Liz Ireland Read Free Page B

to mess with a woman!”
    “I’m not sure the sorghum would hold much significance to a woman like Mrs. Fitzsimmons.”
    “Hell, I don’t care. Tell her that the damned house burned down!”
    Parker shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late.”
    “Why?” Roy asked.
    “Because by now she’s left New York. According to the dates she gives in this letter, Mrs. Fitzsimmons is already on her way.”

Chapter Two
    “I knew there would be trouble,” Roy grumbled, stomping his feet as he stood outside waiting for the train. A cold blast of air had rolled over the plains the day before, and the wind was bitter. There was no end of work to be done on the farm, yet here he was, one-half of the greeting party for some harebrained society lady. “I knew there’d be trouble the minute you told me you were writing some woman you’d never even met before!”
    Parker, unperturbed by the imminent invasion of their bachelor paradise, kept his eyes on the tracks. “You should have stayed home, Roy.”
    That had been unthinkable. He grumbled through his muffler. “I had some things I wanted to do in town.”
    A knowing smile crossed Parker’s face. “And you wanted to get a gander at Mrs. Fitzsimmons.”
    Roy crossed his arms but said nothing. As if Eleanor Fitzsimmons wasn’t going to look like every other woman in the world! He never had been one to be swayed by women anyway—especially rich, high-toned, pampered city women.
    But Parker was. Take Clara Trilby. That girl was amenace. Oh, maybe she wasn’t rich like Mrs. Fitzsimmons, but she was the daughter of the most successful merchant in Paradise, and she put on airs as if she were a duchess. And she’d left Parker’s battered and spent heart drowning in her wake.
    “Admit it, Roy. You wanted to make certain Mrs. Fitzsimmons didn’t drag me off to a preacher on the drive home.”
    “I won’t even bother answering that, ” Roy said. Then, after a moment of silence, he couldn’t help adding, “Your trouble is, you give women too much credit. I never met a woman yet who was half as interesting as a good poker game.”
    “You haven’t met a girl outside of the kind you meet at the Lalapalooza in years, Roy,” Parker pointed out. “Look, instead of fidgeting out here in the cold, why don’t you go run your errands while I wait for Mrs. Fitzsimmons?”
    “ Mrs. Fitzsimmons!” That was another peculiar thing about this woman. Why had she chosen two days before her planned visit to announce to Parker in a letter that she was recently widowed? Why had she written to Parker for a year and omitted to mention the fact that she was a married woman? “You have to watch out for widows, you know. They’re the real sneaky ones.”
    Parker nodded, pretending to soak in his brother’s wisdom.
    “They’ve had time to figure men out—and they aren’t above using subterfuge to finagle another man into marrying them. Especially by using the pity card!”
    “Of course you know all about widows,” Parker said.
    “Just look what happened to Al Drucker!” Roy reminded him. “ He felt sorry for that one widowwoman with four kids, and before he knew what hit him, she’d up and stolen all his money and run off to California to be with her lover, leaving Al with the four kids!”
    “So it follows that Mrs. Fitzsimmons will be just that underhanded.” Parker raised a brow at his brother and sent him one of those piercing gazes that unnerved Roy. “They aren’t all like Mama, Roy.”
    Roy recoiled, which was always his reaction when he heard his brother use this endearment in reference to the woman who had abandoned them. He barely remembered her—just her sweet, violet scent, her merry laugh, and the soft sound of her voice as she sang at night.
    He shook the unsettling thoughts away, and turned back to the subject at hand. “I tell you, there’s something fishy about Mrs. Fitzsimmons, and I intend to watch her. She isn’t going to leave my sight for a