Читать книгу The Courtship - Lynna Banning - Страница 11

For one unsettling moment, Jane thought she was going to faint. “I beg your pardon? I think I must have misheard—”

Rydell held her gaze. “You heard it right. If you go broke sewing dresses, then you’ll marry me.”

She fought a wild desire to pinch herself. “Marry you?” Her voice was definitely not her own. She tried again. “Marry you? Why on earth would I do that?”

He regarded her with a steadiness that made her heart skip erratically. “Maybe because you’re up a creek.”

Fury brought her to her feet. “Now just one minute, Mr. Wilder. I am not ‘up a creek’ as you so crudely put it. I admit my father’s passing has caused a small problem, but problems are not new to me. I will persevere, and I will triumph.”

Rydell nodded. “Oh, you’ll persevere, all right. But you’re not equipped for life the way it shakes out in the West—your folks made sure of that. They treated you like a hothouse violet. For a woman like you—a lady—you’ve pretty much got three choices, as I see it. One, work yourself into an early grave keeping up that house for your ma. Two, take a job in a saloon—or maybe worse. Or…” he lowered his voice “…three, get married. I’m offering you a respectable way to survive.”

Jane bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood and sank onto her chair. “My parents did not overprotect me,” she snapped. “They cared for me, taught me about the finer things of life, about history and art and music. Mama encouraged my piano studies until she…” Her voice trailed off.

“You’re twenty-six, Miss Davis. Your father discouraged every unattached male within a hundred miles from comin’ anywhere near you. I’d say you’re well on your way to being an old maid.”

Jane expelled a pent-up breath. “And just what gives you that idea? Yankee gossip, most likely.”

Rydell leaned closer. “Is that what you dreamed about while you were growing up? Caring for your mother for the rest of your days?”

“You do not know one thing about my mother!”

Rydell chuckled. “Once nice thing about living in a town as small as Dixon Falls—when you don’t know what you’re doing, somebody else is sure to.”

A corset stay dug into her midriff and Jane jerked upright. “Well, I never!”

“Look, Miss Davis. We already have a schoolteacher here in town, and you don’t look strong enough to shoe horses. So what the hell else are you gonna do?”

“I…” Her mind whirled. “How would you know about my piano?”

“I listened some, over the years,” he said quietly.

The look on his face made her pause. “Just how do you know that my father discouraged potential suitors?”

“I know because I was one of them. Your father said I wasn’t fit to shine your boots. He thought a rootless kid with no family background wasn’t worth spit.”

Papa said that? Well, she supposed he knew more than she did about such things. “Besides,” Jane murmured. “You’re a Yankee.”

“Still am,” Rydell said mildly. “But the war’s over, Miss Davis.”

“For you, maybe. Not for us. My daddy and mama lost their entire plantation when the Union army came marchin’ through. Papa never forgave the North for that. The only reason we came west was because Father was ruined, and Uncle Junius needed help on that awful newspaper of his.”

“The way I see it, your father never really settled in Dixon Falls. Oh, he ate and slept out here all right, but he stayed in the past. He kept your mother imprisoned there, too.”

“He did no such thing! Why, Mama went out lots of places!”

He went on as if she had not spoken. “And—forgive me for saying this, Jane—he kept you there, as well. Locked up in that house up on the hill, arranging bouquets and practicing the piano—preparing yourself for a life you’d never have.”

Jane flinched. The words stung because they were true. The only times she was allowed to attend a town social, even visit the mercantile for soap or a spool of thread, Papa always accompanied her. She had been allowed no friends. Sometimes she’d felt so lonely she thought she’d die.

Looking back on it, she wondered why she’d put up with things the way they were. Rebellion, of course, would have been unthinkable. A state could secede from the Union, and fight a long and bloody war over it. But a daughter didn’t secede from her family. That was beyond the pale.

Then, before she knew it, it was too late.

Deliberately, she changed the subject. “I would prefer that you hold my home as collateral for the loan, Mr. Wilder. Not my…person.”

His face changed. “It isn’t the house I want, Jane.”

“And you are most certainly not what I want!” She managed to keep her voice steady, but her hands shook like dry leaves in a wind. For an instant she thought of jamming them under her skirt, but discarded the idea immediately. A lady never sat on her hands, not even when frightened half to death. Or mad enough to commit murder.

“Yeah, well, I figured as much. Nevertheless, those are my terms.”

Honey, she reminded herself. Not vinegar. She unclenched her hands and drew in a slow, careful breath. A whalebone stay jabbed anew. The best way to forget all her troubles was to wear a tight corset; it was hard to concentrate.

As soon as she could trust her legs to support her, she rose. “Very well, Mr. Wilder. You have the advantage of me at this moment, since I do need the money. But, sir, while I may be forced to accept the terms of your wager, do not for one moment harbor any hope of winning. I am an excellent seamstress, and I intend to succeed at dressmaking if it’s the last thing I do in this life.”

His lips twitched. “I understand.”

“And,” Jane continued, unable to stop the words roiling in her brain, “I promise you that if I ever do marry, it will be of my own free will and never, never because I have lost a wager. I am not in the habit of gambling.”

“Certainly not.”

“Neither am I in the habit of failing. I shall not fail!”

“Of course.” His voice was annoyingly calm. He slid open the top desk drawer and counted out three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills from his private cash supply. Folding them in half, he handed the money to her.

“There’s an empty storage room next to the mercantile. I own it. You can rent it for three dollars a month, as is.” He extended his hand toward her. “Agreed?”

Jane slipped the currency into her reticule. “It is indeed agreed, Mr. Wilder. Thank you.” She laid her hand in his and gave it a businesslike shake. Even through her glove, heat from his palm surged from her fingertips to her elbow, and she snatched her hand free.

“As we have nothing further to discuss, I will bid you good afternoon.”

Which was most certainly not what she wanted to say. Sometimes she wished she wasn’t a Davis at all, with ladylike manners to remember and a reputation to uphold. Just once she’d like to say what was really on her mind—that Rydell Wilder was a lowdown snake in the grass, an upstart with no sense of propriety and a grievous lack of breeding. Why, he’d even said “hell” in the presence of a lady. The world had come to a sorry place when the likes of him owned the only bank in town!

She resisted an overwhelming urge to slam his office door as hard as she could. Instead, she closed it quietly, relinquishing her grip on the polished brass knob when the latch clicked. The last thing she saw before the door swung shut was Rydell Wilder’s steady gray eyes looking at her from behind his big walnut desk.

Oh! She could gobble down a whole keg of nails, he made her so mad!

The minute she was gone, Rydell folded his fingers into a fist. Jane Charlotte Davis hadn’t a clue how hard real life could be, but by thunder she was going to find out. Was he crazy to lend her the money that could take her out of his life once and for all? Could she possibly make a go of setting up her own business?

Not one chance in a thousand. He rose and paced to the window opening onto the street. A flash of blue caught his eye, sending a familiar ache into his chest.

Oh, hell. Even if she could sew ruffles around a circus tent, she had no experience in trade, no understanding of life in a dusty Oregon lumber mill town. All he had to do was watch and wait—he figured in about ninety days he’d be a married man.

God help him, he wanted her to fail!

Maybe he wasn’t so crazy. He’d worked and sweated for ten years to offer Jane something more than the rough life of a freight line owner’s wife. He’d eaten beans and biscuits for months on end, saved the pay he’d earned riding shotgun for Lefty, and invested it. When Lefty grew too frail to drive the wagon, Rydell had bought him out, and after a few years saw his chance to establish a bank. It was a smart move. Owning a bank made him a lot of money and brought him the respect of the entire town. Now he ate steak every night, shared an occasional drink with Lefty, and was sought after by all the single women, respectable or not.

The only hunger he hadn’t eased over the years was his longing for the shy girl with eyes like a summer sky and thick chestnut hair that hung to her waist. She looked different now, more filled out and sure of herself. He was older, too—work-hardened and female savvy. Even so, the thought of even touching her hand made his heart stutter.

Leave it alone, Dell. Don’t think about her anymore.

Ten long years he’d waited for a chance, and now it was here. He wondered if she remembered him, from before he’d become a man.

He wondered if she knew how a man could feel about a woman.

“Walk you home, Miz Jane? Barton Springer’s the name, case you don’t remember. Drove a wagon for Wells Fargo and knew your daddy.”

Jane tipped her parasol so the shade covered the man’s weathered face. “Mr. Springer, of course I remember you. You were a great help to my father and Uncle Junius at the newspaper office.”

He grinned and fell in step beside her. “Sure sorry to hear about your pa, Miz Jane. ’Specially so soon after Mr. Junius. What you gonna do, now he’s gone?”

“The first thing I will do, Mr. Springer, is stop by the mercantile. I am going into business.”

His bushy gray eyebrows twitched upward. “You, ma’am? All by yourself?”

“All by myself. I’m going to rent the store next to the mercantile. Then I intend to purchase some bolts of fabric—muslin, I think, or perhaps sateen—and some thread. Oh, and maybe a lantern so I can work in the evenings.”

“You gonna need some help totin’ them things, Miz Jane. I’m puttin’ myself at your service.”

Jane surveyed the bent figure trudging beside her. He looked healthy enough, but his right shirt-sleeve was pinned up, indicating a missing arm. She couldn’t bear to embarrass him by declining his offer.

“That is most thoughtful of you, Mr. Springer. First, however, I wish to inspect my place of business. Mr. Wilder said it was right next to the mercantile, but I don’t recall seeing anything that looked like a store.”

The old man gave her a sideways look. “No wonder in that, I guess. ’T’aint much of a store, more like a…well, you’ll see fer yourself, it’s just yonder.”

“I don’t care what it is, Mr. Springer, it’s a start. For me, it’s a whole new life!” For a fleeting moment she wondered at herself, talking so freely about her plans. She’d been taught never to speak of things other than the weather and recipes for rheumatism medicine and who’s having a baby, and here she was chattering on about her ideas. Maybe it was because Mr. Springer’s blue eyes snapped with intelligence. Or was it because he was a sweet, frail man whom she sensed was a bit lonely for company? Perhaps he was a kindred spirit. His interest in her venture seemed so genuine she didn’t even mind too much that he was a Yankee.

“You don’t mind me sayin’ so, Miz Jane, you been frownin’ somethin’ fierce ever since you come outta the bank. I never seen anyone look more serious.”

Jane stopped midstride and stared at him. “‘Serious,’ Mr. Springer, does not begin to describe my state of mind. I am committed. Determined. Resolute!” She stopped herself from adding “desperate” only because he was pointing at something behind her.

“There ’tis. Your store.”

Jane whirled to see. “Where? I don’t see a—Oh, you mean that little add-on next to the…? Oh. Oh, my.” Her heart sank.

A tilting clapboard structure no wider than the back end of a wagon leaned against the mercantile building. She stepped closer. The single window, slightly wider than the plain plank door, was so grimy she could not see through the glass. No matter. At the moment, she couldn’t face looking inside. A weathered wooden sign swung on a chain in the wind. Mercer’s Feed & Seed. Cash Only.

“Used to be Rafe Mercer’s feed storage room. Looks kinda worse for wear, don’t it?”

Jane’s mouth was as dry as field cotton. “It looks like the darky quarters back home in Marion County. Only not as clean.”

“Miz Jane, I jes’ gotta say this. This ain’t no kinda place for a lady. Why don’t you take your momma and go back where you come from?”

She bit down hard on her lower lip. “I cannot, Mr. Springer. My mother is…unwell at the moment, and…”

And she had no money for train fare, other than what Mr. Wilder had lent her. Besides, even if her mother could travel, she couldn’t leave Dixon Falls with Papa’s debts still unpaid, and now, on top of that, there was the bank loan to pay back.

The old man’s eyes narrowed in unspoken understanding. “I bet you’d hightail it outta here if’n you could find a way.”

“I’ll find a way,” Jane said quietly. “And the first step is to take down that awful sign and scrub that window.” She nodded her head politely. “Good day to you, Mr. Springer. I’d best visit the mercantile and purchase an extra bar of lye soap.”

“You tell Mr. Mercer I’ll tote yer supplies on over to your store for ya. Meanwhile, I think I’ll mosey on down to the Silver Cup and have some words with an old friend.”

“Dell, you outta be horsewhipped fer what you’re puttin’ that gal through. This ain’t no way to court a lady like Miz Jane.”

Rydell downed the last of his whiskey and looked at Lefty across the oak table. “The courting part comes later. First, she’s got to give up that fool notion about supporting herself and her mother by making dresses.”

“You gonna let her work herself to the bone so’s you kin pick up the pieces? Dell, her hands ain’t never done nothin’ but play the pi-anna and embroider tea towels.”

Rydell looked straight at his friend. “I want a wife who’s a partner, not a decoration.”

“Then choose some other gal. Lord knows you’d have yer pick.”

Rydell ignored him. “Jane’s got more inside her than she knows,” he said. He smoothed one finger around the rim of his glass. “I’ve waited for ten years. I’m willing to wait some more.”

Lefty plunked his beer glass down so hard the liquid sloshed over the side. “You waited ten years cuz her daddy ran you off. Now that he’s gone, why’nt you jes’ grab her? I seen you do that with plenty of other women, so don’t say you don’t know how. Jes’ do it!”

“Lefty, you ever think about a man and a woman? What it means for them to be together?”

“Hell, yes, all the time. Nuthin’ complicated ’bout that. Hug ’em, kiss ’em, and rope ’em quick.”

Rydell grinned. “You’re a smart man, Lefty. How come you’re so dumb when it comes to women?”

“I’m a good forty years older’n you, boy, so I know what I’m yakkin’ about. Women is women.”

“There’s more to it than that. Jane is…Jane. She’s not ready.”

The older man groaned. “You’re a smart man, too, Dell. How come you’re so dumb when it comes to Miz Jane?”

Rydell rose and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “She’s a spinster. Overeducated. Underexperienced. But I like her. Always have. She deserves the chance to learn who she is.”

Tossing a coin on the table, he strolled toward the saloon doorway. “Besides,” he said over his shoulder, “she won’t suffer long. As green as she is in the ways of the world, inside of a week she’ll drop into my hand like a ripe peach.”

“I don’t think so,” Lefty muttered. “I think you’re the one who’s gonna learn the lesson.”

But his words, punctuated by the swish-whap of the swinging doors, echoed in an empty barroom.