Dreaming on Daisies: A Novel (Love Blossoms in Oregon Series Book 3)

by Miralee Ferrell

  She took a step backward and bumped into the low railing that separated his space from the rest of the bank. “Thank you. Good day.” Right now she wanted nothing more than to escape the sadness in his eyes before she blurted out her willingness to give him a place to stay, even if he would be completely useless at the ranch. That wouldn’t do at all. She didn’t need a city man getting in the way.

  Leah pushed through the gate and then paused, ashamed at how selfish she must appear. She straightened her spine. This was ridiculous! Why couldn’t she do what she thought best without battling a guilty conscience?

  Besides, Pa wouldn’t be happy about her inviting a strange man onto the ranch. But did she really want to base her decision on what Pa would think, when he’d done so little to keep up his end of the work lately? Or was it more important that she at least attempt to please God, even if it meant going against what was comfortable?

  She heaved a sigh and turned. “Mr. Harding, if you are unable to find new accommodations soon, let me know. Your sister is my friend, and I don’t want to see Beth’s brother living in an expensive hotel when I have an empty bed in the bunkhouse you could use for a few days.”

  Before he could reply, Leah bolted through the gate and headed for the front door of the bank. What had she done? If Steven Harding accepted her offer, he’d be more trouble than help. But for some reason she couldn’t quite account for, the thought of having a handsome man on the ranch left her somewhat breathless.

  Steven stared at the back of the intriguing, frustrating, beautiful woman as she all but ran from the bank. Leah Carlson lived up to her flaming red hair with her independent, albeit stubborn behavior and outspoken personality. Intriguing was the most apt word, however. Miss Carlson drew him in a way that set his heart racing whenever she was near.

  He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head, smiling to himself. He’d always wondered what type of woman would captivate his interest and never once thought it would be a feisty female rancher who preferred denim to calico. But, on the other hand, he couldn’t imagine it being anyone but her.

  It was no longer a matter of finances or the inconvenience of how far from the bank he must ride. He liked the idea of not having to go days—or weeks—at a time without seeing her. He’d find a way to change her mind about helping her at the ranch for his own sake, as much as for hers.

  April 7, 1881

  Three days had dragged by since Leah’s visit to the bank, and she still hadn’t corralled her father about the loan. She sloshed through the barnyard, which was heavy with mud from the recent downpour, and pushed open the door to the oversized barn. Pa had insisted on building it three years ago, even though the old one was adequate.

  She glanced down the alleyway, appreciating anew the multiple stalls and tack room. Pa didn’t do things halfway, and while she didn’t agree with this expense, she couldn’t help but admire it. But it was more evidence of their fragile financial state. If she didn’t get a loan soon to purchase more cows and hire another ranch hand, it could all come crashing down.

  “Pa? You in here?” She walked to the tack room and peeked inside but found it empty. Soft footfalls overhead and fine hay dust filtering through the ceiling boards alerted her. Heading to the ladder, she climbed up to the hayloft. “You want help feeding?” She stepped onto the upper floor, keeping one hand on the side rail of the ladder.

  Her father brushed off his jeans and grimaced. “Naw, I’m about finished. You’ve done enough today without doin’ my work too.”

  Leah’s heart lifted. He hadn’t been drinking and appeared to be in an affable mood. “Do you have a minute?”

  “What for?” He stepped to the trap door in the floor and raised it. He pitched several forkfuls of hay into a feed trough in a stall below, then moved to the next trap door. “Need help with somethin’ you didn’t get done?”

  “I was hoping to talk.”

  He propped the pitchfork against a wall and turned. “I told you I don’t wanna hear any more about what you think I’m doin’ wrong.”

  She gripped her hands together. “It’s not that, Pa. It’s about the ranch.”

  “What about it?” He glanced around. “The work is done for the day, and we had a fine crop of new calves this spring. Not sure what there is to talk about.”

  This wasn’t going to be easy—in fact, from his expression she almost wished she hadn’t approached him. But in for a penny, in for a pound, as Ma used to say. Her heart constricted at the thought of her mother. If only she were here. Ma always knew how to sweet-talk her father when things weren’t going well.

  “I rode out to check on the cattle yesterday, but that’s not what I want to discuss.”

  “So spit it out, girl. Don’t stand there wringin’ your hands.”

  Why did he have this effect on her? Anyone else, she could stand up to without so much as twitching an eyelid. He always made her feel as though he were waiting for her to do something wrong and that she’d never measure up, no matter what choice she made. In fact, she’d been surprised when he’d said she’d done enough for the day. When he’d been drinking, he didn’t have a problem foisting most of his chores off on her and never thinking about it again.

  She dropped her arms to her side and kept them still. “I’m not wringing my hands. Fine, I’ll say what I came to say. We must have more help, and if we’re going to make a profit, we should add a couple of mares to our herd. The cattle are doing well, but it wouldn’t hurt to buy a few young heifers, or at least not sell so many steers this fall and get more fat on them. If we don’t sell them all, we’ll need money to tide us over till next spring. Winter feeding isn’t easy, and we’ll need more hands to share the extra work.”

  He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “Money don’t come easy, Daughter. Not sure what you expect me to do about it. You want me to go work in a mine and try to find some of that gold they’re pullin’ out of the hills?”

  “No, Pa. I have another idea. We could get a loan at the bank. I talked to the banker, and he said—”

  Her father erupted in a roar and smacked the palms of his hands together, making a crack so loud Leah jumped. “You talked to the banker about my business? You had no right to do that without talkin’ to me first, Leah. No right at all.”

  “But I thought you’d be glad I cared enough to come up with an idea to help. All I did was ask if we could borrow a few hundred dollars. They have people coming in all the time asking for loans. I see no disgrace in that.”

  “And that’s your problem. You didn’t think, nor did you ask me before you traipsed in there talkin’ about things that don’t concern you. This is my ranch, not yours. I work it, and I pay for everything on it. I make the decisions here, and I don’t appreciate you talkin’ about our business to some banker. Next thing you know, he’ll want to come out here and check everything over to see what we got and don’t got that he can keep for himself, if we don’t pay it all back.” He wagged his head. “No sir, that won’t do a’tall.”

  “But, Pa …” She saw a dark cloud pass across his face. “I don’t know how you plan to make this ranch work with the little bit of cash we have, or the lack of help, but I guess that’s your business.”

  “You bet it is, and don’t you be forgettin’ it. ’Sides, I got enough cash to take care of what we need, when we need it.”

  Hope surged for a second and then faded. This was the same thing she’d heard in the past, but she knew very well where that money went—if he actually had any—and it wasn’t into the ranch. “Millie is running tight on food supplies, and we could use another ranch hand. If you have plenty, how about giving Millie a bigger food allowance and seeing what you can do about hiring more help?”

  “I’ll do what I see fit, when I see fit. Now go along and leave me be. You’re always naggin’ me. I’m gettin’ plumb tired of it.” He stomped to th
e stairs and flung back at her, “And no more sneakin’ off to talk to the banker without my say-so. John Hunt don’t need any more reason to cause me trouble.” Then he clamped his lips together and disappeared.

  April 8, 1881

  Charlie Pape swung off his horse in front of the saloon and looped his reins over the hitching rail. He placed his hands at the base of his back and stretched, hating it that he couldn’t spend near as much time in the saddle as he’d done as a youngster. Of course, he’d put in nigh on to five hours out on the range, since Leah didn’t seem of a mind to check on the cows after their spat yesterday up in the hayloft.

  He turned toward his horse and stroked the gelding’s face. “You’d never turn on me like that, would you, boy? You’re thankful for the feed I give you and never complain. Don’t know what’s gotten into that girl of mine. Used to be she’d never complain. Followed me around like a puppy dog when she was young, always proud of her pa.” He pivoted, then stepped up onto the boardwalk, steeling his thoughts and putting up barriers at the memories that tried to crowd in.

  The past was dead and gone. Better if it stayed that way. What Leah didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. At least he’d been able to keep her from knowing more than she needed to these past years. He grimaced and rubbed a hand across the stubble on his cheeks. His wife was gone, his son had run away, and the girl he’d loved and treated like his own flesh and blood looked to be turning against him. Nothing could change things or make life better.

  Or maybe there was something that could help. This one more time, anyway. With a wry smile, he pushed open the batwing doors of the saloon and stepped inside.

  Portland, Oregon

  April 8, 1881

  Tom Pape fingered the steamboat ticket in his pocket, not sure if elation or dread would win the battle. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to go home. Buying passage was probably a waste of his money. He removed the ticket and stared at it. Was it too late to cash it in and cancel the trip?

  But Pa owed him, and he couldn’t let any more time go by without claiming what was rightfully his. He’d spent the better part of the last six years nursing anger toward his father for the way he’d treated Ma. As far as Tom was concerned, the man had betrayed them all.

  The ranch had never meant as much to Tom as it did to Leah, and he’d happily washed his hands of it all when he’d walked away. But things were different now. Even if he’d only been twelve, he still remembered hearing the arguments between his parents and the nights Ma cried herself to sleep. He’d stuck it out for three long years before he left, resenting his father every minute of every day.

  Not once had he planned to return. He had made a life for himself here in Portland, but losing his job a few weeks ago had put him in poor straits. He’d sworn never to write to Pa again—the response he’d gotten the first time was bad enough. But four months ago circumstances beyond his control forced his hand.

  He growled deep in his throat and spat, new anger rising to the surface when he remembered the terse reply. His father made it clear he’d shut the door on the past and had no intention of allowing anyone to open it now. Yeah, that had been a wonderful Christmas for sure. But Tom would kick open that door if it was the last thing he did, and make his father take back everything he had said or thought for the past nine years, since his ma …

  He returned the ticket to his pocket and strode toward the hovel he called home. Time to pack his bag with the little he owned and make his way east. Baker City. How much had it changed? It had been a quiet town of only a couple hundred people when he’d left, but he imagined much had been altered by the discovery of gold.

  Excitement quickened his pace. Gold. Maybe he wouldn’t be forced to work the ranch. If things went as he planned, he might eventually sell the place and use the money to invest in a claim. He hadn’t considered that possibility before. He didn’t try to hold back his grin. Suddenly the future looked downright bright, in spite of the hurdles he’d have to jump across with Pa.

  Chapter Seven

  Baker City, Oregon

  April 8, 1881

  Frances Cooper picked her way around a puddle on Front Street and stepped onto the boardwalk leading to Snider’s General Store. The crush of people appeared to be less today and traversing the streets easier than normal, other than the never-ending mud.

  She’d wanted to purchase more yarn for her knitting and silk thread for her tatting, but it had rained too much the past few days to venture out. She drew in a deep lungful of air and exhaled slowly, loving the fresh-washed air. It cleared out all the foul odors of beast and man and left it smelling like spring. Well, it was April, after all.

  In no time at all Katherine’s baby would arrive. Frances could barely contain her exhilaration at the knowledge she would be by her daughter’s side for this birth and continue helping for as many years as the good Lord gave her.

  She had wasted so much precious time while Katherine grew up, as well as when her granddaughter Lucy was young. It was still hard to admit she had been a disgruntled, judgmental woman, but with God, and her friend Wilma’s help, Frances was able to face her shortcomings more every day.

  She passed a child clinging to her mother’s hand and glanced over her shoulder at the sweet picture. How lovely it felt to be forgiven and finally have a relationship with her family. It was what she had always wanted but never knew how to attain. Why had she thought that bullying and controlling people would bring them over to her side of the fence? All it had done was chase them farther away.

  All but her little Amanda, whose sunny personality and steady, loving acceptance had been a balm to Frances’s soul. But in another couple of years, if she had stayed her course, even her younger granddaughter would have recoiled at her presence.

  Wilma would be a treasured friend for the rest of her life. Maybe someday Frances would mature to the point she could set aside her pride and openly admit how much the woman had changed her life. If it had not been for her plain talk and, of course, Lucy’s revulsion at the way Frances had treated Lucy’s mother, Frances would not be enjoying a friendship with Katherine now. Nor be shopping for material that would add to her store of baby clothes.

  Frances increased her pace and began to smile as she wove through the milling people on the boardwalk. Just then her smile threatened to break into a grin. It probably wasn’t wise, making outfits for a boy, but somehow she knew this child would be a son.

  She pulled up short; she had walked too far. How had she missed the general store? She should have asked Wilma to accompany her, but her friend spent so much time with her new husband nowadays. Of course, who could fault her? If Frances had a handsome, congenial man who doted on her the way Caleb Marshall doted on Wilma, she probably would not leave his side either.

  A foul odor permeated the air, and Frances wrinkled her nose. She hated the smell of spirits, whether it was rot-gut whiskey, beer, wine, or any other form of alcohol. Her first husband had occasionally imbibed, and it disgusted her then, the same as it did now. Somehow she had walked right past the saloon without even noticing.

  The door burst open, and a man stumbled onto the boardwalk. Or had someone given him a not-so-gentle push? He landed on his knees but managed to grab a post to keep from sliding the rest of the way onto his belly. It was only two in the afternoon. Surely he couldn’t be tipsy this early?

  She stood riveted to the spot and stared as he struggled to his feet. Something about the man, taller than her by a head, lean, and dressed like a rancher, was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. However, she didn’t know any out-of-town men—in fact, knew very few men outside of the boardinghouse—so she must be mistaken.

  She would have to cross the street to avoid passing the saloon door and that odious man. A glance at the street pulled her up short. Mud patches lined the broad expanse from one side to the other, and the wheels of heavily laden wagons had cut deep ruts in the roa
d.

  Heaving a sigh, she started back the way she had come. If the man tried to waylay her, she would simply put him in his place. She gripped the handle of her parasol, grinning as she remembered the way Wilma had clobbered that annoying man who had stooped to accost Beth in the café prior to her marriage. After that episode, Frances had taken to carrying a parasol as well.

  Lifting her chin, she stepped around the man. He jerked forward and almost fell into her arms.

  Frances shuddered and darted to the side.

  The repulsive man weaved in the same direction and bumped into her, grasping her arm. “Sorry, ma’am. My eyes seem to be a mite on the blurry side, and I didn’t see you.”

  She shook off his grip, which, surprisingly, was quite strong—not the mushy touch she would have expected from someone in his obvious condition. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir.”

  He drew himself up. Sweeping off his hat and revealing a ring of gray hair around a bald top, he gave an awkward bow. Golden-brown eyes twinkled with merriment, and his finely chiseled mouth tipped up in a smile. “And why would that be, ma’am? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “You did not, but you certainly could have. But that is not the question you should be asking.”

  His brows scrunched together as though his addled brain was working hard to decipher her words. “Huh?”

  She tapped her foot. It was most assuredly her Christian duty to set this man on the straight and narrow and help him see the error of his ways. “What is your name, sir?”

  He blinked a couple of times. “Why, do you want to ask me to dinner? Sorry, I don’t got no fancy callin’ card, ma’am.” He smirked. “But I live outside of town on a big ranch if you care to find me. I always did enjoy spendin’ a little time with a fine lady.”

  A grin stretched the corners of his mouth. “Pleased to meet you. Name’s Pape. Charles Pape, but most everyone calls me Charlie.”