t planning to do your show?” he asked, without looking at Miriam.

Miriam snatched the pitcher of cream before Cody could abscond with it and took her time adding some to her tea. “I haven’t the faintest notion what came over me,” she said though clenched teeth, then put the cream down as far away from Cody as she could.

“Is that so?” Cody was in the process of setting the sugar bowl in the middle of the table, but he changed directions halfway through and offered it to Libby. “Sugar?”

Not to be outdone, Miriam snatched up the pitcher, spilling a few drops across the tea sandwiches. “Cream?”

Libby glanced between the two of them, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “I do believe I’ll take mine with lemon today.” She picked up a small lemon wedge from the plate in the center of the table.

Cody and Miriam exchanged possessive looks, each holding on to their bowl or pitcher. Neither said a word, but with slow, grudging movements, they handed them off between each other. Miriam added a dash of sugar to her tea as Cody poured a liberal amount of cream, they stirred in unison, then sipped.

Ah. A refreshing bit of tea, and Miriam was ready to return to the act before her. “I honestly think that a moment of insanity must have persuaded me to convince Miles to stop in Haskell. Why, there isn’t even a theater in town.”

“There’s the church,” Cody said, then took another gulp of tea. “And there’s the hotel ballroom, right here.”

Miriam’s heart trilled with the prospect of putting on a show after all, but she kept a straight face. “But they are not theaters.”

“So?” Cody shrugged. “Didn’t you say you needed to put on your little show so that you all don’t starve?”

“It’s not my show to put on, Mr. Montrose. I merely sing and act in it,” Miriam insisted, putting on an air of indifference, even though the prospect of having an income again was glorious.

“Right.” Cody twisted in his chair to search across the restaurant. As soon as he spotted Miles at a table halfway across the room, he called out, “Hey, Mr. Kopanari.”

All eyes in the room zipped to them, and conversations hushed. Miriam shrank in her chair. She liked to be the center of attention, but not to that extent.

Miles leaned toward his mother and whispered something, then rose from his place and gracefully crossed the sea of tables to join them.

“Good afternoon, Miriam. Would you care to introduce me to your friends?” he said, though his expression read more along the lines of ‘Why is this strange man shouting at me in public?’

“Miles, this is my dear friend, Mrs. Libby Sims—I mean, Montrose.” She sent Libby a joyful grin. “You remember, I mentioned her before?”

“I think so, yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Montrose.” Gracious as a European courtier, Miles took Libby’s hand and bowed over it.