James Piermount, the foreman of his dairy, stuck his head in. The noise in the background shattered the air. “Come on in and shut the door,” Rhyan said, surprised Piermount wore a suit rather than his usual denim overalls.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Piermount did as he’d asked, and the noise level fell to a muffled hum again. The man’s coat could have stood a pressing, and the tie lay askew against his shirt as though it was an afterthought. He held his hat in his hands and slouched forward with drooped shoulders. “Could I have a moment of your time?”
“Of course, have a seat.”
Piermount lowered himself to the edge of the visitor’s chair and crushed his hat against his chest, clearly uncomfortable.
“Ready when you are.” Rhyan leaned over the desk and steepled his fingers under his chin.
“Mr. Cason, I hate to ask it, what with everybody taking a pay cut and all.” Piermount stared down at his hat. “I need a loan…a sizable loan, I’m afraid. You see, my mother has been sick for a couple of years, and the doctors say they can’t see her anymore unless they get some pay on the account.” He cleared his throat and twisted his hat some more. “I can’t blame them. I know they have their own families to think of.”
“How much do you need?” Rhyan asked, and Piermount looked up as if surprised by the question.
“I…if I could get a hundred dollars that would be enough to keep the treatments going. Would keep her comfortable.” He coughed into his elbow as he looked past Rhyan. “You could take ten dollars out of my pay till it’s repaid…and the interest, of course.”
“How much is the total bill for your mother’s care?”
“Well…well…I think it’s close to four hundred dollars, but I just couldn’t afford that much.”
A lot of money, but better that Piermount get it than those greedy ranchers suing Rhyan. They might have been in on the whole scheme to infect his cattle for all he knew. He swung around to open the safe in back of his desk. After unlocking the door, he counted out some bills and turned back to Piermount, holding the money out.
Piermount counted the bills and his mouth hung open. “Mr. Cason, this is five hundred dollars. I couldn’t repay this much.”
“It’s not a loan. We’ll call it a bonus.” He might as well give a bonus to all the men who showed their loyalty by staying and declare bankruptcy. Not leave anything for the buzzards.
“A bonus? That’s as much as I make in six months. I’m not worth that.”
“That’s for me to decide. The dairy is the only operation bringing in any income at the moment. Take it and go to your mother. Mrs. Thompkins can keep things going for a couple of weeks.” Mrs. Thompkins was the matron of the milk maids and a harder task-masker than Piermount.
“I’d only thought to stay a few days.”
“No, you’ll need at least two weeks and consider yourself lucky you have a mother you can care about.” For a fleeting second Rhyan let his thoughts drift to his own mother. Where was she? Did she ever give a thought to him?
Piermount pulled out a red cotton handkerchief and mopped his face. The man was clearly fighting tears. Nothing made Rhyan more uncomfortable than a man crying. Unless it was a woman crying. “You better get going, or you’ll miss your train.”
“I will…thankee.” Piermount reached out to shake hands. You’re a good man, Mr. Cason.”
A good man? That’s what Carianne had said right before he left on his business trip. When hope had filled them both. He’d reminded her none was good but God. A chill spiked through him, though the office was insufferably hot. If there was any good in him, it had to come from God. How could it happen when God seemed so far removed, an impersonal Being residing somewhere in the farther reaches of the universe?
When Piermount slouched out, Rhyan noticed the commotion in the library had ceased. Had they found something and failed to tell him? After giving the dairyman time to clear the room, he stepped into the library.
It was empty except for Carianne. She stood with an open book at one of the tall shelves. When he closed the office door, she whirled around to lock gazes with him.
“Did you find the book?” He only took two steps into the room. Better not get too close.
Those shapely lips curved. “No.” She replaced the book and shrugged. “It might not even be here. I gave away a number of books you didn’t want and took even more to the ladies library.”
He took another step. “Then why are you still looking?”
“I suppose I didn’t trust that the others would have looked good enough. I have trouble delegating work for some reason. It probably comes second nature to you.”
“I guess so.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he jingled the loose coins they contained. He walked to the other side of the long table. Safer to put some obstacle between them. “Why did you think my grandfather would have hidden his gold?”
Instead of answering she had a question. “Did he have a will?”
“No. He intended to leave the place to me. My father didn’t want it. Neither did Jonathan, and—Grandpa had told me time and again he intended to leave it to me.”
He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. Things might have been different if Grandpa had left a will. His father might still be alive, but it served no purpose to look back. “He had an apoplexy…died suddenly, probably thought he had plenty of time to make out a will.”
“If he had, I’m sure he’d have told you where to find the gold.”
“Assuming there’s any to find. Grandpa put his money in different banks. He was a big one for not leaving all his eggs in one basket.”
“That’s exactly why he might have left some raw gold back somewhere.”
Without conscious thought, Rhyan made his way back around the table. “But if that’s true, we’ll never know.”
“I’ll keep thinking. I read what he said in that book.” She touched her temple. “It’s still up here. It may come to me.”
Her tone was flippant, and it irritated him. She spoke as one who might try to recall what they’d had for dinner. This was his life they were talking about. “I don’t have time for thinking, Carianne. Why did you even bring this up? I’m beginning to believe you made up this whole story. Remember? Like you made up the story about the French nobleman who built a chapel for his shepherds to get me to build one for my cowboys? I think you’re just trying to get back at me for—”
Huge tears filled her eyes, hovered at the edges a moment, then spilled down her cheeks. He knew how much he’d hurt her. Not by what he’d just said. For the first time he knew how much he’d hurt her by breaking their engagement.
He rushed to her and took her in his arms. “Carianne, I didn’t mean it.” He buried his face in her hair, muffling his words. “I know you meant to help. I’m sorry, honey.”
At first she trembled in his arms, then pulled away. With hands pressed to each side of her face, she closed her eyes. Wet lashes cut crescents on her flushed cheeks. “It’s all right. I’ll keep thinking.” She began to walk backwards. “I came with Colt. He’s waiting.” She turned and ran.
It felt like she’d taken all the air with her. He stood, dragging in great gulps until his chest hurt.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Why had he said that to her? Did he think hurting her would make him feel better? She was only trying to help. It was just her nature to help others. She was a good woman.
And he didn’t deserve a good woman.
He was ready to put his head through a wall. No matter how this ended, it wouldn’t be good. If by some miracle they found enough gold to pay off the ranchers, Sollano might return to normal. But he’d never be normal again.
Chapter 17
Four ladies marched in unison along the wooden sidewalk, two abreast. Carianne stood back and let the others enter the vacant saloon first.
“New doors will have to be installed first,” Dorcas said as they trooped through the swinging panels.
�
��Dark in here,” Myra complained behind her. “It’ll help to rip down these old curtains.
Carianne agreed. She grabbed a handful of printed cotton fabric and yanked. A whole section of curtains and rods fell, making the ladies jump back. Now she’d done it. Came in acting like she owned the place, but though she’d put a down payment on it, she’d agreed the saloon could remain open until the fifth of July.
“Careful, Carianne.” Rachel nudged her. “We just came to look.”
“That’s true.” Carianne passed a glance from one to the other of the ladies. “Thank you all for coming. I only meant to open the curtains, not pull them down, since Molly hasn’t moved out yet.” Nothing she could do about it now. “At least the light makes it a little less scary in here.” She bunched the rotted fabric into a wad, tossed it into the corner, and ran a finger down the dirty glass pane. “Once they’re washed, these windows will be nice.”
None of the ladies had ever entered a saloon before, and none of them seemed willing to venture any further. The stench was stifling—stale tobacco and whiskey mingled together with other scents reminiscent of an outhouse. Why would anyone come into this gloomy place? It was clear it hadn’t had a good cleaning in years. Stains of a substance Carianne didn’t care to guess at splattered the walls.
Myra finally took the lead. She left the pool of light and charged into the dark interior, the rest following. “We can tear out the store rooms back here and put in the kitchen, redo the bar and I can serve flavored drinks, ice cream, coffee, and tea.”
“Don’t forget milk for the children.” Dorcas’s reminder jolted Carianne to the reality of how much work would be involved to make this structure suitable for children. It would take weeks—the whole summer.
“Myra, are you sure Dan approves of you running a kitchen here? What about your job at the drug store?”
“Sure he approves. He’s tired of me fussing about the store. Dan can take up any slack I leave. What food and drink he sells, I can take from here instead of from home like I’ve been at.”
“Carianne, where will be the library be?” Rachel asked.
“We’ll partition off this section.” Carianne moved to the other side of the large room. “That’ll give another whole wall of books clear to the ceiling. We’ll have to get one of those rolling ladders like at Sollano. This corner in front of the window can be the children’s section.”
A thud sounded from overhead, and Dorcas gazed to the ceiling. “That’s another thing, Carianne. You can’t seriously be expecting to hire two of those saloon women. There’ll be children present.”
“They’ll stay in the kitchen, away from the children.” Carianne took Dorcas by the arm. “That’s why I asked you to manage the lodging. I know you can make sure they follow the rules, if anyone can.”
Dorcas drew back. “I don’t know…I got me a notion they won’t stay in the kitchen.”
“You can do it…and what choice do we have?” Carianne lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “We need the help, and if they leave, the only place they can go is to the lumber camps in the Northwest, and we know where that will lead.”
Dorcas lifted her nose a notch, but Carianne pressed on. “It’s a perfect opportunity to show our Christian charity and forgiveness, don’t you think? After all, don’t we think they can be redeemed?”
Sniffing, Dorcas finally looked at her. “Well, I’ll insist they go to church and show repentance.”
Carianne blew out a huff. No doubt Dorcas would make sure of that. “They will, if you just invite them politely.” The words rang hollow, even in her ears. One of the prostitutes, Nelly Grimes, had gone west to become a seamstress, but Carianne had doubts about the ones remaining.
Colt hadn’t been keen on the idea of giving the women jobs in the new establishment, but said he’d leave it up to the ladies. Well, all they could do was give them a chance. If they chose not to take it, so be it.”
In silence, they ambled through the back rooms. “We can take out this wall and build a dais over here.”
“It’s exciting, I declare.” Rachel swung around in a half circle. “Imagine someday a famous person may be speaking up there.”
Exciting wasn’t the word for it. Carianne closed her eyes, an image of what this place would be one day. With God’s help, even a saloon reeking of stench and sin could be turned into a place of beauty and culture.
Dorcas shattered her reflection. “If famous people come to speak, let’s hope they have a paying audience to hear them.”
“They will,” Myra said, “Westerfield’s growing. A new family moved in last week.”
Rachel plopped her hands on hips. “And how many does that make of us now? A hundred and five?”
The remark struck Carianne’s funny bone. She laughed and started to speak, but as usual, Dorcas had to have the last word. “Maybe if Rhyan Cason is forced to give up some of that idle land he’s hording, more settlers would come in.”
Carianne’s humor evaporated as fast as it came, and she couldn’t argue with Dorcas. It looked more and more like Rhyan would have to sell land, or the house that already had a buyer. As hard as she’d racked her brain, she couldn’t think where to find the book containing Oliver Cason’s note about his hidden gold.
She drew in a deep breath, and after a few seconds, released a sigh. “Well, ladies, unless you want to look upstairs, I think we can go. I’ll write up our plans, then we’ll get together and vote on each item. Colt agreed to break a tie, if there is one.”
Rachel laughed. “That means he’ll go whichever way you want.”
“No, he’ll give us an honest opinion.”
“It’s only right anyway, since Carianne’s paying for it,” Myra said.
Carianne gave the room one last glance as she followed the others past the bar. “But I don’t trust my own judgment. I hope we’ll be unanimous.”
“Since when did four women have a unanimous thought?” Myra’s jab sent them laughing out into the sunshine.
Thoughts chased each other through Carianne’s brain on the way home and for a long time afterward. Her future seemed secure, so she should be elated. Wasn’t this her mission? True, this was the beginning stage of her dream, but she could see no obstacles ahead.
She sat at her little desk and tried to get down to the business of planning her new business venture—the first step in bringing her grandmother’s vision to fruition. How many women had the opportunity to plan their own future? Most women had no dreams outside of marriage, but she could have both. A marriage and a mission.
And that was the problem. She loved two men.
But one of them didn’t love her, and she didn’t love the other enough.
Guilt nagged her to make a decision about Colt. She did love him, but was it the type of love that should lead to marriage? He cared for her obviously, but could she satisfy him?
Besides, Colt and Rhyan were best friends, and that made things awkward. Too awkward. If she married Colt, she’d still see Rhyan socially. Assuming he couldn’t save the ranch and had to sell out, in which case, he’d move away. If Abby still wanted him, he might move away regardless.
Just the thought of him moving away sent another dart through her heart. But it shouldn’t. Her feelings for Rhyan should have dissipated by now.
Why did she have these doubts, or were the doubts normal? Rachel told her they were. Many couples married without love at all. Love came later.
It didn’t sound right to her. Marriage was a melding of two people into one. Surely love should be the most important ingredient.
The only thing she knew for sure, she had to be honest with Colt. He deserved her honesty. She had to explain her confusion and ask for time to sort things out. But what was the truth? Was it confusion that held her back, or the stark reality that she loved another man? A futile love perhaps, but it still consumed too much of her heart.
Possibly, God had some other woman for Colt, someone who’d not even entered his life yet. Carian
ne might be standing in the way of that happening.
Not satisfied with what she’d written, she wadded up the paper and tossed it in the wastepaper basket. No wonder marriage was nothing to be entered into lightly. As many times as she’d prayed and petitioned God, only one clear message came.
Wait.
Maybe God had someone else for her too. She held her pen over a fresh sheet of paper and pondered that sobering thought. All she should do was have patience and trust God to work it out.
She’d always found that God liked to surprise His children, and He had a sense of humor. Probably when she least expected it, some dirt farmer would come to the library looking for a book on…say…harvesting chicken manure. She would have to help him because no one could find that type of book without help.
The notion made her laugh aloud, startling Henry, lying at her feet. The man would be bashful but sweet, decidedly homely and perhaps short, but she’d find something attractive about him.
Years later, they’d be sitting on their farmhouse porch, and she’d finally tell him, “Rhyan Cason kissed me once.” Well more than once, but a woman didn’t boast such things to her husband.
Her bashful but sweet husband would yell at their six decidedly homely children, “Hey young’uns, did you know Senator Cason once kissed your ma?”
One of them would ask, “Really Ma, did you like it?”
She’d laugh and say, “Not nearly as much as I like your pa’s.”
She dropped the pen and looked up. Lord, You really have Your work cut out for You to bring that to pass.
***
Carianne reserved the library for the children on Saturday mornings. They came bright and early the next day. Fighting back a yawn, she watched them pile in. Becky and Danny Hadley, Becky’s friend, Eva, and Joe and Eddie Samms.
“Did you hear the storm last night, Miss Carianne?” Becky asked.
Surrendered (Intrique Under Western Skies Book 2) Page 17
