Nash, the bounty hunter?” Ramsey’s brow creased. “Or is it huntress?”
“Hunter,” Quill said. “Bounty
hunter
. I am almost certain she will threaten to shoot you if you call her the other. She does that a lot. Threaten, that is.”
“She threatened you?”
“Several times.”
Ramsey was philosophical about it. He shrugged. “I wanted to kill you at least once today, and we are not yet at the noon hour.”
“There will be common ground, then.”
“Not so fast. I am not certain I want a female of her particular ilk around my daughter.”
“I am not sure she is of a particular ilk. She impressed me as one of no other kind. And we are in agreement that if Ann will not leave—for whatever reason—she requires protection in her own right.”
“Of course she does. But Calico Nash?”
Quill shrugged. “The decision is entirely up to you.”
“I am glad to learn you know it. As you said, Ann is my daughter.”
At that precise moment, the pocket doors to Ramsey’s office parted and the daughter under scrutiny and discussion walked in. She was small in stature, taking her height and delicate bone structure from her deceased mother, but her stride, her ramrod spine, and the determined set of her jawwere all from her father. She marched up to his desk, laid a tri-folded piece of paper on the blotter in front of him, and waved an opened envelope under his nose. She withdrew the offending envelope and put it behind her back when Ramsey would have snatched it from her.
“What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the paper.
“As if you did not know.”
“Well, I don’t. I would not have asked if I did. You know I can’t abide wasting my breath.”
The breadth of that untruth had Quill’s eyebrows climbing halfway to his widow’s peak. He knew he was fortunate neither Ramsey nor Ann spared him a glance because he could not have schooled his features quickly enough to avoid explaining himself. Anything he said would be seen as choosing sides, and in the end, blood being thicker, he would be the one they sided against. He could not do his job effectively if they pushed back at him. Ramsey alone was more than enough.
Ann Stonechurch had a pale, porcelain complexion that was made fairer by hair that was darker and thicker than her father’s. She flushed brilliantly, coming close to the color Ramsey had displayed during his earlier apoplectic fit. Behind her back, the envelope fluttered as her hand shook.
“Read it, Father,” she said. Her voice was tight, a little shrill. Absent was any hint of the melody that usually marked her tone. “And know I will have none of it.”
Ramsey picked up the paper between a thumb and forefinger and shook it out gingerly, as if it might come suddenly alive and turn on him. When nothing like that happened, he held it with both hands and began to read. “This is from Smith College. You have been accepted. Ann, this is splendid.”
The envelope dropped as she threw up her hands. “It is not splendid. I do not want to go. What I want is for you to promise me that you will stop making application on my behalf to
any
school.”
“But, Ann. This is Smith.”
“Father, I know. I can read. In fact, I read so well that I can study here on my own. I do not have to go anywhere.”
Quill watched as Ann lowered her hands to her sides.Because her father was looking up at her, he did not see her fingers twisting in the folds of her skirt, but Quill did and gave Ann full marks for showing backbone in spite of her apprehension.
“I have been giving this considerable thought,” she said. “What I am proposing is not the whim of a moment or a consequence of our argument last night. I believe it is entirely possible for me to acquire a most excellent education here. I have thus far, with the assistance of a governess, tutors, and of course, Aunt Beatrice, been the recipient of a fine education, and it was you who adamantly opposed me attending the school you built, staffed,
“Hunter,” Quill said. “Bounty
hunter
. I am almost certain she will threaten to shoot you if you call her the other. She does that a lot. Threaten, that is.”
“She threatened you?”
“Several times.”
Ramsey was philosophical about it. He shrugged. “I wanted to kill you at least once today, and we are not yet at the noon hour.”
“There will be common ground, then.”
“Not so fast. I am not certain I want a female of her particular ilk around my daughter.”
“I am not sure she is of a particular ilk. She impressed me as one of no other kind. And we are in agreement that if Ann will not leave—for whatever reason—she requires protection in her own right.”
“Of course she does. But Calico Nash?”
Quill shrugged. “The decision is entirely up to you.”
“I am glad to learn you know it. As you said, Ann is my daughter.”
At that precise moment, the pocket doors to Ramsey’s office parted and the daughter under scrutiny and discussion walked in. She was small in stature, taking her height and delicate bone structure from her deceased mother, but her stride, her ramrod spine, and the determined set of her jawwere all from her father. She marched up to his desk, laid a tri-folded piece of paper on the blotter in front of him, and waved an opened envelope under his nose. She withdrew the offending envelope and put it behind her back when Ramsey would have snatched it from her.
“What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the paper.
“As if you did not know.”
“Well, I don’t. I would not have asked if I did. You know I can’t abide wasting my breath.”
The breadth of that untruth had Quill’s eyebrows climbing halfway to his widow’s peak. He knew he was fortunate neither Ramsey nor Ann spared him a glance because he could not have schooled his features quickly enough to avoid explaining himself. Anything he said would be seen as choosing sides, and in the end, blood being thicker, he would be the one they sided against. He could not do his job effectively if they pushed back at him. Ramsey alone was more than enough.
Ann Stonechurch had a pale, porcelain complexion that was made fairer by hair that was darker and thicker than her father’s. She flushed brilliantly, coming close to the color Ramsey had displayed during his earlier apoplectic fit. Behind her back, the envelope fluttered as her hand shook.
“Read it, Father,” she said. Her voice was tight, a little shrill. Absent was any hint of the melody that usually marked her tone. “And know I will have none of it.”
Ramsey picked up the paper between a thumb and forefinger and shook it out gingerly, as if it might come suddenly alive and turn on him. When nothing like that happened, he held it with both hands and began to read. “This is from Smith College. You have been accepted. Ann, this is splendid.”
The envelope dropped as she threw up her hands. “It is not splendid. I do not want to go. What I want is for you to promise me that you will stop making application on my behalf to
any
school.”
“But, Ann. This is Smith.”
“Father, I know. I can read. In fact, I read so well that I can study here on my own. I do not have to go anywhere.”
Quill watched as Ann lowered her hands to her sides.Because her father was looking up at her, he did not see her fingers twisting in the folds of her skirt, but Quill did and gave Ann full marks for showing backbone in spite of her apprehension.
“I have been giving this considerable thought,” she said. “What I am proposing is not the whim of a moment or a consequence of our argument last night. I believe it is entirely possible for me to acquire a most excellent education here. I have thus far, with the assistance of a governess, tutors, and of course, Aunt Beatrice, been the recipient of a fine education, and it was you who adamantly opposed me attending the school you built, staffed,
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