Romancing the West by Beth Ciotta

Author:Beth Ciotta [Ciotta, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9781932815924
Google: jyiTKPqIRYgC
Amazon: 1932815929
Publisher: Medallion Press
Published: 2007-09-30T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Emily spent the night alternating between insomnia, inappropriate dreams, and anguished nightmares. Awakening predawn in a tangle of sheets, her chemise plastered to her sweat drenched body, had been the final straw. A nightmare was not to blame for her frenzied heart rate, but a passionate dream. Intent on weaving intimate aspects into the swashbuckling tale she’d been toiling over for months, she lit the kerosene lamp sitting on the table next to her bed and reached for her spectacles.

Only her spectacles weren’t there. They’d died an ugly death under the heel of Mrs. Thompson’s boot.

She penned her thoughts all the same. She couldn’t read the scribbled pages, but at least she’d gotten the scenes out of her head and onto paper. Maybe it would help her to remember what she felt in the dream, for surely she’d never experienced such sweet torture. And she never would.

The shirtless hero in her dream had been Pinkerton.

She stood less of a chance with him than with Rome. At least Rome fancied girls.

Maybe she had an unconscious desire to be a spinster. At least she’d be assured her independence. Her Grand Design wouldn’t be at risk. Unfortunately, her Savior had robbed her of her means to finance that adventure. If he had his way, she’d never utilize that talent to earn another penny.

“You’re in a heck of a pickle, Emily McBride. You’re also talking to yourself. Again.” Sighing, she shoved out of bed and squinted at the clock on her bedside table. It was later than she thought.

She padded to her window, pushed open the curtains. Storm clouds blotted out the morning sun. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Thankfully, last night after unhitching and brushing down Guinevere, Pinkerton had fed and stowed the horse in the stall instead of turning her out in the pasture. Guinevere hated thunderstorms. Emily loved them. Rainy days meant extended time for reading and writing.

She needed her spectacles for that.

Drat.

Mrs. Dunlap would spend the day knitting. Pinkerton could tinker with his poems and short story. What was she supposed to do? Mood worsening, she hurriedly washed and dressed. The least she could do was make breakfast. She could see well enough to hustle up some eggs. Anything of substantial size was simply fuzzy around the edges. Mostly she was farsighted. So long as she didn’t have to consult a recipe she’d do fine.

A few minutes later, she tiptoed down the stairs so as not to disturb anyone, locked away her journal in her desk, and commenced to preparing a hearty morning meal. Her own appetite was still weak, but she refused to succumb to more swooning. Doc Kellogg had been right about one thing. She needed to get on with her life. She couldn’t let her Savior rob her of her health as well as her money and peace of mind. Mostly it was Pinkerton’s heartfelt concern and the possibility he might alarm Paris that prompted her to take more care.

She cracked an egg into a bowl, her mind flashing on the way he had held her in his arms after she’d fainted in the mercantile.

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