Carole Howey - Sheik's Glory Page 3

  He'd also learned to keep his mouth shut, for the most part, except when it came to bullies like the two men who'd tried to needle him about his Glory. That was why he just stood there in the stall with his mouth pressed tight as a new-corked bottle when he heard the name Flynn Muldaur. Especially since he recognized the name of Melissa Cannon in connection with something he'd heard only a few hours before

  Chapter Three

  Gideon stuffed himself into a corner of the cab as if there weren't all the room in the world in there, with just Miss Cannon as his companion. She gave him a funny look as the driver helped her in, but she didn't say anything. She just sat in the corner opposite and lay back against the leather seat with a broken-up sigh, as if her breath were climbing a rickety old ladder and having a hard go of it. If she or anyone else dared to think, let alone say out loud, that he was acting scared, his fists were bunched, ready to straighten them out.

  But Miss Cannon didn't seem inclined to tease him. She closed her eyes they were pretty eyes, he allowed, kind of a soft gray, like the fur of the kitten that sometimes visited Glory's stall and she winced a little and bit her lip when her shoulder hit the back of the seat. But only a little. Had he blinked or looked away for an instant, he'd have missed the unguarded look of pain. He got the feeling, looking at her sideways so she wouldn't think he was staring or interested or anything, that she was in a lot more discomfort than she was willing to let on.

  A flush of heat in his face made him look down at his old, cracked shoes: he was responsible for that pain. He and Glory.

  Well, dammit, he'd only been trying to help her, he reasoned, fidgeting. He'd figured if Glory reared and made a fuss, she'd chase those fellows right out of the stall without a backward look. How was he to know that Miss Cannon would put herself between them? After all, there'd never been anyone in all of his life who'd put themselves between him and harm.

  He stole another look at Miss Cannon. Her eyes were still closed, but she wasn't grimacing anymore. Her mouth, though, was tight, as if she were thinking about something that made her feel bad. . . .

  Gideon felt sort of choked, all of a sudden: he hoped he hadn't brought that feeling on her. He owed her. She'd saved him, after all. Him and Glory.

  ''We'll get you a good hot meal and some decent clothes." Miss Cannon's soft voice interrupted the creaking of the cab and the rumbling of the wheels, and Gideon thought it would be okay to look at her. She hadn't opened her eyes, though, he noticed, both relieved and saddened. He didn't answer her. He guessed maybe she was thinking out loud more than talking to him. People didn't talk to him much. Grown-up people, anyway. Other boys did, but they didn't count. They were just street orphans, like him, with nothing real important to say except maybe to tell you where the pickings were good, or where there was a dry, safe corner you could curl up in for the night.

  "I suppose you'd better tell me about yourself." She surprised him by speaking again, and she sounded stronger this time. "Allyn Mrs. Manners, that is sure to ask, and I'll feel even more foolish than I already do if I can't answer her."

  She opened her eyes and aimed a look straight at him across the cab. Even though her look wasn't mean or angry, he had to fight an urge to squirm. He reminded himself that, for once, he wasn't in any trouble. He took a couple of gulping breaths and figured he'd best come up with some sort of answer for her. His instinct was to lie, and he knew he was good at it. He'd had to be.

  "Well, my name's Gideon," he began tentatively. It was always easier to begin a lie with a little bit of truth.

  "That much I know. How old are you?"

  "Fourteen." He'd been telling that small lie for months, but this was the first time it stung.

  "Hmm. Tell me about yourself."

  Miss Cannon had a pretty voice. Like soft, buttered honey. Real gentle. Well, the tall fellow who was with her said she trained horses; Gideon guessed she knew how to use her voice on people, too.

  "I'm not from around here." He felt his way, as if he were in a lightless room.

  Miss Cannon waited. Her silence was a weight around Gideon's neck, forcing his head down. And his gaze.

  "My pa's a handler," he invented, although the new lie felt, strangely, like a prickly pear on his tongue. "He drinks some. He left me in charge of Glory when we got to Louisville, and I ain't seen him since. Guess he went on a bender. But he said I was to stay with Glory, no matter what, no matter where she went. He'd find me when he could. And he'd beat me fierce if he found I'd disobeyed him."

  Gideon had to stop himself from piling on more. He'd never had to lie to a lady before, at least not one who'd done him so many favors. He was unnerved to discover that it made him feel sort of sick inside, as if he'd forced himself to eat a plateful of tainted, underdone meat. Maybe even his own liver.

  "You told Joshua Mr. Manners that you had no ma or pa."

  Damn, he'd forgotten. But she hadn't. Gideon considered flipping the latch on the cab and bolting out, escaping from her and from his lies, but the cab was in traffic, and going along at a pretty good clip. Besides, to vamoose on Miss Cannon would mean he'd have to forsake Glory as well. He knew for sure the mare would be in good hands, but it was a sacrifice he was unwilling to make. He swallowed his agitation.

  "I don't have no ma," he allowed, fixing his gaze on the ever-changing view from his window. "And I might as well not have no pa, most times."

  Outside, a policeman's whistle brought the cab to a rocking halt. The sudden absence of movement made Miss Cannon's silence all the more unsettling. Gideon didn't realize he was holding his breath until the cab jolted forward again and forced a gasp from his lungs.

  "Well, now, which is it, Gideon?" she asked, with a soft gentleness in her voice that coaxed an unwanted swelling behind his eyes. "I've told one or two lies in my life when I thought I had to, but eventually I found out that telling the truth was always better. Always made me feel better, anyway. Not sick and uncomfortable. Imagine how you'll feel looking at the nice dinner I'm going to order up for you at the hotel, and feeling like you can't eat a bite of it."

  Gideon envisioned such a meal maybe chicken and biscuits and plenty of gravy, and a nice, big slice of pie for dessert and he winced before he could stop himself, thinking about not being able to look at it, much less do it justice, for his afflicted conscience. His stomach whined in protest. "I ain't nothin' to you," he growled, trying to cover the commotion of his insides, and trying not to sound as hungry as his invention made him feel. "Why are you going to order me a dinner?"

  "Because you're hungry."

  Gideon fell in love with Missy Cannon at that very instant.

  Of course, she hadn't mentioned the requisite bath yet.

  "Flynn Muldaur?" Allyn Cameron Manners frowned as she pulled Missy's shift over her head. "Joshua's never spoken of anyone by that name, but Lord, Missy, this thing stinks like everything else! I imagine he knows many more people than I've heard about in the past three years, especially from his days with the Secret Service. Get into the bath before you freeze."

  It was chilly in the small lavatory in Missy's hotel room. She slipped gratefully into warm water that smelled of roses.

  "Well, he knows him. And he didn't seem to particularly like him," she murmured, favoring her shoulder as she sat back against the cool enamel of the cast-iron tub. "Although except for calling me a damn fool, which I was, Mr. Muldaur treated me in a very kindly manner."

  Missy so relished the soothing bath that she did not immediately notice Allyn's silence. When she became aware of the quiet in the room, she opened her eyes to find Allyn searching her face with a speculative look that made her feel as if she wanted to cover herself with a towel.

  "Well, I must say, Missy, this is an encouraging development," Allyn said at last, although Missy did not care one bit for the prim, faintly teasing note in her friend's voice. "I wish I'd been there to witness the whole thing. I don't recall ever having seen you blush when discussing a man. Come to think of it, I don't
recall you ever discussing a man when you might be discussing a horse. I must hear more about him."

  Missy cringed at the thought of reviewing the mysterious and intriguing Flynn Muldaur further with her alarmingly astute companion.

  "But the children"

  "Albertine's still napping," Allyn argued, referring to her and Joshua's two-year-old daughter. "And your young Gideon will probably be in his bath for at least half an hour, if Phyllis has anything to say about it."

  Phyllis would no doubt have a great deal to say about it. Phyllis Hammond was Albertine's devoted nursemaid, and a veritable martinet in her standards of both discipline and cleanliness. Missy suspected that Gideon would have a devil of a time talking the woman into or out of anything, especially the thorough pumice scrubbing he so desperately needed.

  "There isn't anything more to tell," Missy protested, working the soft, rose-scented soap into a lather with her washcloth. "I opened my eyes, and there he was. Then he and Joshua yanked my shoulder back into place. Then I got" Missy stopped herself, her face heating at the memory.

  "You got what?" Allyn prodded, releasing Missy's hair with painless, effective jerks of the hairpins.

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing!" Allyn echoed in disbelief.

  "Ouch!"

  Allyn had yanked her hair, not at all painlessly.

  "Then I got . . .?" Allyn prompted sweetly, by way of reminding Missy of her earlier, unfinished remark.

  "Oh, very well." Missy relented with a huff. "I got sick on him. All over his shirtfront. I thought I'd die of shame. I didn't dare look at him after that, but luckily Joshua bade him go, rather sternly Allyn, stop laughing! It isn't funny!"

  Missy half turned in the tub to see Allyn sink to the stool, weak and shaking with mirth. It was only her consideration for Allyn's pregnancy that prevented Missy from hurling a wet washcloth in her direction. Her cheeks burned.

  "Not funny?" Allyn gasped. "Oh, Missy, only you could place yourself in such a predicament! And where was Joshua during this, uh, event?"

  "Right behind me." Missy had no shame left to feel, and the warm, fragrant bathwater was already soothing her temper as well as her muscles. "He held me while Mr. Muldaur wrenched my shoulder back into place."

  "Humph! That shoulder of yours has come apart and been put back together again so many times, I wonder you couldn't have done it yourself. Look here; it's not even swollen, although I expect it's still tender."

  "A little, although it's not bad. I mean to go to Filson's tonight, you know."

  Allyn sighed. "Of course you do," she muttered, balling Missy's soiled, discarded clothing. "Well, the dressmaker is coming at three to fit you, so you'd best hurry." She sniffed the air and made a face. "And wash your hair, too. It stinks. Shall I stay and help you?"

  Missy rolled her shoulder to test it. "No, I think I can manage."

  "Good, because I believe I hear Albertine bellowing, and I'm sure Phyllis is still busy with your Gideon. What do you mean to do with the boy, Miss? It's obvious he thinks you've purchased him right along with his mare, and it's equally obvious that he's delighted with the arrangement."

  Allyn's green eyes had grown serious as she held Missy's soiled laundry against her stomach. Missy sighed.

  "He says he's an orphan," she murmured, laying her head back against the rim of the tub. "I considered taking him to an orphanage, but . . ." She trailed off, unwilling to finish. Allyn, she knew, would have an opinion on the matter, very likely a strong one. And Missy was not up to a lecture. Especially not an Allyn Cameron Manners lecture. Allyn had lived a life of privilege as a child, until she chose to orphan herself by moving west with Missy nearly ten years earlier. On the other hand, she, Missy, had been orphaned as an infant by the war, and had never known a real home or family until the Camerons of Philadelphia had made her a part of theirs.

  "This could very possibly be the best thing in the world for both of you," Allyn mused with a slow nod. "You've been alone too long on that spread. And don't bother to tell me that the hired help is any company for you; I know you too well, remember. You've been working yourself to an early grave at that ranch ever since we lost Bert. You've needed someone, something more than those four-footed animals upon which to bestow all of your motherly attentions; God only knows what you've been doing with them since I left. Gideon seems a decent enough boy who's had less than his fair share of good fortune. And unless I'm much mistaken, that fortune is about to change."

  Missy considered her friend, unable to conceal her astonishment: she had anticipated a litany of advice from Allyn regarding the boy, culminating with strong exhortations to deposit him at the nearest home for indigent orphans. Even though Missy knew she would not have followed such well-intentioned guidance, she felt, along with her relief, a queer disappointment that she'd been denied the opportunity to gainsay Allyn. When the dressmaker was through, all Missy wanted was to climb into bed. Fittings, alterations, and hairdressing were more tiring to her than a vigorous day of breaking two-year-olds, probably due to her impatience with the comparatively tedious activity.

  Still, the results, she was forced to admit, were almost worth the agony. In the end, she was sheathed in a regal purple velvet that she could not help but admire as she examined her reflection in the full-length mirror. The color seemed a perfect complement to her changeable eyes, rendering them an amethyst hue. The gown featured sumptuous leg-of-mutton sleeves and yards and yards of material draping from her waist to the floor. She should have been warm in such a creation, she thought, but the neckline left her so exposed, down to the very tops of her breasts, that instead she felt chilled. She wondered if Flynn Muldaur might notice an otherwise ordinary Missy Cannon at Filson's while she was wearing such an exceptional dress.

  Perhaps it would be enough to make him forget her disgraceful exhibition this afternoon. . . .

  "Missy, you said you were cold, but your cheeks are as pert and pink as if you'd just returned from a brisk walk," Allyn observed, fluffing out a sleeve with a few expert plucks.

  Missy felt her blush deepen, and she looked away from the mirror, not wanting to witness the reflected result of her friend's innocent comment.

  "Well, anyway, you look exquisite." Allyn seemed as pleased as if she'd effected the transformation all by herself, like some all-powerful Merlin.

  "I can't move."

  "Yes, you can. Don't be absurd. You just can't stride about as you do in your work clothes. Remember to take smaller steps and you'll be fine. Oh, and here."

  Allyn selected, from her own accessory box, a hair piece of black and purple ostrich plumes joined by a diamond hairpin. She scanned Missy's upswept hair as if about to stake a claim. Then, with a lightning-quick jab that was not to be argued with, she sent the ornament to its place amid Missy's glossy, flawlessly placed dark curls.

  "There," Allyn pronounced with a satisfied grin. "Perfect."

  "It wouldn't dare not be," Missy commented dryly, although she doubted that perfection, particularly in the area of couture, was a word anyone might ever employ in the same breath as her own name.

  Allyn gave her a wilting look. She herself was wearing an elegant, emerald green creation styled in a manner that made her pregnancy scarcely noticeable. Allyn seemed to own the color green the way some women possessed priceless family heirlooms. It was, in Missy's opinion, unarguably Allyn's color, and anyone else who dared wear it when in the same vicinity as Mrs. Manners inevitably looked like a mountebank. Or at least like a piece of old, green cheese.

  "Missy, you look stunning," Allyn pronounced, as if daring contradiction. "Ravishing. Like a grand, fashionable lady."

  "Like an overdone old maid," Missy muttered, but she could not help nursing a secret delight at the result of her numerous dressers' efforts.

  "Oh, nonsense. Just for heaven's sake, please don't forget yourself and use any stable language. Joshua thinks he managed to contain speculation about what happened this morning at the auction, and if Mr. Muldaur is
any kind of gentleman, no one will even know of the incident. You have nothing to worry about."

  Except encountering Mr. Flynn Muldaur at Filson's, Missy thought gloomily. How, she wondered, following Allyn out of the dressing room, did one gracefully apologize for having emptied the contents of one's stomach upon a gentleman's shirtfront? Although perhaps he would not even give her the opportunity.

  I'll be seeing her, Muldaur had said. Count on it.

  Trembling with unfamiliar, maidenly excitement, Missy found herself hoping she might do just that.