Letter Perfect

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Miss, your father didn’t send me.” He grimaced, then took out the envelope and turned it so she could see both sides. “Fact is, my family owns the Broken P. That was written as the address, so it was delivered to us. Alan Caldwell took ill two years ago.” He paused meaningfully, hoping that momentary silence would warn her of what he’d say next. “He didn’t pull through.” When she didn’t react, he figured maybe he’d been too roundabout with his technique. “I’m sorry, miss. Your pa’s not with us anymore.”

  He fully expected her hiccups to cease and tears to begin. The hiccups got louder. The woman pressed herself against the wall, and with every jarring hiccup, her left elbow hit the shutters and made them rattle a clattering accompaniment. She tore her gaze away as pain streaked across her pretty features.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “He sent Mama away.” She kept whacking herself as she fluttered the fan in agitation. Anguish darkened her eyes and tainted her whisper. “He’s just going through this ruse to get rid of me, isn’t he? You said so yourself—out by the stage, you said I wasn’t supposed to come.”

  Joshua took the fan away before she beat herself black and blue with it. “Sip the water, Miss Caldwell.”

  She looked down and tilted her head to the side. Another hiccup cut short her sigh of despair. In her shock, the poor woman had managed to tip her hand and spill the water down her skirts.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed. He pried the glass from her, set it next to her fan on Maltby’s desk, and cupped her shoulders. The way the sweet little thing was shuddering beneath his hands let him know his words were starting to sink in. A strange wave of tenderness and protection washed over him. “Here. You’d better sit down for a spell.” It took no effort at all to pivot her slight frame and nudge her into the chair.

  She fussed with the wet spot. “I’ll have to change before I go out to the ranch. I cannot meet him looking like this.”

  Joshua slid his tanned hand beneath her soft, pale chin and tilted her face up to his. He’d never felt less capable in his life. Still, no one else was around, and it fell to him to see her through and get her back to her mama. Her dying mama. That made it all the more urgent. Surely this young woman couldn’t know the extent of her mother’s condition, else she wouldn’t have made this trip. In Alan’s memory and honor, he’d take on the responsibility of turning her around and sending her back.

  “Miss Caldwell, that little dab of water doesn’t matter. What, with the heat like it is, that spot’ll dry up in a few minutes. But Alan’s gone… . I give you my word; he died. No father would ever deny or disown a daughter.”

  “Yes, he would,” she said thickly. She shied away from his touch, so he eased back, then walked to the other side of the small office. A lengthy silence ensued, interrupted by a string of hic-her-heart-off-its-hinges hiccups. “He sent Mama away, and she was pretty and poised; now he doesn’t even want to meet me, and I know it’s my fault. Please don’t feel obligated to put up pretenses.”

  Joshua stared at her. Clearly, she’d set her heart on finally meeting her father. Instead of accepting the truth, she was cooking up an explanation that might let her earn the right to meet him later … only there’d never be a later. Pity welled up. She’d said a mouthful. She thought if she were pretty and perfect and poised, she’d earn the right to be a daughter. No girl ought to ever think such a thing. Besides, she was pretty and appealing in her very own unique way.

  His spurs jangled softly as he closed the distance between them. He lifted her gloved hands and squeezed them. “Miss Caldwell, do you believe the Lord loves you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have to be perfect for Him to care about you?”

  “He’s everywhere. I guess He couldn’t run from me, even if He wanted to.” As soon as she’d spoken, she pulled a hand free and clapped it over her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was a dreadful thing to say. I always say the wrong thing.”

  Before he could formulate a response to her startling comments, the door opened and Maltby strode in. Joshua cleared his throat and said, “Rick Maltby, let me introduce you to Miss Ruth Caldwell. Miss Caldwell, this is Rick Maltby, attorney-at-law.”

  To his credit, Rick didn’t act surprised in the least. He dipped an urbane bow and murmured, “Pleased to meet you.”

  Ruth stood, curtsied, grabbed her fan, and sidled back toward the wall once again. “I’m sorry for taking your seat, sir.” She managed to jab herself with the fan as she pulled a hankie from her sleeve, then proceeded to hold both fripperies as if armed for war.

  Rick dragged a pair of chairs into position across from his desk. “Why don’t you both sit here?”

  She stared at him and shook her head.

  “She isn’t convinced Alan’s dead,” Joshua informed him.

  Ten minutes later, Ruth sat by Joshua’s side across from Rick’s desk. They’d tucked her between themselves, walked her over to the churchyard, and let her see the gravestone. Strangely enough, once she saw it, her hiccups ceased. Her head dipped and her shoulders curled forward. For a moment, Joshua feared she was fixing to swoon; but then she folded her hands together, let out a very unladylike sigh, and had a moment of silent prayer over the grave of the father she never knew.

  Now Miss Caldwell clutched her gloves in her lap and stared at the edge of Rick’s desk. She’d turned her gloves the wrong way so all of the fingers stood up like a bouquet of rabbit ears. That fact touched Joshua—she tried so hard to behave like a decorous, refined lady, but deep down inside she couldn’t seem to keep the silly details straight. But maybe that wasn’t a fair assessment. After all, she was in shock.

  “I wish I’d never come,” she whispered.

  “No need to worry,” Josh soothed. “I’ll send you back to your mother.”

  Miss Caldwell shook her head. The adamant motion set her curls flying every which way.

  Again wondering if she’d not been aware of her mother’s tenuous condition, Josh strove to choose his words carefully. “The letter states your mother’s health is fragile.”

  “Then you’ll want to depart immediately,” Rick surmised.

  “I can’t.” Her grasp on those bunny ears of gloves became a stranglehold. “Sh-she’s passed on.”

  “I see.” Rick mercifully spared her having to explain further.

  Eyes shimmering with tears, Miss Caldwell turned to Josh. “I didn’t know exactly what was in the letter. I followed her instructions and mailed it. It was her dying wish—”

  “Hush,” he growled softly as he swiped her hanky and dabbed at her cheek. “What’s done is done.”

  “Mama said that, too.” She finally turned loose of those ridiculous gloves and claimed the hanky. In mopping her face, the woman turned the smudge by her temple into a streak of mud.

  Josh couldn’t fathom what to do with the woman. At seventeen, Laney might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she’d exhibit far more poise than this bundle of nerves.

  “Perhaps we’d be wise to concentrate on what Miss Caldwell will do now that she’s here,” Rick said.

  The brave way she straightened her shoulders didn’t distract Josh from the pained expression on her pretty face. “I’m capable in all domestic matters. Do you gentlemen know of a family in need of a housekeeper or governess?”

  “No.” They spoke in unison—Rick undoubtedly out of honesty, Josh out of the certainty that no family would survive Ruth’s so-called assistance.

  “It might be crass to discuss money, but I have eighty-three dollars and seventeen cents with me. Could I start a dress shop? I’m able to sew quite well.”

  The poor girl was scrambling to find a way to support herself. Josh frowned. “That’s unnecessary.”

  “Let me examine the will.” Rick opened an oak filing cabinet and pulled out the document. The drawer glided and clicked shut, and the metered tick tock of the wall clock’s pendulum was the only sound in the room as he silently read the will. Finall
y he grimaced, glanced up, and gave Joshua a strained look.

  “Miss Caldwell, there was a gentlemen’s agreement. A few of us were aware of it, but for the sake of your father’s dignity, it wasn’t written down. Your father’s remedy for it was contained in his last will and testament.” He picked up the paper and read aloud, “‘Since I made other financial arrangements for my wife, Leticia Porter-Caldwell, she is to receive nothing from my estate. As there was no issue from our marriage, I hereby bequeath all of my possessions, both real and personal, as well as my portion of Broken P including lock, stock, and barrel in equal portion to Joshua McCain Senior and Junior.”’

  Ruth Caldwell didn’t react.

  Joshua’s blood ran cold as Rick set down the legal document and placed his hand on it, as if to obscure the words. “This will is now invalid since we’ve established you exist, Miss Caldwell.”

  Joshua unfolded from his chair and gritted his teeth. He paced as far away from her as he could get, stared out the window, and didn’t say a word. He wasn’t a man to cuss or drink, but if he were, he’d be doing plenty of both right about now. Instead, he held his tongue and searched his mind for a way to handle this devastating blow. Later on, he and God were going to have to hold a lengthy conversation about this.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Miss Caldwell said softly.

  Joshua wheeled around. “What he’s saying, Miss Caldwell, is that you’ve just inherited a chunk of my family’s ranch.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Impossible,” Ruth said. She looked from one man to the other. Her gaze kept swinging back to the black-haired cowboy. His hazel eyes commanded attention—the golden centers had glittered with intelligence earlier; now they burned with fury. Pointing out the obvious to him felt ridiculous, but it had to be done. She crumpled her hankie into a ball and said, “In case it escaped your notice, I’m a woman. Women cannot own land.”

  “They do in California,” the attorney informed her.

  Confessing her shortcomings ought to be second nature by now, but Ruth still hated to parade her flaws. Nonetheless, she had to admit, “I’m an unmarried woman, not a widow.”

  “We guessed that.” Joshua McCain’s dry tone hovered in the room.

  The attorney leaned across his desk. “The rest of the nation based property laws on English common law, where a widow is permitted to keep her dowering portion of the marital property or a woman can inherit if a gentleman oversees the funds or property; California constitution took the Spanish heritage of allowing women of single, married, or widowed status to own property in their own right.”

  Ruth stared at him for a moment before she realized her mouth was hanging wide open. She snapped her jaw shut.

  “The will specifically states the marriage was without issue.” The attorney’s voice sounded more than reasonable, but Ruth picked up on the strained undercurrents as he went on to explain himself. “The property was divided in accordance with that belief. Since the division was predicated on a falsehood, what we need to do is establish your true identity.”

  “Look at her.” Joshua McCain waved a callused hand at her. “She’s Alan Caldwell in a dress.”

  Once again Ruth found herself gaping. She spluttered, “Sir!”

  “I mean … well, there’s no mistaking she’s her father’s daughter,” Joshua stated.

  “It remains, I’d be remiss in not tracing the paper work,” the attorney persisted.

  “Very well.” Suddenly beyond weary, Ruth decided to humor the man just to get all of this taken care of. Then she’d go to the hotel, bathe, and sleep for a week. “What do you require?”

  “Something official. If you happen to have a birth certificate, that would be the best.”

  She shook her head. “My birth is recorded in the family Bible beneath Mama and Father’s marriage.”

  Joshua drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Rick, what does this mean?”

  “Miss Caldwell has rightful claim to her father’s land. Depending on who hears the case, she could inherit his full half of the Broken P.”

  Ruth felt tension crackle in the room.

  “We’ll have to put it on a docket and wait till the circuit judge makes his rounds—unless you want to go to Sacramento and have the case heard sooner. Even then you’ll have to wait a bit.”

  Snorting, Joshua rose from his chair. “I’m not racing off to get bad news.”

  Bad news. That’s me. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I don’t know that I want to lay claim to any property. It scarcely seems right since Mr. McCain has done all of the work.”

  Mr. McCain spread his hand wide and rubbed both temples as if he suffered a horrendous headache. “Lady, you don’t know how tempting it is to accept that, but it’s not what you want or what I want that matters here. It’s what your father would have wanted.”

  “Perhaps, Miss Caldwell, you and Mr. McCain can reach an amicable resolution on your own,” the attorney suggested.

  Fully aware she was in over her head, Ruth blurted out, “I’d want you to represent me, Mr. Maltby. Surely a woman ought to have a professional advise her in such a matter.”

  “Now hold on a minute,” Joshua protested.

  Mr. Maltby lifted a hand. “Wait. I drafted the will. I’m legally obliged to represent the decedent’s wishes. If you choose not to iron out the matter among yourselves, you’ll need to seek representation from other professionals.”

  “Like who? You’re the only one around,” Joshua rumbled. He paced back and forth like prospective grooms did in the parlor before Miss Pettigrew ushered in possible bridal candidates.

  “I suppose I’d better—”

  “Come with me,” Mr. McCain interrupted her. Wrapping his hand around her wrist, he tugged her to her feet. “You can stay at the ranch until we get this ironed out.”

  Ruth didn’t want to go anywhere with him. For once, all of those seemingly silly etiquette lessons came in handy. She blurted out, “I don’t think that would be proper.”

  “It’s fine, Miss Caldwell,” the attorney assured her. “Josh has a sister and a housekeeper. I recommend you agree to this arrangement for the time being.”

  So much for etiquette.

  “It’s settled, then.” Josh headed toward the door with her in tow. “You can contact us at the Broken P as soon you find out when the circuit judge is coming.”

  They stepped outside, and Ruth blinked in the powerful sunlight. “Oh, look! My trunks are over on the boardwalk!”

  Josh yanked her back. “Where are you going?”

  “My things—”

  “Probably weigh a ton. I’m going to have to rent a buggy to haul it all to the ranch.”

  “Well, then.” Ruth glanced up and down the street. “Where is the livery?”

  “Other side of the saloon. You stay put here.”

  Ruth whipped out her fan and opened it. “I’m sure it’ll take you a little while to hire a conveyance. Since I’m in town, I’d like to see what’s on hand. That mercantile over there looks quite impressive.”

  “You’re not shopping and buying more junk for me to haul around.”

  She resisted the urge to waft the fan at him. It would probably do him some good. Joshua McCain had a hot temper and needed to cool off. Instead, Ruth forced herself to speak calmly. “It would be foolish for me to buy much. I’m already having things shipped.”

  The muscles in his jaws twitched. “You’ve got more stuff on the way?”

  “It won’t get here for a while, but it made sense. After all, I’ll need to set up housekeeping at some point.” Feeling her words ought to pacify him, she said, “Why don’t you go get a wagon while I explore a little?”

  “Lady, the last thing I want is to have to go searching for you. I don’t have that kind of time to waste.” He heaved a sigh. “Just promise you’ll stay on the boardwalk. It won’t take me long to hire a rig, and I need to get back home.”

  “That’s a reasonable compromise.” She smiled. Mr
. McCain could be reasonable, after all.

  Half an hour later, Ruth sat in the hired buggy and stared straight ahead. She couldn’t bear to sneak even a furtive peek at Joshua McCain. Somehow, she’d managed to tweak his temper twice now. She didn’t want to add to her list of offenses. Bad enough he was certain she’d cheated him out of part of the ranch; but as if that transgression weren’t sufficient to put her on his bad side for eternity, she’d stepped amiss once again.

  While Joshua went to rent a buggy, Ruth had walked the length of the boardwalk, then crossed the street and headed back toward her trunks. It was the logical thing to do. Joshua McCain would find her and her belongings all ready to go. Halfway down the boardwalk to the stage station, a pleasant-looking woman stepped out of a shop and smiled at her. How was she to know the woman in that plush dress was … well …

  “Madam Velvet,” he muttered under his breath beside her, then shot her a scowl dark enough to wilt the heartiest daisy. He opened his mouth, then shut it. After a prolonged silence, he rasped, “Didn’t you ever read about Rahab or Jezebel in the Bible?”

  “Yes.”

  “That … ah … profession wasn’t limited to Bible times.” His right spur jingled as he scraped his boot side to side on the floorboard, and he studied her with his glittering eyes. The corners of his mouth tightened, then he rasped, “In case you didn’t know, not all women are ladies.”

  “I didn’t realize she was …” Ruth’s voice died out.

  Josh’s head wagged back and forth. The only thing darker than his black-as-sin hair was his mood. He muttered something unintelligible to himself again.

  “Women of easy virtue aren’t supposed to—” Ruth groaned.

  Heaving a sigh, Josh gripped the reins more tightly. His hands were huge, callused, and capable-looking. “Things are different out here. Back East, women of her ilk stay in the Bowery; here, they pretty much go where they please. The Nugget—that’s the local watering hole—has rooms upstairs for them to …” He cleared his throat. “Has rooms for them.”