Читать книгу Hill Country Courtship - Laurie Kingery - Страница 9

Chapter One

Simpson Creek, Texas, November 1869 Gilmore House

At the ripe old age of twenty-five, Maude Harkey had begun to resign herself to being an old maid. So it didn’t bother her, that November afternoon at the Spinsters’ Club Fall Barbecue and Social, that none of the male guests particularly singled her out for attention.

As president of the Spinsters’ Club, all that mattered to her was that plenty of eligible bachelors had come from the ranches outside Simpson Creek and from nearby counties to meet the others in the club. No one was misbehaving—either from having stopped at the town saloon before arriving at the party or becoming overfamiliar with any of her ladies. Everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves.

Her friend Ella Justiss, who was due to be married next Saturday, was having a particularly good time, radiant with the joy of new love. Nate Bohannan, the devoted groom-to-be, couldn’t have been more attentive, fetching her punch and barbecued chicken, seemingly unwilling to be anywhere but by her side. By the time one of them decided it was time to have a party again, Ella would be happily serving refreshments at the party, as the Spinster “graduates” usually did, and possibly already expecting their first child.

Maude was happy for them. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to be jealous of her friend’s good fortune. And, indeed, with all the challenges that Ella had faced in her life, she richly deserved the happiness she was blessed with now. Though Maude had to wonder from time to time why she, the daughter of the late town doctor, was still unwed while so many others in the club had found their matches. And she did wonder how she was going to be able to stand continuing to live at Mrs. Meyer’s boardinghouse without her good friend Ella.

After Maude’s father’s death, it had been difficult to leave her house behind and move into a rented room. The home she’d shared with her father had been quiet and peaceful, with Maude fully in control of all household matters. The boardinghouse was noisy and chaotic, and she’d struggled to settle in. Losing the comfort of her routines and the security of her position as mistress in her home had been heavy blows to a heart already burdened by the loss of her dear father.

But Ella had made it much easier to bear with her friendship and support. Maude had come to count on Ella to keep her company and chuckle with her over the quirks of some of the boardinghouse’s other residents. Now she would be the only female occupant of the boardinghouse, not counting old Mrs. Meyer, the proprietress.

Mrs. Meyer had hinted only yesterday that she intended to pass along ownership of the boardinghouse to Maude when she died. Was that to be her fate, then? Running the town’s only boardinghouse, with its eight rooms and mostly male occupants, with three meals a day to cook, and forever having to listen to grousing from the tenants that the beef was too tough, the chicken drumsticks too few, or that one of the traveling drummers took more than his fair share of the apple dumplings?

Her father had certainly expected a brighter future for her than that. He’d once told her he pictured her with a houseful of children with hair as red as her own and a husband whose greatest pleasure was satisfying his wife’s slightest whim. Maude felt she was easy to please, so she didn’t need an overindulgent husband, but the thought of living her whole life without any husband or children made her sad. She enjoyed caring for others, had cherished her role as nurse in her father’s medical practice. She’d always hoped that one day she’d have a family of her own to whom she could devote her time and loving attention. But apparently that wasn’t meant to be.

Pull yourself together, Maude Harkey, she told herself sternly. No one needs to see a melancholy face at a party. And if the Lord wants you to remain single, then there’s a reason, no doubt.

“Who’s that?”

She hadn’t noticed Violet Masterson and Caroline Collier, two of the other ex-Spinsters, coming to stand beside her, but now she followed the former’s discreetly pointed finger.

A man stood at the edge of the throng, hat in hand as was polite in the presence of ladies, but there was nothing humble about his bearing. Rather, he reminded her of a golden eagle perched high above a flock of sheep, looking for the tastiest lamb to pluck from the herd. The red-gold hair that he raked back from his forehead just then only served to further the image.

“I don’t know, but goodness, he’s a late arriver,” Maude said, glancing over her shoulder at the long table that had been heaped with food before the party. “I hope there’s enough barbecued chicken and potato salad left to feed him.” The male guests had gone through the food like a plague of locusts, and it would be a wonder if there was a sufficient amount to fill even one more plate.

“Oh, that’s Jonas MacLaren,” Caroline Collier said, following her friends’ gazes. “He’s the man who bought Five Mile Hill Ranch, out past Collier’s Roost. I heard he bargained hard with Mr. Avery at the bank and ended up getting it for next to nothing.”

“Since he’s here at our social, are we to assume there’s no Mrs. MacLaren?” Violet asked with a sidelong glance at Maude.

Maude did her best to hide her wince. She ought to come right out and tell her friends she’d decided to stop looking for a husband in hopes that they would stop looking for one for her. She knew her friends only wanted her to be happy—as happy as they were with their husbands—but she’d grown weary of the endless attempts to match her with men who clearly had no interest. Perhaps if she resigned the presidency of the Spinsters’ Club, it would make the message clear that she no longer considered herself in the market for a husband. Besides, if she was still looking, she wouldn’t look in Jonas MacLaren’s direction. The man looked positively fierce.

“There is a Mrs. MacLaren,” Caroline informed them, and Violet gave a disappointed sniff.

“What’s he doing here, then?” Violet said, indignation sparking in her well-bred English voice. “Doesn’t he know this is a party for eligible bachelors to meet the ladies of the Spinsters’ Club?”

Caroline chuckled. “Ah, but the Mrs. MacLaren in question isn’t his wife, she’s his mother,” she said with the triumphant smile of one who has withheld vital information until just the right moment. “She’s from Scotland, I hear, and quite a Tartar.”

Maude stared at Caroline, confused. “A what?”

“A Tartar,” Caroline repeated, then explained. “A person of irritable or violent temper.” Caroline had been a schoolteacher before she’d married Jack Collier. Her time spent running the schoolhouse and finding answers for the children’s endless questions had left her with a wealth of unusual facts at her disposal—along with an extensive vocabulary.

“I see,” Maude said, giving a little shiver. “Have you met her?”

Caroline shook her head. “No one has. She doesn’t leave the ranch house, I’ve heard. Very few have met her son, for that matter,” she added, nodding toward MacLaren, who was still studying the attendees. “I wouldn’t know it was him, but he came to Collier’s Roost to ask Jack something about the area. When Jack invited him inside for coffee, he declined, saying he had to get back to his ranch.”

“Perhaps she’s an invalid,” Violet suggested.

“Well,” Maude said, squaring her shoulders, “I suppose I should go and introduce myself and try to make sure he gets refreshments.”

It was a scary prospect. Something in the man’s gaze told her he might devour maiden ladies for breakfast.

A Harkey does not shirk her duty, Maude told herself, and forced her steps in Jonas MacLaren’s direction.

She saw the moment that he noticed her approaching, the way his tall frame stilled, though his eyes—hazel eyes shot through with gold, she noted, which further enhanced his golden eagle-like appearance—remained vigilant and guarded.

“Welcome to our party, Mr. MacLaren,” she called out as she drew near. “I’m Maude Harkey, current president of the Spinsters’ Club. Won’t you come have something to eat and drink?”

He studied her from head to toe as if sizing her up. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Harkey.” The Scottish burr of his voice was pleasant to the ear, though it took a little careful listening for her to figure out what he’d said. “I will,” he continued, “but I can’t stay long.”

Maude blinked in surprise. “But there are several young ladies here who’d love to make your acquaintance,” she said, forcing her lips into an appealing smile. She wasn’t the only Spinster who hadn’t yet made a match. Of the original group, Jane Jeffries was also still single, as were Louisa Wheeler, Daisy Henderson and a handful of newer ladies. “Why don’t I show you to the refreshment table, then invite a few of them over to meet you?” With any luck, he’d be so charmed that he’d stay long enough for the dancing to begin inside Gilmore House, the home of the mayor. The mayor was a strong supporter of their club, for he was the father of Prissy, the sheriff’s wife and former Spinster Club member. If Mr. MacLaren stayed through that, he might develop a fondness for one lucky girl. “I think you’d enjoy talking to Louisa, for example, or Jane—both ladies happen to be standing right over there, under the grape arbor.”

She gestured in their direction, but Jonah MacLaren’s gaze didn’t leave hers. “Why don’t you sit down with me, Miss Harkey, and I can explain why I’m here.”

He was direct, she’d give him that. Was it possible that he had decided at first glance that she was the one for him? The idea gave her a pleasant little tingle. The man was attractive, though a little intimidating, and it was always nice to feel wanted. But she didn’t believe in lightning-fast attraction. He’d have to prove to her that he was worthy of her consideration, after all, if he was going to ask to court her.

“All right,” she murmured, and ushered him toward the food table.

To her relief, there was still a respectable amount of barbecued chicken, green beans, buttered rice and pecan pie left, as well as cold tea and lemonade, and within moments she was sitting down with him at a long table under one of Gilmore House’s venerable live oaks. They were alone at the table, since most of the guests had arrived earlier and already eaten their fill before becoming part of standing conversational groups.

She took a sip of the cold tea he’d poured for her. “I understand you bought Five Mile Hill Ranch, Mr. MacLaren,” she said, silently blessing Caroline for furnishing her with an opening. She wondered for a moment if he knew that his ranch had been owned by the infamous Drew Allbright, who’d been jailed for the attempted murder of Raleigh Masterson, Violet’s husband. It seemed wisest not to bring it up.

He finished chewing the chicken he’d just gnawed from the drumstick. “That’s right,” he said, but didn’t elaborate.

“Where are you from?” she inquired, hoping her question sounded as if she was merely interested rather than prying, so he might open up a little when he answered it. His replies weren’t long or drawled, the way she was used to from Texas-raised men, but maybe that was due to his Scottish heritage. “I mean, it’s obvious you’re Scottish, but did you come directly to Texas from Scotland?”

“My mother and I last lived in Missouri, but only for a time. Before that it was New York. That was where we first arrived when we came to this country.”

Missouri had been a border state in the War Between the States. It made her wonder which side he had fought for, if he had fought for either. The war had been over only four years ago, so it was still a consideration in whether a man was respectable or not. Doctor Nolan Walker, her friend Sarah’s husband, was the only Yankee who had successfully joined the Simpson Creek community. And even for Nolan, acceptance—particularly from Sarah herself—had taken time and persistence. But if Mr. MacLaren had been in the country for less than four years, then perhaps he had missed the war entirely.

“Then may I welcome you to San Saba County? We’re glad you’ve decided to settle here.”

He lifted a brow, and she suddenly felt her remark had been pretentious. She had no right to speak for everyone, especially when she didn’t know yet if his coming was a good thing or not—or how much a part of the community he’d be. Especially if, as Caroline said, he preferred to keep to himself. With the location of his ranch somewhat distant from town, he would need to be determined to socialize in order to truly become part of the community.

“Thank you,” he said, after a long moment.

His direct gaze left her flustered. “How did you hear of the party, if I may ask? Did Mr. Collier invite you?” Oh, dear, did it sound as if she was prying again? Glory, it was hard to talk to such a closemouthed man. She tried to recall every suggestion she’d ever learned about conversational gambits, but she was drawing a blank.

He finished chewing, then said, “My segundo, Hector Gonsalvo, heard of it from one of Collier’s hands.”

Segundo, she knew, was a Spanish term Texans sometimes used for foreman, or second-in-command, especially when the foreman was a Tejano, a Texan of Hispanic heritage. She wondered if the Spanish term sounded as strange to Mr. Gonsalvo in a Scottish accent as it did to her.

“He thought it might be the answer to my needs,” MacLaren went on, then maddeningly left it at that.

The answer to his needs? She could only assume the man referred to his need for a wife. Goodness, the man was too plainspoken! She felt a flush rising above the neck of her royal blue dress.

Stalling to gather her wits, she sipped her tea. Land sakes, she might as well be as frank as he was. “So you’ve decided it’s time to settle down and raise a family, and you’re looking to find a wife. Well, a Spinsters’ Club party is certainly the right place to begin, Mr. MacLaren.”

He drew back, and his intent gaze was now shuttered. “The last thing I’m looking for is a wife, Miss Harkey.”

* * *

He saw the exact moment when she misinterpreted what he’d said and came to a scandalous conclusion. Her indignation at the suggestion sparked a temper as hot as her hair was red.

Maude Harkey rose to her feet, some five feet eight inches of spitting-mad female. “Mr. MacLaren, I’m afraid you’ve formed the wrong idea about our little group. The Spinsters’ Club was founded by ladies seeking marriage, not a...a dishonorable alliance! If that’s what you came here looking for, I suggest you seek it down at the saloon—one of the girls who serves whiskey might be able to accommodate you,” she said, her voice as icy as her temper was blazing.

He rose, too. “Miss Harkey, simmer down. I wasn’t suggesting anything remotely like what you’re thinking. My intentions are entirely honorable. I’m simply not looking for a wife—romantic claptrap has never appealed to me, you see—”

“‘Romantic claptrap?’” she echoed, a dangerous chill remaining in her voice. “Is that what you call our efforts to make matches here?”

He shrugged. “Courtship and that other nonsense is all very well if that’s all a man or a woman is looking for,” he said with a dismissive gesture. “But it seems to me most of these single young women would be much better advised to be seeking employment, not matrimony. And it’s employment that I have come to offer—with nothing scandalous or unseemly to it at all. What I’m looking for is a companion—for my mother, that is.”

She sank back to her seat, her face fiery red. The flush rather became her, he noted—though he’d thought she looked even more striking moments before, with that fierce fire burning in her eyes. “I...I see. I beg your pardon, Mr. MacLaren. Your mother is in need of a companion?” she asked, her voice now scarcely stronger than a whisper.

He sat down again, too, and felt a moment of compassion for her embarrassment. “Yes, she’s got rheumatism and a host of other ailments that keep her from moving around easily, and it’s made her a mite...crotchety, shall we say?” Not that her medical condition was solely to blame for her behavior. Ill humor was as much a part of his mother as her piercing eyes and the strident voice that never failed to find fault and clamor it to the skies. “The ranch keeps me busy from can-see to can’t-see, and I thought if she had another female to keep her company, it might make it easier for her.”

And a lot easier for me. He’d taken the brunt of his mother’s ill temper for far too long, and each time he hired a companion for her and the unlucky female quit after being subjected to Coira MacLaren’s tirades, her irritability toward her son grew worse.

“So you wish to hire a companion for her,” Maude Harkey said carefully.

“That’s about the size of it,” he agreed with a nod. “I’d pay the lady well, of course, and she’d have a room of her own.”

“I’m afraid it’s out of the question, Mr. MacLaren,” Miss Harkey told him, her tone warming from icy to crisp. “Pardon my plain speaking, if you would, but I don’t believe there’s a single one of my friends in the Spinsters’ Club who would be willing to risk her reputation living out on a ranch with no one but an invalid to chaperone her.”

“She wouldn’t be alone,” he informed her. “Senora Morales is my housekeeper and cook. She lives in the ranch house and is always present. Are you quite certain no one would consider it? What about you, Miss Harkey? You look like a capable female. Do you have any encumbrances that would prevent you from taking the job?” He found he rather relished the idea of his mother’s temper meeting its match in Maude Harkey’s. Perhaps each flame would douse the other. Sen ora Morales would stop threatening to quit on a daily basis, and he’d have a peaceful household for a change.

“No, thank you,” Maude Harkey said, getting to her feet again. “Feel free to speak to Jane Jeffries about it, but be aware she has two lively boys who would not do well, I think, in a house with an invalid. You might ask Louisa Wheeler, but she is devoted to her job as schoolmarm, or Daisy Henderson—but she’s got a son, too, and what the hotel would do without her as cook, I have no idea. There are other newer young ladies in the Spinsters’ Club with fewer ties to bind them to Simpson Creek, but I’ll leave it to you to discover who they are.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the clumps of ladies and male guests clustered around the punch table and chatting in pairs at various points around the spacious lawn in front of Gilmore House.

“Failing that, you might consider putting an advertisement in the Simpson Creek Intelligencer or in the Lampasas newspaper. I’m afraid I must go now and fulfill my duties as hostess by mingling with the other guests. I wish you all the best in your search, but I’m afraid I can be of no further help to you. Good day to you, Mr. MacLaren,” she said, and sailed off in the direction of the veranda.

Regretfully, he watched her go, noting absently how gracefully she moved, even while perfectly conveying her wrathful state. There had been a moment there when, after realizing how much she had misunderstood his meaning, he’d thought he had a chance of getting her to consider the matter, if only to make up for thinking he’d been up to no good.

He stared around him at the other females of her so-called Spinsters’ Club who seemed to be unattached, but none of them appealed to him. Every one of them looked too young, too giggly or too meek of manner to survive his mother’s temper. He wasn’t sure which one Jane Jeffries was, but the very last thing Coira MacLaren would stand for was the presence of two noisy, ill-mannered boys in her home, though enough room to accommodate everyone in the vast, mostly empty ranch house certainly wasn’t a problem.

No, he wanted Maude Harkey for the position, he realized, and suddenly no one else would do. He didn’t want to examine his reasons too closely. The woman didn’t have to suit him, just his mother, after all. He wasn’t seeking a bride, as he had told her. Romance held no interest for him—not anymore. Whatever companion he hired would see as little of him as possible. One MacLaren would be more than enough for her to have to deal with.

Of course, if he was truly seeking someone only to suit his mother, then one of the meeker, more pliable young ladies might please her just fine. She’d have someone new to chew on, which she might enjoy for a time—until she’d worn the poor girl out entirely.

But he would hire Maude Harkey or no one. At least, no one here.

After taking a last look around, he retraced his steps past the wrought-iron gates of Gilmore House, found his horse where he’d left him tied at the saloon and headed for Five Mile Hill Ranch.