with all the screaming she had done. “Miss Valentine. I can’t leave without her.”
“We’ve got to get out of here now, honey.”
She blinked up at him. Her green eyes were prettier than he recalled them being.
“Frenchie will kill that little dog if I don’t bring her along.”
William glanced over his shoulder. Agatha was right. The wicked round man had picked up a piece of lumber and begun to swing it at the dog.
“Can you stand?”
“Of course.”
He was not convinced and set her down with care.
“Hold on to this rope.” It was one of the cables on the outside of the tent.
He dashed back, ripped the plank out of Brown’s fingers and tossed it away. He scooped up the dog, cursing at the circus owner and not bothering to do it under his breath.
Sprinting back to Agatha he found her still standing. Judging by the way her fingers looked bloodless while gripping the rope, he figured it took all her effort to remain upright.
Placing the bedraggled mound of fur in Agatha’s arms, he scooped her up again, charging quickly through the crowd.
Must have been a sight to see. The mayor of Tanners Ridge carrying a woman dressed in glittering, skintight long johns in his arms.
Sure enough, folks were staring. Especially Aimee Peller and her group of friends. Poor Aimee looked like she’d been run through.
Charging ahead, he carried Agatha around the animal trailers then started up the hill. It was a good thing she didn’t weigh more than a dime.
Glancing back, he noticed people beginning to leave the circus. Whether they believed the circus folks had gone mad, or just wanted to see what he was up to, he had no way of telling.
At least Agatha’s breathing was no longer as quick as a trapped dove’s.
First thing in the morning he was going to wire Ivy and Travis to come and fetch her.
* * *
“Mrs. Bronson!” William called, being propelled into his house by a gust of wind. “Mrs. Feather!”
His housekeeper and his cook had not gone to the circus, claiming a dislike for such nonsense.
The events of the evening had proved their wisdom.
Pushing the door closed with his backside, he called again.
“Surprised they ventured out in the wind,” he murmured more to himself than to Agatha. Was she even conscious after the rough treatment she had been through? She’d been silent all the way up the hill and the walk across town to the Mayor’s Mansion, as the folks of Tanners Ridge took pride in calling it. “Sure hope that tent holds up.”
“I’d give it only even odds.” Agatha wriggled in his arms indicating that he should put her down. “Mr. Brown does take shortcuts.”
“Let me take you to the parlor. The divan is quite comfortable.”
“I’d rather walk.”
“Can you?”
Could she? Last time he’d seen her she could only manage a few steps without help.
Something about her did seem different, though. She was frail as a waif—he knew that because he’d carried her up the hill and to his house without much exertion. The difference was in her expression. Where she’d once looked wounded, cautious, she now gazed up at him with confidence. Somehow the mix of fragility and pluck touched his heart. Made him regret having to put her down right away.
“You’ve been through an ordeal.”
Why had she been through an ordeal? What was she doing so far from home and at, of all things, the circus? Perhaps she had been kidnapped! He’d always assumed she would remain at the Lucky Clover where Ivy and Travis could watch over her.
Ivy was not older by much. Truth be told it was only by moments since Agatha and Ivy were twins. But the sisters were not alike in any way.
In his mind, Agatha had seemed quite a bit younger.
“I can walk.”
Maybe so. “I’d feel better setting you safely on the couch.”
So he did, in spite of her protests.
“I’ll hunt up Mrs. Bronson to prepare your room for the night. As soon as I find Mrs. Feather I’ll have her bring you some soup. Would you like that?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Nevertheless, you shall eat.”
Why was she frowning at him? He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that expression on her sweet face.
“Mrs. Bronson! Miss Feather!” he called, rushing out of the parlor and into the grand entry. The sooner Agatha was settled into a warm bed the better he would feel. “Mildred? Ida?”
* * *
As soon as William left the room in search of his employees, Agatha eased up from the couch.
She was a bit wobbly and overwhelmed by what she had been through. Defending oneself took more energy than she could have imagined—could she have imagined that she would ever be called upon to do so.
But William was wrong in his assumption that she was an invalid. She could easily have extracted herself from his big wonderful arms, had she the mind to.
“I didn’t, though,” she murmured to Miss Valentine. “And how are you, you sweet girl? I’m so proud of how you avoided getting kicked, even with your hurt foot.”
Agatha bent over, felt light-headed. She traced the line of white that shot through the tan on the dog’s forehead.
Miss Valentine turned her head, pressing her face against Agatha’s shin.
“What a sweet hug. I’ll get William to call a veterinarian to look at your foot.”
From upstairs she could hear him shouting for Mrs. Bronson and Mrs. Feather.
While she listened, purely enjoying hearing the sound of his voice, she glanced around the parlor.
Opulent was the best word she could think of to describe it.
Not a cozy place like the Lucky Clover. The ranch was grand, to be sure, but for all its grandness, it never felt stuffy or overdone.
Did William feel comfortable with all this fuss and frippery? She did not—although he was right about the divan, it was a nice place to sink into.
Heavy brocade drapes hung on every window. Regal paintings adorned the walls.
She wondered if his ranch
