Читать книгу The Wyoming Heir - Naomi Rawlings - Страница 12

Chapter Two

Mug of coffee in hand, Luke stood at the French doors in his grandpa’s study, looking out over the estate’s immaculate back lawn. To the west, the Catskill Mountains, shadowed in blue and gray, rose over the fields and trees like sentinels guarding the land below. Pretty enough, but not anything close to the untamed wilderness he hailed from.

He rubbed a hand over his face.

What was he even doing in New York State, standing in a fancy house that he’d somehow inherited rather than Pa?

You be careful out there, Pa had told him before he left. Your old codger of a grandfather was awful wily. Wouldn’t surprise me if he found some way to chain you to that wretched estate of his, even from his grave. The tension had risen like an old, unhealed wound still festering between Pa and Grandpa despite one of them being cold and buried. Probably ruined Sam in the few years he had her.

Not once in his twenty-eight years had Pa said anything good about Grandpa. Luke had about fallen over three years ago when Pa sent Sam off to the man. But the ranch had been no place for a young girl after Blake’s death, and she’d needed to go somewhere.

Someone rapped at the office door, and Luke turned.

“I’m here...like you asked.”

Oh, Sam was there all right. With a face chiseled in granite.

His boots sunk into some highfalutin gold and burgundy rug as he walked behind Grandpa’s desk. With lions’ heads carved into eight columns and sprawling paws to serve as feet, the desk belonged in a king’s throne room rather than a study and wasn’t something he cottoned to sitting behind. Still standing, he gestured to her. “Sit.”

Head high, back rigid, she took dainty steps toward a gilt chair with blue cushions that faced the desk. She still wore that lifeless school uniform of a white shirtwaist and navy skirt, the black armband around her right sleeve indicating she was in mourning for a man he’d never met. And yet, she carried herself like a lady. Maybe that was the problem. She wasn’t so much the girl he remembered anymore, but a woman.

A citified woman.

He cleared his throat and placed his half-empty coffee mug on the desk.

She tilted her nose into the air. “You shouldn’t set that on the wood. It could ruin the finish.”

He lifted his eyes, and their gazes collided. He set his jaw. She straightened her spine. He narrowed his eyes. She raised her chin. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped and a servant called. A door closed on the floor above, and footsteps plodded down the hall. But neither of them moved.

“Since I inherited this desk, along with the rest of the estate,” he said slowly, his eyes still burning into hers, “I reckon it’s not your concern how I treat it.”

“You shouldn’t use phrases like ‘I reckon,’ either. It’s most unbecoming.”

He gripped the edge of the desk and leaned over it. “I’m not interested in being ‘becoming,’ Samantha. I’m interested in settling this slew of money Grandpa left me and taking you home. Where you were born, where you were raised and where you belong.”

“You can’t make me leave.”

Figured stubbornness was the one thing that fancy school hadn’t stripped from her. “Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“I can’t tell you what to do? What gives you the right to tell me?” She jumped from the chair, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “I’m staying here and graduating, then I’m going to college to study mathematics and architecture. Because I want to be an architect one day.”

Her tongue lingered over the word architect, and her eyes burned with a fierce passion. “Not that you’ve bothered to ask why I want to go to college.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or bang his head against the wall. At least Sam had something she wanted to do, some reason for avoiding their family—though she’d evidently had the good sense not to mention such a ridiculous notion in her letters to him.

Had probably told Ma all about it, though.

A woman architect. Who’d ever heard of such a thing?

“Well, aren’t you going to say something?” she snapped.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a fine dream you’ve got, Sam.” Or a crazy one. “But I’ve got to take you home before you go off chasing after college.”

“You don’t. Ma would want me to stay here. I just got a letter from her last week saying how much she loved hearing about how happy I am in Valley Falls.”

Of course Ma would say that. But then, Ma hadn’t exactly told Sam about her consumption, either. And if Ma were here, watching his conversation with Sam right now, she’d be upset with the way he was handling things.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the knots tightening his muscles. If he could manage a ranch with five thousand head of cattle, he could convince Sam to go back home while still keeping his promise. Couldn’t he? “Look, I’m sorry for how I brought up your leaving at school. I didn’t mean to yammer about it in front of your teacher. The words just slipped out, when you talked about packing a bag. But you can’t stay in New York now that Grandpa’s passed. Who would look after you? Besides I need your help around the estate for the next few weeks while we get ready to leave.

“You can start going through the things in Grandpa’s room. You know better than me what should be kept or sold off. I figured Pa might cotton to a couple of keepsakes.” Which was probably more a dream than anything, given that Pa hadn’t talked to Grandpa in over thirty years. “The sooner we sort through this estate, the sooner we can get home.”

“I cared about Grandpa,” she said, nodding toward the black band around her upper arm. “And I’m happy to sort through his things, but don’t you try using that as a way to get me out of school. There will be plenty of time for me to sort through things outside of school hours. Come Monday morning, I’ll be back at Hayes Academy. And I’m not going to Wyoming.”

Had Sam been this disagreeable three years ago? He tried to envision it but ended up with the mental picture of a sweet girl crying over her injured cat in the barn. “I happen to love you, and I happen to want my sister with me, under her family’s care.”

“If you loved me, you’d let me stay. I love it here! This place is my life.”

Love it. She once said that about the Teton Valley. “What about Ma and Pa? You haven’t seen them for nigh on three years.” And Ma might not be around in another year.

She ducked her chin and toyed with the fabric of her skirt. “Do they know you’re trying to take me away, trying to quash my dream?”

A fist tightened around his heart. His sister stood before him, her body tall and womanish, her eyes alive with hope and passion, her mind determined to win their argument. He’d had a dream once, too—one he shared with Blake about buying a cattle ranch. No one had told him that he couldn’t. If anything, Ma and Pa had encouraged him and Blake to make their own ways in life. And they had.

And while he’d been out West, grieving Blake and seeing to the cattle ranch that now belonged solely to him, Sam had grown up, become a woman.

But woman or not, she still had a dying ma in the Teton Valley, and he had a promise to keep. Except didn’t he also have a duty to reunite his sister and mother before it was too late? “I’m not trying to quash anything, Sam. Ma and Pa miss you. Is it so hard to believe they want to see you again?”

Her back went rigid as a fence post. “They sent me away.”

“Come on now. Once you get back home and see some of your old friends, things won’t seem so bad. Levi Sanders took over his pa’s ranch a year back, and he’s looking for a good wife who knows the ways of a ranch. Not a silly city woman who can’t tell the front end of a horse from the rear. Here.” He dug in his pocket and held out the creased envelope. “Levi sent you this letter.”

She clutched her hands together defiantly, but her actions didn’t hide the moisture shimmering in her eyes.

He blew out a breath. What was he to do with a girl who was hard as iron one minute and all weepy the next? “Take the letter, Sam, and stop being so all-fired stubborn.”

“What about Cynthia and Everett? Are you forcing them to go back, as well?” she whispered furiously.

He froze, a flood of bloody images he couldn’t erase scalding his mind. “I wouldn’t take them back West for all the land in the Teton Valley.”

“They’re—”

“Enough.” He slashed the air with his hand, cutting her off. “We’re discussing you, not the woman responsible for Blake’s death. Now take the letter.” He shoved the envelope across the desk as a knock sounded on the door.

The butler poked his head inside. “Mr. Hayes? Mr. Byron, the lawyer, is here for your meeting.”

“Thank you.” But his gaze didn’t leave Samantha.

She huffed, stood and snatched the letter. “Fine. I’ll read it. And I’ll reply. But I’m not going back to Wyoming. I’m graduating from Hayes Academy, and then I’m attending college. I’m going to become an architect one day. You just see if I don’t.” A tear slipped down her cheek before she flew out of the room.

Luke blew out another breath and rubbed the heel of his palm over his chest, but the action didn’t quell the pain in his heart. He should have never let Pa send her away, should have stood up to his sire the moment Pa had suggested Sam had to leave after Blake died. But he hadn’t, and now he was good and stuck.

He couldn’t drag his sister, crying and screaming, away from a place she loved. And she wasn’t about to come willingly...unless he told her about Ma. But then he’d be breaking his promise, and a man couldn’t just up and ignore a promise like that.

His fingers dug into the polished wood top of the desk. If he did nothing else on this confounded trip, he’d convince Sam to come home on her own.

If only he could figure out how.

* * *

Elizabeth’s head ached, her neck muscles had turned into a mass of knots and her stomach roiled as though it would heave out her lunch—despite the fact she hadn’t eaten any.

She could blame most of her discomfort on Luke Hayes.

She’d grown up with a politician father. She’d seen him, her younger brother, Jackson, and even her mother wheedle donations more times than she could count. Goodness, she had wheedled donations before. She knew the best way to go about it. Smile. Look pretty. And agree with everything the potential donor said.

Not three hours earlier, the man who could save Hayes Academy had stood in front of her. She hadn’t smiled. She’d probably looked a fright with chalk on her skirt and her hair askew. And she’d disagreed with everything he had said.

Goodbye, Hayes Academy.

She sighed. Was she was being too hard on herself? Luke Hayes had interrupted her quiz and then pulled her brightest pupil out of school. Certainly he didn’t expect her to smile and say, “Yes, that’s fine. Ruin your sister’s future. I don’t care in the least.”

She opened her bottom desk drawer and stuffed into her satchel the letters she needed to work on the ledgers. He had no right to rip Samantha out of class then spout off about his sister not being her concern. Of course she was concerned—she knew exactly what the girl was going through. The battle was all too familiar.

What do you mean, you’re going to college?

A pretty girl like you should find a husband.

Just because one man jilted you, doesn’t mean the next will.

A college degree? What’s wrong with the schooling you already have? Why do you need more?

The sharp comments twined through her memory. Why should her desire to teach mathematics matter, when she could get married and have children? People had been asking her that for six years, and now Mr. Hayes had said the same about Samantha.

Maybe if she had explained the possibilities that awaited Samantha after she had a high school diploma and college degree, he’d let his sister continue her education.

Maybe.

But how many people understood her own pursuit of mathematics? Mr. Hayes would likely squelch his sister’s dreams just as so many people had tried to kill hers.

Elizabeth straightened and slipped her satchel over her shoulder. She wasn’t doing herself any favors by stewing over Luke Hayes, and she needed to stop by the kitchen and inventory the recent food delivery before she even went home.

She closed and locked her classroom door, then walked down the hallway toward the large double doors at the opposite end of the building. The tinkle of girlish giggles from outside floated through the main entrance to the school, and the clear autumn sun filtered through the windows beside the doorway.

If only she didn’t have the cook to meet with and ledgers to refigure, she could enjoy that picnic with her students. But some things weren’t meant to be. She pushed through the doors leading into the dining hall, then weaved her way through the maze of tables and chairs toward the kitchen at the back.

Dottie McGivern, the school’s cook, stood at the counter just inside the kitchen.

“There you are. Been wondering whether you were going to show up.” Dottie’s plump hands dove into a bowl of dough and began to knead. “We need more flour, apples and sugar.”

Elizabeth sighed. Of course they did. It only made sense. She already had the ladies’ society, Samantha’s brother and the school’s financial woes to deal with. Why not add trouble with the food order, as well?

“I’m assuming you didn’t get the amounts you ordered?” Again?

Dottie pointed to the half-empty shelves lining the wall of the kitchen. “Now look here, Miss Wells. I’ve been cooking for a long time, and I know how much money it costs to feed a slew of girls. Or at least how much money it should cost. So when I say I need a hundred and fifty dollars each month to pay for food, I mean a hundred and fifty dollars, not the fifty dollars’ worth of foodstuffs that showed up this morning. That look like a hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of food to you?”

“No, it doesn’t.” This could not be happening again, not with the school in such dire financial straits. It seemed every time Dottie had a load of food delivered, something had gotten mixed up and only a portion of the needed food was delivered. “I don’t understand. Jackson says he authorizes the food money to be released every month. You should have plenty of supplies, not be running out.”

Dottie wagged a flour-covered finger at her chest. “Talk to your brother, then. Maybe you got your messages mixed up, but the delivery that arrived today wasn’t no hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of food.”

Yes, she would talk to Jackson. Indeed, she hoped something had become mixed up. Otherwise, the academy was being cheated somehow. And not just with groceries. This was the fourth time such a thing had happened since the school year started. Jackson said enough money for materials and bills had been released, yet the gas company claimed they never received payment, the store they ordered teachers’ supplies from was missing money as well, and Dottie said only a third of her food arrived.

“Miss Wells, there you are. I feared you had gone already.” Miss Bowen’s head poked through the swinging kitchen door, her perfect coiffure and straight suit grossly incongruous against the counters piled with potatoes, messy casserole dishes and frazzled works in the kitchen. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I simply must speak with you. In private, that is.”

Miss Bowen sent Dottie a brief smile and then disappeared back through the door.

Elizabeth squeezed Dottie’s arm. “I’ll be back tomorrow to figure this out.”

The fiery-haired woman nodded. “Thank you.”

Elizabeth headed out of the kitchen and toward the far corner of the dining hall where Mrs. Bowen stood. The lines of her gray dress looked so stiff that the woman couldn’t possibly be comfortable walking. Or standing. Or sitting. Or doing anything at all. But a smile softened the creases of her face.

“I need to speak with you about the school board meeting last evening.”

Of course. Why not discuss the school board meeting? It was just one more thing to add to her list of disastrous events. At this rate, she’d better not bother to go home later. She’d likely find her house burned to ashes or swallowed by an earthquake. “What about it?”

“Well, naturally the board is concerned about the bad publicity Hayes Academy received earlier this week.”

Which the school board undoubtedly blamed on her, since she’d written that editorial. “Do they plan to file a complaint with the Morning Times? To the best of my knowledge, no one, not a school board member, nor you, nor I, nor anyone associated with Hayes Academy, was asked to defend it in an official article. I suppose it will be left to me to write something in response.”

Miss Bowen blanched. “No. I’m afraid that won’t be necessary. In fact, I do believe several of the board members requested you not write anything more for the paper.”

“Does someone else plan to write an editorial, then?” Surely the school board didn’t intend to let Mr. Higsley’s article go unanswered. “Or perhaps the board could invite the reporter to the school? The man might well retract some of his comments, were he to see firsthand how beneficial—”

“The school board is considering closing Hayes Academy. Immediately.” The words fell from Miss Bowen’s mouth in a jumbled rush.

Elizabeth’s heart stuttered, then stopped. She opened her mouth, hoping something intelligible would come out, but all she could do was stare at Miss Bowen’s pale, pinched face. She should have known. She’d suspected the school board would lean in this direction, of course. But so quickly? Before she even had a chance to refigure the ledgers or write another article or find more donors?

“I see. Did...did my father...” She pressed her eyes shut, hated herself for even asking, but she had to know. “...support closing the school?”

Miss Bowen’s eyes grew heavy, and Elizabeth’s gaze fell to her feet. Of course Father would pull his support. He discontinued support of anything politically disadvantageous. He wouldn’t care that he had championed the school during his past two reelection campaigns.

“Elizabeth? Are you all right?”

“Yes. Fine.” Except her throat felt like sawdust had been poured down it, and her stomach twisted and lurched as though it would lose its contents again.

“The decision hasn’t been finalized yet. There’s hope in that, I suppose, though I must confess the majority of the members seemed to have already made up their minds. Still, the school board wants a detailed report from your brother on Hayes Academy’s financial status by the end of next week. They’re scheduling another meeting two weeks from now.”

“That’s when they’ll decide whether to close the school?”

“Yes.”

“So there’s hope.”

“A glimmer.” But no hope shone on Miss Bowen’s face.

And rightly so. One week, maybe two. That wasn’t much time.

“Elizabeth.” Miss Bowen touched her shoulder. “Where do we stand financially? I know several letters from our sponsors have come this week. I’m assuming your brother has received more?”

“I’m heading home to calculate numbers.”

“Surely you must have some idea.”

She glanced toward one of the small dining room windows. The sun still burned clear and bright outside, but the little shaft of light barely seemed to penetrate the dark, empty room. “It’s not good.”

“Well.” Miss Bowen’s lips curved into a painfully brilliant smile. “Perhaps things will improve shortly. I asked Mr. Hayes about the possibility of another donation.”

Her head snapped up. “When he was here earlier?”

“Why of course. When else would I have seen him?”

Lovely timing. He’d probably pasted a grin on his face and agreed to everything asked of him, especially since she’d just finished lecturing him about bringing a gun into school and pulling his sister out. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t say no, but he didn’t rush to make a commitment, either. I’m sure he just needs more time.”

The headmistress’s voice held a fragile kind of promise. Elizabeth rubbed her temples. She didn’t want to shatter it, not when it would shatter soon enough on its own. “That’s something at least. He probably doesn’t realize how much responsibility for this school he’s inheriting. I’m assuming his lawyer will inform him sometime over the weekend.”

“I’m sure Mr. Hayes will want to continue in his grandfather’s stead, or he wouldn’t have come East at all. But I want you to speak with him about a donation.”

“Me? Speak with him? Certainly you’re in a better position to solicit funds.”

“Don’t be foolish, Elizabeth. You have such a convincing way about you, when you’re passionate about an issue. I doubt the man will be able to tell you no.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. Luke Hayes certainly hadn’t found saying the word difficult earlier that afternoon.

And he likely wouldn’t have trouble saying it again.