Read Online Heartstrings by Rebecca Paisley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rebecca Paisley
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“Why do you want to have the professor’s kid? Miss Worth?”
He saw she was fast asleep. Still grinning, he placed his Colts near his mat, lay back down, and tried to relax. But mental pictures of Theodosia, her scholarly soon-to-be-lover, and the night of scientific coupling the two of them would share held sleep at bay. He could no longer contain his mirth.
Wild, silent laughter kept him awake nearly all night long.
Chapter Four
A fter four hours of traveling over rolling hills and brush-strewn fields, Roman stopped to water the horses at a small creek that rippled a curving path through a shallow valley. Black willow, swamp ash, and mistletoe-drenched hackberry trees grew nearby, providing shade—and a possible place to hide.
He dismounted. Gone from his mind were all traces of the amusement that had kept him from sleeping last night. The feeling of impending danger had struck him as soon as the first shy rays of dawn had whispered through the woods, and it had nagged at him all day. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to rest, Miss Worth. Make the most of it, because we aren’t stopping again until we’ve crossed the Colorado.”
She climbed out of the buckboard, her feet sinking into luxurious, emerald-green grass that rose nearly to her knees. “Must you be so caustic, Mr. Montana? You have been snapping at me ever since you awakened me at dawn.”
Placing one hand on the wagon for support, she removed her shoes and stockings. “Also, I do not appreciate the fact that you have been riding everywhere except with me. You’ve ridden ahead. Behind. All around in circles. Why, several times I lost sight of you completely. I could have wandered off, and you never would have realized it.”
Still trying to forestall the dreaded possibility of female tears, he refused to tell her he’d been searching for signs of the three outlaws. “You wouldn’t have gotten lost. All I would have had to do was follow the strains of ‘Dixie.’ Doesn’t that pesky parrot of yours know any other song? He’s been singing it nonstop for four damned hours. Why’s a Yankee bird singing the Confederate anthem, anyway?”
Theodosia stooped to pick a bluebonnet, ruffled the soft petals over her fingers, then set the flower atop John the Baptist’s cage, which remained on the wagon seat. “‘Dixie’ may be associated with the states below the Mason-Dixon line, but the song was written by a northerner by the name of Daniel Decatur Emmett. Indeed, it was first sung in a minstrel show in New York.”
“Well thank you very much for setting me straight, Miss Worth.” He glared at her, trying to decide how big her brain was. Surely if it were removed from her head, it would fill a barrel. Maybe even a horse trough.
He wondered what it felt like to be as smart as she was, to know so many, many things. The extent of his own education had been four years in a country schoolhouse in north-central Texas, with a teacher whose qualifications allowed her to teach elementary reading and writing and only the fundamental basics of arithmetic.
He’d never had much time for formal learning.
There were too many chores, too many demands to fulfill, too many…
Too many whining women wanting too many things.
Still, he was happy with his own amount of intelligence. His knowledge served him well, and he’d never found a need to learn anything more than what he already knew.
“How delightful,” Theodosia murmured, holding her hand up to her face. “A small, hemispherical member of the Coccinellidae family has alighted upon my wrist!”
He looked at the ladybug on her arm. Of course, it couldn’t be a plain old ladybug to her. It had to be something scientific. “Is there anything you don’t know, Miss Worth?”
With a flick of her wrist she set the ladybug free. “I do not know the impetus behind your surly disposition.” She unfastened several buttons at the top of her gown, then waded into the shallow stream. Smooth
He saw she was fast asleep. Still grinning, he placed his Colts near his mat, lay back down, and tried to relax. But mental pictures of Theodosia, her scholarly soon-to-be-lover, and the night of scientific coupling the two of them would share held sleep at bay. He could no longer contain his mirth.
Wild, silent laughter kept him awake nearly all night long.
Chapter Four
A fter four hours of traveling over rolling hills and brush-strewn fields, Roman stopped to water the horses at a small creek that rippled a curving path through a shallow valley. Black willow, swamp ash, and mistletoe-drenched hackberry trees grew nearby, providing shade—and a possible place to hide.
He dismounted. Gone from his mind were all traces of the amusement that had kept him from sleeping last night. The feeling of impending danger had struck him as soon as the first shy rays of dawn had whispered through the woods, and it had nagged at him all day. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to rest, Miss Worth. Make the most of it, because we aren’t stopping again until we’ve crossed the Colorado.”
She climbed out of the buckboard, her feet sinking into luxurious, emerald-green grass that rose nearly to her knees. “Must you be so caustic, Mr. Montana? You have been snapping at me ever since you awakened me at dawn.”
Placing one hand on the wagon for support, she removed her shoes and stockings. “Also, I do not appreciate the fact that you have been riding everywhere except with me. You’ve ridden ahead. Behind. All around in circles. Why, several times I lost sight of you completely. I could have wandered off, and you never would have realized it.”
Still trying to forestall the dreaded possibility of female tears, he refused to tell her he’d been searching for signs of the three outlaws. “You wouldn’t have gotten lost. All I would have had to do was follow the strains of ‘Dixie.’ Doesn’t that pesky parrot of yours know any other song? He’s been singing it nonstop for four damned hours. Why’s a Yankee bird singing the Confederate anthem, anyway?”
Theodosia stooped to pick a bluebonnet, ruffled the soft petals over her fingers, then set the flower atop John the Baptist’s cage, which remained on the wagon seat. “‘Dixie’ may be associated with the states below the Mason-Dixon line, but the song was written by a northerner by the name of Daniel Decatur Emmett. Indeed, it was first sung in a minstrel show in New York.”
“Well thank you very much for setting me straight, Miss Worth.” He glared at her, trying to decide how big her brain was. Surely if it were removed from her head, it would fill a barrel. Maybe even a horse trough.
He wondered what it felt like to be as smart as she was, to know so many, many things. The extent of his own education had been four years in a country schoolhouse in north-central Texas, with a teacher whose qualifications allowed her to teach elementary reading and writing and only the fundamental basics of arithmetic.
He’d never had much time for formal learning.
There were too many chores, too many demands to fulfill, too many…
Too many whining women wanting too many things.
Still, he was happy with his own amount of intelligence. His knowledge served him well, and he’d never found a need to learn anything more than what he already knew.
“How delightful,” Theodosia murmured, holding her hand up to her face. “A small, hemispherical member of the Coccinellidae family has alighted upon my wrist!”
He looked at the ladybug on her arm. Of course, it couldn’t be a plain old ladybug to her. It had to be something scientific. “Is there anything you don’t know, Miss Worth?”
With a flick of her wrist she set the ladybug free. “I do not know the impetus behind your surly disposition.” She unfastened several buttons at the top of her gown, then waded into the shallow stream. Smooth
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