“He’s in the dining room going over records.” Sophie started to ask another question about his ranch when Dusty proceeded to leave.
“Bye, ladies. Sorry to disturb you.” His footsteps resounded down the hall.
Linda huffed. “That was very rude of him barging in. He’s supposed to be outside working, not sticking his nose into our conversation.”
“You sound like Chad.” Sophie told her how he reacted upon Dusty leaving his horse inside the barn. “He says I’m too lenient with Dusty.”
“I agree with him, Sophie. You do let Dusty get away with saying all sorts of unseemly things to you.”
Sophie felt cornered. “I put him in his place every time.”
“Do you?” Her friend opened another issue of Godey’s Lady’s Book and flipped through the pages. “He’s been giving you lip ever since your family hired him. I don’t know too many farm workers who talk back to their boss’s daughters the way he does you.”
“It’s nothing, Linda. He’s not cruel with it.”
“No, but he is awfully familiar. Why doesn’t it bother you?” Linda took her eyes away from the magazine and tilted her head at Sophie. A sage expression came over her face as she raised an eyebrow. “I think you like the way he talks to you.”
Sophie drew in her stomach as though she were being corseted. “I like no such thing.”
“Then why do you allow it to continue? Maybe that’s why Chad hasn’t called on you since last week. He probably thinks you’re too free around Dusty.”
“Surely not.” Sophie weighed Linda’s words. Was that why she hadn’t seen Chad, because he was displeased with the way she interacted with Dusty? Her breath wedged in her throat as she recalled that night after the festival when he kissed her.
Dusty crossed the line. Very much so, but he couldn’t take all the blame. Sophie knew he wouldn’t be so bold if she didn’t talk back to him or play coquette all the time. Was Linda right? Did she secretly like the way he talked to her? Kissed her, even?
Sophie resolved never to tell a soul of what transpired that evening. It would cost Dusty his job and her reputation. “What should I do to make Chad think differently?”
Linda rose from the armchair. “Treat Dusty like the hired hand that he is. Don’t speak to him anymore.”
“He eats at our table most nights. I can’t refuse to acknowledge him.”
“Then find some way to make him realize his place. If you don’t, your chances of Chad courting you are slim to none.”
Sophie’s discomfort grew at the thought of turning strict.
“Do it,” Linda insisted, “or those linens we folded in your trousseau will never see the light of day.”
CHAPTER 8
D USTY LAUGHED TO himself when he thought of Sophie and Linda poring over those dog-eared copies of that ladies’ fashion magazine. Sophie wasn’t even engaged and was already talking about patterning a wedding dress. Imagine that.
It never failed to amaze him how the well-to-do folk carried on. His sister was to be married later this year, and as far as he knew, she was going to wear their mother’s hand-me-down wedding dress. He should write to her and ask if she had a trousseau. Either she’d ask him what it was or giggle that he thought she possessed one.
Dusty pictured Sophie in a gown of white. She was already a pretty little thing, with gold hair and eyes blue as his mother’s china tea set. No doubt she’d take everyone’s breath away when her wedding day came.
He wanted to be there to see it, and not in the church pews with the guests. He wanted to be standing to the right, in front of the preacher, waiting for her to come down the aisle to be at his side.
Lofty dreams for a farmhand. The breeze trickled in through the entrance of the chicken coop.
Dusty awaited Mr. Charlton to give his opinion on the new door he installed. His boss tested the hinges, nodding his approval when they moved without squeaking. “It appears sturdy. It should hold tight against wind and rain this summer. Good work.”
Dusty normally felt pride in a job well done, but today he was just eager to get the workday over with. The chicken coop was hot inside, and he needed to go into town to address a matter with the bank. “I finished mucking the horse stalls. Anything else you need me to do?”
“No, that’s it. I’ll let you end the day a couple hours early. Take your wages and buy a steak at McIntyre’s.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew twenty-five dollars from his billfold.
“Thank you, Mr. Charlton.” Dusty accepted his monthly pay and went to the bunkhouse to get cleaned up. He washed and changed into more respectable clothing: a white shirt, necktie, gray waistcoat and trousers, and his black Sunday boots. He checked to make sure the shoes were free of scuffs on his way out the door.
“Ready to head into town, Gabe?” he asked his horse once he had the animal saddled and out the barn. The stallion tossed his dark mane and swished his tail at flies.
Dusty tucked his wages into the inside pocket of his waistcoat, grateful that he didn’t have to wait until Monday afternoon to deposit the money in the bank. If his bookkeeping was accurate, he should have almost a thousand in his account, counting the payment he saved from his previous jobs. Cattle driving didn’t pay much, but he made the most of what he received. One day he was going to purchase property. Perhaps he could start investing to help his savings grow.
The town square in Assurance was busy. Inside the bank, he waited in line behind eight customers. Only one teller was on duty. The poor man looked like he had seen enough moneybags and account books to last him till next Christmas. Dusty scanned the area of small offices adjacent to the bank counter. The three doors were closed.
“Can I help you, sir?” His turn finally came. The teller pushed spectacles higher upon the bridge of his aquiline nose.
Dusty put his wages upon the counter along with a deposit slip. “I need to deposit this into my account. Also, I wanted to look into investing.”
The teller jabbed a thumb at the office doors. “One of the bankers went home early today. If you can wait about ten minutes, I’ll see who else is on duty to advise you. Have a seat on that bench over yonder.”
Dusty did as he was told and waited for the teller to finish attending to customers. Ten minutes turned into twenty, and a half hour passed before the teller was able to come from behind the counter and knock on one of the office doors. Dusty twiddled his thumbs as he waited. The bench was hard beneath him, and the summer wool of his trousers itched. Would that dress clothes were made of breathable fabric like his work shirts.
The teller came to him. “Mr. Sterling, you’re in luck. Mr. Hooper is available to advise you.”
He didn’t rise from the bench. “Did you say Chad Hooper?”
“Yes. Mr. Hooper is the chief advisor here when it comes to investitures in local business and industry. He has clients from other county seats as well.”
“Uh huh.” Dusty’s attention waned as the teller continued to sing Chad’s praises. The last person he wanted knowing his business was the mayor’s boy.
“Were you looking to finance in a different market? A stock exchange, perhaps?”
“No. Is
Hooper the only person I can speak with?”
The teller nodded. “Today, yes. Our other advisors deal with property and loans, and they won’t return to the bank until Monday. What business did you say you wanted to invest in?”
“I didn’t. I needed to know the best way to increase my savings.”
“Then Mr. Hooper would be the best man to assist you. Come with me.”
Dusty crossed the floor of the bank and waited behind the teller to be announced. He considered doing his banking at one of the offices in the next town. But when would he have the time?
Chad waved him into the expensive but tastefully furnished office. “Mr. Sterling, have a seat.”
Dusty crossed the point of no return. His boots sank into the plush rug on the floor. Without looking at the other offices, he knew that Chad had the best one. The banker sat at his heavy mahogany desk, polished to a gleaming black perfection, surrounded by tidy stacks of brown envelopes and correspondence written on fine quality stationery. Two inkwells rested at the desk’s right corner, along with an assortment of fountain pens and decorative quills. Chad sat in a dark brown leather chair, studded with shining brass medallions along the front and down the arms.
Dusty slid into a smaller version in front of the desk.
“What can I do for you today, Mr. Sterling?” Chad asked with professional politeness, closing a portfolio he was working on. His hair had the same sheen as his desk. Dusty wondered if it was indeed furniture polish he used to get the effect.
“I want to start investing some of my savings into a business.”
Chad raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. “Did you have an idea of what type of business you wanted to put your money in?”
“I figured the railroad would be a good choice. I hear the Katy’s doing real good in this area.”
“The Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad is expanding, but so is their stock price, I’m afraid. Given your occupation, I’m not certain of your ability to contribute on that level. Let’s have a look at your bank records and see what we can do.”
Dusty gnashed his teeth together while Chad thumbed through his account information and deposit slips. He hated being talked down to, especially when Chad flat-out assumed that he couldn’t afford to put stock in the railroad. For all that man knew, he could have accounts in other places.
And my horse has wings. He chastised himself and attempted to give Chad the benefit of the doubt. Hooper was doing his job this afternoon, not playing gentleman caller to Sophie. Dusty wanted to let that very concerning matter rest for the moment, but it refused to go away. Something about Chad stank of smug.
“You have just over twelve hundred in the bank, Mr. Sterling. We require you put at least five hundred in railroad stock if you choose to invest collectively with our clients.”
“Why so high?”
“It helps absorb any losses to the stock price if the railroad loses money in a given year. Also, our clients chose that number to invest with.”
Dusty figured that the clients were Assurance’s wealthier residents, who could afford to part with five hundred dollars. That was almost half his entire savings. If he lost the investment, he’d have to start from scratch. “Can’t I invest on my own?”
“You could choose to invest individually, but your stock price will be higher. Seven hundred, in fact.”
“I can’t do that.”
Chad’s gaze flicked over to the bookcase along the wall. “I could show you more affordable stocks. It may help to start investing in those and work your way up to one of the railroad companies. Would you be interested?”
Dusty shrugged. “I came here to invest in something.”
“Excellent.” Chad went over to the bookcase and withdrew a green ledger. “The textile industry has been doing well for the past several years.”
“I know Sophie would be amused to hear I was buying stock in clothing.”
Chad raised his nose from the ledger book. “Do you always refer to Miss Charlton by her first name?”
Dusty straightened his back against the cushioned chair. “I’ve worked for her father for three years. She and I have become acquainted in that time.”
“Have you?” The mayor’s son stood over him. The suit made Chad resemble a big black crow, and his eyes glittered just as attentively as one. “And does she address you as Mr. Sterling?”
“Only when she’s teasing. Usually she calls me Dusty, the nickname she gave me on account of my hair color. But when she’s mad, I get addressed by my full name.” Dusty stopped talking when he saw Chad glaring daggers at him. “You wanted to know, didn’t you?”
“Don’t you think it inappropriate for a man of your station to talk so to your employer’s daughter?”
“Man of my station? Wait now.” He heard his own Texas drawl deepening, and knew it was a sign that he needed to get a hold of his temper. “I may not be highfalutin, but I’m not common, either. I’ve always been courteous to Sophie.”
Chad closed the ledger book, holding his place with an index finger. “See that you’re very careful with what you say to her then, Mr. Sterling. You don’t want to jeopardize your work position with the Charltons.”
Dusty got to his feet. “Is that some kind of threat?”
“Of course not.” Chad walked behind his desk with an air of calm. “Merely a friendly warning.” His smile was just as artificially perfected as his hair. “Did you still want to decide on investments?”
“I think I’ll mull it over for a while. Thank you for the advice all the same.” Dusty left the office without shaking Chad’s hand. Outside, customers watched him with detached interest as they waited in line for the teller. He marched out of the bank and into the town square.
So much for trying to increase his wages outside of earning them the old-fashioned way. All he got for his trouble was a confrontation. Chad Hooper really procured himself a pack of nerves since he spent time away at college. He must have thought his fancy education and money made him a man to contend with.
Dusty slapped his hat on his head. He may have come from more humble means, but at least his folks taught him to respect others, no matter their station in life. What did Sophie see in Chad to make her want him to keep coming around?
“He can provide for her,” he said aloud, paying no mind to the people that gave him puzzled looks as he walked by.
The reason was not a completely shallow one on Sophie’s part, Dusty reasoned. She was accustomed to the best clothes and the finest food. He wanted to be in a position to give her those things, but twelve hundred dollars in the bank wouldn’t be nearly enough to support a woman of her caliber. It wasn’t enough even for a bare-bones cowboy to settle down with.
A train whistle pierced the air. He wished he had gotten in on the railroad stock before it grew to the size of Texas. He’d be sitting on the front porch of his own ranch house now, telling his hired workers what to do. And maybe, just maybe, Sophie would stop to look his way once or twice.
Dusty saw his reflection in the windows of McIntyre’s Restaurant as he approached. He couldn’t give up on his ambition that easily. He had to better himself, not just for Sophie, but for his own
peace of mind. Buying stock wasn’t the only way to do it.
He recalled Eli Mabrey and the invitation to come to his ranch for a tour. Mr. Mabrey seemed friendly enough. He probably wouldn’t mind being asked questions about how to get a ranch started.
Dusty worked out the details in his head. He wouldn’t have to work next Saturday, as Mr. Charlton was planning on making a day trip to Claywalk with his family. That was the best time to head for the Zephyr Ranch.
He changed his mind about going into the restaurant. The steak could wait. His money had to be saved for worthier investments.
CHAPTER 9
S OPHIE NOTICED A change in one of Dusty’s habits. Usually, he treated himself to a steak at McIntyre’s when he got paid each month. This time, he ate supper with her family.
She sat across from him at the table, wanting to ask how his afternoon in town went, but she refrained on account of Linda’s advice not to become overly familiar with the hired help. It didn’t feel right not to acknowledge a grown man at the table. However, Dusty was too absorbed in downing his chicken and gravy to be engaged in any form of discussion.
She gave scant attention to her mother and father as they talked about next week’s trip into Claywalk. Her thoughts came back to Dusty and that remark he made about growing up on a ranch. He obviously enjoyed being around horses and had mentioned his love of roping and riding. Why did he leave that type of work to farm instead?
Perhaps her father knew. He would never hire a worker without inquiring about previous employments. She had to figure out a way to ask without appearing conspicuous.
Sophie peered through her water glass at Dusty while taking a sip. The easiest way to find out about his past was to simply ask him, but then she’d be harvesting more familiarity.
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