Linda Castle - Temple's Prize

Constance tilted her head to look at him, expecting to see his customary scornful smile but instead his brows were furrowed together as if he might actually be worried about her. The very notion nearly made her laugh aloud. It was absurd to even consider that Temple might have a single minute of concern on her behalf.

“I assure you, Mr. Parish, I am quite capable of fending for myself now and I will be able to do so when Mr. Hughes has returned to Morgan Forks.” Constance swiped some of the trail dust from her coat while she spoke. “While traveling with Papa, I set up camp on more than one occasion.” She expected him to stomp away in a fit of temper, but he continued to lounge against the side of the wagon while he toyed with the large gauze bandage on his thumb.

He was no more than a yard from Constance and a capricious breeze brought a whiff of his distinctive odor to her nostrils. Without conscious thought she tried to analyze—to catalog—the scent. It was part wood and dust mingled with crisp Montana air. It was a man’s smell, different from the way any man at the university ever smelled. It was impossible to name in one word except to say it was all Temple’s scent, a bit wild, a bit reckless and wholly stimulating.

“So, old C.H. drug you to hell and back after I left,” he mumbled under his breath. Constance watched him continue to stare at the earth in front of his boots. She realized it was not a question that he asked of her, but she heard the question hidden in Temple’s soft words.

“After you left, Papa found himself in need of a new assistant. I was the only logical choice.”

Temple’s head snapped up. He speared Constance with the flinty look in his eyes. “Why were you the logical choice?”

Constance started at the sharpness of his question. “I received the same education Papa had given to you. It was natural that I should begin to accompany him when he went looking for scientific relics. After all, there wasn’t anybody else he had been training. He had invested a lot of time in you….” Her words trailed off.

Temple’s brows shot up. “Is that your way of telling me that I took too much of C.H.’s attention? How you must’ve rejoiced when I left.”

The memory of lying in her bed while silent tears streamed down her face came rushing back. Temple’s departure had ripped her tender fourteen-year-old heart in two, but she refused to let him know that she cared so much—then. “I meant it was perfectly natural for Papa to begin taking me with him on all his scientific expeditions, Temple, nothing more.”

“Connie—you may have been given a gentleman’s education by C.H. and all of his colleagues, but taking you to primitive locations around the world was hardly natural. The field is certainly no place for a growing girl—and it is no place for you to be now.” He stared at her with eyes full of ice and contempt. “Go home, Connie. Save us all a lot of trouble and just…go… home.”

If her netting had not been in place Temple would have seen her own brows rising in astonishment at his measured words. “I will not go home. So you may as well quit asking—or rather ordering me to do so.”

He kicked a loose stone with the toe of his boot. It was difficult to put what he was feeling into words. Images of Connie as a child assaulted him each time he looked away from the veiled and swathed form of the determined person before him. “C.H. should’ve taken better care of you—he should have made sure you had an opportunity to be a…” His sentence trailed off.

Constance felt the heat climbing into her face. “A lady? Is that the word you are searching for?” She placed her hands on her hips and waited for his answer. He finally glanced up at her and she saw a new expression in his face. Eyes that were normally hard and cynical as agate now held something more elusive than the fragrance that wafted around him.

“No, Connie.” He stared straight at her netting and for a moment she wondered if he could see her face. “I was going to say that you should have spent your youth at home. C.H. never should have dragged you across the world looking for bits of bone and broken rocks. It wasn’t right. And it wasn’t right for him to send you to do his battles now.”

He gave her one last look, then he turned and walked away. She watched him and wondered why she felt the ridiculous urge to call him back.

Mr. Hughes had ingeniously used the wagon and three pieces of canvas to erect Constance a shelter for the night. He stood back while she examined it.

“Thank you, Mr. Hughes, it is wonderful, but I really could have managed with a bedroll. I have slept in the open many times.”

“It was nothing, miss. I want you to be comfortable.” He continued to test the strength of the canvas while he talked. Constance saw him smile each time she gave her approval to some small detail.

“The wind comes up of an evening, miss, and it turns cold, even this time of year. I wouldn’t want you to take a chill.”

“You are very considerate.” She smiled and pushed her spectacles up with one finger.

Peter found himself staring at Miss Cadwallender in amazement. She had removed her netting and the fulllength duster that she had worn over her traveling dress. The glow of the campfire cast a rosy blush across her smooth cheeks and the thick lustrous hair piled carelessly on top of her head. The small rectangular spectacles reflected crimson flames each time she moved her head to look at the simple lean-to.

“I have had to erect all manner of contrivances for shelter while traveling with my father, but this is really most remarkable.”

Constance smiled and touched the canvas in an appreciative manner and he felt a burst of pride. At that moment Temple walked around the canvas lean-to.

“Top-notch, Hughes. I couldn’t have done better myself. It reminds me of the camp I set up last year in the mountains of South America.”

Miss Cadwallender stiffened and Peter saw the expression in her eyes change. He moved back into the shadows and busied himself while the two glared at each other.

Constance felt her good mood evaporate while she glared at Temple. The South American trip he mentioned had been only last summer and she had read more about it than she ever would have wished while the newspapers followed his progress. “Would that have been the camp where the American heiress tried to snare you in her butterfly net?” She knew her voice was a touch too sweet and a bit too sharp to be sincere—and she saw by the way Temple’s brow shot up that he knew it also.

A wicked grin began to spread across his face and she regretted mentioning it.

“Constance Honoria” I do believe you have been reading on dits in the New York society columns. What would your father say about your choice of reading material?” Temple wrapped his long fingers around the suspenders hooked to the buttons on the waistband of his trousers. His cocky grin grew wider while he watched her. She wished she could simply disappear, but Temple’s gaze held her as firmly as any leprechaun in a child’s fable.

Temple couldn’t help but grin at Connie. While he watched, her eyes widened behind her glasses, but suddenly she inhaled deeply and pulled herself up straighter than an aspen’s trunk.

“Well, Mr. Parish—” her voice was composed even if her hands were trembling “—I imagine he would say it was the one place neither of us ever expected to find your name printed.”

The smile faded from Temple’s face and his mouth became a thin line. His craggy jaw hardened while a knot formed in her belly.

“Touché.” Temple inclined his head and released his grip on his suspenders. “That barb certainly found its mark.”

Too late Constance realized time had not dulled the raw pain he felt about his background. She regretted her comment almost as much as her reference to his South American trip, but she could not apologize.