Wishing on Buttercups (24 page)

His eyes widened, and he laughed.

Indignation threatened to choke her, and she gathered her skirts and stood. “If you will excuse me.”

He rose and grasped her hands. “No, Beth, I was not laughing at you. Please. Sit back down and let me explain.”

Uncertainty froze her, then she perched stiffly on the edge of her chair. “What is there to explain? You made it quite clear what you think.”

Jeffery settled into his chair. “I laughed, not at you, but because this is what inevitably happens between us.”

She wrinkled her nose, still not clear what he implied. “What happens?”

“We spend half the time we are together going in circles and apologizing. Now here we are once more. And, I must say, it’s my turn.” The twinkle in his eyes dimmed, and he leaned forward. “I hurt you and I didn’t mean to. It was uncharitable to laugh and uncouth of me to lay any blame at your feet. I truly do beg your pardon.”

Beth’s lips twitched, and she giggled. He stared at her. She giggled again and covered her lips with her fingertips, but a full-throated laugh burst forth.

Jeffery watched the young woman with ever-growing admiration. Not only had she taken a step back from her chagrin, she’d turned the tables on him and laughed. Most women he’d known would have stomped off and pouted for the next twenty-four hours, but not Beth Roberts. She was truly a woman to be admired.

He coughed, buying himself time to regain his composure. “So I would venture a guess that we are in agreement. No more begging forgiveness. At least not today.”

She grinned. “Not today. But earlier you said you had something to tell me. Was that it, or is there more?”

He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward, wiping all vestiges of humor from his face. “By chance, did you get a letter this past week? From our publisher?” Now Jeffery could barely keep the silly grin from taking over his face.

Her expression stilled. “Yes. I wanted to speak to you about it, but you seemed so—distant, somehow. I assumed you didn’t care to discuss it.”

“I understand. I hated to trouble you as well. But that is behind us now. Did they tell you the first issue releases next week?”

Beth started. “No. Only that my work was being used in a new series of stories by Jeffery Tucker and would be releasing soon.” Her cheeks dimpled in a sweet smile. ““I’ll admit I felt a flash of pride that I know you.”

Surprise coursed through Jeffery, and he sat back. She was proud of what he’d done? He had assumed she barely tolerated his writing. At least, she’d made it clear initially that she’d felt that way. He couldn’t remember the last time someone declared they were proud of him. “Truly?” He cleared his throat. “I must say, I appreciate your confidence in me, when you haven’t read the story yet. I hope it won’t give you reason to regret your statement or having your name associated with my work.”

Her face sobered for an instant, then softened. “Ah, but my name isn’t connected to your story, remember? Only that of Elizabeth Corwin. And I’m certain I’ll be more than happy with what you’ve written. I assume they’ll send me a copy as well. Maybe we could read it together?” Her eyes lit with merry anticipation.

Jeffery nodded, his heart swelling with joy. “I would love that. Thank you.” He bit his tongue to keep the rest of his thoughts to himself. If he hoped to win Beth’s heart, he had to do something about Brent Wentworth.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Wilma wanted to throw something at the wall, but nothing suitable presented itself. A pillow would bring no satisfaction at all, and destroying a perfectly useful book or piece of bric-a-brac wouldn’t improve her mood. She almost wished she’d allowed Beth to enter an hour ago, but she’d needed time to sort through her thoughts. Now that they were sorted, she was angrier at herself than Caleb. Confused by his response, certainly, but she had no right to be upset by his proclamation. Although she still wished he’d not stated his feelings in front of Frances.

A knock sounded at her door, and she sat upright, swinging her feet to the floor. Beth. Should she tell her what happened with Caleb or continue pretending she wanted to rest? “A moment, please.” She smoothed her hair and straightened her clothing. “Come in.”

“It’s Caleb.” His voice echoed through the thick wooden door. “I don’t want to impose, but I think we should talk.”

Wilma’s heart pounded like a horse pulling a fire wagon to a blazing structure. Caleb. Why hadn’t she thought what she’d say to him the next time they spoke? She’d spent the last hour moaning over her rude behavior and Frances’s reaction. She couldn’t invite Caleb into her room, and she wasn’t certain she’d know what to say if she met him downstairs. “Umm, I was resting.” That sounded ridiculous even to her own ears, so she walked to the door and drew it open.

Caleb took a step back. “I’m sorry I distressed you. I wanted you to know that I plan to take a room at the hotel tonight and leave town tomorrow.” He turned and strode away from the door.

Wilma’s stomach sickened. “Wait, Caleb. Please.” She grabbed her cloak and wrenched the door wide, almost bounding into the hall.

He swung around. “What is it, Wilma?”

She halted beside him and rested her fingers on his arm. “I am the one who should apologize for treating you in such a disrespectful manner when you paid me the honor of declaring your interest. My behavior was unforgivable.”

Caleb laid a gentle hand over hers. “You weren’t disrespectful. I took you by surprise, and I spoke out of turn in front of a virtual stranger.”

Wilma gave a weak laugh. “Frances is a friend, although at times she does act more like a fencing partner. While I would have preferred she not be privy to your declaration, there’s no lasting harm done. Would you still care to walk to town and have tea together?”

A cautious smile warmed his face. “What do you say we tell Mrs. Jacobs we won’t be here for supper? Would that be acceptable?” His eyes darkened. “That is, if you care to be in my presence that long?”

“I’d love to.” She withdrew her hand from his. “But Caleb—about what you said downstairs …”

He shook his head. “Wait. You don’t have to say anything. Let’s set it aside for now, shall we? We’ll go have a bite to eat and visit about other things.”

“I’d like to explain, if you don’t mind?” Wilma managed. “And I’d prefer to do so here, with no one around, rather than in a crowded restaurant or down in the parlor.”

“All right.”

“You did surprise me. I had no idea you felt that way.”

He started to reply, but she held up her hand. “Please. I need to finish. I care for you, Caleb, but I’m not certain if it’s only friendship or something more. I don’t even know if I want to be courted. It seems so strange at my advanced age to think about courting.”

He snorted. “You are not a bit old. You’re almost a decade my junior and still a young woman. Quite a lovely one, if I may be so bold.”

She felt warmth creep into her cheeks. “I’m close to fifty, and I’m not foolish enough to believe your sweet flattery, but I thank you for your kindness. All I’m asking is that we remain friends.”

Caleb’s brows drew together. “Friends?”

“For now. I can’t make any promises, but …” She plunged ahead, wondering if she’d regret her words. “I think it’s possible I might be interested in courting sometime in the future, if you’re willing to wait and give me a chance to get used to the idea.”

His expression softened, and he grasped her hands. “I could kiss you right now, Wilma Roberts, but I won’t. I’m not going to push you, even though it’s what I long to do. I’ll give you as much time as you need.” A grin tugged at his lips. “Keep in mind we’re neither one of us getting any younger.”

Something delicious fluttered in her heart. “I certainly will.” Wilma tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and sighed. So this is what had brought Caleb to the West, not news about Beth. Maybe she could wait a little longer to ask if he’d discovered anything else. They’d waited all these years, so another day or two surely wouldn’t make a difference. Tonight belonged to her and Caleb, and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.

Beth had lingered long enough. The past few days of meeting Brent she’d swung from anger to cautious acceptance to a willingness to help, if not to rebuild a friendship. After today she was bordering on anger again. She snatched her reticule off the chair beside her and rose.

A waitress bustled over, carrying a coffeepot. “Would you care for a refill, miss? I’m sorry to take so long getting back to you. Are you ready to order?”

“No, thank you. The person who planned to join me was detained, so I’ll pay for my coffee.” She smiled, hoping to soften her departure, and made her way to the cashier. After pressing a nickel into his hand, she hurried out the door.

Beth shivered and rubbed her hands over her arms, suddenly conscious of her scars. This was exactly what had happened in Topeka. She’d made an appointment to meet Brent, and he hadn’t appeared. No word, no letter waiting at home, no hint of what might have happened. Fear had almost driven her to despair until she’d gone to her aunt. That lady had promised her Brent was well and intact but had left town suddenly and wouldn’t be returning.

Beth had always assumed that somehow Brent had gotten wind of her past, but Aunt Wilma assured her that wasn’t the case. But she would never explain
why
he had left, only pressed her lips together and made it clear she had no use for the man, and Beth was better off without him.

Now she thought she understood why, although she’d never seen her aunt as a snob. Somehow Aunt Wilma had discovered Brent’s mother’s past and didn’t want Beth soiled by her reputation. Was it possible Aunt Wilma had learned of Brent’s arrival in Baker City and told him to leave? She paused outside a bakery, and her stomach grumbled at the delicious smells wafting out the open door.

How unfair of her aunt if that were the case. Determination pressed Beth forward. It was time to seek out Aunt Wilma. She had waited long enough to hear the truth.

Beth stepped off the boardwalk and wove between the wagons parked in front of the mercantile. She stopped to check for traffic and lifted the hem of her skirt, stepping over the spots of mud left by last night’s rain shower.

“Miss Roberts.” A man’s voice that sounded vaguely familiar swung her around. Isaac Lansing peered at her from under his bowler hat. Clearly not the same hat the bucket of paint had landed on, as this one appeared quite unscathed.

Beth drew back, not caring for his frown. “Yes?”

“Meeting you has saved the sheriff a trip to the Jacobses’ boardinghouse. I assume you still live there?” He cocked his head toward the silent law officer standing nearby.

The sheriff reached into his vest. “I’m terribly sorry to do this, Miss Roberts.” He extended an envelope. “You’ll need to see that Micah Jacobs reads it, as well as your aunt. Is that clear, miss?”

Beth stood stupefied. “I have no idea
what
you are talking about. What does Mr. Lansing have to do with you or Mr. Jacobs or my aunt?”

“I can’t tell you more, Miss Roberts.” The sheriff jerked his chin toward Lansing. “I am required to serve you the papers this gent’s attorney drew up.”

Lansing smirked and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his tailored jacket. “What it means, Miss Roberts, is that you all are being sued. Have a good day.” He stepped back onto the boardwalk, his retreating footfalls beating a tattoo that matched the pounding of Beth’s heart.