By far the best thing he could do was allow her to sashay away from him and consign her to the past where she belonged.
But of course he couldn’t do that. Skylar Templeton was a gracious young lady who was suffering from a grave injustice, and Meade couldn’t turn his back on her, no matter what he thought or felt about her sister.
With a resigned sigh he took off down the concourse. Despite the constraints of her draping, layered skirt, she was moving quickly. He finally caught up with her at the intersection of Palace Avenue and Lincoln. “Rayna, wait,” he said, matching his gait to hers as she crossed the dusty street.
She was surprised that he’d come after her and even more astonished that he’d addressed her by her given name. “What’s wrong, Major? Did you suddenly remember some insult that escaped you a moment ago?” she asked without bothering to look at him.
Damn her sharp tongue! “No, I remembered that your sister needs help and that I may be able to provide it.”
Rayna stopped dead in the middle of the street, looking up at him eagerly, her anger forgotten. “What can you do?”
“I can get you past Lieutenant Bascomb and arrange an audience with General Whitlock when he returns.”
“You would do that?”
“Yes. If you don’t get us both run over in the meantime,” he said, taking her arm to usher her out of the way of an oncoming carriage.
“Thank you,” she said when they were safely on the boardwalk in front of the old Spanish palace.
“For rescuing you from the carriage or for offering to help with the general?”
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“The general,” she replied, a strained smile wisping around the corners of her mouth. “I wouldn’t have been in front of that carriage if you hadn’t accosted me in the street.”
Since she was teasing, Meade let the saucy remark pass and offered her his arm. “Come on. Walk with me through the plaza. I want to know what you’ve done so far to secure your sister’s release. I can’t imagine that you’ve spent all your time camping on the doorstep of the headquarters.”
Rayna considered his crooked arm with a critical eye. “Are you sure your reputation can survive a stroll in the park with a desperate, foul-mouthed spinster? I might try to ensnare you.”
“Yes, and I might be elected President tomorrow.” He lifted his elbow another notch. “Now, shall we walk? I need to know how many feathers you’ve ruffled before I start smoothing them over.”
Reluctantly she took his arm, and he led her across the street into the tree-lined plaza. “You really don’t like me, do you, Major?” she asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral because she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about his low opinion of her.
Meade considered the question and decided he should be honest with her.
Well, partially honest, anyway. Since he had no intention of ever pursuing his inappropriate carnal interest in her, he saw no reason to reveal that. “Actually, Miss Templeton, I have a certain grudging admiration for you.”
She looked up at him with surprise. “The key word being ‘grudging,’ I take it.”
“Yes. I understand that this is a harsh land and it has yielded a new breed of Americans—a much rougher lot than those I was reared among back east.
But a young woman of your background and breeding shouldn’t be one of them, Miss Templeton.”
“According to you,” she accused lightly. “Who made you the arbiter of what’s proper and what’s not?”
“We are discussing my opinion, no one else’s,” he reminded her. “And you did ask.”
“Hmmm. Tell me, Major Ashford, have you ever pulled a bog?”
His eyebrows went up. “I beg your pardon?”
That was all the answer Rayna needed, but she elaborated, anyway. “Have you ever pulled an irate, frustrated longhorn steer out of a waist-deep mud bog, only to have the animal turn on you once it was free, cuff the seat of your pants, and send you flying?”
It was everything Meade could do to suppress a smile as he visualized Rayna in the predicament she described. “No, I’ve never had that pleasure.”
“Try it sometime, Major, and if you can accomplish it without muttering a single swearword, I will gladly mend my wicked ways.”
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He seriously doubted that it would be possible for her to live up to that bargain. “Miss Templeton, my point is that a real lady would never participate in the type of activity you described. Have your mother or sister ever . . . pulled a bog?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly.
“I rest my case. You were raised by a lady to be a lady, but for some reason, the lessons didn’t take. You had the benefit of a genteel upbringing, and it’s obvious that no expense was spared to educate you.”
“You gleamed that from my refined speech, I presume?” she asked wryly.
Meade tried not to laugh. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d added a
“hell” or “damn it” after her question just to tweak him. “Let’s just say I know a finishing school graduate when I see one.”
“Well, I’m sure Mrs. Purdy would be happy to know that some of her training wore off on me.”
“Actually I was referring to your sister. I just assumed that if your parents sent one of you off to school, they’d have sent both of you.”
“I went reluctantly,” she told him. “I was dragged away kicking and screaming. You’d have loved that sight, I’m sure.”
Meade didn’t rise to the bait this time. “You tolerated the experience for the sake of your sister, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.
His insight into her personality caught Rayna off guard. “Yes.”
“That’s where my admiration for you comes from, Miss Templeton. I may not approve of your methods, but I admire devotion and loyalty. Here.” He guided her to a bench beneath a shade tree, and they sat down. “Now, tell me how you’ve been keeping yourself busy these last weeks. And what word have you heard on your father?”
Rayna was grateful for his questions, because she had no idea how to respond to his compliment. What she did realize in that moment was that his opinion had somehow become very important to her. “Papa is still weak, but apparently there have been no more seizures,” she replied, arranging her skirts around her.
“Does he still believe Skylar is with you?”
She nodded. “Mother has managed to keep up the charade, but I’m afraid it can’t go on much longer. Skylar is an inveterate letter writer. Always before when we’ve been away from home, she’s written our parents every day. If Papa hasn’t caught the inconsistency yet, he will soon.” A hopeful thought occurred to her. “I don’t suppose Skylar gave you any letters to post, did she?”
He was sorry to disappoint her. “No. Writing materials weren’t available to her on the trip, and I never thought to offer her mine. I’m sorry.”
Rayna shrugged. “Well, that’s Skylar for you. She wouldn’t have asked for fear it would be an imposition. Sometimes I think my sister is too good for this world.”
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“Have you always been her protector?”
“Yes,” she replied wistfully. “And she was my salvation. It was a more than fair trade.”
Meade frowned. “Salvation?”
“I was six years old when Papa brought Skylar home to live with us, and when you’re six, a ranch in the middle of nowhere is a very large and lonely place. When Skylar came, the loneliness went away.”