Pretending to straighten her new bottles of starch water on the windowsill, she took a glance outside.
Few people walked along the boardwalk, but the one with the stiffest posture and the most determined march looked like Nolan from behind, and did he have…?
She squinted.
Flowers. He had flowers in his hand.
Oh, no.
Surely he wasn’t pacing in front of her laundry convincing himself to come in and ask to court her despite her more than obvious hint she’d never say yes.
He had to be pacing for some other reason. Their talk had been days ago, and he’d said he didn’t want to get married, either.
Though perhaps she shouldn’t have been so adamant that his missing leg was a sorry excuse for not marrying. Maybe she’d inadvertently encouraged him.
She shook her head at herself. How vain was she to believe every single man would eventually try for her hand?
Nolan turned on his heel and tossed the flowers into the street, where a passing cart and horse smashed them into the dirt.
Well, now. What was he doing?
She scooted back from the window in case he glanced her way. She didn’t want him to know she was watching, but what direction would he go? Seemed he’d made some sort of decision when he’d thrown the flowers.
His marching—as much as a one-legged man’s gait could be called a march—tapped along quicker and more decisively as he neared. His forehead was furrowed as deep as a newly plowed field despite his face looking harder than a rock.
Reaching her door, he abruptly turned again and strode away.
Whatever he was doing, his stern expression was likely driving away her customers, along with the milliner’s and the butcher’s. Not that she needed more customers, but she did need those who owed her money to come in.
Moving to the door, she opened it and nearly melted with the breeze. She should’ve opened this door sooner with how hot and muggy the washing made it inside. She propped the door open and glanced down the boardwalk to see if Nolan was going to about face or finally storm off.
He turned, head bent, and she waited, arms crossed.
When he was about five feet away, she stepped forward. “Mr. Key?”
Jerking as if startled, he lifted his head.
“I know you’re free to do as you please in this territory, but would you mind not pacing so decisively in front of our businesses? I’m afraid people will be worried about crossing whatever line you seem to be guarding.”
“Sorry.”
His face didn’t soften, but now he seemed to be fidgeting—and staring at her. Was something bothering him?
Of course something was, considering all his marching.
“Uh…” They weren’t exactly friends, though he’d always been kind enough to ask about her day when retrieving his bunkhouse’s bedding.
Had she ever asked him how his day was going?
She breathed in deep and let her questions out in a rush. “Is something wrong? Do you need to talk to someone?”
She looked diagonally down the road toward the church. If Pastor Lawrence was in town, maybe she ought to encourage him to go there. Or—
“I probably should just spit it out. Though I’m not really sure I should.” He moved to open her door wider, swinging his arm to indicate he intended to follow her in.
He wanted to talk to her? She ought to be flattered that he thought her “sensible” enough to speak with instead of searching out a man. But at the same time, those limp flowers lying in the dirt made her wonder how personal and uncomfortable this might be, especially if he wanted advice on wooing a woman.
She crossed in front of him and turned to flip the closed sign. Her fingers seized, and the sign slipped through her hand yet again, this time sending the sharp wooden corner into her foot. She hissed. Her work-worn boot had done little to protect her toes.
Drat her luck at having him see her do that a second time.
He stooped to pick up the sign, hung it, then abruptly turned. “There’s something wrong with your hands, isn’t there?”
She pressed her lips together, but then, Annie had said it didn’t take a genius to see she was in pain. “Yes.”
“What exactly?” He took a brief glance down at her hands. When his eyes came back up, they seemed to be probing her for a confession, as if she were obliged to give him one because he asked.
“None of your business, I’m afraid.”
“They look as if they’re causing you a great deal of pain, and in the last few weeks, it’s become apparent they’re getting worse. Are you afraid you’ll lose the use of them?”
She turned to shield her hands from him, but if he’d figured all that out, what point was there in concealing her fate?
“I won’t,” she whispered. “Well, not necessarily.”
“Not necessarily?”
A part of her hoped the throbbing would simply go away, but what if the worst happened? What if he told others and they took their business elsewhere? Any number of homesteading women might welcome extra cash. She couldn’t lose her only source of income quicker than she already was. “There’s no reason to worry about me. Everything will be fine.”
Nolan still stared at her, a quizzical tilt to his lips.
She clasped her hands together and walked away. “The doctor says I only have to do things differently. Even if they get worse, there’s no reason to take your business elsewhere. I can hire help.”
“My laundry has been late two times already, yet you’ve not hired help.”
She kept her back turned and grabbed the pencil off the counter, but then immediately wished she hadn’t, considering the jolt of pain. Forcing herself not to grimace, she tapped the writing instrument a few times before setting it down. What answer could she give that wouldn’t be a lie, yet keep him from going elsewhere? “I’m sorry for that, but I’ve been … busy. It won’t be late this month. I promise.”
Hopefully her voice had sounded convincing instead of desperate. But after the Ivenses pulled their account yesterday, if she lost the Key Ranch, would she be able to make her rent payment? Should she pray for anonymous charity to land in her lap again?
Nolan cleared his throat. “I know it’s personal, but could you tell me why you’re so determined to hang onto this place when it’s obvious you’re overwhelmed?”
“Money.” Did he think she worked for fun? “Isn’t that the only reason a woman would work until her hands fell off?”
He moved back, as if her words had physically pushed him.
She had been a bit forceful. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“I understand how it feels to be losing something you desperately need.”
To her relief, he didn’t keep pestering, but he did go back to pacing.
The irregular clomping was even more disconcerting done in the small space in front of her counter. His steps scraped against the boards every other step as if he wasn’t lifting his fake leg enough to clear the floor.
Didn’t he realize pacing in here was not helping her get work done?
But she wasn’t about to start working with him here either, not if he, like Annie, decided she needed help. “I need to get back to wor—”
“Hiring someone won’t earn you more, unless Armelle’s population increases.”
He’d been trying to figure out how to save her business? That was sweet, but there wasn’t anything he could do. “That’s true, but I’ll hire someone if I must. However, we came in here to talk about what’s bothering you. I don’t wish to discuss my problems.”
He pivoted to face her. “But your problems are my problems.”
“I told you I’d not be late again.”
“I’m not worried about my linens.” He took in a quick breath. “What I need is a business partner.”
How did he consider that her problem? Or was he thinking of offering help in exchange for a share of her business to pretend he wasn’t giving charity? “I
’m grateful for the work you’ve given me, but it’s obvious I can’t handle more. There’s no profit worth splitting.”
“Unless I’ve missed my guess, if you don’t stop working with your hands, you’ll lose your profit entirely.”
If both Annie and Nolan had divined how bleak her future was just by looking at her, how many others had? Was that why the Ivenses had pulled their account?
“When you lose the laundry, and I lose the ranch, we’ll both be out of luck.”
She frowned. Was his ranch in trouble? From what she’d heard, he had one of the more successful ones in the area. Perhaps he was in debt. “I can’t imagine how partnering with me would help.”
“I’ll lose everything if I don’t marry.”
She tensed, afraid he’d get down on one knee, but no, if he needed money, she wasn’t in the running to be his bride. “So, how would partnering with me help?”
His body deflated. “My father’s will states that unless I’m married, I’ll lose the place to my cousin.”
She scrunched up her face. “That kind of thing only happens in books.”
“Exactly.” He smiled, and his eyes turned soft.
Oh, no. If he wanted a wife, she didn’t need to be encouraging him in any manner. Though why had such a comment earned her that look? She shook her head. She was imagining things.
He shifted his weight, and suddenly snatched his hat off his head, evidently just realizing he still had it on. “I’m not looking for a marriage in truth because, like you, I’d rather die than saddle a wife with me, but what else can I do? I’ve sunk all my money into what I thought was mine, and now I’ve been denied the proceeds from its sale. Without the ranch, well, I’ll be working as hard as you, in a job I’m not physically capable of.”
“I—” She wanted to negate him, but could she honestly? She swallowed hard and looked away.
“I know how it is to lose the use of your limbs. So if you and I are both going to lose our places separately, why not save one of them together?”
“I’m flattered, but—”
He jerked up a hand. “It’s not flattery. It’s desperation.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
His face reddened, and he waved his hand vigorously. “I didn’t mean a man would have to be desperate to marry you, but unless I miss my guess, you’re desperate, too. I can offer what you need—time for your hands to heal. In fact, you don’t even have to work if you don’t want to.”
Not work at all? If he thought she could be reeled in by a man who spouted off things that were too good to be true, he had another think coming. “That’s too much to believe.”
“You told Mrs. Hendrix you’d consider marrying if the only thing required of you was a name change, did you not?”
So that’s why he’d chosen her. “Uh, I—yes, that’s what I said, but you have to realize I never believed someone would offer that.”
“Well, it’s an offer you have now. Please consider it. As for what I need from the marriage, your name is it. I have an old cabin on my property that could be yours. Though according to the lawyer, you might not be able to move into it right away. There has to be a show that I’m following the intent of the will. As long as we’re amicable toward each other for a while, take some trips to Denver to show my cousin we’re committed, and you don’t disappear on me, no one has to know we won’t be getting any closer than living behind the same four walls.”
She pressed her lips together against the vehement ‘no’ clawing its way up her throat.
He was offering her a cabin of her own? No need for a true marriage? Time for her hands to heal?
“If you wish, once the deed appears secure and my cousin has lost interest in my property, we could act as if we’ve had a falling out. I promise not to divorce you. I’ve seen enough divorcees and widows to know how hard it is for a woman to be on her own. I’d owe you forever for saving my land, so I’d commit to providing for you for your whole life in honor of that. I’ll take care of your room and board and pin money—”
“You’d allow me to sit back and do nothing?” No man this far west would want so little from a wife.
“I’d prefer you help, but if the doctor says you shouldn’t—well, there’s no other way to keep the ranch. So as long as you didn’t create extra work, cleaned up after yourself—”
“There is another way. You marry someone else.”
“But you don’t want to be married, correct?”
She scrunched her eyebrows. “True.”
“Neither do I, so it’s a business deal. What other woman could I offer marriage to like this and not ruin her hopes of family and love? You’re a good businesswoman, you must see—”
“That you’re not offering me a true business deal? Yes. What you’re offering is a position of eternal indebtedness. You say I could do nothing—”
“But I realize you’re too hard of a worker to lie around all day and eat cake. On my ranch, you won’t have to do anything that will injure your hands—I won’t question what you’re capable of. Believe me, Dad questioned me every time I told him I didn’t feel physically comfortable doing something, so I won’t do that to you. Besides, I’m making you the same deal—I’ll be eternally indebted to you. Though it’s more like we’ll be tied to the land together.”
“I don’t know about this.” She needed to suppress the flutter that had just flitted around inside her before hope left her worse off than it ever had before.
“You have no obligation to help me, of course. But I’m offering a much lighter yoke and more security.”
Everything—from her hands to her insides—was shaking. “Are you truly offering a business deal?”
“Yes.”
“Then if it’s an actual business deal—if two people are required to save your property—then a portion of the profit should be mine. I don’t want room and board and pin money.”
He blinked.
Maybe he deserved some credit for calling her sensible and hardworking, but he’d only talked business to flatter her. “See, you weren’t truly offering—”
“No, wait.” He fiddled with his hat as he looked her in the eye.
She lifted her brows, and he started pacing again.
So they were back to this? The poor man truly was in a dilemma. And though his offer wasn’t—
“All right.” He turned and marched back toward her.
She held up a hand, not only to stop him from continuing, but to stop herself from agreeing. She’d learned the hard way that a man’s promises rarely held up in the wash. “Don’t let desperation make you offer something you’ll regret following through with.”
He stood, staring at her as if lost.
The poor man was in a terrible spot, but with enough time, he’d figure out something to save his land that didn’t require her involvement. “Pray about it.”
He nodded. “Good idea.” He looked out the front window and sighed before tipping his hat to her. “I’ll leave you to your work.”
With that, he left, sending the door bell to jangling.
Feet heavy and throat thick, she trudged over to her next pile of laundry and started scrubbing. Heat flooded her eyes, but not because of pain.
Nolan wouldn’t return.
She’d turned away the best offer she was likely ever going to get.
Chapter Eight
Two days later in front of the laundry, Nolan took the deepest breath of his life and forged inside.
Corinne looked up and froze.
Was that a look of terror?
Surely his offer would be much more appealing than death. “I—” He cleared his throat, hoping to make it work. “I’ve thought it over. I’m willing to make you a true business deal, as long as you don’t take me up on my ‘do nothing’ offer. In order to share my profit, I’ll need you to do your fair share.”
She straightened. “Your profit?”
“That’s what you asked for, right?”
With a bl
ank expression, she stared at him while her hands remained submerged in gray, soapy water.
He pulled out the contract he’d drafted, his heart thumping. “We can talk over terms. Once we agree, we could get our agreement witnessed if you’d like—we’d just have to be careful about who we chose.”
The front door opened with a sad whine, hitting the bell halfheartedly.
Why, oh why, did someone have to come in now?
Leah Whitsett hobbled in. She hadn’t yet learned how to disguise her limp as well as he had. She glanced between the two of them. “Am I interrupting something?”
He looked to Corinne to see if she thought his offer was indeed “something” worth turning away business for.
When Corinne did nothing but stand there blinking, the older woman stepped forward. “I’m sorry to return after you told me no, but I need work, even if it’s only for a few hours. I…” Her voice petered out.
Though Leah’s timing was awful, perhaps he should step outside so she didn’t have to beg in front of him.
Corinne finally extracted her hands from the water and wiped them on a towel. “Would you excuse me a moment, Mrs. Whitsett, while I take care of Mr. Key?”
His heart beat all the way up into his throat. Was she going to turn him down in front of Leah?
“Of course.” Leah slid onto the bench Corinne’s customers sat on while waiting.
Corinne was pale, but there was steel in her jaw as she walked toward him. The smell of lye and starch grew stronger as she leaned close, her voice coming out in a soft whisper. “Are you willing to pay Mrs. Whitsett to work so we can have a business meeting?”
His breath left him in a rush. “Certainly.”
She gave him a nod and walked over to Leah. “It seems I could use someone to take over for a few hours so I can attend to other matters.”
Leah’s expression relaxed. “Thank you so much.”
As Corinne showed Leah what to do, Nolan’s heart only beat half the time.
Could he truly go through with giving this woman a say in how he ran his ranch?
Though how would he survive if he didn’t?
Pretending to Wed Page 6
