Mr. Fitzgerald’s voice came smooth and disarming. “I had no idea roping was one of his accomplishments. He’s not a cowboy, but a mechanical genius with many patents to his name, and is in New York hoping to obtain significant financing for his new endeavor.”
Elizabeth dismissed the whisper of unease that teased her senses. No way could her frontiersman be in New York. He’d be out west fighting Indians or prospecting. Wouldn’t he?
“I’m sure you can help the man out,” sniffed Dyer, avoiding the subject of supplying funds.
“He’s tapping both me and my sister’s two sisters-in-law, but it is not enough,” Shawn said.
The two men droned on about business speculation and politics while Elizabeth stood mesmerized with the skill of the cowboy, earning shrieks of approval from the children. The morning sun sought him through the tall windows as if to confer a special favor, burnished the deep raw umber of his hair, slid light into the depths of it.
She admired the breadth of his shoulders and the play of muscles beneath his shirt as he cast the rope with amazing agility. There was no mistaking the sureness in his movements. He prowled, his frame shifting effortlessly. Why did every nerve in her body shriek with familiarity?
As if divining her presence, the cowboy turned.
He looked straight at her, a moment of locked glances: hers paralyzed, his cobalt and burning beautiful, in an utterly stunning face of male flawlessness…perfect…perfect beyond anything but dreams.
It was the strangest moment. He looked at her, knew her and had not expected to find her here.
It couldn’t be–not him.
Had the floor opened and swallowed her? Had a shattering earthquake taken place beneath her feet?
His eyes widened, greeted with a compilation of disbelief, and barely leashed hostility. Trembling, she forced herself not to take a step back. Violence hung in the air, a tangible vibration, and as he studied her, it seemed the cheering orphans and applauding benefactors, dignitaries, press, and teachers disappeared. No sound other than her heart thundering in her chest.
Except he wasn’t a cowboy. He was a frontiersman. Her frontiersman. The one who delivered her baby. What were the odds?
His glance skimmed past her. To Rawlins, to where her hand lay on his arm. Did the frontiersman’s scowl deepen?
Run! Her brain seemed to say the word, but years of dignified training and her traitorous quicksand feet rooted her to the spot.
Was Rawlins mumbling apologies? His words churned a mishmash. Emergency business? Something about conveying her home in a coach he’d later send for her. A scream crowded in her throat, preventing her from responding. Catching her breath, Elizabeth tore her stare from the frontiersman and sought the familiar, patrician features of Rawlins.
“You look pale, Elizabeth,” Rawlins said.
She hid her unease behind a carefully arranged mask of serenity. “I’m fine,” Elizabeth croaked. She was far from fine. Disaster loomed with the frontiersman’s appearance. Herdaughter would be exposed. Elizabeth would be ruined. “Go on ahead. It’s a nice day for walking and a short distance from my home.”
He started to protest.
Elizabeth waved him away. “I need the sunshine and exercise.” Must find a way to get the frontiersman alone. To speak with him.
When Rawlins left, the frontiersman threw the lasso again, all the while he glared at her. His lips pulled back from white, predatory teeth to form a disgusted sneer. Nerves rioted in her stomach. She glanced around. Had anyone else noticed the fierce antagonism he directed to her or was she imagining it? Was he that angry with her vanishing from Missouri? They were strangers. Why would he care?
Elizabeth had read about wild primitive mountain lions, learning the great hunting cats of the wilderness could make themselves remarkably still. Making bold to conceal their terrifyingly powerful sleek bodies in shadows, trees, and rocky cliffs to such a degree that their prey could pass by without realizing a beast was about to spring on them and rip their throats out.
She shivered. His cobalt eyes, eyes that were so gentle when he delivered her baby, hard now, cold like a freezing wind. Would he blackmail her?
Her panicked gaze searched the room for her daughter. Where was Caroline?
At that moment, she saw her small blonde-hair child tug on the frontiersman’s sleeve. He nodded and she ran in the other direction while he swung his rope high above his head and in a perfect arc captured her giggling daughter like a roped calf.
Elizabeth had enough. The activity was inappropriate for her daughter. She stepped forward as refreshments were announced, and everyone moved toward the tables to be served.
The frontiersman remained, coiling the rope, taking his time, coiling the rope tighter and tighter. With her head held high she sailed across the room to stand beside him. Oh, how he dared to ignore her, pretending she didn’t exist. His shoulders tightened. His fists clenched.
Knees shaking, she said, “May I have a moment of your time, Mr. Rourke?”
He showed no surprise that she knew his name.
He nodded to the stoic Chinaman.
