Lovely and generous, too.
Fletcher leaned his arm on the counter. "It was a bit of a shock, but I did need to awaken. I wanted to ride out today, but now I believe I'll have to stay until tomorrow."
He ran his fingers through his hair again, embarrassed by his unkempt appearance. "At least, it'll give me a chance to clean up. After that, know any place a fellow can get a square meal around here?" He looked at her sideways, tilted his head and winked.
Miss Jurrell reddened. "You come back when you're finished, and we'll talk about it." She flashed him a smile that could have melted a glacier.
* * *
An hour later Fletcher walked into the dining room of The Palace Hotel. It wasn't exactly what he would have called a palace, at least not what he would have imagined a palace to look like. It was not elegant by any means, but there were lace cloths on the tables, the chairs were padded, and in the center of the ceiling hung a huge crystal chandelier. No doubt its presence was the reason for the hotel's lofty name.
He was feeling almost human again in clean clothes. The long hot steaming bath had done wonders for his mood as well as his muscles. The weeks of riding alone, sleeping on the ground, avoiding towns except for supplies, had a tendency to make him forget how luxurious a hot bath could be.
"Are you starving yet?"
Sage Jurrell seemed to have an oddly irritating habit of popping up behind him. Before he turned, he struggled to think of a way to kindly ask her to cease the habit when someone laid a hand on his shoulder. He swiveled, startled, slapping at the taction.
His drilling eyes must have flashed fire because Miss Jurrell stammered quickly, "Please forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you knew I was here." She clasped and worked her hands as if she didn't know what to do with the offending appendage.
Seeing her face genuinely upset, Fletcher suddenly felt awkward for having embarrassed her without cause. It was just that it had been so long since there had been reason to act the gentleman inbred in him. The time alone caused him to be wary of contact. And the women he'd been with in the last years had been less than ladylike. He had taken what pleasures he wanted from them and moved on, never going out of his way to be overly kind. At times Zachary Brown had even been intentionally cruel. Many females had tried to work their charms but found he had no heart beating within him, only a driving force which relished crushing others and leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.
Those eager vixens had never complained about his manners or about his performance either, for that matter. When he had paid for a tub and a rub, that's exactly what he'd received: service—bought and paid for. In the past years, women had fallen into his bed with no more coercion than his wayward glance. But somehow they had not had the innocence in their gestures as did the woman standing before him. And it was precisely that innocence that caused him to feel as chagrined and awkward as Sage Jurrell clearly did.
Fletcher took her clasped fists between his palms and smiled. "The fault is entirely mine," he said as sincerely as he could. "Having lived on the trail for weeks, I have become as boorish as any of the animals I've passed. I seem to have forgotten how to act in civilized society. Please accept my humblest apologies."
"I wouldn't say you're that odious," she replied with a relieved beguiling curve to her lips, "but apology accepted." She stepped past him to an elegantly prepared table and glanced back. "Are you hungry?"
"Starved—for food, and the pleasure of a lovely woman to share it with. Would you honor me with your company?"
"I'd be delighted," she said as she took his proffered arm. And if the soft glow in her eyes was to be believed, he thought she meant it.
* * *
Fletcher stretched his long legs in front of him and shifted his position. He was feeling deliciously sated. The meal had been unexpectedly good, and the company even more so. Leaning his chair on its two back legs, he aimlessly ran his finger around the rim of the wineglass he held.
Contrary to what she claimed, Sage Jurrell did seem to have a habit of telling her life story to total strangers. Captivated by her, Fletcher found himself listening more to the timbre of her voice than to what she was saying.
I guess she thinks that because she knows my name, I'm no longer a total stranger. At least she thinks she knows my name.
He had a moment of concern wondering how she would fare as a manager if she was this friendly to all the male clientele. While she chattered, he put the goblet to his eye and peered at her through it.
"Thank goodness you haven't heard a word I've said," she chided him, "because I fear I've told you more than any decent girl ought to tell a gentleman." She leaned toward him and flashed an enticing smile.
He put down his glass and took her hand, gliding his thumb across the inside of her palm. "On the contrary, sweet, I've heard every word. I shall prove it should you care to test me and, on my word as a gentleman, none of your skeletons shall ever pass my lips without your prior consent. Does that meet with your approval?"
She put her other hand on top of Fletcher's and broke into a hearty laugh as if she had never been so amused in her life. Her hand squeezed his; it was warm and soft.
While he couldn't for the life of him see what she'd found amusing, her laughter was easy and infectious and he found himself laughing with her, laughing being something else he had not done in a long time; beasts never laugh. For an instant he feared he wouldn't remember how—it had been that long. But the moment was genuine and sweet and awakened in him a feeling from another time when things had been different, he had been different.
Turning his head for the moment, an acute melancholy swept over him. He had sat long ago with another young woman and delighted in her laughter...
Pressure on his hand brought his mind back from its wandering. He looked at the petite fingers that had squeezed his, the gaze traveling up her arm, coming to rest on the face above.
"I didn't realize I had such power to entertain," he said with a wry grin.
Sage Jurrell tossed her head and the mountain of sandy curls piled atop danced with the movement. "Well I didn't know there were still men in the world who could be gallant and charming and who, for once, could make an obstinate woman like me feel that it might be fun to try being a damsel in distress. Who knows what white knight in shining armor might appear?"
He wrinkled his brow. A knight in shining armor! Kyndee. A different time. A different place.
"Who knows indeed?" he said, hoping his rueful cringe wasn’t obvious. The feeling of melancholy deepened, and he hurried to take his leave. "I should retire as I'm planning to leave early tomorrow. The meal and the company were most enjoyable, and I thank you for a truly delightful evening." He lifted his glass to her. "Good luck with your hotel, Miss Jurrell. I give it my highest rating."
As they stood, he lifted her hand and kissed it. Holding it a moment longer than was proper, he then pressed it to his cheek. "Thank you again," he whispered and left her.
CHAPTER TWO
˜
He sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees and hung his head in his hands. While having given him a warm feeling in the dining room, the wine was now causing Fletcher to wallow in pools of doubt. It had taken away the razor edge of control, his protection against the images that still had the power to strangle and confuse him. Even his pent up anger was not enough to seal the wound.
"Why, Kyndee? Why did you want me gone? What did Buck tell you that you would have wanted to hurt me so?" he wailed, hoping yet again that uttering the questions aloud might sometime