Head in the Clouds Page 8

  The housekeeper glanced up from her work and favored him with a polite smile. “Good evening, Mr. Westcott. Dinner will be served in twenty minutes.”

  “Excellent.” Gideon stepped into the room. “Do you know where I might find Bella?”

  The housekeeper’s grin broadened for an instant, but she ducked her head before he could examine it too closely. Instead, she fussed over an already perfectly rectangular napkin.

  “I believe she and Miss Proctor are waging war up in the attic, sir. They’ve been at it most of the afternoon.”

  Gideon’s heart sank. They were at odds? He’d never known Bella to be belligerent, and Miss Proctor didn’t strike him as overly combative, either. Yet if Mrs. Chalmers described them as being at war, things must have seriously deteriorated since that morning.

  “I see.” He tried to hide his concern behind a placid expression, but his efforts didn’t matter since his housekeeper refused to look at him. The blasted dinner napkin concerned her more than the state of affairs under his roof. Well, let her amuse herself with lining up cloth corners. He had more important duties to see to— namely, his daughter’s welfare.

  “If you’ll excuse me?”

  Without waiting for a response, he stiffened and turned away. He took the stairs two at a time but slowed as he neared the attic. A strange one-sided conversation floated down to him.

  “All clear on your side, Private Izzy?”

  Two taps sounded in answer.

  “Good. Our campaign is almost over. The enemy has been routed, our supplies are organized, and our camp is in order according to military regulations. You’ve performed admirably, Private. I’m proud to have you in my regiment.”

  Gideon frowned as he topped the stairs. They were certainly war words, yet not the kind he’d expected. No anger or petulance. No tantrums. It sounded more like collaboration. On silent feet, he approached the gaping door and peered inside. His eyes widened. A newly scrubbed floor shined up at him around the edges of a large tapestry rug he last remembered seeing in the guest room that Miss Proctor occupied. On top of the rug stood a ladies’ writing desk, also from Miss Proctor’s room, and a child-sized table and chair set from Bella’s. Two library tables flanked either side of a large bookcase. One held the globe from his study while the other was bare except for a decorative glass lamp whose twin resided in the parlor. The bookcase boasted a wide assortment of books, but the bottom shelf held pyramids of wooden alphabet blocks, school slates, and Bella’s collection of farm animals that could be drawn about the room by a string attached to wheeled platforms.

  He didn’t know how she’d managed the feat, but Miss Proctor had transformed a neglected storage area into a cozy schoolroom. He stretched his neck to get a better view and spied Bella sitting in a window seat. She held a broomstick at her side, and as he watched, she hoisted it to her shoulder and leaned her head to the side as if sighting down a rifle barrel. She aimed it out the window for a moment, then lowered the pretend weapon and tapped twice on the glass. The all-clear signal. He nearly laughed aloud.

  “I think we’re done here, Private.” Miss Proctor came into view, wiping her hands on her apron. She ran her sleeve across her forehead, obviously weary from her afternoon’s work. Strands of chestnut hair hung around her face where the kerchief had failed to contain them, and delightful smudges of dirt painted her cheeks. He had the oddest impulse to rub them away for her.

  “Let’s head down to din— Aaaaah! Izzy! One of the prisoners is escaping. Come quick!”

  Miss Proctor danced around on her tiptoes and pointed to the floor. Bella bounded out of the window seat like a seasoned warrior, swinging her weapon around in a single motion to position the straw end in front of her. She pounded the floor beside the governess but must have missed, for she swung again and again, moving across the room in a random zigzag pattern. Gideon caught sight of the frenzied prisoner as he tried to dodge another bullet. The poor spider didn’t stand a chance against his Bella.

  Miss Proctor took up her own broom but stood back to let Bella have her chance at glory. And glory came. After chasing the eight-legged creature to a spot along the near wall, Bella whacked the floor with three successive and apparently deadly strikes. She lifted her broom in victory and jumped up and down. Miss Proctor squealed in glee and rushed to her side.

  “You did it, Izzy!”

  As the girls celebrated, Gideon moved toward them, drawn to their joy. The sound of Bella’s laughter filled his ears like an angel’s song of good tidings. He was so mesmerized by it, he failed to see the blow coming until pain crashed into his jaw.

  Chapter 9

  “Hoorah!”

  Adelaide thrust her weapon firmly into the air in celebration of Isabella’s triumph. Only she hit more than air. Vibrations from the collision skittered down the broom handle and into her arm. A muffled masculine groan tolled like a death knell in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to face what she’d done. But there was no escape. Her stomach sick with dread, she turned.

  Gideon stood at her side, slightly hunched as he cradled his jaw in his hand. He worked the injured bone back and forth, as if assuring himself that it wasn’t broken. When he glanced over at her, she cringed, expecting to be flayed by an angry glare, but his chocolate-brown eyes twinkled with humor.

  “One of these days, I’m going to learn not to sneak up on you.”

  The fiasco in the barn flashed through her mind. Yesterday she’d showered him with oats and today she’d pummeled him with a broom. At this rate, he’d be dead by the end of the week.

  “Mr. Westcott, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were there.” Adelaide dropped the broom as if distancing herself from the weapon could remove some of her guilt.

  He wiggled his jaw one final time and then lowered his hand. “I don’t think you did any permanent damage.” The red welt rising on the left side of his face looked ready to argue.

  “Besides,” Gideon said, “we can’t let an accident spoil the celebration. I haven’t had the chance to congratulate my brave little soldier yet.” He peered around Adelaide. “Come here, Bella.”

  The giggles had subsided, but a residual smile lingered on her face. She trotted over to him, and he scooped her into his arms. “I’m impressed with all the work you two did up here. It looks like you had some fun, as well.”

  Isabella nodded with enthusiasm.

  “What was your favorite part?”

  The girl answered by putting her hands together and wiggling her fingers. Then she placed one fist on top of the other as if holding a broom handle and made quick forward thrusts.

  Adelaide watched Gideon closely during the silent explanation. Impressively, his smile never faltered, but the glimmer in his eyes dimmed. As disappointed as she had been this afternoon over Isabella’s lack of speech, his regret must have been ten times stronger.

  “So you liked smashing enemy spiders, did you?”

  Isabella nodded, but added nothing further. Gideon also seemed at a loss for words. Adelaide waded into the fray, hoping to alleviate the awkwardness of the faltering conversation.

  “Tell your father how many spiders you killed.”

  Isabella preened and held up seven fingers.

  “Seven? My little Bella? I can’t believe it.”

  The girl raised her chin and pointed to her chest, verifying the claim.

  “I dubbed her Spider Slayer.” Adelaide grinned up at her charge but found her gaze wandering to her employer, as well. His eyes met hers, and for a moment she forgot what they’d been discussing.

  Gideon cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his daughter, bouncing her in his arms once more before setting her down. “Well, Miss Slayer, dinner is about ready, so why don’t you wash up and see if Mrs. Chalmers needs any help.”

  Isabella gave a final salute and disappeared down the stairs.

  “I should follow those orders, as well,” Adelaide said, overly conscious of her grimy apron and the perspirati
on that glued her dress to her back. She moved toward the door, but Gideon’s voice stopped her.

  “I’d like to speak with you for a moment, Miss Proctor. If you don’t mind.”

  “Certainly, sir.” Adelaide tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, refraining from scratching the itchy spot under her kerchief. She wished she looked more presentable for this interview. No fair maiden wanted to converse privately with a handsome prince while resembling a bedraggled scullery maid. Then again, no fair maiden would slam a broomstick into her prince’s jaw, either. She stifled a sigh and tried not to stare at the bruise forming on his cheek. After that mishap, she guessed her appearance was the least of her worries.

  She waited for him to speak his mind, but all he did was stare at his shoes and shift his weight from one leg to the other. A slight frown disrupted the charm that usually flowed from him, tarnishing his storybook-hero shine a bit. Yet instead of being disappointed by the loss, Adelaide felt compelled to peek beneath his veneer to find the real man behind the winsome manners. She stepped closer and angled her head to peer into his face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but when their eyes met, he froze.

  In that instant she saw his vulnerability, his doubt, his determination. Then, with a blink of his lashes, it disappeared. His smile returned in all its devastating glory. His dimples winked at her and almost succeeded in their distraction attempt. As always, her stomach fluttered under their influence, but for the first time she found herself wondering how often Gideon used them to shield his true feelings.

  “You have accomplished quite a feat this afternoon, Miss Proctor.” His light comment seemed at odds with his initial reluctance.

  Adelaide considered him a moment longer, then decided to set her investigation aside for the time being. “Thank you, sir. I hope you don’t mind my borrowing a few household furnishings to set up the classroom.”

  “Not at all. I’m glad you found what you needed.”

  He turned to examine the area again, his smile firmly in place, but Adelaide wasn’t fooled. Unasked questions hung heavily in the air around him.

  “Isabella hasn’t spoken since she awakened.”

  Gideon pivoted to face her, his dimples gone and his gaze filled with gratitude along with a hunger for more information. Adelaide’s heart stirred in response.

  “I prompted her repeatedly, but she acted as if the events of this morning never happened. Maybe it’s best that she not remember … at least for now.” Adelaide laid her hand on his arm for a brief second, then pulled back. “I’m sorry, Mr. Westcott.”

  “I had hoped …” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It will come in God’s time. I should not be so greedy.”

  She quirked a brow. “Greedy?”

  The dimples returned, accompanied by a genuine sparkle in his eyes. “I have no reason to lament Bella’s small reverse step when you helped her leap forward in such dramatic fashion today.”

  “I only reminded her how to pretend. I don’t think—”

  “Miss Proctor.”

  The rest of her words dissolved in her mouth.

  “You accomplished a feat in a single afternoon that I have been attempting for months.” Gideon paused, and Adelaide nearly melted from the warmth in his eyes. “Bella laughed.”

  The following morning, just after dawn, Gideon crept out of the house and down to the stable to saddle his horse. He still preferred the lightweight English saddle he was raised on for pleasure rides even though he had adopted the Western saddle for ranch work. The bulky thing was unwieldy, but he couldn’t dispute its practicality.

  Like most aspects of his life since coming to this country, he had learned to blend tradition with utility. That blend was reflected in his stables, as well. He kept a Thoroughbred or two for prestige and the occasional country race, but his mount of choice for the range was Solomon. The bay gelding was surefooted in the rough terrain and as wise as his namesake, although there was something humorously ironic about a gelding being named after a man with seven hundred wives. But the horse’s intelligence couldn’t be denied. Solomon’s instincts had spared Gideon trouble on more than one occasion when predators or foul weather had caught him unaware. At times, he would even swear the horse could sniff out sheep that had gone missing from the flock.

  Gideon finished buckling the girth and swung up into the saddle. He patted the horse’s neck with a firm hand and bent forward to place his mouth close to the animal’s ear.

  “Ready to run, boy?”

  Solomon answered by dancing around in a circle. Gideon grinned in anticipation and tightened his grip on the reins. He touched his heels to the bay’s flanks and Solomon lunged forward. Moving as one, man and horse raced toward the river.

  Fading pink clouds stretched across the sky as Gideon galloped over rolling grassland, skirting the shadows cast by occasional oak trees. Cool wind rushed past his face, invigorating him and raising his spirits. It had been too long since he’d last taken the time to privately commune with the Lord. His habit of reading Scripture daily during those long months on the trail had slipped into disuse as he’d busied himself with setting up a new household. However, when Miss Proctor noted the old Bible in his study yesterday, it had awakened a thirst in him to reestablish the pattern.

  Gideon reined Solomon in as he neared the top of the knoll that overlooked the San Saba River. He loved this spot. The water streamed by at a gentle pace, pecan trees lined the bank, and across the river his land extended for miles in waves of beauty that only an owner full of dreams for the future could appreciate.

  A flash of pale yellow off to his right dragged his attention away from the vista before him to a woman’s skirt quivering on the breeze. He turned. Now, there was a beauty any man could appreciate. Delicate features, thick chestnut hair, and eyes that reminded him of the river on a spring day, blue-green with a sunkissed sparkle.

  What am I thinking? He spun away from her and focused in the opposite direction. The woman was his daughter’s governess, not some society miss ripe for a flirtation.

  Gideon stood up a bit in the stirrups, stretching his legs and considering his options. Should he leave? He stole a glance back toward the river. Miss Proctor sat a few feet away, propped against the trunk of a pecan tree with her legs drawn up to her chest. A book lay balanced precariously atop her knees while she gazed into the distance. She didn’t seem to have noticed him. He might still escape without detection. Yet if she noticed him as he was riding away, he’d look like a tactless boor.

  And a gentleman never acted the part of a boor. No matter how tempted.

  Blowing out a resigned breath, Gideon dismounted and left Solomon to graze. “Good morning, Miss Proctor.”

  She swiveled toward him, the book on her knees tumbling into the folds of her skirt.

  He favored her with one of the famous Westcott smiles. “I hadn’t expected to encounter you out here this morning.”

  “Mr. Westcott!” Her eyes widened, as if she’d been caught nabbing the silver. “Mrs. Garrett said she would see to Isabella’s breakfast if she awakened before I returned, but if you’d prefer I be there, I’ll certainly …” Her sentence faded away as she grabbed her book and began to push to her feet.

  “Don’t get up, Miss Proctor.” He waved her back down. “I won’t begrudge you your bit of morning freedom. Not when I was seeking some of the same.”

  She complied, although uncertainty lingered in her expression. After resettling herself on the grass and tucking her legs around beside her, she tipped her chin up to him. A tentative smile graced her lips. “You’re welcome to share my tree, if you like. The view is splendid, and I promise not to make a nuisance of myself.”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am,” he drawled in his best imitation of Texas twang. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Her gentle laughter put him at ease as she slid over to make room for him. He sat with one leg bent upon the ground while the other tented up to give his arm a place to rest. A touch of
pink colored her cheeks when he smiled at her, but she dutifully resumed her reading, reminding him of why he had come out here in the first place.

  Reaching into his coat, he drew out his pocket Bible. He thumbed through the pages for several minutes but had a devil of a time concentrating on anything. He lowered his head to block the sight of yellow fabric and managed to read a handful of verses from a passage in Isaiah. Then a puff of breeze wafted something his way—a clean, sunshiny, and very feminine scent. He drew it in for a moment, enjoying the pleasant fragrance until he realized he couldn’t recall a single word he’d just read.

  Readjusting his position, he turned his back slightly to her and bent over his Bible once again. Then he noticed her breathing, the brush of fabric as she moved, the soft crackle of the page as she flipped it.

  Botheration! Gideon pushed to his feet, scrunching twigs and pebbles noisily beneath his boots. Miss Proctor started.

  “Forgive me.” Gideon took a couple of steps toward the river. “I’m having trouble concentrating.”

  “That’s all right,” she said from behind him. “I’m sure you have a lot on your mind.”

  He latched on to the excuse. “You’re right. I do. Shearing is around the corner and we have to get everything in readiness before the crew arrives. Bella’s situation is never far from my mind. And if that weren’t enough to worry about, I’ve got a fence cutter on the prowl.”

  A rustle of skirts or grass or both teased him as Miss Proctor stirred, but Gideon kept his gaze forward.

  “Do you know who the culprit was?”

  “No. Probably some unprincipled cowhand trying to make a point about free range.”

  “Unprincipled cowhand?” Something in her voice changed. It tightened.

  Gideon turned and found her advancing on him.

  “I’m sorry that someone cut your fence, Mr. Westcott, but there’s no need for you to jump to unsavory conclusions. It could have been anyone. A drifter. A boy bent on mischief. A hungry thief in the mood for mutton. No cattleman of my acquaintance would ever cut another man’s fence or behave in any other –unprincipledmanner.”