"Travis, I have a bolt on my door. You don't have to worry about me."
"Go back to bed."
"Will you please turn around and look at me? I'm trying to explain that-"
He didn't let her finish. "Are you in your nightgown?"
The question gave her pause. "Yes."
"You won't be wearing it for long if I turn around. Do you want me to be more specific?"
"No. Good night, Travis."
"I thought you'd see it my way."
She shut the door and leaned against it as the tears began to well up in her eyes. She couldn't cry, she told herself. She'd make too much noise, and then he'd know or at least suspect the awful truth.
She was in love with him.
Emily didn't get much sleep that night, yet she felt refreshed when she came downstairs the following morning. She had made several momentous decisions about her future during the black hours of the night, and for the first time in a long while, she felt as though she were in control again. Ever since the fiasco with
Randolph, she'd jumped into one rash thing after another, but fortunately she had finally come to her senses.
She was relieved because she'd realized in time the terrible mistake she would have made if she married Mr. O'Toole. She was also heartsick, because she knew she was going to have to leave Travis.
He was never going to know how she really felt about him. He wasn't the marrying kind, and if she told him she loved him, she would only make him feel uncomfortable. He might also feel sorry for her, and that possibility horrified her.
Come hell or high water, she was going to be cheerful around him. She could cry as much as she wanted once she was on the stagecoach and headed for home. Travis, however, wasn't going to see a single tear.
"Isn't it a fine day, Millie?" she called out as she walked into the kitchen. "Good morning, Travis," she added when she saw him coming in the back door.
He scowled back at her and mumbled something that might have been a greeting. He was obviously in a foul mood, and she decided to pretend she didn't notice.
Millie placed a large bowl of oatmeal on the table for her. Emily sprinkled it with sugar and ate every bit of it. She drank two full glasses of milk too.
Millie wasn't in a very good mood either. Her gaze darted back and forth between Emily and Travis, and every now and then, she'd mutter something to herself and shake her head.
The second Travis left to saddle their horses, she sat down beside Emily.
"Are you still hell-bent on going to Golden Crest?"
Millie's colorful use of words made Emily smile. "Yes," she answered. "But I-"
"For the love of the Almighty, stop being so stubborn. You're in for a life of heartache if you marry the wrong man."
Emily reached over and patted her hand. She found Millie's outrage and concern endearing. "I'm not going to marry Clifford O'Toole."
Millie's head snapped up. "You're not?"
"No, I'm not, but I owe it to him to tell him so face-to-face."
"Hogwash."
"It's the right thing to do," Emily insisted.
"Does Travis know about this?"
She shook her head. "I'll tell him later, when he's in a better mood. Besides, if I tell him now, he might not take me to Golden Crest, and I really owe it to Mr. O'Toole to explain my reasons for changing my mind."
John came into the kitchen with her satchels in his arms. "I'll just give these to Travis," he remarked as he hurried out the back door.
Emily spotted Travis leading the horses out of the barn. She stood up and turned to Millie.
"Thank you for worrying about me."
"That's what friends do for one another, don't they?"
Emily became teary-eyed. "Yes," she agreed.
"Will you stop by on your way back?"
"I'll try," she promised.
Millie patted her on her shoulder. "You've got a good heart, girl. Don't let anyone tell you different."
Emily felt as if she were leaving her best friend. She hurried out the door before she started crying, stopped long enough to thank John, and then ran to Travis.
The couple stood side by side as they watched Emily and Travis leave.
They'd been riding for almost an hour before Emily broke the silence to ask Travis a question. "How long will it take to get to Golden Crest?"
"A while," he answered. "Are you in a hurry?"
"Yes," she began. She was going to tell him that the sooner they got to their destination, the sooner they could leave, but Travis's blasphemy distracted her.
"Hell."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Hell," he muttered once again.
His mood obviously hadn't improved. She waited several minutes before speaking to him again. "I'd like to ask a favor of you."
"No."
She ignored his reply. "When we get to Golden Crest, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't contradict me. No matter what I say to Mr. O'Toole, please go along with it. All right?"
"You're going to pull your helpless act again, aren't you? If he isn't a complete idiot, and I have my doubts about that, he'll see right through your little charade."
She let out a loud sigh in frustration. "Will you try to get along? And don't you dare call me crazy again," she added when he turned in his saddle to give her a hard, you're-out-of-your-mind look.
"If the petticoat fits, Emily…"
"Oh, and please don't call me Emily in front of him."
"The petticoat fits all right."
She refused to argue. She thought about telling him what her plan was, then decided that because he was in such a horrible mood, he would just have to wait to find out. Besides, in his present frame of mind, she was pretty certain that if she admitted she was going to tell Mr. O'Toole the wedding was off, Travis would turn the horses around and head back to Pritchard. He wouldn't understand how important it was for her to explain in person instead of sending a note. She could never be so cruel to anyone. She knew firsthand how it felt.
Emily spent the rest of the journey worrying. She hoped Mr. O'Toole didn't have a temper, for the thought of having an out-and-out confrontation with him made her stomach ache, and by the time they started the climb up the last hill to the crest, she was so nervous, her hands were visibly shaking.
When they rounded the curve, Travis saw the shotgun trained on the two of them through the branches in the trees.
She saw the dilapidated shack leaning precariously to one side in the center of the dirt yard at the very top of the crest and frowned in reaction. Where was Mr. O'Toole's grand house? He had told her in his letters that his home was nestled in the clouds at the very tip, and since she and Travis couldn't possibly climb any higher without falling off the mountain, she could only come to one conclusion. Travis had obviously taken a wrong turn and Mr. O'Toole's fine house was on the other side of the crest.
"Emily, move closer to my right side. Do it now."
The tone of his whisper didn't suggest she dally. She nudged her horse forward into the narrow opening between the rock ledge and Travis, but she didn't really become alarmed until she glanced over and saw his dark expression.
"Is something wrong?" she whispered back.
"Maybe."
He was staring intently at a clump of trees to the west. Something fascinated him, all right. Emily leaned forward in her saddle, peeked around him, and gave the area a thorough once-over. She still couldn't see anything amiss and decided then that he was just being overly cautious.
She turned back to the shack just as the front door opened with a loud groan and a ridiculously attired man came hurrying outside. Her eyes widened, for, honest to Pete, she'd never seen anyone like him. He was tall, skinny, and so filthy he could have blended into the dirt if he hadn't been wearing a ludicrous formal black top hat and red satin suspenders over a stained undershirt and brown pants.
She watched him adjust the straps as he moved toward her. "Good Lord," she whispered.