Linda Castle - Temple's Prize

“Papa has been lecturing rather steadily for the past few years.”

“Is that so?” he asked with mild interest.

“Yes, but he did unearth some wonderful things in South America a few years ago. I have been cataloging and illustrating them for Dandridge University.”

Temple stiffened perceptibly at the mention of Dandridge. “I’m sure you do fine work, Connie. Dandridge is no doubt lucky to have you.” There was a note of sarcasm in his compliment.

“How nice of you to say so. And I have managed to acquire one or two other skills since we last met.” Constance continued to study his face from behind the protective barrier of her spectacles.

“Really? You must tell me, what else do you do?” Temple’s words were dripping with open condescension.

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Parish, I am a digger,” she said flatly.

His brows shot up, but other than that he managed to suppress any further reaction. “You don’t say, Connie—a digger? A female digger? I have never heard of such a thing.”

He nodded to the bartender and held his empty glass aloft.

Constance glanced at the man who grabbed a tall bottle in his hand, then she turned back to Temple. “I am quite competent, as I told you. So competent, in fact, that I intend to complete the expedition my father sent me on, Mr. Parish.”

His smile slipped at the same moment the bartender appeared at Temple’s elbow and began pouring liquid into his glass.

“You what?” he asked loudly. His question echoed through the silent barroom. Several men leaning on their elbows actually turned around and gaped at him.

Constance nodded and continued. “You heard me correctly, Mr. Parish. I intend to leave Morgan Forks tomorrow morning at sunrise, but before I go, I wanted to issue you a new challenge to go along with the one we have both accepted from Mr. Montague.”

“Challenge? Me?” Temple brought his arm down from the back of the chair. He no longer appeared to be uninterested in what she had to say—in fact he was perched on the edge of his chair, leaning across the table toward her as if he were on tenterhooks, waiting for her to speak. His dark eyes were trained on her face with single-minded intent. His long fingers were splayed out on the scarred tabletop. “You are challenging me?”

“Yes, that is if you are up to the task,” Connie replied smoothly. It was difficult to continue staring at Temple now that he was mere inches from her, but she did so without blinking until he at last glanced away.

“What task did you have in mind, Miss Cadwallender?” His voice was brittle with suspicion and his pet name for her had conspicuously vanished.

“The challenge I am issuing you is this, Mr. Parish. In addition to the endowment Mr. Montague is offering, I am proffering you a personal challenge as well. There will be no money involved, so you may not be interested…”

One brow shot upward when her intentional barb hit its mark. “What kind of a challenge, Miss Cadwallender?”

She leaned forward. Constance had never been very good at public speaking, but she cleared her voice and took a deep breath. She wanted to make very sure that every man who was lined up at the bar heard her clearly. “This challenge would affect only your pride—your ego, Mr. Parish.”

“Speak your mind, Miss Cadwallender.” His brown eyes narrowed down to predatory slits and there was open hostility in his voice.

“I not only intend to find a previously unknown species of dinosaur for Mr. Montague, I intend to do it on my own and long before you can even locate one.” She spoke loudly.

The impact of her words settled on the interested occupants of the room and drew a deep murmur from the men who were bent in speculative conversation.

“You’re mad,” Temple said in a whisper only she was meant to hear.

“Perhaps, but the challenge stands. Are you declining—admitting you are not up to the task?”

“What?” Temple snorted.

“Are you admitting I am the better digger?”

Temple stood up so quickly the chair legs screeched on the floor. He glared down at her. “You’re female.”

“How very astute of you to notice, Mr. Parish.” Constance forced herself to remain sitting and watch Temple even though it made her neck cramp to do so. A collection of emotions raced across his face and through his eyes while they held each other’s gaze.

“It would be ridiculous for me to compete with a—a—woman. I would be a laughingstock.”

“I fail to see why, but if you would rather admit that I—a Cadwallender and a female—am more competent and capable…” She shrugged then placed her palm on the table as if she were rising from her chair.

A wide rough hand closed over her own and stilled her movement. Constance tilted her head and looked up.

Temple sucked in a breath that seemed to be too much air for one man to hold in his lungs, then suddenly it left him in a great angry rush. “I will never admit to that!” he bellowed.

“Then I assume you are accepting my challenge?” Constance glanced at the mirror, but now every man was turned, watching. She experienced a measure of satisfaction when she saw every pair of expectant eyes was trained on Temple’s face.

“Miss Cadwallender!” Temple nearly vibrated with indignation. “I would much prefer you exercised some sense, remembered where you belong and returned home.”

“I am not leaving until” I find those bones,” she said calmly.

His face turned three shades of red. “Then it appears I have no choice but to accept your challenge. I would be most happy to prove who is the better— digger.” His voice was a tightly controlled rumble.

“Good.” Constance nodded stiffly at him. Then she scooted her chair backward. It took some effort for her to pull her hand from beneath his, but finally she was able to stand up. “Now if you will excuse me, I shall see you tomorrow morning at sunrise.”

When she turned on her heel she heard a soft hiss as Temple drew another furious breath between his tightly clamped teeth. All the way to the staircase she was smiling.

She was going to enjoy this—very, very much.

“So, you see, Mr. Hughes, I want to make sure that my messages are sent back to my father on a regular basis.” Constance stopped pacing.

“Yes, Miss.” Peter stifled a grin. He was seeing more excitement than he’d had since he fled New York City with Tweed’s stolen money and the Tammany thugs on his heels. Miss Cadwallender had a conniving streak beneath all those proper manners. He couldn’t help but like her. He had been mighty surprised when the bartender had sent a message for him to come back to the saloon—that Miss Cadwallender had to speak to him. For a bit he had half expected her to tell him she was packing up and heading back to New York, but she set him straight about that notion quicker than he could skin a cat.

“Mr. Parish has been known to be—well—unorthodox,” She twisted her fingers together and tried to explain why she was making these preparations. After she had goaded Temple into accepting the challenge, it had occurred to her that she needed a tiny edge— just in case.

“Yes, miss, I can see he might have that inclination,” Peter agreed solemnly.

“Not that I’m asking you to do anything unethical—I would never ask you to do that, Mr. Hughes.”

“No, miss.”

“I just want to make very sure that I don’t fail my father or Dandridge University,”

“Yes, miss, I understand. I can see a lady like yourself would never suggest anything that wasn’t on the level.”

“I’m so glad you understand, Mr. Hughes.”

“Yes, miss, I do—I do understand.” Mr. Hughes nodded his head rhythmically while he spoke.