Crumpets & Cowpies: (Sweet Historical Western Romance) (Baker City Brides Book 1)

by Shanna Hatfield

  “I thought he lived here in Liverpool.”

  “No. He moved to Bolton after he became a partner in his first cotton mill. He stayed with me when he had business to attend to here in the city and I hope you’ll do the same.”

  Intently gazing at the man across the desk from him, Thane slowly nodded his head. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Weston. It’s very kind of you.”

  Weston rose to his feet, gathered the papers he’d set on the desk and placed them in a file then enclosed it in a leather satchel similar to the school bags many children carried. After handing the bag to Thane, the solicitor motioned toward the door.

  “Shall we proceed to my home? I’d like to think my cook might be able to provide a filling meal for that fence post hole you mentioned.”

  A smile worked at the corners of Thane’s mouth and he again nodded his head. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Please, call me Weston. Now, I’d like to hear all about your life in the west. Is it as untamed and wild as the stories I’ve read, that sort of rot?”

  Thane grinned, cocking an eyebrow. “Depends on what you’ve read.”

  “Rightly so, my good man.”

  After a hot bath and a good meal, Thane spent the evening visiting with Weston and his wife, Margaret, at their well-appointed home. The next morning, Mrs. Weston handed a basket of food to her husband as he climbed into a comfortable coach, taking a seat opposite their guest.

  “I must say, I think it best if you spend a few days acquainting yourself with Henry’s holdings in Bolton before you make any decisions,” Weston said when Thane questioned the need for making the day-long trip to the northeast.

  “Can’t I read the papers and sign them here?”

  “There are affairs there that require your personal attention, sir. I’m happy to provide assistance and advisement as needed. You didn’t seem of a mind to speak of matters last evening, but I believe it would behoove us to discuss the details of your brother’s will whilst we journey to his home today.” Weston waved to his wife as the coach pulled onto the street.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather wait. I’m still trying to resign myself to Henry’s death. You say he fell off his horse while he was riding home from his office?” Henry was the one who taught Thane to ride. He had a hard time believing his brother could take a spill for no reason and break his neck.

  “From what I know, Henry left his office, riding fast and hard, as he so often did on his way home. It was raining that night, already dark. No one knows if the horse slipped, stepped in a hole, or spooked, but the end result was the same. The doctor said Henry didn’t suffer, that the end came quickly.”

  Thane barely nodded his head in acknowledgement of the statement and focused his gaze out the coach window. He’d suggested riding to Bolton horseback but Weston quickly assured him they needed to travel by coach. At least it was a private coach and Thane had one side all to himself. It gave him the ability to stretch out his long legs. He still felt cramped from the days of confinement on the ship due to his illness.

  The few times he’d felt well enough to venture from his room on the ship, he’d joined a group of men who conversed about everything from the first electric chair execution that took place a few weeks prior in New York to the admittance of Idaho and Wyoming to the union earlier that summer.

  Discussion of a new ship in the popular White Star Line, reputed for its speed and attention to detail, stirred his interest. Unfortunately, it wasn’t due to sail out of Liverpool for three weeks. By then, Thane planned to be home at his ranch.

  “May I inquire, sir, have you ever met any Indians?” Weston asked from his seat across the coach, hungry for more news from the American West. The previous evening, his guest had offered several stories appropriate for genteel ears since Margaret sat with them, enraptured by the tales Thane shared.

  “A few. We don’t have too many in the Baker City area, but there’s a reservation near Pendleton, north of where I live. The Indians are just trying to survive, like a lot of the rest of us.”

  “Have you witnessed any of them performing something called the ghost dance? I read in the newspaper that many of the tribes are engaging in the ritual at the urging of a man named Wovoka.”

  “No, I haven’t seen any ghost dancers. While many of the tribes believe it will bring a return of their old ways, the dance mostly has a bunch of white folks in a panic, worried about uprisings.”

  “Surely you jest.”

  Thane glanced at his traveling companion and shook his head. “Nope. Personally, I think they ought to leave the Indians alone and let them do their dances. It’s bad enough we’ve shoved them off their lands onto reservations; we shouldn’t forbid them from honoring their traditions.”

  Weston continued asking questions about life in the West and on a ranch. While working through the basket of food Mrs. Weston provided, the men maintained a lively conversation that stayed far away from discussions of Henry or his passing.

  The afternoon moved toward evening as the coach slowed and turned down a lane, rolling to a stop in front of a large stone home resembling a miniature castle with gables, turrets, and multiple chimneys gracing the roofline. Ivy and climbing roses trailed over the arch around the doorway while a profusion of blooming flowers and green lawn completed the pastoral scene.

  “We made jolly good time,” Weston said, smiling at the coachman as he opened the door to the conveyance. “Welcome to Breckenridge Cottage.”

  Henry’s cottage looked nothing like Thane imagined. It was vastly different from the small, humble cabin he called home.

  Curious, he followed Weston down the cobblestone path to the front door. Thane took a deep breath, inhaling the cloying aroma of the flowers.

  Rain began to fall as they stepped beneath the overhang covering the door. Between the dreary skies and perpetual dampness, he couldn’t wait to return to the somewhat arid conditions of eastern Oregon.

  Though he expected Weston to produce a key and open the door, Thane hid his surprise when the man knocked and turned to him with a smile.

  “I thought this was Henry’s place?” Thane asked, confused.

  “Indeed, it is.”

  “And someone lives here?”

  “They most certainly do. I planned to discuss further those details with you today on our journey, but you made your preference clear on that topic. I rather enjoyed our conversations about your life in the West. Regardless, by deferring to your wishes, you shall meet the occupants without forewarning.”

  “Forewarning? Now, wait just a dang minute, Weston. I’ve got…”

  The door opening forced Thane to clamp his mouth shut, although he continued to glare at his traveling companion.

  “Weston! How nice to see you.”

  The feminine voice floating out to Thane caused him to shift his gaze from the solicitor to the beautiful woman standing in the doorway, smiling in greeting. Light from inside the house highlighted her auburn hair and created a soft glow around her shoulders. Ladylike and elegant in appearance, Thane wondered if she had royal blood pumping through her delicate veins.

  “My dear, I do so hope you received my correspondence explaining our arrival.”

  “Indeed, I did, kind sir. Please come in.” She stepped back to allow her guests entry. “You’re just in time for a spot of tea.”

  “Wonderful. I’m glad we arrived when we did,” Weston said, removing his hat and coat and hanging them on the mahogany hall tree in the entry.

  Thane removed his Stetson and jacket, leaving them beside Weston’s things before turning to the woman.

  Weston thumped him on the back as he made introductions. “Thane Jordan, I’d very much like you to meet Jemma Bryan, Henry’s sister-in-law.”

  Thane clenched his jaw and curtly tipped his head to the woman. Her smile slowly melted as his annoyance pounded between them with a palpable force.

  Weston stood rooted in place when Thane pinned him with an angry glare. “Henry wa
s married?”

  Chapter Two

  Confused, Jemma gazed between Henry’s solicitor and his brother. In all the years she’d known Henry Jordan, he’d never once mentioned a brother.

  The first knowledge she possessed that one existed occurred the day Mr. Weston had read Henry’s will. The terms he set forth left her speechless and in a state of shock. Hopeful that Henry’s brother would choose to forfeit his inheritance and stay in America, her optimism soon faded.

  Keen disappointment settled over her when she received a letter from Weston earlier in the week, advising her that Thane Jordan traveled to England to make the necessary arrangements to settle Henry’s estate.

  Furtively studying the man who looked as if he could rip Weston apart with his bare hands, she took in his thick hair, desperately in need of a good trim. He had a strong, commanding presence, along with a handsome face, at least what she could see of it, covered as it was by a layer of scruffy blond stubble. She wondered if he misplaced his razor on the ship’s crossing and hadn’t been able to replace it.

  The clothing he wore looked every bit as rugged as the man they covered. Although not shabby, his attire lacked the quality she would have expected from Henry’s kin. The shirt and pants seemed a bit large for him, but not overly so.

  Comparisons of the man to her sweet brother-in-law failed to reveal many similarities. Thane Jordan was taller and broader than Henry had been, but he lacked the kindly warmth her brother-in-law always exuded. The only definable resemblance came from his eyes. The color was the same shade of blue as Henry’s although while his often twinkled with humor, this man’s looked cold and hard.

  Taken aback by the unrefined westerner, she placed a hand to her throat and tried to tamp down her fear of what havoc he would wreak in her life before he returned to America.

  Thane glared threateningly Weston’s direction. “I think you better start talking, Weston.”

  Jemma took a step away from the two men, bumping into the family dog as he stood behind her, eyeing the stranger.

  As she reached out a hand to the pet, Weston grinned and patted the animal’s head, making the canine’s tail wag with pleasure as it fanned back and forth across the spotless floor.

  “No need to fret, Jemma, dear. Everything is quite all right.”

  “Is she a swooner?” Thane noticed the woman next to him turned unusually pale as she worried a cameo pinned to the thick lace covering her long, graceful neck.

  “I assure you, Mr. Jordan, I am not a swooner. I’ve never fainted in my life and I most certainly don’t plan to begin at this most unfortunate instance.” Jemma found it impossible to look into the man’s face and instead glanced at the plain cotton shirt he wore. No suit jacket, no waistcoat, just a shirt any working class man might own.

  Unsettled by the crude interloper, she turned and tripped over the dog when he pushed against her legs.

  Thane grabbed her arms to keep her from falling and she hurriedly pushed herself away from him.

  “What is that thing? It looks like a lab climbed under the fence and got friendly with a poodle.” Thane studied the large curly-haired black dog with interest. The animal neither growled nor acted friendly, staring at him with cool disinterest.

  “This is Sir Rigsly. He’s a curly-coated retriever. Henry got him to hunt birds, but he’s definitely been more of a pet than a hunter. He won’t bite, but he’s not fond of strangers.” Jemma trailed a hand across the dog’s tall back as she walked down the hall to the drawing room.

  “I’ve never heard of his breed before.” Thane studied the dog’s sturdy form, admiring his straight back and intelligent eyes.

  “The breed is fairly new, introduced here a few decades ago. Most people use them for upland bird and waterfowl hunting,” Jemma explained as she stepped past the dog into the drawing room.

  “Where is Greenfield?” Weston inquired of the butler’s whereabouts as he motioned Thane to follow their hostess.

  “He’s running a few errands and should be back soon.” Jemma walked over to where a tea tray rested on a low table near a grouping of chairs and a settee.

  “I say, where’s the rest of the help, Miss Bryan?” Weston fixed her with a probing look, compelling her to respond.

  “Everyone has left except for Cook and Greenfield,” Jemma blurted, rubbing the cameo with trembling fingers while her other hand wrapped across her middle. “With the state of things in such a sticky-wicket since the reading of Henry’s will, the staff began seeking posts elsewhere.”

  “Why did you not send word?” Weston looked imploringly at Jemma. “How are you managing?”

  “Quite well, truthfully. We’re learning to do things for ourselves and making do.”

  “Bosh! You should have made me aware the situation here so rapidly deteriorated. Henry would want you well provided for and given the care to which you are accustomed.”

  She frowned at Weston. “If that’s what Henry wanted, he wouldn’t have left things in such a fretful condition.” Jemma snapped her mouth shut before she said something she’d regret. Thanks to Henry’s bequeathment solely to his brother, he’d left those residing in his household scrambling to make sense of his wishes.

  Annoyed, Jemma took a seat on the settee and poured tea into the two cups on the tray, realizing she’d need a third. Weston and Mr. Jordan had just taken seats and both hurried to stand as she rose to her feet.

  “I’ll fetch another cup and be back momentarily. Please excuse me.”

  Thane waited until she left the room to focus his angry glare on Weston. “Answers, man. I want answers. Now.”

  “I tried to tell you, Thane. Your brother was married to a beautiful girl named Jane Bryan. She passed away three years ago and Henry was beside himself with grief. Jemma stepped in, taking over the management of the household and the…”

  Jemma returned, forcing Weston to refrain from finishing his comment. She poured herself a cup of tea, motioning for the men to help themselves to a tray with sandwiches and sweets.

  Thane ate two sandwiches and began working on his third when the front door opened and the patter of childish footsteps echoed down the hall. A cherubic face peeped around the doorway. Glossy eyes snapped with lively interest beneath a mop of strawberry blond curls.

  Thane assumed the girl must belong to someone in the house. She bore a resemblance to Miss Bryan, but if the uptight woman was her mother, he assumed Weston would have introduced her as a missus instead of a miss.

  The dog lifted his gaze to the child and wagged his tail in a friendly greeting as he lounged in front of the fire.

  “Hello, there, Miss Lily.” Weston beckoned the child to join them. She continued to hover in the doorway swishing her skirts back and forth before releasing a giggle and running across the room to the elderly man.

  As he lifted her up in a hug, he kissed her rosy cheek and bounced her on his knee. “How does this day find you, sweetheart?”

  “I’m great, Mr. Weston. How are you?”

  “Very well, my dear.” Weston placed a comforting hand on the child’s back and grinned. “Would you like to meet your uncle from America?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Thane choked on the tea he’d just swallowed and clanged the cup into the saucer. Afraid he’d break the expensive china, he set it down on the table in front of him and coughed loudly into a napkin Jemma thrust into his hand.

  “Uncle?” he croaked, glaring at Weston. “I’m an uncle?”

  “Indeed, you are. Thane, I’m most pleased to present your niece, Lillian Jane Jordan, better known as Lily. She’s three.”

  Thane had no more idea what to do with a three-year-old than he did with the unnecessary assortment of silverware he’d worked his way through at dinner the previous evening. When he fastened his gaze on the child, she shyly ducked her head against Weston, hiding her face.

  “He’s scary, Mr. Weston.” Lily whispered loud enough for Thane to hear.

  Bothered by her words, he
took a calming breath. After schooling his features into a less intimidating expression, he held out a hand to the child. Although he didn’t know Henry had wed much less produced a child, he wanted to meet the little person who was his last living connection to his brother.

  “It’s nice to meet you Lily. Would you mind coming closer?”

  The child turned her head far enough she could see him with one shiny copper eye, warily observing him.

  Thane forced an amiable smile to his face and extended his hand her direction again. Determined to win her over, he held his breath, waiting to see what she’d do.

  Lily slowly slid off Weston’s knee and sedately moved within his reach. She placed her tiny hand on his big palm. The contrast of her milky smooth skin to his tan, work-roughened hand caught his attention. He felt warmth spread from her little fingers straight to his heart.

  He’d never been around kids, wasn’t even sure he liked them, but this daughter of Henry’s made a lump lodge in his throat as she gazed at him with open interest.

  “Are you my uncle?”

  Thane cleared his throat, afraid if he moved, Lily would run from him. “I guess I am.”

  “Are you mean?”

  Jemma tamped down the spontaneous desire to assure her niece the big man was definitely mean, undoubtedly uncivilized, and about to throw their entire existence into turmoil. Wisely, she held her tongue and sipped her tea.

  “No, Lily. I’m not mean,” Thane assured the child. “If I seem that way, I’m not trying to be.”

  Lily studied him for a long moment. “Did you know my papa?”

  “Yes, I did. Your papa was my brother.”

  “Are you going to visit him in heaven?”

  “Someday, I hope to see him there, but I’d like to stay here a while longer.”

  Lily tipped her head and tentatively reached out a finger, touching the bearded scruff on Thane’s face. He forced himself not to jerk away from her innocent exploration. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone touching him or being in such close proximity.