“Well, Mr. Charles Pape, it would seem you could use a woman to whip you into shape, but it certainly will not be me.”
She crossed her arms and scowled. “In fact, in your present condition I cannot imagine any woman in her right mind who would endeavor to undertake that abhorrent chore. What would prompt a man who appears sound of body, even if not of mind, to stagger along the boardwalk in a drunken state at this hour of the day? Or any hour, for that matter?”
His grin faded, and he threw back his shoulders. “That is none of your business, ma’am. And I’ve had about enough of dad-blamed women buttin’ into my business and tellin’ me what I oughta do. My daughter, Leah, is always yammerin’ about me not gettin’ my chores done, or grumblin’ about the time and money I spend in town. It ain’t her never-mind, and it ain’t yours, neither.”
“Your English is as atrocious as your manners, Mr. Pape.” She narrowed her eyes as his words sank in. Could that be her Leah from the quilting group? It wasn’t a common name, at least not that she’d heard in these parts. Come to think of it, the girl had asked for prayer for her father not terribly long ago. If this man was that father, Frances could see the poor girl had a difficult cross to bear. “I believe I am acquainted with your daughter, and I can unequivocally state that you do not deserve her.”
His jaw sagged. “Un-e—what? I got no idea what you said, lady. I don’t use fancy words or talk so highfalutin’ as you, but I got my dignity and pride. I won’t be talked down to, no matter if you use the King’s English or speak Latin. I ain’t drunk, and I’ll have you know I am a gentleman.”
He squared his shoulders. “I worked since early morning, then stopped here and had me a couple of drinks. There’s no law against a man whettin’ his whistle when it’s dry, or stoppin’ to chew the fat with the fellas at the bar.”
“There might not be a law against it, but that does not make you a gentleman. You chose to imbibe in the middle of the day—and to make a spectacle of yourself in the process.” She did not know why she persisted in conversing with this uncouth man. But she did not intend to give up, if for no other reason than for Leah’s sake. Poor Leah. If she could talk some sense into the girl’s father or try to help him see the error of his ways, it might ease the young woman’s pain.
“And what you said about my daughter, that I don’t deserve her?” He grimaced. “That ain’t nothin’ I don’t already know.” The words were low, barely above a whisper.
Frances held her breath. Had she heard him correctly? That smacked of contrition, not pride, and certainly was not what she had expected to hear. There was no sense in allowing a good opportunity to slip away. Jump on it while it was fresh, or whatever that saying might be. Regardless, she must push ahead. “If you believe that, Mr. Pape, why not change it?”
He turned sorrowful eyes in her direction. “What’s that? Do what? Guess I missed what you said, ma’am.”
She hesitated, suddenly unsure if it was wise to press the matter. Maybe taking a step back would be more productive. “Nothing important. But I think I might take you up on your offer one of these days, Mr. Pape.”
He stared. “Sorry. I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about. Again.”
“You told me you live on the edge of town on a ranch, and I might come calling someday. I will consider doing so—soon.”
He grinned. “And when you come callin’, who should I expect?”
She raised one brow and held it for several long seconds. “I do not have a calling card to give you, either, but I will tell you my name. Mrs. Cooper. Mrs. Frances Cooper, to be exact. It would do well for you to remember it, Mr. Pape, for when I call at your ranch. Not that I have much faith you will remember, in your current state of inebriation.”
“Now, ma’am.” He held up his hand, panic widening his eyes. “I was only teasin’. You don’t want to be seen visitin’ the likes of me. Why, you got your reputation to consider, right?”
Frances gave him a mirthless smile. “My reputation will remain quite intact, thank you. It is yours we need to consider, Mr. Pape, and that of your daughter. Now, have a good day until we meet again—or until I choose to call at your home.” She swept past him with a flourish, his expression of abject terror filling her with a deep satisfaction.
Charlie watched the woman stride along the boardwalk, her parasol swinging. What ailed her, anyway? The last thing he needed was another woman meddling in his life. The poor man who was married to that woman. If he were saddled with the likes of her, he’d hide in the saloon every day from sunrise to sunset.
If her husband was still alive, that is. She hadn’t said she was Mrs. Horace Cooper, or some such, but Mrs. Frances Cooper. Probably killed the poor galoot by nagging him to death.
He stepped down onto the street next to the hitching rail, then aimed a fleeting look in her direction as she swung off at a brisk pace, skirts swishing around her ankles. She was a right pert gal, if he was pressed to speak his mind. Smart, sassy, and not bad looking for someone who must be riding high up into her fifties or even topping sixty. ’Course, he wasn’t no spring chicken his own self, but he still had eyes and could appreciate a fine-looking woman when one came along.
He chuckled as he untied his gelding. Not that he expected she’d do what she said and show up at his ranch. No, sir, women like her stayed as far away from him as they could, and usually pulled their skirts back when they were forced to walk past—at least women who thought themselves too high and mighty to get their hands dirty or disdained a man having a nip now and then.
He mounted and settled onto the saddle with a groan. The ground looked as though it might rise up to meet him, and his head swam. Maybe that Mrs. Cooper was right. He’d had one or two drinks more than he ought. Sorrow trickled through his body like mud oozing off a pig. Maybe he’d hide out in the barn when he got home so Leah wouldn’t see him. Having one woman chew him out was all he could handle in a day. Besides, he couldn’t tolerate the disappointment that he knew would dim Leah’s eyes when she saw him.
Chapter Eight
April 11, 1881
Steven had about given up hope that Leah Carlson would return to the bank. He pushed aside the stack of papers needing his signature and stretched, wishing he could get outside in the sun for even an hour. Maybe he should take a drive out in the country. He might encounter Miss Carlson and at least see how she’d fared.
For several days after she’d refused his offer to take up residence at her ranch and help out in his spare time, he’d smarted over the rejection. Then worry had set in. It had been a week with no word. While he didn’t enjoy living at the Arlington Hotel and seeing his money disappear at the high rate they charged, he cared more that Miss Carlson might be having a rough go of things.
He stood and plucked his coat off the back of the chair. The morning had been spent visiting a mine, and he hadn’t been able to concentrate on his work since returning. Sitting here much longer would drive him crazy. Perhaps his sister and mother would enjoy a visit.
He strode out of his office area and nodded at Mr. Parker. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, if anyone inquires.” Not waiting for a reply, he pushed through the door and onto the boardwalk, pausing only long enough to keep from running into a passerby.
The street was lined with wagons, buggies, and foot traffic, all seemingly intent on getting somewhere in a hurry. At times he found it difficult to adjust to the pace of Baker City. His job here was more challenging than the one in La Grande, but he’d settled into the routine without too many problems.
The brisk walk to the Jacobs’ boardinghouse refreshed him in body and spirit, and he breezed through the front door, anticipating the welcome he’d receive from his family.
Stepping to the sitting room, he rapped on the door frame, not wanting to startle the ladies he glimpsed taking tea. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Beth or my mother.”
Mrs. Jacobs set her teacup on a saucer and beckoned. “Please come in, Steven. You know Miss Carlson, don’t you?”
Leah gave a tight smile. “Hello, Mr. Harding. How good to see you again.”
He removed his hat and dipped his head. “Thank you.” He met her green eyes, and his tongue seemed to lock to the roof of his mouth. Finally tearing his gaze away, he focused on Mrs. Jacobs. “Is Beth here? I have a bit of time free and hoped to see her and Ma. Jeffery, too, if he’s free.”
Wilma shook her head. “I’m so sorry, but you’ve missed them. They left an hour or so ago to have lunch in town. A celebration of a new contract for Jeffery’s book. Didn’t they tell you?”
Everything within Steven froze as he tried to take in what she’d said. Wouldn’t his family have come by the bank and asked him to join them? Surely they’d want to share their joy. He mustered a smile. “It’s likely they stopped at the bank and I was busy or absent, and the clerk forgot to give me the message. At any rate, I’m sorry I missed them. I won’t trouble you ladies further.”
He stepped toward the door, his heart pounding a dull thump in his chest. What he had said was possible, but he doubted the efficient Mr. Parker would have forgotten to alert him when he returned from the mine. Ma’s time had been wrapped up in Beth since they’d moved to Baker City, but he couldn’t believe they’d intentionally leave him out. No, there must be a good explanation.
Miss Carlson lifted her hand. “I wonder if you’d mind if I walk with you for a few minutes. I planned to stop by the bank later to talk. Of course, if you’d prefer to be alone on your time off and not talk business, I understand.”
Warmth spread through Steven’s chest, and he gave her a genuine smile. “I would enjoy the company. I don’t mind talking business. Especially with someone as—” He bit off the compliment he’d almost allowed to escape his lips.
He didn’t know her well enough to comment on her physical beauty and didn’t care to appear shallow or flirtatious, even if it was the truth. “What I mean is, someone who’s a good friend of my sister.”
Leah wondered what in the world Steven Harding had almost blurted out. Someone as—what? Irritating as you? Stubborn or mule-headed as you? She’d heard those things from other men in the past when she hadn’t fallen in with their plans. Maybe refusing Mr. Harding’s offer to help at the ranch had angered him. If so, she might as well abandon her idea of obtaining the loan.
Frances touched her sleeve. “Leah? Are you going to keep Mr. Harding waiting?”
Leah gave a slight shake of her head and returned her attention to the man standing at the entrance to the sitting room. Earlier, he’d actually appeared worried and almost sad, when Wilma told him his family had departed. Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. “I’m sorry. I suppose I was gathering wool.”
She moved to the foyer and reached for her coat, but he plucked it from the hook and held it for her to slip into. His hands seemed to rest a second longer than necessary on her shoulders before he stepped away. She shivered at the pleasant sensation that stole through her body.
“Ready to go?” He moved to the door and held it open.
She passed him, and it took all her willpower not to stare. The man was too handsome for his own good, and she guessed he must be aware of the effect he had on women. “Thank you.” The words held an air of breathlessness, and Leah worked to control her emotions. She walked down the path toward the road in silence as an uncommon reticence overcame her.
He moved beside her, matching her stride, and apparently understanding her desire for silence. But no matter how much she didn’t want to talk, she’d best do so now or be forced back into sitting across from him at his desk.
Leah softly cleared her throat, unsure where to begin. “I appreciate you allowing me to accompany you.” That wasn’t at all what she’d planned to say. “I’ve been hoping you’d spoken to Mr. Hunt and gotten a different answer.” She lifted her lashes and peeked his way, but his serious expression hadn’t changed.
“I wish that were the case.” He offered his arm as they came to the outskirts of town and readied to cross a busy thoroughfare.
She hesitated, then tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and another jolt shook her. Whatever was the matter? She’d held a man’s arm while crossing the road a good many times and never reacted like this. “I see.” Glancing ahead, she gathered her skirt with one hand and lifted it to the top of her boots, stepping carefully around the damp spots in the road. Somewhere ahead a man’s voice broke into a rollicking song, and a child shouted in joyful approval.
Steven smiled before cocking his head toward her. “Is your father willing to sign for the loan? If so, I don’t need Mr. Hunt’s approval.”
Her steps lagged, and he slowed his own. “He wants no part of it.” The whispered words were more than she’d planned, and she wished she could take them back. “I suppose I’ll have to make do without the money. We’ve managed in the past, and I’m sure God will make a way this time as well.”
He halted and turned toward her, his warm gaze capturing her own. “And what if I’m part of God’s answer?”
Prickles of shock and something more—awareness—darted across her skin. She slipped her hand from his arm and took a step back. “What do you mean?”
“You said God will make a way. Don’t you suppose God has the ability to answer in a way that’s not what you expected?”
“I asked for the loan, and He didn’t see fit to let me get it, so I’m not sure what you’re suggesting. I suppose if He wants to help me find the money another way, He could.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s not up to me to question the Almighty.”
He slipped his arm around her waist and quickly drew her onto the edge of the road, out of the path of a fast-moving wagon. “I apologize, but I didn’t want to see your dress coated in mud.”
He loosened his hold but didn’t completely release her, turning to face her, his expressive face near. “But it is up to you to listen when He offers other provision.”
She stepped out of his encircling arm, feeling the warmth dissipate from where his hand had so lightly rested. How foolish that a sense of loneliness took its place. She stiffened her spine, determined not to allow him to see her vulnerability. “Please stop talking in riddles. If you have something to say, I’m willing to listen.”
“All right, I will. The last time you were at the bank you offered to let me stay in your bunkhouse for a few days until I found other accommodations. What I’m proposing goes a little further. Allow me to move out to your ranch. As I suggested before, I’ll help with the chores. I’ll gain a place to live, and you’ll have part of the extra help you need. If you find it’s not to your liking after a decent interval, I’ll leave.”
A smile begged to escape. “Are you certain you want to get your hands dirty with ranch chores, Mr. Harding?”
A strange look flitted across his face. “I’m no stranger to getting my hands dirty, Miss Carlson. I haven’t always been a city boy. I spent a number of years on a farm, growing up.”
“Really? Plowing fields is hardly the same as wrangling cattle, branding calves, or breaking horses.” In spite of herself, a surge of hope came to the fore that his idea might work.
“I’ve dug my share of post holes, and we owned a few horses. Some rather nice stock, if I do say so myself, and not all totally broke when we purchased them. I’m not afraid of hard work or learning something new.”
“And ye
t you left your farm and took a job in a bank.” She stared at him. If she allowed him to come, would he stick it out for a week or two, then run back to town and the easier life he’d come to know? She and Buddy could use extra help, even if it was an occasional evening or Saturday, and if he stayed around only a few weeks that would be better than nothing.
She shoved down the feeling of joy that trembled somewhere inside her spirit at the thought of seeing this man on a regular basis. Was she foolish to allow him access to her world, or was she being even more foolish believing it mattered?
No man had ever looked at her seriously in the past—at least not one she gave a whit about—so there was certainly no reason to think this man would be any different. She met his gaze straight on. “Well then, you may be getting the best of the bargain, but if you’re willing to do the chores I assign, I’ll give it a try.”
A grin broke out and then faded. “How about your father? What will he say?”
Leah lifted her chin. “I don’t particularly care.” The starch went out of her spine, and she looked away. “But you might. He could make it … difficult for you, if he takes a dislike to you being there. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
He held out his arm. “You leave that to me. I’ve put up with worse characters than your father, and I’m guessing I can hold my own.”
She slipped her hand in through the crook of his elbow again and moved forward, stepping onto the boardwalk that led to the center of town. “Let’s hope so, for all our sakes.” They wove around a cluster of men outside the hardware store and barely avoided a collision with a child rolling a hoop with a stick. “But I won’t blame you if you decide to leave a day or two after you arrive.”
He gave her a mysterious smile. “We may both learn something before it’s over. But don’t worry about it, Miss Carlson. Things have a way of working themselves out, and I’ll try to be of help, even in my own bumbling fashion.”
Dreaming on Daisies: A Novel (Love Blossoms in Oregon Series Book 3) Page 7
