Rancher To The Rescue

Did he? Clare was hardly a master at reading people, for her life here had been sheltered and college had seen more of the same. But for a few moments after his words, she wondered about their veracity.

She should stop the suspicion. Of course, he would not want her to lose her brothers, or end up in the poorhouse. But still, was there something more behind his words? Clare wasn’t sure.

One thing she was sure of was how his soft words and strong expression drew her closer to him. If she just leaned forward a mite and reached out her hand, she could brush his cheek, feel his warm breath on her face and revel in the deep attraction she was feeling right now.

Pulling herself together against the nonsense, she stood abruptly. How dare he assume she’d fail and need his help! Then she marched into the hall, returning to the parlor doorway with Noah’s Stetson and coat. “I think you should leave. Thank you for stopping by. I will be at work as expected tomorrow.”

Noah sighed and his tone softened further. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.”

“I do. I need the money, and I obviously need to prove to you that I am going to persevere.” She would. She had no idea how, but she would. “Good day, Mr. Livingstone.”

His mouth set grimly, Noah donned his coat and took his Stetson and his leave. Clare kept her gaze steady on the interior of her family’s parlor. Only when she heard the front door open and shut, did she cross over to her chair and sink into it with eyes closed against the tears that were already forming there.

Lord, what am I going to do?

Only silence answered. Stiffly, she rose and plodded into the kitchen. She bent to stir the cool embers in the firebox of the stove, knowing hot water would be needed to clean her brothers’ clothes. Not to mention needed for supper. She could hear the boys upstairs, the renewed bangs and thumps telling her that they were doing more than cleaning up. She’d get their evening meal started and then investigate the situation up there.

In the pantry, she glanced around. For the last few weeks, she hadn’t had much time to shop for staples, leaving their meals sparse and lean. Today, as suppertime approached, she lifted the lid on the corned beef barrel.

Empty save for one small scrap of fat. Supper would be biscuits and milk with the few winter vegetables she had left. She could braise them in that bit of fat. Then she would boil some eggs for the boys’ lunches, reminding herself not to eat any biscuits so they could take the remainder in the morning. Squaring her shoulders, Clare walked over to the small tea canister on the shelf at the entrance to the pantry. Mother always kept grocery money in it, in a small pouch under the leaves. She hadn’t had time to check how much was there.

Her heart sank as the realization hit her.

The pouch was missing. Father had taken it.

A loud crash followed by a whomp and a riotous screech startled her. “Clare!”

She raced upstairs, growing ever more horrified as the smell of burning kerosene met her nostrils halfway up. Tearing into the boys’ room, she gasped. Their small rug was on fire, the overturned kerosene lamp nearby fueling it!

Yanking the half-dressed boys out of the room, Clare lunged for the lamp to right it, snapping back her hand before she burned it. She then grabbed the water basin, dumping it onto the fire. It sprayed burning droplets of fuel in every direction.

She let out her own scream.

She grabbed the boys’ bedspread and smothered the fire, falling on her knees to smack the last few errant flames beyond one corner of the spread.

Reaching behind her, she poured the rest of the water from the jug onto the floor, the bedspread and the rug that peeked out beyond another corner. Then she scoured the whole room to ensure no wayward embers smoldered, crawling on her hands and knees the entire way. Satisfied there was no more danger, she rolled up the rug and bedspread to take them outside.

Still on her knees, all she could manage was to drop her head. Thank You, Lord. Thank You for not allowing this to become worse. Thank You for keeping Tim and Leo safe.

Only after repeating her prayer several times, in utter gratitude, did Clare look up toward the door.

Tim and Leo were peeking into the room. Their faces were still smeared with dried mud. Filthy and anxious, they looked like they’d fallen out of their favorite Henry Castlemon book, the one where the boys chased a raccoon through a swamp.

“You didn’t need to light the lamp!” she told them harshly.

“I’m sorry. It was cold in here and we’re not allowed to start a fire in the stove.” It was the older brother, Tim, who spoke as he pointed to the small potbellied stove nearby. “Don’t get mad at us. Please?”

Fighting tears, she struggled to stand, but sagged again when she saw the section of her skirt below her apron was smeared with wet ashes from the burned rug. Her only work skirt was ruined. In fact, her entire outfit was soaked and rumpled, save the section protected by her apron. Clare whimpered when she noticed a burn hole at the sleeve of her blouse. She sank down farther.

And looked at the floor. Although the damage was minimal, the black, scorched area would need to be repaired. How did one fix such a large scorch mark? Not to mention how much water had seeped down through the plaster ceiling below.

Helplessness washed through her. How was she supposed to mind her two brothers when they couldn’t even be trusted with the simple task of cleaning themselves up?

Clare dropped her head into her hands and shut her eyes. As she knelt there, she could feel her brothers creep in and sit down on the floor near her.

One boy laid his head along her left side and gripped her arm. The other shifted in front and hugged her knees, dropping his head into her wet lap. Automatically, Clare reached out with her right hand and stroked his hair. The straight, silky strands told her without looking that it was Tim. Leo had the curly hair.

“I miss them,” Tim whispered, knowing she would understand who he was talking about.

“I know. I miss them, too.” When Clare heard one of them sniff, she fought to stop her own tears. She wrapped her left arm around Leo and drew him close.

She’d told Noah that she couldn’t punish these boys. And still she couldn’t. She loved them. She understood them. She missed their mother and father right along with them.

Sitting there until the damp seeped through to her stockings, feeling her hunger gnaw at her stomach and knowing she didn’t have enough food for a decent meal, she finally admitted to herself that one awful detail.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do any of what she’d boasted to Noah a few minutes ago. Not by herself. How had her mother managed a house, battled crippling arthritis and controlled two unruly boys?

Clare swallowed. Father had been there to help, taking time off work. He’d seen the boys off to school, given them strict orders to return home immediately after and had set out chores for them to do, all to help ease his wife’s burden. Clare had been away at college during most of that time, money no doubt spent on her when it should have been saved. When she had returned home last fall, she’d pitched in, even after taking a job as clerk at the Recording Office.

Yet, in the last six weeks since their parents had left, Tim and Leo had grown wilder, and Clare had struggled to keep their family home life stable.

She needed to get up. There was simply too much to do tonight to sit there feeling sorry for herself. Laundry, supper, cleaning up this mess, and the one below in the dining room—it all had to be finished before she could crawl into bed. Before tomorrow.

Before tomorrow, when she would ask Noah if his offer still stood.

With a gasp, she lifted her head. Was she really considering his proposal? When she heard Leo sniff, she bit her bottom lip, and cold, hard reality gripped her. She could no longer keep going the way she had been. They’d either have a house to turn over to the bank or, if Tim and Leo weren’t watched more carefully, no house at all. Either way, they would lose it. No doubt after that, her brothers would be taken from her. She couldn’t afford a solicitor to fight for her family, either.

Moving them aside, Clare rose wearily, cringing at her soiled skirt. Perhaps mindless work would help her form the words she needed to say to Noah Livingstone in the morning.

She should start with an apology.

* * *

Noah was always the first one in the Recording Office, an admirable work ethic. Through the window, Clare could see him poring over some paperwork in his small, glassed-in office.

Normally, she would’ve plastered on a bright smile, for a good attitude was as important as good training. But as she pushed open the door, her heavy heart wasn’t allowing any of that.

Noah looked up from his desk as she walked in. Eyes wary, expression guarded, he said nothing as he watched her. Her heart sank further. Oh, what damage had she inflicted in turning him down? Had it really been that personal?

This morning, she’d been churning possible words around in her head. But seeing Noah now, all thought escaped her. Could she really expect him to gather the pieces of his pride and propose to her again? Did she really want him to?

Tears stung her eyes. Yes, she did. She had two little ruffian brothers, and they were a family, and families shouldn’t be separated. But no man would want to take on the responsibility of parenting those boys, and surely her employer realized that. If she asked Noah to propose again, would he? Was that what she needed?

Yes, unfortunately. He’d only proposed to repair her financial situation and the look of consternation on his face immediately after proved he regretted his impromptu suggestion.

But did she really want to get married? Who would take her career seriously then? Married ladies didn’t work, didn’t aspire to be successful businesswomen. They allowed their husbands to control their lives. She’d seen it with all of her college friends who’d abruptly cut short their education in order to wed.

She remembered seeing the disappointment in their eyes when she asked if they were still pursuing the dreams they’d shared while at college.

No, she couldn’t bear for that to be her.

Noah Livingstone would surely sense the resentment she would no doubt harbor. It was only his nobility that had done the talking yesterday.

Forget it. She would not ruin his life to ease her own financial burden. Miss Worth had said more than once that strength came from discipline.

Clare stiffened, all the while fighting both tears and her indecision. She’d finished her crying. Miss Worth had a valuable saying about women’s tears. They were a weak woman’s weapon. A strong woman used her head.

No, Clare would not cry anymore.

Having listened to Clare quote her mentor on more than one occasion since returning from college, her father had disagreed with most of the woman’s opinions. They were too general, he’d scoffed, though he offered no other explanation, nor practical advice.

At the memory, resentment rose unexpectedly within Clare. She hesitated as she quietly closed the office’s main door. Resentment? At her father? She shouldn’t be feeling that at all. That emotion wasn’t the most important thing right now. She would deal with it later. First, she needed to be sensible, not flopping back and forth like the long ears on Leo’s favorite stuffed toy.

Gathering her courage, she pushed through the small swinging gate at the end of the counter and came to a stop in the threshold leading to Noah’s private office.

She could hear the clock on the wall behind her ticking, as if marking time, impatiently waiting for her to follow through with the important decision she’d made last night.

Testing her, like a professor waiting for the correct answer to a timed question that would determine whether or not she passed life or failed it.

Except that Clare was no longer confident that her next move was the right one.

Or even if Noah was still willing to help her.

There was only one way to find out. She drew in a deep breath and began to speak.

Chapter Three

“Good morning.” Clare groaned inwardly. Her words sounded so stilted.

“Good morning.” His attention returned to his work. Clare could practically feel the temperature drop in the room.

She threw back her shoulders. This was far too serious a situation for her to be intimidated by him. Noah had proposed to her. And as much as she hated what it really meant to her freedom, she knew she needed to accept it. If the offer still stood, that is.

“Yesterday, you proposed to me.”

“Yes, I did.” He then paused without looking up. “If I remember correctly, you turned me down.”

Oh, how she wished he would just look at her. She crushed the urge to snatch away the paper he was pretending to read. “About that. I think we need to—”

The door behind her flew open until it banged against the wall. In lumbered Walter Burrows. Having lived in Proud Bend all her life, Clare knew both his name and his reputation.

The tough, mean rancher seemed to have a perpetual chip on his shoulder. Clare knew he had a wife, but in all her years of living here, she had yet to meet the poor woman. But Clare had seen Burrows often enough. He’d come into the Recording Office several months back, and in the course of his business, he’d claimed he’d caught a feral pony a number of years ago. After having no success at breaking it—Clare was hardly surprised as the man was rough and cruel—Burrows had wanted to put it down. He’d heard that Noah had a “foolish notion of rescuing stupid animals,” as he’d put it. Maybe Noah could buy it from him.

That day, Clare had watched Noah take the pony off his hands for the cost of a sack of barley. It was the first time Clare had heard of Noah’s dream of saving horses.

Today, he rose and squeezed past Clare as if she carried a plague. He strode to the counter. “Mr. Burrows, what can I do for you?”

“I bought me another stretch of land. I need to register it. I watched Miz Walsh come in just now and figured you were already open. You know how late women can be when it comes to work.”

Biting back a snappy retort, Clare glanced at the large clock on the wall. There was still a good thirty minutes before opening and Mr. Pooley wasn’t even in yet. She was not late, thank you very much.

After a fast glance at Noah, Clare quickly removed her jacket and hung it up. She heard him clear his throat before pulling out the appropriate ledger and approaching the counter. He usually asked her to assist the customers. Was he saving her from having to deal with the rude man?

“How are you going to work the land, Mr. Burrows?” Noah asked conversationally. “Have you hired some extra help?”

“Not yet.” The man’s voice was gravelly, a perpetual grumble. “But there are always plenty of young ’uns needin’ a roof over their heads. I hear an orphan train is coming west in a few weeks’ time. In fact, I read in the newspaper that there Children’s Aid Society will be picking up a few brats along the way. I can get me a few tough little guys and train ’em up properly.”

Clare couldn’t stop the gasp. Both men glanced her way, and she tried her best to hide the sudden fear leaping in her chest. She doubted she was successful, for all she ended up doing was slapping her hand over her mouth and looking like a fool.

Noah frowned as she forced herself to walk to her desk, where she fell into her chair with very little grace. Her vision swam in sudden tears.

When people got wind of her situation, someone would inform the authorities. No one would expect Clare to be able to raise her hooligan brothers by herself. The Children’s Aid Society would then make a point to stop by.

Clare swallowed. She needed to speak with a lawyer. Even if Noah repeated his proposal, both of them would need to adopt her brothers formally. Yes, some states were less stringent in their enforcement, but both Clare and Noah worked at the Recording Office. How would it look if they were to ignore the laws?

One step at a time, she reminded herself. If Noah’s offer no longer stood, would she be forced to surrender the boys? Not necessarily to Mr. Burrows, of course, but perhaps to someone equally disagreeable, and maybe farther away?

She shut her eyes. Lord, please guide me.

When she opened them again, Mr. Burrows was shutting the door behind him, and Noah was darting a cautious glance her way as he returned to his desk.

He has proposed to you. Do you really want to risk losing Tim and Leo?

If he won’t propose again, you must!

She swallowed around the gravel in her throat.

Clare shut her eyes again. In the distance, muted by the exterior walls, came the sound of the school bell reminding her that she must consider Tim and Leo first. Screwing up her courage, she rose and walked into his office.

Noah looked up from his paperwork, his blue-eyed gaze still wary, a slight frown marring his ruggedly handsome features. Before this nightmare had begun, when she’d just started to work here, she’d found his attention to her pleasing, warming her cheeks and making her feel as gooey as pudding inside. She’d loved it, even though he’d never been anything but professional with her.

Now her heart constricted unexpectedly. His proposal had been just him offering a solution to a bad situation. There was no affection involved. Nothing but his good character showing and even then he’d regretted blurting out his offer. She was sure of that much.

What had she expected? A confession of love? She would have still said no, because marriage was what weaker women searched out. She was made of sterner stuff.

Until she realized she could lose her brothers. Now, knowing her options, her hopes plummeted.

Noah’s brows lifted in expectation, as if waiting for her to explain why she’d barged in here as she had. Why she now lingered beside his desk. Clare fought to hold on to the courage that could waver at a moment’s notice.

“You proposed to me yesterday,” she practically barked.

Leaning back, Noah folded his arms. “We’ve already discussed this. You turned me down.”

“I...I was premature.” She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “Is the offer still available?”

* * *

Yesterday, Noah had let his mouth decide his fate. The last time he had done that, he’d walked out of his home without so much as a backward glance. There had been no second chances then, even if he’d wanted one, which he didn’t, he told himself fiercely. There had been no way to take back what he’d said to his father. There had been no chance to rescind the promise to his ex-fiancée of keeping an ugly secret that still tormented him today.

But now? Here was an opportunity to correct the mistake caused by his impulsive mouth. With one simple no, he could show exactly how Clare’s refusal had bit into his pride.

When Noah’s father had told him that he was to marry Elizabeth Townsend because her father’s business, not to mention his own, would benefit from merging, there had been an expectation that Noah would roll over like a submissive mongrel and do exactly as his father had deemed appropriate.

No. He had his own dreams to pursue, and marriage was far too sacred an institution to be based on financial gain, especially his greedy father’s.

Besides, he’d realized in retrospect, he could never shake the feeling that he couldn’t trust either Elizabeth or her cagey father. No, marrying Elizabeth had never felt right.

But now, he’d offered it to Clare and only to solve a financial problem in her life. To solve something her own selfish father had created. The proposal was an insane idea, one that should never have been offered. His gaze drifted down her frame.

Then he noticed the stain on her skirt. Or should he say where a stain might have been? It looked like she’d scrubbed the material right at its middle, so much so the dye at that one spot had faded. Clare was always a sensible dresser, a woman who looked professional and modern. She’d always been neat although he’d noticed she had only one suitable skirt.

It was no longer suitable.

His train of thought turned to her brothers. Their clothes would have been washed last night, also, and most likely repaired. Like Clare with her work skirt, the boys’ clothes they’d sullied were the only ones they owned that were suitable for school. Yes, children arrived wearing whatever they had, but only farm boys wore overalls. It was a point of pride to wear a nice jacket and knickerbockers. Clare would do her best to ensure her brothers weren’t dressed like ragamuffins.

Then he remembered her gasp a few minutes ago when Mr. Burrows had announced he would take a couple of boys from the Orphan Train.

That institution had been created to foster out children to good homes, to be loved and cared for. While it worked as such sometimes, there were protests out East by people who felt it was nothing but farming out indentured servants, or worse, a different kind of slavery. Noah couldn’t say one way or the other. He did agree that it wasn’t an ideal solution, but with thousands of orphaned and abandoned children in cities, what else could be done?

He groaned softly and berated himself for his stupidity. Of course. Clare’s gasp should have told him immediately what she was thinking.

His breath stalled in his throat. Had his own defensiveness overshadowed Clare’s fear? Mr. Burrows’s crass remarks just now had proven that the Orphan Train was the worst fate for her and her brothers.

Lord, I don’t know what to do. It’s wrong to marry for financial gain. It’s wrong to take sacred vows simply to correct other people’s selfish errors.

There had to be some affection, surely?

“Is the offer still available?” Clare asked again, this time softly, a melodic question that rolled through him like a tune on a delicate flute.

He forced his attention back to the conversation at hand. Clare looked tired this morning and he felt his brows press together at the sight of the violet shadows under her eyes. “Did you tell your brothers about your parents?”

Her expression clouded. She offered him a single, slow sigh and he knew her answer before she spoke it. “I couldn’t. Not yet.” She wet her lips. “I’ll think about what to say but I need answers to some of my questions, first. Hopefully, they will come today at lunchtime.”

“What questions? Besides you seeing the bank manager, what else do you need to do?”

“Well, I need to find a carpenter—”

“A carpenter?”

She hesitated before clearing her throat. “There was a small incident last night.”

“What happened?”

“Just after you left, the boys tipped over their lamp and the rug caught fire.”

His heart stumbled and he gasped. “Is everyone all right?”

“Yes,” she added hastily. “We’re fine.”

“Why did you light the lamp, anyway? It wasn’t dark out when I left.”

“I didn’t. One of the boys did. I don’t know which one, and frankly, I think both were involved. They said they were cold and they aren’t allowed to put on a fire. They don’t always think first.”

“You need to start disciplining them.”

Her chin wrinkled and for a few long moments, she didn’t speak. “I can’t,” she whispered. “They miss our parents. They’re grieving because they think Mother and Father will be gone for what seems to them to be forever. I don’t have the heart to start punishing them, and then, a short time later, tell them our parents are never coming back! It’s cruel and unfair. So, please don’t ask me to punish them. I can’t! I miss our parents, too. I know how they feel.”

Another pause followed. “And frankly, well, I feel betrayed, too,” she added.

She dragged forward the chair that sat against the glass wall and collapsed into it. Her hand covered her nose and mouth, but Noah could see tears welling up in her soft brown eyes before she laid her arm across his desk and dropped her forehead onto it.