Linda Castle - Temple's Prize

Constance looked at Temple for reassurance, suddenly unsure of herself, but instead of comfort in his eyes, she found him glowering at her as if she were somehow the cause of Mr. Hughes’s odd attack of mirth. It was perplexing, but men, with the exception of her father, had always perplexed her.

Mr. Hughes fell silent for a moment and she thought it was a good sign, but then he glanced at Constance and the skin around his eyes wrinkled ominously. His eyes watered.

“Oh, for pity’s sake! Don’t start that again,” Temple blustered. The man behind the bar was chuckling, and Constance wondered if she had interrupted some joke.

She started to ask Mr. Hughes, but he staggered up from his chair. He rushed to the doors and stepped through them before a loud guffaw erupted from him. He more or less tumbled into the street. A little puff of dust wafted through the doors screeching back and forth on rusty hinges.

“Astonishing!” Constance shook her head.

Temple turned and took a step toward her. When he stopped, he was close enough for her to see him clearly—even if she hadn’t been wearing her spectacles.

“Temple—I am pleased to have the opportunity to work with you.” Eager enthusiasm rang in every word. “Ive dreamed—” Constance saw him flinch and she tried to harness her excitement. “That is, since I was a child I have been looking forward to working with you.”

One thick brow twitched above his hard unyielding brown eyes.

Constance swallowed down her elation. She had expected Temple to treat her with the same friendly irreverence they enjoyed as children. Now she realized, with a certain uncomfortable jolt, they were no longer children and his expression was decidedly less than friendly. She pushed her spectacles up on her nose and tried to deal with her disappointment while she waited for some civil response, but Temple continued to glare at her in disapproving silence. She felt more awkward and painfully aware of each passing minute. Then he cleared his throat.

“Madam, I don’t know what your scheme is, but I am sure I have never met you before. I undoubtedly would have remembered the incident.” His eyes disdainfully swept her from the top of her hat to the toes of her shoes.

Constance stiffened at the undisguised condescension in his voice, but then she told herself she was being silly. Perhaps he didn’t realize who she was. Then a happy thought popped into her head. While Temple had been busy making a name for himself all over the globe, she had had the benefit of seeing his face in the New York newspapers at fairly regular intervals over the past ten years. He, on the other hand, had not seen her since he left her father’s brownstone, when she was an awkward girl in braids.

“Of course, how silly of me. I just now realized, you don’t recognize me.”

“That, madam, as they say, is a rather large understatement,” he said stiffly.

She shook her head as if to physically throw off his words while she continued to explain. “It has been years. Papa sent me—to dig with you,” Abruptly she stopped and corrected herself. “Well not exactly to dig with you. What I mean to say is that Papa sent me to dig for Dandridge University.”

Temple inhaled sharply and then he leaned an inch closer and peered into her face. He tilted his head to the side and squinted as if he were seeking a new perspective. While he studied her his breath fogged her spectacles.

“But surely it can’t be.” He sounded doubtful. “Connie?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m Connie.” She repeated the name that only he called her. Now things would progress more smoothly.

“Little Connie?” He swept his eyes from the large hat on her head, down the heavy protective coat, and stopped at her sensibly booted feet. “The same little Connie who used to follow me around? Who always had her nose in a book—and an answer for any question?”

Constance found it oddly annoying that Temple was compelled to remind her of childish habits. After all, she was now no more a child than he was. She had not seen fit to remind him of the capricious escapades of his youth. “I only wanted to help,” she muttered softly.

“C.H. sent you?” he repeated.

Perhaps if she explained the entire situation to Temple, he would understand. “Papa had a little accident, you see, his foot…”

“He sent you to challenge me —for the endowment?” Temple cut her off as if he had not heard her.

Constance pushed the spectacles back up on her nose and stared up his lean weathered face. “Well— I was hoping that we could compromise—work together for the good of the scientific community. The endowment is large enough for both—”

“C.H. sent his—daughter? Little Connie?” Temple kept cutting off her sentences, as if he were completely unaware of her attempts to explain.

Constance blinked and glanced around. The bartender immediately looked away and started rubbing a cloth over the top of the plank counter. She felt awkward, and this was not going at all as she had imagined—not at all.

“C.H. must have grown dotty,” Temple said harshly.

“Why would you say such a thing, Temple?” She took a step backward so she could see him without straining her neck to look up.

“Connie, little Connie, you must see how laughable the whole idea is.” He wiped at his eyes and grinned sympathetically at her. He pushed his hat back on his head and a strand of sun-kissed hair poked out at an odd angle.

“I don’t find it laughable at all, Temple.” How ironic that she had traveled so far from New York only to find herself on such familiar ground. This was territory she trod frequently, each time she offered an opinion or suggestion to one of her father’s colleagues. “You may not be aware that I am a qualified anatomist. I am more than competent enough to handle this kind of exploratory expedition.”

“Competent? Exploratory expedition?” Temple swept the soft-brimmed hat off his head and slapped it against his knee. The smile on his face grew wider. “Connie—” deep throaty chuckles interrupted his sentence “—y ou…have the most delightful sense of humor. I never realized it when you were a little girl. I remembered you as being rather serious, but you do have a devilish funny side.”

Constance opened her mouth again but her words were frozen in her throat by Temple’s laughter. It started low in his belly, as only true amusement can. Then it came rushing forward, rolling like thunder as it gathered strength and rumbled out of him.

Temple grabbed hold of his ribs and chuckled with amusement. Constance realized, with a surge of uncharacteristic anger, he was laughing at her. Only her upbringing made it possible for her to stand there, stiff as a poker and watch, and while she did, any inclination to compromise and work with Temple Parish withered away. In fact, while Constance twined her gloved hands together in disappointment she found her thoughts racing ahead. And while more and more heat rose in her cheeks, her mind was focused on only one thing.

She was determined to silence Temple Parish’s arrogant laughter, and the best way she could think of to do so was to claim Filbert Montague’s prize.

The setting sun cast a reddish glow to the floor of the small room Mr. Hughes had procured for Constance above the saloon. She paced across the vermilion radiance while he apologized for his earlier behavior. He managed to do so without ever once breaking into guffaws, though once or twice she saw the skin around his eyes crinkle.

“I wish to start for the canyon immediately. Mr. Hughes.”

“I’m sorry, miss,” he said sheepishly. “But I—uh, I have wasted the better part of the afternoon. The trip is a long one and best started at sunrise.”