The Indiscretion Read Online Free PDF Page B

before, with another
woman, I missed that wedding, too."
    Sam sat up, taking his hat off a minute to examine it, then
scratched his head as he looked out the window. A damn sorry case he was.
    Today was his typical sort of mess – and the reason most of his friends
and family considered him a hero on one hand and a cad on the other. When he
wasn't standing women up at the altar, he was forgetting to come get them for
picnics or dinners or leaving them hanging while he tried a new horse or simply
slept past his rendezvous with them. For one reason or another, he went through
women the way ranch hands went through eggs in the morning. It was purely
disheartening, and he figured he'd die alone because of it.
    He fully expected the woman rocking across from him to end their
conversation now that he'd told her. He'd been playing on her sympathy.
Sympathy he didn't deserve. Now she'd hate him not just for what he'd done to
Gwyn but for playing up to her as well. He sure could be an idiot without half
trying.
    "Well," she said from her side of the coach, "you
have made some terrible mistakes, haven't you?"
    He nodded. "I sure have."
    "And you are paying through the nose for them."
    He looked at her. "I am." His nose literally ached from
his heroics today.
    "I hate it when that happens."
    "Me, too," he muttered. He wondered what it was she
wanted for being so nice to him.
    She seemed to ponder his sad tale, as if turning it over in her
mind. Then she said, "Well. Any bride who won't listen to that story
perhaps isn't worth marrying."
    "Oh, no," he contradicted. "Gwyn is worth marrying.
As soon as she cools down, I'll send her something nice to get her attention.
I'll court her again." Gwyn was worth it. He'd beat out four or five
fellows to have her. She was prime company, the best. "And you?" he
asked.
    She looked at him, startled. "Me?"
    "Yeah. Why are you on this coach?" He smiled,
vaguely curious, as he stretched his arm out along the seat. "It's the
saddest vehicle I can conjure up. Me, I'm trying to keep out of the way of all
the family and friends who'd like to finish off the job the bandits started.
They'll all be on trains. But you? What have you done?"
    "Nothing," she said quickly, sitting back.
    He'd been kidding her, making fun of himself. But, interestingly
here, Miss Prissy Brit looked alarmed, then blushed. Even in the late afternoon
shadows where she sat, he could see the faint, pretty, rosy-porcelain pink. Her
eyes shifted to his hand on the seat back, to where his thumb found a wear in
the fabric. "All right," he asked, "so why are you on it?"
    She blinked then shrugged. "I just like it."
    He laughed, watching her. "So what do you like best? The
dust? The bad springs? The wild joyride of the pace? Or is it the
company?"
    Her eyes met his again, while her expression ran a gamut:
confusion at being confronted, anger, which turned into, surprisingly, a small,
rueful smile. She tried to hold it back, couldn't, then shook her head, looking
down. She would admit nothing. But her posture – the way she bent to hide the
smile as she hung there rocking in the hand strap – suggested that the proper
little governess here, or whoever she was, was exploring the edge of what was
and wasn't very proper.
    It was an endearing silence. Sam leaned forward, extending his
hand. "Samuel J. Cody," he said. "Pleased to meet you."
    She stared at his hand, licked her lips. It took him a second to
realize: She was inventing a name to tell him. He wanted to laugh outright.
    Once she found it, she smiled boldly across at him, bless her. She
had a fine smile, wide-mouthed, full of nice teeth. "Lydia Brown,"
she said as she reached forward.
    They both leaned, her coming into the direct sunlight from the
window to offer her hand. She had large eyes, her salient feature. Big, round,
long-lashed eyes the color of honey. They were more than pretty, Sam decided as
he took her thin hand again in his; they were beautiful. He and she