

"What are you doing back here?" Boone said after finding his younger brother knocking back a whiskey.
"Drinkin'," Carson said with a careless grin. By the looks of him, it wasn't his first whiskey of the day, and it was barely noon. Carson's eyes were more than bloodshot. He had the look of a man who'd given up entirely, with hair a greasy mass hanging far below his shoulders, and a scraggly beard that should have been scraped off his face weeks ago. Give him a haircut and he would have looked exactly like their old man not long before he'd puked blood all over the town's main street and died. It made the bile in Boone's stomach churn to see him looking so much like their father.
"You look like hell," Boone said, gazing at his brother. He was twenty-four years old but looked far older.
In answer, Carson reached into his pants pocket, digging deep, and took out a wad of cash, throwing it to Boone carelessly. "Thanks for the loan."
Boone gave Carson a hard stare before looking down at the bundle of money in his hand. "What did you do, rob a bank?"
"Haven't sunk that low yet, big brother." He was still grinning so Boone shook his head, exasperated with himself for not smashing Carson's face and with Carson for using his considerable charm on him. No wonder women fell at his feet; he had a way of turning people's rage into bewildered acceptance in a few seconds, even when he looked not much better than something you scraped off your boot. "Turns out, Fort Worth's full of people who like to gamble and lose."
Boone pulled back a beat-up wooden chair and sat next to his brother, laying his hands flat on the table. "She's still here, you know."
"That's why I'm here and not across the street. She waiting for me to come back?"
"She's waiting for her brother to send her money so she can leave as fast as possible. Apparently her maid helped herself to Miss Wellesley's cash." Boone held up the money. "This might help her on her way."
Carson emptied the bottle into his glass and took another long pull, frowning as the last drop splashed into his glass. "I'm real sorry for what I done to that girl. You probably won't believe me."
"I know you're sorry she showed up here. I know you're sorry you're stuck here waiting for her to leave."
Carson stared into his drink. "Yeah. That's about right."
"She didn't deserve what you did to her. I'm pretty sure she loved you, and thought you loved her."
"Stupid girl."
Boone would have smashed his fist into Carson's face if he hadn't detected an underlying sadness to that seemingly cruel answer. He wished Carson didn't get to him, but he always had. Even when they were kids, all Carson had to do was look at him with his angel-blue eyes and Boone would do anything to protect him from their monster of a father.
"Make me understand, Carson," Boone said, even though he suspected he knew why Carson did what he did. Carson was afraid he was like his father, that if he had a wife and kids, he'd beat them down until they either left or died.
"Can't."
"You sure as hell should try."
Carson shrugged, then stared at his brother with those bloodshot eyes. He took another drink and placed the glass down hard. "Leave me the hell alone. I don't have to listen to your shit. I wanted to fuck her and she wouldn't let me," he said, finally sounding as drunk as he no doubt was. "The end. And then she's stupid enough to follow me halfway across the world without me askin' her to, making me some kinda villain when all I was doin' was trying to get a fancy piece of tail."
"You're disgusting."
"You wouldn't say that if you could get it up." And then he grinned, almost begging Boone to hit him. God above knew Boone wanted to, could feel his fists curling and tightening, could feel the rage making the veins in his temples throb.
Boone shoved away from the table before he murdered his little brother.
"Run away, Boone. Goddamned coward."
Boone stopped, closed his eyes, then continued walking out the door, the sound of his brother laughing drunkenly behind him.
Amelia took up a place in the mercantile where she could keep an eye on the hotel and watch the entrance. She knew what Agatha had been hinting at, that Carson was back and holed up in the hotel. Against her will, she allowed herself to imagine Carson, looking fine and clean, following behind Boone when he returned. He'd beg her forgiveness, promise never to leave her again, promise to make their lives happy. Even though she knew with absolute certainty that Carson was not the man she'd thought he was, she still allowed herself to dream, to escape for a time the pain of him discarding her.
It was what she did. A curse. She dreamed up things in her head that somehow turned into hope, and which nearly always ended with her feeling ridiculous. How many times had she done this to herself, set her dreams so high, so beautiful, that they could never come true?
She told herself Carson was a cad, a man who'd used her for a bit of distraction in England. And yet, when Boone emerged from the hotel alone, her eyes pricked with tears as if she'd really believed Carson would follow behind, hat in hand, ready to beg forgiveness.
Sometimes she just hated herself.
Before Boone came through the door, she watched him cross the street, his strides long and sure, his face set and angry. Apparently the confrontation had not gone well. She hurried to the back of the counter, pretending as if she was just waiting for a customer. The place was deserted most of the time, and other than that first day when nearly the entire town showed up to get a glimpse of her, they'd only had a handful of customers each day.
"How's Carson?" Amelia asked when Boone returned.
He looked at her as if mildly surprised she'd figured out Carson was back, then took a deep breath. "Drunk." He was angry.
"He thought I'd be gone, no doubt," she said, using great effort to act as if she didn't care whether Carson hoped she was gone or not.
"No doubt." He began straightening shelves that didn't need straightening, then seemed to make himself stop. "If you want to go home on the next train, I have the money to send you."
As tempting as the offer was, and Lord knew it was tempting, Amelia knew she couldn't ask Boone to part with so much money. It was clear to her that the mercantile wasn't making money, and he certainly wasn't getting rich from his practice.
"No, I couldn't. But I thank you for the offer. No doubt my brother has received the telegram and is already sending the funds I need. He has an extremely efficient staff. They'll know where he is even if I do not."
"You don't mind being stuck here?"
Amelia smiled. "Oh, I do mind. Very much. But I will use this opportunity to teach myself a lesson in impulsive behavior."
"So, staying here is a punishment."
"Yes, in a manner of speaking. If I ever consider acting so impulsively again, I shall only remember my time here and be dissuaded from that action."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "I think that was insulting to all Texans."
"I didn't mean it to be," she said lightly. "It's Texas I don't care for, not Texans."
"It's the same."
"Oh posh," she said, waving a hand at him. "It isn't the same. You, for example, are a very nice man who has been only kind to me. Well, mostly kind when you're not insulting my intelligence." She grinned at him when he scowled. Teasing Boone was nearly as much fun as teasing her brother.
"You have to admit, coming to Texas for Carson isn't a sign of high intelligence."
Amelia would have been insulted if it weren't for the glint of humor she thought she detected in his eyes---and the painful fact that what he said was probably true. It wasn't readily apparent that he was teasing her, but she was getting better at reading him.
"And it's also probably not a sign of intelligence that I didn't accept your offer for funds so that I could remove myself from your onerous presence as soon as physically possible."
Goodness, he almost grinned. "Onerous, hmm?"
"Extremely."
Amelia smiled at him. She couldn't help herself, for it was clear he was trying quite hard not to smile himself.
Just then the bell tinkled on the door, and a man walked in looking harried. Amelia studied him curiously, because other than Boone, he was the only man she'd seen in town who was dressed like a gentleman.
"Afternoon, Jason."
The man nodded. He was young and handsome, with slicked-back hair, a neat mustache, and sideburns that bracketed his strong jaw. He wore a blue jacket with a deep burgundy vest beneath, decorated with the fanciest buttons Amelia had seen since leaving England. In fact, the suit looked decidedly English.
When he spotted Amelia behind the counter, he came to an abrupt stop. "Ma'am," he said, giving her the smallest of bows. Even that little gesture of respect made her homesick.
"Have you met Lady Amelia? She's visiting from England."
"No, but my wife..." He stopped speaking abruptly, as if he'd gotten something stuck in his throat. "Paula mentioned her." He finished, looking miserable.
"How can I help you?" Boone asked, as if also aware that the man standing in front of them was suffering from some unknown ailment.
"It's my wife," he said, and Amelia thought the young man just might cry. "She's left me. Or rather, she's left Small Fork. I need to bring her back."
"Sorry to hear your troubles," Boone said cautiously.
"She hates it here," Jason said, and Boone darted a look at Amelia.
"It's a difficult place to live for women," he said, his tone neutral and calm.
"She's gone back to Fort Worth to her parents and wrote me..." He dug a letter out of his trouser pocket. "She's not coming back. She says so right here. But I can't leave. I'm the branch president here. My employers put great faith in me, and I cannot abandon my position." He turned to Amelia. "You're a woman; would you live here?"
"Not except under extreme duress," she said frankly, and received a dark scowl for her honesty from Boone. "I'm only being honest. Why, there's no school, no church even. Where would she shop? Or luncheon? There's no theater, or even a town square to sit in. There are no trees, for goodness sakes."
"We've got trees," Boone said, interrupting her.
"I suppose I meant trees that offered shade from this incessant heat," she said, and smiled just to irritate him. Then she turned to Mr. Brentwood. "Perhaps most difficult for your wife is that there are no young women she can relate to."
"There's Dulce," Boone said, and she assumed that was his idea of a jest.
"I meant nice women with whom she could take afternoon tea," she said, giving Boone a dark look because it appeared he was not taking Mr. Brentwood's plight seriously. "Frankly, I'm surprised there's even a bank," Amelia said.
"It's because of the ranchers. They petitioned for one after getting robbed a few times bringing their money to Hanover." The man truly did look as if he was going to cry.
"What about the ranchers' wives and their daughters? Surely not every man in this town is a bachelor."
"They stay out on their ranches for the most part," Jason said, shaking his head. "It's a long trip into town, and they don't come but when they need supplies."
"You need to have something in this town that would be remotely attractive to a woman. A shop. A real restaurant. An opera house." She wasn't certain, but it almost sounded as if Boone snorted.
"Well, none of that's going to happen in the next day or so, and I want my wife back," Jason said, his frustration showing. "I came here to tell you that I'm shutting down the bank for a week so I can retrieve my wife and children. If you have any business to conduct, I'd appreciate if you could conduct it before the next train comes in."
"As a matter of fact, I'll be making a deposit tomorrow," Boone said. "I won't make the mistake of keeping my money here until Carson leaves."
Jason darted a look at Amelia, and she felt her face heat with embarrassment. She wondered if everyone in town knew of her humiliation.
After Jason left, Boone closed up the store, pulling down a shade.
"I think I would die of boredom in a month if I had to live here," Amelia said, completely unaware she was being extremely critical of the town where the man in front of her had lived all his life.
"Most people are too busy to get bored. Not too many pampered ladies 'round these parts," he said, suddenly sounding nearly as Texan as Carson did, drawing out his words.
Amelia lifted her chin. "I daresay I don't know what I could possibly to do pass the time."
"Cooking. Laundry. Gardening. Cleaning. Women around here find it a blessing just to be able to have enough time to watch the sunset."
"What a completely dreadful life they must lead," she said. Even though she did, indeed, think it sounded dreadful, she'd said it aloud simply because she detected a large amount of censor from Boone. "Thank goodness I can return to my life of complete idleness."
His lips curved. "You're not there yet, miss. So I'd appreciate if it you could cook me up some supper."
Amelia smiled slyly. The biggest punishment she could think of would be to make supper for Boone. "Only if you promise to eat it." She lifted one delicate brow.
He let out a sigh. "I'll cook. But you watch."
Amelia clapped her hands and smiled. "I'm not really hungry yet. What are you making?"
"Chili. And it won't be ready for another two hours."
She furrowed her brow.
"You'll like it. Real Texas food, though I'm not the best 'round here at making it."
"I've never heard of it."
"That's because you've never been in Texas. It's the only place you can find it, to my knowledge."
She wrinkled her nose. "It doesn't have rattlesnakes in it, does it?"
Boone chuckled and walked back toward the kitchen. "No. Beef, onions, and enough spice to grow hair on your chest."
At her alarmed look, Boone laughed again. Goodness, she wished she was better at making him laugh. He looked completely lovely at that moment.
"I'll go easy on the spice. We can have rattlesnake tomorrow."
He didn't appear to be joking. "People don't really eat snake, do they?"
"Of course. But you have to make sure you cook it enough to get the poison out."
Amelia laughed uncertainly. "You're telling tales," she said, feeling foolish for believing him.
He grinned. "People do eat rattlers. If you like chicken, you'll like rattler."
Amelia wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I don't think it could possibly taste anything like chicken. But I suppose I could try it. I seem to be quite adventurous lately."
Boone gave her the job of cutting up onions into tiny pieces, something she found was an utterly painful and noxious job. Her eyes stung brutally, and teared to the point that she was nearly blinded.
"Goodness, I never realized what Cook went through each evening," she said, wiping the tears from her face.
Boone just shook his head, slightly bewildered to be in the presence of a human being who'd never cut an onion.
"Roy used to make this chili for me," Boone said.
"The man who owned this store?"
Boone nodded as he sliced up a slab of beef.
"You lived with him?" she asked, remembering what Agatha had told her about Boone being raised by the old store owner.
"For a time."
Amelia made a face at his back. She was getting rather annoyed with his cryptic answers. "Did Carson live here, too?" she asked, even though she knew the answer.
"No."
"He was raised by wolves, perhaps?"
"Close enough."
Amelia let out a little growl and he looked up, a completely innocent look on his face. "Either you may participate in this conversation or else I will proceed to talk about something you have absolutely no interest in. Like flower arranging. My stepaunt taught me all there is to know about it, and I will share every bit of information she imparted to me."
Boone's only answer was to let out a sigh.
"Roses." Amelia said with a nod, and cleared her throat as if preparing for a lengthy diatribe. "They are often the centerpiece of arrangements because of their wonderful scent, hardiness, and variety. One shouldn't overcrowd a rose arrangement with other competing scents, as that would..."
Boone stopped chopping and turned around. "My father beat the living hell out of me on a daily basis and I came to live with Roy. Carson stayed with my father because he wouldn't let him leave. You want more detail, then talk to Carson."
Amelia felt a sudden wave of regret, so strong her stomach actually felt a bit queasy. She wouldn't have asked if she'd known the answer would be so horrid. "Oh." She stared at his back as he began cooking the meat, his movements angry and tense. She'd known all was not quite right with Boone's childhood, but she'd had no idea it had been so awful. In her experience, parents loved their children and whipped them only when they were very, very bad. Her own father had swatted her behind when she was five years old because she'd wandered into the path of a speeding carriage without bothering to look into the street. And then he'd hugged her so fiercely she couldn't breathe. It had been her one and only spanking, and she still remembered it.
What could a little boy have done to deserve to be beaten daily? Boone, who was so kind and quiet. It didn't make sense.
"Did he beat Carson, too?"
"No."
"Why you, then?"
Boone let out a sigh and stopped stirring for a moment, tilting his head so she could just see his pained expression. "I guess it was because he loved Carson. He was a cute kid."
Amelia stared down at her onions, feeling her eyes prick with tears that had nothing to do with the vegetable she'd been cutting. Amelia had been lonely as a girl, but she'd never felt unloved. "Mr. Johnson was a good man," she said finally.
"He was."
"When my parents died, my brother joined the military and left me behind. Do you know what I missed the most?"
"Talking."
Amelia laughed, and was gratified to see Boone smiling again. "Yes, talking, but it was more than that. It was feeling that I mattered to someone. Sometimes in those days I thought I could disappear and no one would miss me. Our servants were very kind, but there is a sort of gap, you see. They don't tuck you in or give you hugs. There's a distance that's always maintained. I would go months at a time without touching another human being. It was very lonely."
Boone didn't say a word, just looked at her with his solemn gray eyes and nodded, as if he understood precisely what she was saying.
"And then my uncle died and suddenly I was surrounded by children and a woman whom I now love like a mother. You see, my uncle never had children of his own and so he married a woman with six! I suppose he was hoping for number seven. Then he died, and she stayed on when my brother became earl." She laughed aloud. "It was so chaotic compared to my quiet life, but I loved it. We were constantly running about, having adventures, playing games. Their favorite was statues. Do you know it?"
"No."
"The children run about crazily until someone shouts 'statue,' and then you must freeze as if you've instantly become a statue. It's great fun, because you must stay frozen for as long as possible or you lose the game. I was dismal because I always started laughing. You should try it."
Boone felt his cheeks flush slightly. "I don't think so."
"You must. It's a parlor game."
"There you go. I don't have a parlor."
Boone watched as she made a face at him. Following her expressions was nearly as entertaining as listening to her talking. As she chattered away, he showed her the various spices for the chili, and felt warmth flow over him, like a comfortable old blanket that had been missing but was finally found. He liked having her here with him, talking away and not even caring whether he talked back. She baffled him, going from melancholy to laughing in a matter a minutes.
While the chili cooked, they went outside and sat by the fountain, and she continued to talk about this or that. He swore he would recognize every member of her family if they walked through the door, so vivid were her descriptions. He found himself liking her brother, feeling sorry for poor cousin Janet who couldn't keep any food down, and wishing he could meet the mischievous Mary.
Boone pulled the small table out into the courtyard, and she'd clapped her hands in delight as if he'd offered her the greatest gift. She ran back into the house and grabbed the chairs and he felt a tug on his heart so strong, it scared him to hell. He had a terrible feeling that, though he'd felt alone most his life, when she was gone, he'd really understand the meaning of loneliness.
"I do realize Small Fork doesn't have a lot of inhabitants, but I have noticed your practice doesn't see many patients," she said, as he was spooning out the chili.
"By the time I see them, they're already dead most times," Boone said, and enjoyed watching the shock on her face. He chuckled, and even to his ears it was a rusty sound. "Texans are fiercely independent and are disinclined to come see me until it's usually too late. I did set a couple of legs before the drives this year, but people in these parts mostly tend to themselves."
To his surprise she clapped, as if delighted. "Oh, I adore Texans," she gushed, laughing. "My brother would send for the doctor if I had the sniffles. I allowed it after what happened to my parents. You see, he came home from school sick and gave the sickness to them and to me. They both died, of course, and I nearly did. After that, Edward became rather overprotective of me. I still can hardly believe he allowed me to travel here with just a maid. I know if he discovered that Anne abandoned me in New York, he'd be on the next ship."
"I think I'd like your brother," Boone said darkly.
Amelia waved a hand. "Men should realize that women are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves." After a thoughtful silence, she added with her characteristic honesty, "Although perhaps I'm not a good example of that." She gave him a sheepish grin, then looked down at her chili as if it were yet another insurmountable obstacle.
"It's good," he urged. "And not nearly as spicy as usual."
She bravely dipped her spoon in and took a rather delicate mouthful, her eyes widening in happy surprise...until the heat kicked in. "Oh," she said, swallowing. "Oh, goodness. I do believe my mouth is on fire." She waved a hand in front of her face as if that would keep the heat at bay, while Boone poured her a glass of water.
"It's not hot," he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You keep saying that, about the weather and now this. It is hot." Then she smiled. "But also rather good. I think I might actually like this."
"Praise the Lord."
She took another spoonful, squeezing her eyes shut and taking another drink. "I don't know quite why, but I find I like the heat. The chili, not the weather." She held up her hand to stop him. "And it is hot, Dr. Kitteridge, no matter what you say."
"Boone." He was grinning at her like an idiot, like a man who'd never been completely charmed by a beautiful woman before. Which, in fact, he had not. As he watched her take spoonful after spoonful of his chili, her eyes watering with the heat of it, he felt his heart give another odd and painful tug.
When they'd finished, they went back inside and washed the dishes together, Amelia washing and Boone drying, like a couple who had been doing such mundane things together for years.
Amelia was finding she liked doing little chores; it made her feel useful in a place where she felt utterly useless. She'd never given much thought to how her homes had been cleaned. Of course she'd seen the servants and appreciated what they did, but never thought of it beyond the general acknowledgement that the work was being done.
"Do you think you could sweep the floor while I go get the table and chairs?"
"Of course," Amelia said, taking the broom from him with a smile. As soon as he was out the door, she frowned. It was the first time in her life she'd held a broom. She knew how it worked; she'd simply never done it before.
And so, she began sweeping, bringing the dust and bits of debris into a pile with remarkable ease, and sweeping it up into the dustbin. It was, dare she think it, fun. Her brother would fall over laughing if he could see her now. Feeling ridiculously proud, she held the door open for Boone so he could maneuver the table through.
"When I get home I think I shall shock everyone with my newfound domestic skills," Amelia said.
"I hope I haven't been working you too hard," Boone said, and Amelia couldn't tell whether he was being sardonic or not, so she peered up at him suspiciously. He was teasing her, she could tell from his eyes.
"I'm not completely useless, though I'm certain you think that's the case." She was slightly miffed. Just because she hadn't done physical labor didn't mean she was not a capable woman.
"I was just teasing. From what you told me you were running your brother's household from the time you were twelve years old."
Amelia was instantly appeased and inordinately happy that he'd actually been listening to her as she'd prattled on about her everyday life back home. "I don't know what I shall do when I return. I will become one of the most dreaded creatures in London society." When he gave her a questioning look, she answered. "I shall be an unmarried relative living on the kindness of my brother and his wife."
"I suppose I should ask you to explain. But I'm not going to," he said, making Amelia laugh.
"Are you saying, sir, that I talk too much?"
"My ears are getting a bit worn out. I'm not used to so much noise."
Amelia was delighted. "You are getting rather good at teasing, Boone."
His cheeks turned ruddy, and that made her smile fade. For some reason, every time his cheeks flushed it made her heart wrench a bit. Perhaps it was because he was so unused to ordinary things, like teasing or calling a girl pretty. My goodness, some men could spout poetry for hours without a hint of self-consciousness. But give Boone the barest compliment or hint of flirtation and he blushed. It seemed impossible that a man as handsome as Boone Kitteridge would be so unused to female companionship, but clearly he was.
"I have something to show you," he said, and he gave her one of his rare smiles. "I didn't want you to leave Texas thinking only bad things about it."
"I won't, I promise."
He ducked down so he could look out the window. "Follow me."
Curious, Amelia did. When she reached the courtyard, she let out a gasp. The sky was a breathtaking mix of the most vibrant colors she'd ever seen in her life. Even the sunsets she'd seen across the Irish Sea could not match the one she was gazing at. The light bathed the courtyard in pink, making everything soft and lovely, almost magical.
Amelia grasped his left hand, overcome with happiness at the site of something so exquisitely beautiful. "Thank you, Boone," she said, holding his large hand in both of hers. Amelia didn't give the slightest thought to holding his hand, until he slowly pulled away from her grasp, leaving her feeling foolish and somehow forward.
She cleared her throat. "It is lovely. Thank you," she said, suddenly awkward when she'd never felt that way with him before. She held her hands tightly together in front of her and moved slightly away from him, feeling confused and in a small way, hurt.
Next to her, Boone let out a sigh and wiped a hand through his wavy brown hair. "It's just that I'm not used to..."
"I'm sorry," she said, interrupting him, but she had no idea what she was sorry for.
"I'm not used to being touched," he said, his eyes still on the sky. "Oh."
He looked down and she watched him quickly clench and unclench his fist. "I promise I won't touch you again. Not without warning anyway," she said with a teasing note. She dipped her head to see his expression. He smiled, but it looked like such a sad smile.
"Boone?"
"What."
"I'm going to touch you again," she said, with a teasing lilt. "On your arm. And then I'm going to kiss your cheek. A small little kiss to thank you for showing me this beautiful sunset." He darted her a quick look but remained silent. "Are you ready?"
Again, his mouth curved in a smile.
She touched his arm and got on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but instead found her lips against his. It was her turn to pull back. "That was cheating," she said, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. It was such a small kiss, really, not one that should shoot desire through her like a bolt, but it had---right to her toes.
"I suppose I should have warned you first," he said without even a hint of apology in his tone.
She gulped. "Yes, that would have been nice."
He looked down at her, his gray eyes intense with an expression she could hardly read. "Miss Amelia, I'm going to kiss you."
A little thrill went through her, and she lifted her chin. "All right."
And he did, bringing his mouth against hers, a slow, wonderful kiss that made her knees instantly weak. Carson's kisses had been full of blatant lust, but Boone's was more like warm, dark chocolate spreading slowly through her. Delicious, and beyond divine. He didn't touch her, didn't draw her against him, though she would have willingly gone if he had, but touched only her lips with his.
He pulled back after only a few seconds, an oddly happy expression on his handsome face. "That's better," he said.
"Better than what?" she said, her brain quite foggy, her lips still tingling from what was nothing more than an innocent kiss. Except it didn't feel innocent.
"Better than I imagined," he said, his voice low, and Amelia shivered as her body became intensely, embarrassingly, aroused.
"I think I'll be heading to the hotel now," he said, but he didn't move, and she knew he wanted to kiss her again. She shouldn't want him to, but she did.
"I wish you didn't have to." Oh, goodness, that sounded very much like a wanton invitation, and it was her turn to blush. "I mean, I feel badly that I'm taking your home and forcing you to...I didn't mean that I want you to stay or...I wouldn't want you to think that I..." She stopped miserably. "You should go," she said, finally.
"I will. I'm finding you far more tempting than I should, Miss Wellesley."
After he'd gone, Amelia went back to the kitchen and sat down at the table, her hands folded in front of her. She shouldn't have kissed him. Shouldn't have flirted at all. Boone was not used to such easy banter, and she did not want him to get the wrong idea about her, about them. Flirting had always been such a natural part of who she was, she had never really given it much thought. Perhaps it was because in London society, flirting was a pastime, as much as playing statue or shopping.
Did he really find her so tempting? She didn't want him to. She didn't want to like his kiss or think him handsome, either, but she did.
She let out a little groan. Why was nothing turning out the way she'd wanted it to? Why couldn't it have been Carson watching the sunset with her from their front porch? It was a mistake, spending so much time with Boone. She was starting to like him too much; she found him far too attractive. The kiss was a mistake, and must not be repeated.
Boone stepped into the saloon and wished, not for the first time, that he was a drinking man. Wouldn't it be nice to disappear for a while, to forget about what a complete idiot he was? Carson wasn't at the bar, for once, and he was glad. He couldn't face his brother just minutes after kissing the woman he'd been engaged to marry.
Instead he saw Enrique Benavente, Agatha's husband, pulling back a whiskey. Enrique, or Ricky as he was known to George's regulars, was a good enough man, though about as lazy as a man could be and still run a chicken farm. He'd grown rather fat in the past few years, a rarity among Texans, who were known for their sinewy bodies brought on by hard lives. Maybe when he was younger he'd had an ounce of ambition, but now he left that particular trait to his two grown sons, both of whom seemed happy enough working from dawn to dusk to eke out a living.
"Hey, Doc."
"Enrique." Boone gave the older man a sharp look; he didn't look well.
"I've been meaning to tell you that one of my boys claims he saw Sam Benson over in Hanover. Still mean as a snake, he said."
"That so," Boone said with deceptive calm. He'd warned Julia's husband not to get within fifty miles of Small Fork, and the tiny town of Hanover was just ten miles away. "Maybe I'll head on over there and have a little talk with him."
"You be careful, Boone. He's a rough character."
"I'm used to rough characters," Boone said softly, and Enrique's cheeks flushed slightly. Everyone in town, if they'd been there for any length of time, knew of the terrible things that had happened to Boone.
"Speaking of rough characters, I'd appreciate it if you don't tell Agatha you seen me here," he said with his mild Spanish accent. "I'm supposed to be sick."
"Are you?"
"Just ate something that don't agree with my stomach," he said, rubbing his chest and flexing his arm. "Too many spicy beans."
The truth was, Enrique didn't look at all well. His face was pale and had a grayish cast. Boone sighed. He didn't know when these people would see him as a doctor who could help them when they got sick. Boone sat down next to the older man, not offended in the least when Enrique ignored him. Everyone in town knew Boone didn't drink---something that was seen as a flaw and not a virtue by most.
"Your arm hurt?"
Enrique immediately stopped rubbing it. "Naw."
"Your chest?"
"Just too many spices. Comes and goes."
Boone stared at Enrique and wondered whether he dared suggest what he was thinking: the man's heart was in trouble and he needed to be in bed, not at a bar drinking. The man was sweating unnaturally.
"Enrique?"
He took another drink and winced, and Boone had a feeling it wasn't the whiskey that had brought on that pained expression. "Agatha made those beans too spicy," he said, putting a fist against his chest.
"Enrique, I need for you to lie down. I don't think it's the spicy food. I think it's your heart."
The older man looked at Boone like he was crazy. "I'm as strong as a bull. Never sick in my life. Why, just yesterday..." He stopped talking in mid-sentence, and his face grew deathly pale. He gasped for breath and clutched his chest, letting out a vile curse. He squeezed his eyes shut, both hands fisted against his chest. "Okay. It's better. It's nothing," he managed. He opened his eyes and actually managed to wave George over to pour another drink.
"We've got to get you home." Boone saw raw fear in Enrique's eyes.
"Yeah. Maybe you're right. Just let me catch my breath." The man sat at the stool for a few minutes before getting to his feet gingerly. "I'm feeling better."
"It's your heart, and you're not better. Not yet." Boone had recently read an article written by a New York doctor who was able to tie obesity to deaths from heart disease. The doctor had lectured at the Academy of Medicine not long ago about ways for the overweight to reduce their flesh. Boone would talk to Agatha about treatment, and hopefully she could convince her husband to change his ways.
"I have something I could give you," Boone said, walking slowly beside Enrique, ready to help the man should he need it. "It's been used quite successfully on patients in Ireland, and I feel it has promising results."
"All I need is a good night's rest," Enrique said, but there was a bit less bravado in his tone.
"Let me get my landau," Boone said, practically forcing the man to take a seat on the bench outside the hotel. Three Legs was on the porch, and his tail thumped against the boardwalk.
George stuck his head out. "You okay, Ricky? Don't want to be losing my best customer."
Enrique smiled grimly. "I'm perfleshy fine. An' I don' need any gringo doctor telling me I'm not fine."
Boone halted in his tracks. Either the effects of alcohol had come on suddenly, or Enrique was suffering from more than just a heart attack. His words were slurred, and he slumped suddenly to one side.
"Enrique?"
"I don't feel ri..." and he slumped over completely, stopped only by Boone's fast action. He called for the barkeep, and the two of them laid him down on the bench.
"He dead?" George asked.
"No," Boone said, feeling the man's pulse strong in his neck. "But you best go get Agatha. And his sons."
"Aw, no," George said. "I was just joking about losing him." He wiped a hand across his bearded face, looking as if he were the cause of whatever was wrong with his friend.
Boone stayed with Enrique, feeling helpless. A small crowd gathered around him, mostly old men who stood talking quietly, secretly wondering about their own mortality. "You men watch him. I need to go across the street to get my bag," he said, then ran to his office, assuming they'd follow his orders. He exploded into the kitchen, making Amelia scream in fright. She was sitting at the table in near darkness. Hell, he'd forgotten all about her.
"Agatha's husband just collapsed outside the hotel. I need to bring him here. Could you get the room off my office ready for him? The linens are in the cabinet. Lighting a few lamps would help, too."
He didn't wait for a reply, just left her there, stunned and wide-eyed. Even with such an emergency on his hands, he had time to appreciate the fact that he'd actually surprised her into silence. He found the crataegus oxyacantha quickly, glad that he was as meticulous about storing treatments as he was about everything in his life.
The crataegus would treat the heart problem, but now Boone was far more worried that Enrique had also suffered from apoplexy, which had no known successful treatment. In medical school he'd learned that the outcome of such an event was not hopeful for many patients.
He turned to find Amelia behind him, her arms loaded with clean linens, looking worried. "Is it serious, do you think?"
He nodded, putting everything he needed neatly in his bag.
"Is he going to die?" she asked, her voice small and filled with a strange terror. As far as Boone knew, she'd never even met the man.
"I'll know better in a few minutes."
She nodded shakily, then disappeared into the tiny room he'd added for just such a serious patient. Boone didn't have time to wonder about her strange reaction as he headed out the door.
Enrique was surrounded by men, and to Boone's surprise he was sitting up and talking, his voice only slightly slurred. Perhaps it had just been the drink. Then Boone noticed the right side of his body was slightly off. Even his face seemed to sag slightly on the right side.
"I need you men to help me get him to my office," Boone said.
"He ain't exactly skinny," one man grumbled.
"Hell, I don't need any help," Enrique said, and actually attempted to get up, only to find the right side of his body wasn't cooperating.
His two sons, big strapping men, pushed through the crowd, with Agatha and Dulce hurrying up behind. When Agatha saw her husband sitting up, but with something clearly wrong, she threw herself on him, sobbing uncontrollably. Enrique put a gentle hand on her back, patting it, and telling her he was fine. But his voice was unnaturally slurred, and he couldn't move his right hand at all.
"What's wrong with him?" Dulce demanded, as if someone were to blame.
"It's his heart. You boys support his shoulders, and we'll get him to the office," Boone said to Agatha's sons, who hovered in the background stoically.
"We brought the buckboard," his oldest son said. "We can bring him on home."
Boone looked at Agatha with her head buried against her husband's neck, and he nodded. If the man was going to die, and he just might, it was best he did it at home surrounded by his family. "We'll get him home and talk there. You boys bring that buckboard right up to the boardwalk." It would be no easy task to get a man as large as Enrique Benavente up on that wagon.
"I'll help."
Boone turned to see Carson standing beside him looking relatively clean. He smelled of booze but wasn't outwardly drunk, so Boone nodded silently, accepting his brother's help. As they helped the stricken man up, the crowd separated and Boone saw Amelia standing in the street, worrying her hands in front of her, her eyes riveted on Carson. Even as he struggled with the near dead weight of Enrique, Boone felt a sharp, almost painful pull as he watched her watch Carson. She didn't spare him a glance. Not one.
Amelia watched as the buckboard drew away and the small crowd headed back into the hotel. Carson had seen her in the street, and for a terrible moment she felt an overwhelming need to go to him. She almost willed him to look at her, to see the pain he'd caused her. But when he did look up, his expression was completely unreadable.
"Hey Amelia," he said, nodding toward her but not taking one step in her direction. They stood awkwardly for a few minutes, with Boone watching them from the side.
"I have to go to the Benaventes'," Boone said, looking from one to the other. "You're not planning to hurt him, are you, Amelia, 'cause I'm going to be busy tonight and I won't be able to patch him up."
Amelia gave Boone a grateful look.
"I don't suppose a sharp slap to his face will warrant medical attention," she said, and Boone smiled. He looked as if he were going to say more, but he took up his medical bag and headed for the stable to retrieve his horse.
"I'd deserve that slap," Carson said, solemn for once.
"Yes, you would."
"I just wish you weren't so damned pretty," Carson said, taking a step toward her.
Amelia held up a hand. "Don't," she said sharply. "Don't you dare try to charm me right now."
He tilted his hat back on his head and put his hands low on his hips, looking for all the world like that cowboy she'd dreamed of having. His hair was pulled back off his face, and it looked like he'd shaved in the past day or so. Unbelievably, she felt a tug on her heart, which only made her angry with herself, and with him.
"Honey, I know better than to try to charm you," he said in that slow drawl she'd fallen in love with in England.
"Good. Because I cannot be charmed by you anymore. The damage has definitely been done."
"I'm sorry about that, I truly am," he said, and for a moment he actually looked sorry. "Does that mean I can't get a kiss from my girl?"
"I'm not your girl," she spat, feeling a rage build in her so swiftly it nearly blinded her. She might be the world's biggest fool, but she would not fall for his insouciant charm again.
"Now don't be getting all mad," Carson said, holding up his hands as if fending her off. "A man can be sorry, can't he?"
Amelia felt her nostrils flare. "And are you sorry?"
"I am."
"You should be," she said with a decisive nod.
"I heard you're heading home soon."
"Not soon enough."
Carson smiled at her and she refused, absolutely refused to smile back. Why couldn't she hate him? She wanted to, she knew she should. Not two minutes before, she could have happily killed him. And yet all it took was one of his smiles and an "I'm sorry," and she could feel her insides melting.
"I don't want you to hate me, Amelia, though I understand if you do," he said, his voice low and sincere.
"I don't hate you," she said softly, her throat closing painfully. "But I don't love you, either." She said it, but wondered if she was lying to him and to herself. She truly didn't know how she felt, beyond the anger and the hurt. Carson was her first love, the man she'd thought she'd spend the rest of her life with, the man she'd thought would father her children. She'd counted on that, dreamed about it, and now everything was gone. "Good night, Carson."
He gave her a crooked smile that reminded her of Boone. "Good night, darlin'."
Amelia hugged her arms around herself as she walked back to the store. It was nearly dark now, just a glow on the horizon hinting that the sun had been up not long ago. In the distance she heard something howl and she shivered, even though it was still warm. She'd heard that howl before but forgot to ask if there were wolves about, and found herself running to the door and closing it quickly behind her, her heart beating frantically as if a wolf were breathing down her neck.
Laughing at her own foolishness, she locked the door and made her way through the dark store toward the apartment, wishing she weren't alone. She didn't like it, but with Dulce refusing to stay with her, there wasn't much she could do. She wished she could forget about propriety for once, and let Boone stay. She'd feel safe and not quite so alone. Then again, she might not be as safe with Boone as she'd thought.
That kiss. She wished it had never happened. She didn't want to have to worry that Boone wanted to kiss her. Or that she wanted to kiss him.
None of it mattered. She'd be home soon, in her own bed, in her own room. She'd go to balls and the opera in London, and she'd meet another man whom she would no doubt want to kiss.
She touched her index finger to her lips and smiled.
Boone entered his office quietly, carrying a turned-down oil lamp so as not to disturb Amelia. It was three o'clock and he was bone tired. Enrique was sleeping, and though his voice was still slurred and his movements on his right side were uncoordinated, Boone didn't think the man would die. At least not that night. Perhaps in time and with treatment, he would recover enough to live out his years in comfort.
Boone took the medications from his bag and replaced them carefully on their shelves, making certain each label faced front and each was precisely where it should be. He was still working when he heard her bare feet on the tile behind him.
"I'm sorry I woke you," he said without turning.
"You didn't. I couldn't sleep. How is Mr. Benavente?"
Boone put the last of the medications back and turned, almost reluctantly, to answer her. Damn. She was so beautiful. She wore a thin, white, high-necked nightgown and wrap; her blond hair was loose and bed-messy. Despite her claims that she hadn't been sleeping, she looked like she'd just woken up. She had a rosy-cheeked drowsy look that made his groin tighten. He turned away, embarrassed that he was unable to control his obvious lust, and pretended to look for something in the cabinet behind him. "I think he'll recover with the right care," he said gruffly.
"How's Agatha?"
Please go to bed. Please. "She's crazy with worry. She'll be fine."
"Boone?"
He closed his eyes. "Yes."
"I'm sorry about that kiss. I shouldn't have allowed it."
Boone swallowed heavily. "No. I suppose not."
"As a gentleman, you are required to say you are sorry, too," she said, laughter tingeing her voice.
He turned back to her, unable to find humor in the fact that he was falling in love with her, that he wanted her so badly he could hardly speak. "I'm not sorry."
"Oh."
Her mouth was so soft, so sweet, and at the moment was shaped perfectly for another kiss. Boone clenched his jaw and shoved his hands into his pockets in a desperate attempt to stop himself from reaching out and pulling her into his arms.
"I'm leaving," she said, as if that explained everything. Which, in fact, it did. "I'm going home," she said more forcefully. "There's nothing here for me. I'm going home."
Boone took that cruel blow to his heart like a man. He smiled. "It was just a little kiss," he said, as if mystified why she was making a to-do over such an insignificant thing as that one, perfect kiss.
"Well, yes. I know."
He stood there, looking at her as if he were wondering why she was still pestering him. "Good night, Miss Amelia," he said, still smiling at her as if bemused by her confusion.
A little crease formed between her eyebrows. "Good night."
When she was gone his smile slowly faded. He wasn't an idiot. He knew what she was saying oh so politely: Don't you get any ideas in your head, Boone Kitteridge. I'm not yours, and I never will be.
He understood. He understood enough to feel familiar humiliation wash over him. She'd been flirting with him, and he'd mistaken that for real interest. He had so little experience dealing with women, he was so naïve about such matters, that he'd actually hoped, in the recesses of his heart, she might...
Stay.


