Softly Falling Read Online Free Page B

anyone like him.
    “I’ve never had a plan,” she said, setting down her cup. “I envy you.”
    Mr. Sinclair merely shrugged. “No need. Get a plan of your own, Miss Carteret.” His look was kindly then, as far as Lily understood kindness. “I’m speaking out of turn, but any daughter of Clarence Carteret should get a plan.”
    “Pretty soon?”
    “Almost immediately.”

C HAPTER 4

    M r. Li insisted that Lily take a handful of almond cookies. “He make you give him your dinner?” he asked in a voice loud enough for Mr. Sinclair to hear as he twirled the cleaver, with its congealed blood and chicken feathers.
    “No, Mr. Wing. I have been on the train for four days and my stomach is . . . is . . .”—Lily patted her middle—“. . . unsettled.”
    Mr. Li brightened. He held up one finger as though to keep her there and rattled back through the bead curtain.
    “What have I done?” Lily whispered to the foreman.
    “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “But whatever he brings out, you should probably drink.”
    Lily closed her eyes when she heard the beads rattle again. She opened her eyes when he set down a porcelain cup, its content the same color as the soy sauce.
    “Bottoms up, Miss Carteret,” the foreman said with a grin. “Better you than me.”
    She gave him a speaking glance and picked up the cup. “My stomach doesn’t hurt that bad,” she said to Mr. Li.
    “Drink it, missy,” he said, still twirling that cleaver.
    She felt her stomach give a great heave as the brew landed inside and probably crawled away to some dark corner. She set the cup down and waited to die.
    Nothing. “I am cured,” she told him. Why not gild the lily a bit? “Mr. Wing, you are a wonder.”
    The Chinaman beamed at her and nudged Mr. Sinclair’s shoulder. “You bring her around anytime, Jack. She better than the bad girls at Lucy’s.”
    I will sink into the ground , Lily thought. She glanced at Jack, whose face had gone as red as a man lost three or four days in the Sahara.
    “Um, well, yes,” Jack managed, then stood up. He plunked some money on the table and nodded to Lily without looking at her. “We’d best be on our way.”
    He was halfway across the café when she joined him, taking his proffered arm. She could tell he was suffering in the worst way, and she liked him. Uh, best to put him at ease , she told herself, falling into the vernacular.
    “Mr. Sinclair, I have decided not to be embarrassed by anything I see or hear in your territory,” she told him in her most serene voice as he hurried along the boardwalk.
    “I don’t go to Lucy’s.” He turned even more red. Probably without being aware of it, he glanced up the street toward a building painted a color not found in elevated social spheres, where two women hung out the window, calling to passersby.
    Time to put the poor fellow at peace. She stopped. “Let us come to a right understanding, Mr. Sinclair. What you do or do not do in your spare time is your business.”
    “Seriously, I don’t. I do play cards now and then.”
    Lily found a larger concern as wind started to tug at her skirts. She released her hold on Mr. Sinclair’s arm and fought to keep her steel-taped bustle sedately behind her where it belonged. Another gust at the corner flared out her skirts, giving anyone who might be looking more than a glimpse at her legs. Her mortification grew as a man in a long linen duster whistled and tipped his hat to her. “Jack, you dog,” he called. “You’re the envy of nations!”
    “Mercy,” she murmured, taking her turn with embarrassment, suddenly grateful that the ranch was several miles away and she wouldn’t have to set foot in Wisner again until she left it.
    “Just a Wyoming zephyr, ma’am,” Mr. Sinclair said, kind enough to keep a straight face at her predicament.
    “I’d hate to be here when the wind actually blows,” she joked, wishing the wagon were closer.
    Once across the street and back on the