Читать книгу Rancher To The Rescue - Barbara Phinney - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Noah stifled a gasp. Thankfully, he had enough forethought not to race from the house and thus insult the woman he’d just proposed to. But that didn’t stop him from clamping shut his mouth as he stared, aghast, at Clare.

It wasn’t as though he was opposed to marriage. No, he simply hated the idea of marrying to appease a situation of someone else’s making. To subjugate a person so as to benefit another, as his father had tried to subjugate him.

But he wasn’t naive. He realized that for centuries marriages had been proposed with financial gain in mind. He just didn’t want to be a party to one, especially the one he’d flatly refused two years ago. Greed, his father’s mainly, had birthed the idea that Noah, as his eldest son, should marry a woman whose family business could be merged with the Livingstone’s. The other family involved would get a secure future for their only child, a young woman whose sole purpose in life appeared to be to remain in the lifestyle to which she’d become accustomed.

And, of course, Noah’s father would continue to rule all their lives how he saw fit, all the while expanding his wealth and power.

No. Marriage for someone else’s convenience was more than distasteful to him.

Resentment tightened Noah’s chest as he stared at Clare. He’d told himself years ago that he would not bow to his father’s wishes. He would marry only because he loved the woman and thanks to the scarcity of decent women in Colorado, marriage was unlikely to happen.

Noah paused. Had that been an unconscious reason for choosing to go west?

No. For as long as he could remember, he’d nursed a dream of building a special type of ranch in Colorado, one fed by the offer of free land if he worked it and filled it with livestock. In his case, horses and pack animals. They were as necessary as the railroad, yet many had been discarded, especially after the war, or left to turn feral and compete with cattle for water and food. As a result, ranchers who wanted no animals, save their own valuable cattle, to use their precious grass and water supplies rounded them up to sell or sometimes, if the horses got too close, they would shoot them. Abandoned horses and ponies didn’t provide the income that cattle could.

He had often thought of creating a program to relocate these magnificent beasts, away from the competition for food and water.

But for others that were caught, Noah knew he could rehabilitate them and other abandoned equine. The offer of free land given him would help. His job at the Recording Office would provide the funds to grow that dream. He’d even saved enough to hire a part-time ranch hand.

His father had been furious that Noah had considered pursuing this dream, even if it offered a chance to become a Recording Officer, the youngest in the state. Eventually the promise of the job had been fulfilled and he had his dream ranch as well as a prestigious position.

But in his father’s mind, if Noah wasn’t going to do his bidding, the fool son could leave and never return.

That had been two years ago, and the angry, unfair threat still stung, just as the Walshes’ choice now stung Clare.

Was that why he’d blurted out that idiot proposal?

No. The idea of defying his father, even if the man wasn’t around, wasn’t his main reason to propose. He’d realized Clare was in very real danger of losing her family. And the boys, having just lost their parents, were in danger of being torn from everything they had ever known. Noah had proposed to help her fix her situation.

But it had been a foolish offer and Clare’s expression right now proved she agreed with that assessment. She knew nothing of his reasons, nor was he going to explain it to her. It was just that she hadn’t considered seeking a husband, either.

From upstairs, another series of bangs and thumps drew Noah back to the present. Clare’s brothers were definitely up to no good. Oh, yes, she needed a fast solution to her very serious problem.

His answer had been to offer her marriage. And he—

“No.”

He frowned at Clare. “What did you say?”

Her shoulders were pushed back, her jaw firmed and she snapped yet again, “I said no. No, I won’t marry you.”

* * *

Clare hadn’t expected to blurt out the first answer in her mind, at least not with such force. But it reflected how she felt.

“Did you just turn me down?” His brows knitted together, as if he’d misunderstood her. “Why?”

She bristled. Did he not know anything about her by now? They’d been working together for six months. During that time, he’d heard her say more than once that she was never going to marry, but rather work hard and prove that women could be a valuable asset to any organization. They might even run that organization someday. If that had to come at the cost of staying single, so be it, for marriage was a prison sentence to a woman. It had turned out that way for far too many of her friends. Hadn’t Noah also heard her announce that fact on more than one occasion?

Irritation continued to bubble through her. He apparently hadn’t listened to her at all. And what’s more, he looked genuinely surprised that she wasn’t groveling with gratitude. She lifted her brows and shut her eyes in one long, slow blink. “You heard me correctly. I don’t know how to say it any more clearly.”

Silence fell like a stone between them. Noah finally shut his gaping mouth, only to open it and speak again, this time slowly and calmly. “Your brothers need stability right now. They need a father figure.”

“They have a father. Even you thought it was premature to assume he’s lost at sea. Any number of things could have happened. My brothers and I have a father and he will be returning. Isn’t that the attitude you wanted me to adopt?”

Despite her haughty logic, she swallowed. Her answer wasn’t the main reason for her refusal. She was certainly not denying the obvious, that her parents could be gone, but with the irritation still simmering within, she couldn’t help but contradict him with his own words. No, the point was that he hadn’t bothered to listen to her. Over these past few months, he hadn’t paid her words the slightest attention. She didn’t go to college and return to her hometown to give up all her dreams at the first faltering. Clare Walsh had a sterner constitution than that.

Noah’s jaw tightened and his brows pressed together. “And if your parents don’t come home?”

Clare flinched but refused to waver. “I’ll deal with that when the time comes.” She cleared her throat, knowing it sounded like she was denying the obvious possibility, but she wasn’t. She was simply being strong when she needed to be. “I don’t need anyone, thank you very much. I can handle this situation as well as any man.”

“We’re not discussing the virtues of your gender, Clare, just your ability to keep going in your current state. You’re not going to make it.”

She flared up. “I can and I will. I’ve already told you I can solve my own problems.”

A deep crease forming between his brows—those perfectly shaped ones, Clare noted—Noah leaned forward, closer to her. “You don’t need to do this alone, Clare,” he said softly.

Temptation tugged at her, and she battled it back with tight words. “Are you just saying that to ensure you have a good employee who’s ready to work?”

Clare watched as hurt flickered over his features. It was quick, and disappeared as quickly as it appeared. But in its wake was a tight jaw with narrowing eyes. They were also brief as he schooled his expression. “Clare, I have only your best interests at heart here. Nothing more.”

Did he? Clare was hardly a master at reading people, for her life here had been sheltered and college had seen more of the same. But for a few moments after his words, she wondered about their veracity.

She should stop the suspicion. Of course, he would not want her to lose her brothers, or end up in the poorhouse. But still, was there something more behind his words? Clare wasn’t sure.

One thing she was sure of was how his soft words and strong expression drew her closer to him. If she just leaned forward a mite and reached out her hand, she could brush his cheek, feel his warm breath on her face and revel in the deep attraction she was feeling right now.

Pulling herself together against the nonsense, she stood abruptly. How dare he assume she’d fail and need his help! Then she marched into the hall, returning to the parlor doorway with Noah’s Stetson and coat. “I think you should leave. Thank you for stopping by. I will be at work as expected tomorrow.”

Noah sighed and his tone softened further. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.”

“I do. I need the money, and I obviously need to prove to you that I am going to persevere.” She would. She had no idea how, but she would. “Good day, Mr. Livingstone.”

His mouth set grimly, Noah donned his coat and took his Stetson and his leave. Clare kept her gaze steady on the interior of her family’s parlor. Only when she heard the front door open and shut, did she cross over to her chair and sink into it with eyes closed against the tears that were already forming there.

Lord, what am I going to do?

Only silence answered. Stiffly, she rose and plodded into the kitchen. She bent to stir the cool embers in the firebox of the stove, knowing hot water would be needed to clean her brothers’ clothes. Not to mention needed for supper. She could hear the boys upstairs, the renewed bangs and thumps telling her that they were doing more than cleaning up. She’d get their evening meal started and then investigate the situation up there.

In the pantry, she glanced around. For the last few weeks, she hadn’t had much time to shop for staples, leaving their meals sparse and lean. Today, as suppertime approached, she lifted the lid on the corned beef barrel.

Empty save for one small scrap of fat. Supper would be biscuits and milk with the few winter vegetables she had left. She could braise them in that bit of fat. Then she would boil some eggs for the boys’ lunches, reminding herself not to eat any biscuits so they could take the remainder in the morning. Squaring her shoulders, Clare walked over to the small tea canister on the shelf at the entrance to the pantry. Mother always kept grocery money in it, in a small pouch under the leaves. She hadn’t had time to check how much was there.

Her heart sank as the realization hit her.

The pouch was missing. Father had taken it.

A loud crash followed by a whomp and a riotous screech startled her. “Clare!”

She raced upstairs, growing ever more horrified as the smell of burning kerosene met her nostrils halfway up. Tearing into the boys’ room, she gasped. Their small rug was on fire, the overturned kerosene lamp nearby fueling it!

Yanking the half-dressed boys out of the room, Clare lunged for the lamp to right it, snapping back her hand before she burned it. She then grabbed the water basin, dumping it onto the fire. It sprayed burning droplets of fuel in every direction.

She let out her own scream.

She grabbed the boys’ bedspread and smothered the fire, falling on her knees to smack the last few errant flames beyond one corner of the spread.

Reaching behind her, she poured the rest of the water from the jug onto the floor, the bedspread and the rug that peeked out beyond another corner. Then she scoured the whole room to ensure no wayward embers smoldered, crawling on her hands and knees the entire way. Satisfied there was no more danger, she rolled up the rug and bedspread to take them outside.

Still on her knees, all she could manage was to drop her head. Thank You, Lord. Thank You for not allowing this to become worse. Thank You for keeping Tim and Leo safe.

Only after repeating her prayer several times, in utter gratitude, did Clare look up toward the door.

Tim and Leo were peeking into the room. Their faces were still smeared with dried mud. Filthy and anxious, they looked like they’d fallen out of their favorite Henry Castlemon book, the one where the boys chased a raccoon through a swamp.

“You didn’t need to light the lamp!” she told them harshly.

“I’m sorry. It was cold in here and we’re not allowed to start a fire in the stove.” It was the older brother, Tim, who spoke as he pointed to the small potbellied stove nearby. “Don’t get mad at us. Please?”

Fighting tears, she struggled to stand, but sagged again when she saw the section of her skirt below her apron was smeared with wet ashes from the burned rug. Her only work skirt was ruined. In fact, her entire outfit was soaked and rumpled, save the section protected by her apron. Clare whimpered when she noticed a burn hole at the sleeve of her blouse. She sank down farther.

And looked at the floor. Although the damage was minimal, the black, scorched area would need to be repaired. How did one fix such a large scorch mark? Not to mention how much water had seeped down through the plaster ceiling below.

Helplessness washed through her. How was she supposed to mind her two brothers when they couldn’t even be trusted with the simple task of cleaning themselves up?

Clare dropped her head into her hands and shut her eyes. As she knelt there, she could feel her brothers creep in and sit down on the floor near her.

One boy laid his head along her left side and gripped her arm. The other shifted in front and hugged her knees, dropping his head into her wet lap. Automatically, Clare reached out with her right hand and stroked his hair. The straight, silky strands told her without looking that it was Tim. Leo had the curly hair.

“I miss them,” Tim whispered, knowing she would understand who he was talking about.

“I know. I miss them, too.” When Clare heard one of them sniff, she fought to stop her own tears. She wrapped her left arm around Leo and drew him close.

She’d told Noah that she couldn’t punish these boys. And still she couldn’t. She loved them. She understood them. She missed their mother and father right along with them.

Sitting there until the damp seeped through to her stockings, feeling her hunger gnaw at her stomach and knowing she didn’t have enough food for a decent meal, she finally admitted to herself that one awful detail.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do any of what she’d boasted to Noah a few minutes ago. Not by herself. How had her mother managed a house, battled crippling arthritis and controlled two unruly boys?

Clare swallowed. Father had been there to help, taking time off work. He’d seen the boys off to school, given them strict orders to return home immediately after and had set out chores for them to do, all to help ease his wife’s burden. Clare had been away at college during most of that time, money no doubt spent on her when it should have been saved. When she had returned home last fall, she’d pitched in, even after taking a job as clerk at the Recording Office.

Yet, in the last six weeks since their parents had left, Tim and Leo had grown wilder, and Clare had struggled to keep their family home life stable.

She needed to get up. There was simply too much to do tonight to sit there feeling sorry for herself. Laundry, supper, cleaning up this mess, and the one below in the dining room—it all had to be finished before she could crawl into bed. Before tomorrow.

Before tomorrow, when she would ask Noah if his offer still stood.

With a gasp, she lifted her head. Was she really considering his proposal? When she heard Leo sniff, she bit her bottom lip, and cold, hard reality gripped her. She could no longer keep going the way she had been. They’d either have a house to turn over to the bank or, if Tim and Leo weren’t watched more carefully, no house at all. Either way, they would lose it. No doubt after that, her brothers would be taken from her. She couldn’t afford a solicitor to fight for her family, either.

Moving them aside, Clare rose wearily, cringing at her soiled skirt. Perhaps mindless work would help her form the words she needed to say to Noah Livingstone in the morning.

She should start with an apology.

* * *

Noah was always the first one in the Recording Office, an admirable work ethic. Through the window, Clare could see him poring over some paperwork in his small, glassed-in office.

Normally, she would’ve plastered on a bright smile, for a good attitude was as important as good training. But as she pushed open the door, her heavy heart wasn’t allowing any of that.

Noah looked up from his desk as she walked in. Eyes wary, expression guarded, he said nothing as he watched her. Her heart sank further. Oh, what damage had she inflicted in turning him down? Had it really been that personal?

This morning, she’d been churning possible words around in her head. But seeing Noah now, all thought escaped her. Could she really expect him to gather the pieces of his pride and propose to her again? Did she really want him to?

Tears stung her eyes. Yes, she did. She had two little ruffian brothers, and they were a family, and families shouldn’t be separated. But no man would want to take on the responsibility of parenting those boys, and surely her employer realized that. If she asked Noah to propose again, would he? Was that what she needed?

Yes, unfortunately. He’d only proposed to repair her financial situation and the look of consternation on his face immediately after proved he regretted his impromptu suggestion.

But did she really want to get married? Who would take her career seriously then? Married ladies didn’t work, didn’t aspire to be successful businesswomen. They allowed their husbands to control their lives. She’d seen it with all of her college friends who’d abruptly cut short their education in order to wed.

She remembered seeing the disappointment in their eyes when she asked if they were still pursuing the dreams they’d shared while at college.

No, she couldn’t bear for that to be her.

Noah Livingstone would surely sense the resentment she would no doubt harbor. It was only his nobility that had done the talking yesterday.

Forget it. She would not ruin his life to ease her own financial burden. Miss Worth had said more than once that strength came from discipline.

Clare stiffened, all the while fighting both tears and her indecision. She’d finished her crying. Miss Worth had a valuable saying about women’s tears. They were a weak woman’s weapon. A strong woman used her head.

No, Clare would not cry anymore.

Having listened to Clare quote her mentor on more than one occasion since returning from college, her father had disagreed with most of the woman’s opinions. They were too general, he’d scoffed, though he offered no other explanation, nor practical advice.

At the memory, resentment rose unexpectedly within Clare. She hesitated as she quietly closed the office’s main door. Resentment? At her father? She shouldn’t be feeling that at all. That emotion wasn’t the most important thing right now. She would deal with it later. First, she needed to be sensible, not flopping back and forth like the long ears on Leo’s favorite stuffed toy.

Gathering her courage, she pushed through the small swinging gate at the end of the counter and came to a stop in the threshold leading to Noah’s private office.

She could hear the clock on the wall behind her ticking, as if marking time, impatiently waiting for her to follow through with the important decision she’d made last night.

Testing her, like a professor waiting for the correct answer to a timed question that would determine whether or not she passed life or failed it.

Except that Clare was no longer confident that her next move was the right one.

Or even if Noah was still willing to help her.

There was only one way to find out. She drew in a deep breath and began to speak.