Czytaj książkę: «Rancher To The Rescue»

Chapter One

Proud Bend, Colorado, April, 1883

“Did I read that right?” Clare Walsh peered up from her chair at the Recording Office in Proud Bend, Colorado. She blinked rapidly. “My parents are gone?”

Standing over her with a deep frown, Noah Livingstone lifted the telegram again. A moment ago, Clare had thrust it at her supervisor, hoping and praying she’d misunderstood the shocking words. She now watched him scan the paper yet again, her breath held so tight that her lungs hurt.

Please, Lord, let it not be so.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, Miss Walsh,” Noah hedged.

She rolled her eyes. “They’re on a ship that’s now missing! How else am I going to put it?” She didn’t care that her tone was sharp. The telegram that had arrived less than fifteen minutes ago held nothing that warranted polite hedging, even from the calm and reserved Mr. Noah Livingstone.

She swallowed and bit her lip. Her parents’ steamship had been lost at sea.

Noah pulled up a chair and sat close to her. The Recording Officer scanned the telegram one more time, as if, like her, he might hope to read something different in it. When his gaze lifted to hers, his intense blue eyes softened.

Her heart flipped.

“The telegram says that their steamship is overdue at Liverpool, England,” he said in a gentle tone that rolled over Clare in the soft, soothing way she so appreciated. “It says it may have been lost at sea.”

The office around them was small, already crowded with two desks, numerous filing cabinets and a small glassed-in private office for Noah. With the other clerk, Mr. Pooley, hovering close by, the whole interior felt suddenly claustrophobic. Noah carefully folded the telegram and set it down on Clare’s desk, before taking her cold hands into his.

His fingers were warm and the grip, while not hard, was firm enough to offer a welcome sense of security. When she sniffed, his fingers tightened around hers.

She could also smell the scent of his soap, faint and slightly stringent, as he leaned closer to her. She wanted to inhale deeply, it was so pleasing, but fought back the urge. This was hardly the time.

It had been six weeks since her parents left rather hastily for the Kurhaus in Baden-Baden, Germany. They were to be gone for six months in an attempt to bring relief to her mother’s crippling arthritis. A cure, touted by the new doctor who’d moved to Proud Bend last summer, offered hope where there hadn’t been any before.

She and her superior sat and did nothing for the longest minute of her life. Noah stared at their interlocking hands. Clare’s gaze wandered from his ruggedly handsome face to fall upon an open letter on her desk, another portent of bad news that had arrived by an errand boy mere minutes before the telegram. In it, the bank manager had firmly requested a meeting to discuss her parents’ overdue mortgage payment.

Her whole body then seemed to coil and tighten. She wanted to push everyone away, to shout and deny both sets of terrible news.

But then she shut her eyes again, took several deep breaths and fought the impulse. She was stronger than this. She could handle any situation.

She also wanted to stop herself from gripping Noah’s warm hands even tighter. In all the months she’d worked here, he had been nothing but professional with her. To have this—this sudden familiarity—was quite frankly too much of a comfort for the modern woman that she was.

Still, Clare took it just the same, as she recalled the last day before her parents left.

Six weeks ago, while Mother had ushered Clare’s much younger brothers into her bedroom with her so they could help her pack up the last few items, Clare’s father had divulged that he’d emptied his bank account, paying only March’s mortgage payment. He had been concerned that they might need extra funds for the long journey and promised to return whatever money he had left once they arrived in Germany. Clare had expected the money any day now.

With an inward cringe, she stole a furtive look at the letter she’d left open on her desk a few minutes ago. Her father had knowingly left her broke. He knew the next payment would be overdue. Why had he done that?

“When exactly did their ship leave?” Noah asked quietly.

Clare looked at him through blurring tears as she reluctantly untangled their fingers. She fumbled for the small calendar on her desk, all the while staring at the bank’s letter.

“They left for New York six weeks ago, and arrived there a week later. Father had wired me the name of the steamship they’d booked passage on.” She flipped to the previous month on which she’d written the name. Her voice quivered. “The SS Governor was to leave three days after they arrived. Crossing the Atlantic is supposed to take two weeks. The ship was due to arrive at Liverpool two weeks ago, and then depart immediately for Rotterdam, where they were to take a river barge to Baden-Baden. If all had gone well, they would have arrived at the Kurhaus by now and the money would be en route back to me.”

Clare cleared her throat. “According to the telegram, the ship is two weeks overdue. When was the telegram sent?”

Noah picked it up again. He consulted the clock on the wall. “Early last night. The ship’s company office in New York sent it.”

Clare nodded glumly, hating how little the telegram told her. What had been done to find the steamship? Had other ships been told to look out for Governor on their journeys across the Atlantic? Maybe the ship had been found, and another telegram with good news was on its way to her.

“Anything could have happened,” Noah told her softly. “We don’t know for sure that they’re gone. Don’t think the worst yet.”

Clare pulled back her shoulders. Those kind words were meant to be a comfort, but they felt like a smothering cloud of smoke. She opened her desk’s bottom drawer, exposing her purse. “I need to tell the boys,” she muttered as she stood.

Her little brothers, Tim and Leo, were in school right now, but Clare could remove them for the day. Miss Thompson, their schoolteacher, would understand.

Noah jumped to his feet, stepping quickly sideways to block her exit from the back area of the Recording Office. Mr. Pooley, the other clerk who had been hovering close by, threw a fast look at him. “Don’t tell them yet,” Noah said.

Clare stopped, rolling her own gaze up to his handsome face. Tall and slim, yet as strong as braided wire, Noah Livingstone had a rancher’s frame with tanned features and clear blue eyes. In his day suit, he was a fine figure of a man. If it were any other circumstance, she’d revel in the thought of how close he stood to her. It would warm her the way a stovetop warmed milk pudding. He was everything she could admire in a man.

Clare blinked away the thought. She should be ashamed of herself for that disrespectful notion at such a time as this. Thankfully, Noah had been nothing but professional with her. Still, he was a man she could relish watching anytime, if she was given to such folly.

She gave herself a firm mental shake. Yes, it was a good thing that college had schooled such romance out of her. College, and her mentor, Miss Worth, had taught her that women needed to be strong at all times and independent to the core. There will come a day, Miss Worth often predicted, when women will have as many rights as men. It was time women earned those rights by setting aside simpering affections for the less fair sex.

Men. Boys. Her brothers. Clare’s heart sank. She had to tell them something. Every day, Leo asked about their mother.

Tears pricked her eyes as a difficult realization dawned on her. She was to be their mother and father now.

She’d always been honest with her brothers. Even when she was a mere teenager and was impatient with them, she’d never been anything but truthful toward them. Keeping this terrible news from them felt like a lie to her. No doubt, they would ask again about Mother and Father. It seemed pointless to avoid the inevitable.

They’d always challenged authority, more out of curiosity and love of life than impudence. She would have to tailor that trait now, tell them they were strong enough to handle the loss.

“Don’t tell your brothers anything yet,” Noah repeated quietly, leaning down and tipping his head to interrupt her thoughts. “Let this news sink in first.”

She shot him a fast look. “Wrong choice of words.”

A wry but sad smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. He nodded. “You’re right. I apologize. But think about it first. Their ship is only two weeks late. Anything could have happened.”

Her shoulders ached they were so tight. “My brothers deserve to know.”

“Yes, but not necessarily today,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Give yourself time to think about what you’re going to say. In fact, go on home.”

Clare took the moment to study him. Crystal blue eyes, framed by tanned skin and the tiniest of smile lines, more likely from the sun than any jocularity. Despite the reason for his proximity to her, she wanted that moment to last.

“Why should I go home?” she asked softly.

“You should take whatever time you need to get strong enough to tell them.”

Immediately, she bristled. Wasn’t she strong enough now? Again, her gaze fell on the bank’s letter on her desk. It lay there, wide-open for any and all to read, asking her to make an appointment to discuss the overdue payment.

Something clutched at her. Maybe she wasn’t strong enough. Maybe being a guardian to her brothers these past few weeks had drained her of the strength she would need to take on the role of parent. Tim and Leo were active and needed strong supervision and she would need to be at her best to handle them after they learned about their parents. What if Noah had seen that need where she hadn’t?

She snapped her eyes from the bank’s letter, hating how it reminded her of her troubles. But to lean forward and rip it from the desk as though it was a burning pot on a hot stove would call attention to the fact that the bank needed to see her, that its errand boy had hand-delivered the letter. No doubt, those around her would realize that her father had left her nothing with which to pay his bills.

And yet, Clare thought with a sigh, that news certainly didn’t surprise her. Her mother had often mentioned how her father tended to be flippant about money. Yes, he’d been busy with his work until Mother’s illness worsened so badly that he’d fussed over her incessantly. Her father had been more focused on her health than earning enough to cover their expenses. Late last year, he’d even let it slip that he’d started dipping into their savings.

Clare rubbed her forehead.

“Go home,” Noah told her, the words themselves firm though his tone stayed soft and gentle. “Do you need someone to go with you? I can send for the pastor’s wife. Or would you prefer I walk you home?”

Head still down, Clare stared at Noah’s boots. As usual, they shone. She knew he’d ridden in on his horse and had changed from his cowboy boots to these fine shiny ones. He had such attention to detail. His house was probably immaculate, too.

“Thank you, but no,” Clare answered with a brisk shake of her head. This morning, in her haste to round up her unruly brothers and send them off to school, she’d left their house looking as though a windstorm had barreled through it.

College hadn’t fully prepared her for the life she now faced. She’d taken good housekeeping courses, as all women at that college were required to take, but her studies had mostly focused on moral philosophy, English and geography, and as such, her marks reflected her interests. Good housekeeping hadn’t been her best subject.

Clare lifted her chin and leveled a stare at Noah Livingstone. If he felt she shouldn’t tell her brothers about their parents yet, then she certainly didn’t need to go home to wallow in the terrible news, either. “Nothing can be achieved at home.” Except cleaning it. “I wish to stay here and work.” She paused. “I need my salary.”

With a single long-legged stride, Noah reached the small swinging gate and opened it. His face was a mask of concern. “No, Miss Walsh. Clare. This has been a shock to you. Take the rest of the day off. In fact, if you need another, or even the whole week, it’s all right. We’ll manage.”

Clare swallowed. Today was Monday. What would she possibly do for an entire week? Brood and worry?

Still, the offer tempted her. No! If her parents were not coming home and the bank needed its mortgage payment, then taking time off work would be the worst decision. Again, she looked down at the letter on her desk. She should have tucked it away immediately after reading it. How could she be so foolish as to leave it open for all to glance upon?

The bank deserved its payments, though. They also deserved to know what had happened to her parents. She could stop by on the way home, perhaps make that appointment the manager had strongly suggested.

All right, she finally acquiesced. A few hours off but not the whole week. She could ill-afford that. But Noah was right to say that she needed time alone right now. Her gaze bounced from Noah back to the letter. She’d wanted so badly to be that model employee every office had. A tall order for a woman some might say, but she’d wanted only to prove it was time for everyone to see that women could do so much more than stay at home and have babies, or work the land until their fingers bled and their backs ached, while men took the jobs that required an education. She wanted to say honestly to Miss Worth the next time she wrote her that she was indeed the strong woman her mentor had demanded of her.

After digging her purse out of the bottom drawer, Clare grabbed the letter that lay open on her desk. She shoved it so hard into her purse, she was afraid she’d poked a hole in the bottom. Then she marched past Noah, careful to ensure that she appeared as strong and resolute as any man might.

“I’ll be back this afternoon.” Holding her breath lest she release a quivery sigh, she strode out of the office.

* * *

As Noah stood at the front door of Clare’s family home, he could hear the grandfather clock deep within the Walsh house ring quarter after two. Not fifteen minutes ago, he’d closed the office for the day, sending Mr. Pooley home. It hadn’t been busy and Noah had a decent justification if anyone should complain or if Clare wanted to keep her somber news private for the time being. He’d reassured himself with the internal promise that he would check on her and that was exactly what he was doing.

Her bad news had cut into him nearly as much as it had her. Nobody had expected this and to see her hover on the verge of tears drew a lump into his throat and his own tears to spring into his eyes.

But what could he have done to comfort her? Helplessness weighed on him and he prayed hastily for some guiding words.

Anything that would help her.

He shivered. Initially, the day had promised a bit of warmth, but the sky had clouded and the wind had turned, now bearing down from the north and chilling Proud Bend.

He knocked, grimacing at the harsh sound. Then he waited. And waited. Finally, Clare opened the door.

She was wearing a frilly, spotless apron over her work clothes and had pushed up her long sleeves almost to her elbows. Whatever she was doing, she’d either just started it, or it was a clean task. He noticed, however, that her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and a crumpled handkerchief bulged out the apron’s dainty pocket. Her task had been punctuated with tears.

All he wanted at that moment was to draw her into his arms and hold her there, to somehow transfer his own strength to her, the strength he’d learned—

Noah cleared his throat. This wasn’t about him, nor was it the time to think about his own situation. Clare needed him. “I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced. I closed the office early because I wanted to check on you.”

She looked dismayed and quickly wiped her eyes. “I’d fully planned to return after lunch, but by the time I’d left the bank, I knew I couldn’t go back to work.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I needed to tidy up anyway. I expect I’ll have visitors as soon as word gets out, and I didn’t want them to faint at the mess.”

It was a small attempt at humor, and Noah offered her an equally small smile for her effort. “Where I come from, they put a black wreath on the front door. It stops people from visiting.”

Clare looked thoughtful. “I haven’t heard of that custom before. Where do you come from?”

“A small town west of New York City. It was always easy to get a hold of a black wreath. I don’t think we can say the same here in Proud Bend.”

“It wouldn’t matter. People would only stop by and ask why I have a black wreath hanging on my door.” Clare stepped back. “Come in.”

Noah crossed the threshold, all the while removing his Stetson. The inside was cool and dark, appropriate for a house of mourning.

Unexpected indignation rose in him. There couldn’t be any mourning yet. No one knew where her parents were. So there shouldn’t be a need for an unheated house. Clare was being forced into accepting a fate that might not exist.

Noah dug out the telegram, as Clare had not taken it when she’d walked out. All she’d taken was that letter that the bank’s errand boy had delivered. “I thought you would want this.”

She accepted it slowly. “Thank you.” But instead of reading it again, she set it on the small table near the front door. “I should keep it, but frankly, I want to burn it.”

“Understandable.” Noah cleared his throat as he removed his coat. “Is there anything more I can do, Clare?” Her Christian name slipped from his lips without forethought and he glanced away.

She shut the door and hung his coat on a half-filled tree beside her. “Come into the parlor.”

If Noah expected an answer to his question, he needed to follow her there. Like the rest of the house, this room was chilly. It didn’t help that the front window offered only the dullest of daylight. Today, there was no warm April sunshine to heat the room. Clare dropped with precious little grace into one of those fussy, high-backed chairs every parlor seemed to have. They were often too short for Noah’s long legs, so he remained standing.

“My mother’s arthritis worsened the month before they left,” she began, as if expecting him to understand wherever she was starting her story. “She doesn’t travel well by train, or else my father would have made arrangements to take it all the way to the port of Halifax in Nova Scotia.” She looked up at him. “Or to travel to St. John’s in Newfoundland. But that would require a sea crossing to the island, also.”

Noah listened patiently. Clare was good at reading maps, he’d learned since she’d started working for him six months ago. She must have excelled at geography in college to know the port city of St John’s in England’s Newfoundland was the closest North American port to Europe. Some of the steamships must stop there before beginning their transatlantic voyages.

“The doctor said that breathing the sea air would do her good, so they wanted to leave from New York City, but I wonder if it might have made a difference if they’d left by one of those other ports.”

“What do you mean?”

She rose and walked to the long table against a far wall. There, she picked up several pamphlets. “I was tidying up today and found these. They have information on the different steamships and their ports of call. Perhaps if they’d taken one of the other lines, they might have arrived safely. These ships are newer.”

“Why didn’t they take one of them?”

“Mother gets nauseated on trains, so they went only as far as New York City and took Governor. It has the longest sea voyage. Honestly, I cannot see how breathing damp sea air is supposed to help arthritis, but I’m not a doctor.” Sighing, she set down the pamphlets again. “Governor is the oldest ship and also the most expensive, which I realize now was not good for the family finances. Although Father didn’t mind spending money.” She looked up at him, her expression resigned. “He could be a bit cavalier about that, I’m afraid.”

Noah cleared his throat. “Speaking of finances...today, you received a letter from the bank.” He’d seen the bank’s errand boy deliver it. He’d caught Clare’s sinking expression as she read the single page. But shortly after, that awful telegram had arrived, and he’d forgotten all about the letter.

Clare looked away. “I’m sure you can guess what the bank said. Father paid all the bills for March, but that’s it. His payments were always due the first banking day of the month.” She rubbed her forehead and groaned. “Let me think. Father paid March’s mortgage before they left six weeks ago. So April’s payment is now two weeks overdue.”

“Did he leave you access to his accounts?”

With lifted brows, Clare shook her head. “There was no need. They’re empty.”

Noah cocked his head, a frown deepening. “I don’t understand. Your father paid March’s mortgage at the beginning of the month, but didn’t expect to be in Europe until the end of the month. Surely, he would have realized that it would take a month to get the money back to you? That would automatically leave you a month behind in your payments, and yet he emptied his account, anyway?”

Clare looked like she was getting a headache. “He was afraid Mother would need extra time to recuperate from either the train ride or the sea voyage. He wasn’t sure she’d be able to travel to Baden-Baden—that’s where the Kurhaus is—right away. The transatlantic trip is said to be awful, and once in Liverpool, they’d need another short steamship voyage to Rotterdam before going upriver to the Rhine. He said he planned to send back enough money to pay the bills. I had assumed he’d paid at least two months, but I hadn’t asked.”

Clare flicked up her hands. “My father didn’t always consider the finances first. He often said that there would always be bills.”

Except it was irresponsible to make those bills worse, Noah grumbled internally. It might be wrong to condemn Clare’s father, and Noah did know of Mrs. Walsh’s ill health, but he didn’t feel like crushing the uncharitable thoughts rising unbidden in him. “There are more in his family than his wife.”

His clipped words cut crisply through the cool air. Yes, that was true, he decided firmly. And yes, there was more to life than earning money.

Noah tightened his jaw. People needed to look past their own needs to the needs of others. People needed—

He shut his eyes and stopped his thoughts. This wasn’t about his family. This was about Clare Walsh, the lovely, vibrant, independent woman in front of him. It was about what was probably the worst day of her life.

Would it be inappropriate to draw her into his arms? Surely if anyone needed to be comforted right now, it was her.

Yes, it was inappropriate, and a woman like Clare would resent the belief that she needed a good, strong hug right now.

“The plan had been to return whatever money they didn’t need,” Clare was saying. “They had expected to stay for the summer in Germany, but hoped her treatment would take less time. I don’t think he even cared that the mortgage would be a month late. My father often thought that there was no point in worrying about money.” She sank into her chair again. “I guess he didn’t worry about not surviving the first leg of the voyage, either.” An angry glance up at Noah told him that tears glistened again in Clare’s eyes.

Immediately, Noah dragged a chair closer to her. He perched on the edge of the rounded and uncomfortable seat, his knees poking up into the air. He really hated these fussy, overstuffed things. “Clare, we don’t know what has happened yet.” He rubbed her upper arm, then dropped it quickly, afraid the touch was too personal. “Did you explain that to the bank manager?”

Looking resigned, she shook her head. “All I did was make an appointment. I can hardly ask them to wait until proof comes of my parents’ deaths. That may never happen. The manager may give me an extension, but that will come with a penalty. My wages won’t cover even the basic mortgage payment, let alone one with a late fee attached. And what about the other bills, such as food and coal? Where would the money come for them?” She sighed in exasperation. “You see, I can’t afford to take time off to sort out my parents’ affairs. That would leave us with no money.”

Outrage bubbled through him and he struggled to quell it. Her shortsighted father had left her in a bind that no woman should be in. “When is your appointment?”