Claiming Mariah

by Pam Hillman

  Slade leaned against the corral and stared at the house, wondering if the Malone woman had made up her mind. Not that it made any difference. She didn’t have much choice. If she stayed, she’d just prolong the agony of leaving as well as letting the whole country know what her father had done. At least she and the old woman could keep their dignity if they left now.

  “What happened in there?” Buck stood next to him, his arms resting on a weathered board.

  Slade glanced at his brother, wincing at the jagged crescent-shaped scar on his face. A twist of pain pulled at his gut. The wild mustang that stomped his brother had left more than physical scars. Buck had endured the ridicule and gawking of heartless folks until he’d finally taken refuge in working with his beloved horses, avoiding the cruelty of humans most of the time.

  “I gave her an hour to make up her mind.”

  “She alone?”

  “No, there’s an older woman too. Her grandmother.”

  Neither spoke for several minutes, their focus on the house standing quiet and still a stone’s throw from the corral. Nothing stirred save the swish of the horses’ tails as they swatted horseflies. Buck blew out a whistling breath.

  Slade clenched his jaw, knowing his brother had something on his mind. “Just spit it out.”

  “It doesn’t seem right to turn them out of their home.”

  “It’s our home. Ma’s home.” Slade glared at his brother. “What do you want me to do? Just walk away?”

  “It’s your decision, but I’d at least consider letting them stay until Ma gets here.” Buck smothered a cough. “There’s no harm in that, is there?”

  Slade stalked away. He wouldn’t let himself think about where the Malone women would go, what they’d do, or who would take them in.

  Their problems were not his concern.

  Mariah left the storeroom, her decision made. The deed identified Slade Donovan’s father as the sole owner of the gold mine, and she wouldn’t fight him. It wasn’t worth disgracing what was left of her family and her father’s memory. Turning the ranch over to the Donovans would set everything to rights, wouldn’t it?

  She’d be homeless and penniless, but at least she’d have her pride.

  Her decision weighed heavy as she looked around the house she’d lived in all her life. Just days ago, she’d complained about the shabbiness of everything. The furniture could use new covers, the house needed a fresh coat of paint, and the roof leaked every time it rained. Even the outbuildings begged for more attention than Red and the hands could spare.

  But today, when it seemed as if she’d be leaving forever, everything took on a beloved glow. Her eyes, still stinging from her bout with tears, misted over.

  She tamped down a rise of panic. How would she take care of her grandmother and her sister without the security of the ranch? She hadn’t thought past the here and now. Hadn’t thought what she’d tell Amanda. But she’d deal with that later.

  Stepping onto the porch, she came face-to-face with Slade Donovan. A jolt coursed through her when his gaze met hers. What if they’d met under different circumstances? What if he’d been a neighboring rancher or a cowboy looking for work? Somebody to come alongside her and turn the Lazy M around. But he wasn’t just another cowboy. He was the son of the man her father had ruined.

  A son intent on revenge.

  “I’ll do it,” she blurted out. “I’ll sign the ranch over to you. But I want your promise you won’t tell our neighbors what my father did. He was highly respected in this community, and his memory and our good name are all we have left.”

  She searched his face, hoping to find a hint of compassion. He stared at her, his expression hard and unreadable. Would he refuse? Had he decided to contact the sheriff anyway, whether she agreed to leave or not? Would he drag the past into the open, airing it like a musty old blanket? She didn’t know if she could bear her friends whispering behind her back, casting pitying glances at her and her grandmother. Her heart thudded against her rib cage.

  Please, Lord, let him say yes.

  “All right.” He nodded. “I’ll take you and your grandmother into town in the morning. Just tell me where you want to go.”

  Mariah turned away. He’d agreed to let them leave without telling the sheriff and the community of Wisdom. She should be relieved that her family’s reputation would remain intact.

  But knowing her father tried to kill a man over a handful of gold left her feeling as if Slade Donovan had just hung a millstone around her neck and tossed her into the creek to drown.

  The breaking of dawn brought rain.

  Mariah dropped the curtain into place and stepped away from the window. What did rain on the Lazy M matter anymore? She’d be leaving today. Leaving for good. Let Slade Donovan worry about the rain, the grass, the cattle.

  She wouldn’t have to worry about the money to pay the hands, the fences that needed mending, or the leaky roof over the bunkhouse. She wouldn’t have to worry about why the ranch had steadily declined after her father took sick. Her only worry would be survival: for Amanda, her grandmother, and for herself.

  Survival. A place to stay. Food to eat. How would they manage with nothing?

  The urge to talk to Reverend Winston grew as she gathered her belongings. But she wouldn’t. The shame of what she would have to reveal stopped her. As much as leaving hurt, confessing her father’s sins hurt more.

  With a heavy heart, she finished packing two trunks before easing out of her room, careful not to disturb her grandmother. She wrapped a warm shawl around her shoulders and stepped onto the front porch. Hugging the wrap close, she watched the water form small rivulets on the ground, then run together to make larger and larger puddles until little oceans dotted the open space between the house and the outbuildings.

  The barn door creaked open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man strode toward the house. Mariah recognized Slade Donovan’s confident swagger. He splashed through the widening puddles as if they weren’t there, his chin tucked, shielding his face against the onslaught of rain. Just like he’d plowed into her life and laid bare all her family secrets.

  He barged right onto the porch, and she stepped back just in time to avoid a collision. He jerked his head up, his gaze locking with hers. Neither spoke, the sound of rain filling the silence between them.

  The scent of fresh rainwater clung to his clothes, and widening splotches dampened his brown duster. The dust and stubble from yesterday were gone, leaving a clean-shaven face—a strong, determined face that made her wonder if any part of him could show compassion or gentleness. Somehow she doubted it, and regret clutched at her heart.

  If he were kind or gentle, he might offer a compromise, maybe agree to take half the land or only a portion of it. But no, kind and compassionate didn’t describe Slade Donovan.

  At least not as far as she was concerned.

  Was he married? She rejected the fleeting thought as suddenly as it occurred to her. What woman would put up with such an overbearing, high-handed man? The poor woman would have to be a saint.

  He removed his hat and thrust a hand through his brown hair. This morning, beneath the cloudy skies, his tanned face seemed darker, his eyes bluer. Mariah looked away, annoyed she’d even noticed the color of his eyes or anything else about Slade Donovan.

  “Morning, ma’am,” he drawled. “Sorry I startled you.”

  She nodded, accepting his apology.

  An uneasy silence settled around them as she waited for him to speak. Would he insist they leave today? She hated to feel as if he governed her life, but he did. She also hated the thought of moving her grandmother out on a morning like this. She started to ask if he’d wait until the rain eased up, but then she pressed her lips together. She wouldn’t ask for favors, not even for her grandmother.

  Mariah blinked, the grainy feeling behind her lids reminding her of a sleepless night. Even if he offered to delay their departure, she didn’t know if she could stand to wait.

  Better to get
the whole thing over with and get on with her life.

  Miss Malone barely acknowledged him. Instead, she stared at the expanse of yard in front of the house, seemingly mesmerized by the puddles. Was she waiting for him to tell her it was time to go? Did she think he’d make her and the old woman get out on a morning like this? He grimaced. He supposed she did. She didn’t have any reason to think otherwise.

  He gritted his teeth, angry with himself. It didn’t matter what she thought. He still wanted them to leave. But he needed answers first.

  Answers to ease his nagging conscience.

  “Where will you and your grandmother go? Do you have family someplace?”

  She took a deep breath but didn’t spare him a glance. “We’ll manage. After . . . after we drop by the bank to sign over the deed, I’d like to go on to the train station, if you don’t mind.”

  Slade winced at her emotionless words. She appeared tired, as if she hadn’t slept much, but her white shirtwaist and dove-gray skirt looked pressed and crisp. She’d combed every strand of her thick golden-brown hair into place, but he suspected before the end of the day her tresses would curl softly around her heart-shaped face just as they had yesterday when he’d first seen her.

  He scowled, frustrated with his own indecision. It was a simple matter of telling her they’d wait until the rain slacked up, then be on their way, but he couldn’t force the words out. Visions of her willowy form and her elderly grandmother kept him from accomplishing what he’d come here to do. He worked hard, expecting other men to handle their share, to make their own way, and he’d make his. But not women. He remembered the kindness shown to his mother by a precious few.

  Hard times from as far back as he could remember had created a softness in him for women and children, a desire to protect them. Even with the daughter of the man he hated, that soft spot sucker punched him in the gut.

  “Miss Malone, I realize it isn’t any of my business, but I’d like to know where the two of you are heading.”

  “You’re right.” Temper flared in her brown eyes. “It isn’t any of your business.”

  He bit back a rueful smile. He supposed she had a right to be angry and hurting. “I’d still like an answer,” he insisted.

  She moved away without a word. But Slade could read signs as well as the next man. She wanted to go to the train station, to leave Wisdom, where everyone would whisper behind her back. If she stayed, it wouldn’t take long for people to figure out she didn’t have the kind of money she should have from the sale of the Lazy M.

  And she hadn’t so much as said so, but he suspected she didn’t have any extended family who could help out. Just her and the old woman. A circumstance that made his demands harsher in the light of a new day.

  Why hadn’t Malone had a son instead of a daughter? Slade wouldn’t think twice about kicking a man off land legally belonging to him. But a man wouldn’t have given in so easily. A man would’ve fought for the land, right or wrong.

  He cleared his throat. He’d mulled over Buck’s suggestion most of the night. He didn’t know if he agreed. But if he turned two women out without a place to go, he would never forgive himself, and neither would his mother. She’d seen enough hard times to feel for others in dire straits.

  “It doesn’t sit right with me, sending you and your grandmother away knowing the two of you don’t have a place to go.” He paused. “I take it you don’t have much money either.”

  She stiffened, her lips pressed tight. He’d hit a nerve. Stifling a groan, he tried to come up with a good excuse to let them stay. He shook his head at the irony of wanting to kick them out and provide for them at the same time. He curled the brim of his hat in his fist. Might as well spit it out and be done with it.

  “If you and your grandmother could stay on and mind the house until my mother gets here, I’d be obliged.” The words stuck in his throat like dust churned up by a thousand head of stampeding cattle.

  “Of all the gall!” She faced him then, an incredulous look on her face, color staining her pale cheeks. “Clean my own house and weed and water my own garden, knowing I’m going to walk off and let someone else take over? Mr. Donovan, you’ve got an inflated sense of who you and your family are if you think for one minute—”

  “Miss Malone,” he snapped, “I’m trying to be as accommodating as I can. Your father wouldn’t have had the money to buy this ranch if he hadn’t stolen it from my father in the first place.”

  They glared at each other for a tense moment before she whirled and stomped to the other end of the porch, presenting him her back, rigid and uncompromising.

  Her world crumbled around her. Mariah stared at the mountains shrouded in mist, willing her pounding heart to slow and her careening emotions to subside so she could think.

  She gripped the porch railing, feeling the slick dampness of the wood beneath her palms. One image floated to the surface of the jumbled thoughts inside her head. He’d said they could stay. But she didn’t want to, not under the circumstances. It would be pure torture to walk through the rooms where she and Amanda had laughed and played. To view the majestic mountains and the rolling pastures, knowing any day might be her last.

  But to be able to take care of her grandmother and Amanda for a few more weeks . . .

  A weak ray of hope pierced through the cloudy haze. Would it be so bad to agree? It would give her time to plan, to make decisions. She didn’t have much choice unless she threw herself on the mercy of Frederick and her other neighbors. A sick feeling assaulted her. Neither option appealed to her, but leaving wasn’t exactly an option either. She doubted the small amount of money she had would buy tickets to Philadelphia, let alone see her and her grandmother through until she found a way of making a living.

  She wished she could fling Slade Donovan’s offer in his face and demand the wagon be brought round so they could leave, rain or no rain. But Amanda and her grandmother deserved better than that. She bowed her head.

  Lord, guide me. Show me what to do.

  Her stomach churned, uncertainty pulling at her. Should she go? Or stay?

  Please, God.

  Finally she turned and looked at the man who’d turned her life upside down. He leaned against a post, still and sure of his place in the world. A man who could come and go as he pleased, a man without responsibilities, a man who could disrupt the lives of others and not think twice about it.

  A man who spiked her temper and made her blood boil.

  “I’ll expect the same wages any other housekeeper would get. But don’t expect me or my grandmother to be at your beck and call. I don’t think I could stomach that.”

  He stared, unblinking, considering her demand. Finally he dipped his head in agreement. “All right.”

  “What about meals?” As soon as the question left her lips, Mariah wanted to snatch it back.

  “Buck and I will take supper in the house with you and your grandmother. We’ll eat breakfast and the noon meal with the rest of the hands.”

  Another, more alarming, prospect occurred to her, and heat swooshed across her face. “You and your brother will sleep in the bunkhouse as long as we’re here. And . . . and we always attend church on Sundays.”

  “Agreed. Are you done?” The tic in his jaw had returned. Fine and dandy. Let him be irked. It felt good to have the upper hand for a change.

  Mariah bit her lip. She couldn’t think of anything else. But at least she’d covered the important things, like where he and his brother would eat and sleep.

  “What will you tell the hands?” He jerked his head toward the bunkhouse.

  She’d forgotten the hands. “What am I going to tell them? You’re the boss. What do you intend to tell them?”

  “Nothing about your father, if that’s what you mean.” He lifted an eyebrow.

  She searched his face. Could she trust this man’s word? He’d ripped everything from her that she held dear, save her family, but as far as she could tell, he hadn’t lied to her. “I can tell t
hem you’re the new owner of the Lazy M and that Grandma and I are helping out in the house until your mother gets here.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  She winced. “But not all of it.”

  “The rest isn’t anybody’s business.”

  Mariah glanced at the cookhouse, where a thin plume of smoke told her Cookie had started breakfast for the hands. “Cookie will sense something’s wrong. He’s known me all my life.”

  “It’ll be up to you to convince him, Mariah. I won’t tell him any different.” With a slight nod, he turned and headed toward the bunkhouse.

  She glared at his retreating back. He’d called her by her first name as if hiring her as housekeeper gave him the right to be so familiar. Oh, the man made her so mad, she could . . . she could just spit.

  Instead, she gritted her teeth and called out, “Supper will be ready and waiting—Slade.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “GOT ANY COFFEE, old man?”

  The stocky fellow Mariah called Cookie whirled around and squinted at Slade, the spatula in his hand pointed like a gun. He shook the greasy instrument. “If you want coffee, you young whippersnapper, you’ll call me Cookie. Ain’t no old men round here,” he said, his reedy voice too decrepit to make the threat menacing.

  “I’ll remember that.” The smell of Cookie’s breakfast made a man sit up and take notice, so the last thing he wanted was to offend the old codger.

  “Coffee’s over there.” The cook waved his spatula in the general direction of the stove. “Help yourself.”

  Slade poured a cup of the steaming brew and took a seat. He sipped the coffee: strong, black—exactly how he liked it.

  Cookie peered at him over his shoulder as he deftly turned sizzling eggs and frying ham. “You just hire on?”

  “You might say that.”

  “Funny. Red didn’t say nothing about it.”

  “Red?”

  Cookie frowned and gave him another squinty inspection. “Red Harper, foreman on the Lazy M.”

  “I guess he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.”