As he stepped into the street, he spotted her in front of the livery. Her hands clasped behind her back, she was slowly circling a bay Thoroughbred.
Severed buildings away, in front of the feed store, three burly, well-armed men stood watching her. Even from where he stood, Roman could tell they were up to no good. And whatever evil thing was on their minds, it involved Theodosia.
His steps long and purposeful, he strode across the street, careful to keep his instincts trained on the three outlaws.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Montana.” Theodosia greeted him with a smile.
The sparkling prettiness of her smile captured his attention. He was halfway tempted to smile back.
But only halfway. He frowned instead. “You aren’t buying that horse. Miss Worth.”
She ran her hand down the horse’s sleek flank. “Yes, I do believe I shall, Mr. Montana. This gelding is a Thoroughbred. He is not the finest I have seen, but I find his spirit highly desirable. I’m quite familiar with this breed because my father—”
“That horse istoofine,” Roman flared. “Claff, show her a few sturdier—”
“I have already seen the others,” Theodosia announced, smoothing the back of her hand across her moist forehead. “I cared for none of them. And I would sincerely appreciate it if you did not become roinous over the matter, Mr. Montana.”
The warm, whiskey-induced mellowness that Roman had hoped would see him through a few hours in Theodosia’s company quickly turned into cold anger. “I’ll be as roinous as I damned well want!” He had no inkling what the word meant but wasn’t about to cow before the might of her vocabulary. “Now, pick another horse, because you arenottaking the Thoroughbred.”
John the Baptist screeched from within his cage, which Theodosia had placed on top of several bales of hay. “I’ll be asroinousas I damned well want,” he called out.
Theodosia bristled. “Now look what you have done, Mr. Montana. My bird has never—not once—spoken a profanity. Five minutes in your company, and he—”
“The worddamnedain’t s’bad, Miz Worth,” Claff ventured. “There’s a helluva lot worser words he might could learn to say. Why, I know some that near ’bout turn my mouth inside out when I say ’em.”
“Please don’t tell me what they are,” she entreated, then turned back to Roman. “I am anxious to get to Templeton, Mr. Montana. That is why I was not inclined to accept your suggestion that we stay here tonight and begin our journey in the morning. It is also why I prefer this Thoroughbred. Thoroughbreds are well known for their speed. I happen to know a great deal about them because my father—”
“Yeah, I’m beginning to realize that you know a lot about a lot, but you don’t know much about much. Take that Thoroughbred, and by tomorrow night I’ll be forced to shoot him to put him out of his misery. Templeton is almost a three-day ride away and over rough terrain. The Thoroughbred is famous for its speed but not for its ruggedness.”
“That chestnut over there’s a strong ’un,” Claff offered. He ambled forward, a long piece of straw hanging from his mouth. “Trained to pull a wagon too.”
Playing with the fragile gold chains that dangled from the bottom of her ruby brooch, Theodosia glanced at the small scraggly animal Claff had indicated. “That is a mere pony. And a sick one at that.”
“It’s a healthy mustang,” Roman corrected her. “No horse in the world has as much stamina. It might not be pretty, but that horse’ll get you wherever you want to go.” He nodded at Claff, then turned his attention to the group of vehicles. “And she’ll take that buckboard.”
“That rickety wagon?” Theodosia exclaimed.
“It’s small and lightweight, and the wheels are made of seasoned orangewood.”
“And what, may I ask, is so special about orangewood, Mr. Montana?”
“Seasoned orangewood won’t shrink much, Miss Worth.”
“Really?” She looked at the wheels. “How interesting. But be that as it may, I have already chosen my conveyance.” She pointed to a dainty buggy whose black lacquered body gleamed in the late afternoon sunshine.
Roman flicked a bothersome fly off his arm. “May as well sail through a hurricane in a paper boat. The bolts on the running gear aren’t riveted. They’ll come off, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop every ten miles to—”
“But—”
“Get the wagon, or walk. The choice is yours. How’s that for beingroinous?”
Theodosia swallowed further argument and reminded herself that in only a few days she would be parting company with the arrogant man and his insufferable obstinacy. “Very well, sir,” she said to Claff. “Do as the roinous Mr. Montana says.”
When Claff finished hitching the horse to the buckboard, Theodosia dipped her hand inside the bulging velvet pouch that swung from her elbow.
Sunlight dazzled off the fistful of gold coins she withdrew.
The blinding glitter nearly stopped Roman’s heartbeat. Never having seen so much money at one time, his mind reeled with disbelief even as his body tensed with apprehension.
