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Authors: Judith Miller
Tags: FIC042030
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at the Midland Theater.”
I had no idea who this man was, but I wanted to throttle him!
CHAPTER
6
I couldn’t believe my ears. I thought I’d heard Augusta say the name Tyson.
“Tyson Farnsworth?” I turned away from the tall, broad-shouldered young man standing in the foyer and hissed my question at Augusta. She nodded up and down, but immediately touched her fingers to her head. “Your head hurts?”
“No, but you should remove your hat.”
“My hat?” If the only thing concerning Augusta was the fact that I was still wearing a hat, the fall had surely affected her brain. I held three fingers up and displayed them in front of her face. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Five,” Augusta said while she pushed my hand away.
Panic. That was the only word to describe the cold fingers that had clamped tight around my heart. I wished Tyson would step forward and take control, but when I managed a sideways glance in his direction, I knew I was on my own. He had propped himself against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. He was the boorish, ungentlemanly fellow Augusta had described to me in Paris—and more. But right now I didn’t have time to deal with Tyson’s lack of sensitivity.
“Look again!” I held up three fingers and waved my hand back and forth.
Augusta giggled. I could feel my panic mushroom. I was the one who laughed at inappropriate times, not Augusta. Pushing my hand closer, I looked directly into her eyes. “Tell me how many fingers!”
“Three fingers. Three this time and three the last time.” She tipped her head to one side and grinned. “Had you worried, didn’t I?” She clutched her arm around her waist and burst into a gale of laughter.
“That wasn’t funny, Augusta!”
My emotions reeled. I didn’t know whether to cry from embarrassment or join in her laughter, stalk outside or remain in her house, let relief wash over me or chastise her with harsh words. Before I could make my final decision, Augusta grasped the banister railing and attempted to stand. She groaned.
“I’m not falling for that trick again.” I looked at her and smirked.
Tyson pushed off from the wall and propelled himself toward the stairs. In three long, easy strides, he transformed into a knight in shining armor, rushing to Augusta’s rescue. He bent forward, assisted her to her feet, and held her around the waist as she descended the final three steps. “Here, Augusta, let me help you into the parlor.”
With her back hunched like a withered old woman, Augusta leaned heavily on Tyson’s arm and hobbled past me. She reminded me of the little old ladies who shuffled through the park while clinging to their grandsons’ arms.
Tyson glanced over his shoulder and shot me a look. He’d decided I was no more than an inconsiderate slug. I could read it in those icy blue eyes. How dare he? Not once had he stepped forward to help when Augusta lay sprawled on the stairs. What was he doing here, anyway? Wasn’t he supposed to be at school with Augusta’s brother? I clenched my jaw to hold back the angry words burning in my throat.
I marched into the parlor and faced Augusta. She was sitting on the sofa, calmly arranging the pleats in her raspberry and charcoal gray dress. While I stood waiting to unleash my frustration, she held me at bay and formally introduced Tyson Farnsworth. She didn’t realize there was no need for formal introductions. The chameleon had already shown me his full array of colors.
The moment the formalities had been concluded, I did my best to interrupt Augusta. To my consternation, all attempts were squelched while she regaled Tyson with far too many details of our friendship. To the untrained observer, we would’ve appeared to be a convivial group enjoying an evening visit. And with the exception of Augusta’s bruised eye and messy hair, she appeared the perfect hostess. But this was all a game, and I wasn’t in the mood for such
I had no idea who this man was, but I wanted to throttle him!
CHAPTER
6
I couldn’t believe my ears. I thought I’d heard Augusta say the name Tyson.
“Tyson Farnsworth?” I turned away from the tall, broad-shouldered young man standing in the foyer and hissed my question at Augusta. She nodded up and down, but immediately touched her fingers to her head. “Your head hurts?”
“No, but you should remove your hat.”
“My hat?” If the only thing concerning Augusta was the fact that I was still wearing a hat, the fall had surely affected her brain. I held three fingers up and displayed them in front of her face. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Five,” Augusta said while she pushed my hand away.
Panic. That was the only word to describe the cold fingers that had clamped tight around my heart. I wished Tyson would step forward and take control, but when I managed a sideways glance in his direction, I knew I was on my own. He had propped himself against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. He was the boorish, ungentlemanly fellow Augusta had described to me in Paris—and more. But right now I didn’t have time to deal with Tyson’s lack of sensitivity.
“Look again!” I held up three fingers and waved my hand back and forth.
Augusta giggled. I could feel my panic mushroom. I was the one who laughed at inappropriate times, not Augusta. Pushing my hand closer, I looked directly into her eyes. “Tell me how many fingers!”
“Three fingers. Three this time and three the last time.” She tipped her head to one side and grinned. “Had you worried, didn’t I?” She clutched her arm around her waist and burst into a gale of laughter.
“That wasn’t funny, Augusta!”
My emotions reeled. I didn’t know whether to cry from embarrassment or join in her laughter, stalk outside or remain in her house, let relief wash over me or chastise her with harsh words. Before I could make my final decision, Augusta grasped the banister railing and attempted to stand. She groaned.
“I’m not falling for that trick again.” I looked at her and smirked.
Tyson pushed off from the wall and propelled himself toward the stairs. In three long, easy strides, he transformed into a knight in shining armor, rushing to Augusta’s rescue. He bent forward, assisted her to her feet, and held her around the waist as she descended the final three steps. “Here, Augusta, let me help you into the parlor.”
With her back hunched like a withered old woman, Augusta leaned heavily on Tyson’s arm and hobbled past me. She reminded me of the little old ladies who shuffled through the park while clinging to their grandsons’ arms.
Tyson glanced over his shoulder and shot me a look. He’d decided I was no more than an inconsiderate slug. I could read it in those icy blue eyes. How dare he? Not once had he stepped forward to help when Augusta lay sprawled on the stairs. What was he doing here, anyway? Wasn’t he supposed to be at school with Augusta’s brother? I clenched my jaw to hold back the angry words burning in my throat.
I marched into the parlor and faced Augusta. She was sitting on the sofa, calmly arranging the pleats in her raspberry and charcoal gray dress. While I stood waiting to unleash my frustration, she held me at bay and formally introduced Tyson Farnsworth. She didn’t realize there was no need for formal introductions. The chameleon had already shown me his full array of colors.
The moment the formalities had been concluded, I did my best to interrupt Augusta. To my consternation, all attempts were squelched while she regaled Tyson with far too many details of our friendship. To the untrained observer, we would’ve appeared to be a convivial group enjoying an evening visit. And with the exception of Augusta’s bruised eye and messy hair, she appeared the perfect hostess. But this was all a game, and I wasn’t in the mood for such
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