Reading the Rancher (Cowboys and Angels Book 28)

by Kit Morgan

  “What am I doing?” she murmured. Indeed, passing herself off as a private tutor so she could hide from Bart and Father would be pathetic if it weren’t so necessary. Desperate times and all that. She reached for her satchel, pulled out her novel and Bible and set them on the dresser. If she was going to teach Mr. White to read, she’d need some books to start with …

  “Oh no! We didn’t talk about price!” She smacked her forehead and let her hand slide down her face. How could she forget a detail like that? She must be more nervous than she thought. Well, she’d have to do something about that – she didn’t want to appear incompetent in front of her new student.

  She retrieved her notebook and pencil from her reticule, went to the room’s small desk and began to make a list. “Let’s see, I’ll need a children’s reader, paper, pencils, maybe a spelling book … what else?” She tapped her chin a few times. She figured she could get anything she needed from that bookshop she’d met the men in front of, or maybe a local stationer’s or mercantile. But she didn’t want to expose herself any more than she had to. If her father or Bart sent men after her and they came around asking questions …

  She dropped her pencil on the desk and put her face in her hands. “What am I doing?” she asked again. If this kept up she’d be asking all night. But she didn’t have time for that. She had to plan, and fast.

  Unable to think any further, Hattie crawled into bed and pulled her novel off the side table – Hall Caine’s The Manxman. Maybe a little romance and derring-do was what she needed. She’d pay a visit to the bookshop in the morning and pray she found what she needed there. In the meantime, she needed to relax – and pray. Hard.

  The next morning Hattie rose early, went downstairs and had a quick breakfast, keeping her head down and avoiding conversation. But she did keep an ear open, and got to hear all about Millie the hotel clerk – from Millie herself. She was a pleasant soul, not married long from the sounds of it, and worked at Hearth and Home with her husband and his sisters.

  For a moment she envied Millie and her sister-in-law Isla’s happy banter with the patrons. Their lives seemed full and carefree, unlike hers. If she couldn’t daydream about a quiet life, she could at least enjoy someone else’s. Breakfast done, she went upstairs to read her Bible, planning to visit the bookshop afterward.

  An hour later when she left Hearth and Home, she ran into none other than Mr. Dunst. “Hello again,” she said with a happy smile. Why she was glad to see him she didn’t know, but there it was. “You disappeared yesterday. I wanted to introduce you to some gentlemen I met.”

  His eyebrows shot up as he smiled.

  “Yes, I’m going to tutor one of them.”

  Mr. Dunst’s mouth formed a perfect O.

  “Yes, I thought it was exciting news as well.” She glanced at the boardinghouse and back. “This is where you meant to bring me, isn’t it?”

  He happily nodded.

  “I’m on my way to the bookshop, the one we stopped at yesterday. Would you like to come with me?”

  His eyes lit up. He offered his arm and marched in place, reminding her of a portly toy soldier. She laughed at the thought, took his arm and off they went. She felt comfortable with him, ignoring the odd looks they received as they strolled down the boardwalk.

  When they reached the bookshop she sighed and shook her head. “The gentleman I’m tutoring cannot read, so I’m looking for things to help me teach him. I don’t know if I’ll be able to find what I need here. You’re a bookseller – could you help me?”

  The little man’s eyes lit up again. He smiled and motioned toward the door. They went inside and began their search. Hattie asked the proprietor, a happy young gentleman with brown hair that kept falling into his eyes, where the children’s books were, while Mr. Dunst disappeared among the stacks and shelves.

  “Children’s books, eh?” The proprietor pointed to the back of the shop. “This way, please.”

  She followed him to several short shelves. “These are most of them. I have some in the back that I haven’t put out yet – they just came in.”

  “Thank you, but these will do.”

  He smiled. “Gifts, are they?”

  “No, I need them for something else, thank you.”

  He took the hint, turned and left. With a sigh of relief she picked up books at random, read the titles then put them back. They were storybooks, not what she was looking for.

  Mr. Dunst tugged on her shirtsleeve, making her jump. “Oh, there you are.” She noted the book in his hand. “What did you find?”

  He handed it to her with a smile.

  Hattie studied it. It was worn, the binding frayed, and half the title was rubbed off. She opened it and examined the pages. “Mr. Dunst, you found a children’s reader – just what I need!”

  Mr. Dunst clasped his hands behind his back and rocked toe-to-heel a few times, smiling proudly.

  Hattie smiled back. “Well done. And from the looks of it, it can’t cost much –” She glanced at the storefront and back, then gasped. The little man was gone again. Well, she wasn’t going to quibble – he’d found what she needed. She would’ve liked to thank him, though.

  She took the book to the front counter. “How much is this?” She had to be careful with her money – especially when she didn’t know how much Mr. White would pay. As it was, the place didn’t seem to sell paper, pencils or notebooks – she’d have to find those elsewhere.

  The proprietor looked at it and made a face. “I didn’t think I had any of these left. It’s worthless – you can have it.”

  “Really? For free?”

  “I’ve no use for it, and the local schools got new books two years ago.”

  “How wonderful.” She picked up the book. “Thank you, Mr., um …?”

  “Tobias Redfern, ma’am, at your service.”

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Redfern.”

  “I thought you were looking for children’s books?”

  “Actually, this is what I meant. But thank you again.” Hattie hurried for the door. She didn’t want to have to answer any more questions. The whole point of tutoring Mr. White was so she could hide – and still keep a roof over her head.

  The “park,” as Mr. White called it, was a small square of grass with the gazebo in the center and a few benches. It looked fairly new, and she wondered how long it had been there. Millie from Hearth and Home had told her at lunch that Creede had suffered several fires over the years, and the town was still rebuilding from the last one. Hattie hadn’t paid much attention yesterday, but now noticed various places under construction as she walked to the park from the stationer’s Millie had directed her to.

  Now she sat on a bench, set down the children’s reader, composition books and box of pencils, and waited. She was early, as was her habit. Also, she wanted time to think about how to proceed with Mr. White. First she’d see what he could already do, then figure out how she could help him. It was a start – all she needed for now.

  “Good afternoon,” Mr. Hicks chirped as he strolled toward the bench. Mr. White lagged behind, a sour look on his face like the unwilling schoolboy he was. But if that was the case, then why did he agree (however reluctantly) in the first place?

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Hicks. I trust you’re well?”

  “Never better.” He slapped Mr. White on the back as he caught up.

  Hattie cringed. “Mr. White.”

  “Miss Dodge,” he grumbled.

  “Have a seat and let’s begin, shall we?”

  Mr. White sat, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. “This gonna take long?”

  “Give the lady a chance, Cooper,” Mr. Hicks scolded.

  Mr. White sighed and nodded. “I apologize. It’s just that this sort of thing never works out for me, like I said.”

  “Well, then,” she said with a confident smile, “it will be all the sweeter when you succeed this time.” She pulled the worn and battered children’s rea
der from her reticule and set it on her lap.

  Mr. White looked at the book as if it were a poisonous snake. “What’s that?”

  “This is what we’re going to be working with,” she announced. “No better place to start than at the beginning.”

  He sighed again, his eyes darting everywhere but at her.

  She opened the book. “This is the alphabet. Can you read the letters to me?”

  “I know my letters,” he retorted.

  “Wonderful. Then read them to me.”

  “I don’t need to look at that silly book to tell you the alphabet. A. B. C. D …”

  “But I want you to read them.”

  “Go ahead, Cooper,” Mr. Hicks urged behind them. “Do as she says.”

  Hattie watched in fascination as Mr. White swallowed hard, took the book from her slowly and stared at the page. “A. B. C …”

  She pointed to the letter P. “What’s this one?”

  He swallowed again, his eyes roving from one side of the book to the other and back.

  “Mr. White?” she said softly. “What letter am I pointing at?”

  He closed his eyes, swallowed, opened them. His mouth moved silently a few times. “S,” he finally said.

  Her eyes widened. She bit her bottom lip and pointed to the letter O. “This?”

  “Q?”

  “And this one?” She placed her finger beneath the letter F.

  He stared at it, wiping his palms on his pants. “E, I think …”

  Hattie peered at him, trying to make sense of the sweat trickling down his temple. The sun was welcome at this time of year, but it wasn’t that warm this high in the mountains. She herself had worn a shawl. “Thank you, Mr. White.” She absently flipped through the book, thinking of what to say. “Do you wear spectacles?”

  “My eyesight’s fine,” he said tersely.

  She fought against her growing frustration. This would obviously be harder than she thought. The man couldn’t identify letters? Had he attended school growing up? “Your mother was a teacher, you said?”

  Mr. White groaned. At this point, she wanted to join him. “Yes, but she couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. She thought it was my eyesight too, but spectacles never helped. It’s not my eyesight, Miss Dodge. It’s … something else.”

  “What, exactly?”

  “I dunno!” he growled, then stood and stalked to the gazebo, resting his hands on the railing.

  Mr. Hicks came around the bench. “Don’t mind Cooper, Miss Dodge,” he said quietly. “This is a mighty sensitive area for him. That he’s here is a plumb miracle.”

  “I can see that.” Hattie summoned her courage, stood and went to Mr. White, joining him at the railing. “If there’s something affecting your vision or … whatever it is, then I’d appreciate if you’d let me know. How else can I help?”

  Mr. White shifted his position to lean against a post. “I think it’s on account of my pa. He …” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the back of his neck. “… he was kind of slow. Not right in the head.”

  Her eyes widened. “What made him that way?”

  “He was just like that, I guess. The rest of the family’s normal – my uncles and Grandma. They’re fine.”

  Hattie thought a moment. “So you believe you can’t read because you inherited something from your father?”

  “Suppose so. I’ve got no other explanation. Course, I haven’t looked much for one. At this point, I’m not sure I want to know.”

  She nodded. Did he have problems in other areas? Only one way to find out. “Mr. White, how are you with sums?”

  “He’s good with those,” Mr. Hicks cut in.

  “Thank you, but my question was for Mr. White.”

  Mr. Hicks stuck his hands in his pockets. “Sorry. Numbers kinda get me excited.”

  “That’s because Bax is good at them,” Mr. White said.

  “Good to know.” She gave Mr. Hicks a stiff smile.

  He smiled back and shrugged. “It’s letters Cooper has problems with. Can you help him?”

  Now she did sigh. “Well, gentlemen, I’ll certainly try.” Which was all she could promise. She hadn’t heard of anyone with this sort of problem, but was sure there had to be people out there suffering the same malady. Question was, how was she going to find out? Could she find something at the bookshop perhaps?

  Hattie squared her shoulders, touched Mr. White gently on the arm and motioned to the bench. “Shall we try again?”

  Chapter Four

  The rest of Mr. White’s lesson consisted of Hattie pointing at more letters and trying to keep track of how many he missed. It was nearly all of them. She leafed through the book, showed him a simple sentence, and swore the man was going to melt like a candle from … embarrassment? She wasn’t sure, but could tell the lesson had taxed him. He was grouchy before they started – by the time they were done he was despondent, overwhelmed, and had broken out in a sweat!

  The poor man. Did his parentage really have something to do with his inability to read? He could see the letters, but not as they were. In the back of her mind this seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place why. Something from college, perhaps, but she didn’t know anyone at Smith that suffered anything close to this. If they had, they wouldn’t have been attending.

  She returned to Hearth and Home feeling like a failure. She’d guaranteed she could help him! If she didn’t, she’d lose her cover. She needed to lay low for a few months if possible. But at this point, tutoring Cooper White might not be the way to do it. And worse still, in her nervousness and frustration, she’d completely forgotten to bring up the issue of payment – how was she going to keep eating if she didn’t square that away?

  “Cooper White,” she whispered as she set the battered reader on the desk and stared at it. She needed to figure out what to do for tomorrow’s lesson. She was surprised he’d agreed to one, thinking he’d surely decline after today’s debacle. But with the next day looming, she had to come up with a new plan – something, anything that would work.

  She opened the book, started to copy down a few simple sentences, then realized that was a waste of paper. How could he learn sentences when he couldn’t decipher letters? It was as if someone had put something inside his eyes that twisted his vision, so that he saw letters differently from how they were. There had to be someone educated in this sort of thing. But who, and how would she find them out here in the hinterlands?

  For that matter, what if he was right and he simply took after his father? Rattled as she was, she hadn’t thought to ask if his father could read. His mother obviously could, and presumably the rest of his family.

  She closed the book with a sigh. Mr. White wasn’t the only one taxed by the lesson. She was exhausted and needed to lie down. Tomorrow she’d pay another visit to Mr. Redfern’s bookshop and see what she could find. For now, she lay on the bed, closed her eyes and continued to puzzle.

  She felt sorry for Cooper White. This was beyond anything she’d encountered. She knew she could teach someone to read and write and do arithmetic, but this? And he was obviously a very capable man – he owned land and apparently ran it well. If he couldn’t read, how could he keep the accounts for his ranch? Or did Mr. Hicks do them for him? No, he said Mr. White did okay with numbers. But how did he manage that with his sort of – what should she call it – ailment?

  Hattie threw her arm over her eyes and sighed long and loud. “Oh you foolish girl,” she scolded herself, “how do you get yourself into these things?”

  Cooper tossed another pitchfork of straw into the stall and wiped his brow. It was good to be home, away from Creede – and away from that Miss Dodge. She was going to be a pain in his side – the sooner he got rid of her the better.

  He’d have to figure out a way to get out of those lessons of hers. They weren’t going to work anyway – nothing did. The only reason he’d agreed to see her again tomorrow was because Baxter gave him that look, the one that said
oh, c’mon, at least try! The one that seemed to question his manhood – or at least that’s how it felt.

  He knew Bax meant well, but he also knew the fellow wasn’t going to leave him alone unless he saw the woman a few more times. After that, not even Bax would be able to argue that Cooper’s case wasn’t hopeless. He was stuck, and that was that.

  But what of it? He’d gotten along just fine. He had his little ranch going and was growing his horse business. He had three mares lined up to breed to his stud horse, with two more next month and one the month after. If this kept up he’d be able to save enough to add onto his house. Not that he’d have a reason – he was resigned to living alone.

  Cooper finished cleaning the stalls and feeding the stock, then whistled for his dog Henry, named after Cooper’s father. No response. “Where is he?” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Henry!” he yelled.

  The spotted hound trotted around the barn and into the yard.

  “There you are. Where have you been?”

  Henry barked a few times, turned in the direction he’d just come and barked some more.

  “What is it, boy?” Cooper went to inspect that side of the building. There was nothing there … wait. Yes there was. “Well, I’ll be. Where did you come from?”

  The rooster strutted closer and stared at Cooper. Cluck.

  “Well, hello to you, too.” He glanced around. “You come from Royce’s place?”

  The rooster eyed him. Cluck, cluck.

  “Yeah, yeah, same to you.” He approached the bird, wondering if the neighbors were missing more than the one. Or, wait a minute, this couldn’t be the rooster from the poetry meetings, could it?

  The rooster ran past him like lightning.

  Cooper turned to pursue it and ran smack into a man. “Oof!” He jumped back. “What the … who are you?”

  The short, pudgy fellow grinned back. He was middle-aged with thinning brown hair and at least three days’ growth of whiskers.