Читать книгу Salvation in the Rancher's Arms - Kelly Boyce - Страница 13

Chapter Six

Rachel found Mr. Beckett in the barn pulling his saddlebags off the wall of the stall where he’d settled the paint he called Jasper. The draft horse was in the next stall over, munching on oats. Mr. Beckett slung the saddlebags over his shoulder and glanced at her when she walked in. At least this time she didn’t embarrass herself by dawdling in the doorway watching him like a love-struck schoolgirl. Still, the effect of his presence had not diminished. If anything, it grew each time she saw him. The man had the annoying ability to muddle her thinking, and she didn’t like it one bit. Right now, she needed all her wits about her.

“You come all the way down here to scold me for kickin’ that mudsill out of your house?”

Rachel was certain she detected a sparkle in his eye, but it must have been her overtired mind imagining things. Mr. Beckett did not strike her as the sparkling type. She pursed her lips and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly in the hope it would lessen the sway the low cadence of his voice had over her. It did little good. She cursed her body’s weakness, wrestling with the fear Kirkpatrick was right—she was just like her mama.

“I came here to determine what your intentions are.”

“My intentions?” One eyebrow arched and disappeared beneath the low brim of his hat.

Rachel lifted her chin, determined to keep a businesslike manner. “Mr. Beckett, you own my land. I have the boys, Freedom, my hands, and they all need considering. I need to make arrangements as to where they are going to go and how they are going to live. If it doesn’t tax you overly much, perhaps you could let me know how much time I have to accomplish that before you send us packing.”

“And yourself?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Mr. Beckett let his saddlebags slide down his arm to the floor. She wondered what kind of life a man led where he could contain all his worldly possessions within the confines of two saddlebags and a bedroll strapped to the back of his horse.

“You’ve listed everyone under the sun and how you have to make arrangements for them. Where do you fit on that inventory of bodies?”

He shifted his weight and leaned against Jasper’s stall, looping an arm over the low wall and crossing his feet at the ankles. His lean form was relaxed, yet she couldn’t shake the impression that it could change in a heartbeat.

“Well...I...” Her gaze searched the corners of the barn as if the correct answer was hidden amongst the bales of hay and bridles. She didn’t have time to think of herself, she had a family and they came first. “What does it matter to you?”

He shrugged, his steady gaze unnerving her. “Suppose it doesn’t.”

“Then perhaps you could answer my original question with respect to your intentions.”

“I have no intention of running you or your family off your land.”

“It isn’t my land anymore, Mr. Beckett.” The words caught in her throat. She swallowed, determined not to break down in front of this man. Fainting was bad enough, but to cry? She wouldn’t have it.

“Caleb,” he said. “Since it appears we’re going to be spending plenty of time with each other for the current duration, I see no point standin’ on ceremony.”

She bristled at the notion. It made her nervous. Already the short time she’d spent in his company had left her twisted in knots that had nothing to do with losing her land. The more distance she could keep between them, the better. But that would be hard to do if he planned on settling in for a while.

“I think for the sense of propriety it would be best if we kept our relationship more...formal. And how much time will you give us?”

“And I’ll call you Rachel,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Propriety don’t mean a hill of beans when there’s no one around to judge how proper you’re being.”

“Mr. Beckett—”

“Caleb.”

She gritted her teeth. The man was as irritating as he was handsome. It was a shame one didn’t cancel out the other.

“Unless you’re worried callin’ me by my given name might make you like your mama. Is that it?”

Rachel sucked in a mouthful of air but still couldn’t breathe. Mr. Beckett’s suggestion rendered her lungs useless. “What do you know about my mama?”

Had someone in town said something? Rachel had hoped the rumors about her mother’s behavior would have died long ago when they buried her. Rachel had done everything within her ability to live a proper and respectable life, to erase the tarnish her mother’s actions had put on their family. Living with a gambler and cheat did little to aid her, but it did not stop her from trying. Had the attempt been wasted effort?

“Don’t know more than what Kirkpatrick said to you, but it seemed to hit a nerve so I’m putting two and two together.”

Relief swept through her. She glared at him, resenting the ease with which he leaned there, not a care in the world. And why would he care? He wasn’t the one who had lost everything. Everything she had lost, he had gained.