He should let Lulu work her magic. Should take her upstairs and let her make him forget about Olivia Harding. But her touch did nothing for him tonight. In fact, it was downright irritating.
He got up, his chair scraping across the wooden floor. He picked up his hat and put it on.
Lulu stood, waiting, her smile wider. She made a move to tuck her hand beneath his elbow.
He shrugged it off. “Sorry, Lulu. Not tonight.”
***
The kitchen of the orphanage was bustling with activity the next morning as it usually was when meals were being prepared for the children.
Mirabelle Granger and Ruth Bower sat at the long oak table at one end of the room, their heads bowed and their voices low as they chopped carrots and onions for the soup pot already bubbling on the cast-iron stove in the corner. Liza, a pretty dark-haired girl who had grown up in the orphanage but was now married and expecting her first child, was peeling potatoes at the worktable near the sink.
It occurred to Rose that she’ been about the same age as Liza when she’d received the inheritance that had brought her to Rocky Ridge.
Voices drifted in the air from the parlor, a large room surrounded by windows where some of the younger children were playing dominoes under the not-so-watchful eye of one of the older boys reading a dog-eared copy of Moby Dick.
Olivia scooped up a handful of flour and sprinkled it on the wooden work table, then set the mound of bread dough on top. Tearing the dough into pieces, she began to shape it into rolls.
Almira Potts, the orphanage’s matron, waddled across the room and wrapped an arm around Olivia, her breathing labored from the exertion. “You should have stayed home today after what happened …” Her voice trailed off, as if she couldn’t bear to mention the details.
Olivia reached out and patted Almira’s hand. “Thank you, Almira, but I’m fine,” she lied. “Really.”
She was far from fine. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, every muscle in her body ached from the attack the day before, and she couldn’t dismiss the twinge of fear in the back of her mind at the thought of walking home alone later that afternoon.
But she refused to let what had happened keep her away from her work. The children needed her. Almira needed her.
The orphanage was a three-story building at the edge of town that had once been owned by a miner who’d struck it rich several years before. He’d died before he could bring his wife and children to Colorado, and the building had been left to decay.
Almira and her husband had bought it when they’d first arrived in Rocky Ridge, planning to fill it with a large family. Unfortunately, they’d never been blessed with children of their own. Over the years, so Olivia had heard, they’d taken in children who had been orphaned or deserted. When Almira’s husband died, she’d somehow managed to find funds to keep the doors open as an orphanage.
Now, the paint was peeling and the front porch sagged, but the inside was filled with love and laughter, all thanks to Almira and her unflagging generosity and energy.
Almira lived in one room on the top floor the building and took a small stipend, her only assistance caring for the children coming from volunteers like Olivia, and the only money coming from donations.
Olivia hadn’t even considered staying away that afternoon. That would only add more work to the other women’s already heavy load, and leave her with too much time to fret about what had happened – and what might have happened if it hadn’t been for Landry Mitchell.
Warmth seeped through her as his image floated into her mind.
“It really was lucky Mr. Mitchell happened by,” Almira went on.
Olivia nodded. “It was.”
Almira’s voice lowered to a whisper. “You do know about him, don’t you?”
“Yes, I did hear about his history—”
“I do believe he’s paid his debt to society, but at the same time, one never knows if he’s truly reformed.”
“I’m not sure anyone knows but him.”
A twinkle appeared in Almira’s eyes, the creases on her wrinkled face deepening. “He is very handsome, though, isn’t he?”
Olivia felt her cheeks flush. Almira had echoed her thoughts exactly.
“But he’s not the type of man a decent woman should be seen with,” Almira went on. “I’m surprised he came back here. He must have known how people around here would react.”
“Perhaps he wants to make amends,” Olivia suggested.
“Perhaps.” Almira set the formed dough onto a baking sheet. “But sometimes, it’s not possible for a man to just pick up where he left off and expect others to forget the past.”
Almira moved away, taking the baking sheet with her to another table while Olivia continued filling another tray with rolls.
While she worked, she couldn’t put Landry out of her mind. There were hundreds of small towns popping up all over the west. It would have been so much easier for him to settle somewhere else, somewhere where no one knew about him and his past, and no one would judge him.
So why had he come back?
Chapter Two
Landry swung the hammer, the clang of metal against metal filling the silence as he molded the horseshoe into shape. Sweat dripped down his face and onto the anvil.
Setting the hammer aside, he grabbed a pair of tongs and picked up the horseshoe to study the form and shape, making sure it was as perfect as possible. A shoe didn’t do much good if it didn’t fit the horse’s hoof. Then he dipped the horseshoe into the tub of cold water nearby, keeping it at arm’s length until the steam cleared and the water stopped sizzling and spitting bubbles into the air.
He’d learned the hard way not to stand too close. He had the healed burns on his forearms to show for his ignorance.
Of course, those burns came from working alongside Rufus Macklin back in Silverdale when he first got out of prison.
A faint smile tugged at his lips at the memory. One of the few men who’d been willing to take a chance on him, Rufus had taught Landry everything he knew about blacksmithing.
And when Rufus passed on and Landry found himself unemployed, luck had been on his side. He’d heard the livery stable in Rocky Ridge was for sale, and he’d made the decision to come home.
He hadn’t expected to be welcomed with open arms, but he sure hadn’t thought he’d be treated like a pariah. And if there’d been another blacksmith in town, he was pretty sure he’d never get any business from most of the folks in town at all. Even his old friends had turned their backs on him.
But that was fine with him. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need anybody. As long as he had enough money to feed himself, he didn’t need more.
Satisfied that the horseshoe was as perfect as he could make it, he set it aside, wiped his hands with a cloth and headed to the water bucket for a drink. He was lifting the ladle to his lips when a female voice called his name.
“Mr. Mitchell?”
Startled, the ladle slipped. Water splashed over the sides of the bucket as the bowl of the ladle fell into the water.
He recognized that voice. The soft silky sound had filled his thoughts and fantasies his entire sleepless night before.
He’d never expected to see Olivia Harding again. Why would he? They didn’t exactly run in the same social circles, and the only people who even spoke to him these days were the men who spent their evenings in the saloon and the few customers who needed their horses shod or their farm equipment repaired. So what was she doing here?
He turned, squinting into the shaft of sunlight streaming through the open doors. Silhouetted against the light, she moved toward him, her slim hips swaying, her skirt brushing against the dirt floor. A sudden surge of lust blazed through him, settling low in his belly.
He swore inwardly. He’d been without a woman for far too long.
Coming out of the shadows, she stopped in front of him, close enough that he could see the sweet smile on her face, her eyes sparkling. Her lavender scent washe
d over him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Mitchell,” she said.
“You shouldn’t be in here.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. His voice had been sharper than he’d intended, and her smile quickly faded. “I mean, it’s dirty in here. No place for a woman,” he added, doing his best to lighten the tone of his voice. He didn’t want her here, but at the same time, he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings.
The smile returned. “Oh, heavens, that doesn’t matter. I’ve been in dirtier places than this, and I didn’t expect a livery stable to be spick and span.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I … I wanted to see … to check on you …”
“I’m fine.”
“Your head—?”
“Stopped bleeding,” he interrupted, his lips quirking in a smile.
“I’m so sorry about the way Emmett treated you yesterday.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it.” Emmett’s words were nothing compared to some that had been hurled at him over the past few years.
“Oh …”
“Is there something else?”
Her head lowered and she studied her hands for a few seconds before finally looking up at him, as if she was trying to find a reason to stay. But why would she? He was pretty sure Zane Morgan had filled her in, had told her in detail who he was and why he’d been in prison.
“The sheriff told me about you,” she said, “but I prefer to judge people for myself, not because of some idle gossip—”
He wasn’t surprised that she’d been warned to stay away from him. But he didn’t care. At least that’s what he’d been telling himself. “Even when the gossip is true?”
“Even then.”
He turned his back on her and moved away, making a pretense of being busy cleaning up. He didn’t need her sympathy. “So you know it’s not going to help your reputation if somebody sees you here.”
“Mr. Mitchell.” She followed him, moving around him until they were face to face. “I know how difficult it is to start over, but I’d like to help.”
The softness in her voice seeped through him, filling him like a cup of cocoa on a winter’s day. Kindness he didn’t dare let himself accept. He let out a laugh, failing to keep the tinge of bitterness out of his voice. “Look, Miss Harding—”
“Olivia.”
“Okay, Olivia. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I’ll say it plain and simple. I don’t need your help.”
“I’m only trying to—”
He locked gazes with her. “I’ll say it again,” he said. “I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. I’m fine with the way things are. So why don’t you move along and go find somebody else to fix?”
She took a step back, almost as if he’d physically assaulted her. He’d been mean, cruel. But the woman wouldn’t take no for an answer, so there was no other way to get rid of her except by being blunt.
“Would you like you to come to supper tonight?” she went on as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “I feel responsible for your injury and although I can never repay you for your bravery, I can offer you a home-cooked meal.” She glanced around, her gaze stopping on the open door to the room where he slept. “It seems to me you could use one.”
Picking up the hammer he’d set aside earlier, he looked down at her. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“But—”
“Look,” he began, “I don’t need a home-cooked meal. I don’t need your sympathy. And I sure don’t need you coming around here like some do-gooder looking for somebody to save. Now if there’s nothing else, old Sundown over there needs a new shoe so I need to get back to work.”
She nodded, gazing up at him with disappointment filling her huge golden-brown eyes.
“Of course,” she said. “I understand. I apologize for taking up your time. Good day.”
As he watched her walk away, he slammed the hammer back down on the table beside him. He’d hurt her. He knew that. Even as the cruel words had spilled from his mouth, he’d hated himself for saying them. But if he hadn’t been so direct, he had a feeling she’d keep coming back time and again until she wore him down.
And that was the last thing he needed. She was prettier than a flower, and her sweet perfume and the way she moved managed to make him want to get to know her, to spend time with her, to find out if the strange feelings he’d noticed whenever she was near were because of her or something else.
And if they were because of her … well, those were feelings he couldn’t allow himself to act on, just in case he became attracted to her even more than he already was.
She was the kind of woman who made him wish there was a possibility of a future … a future with a respectable woman … a family …
But he’d learned one thing since he’d gotten out of prison - there was no point wishing for things he couldn’t have.
***
Olivia could barely hear herself think over the ruckus in the orphanage dining room. Unlike many of the other institutions of its kind, Almira encouraged the children to laugh, to talk, to enjoy their lives as much as possible. She loved every one of the children she cared for, and treated each of them like her own.
Olivia sat at one end of the table, her heart full, her gaze taking in the chatter and laughter as the children ate their meals. For one reason or another, every one of the children here no longer had families who could take care of them. Two of the boys had been found in an alley, digging through scraps for food. Almira had rescued one of the older girls in the nick of time from a saloon in the next town. Some had been brought by relatives after the children’s parents had died, while others, like the baby she was feeding, had been left on the doorstep.
Every one of the children needed love and care, and Olivia couldn’t think of anything else she’d rather do.
The only thing Olivia had ever wanted was a family of her own. Now, at twenty-three, she was an old maid, a spinster. The likelihood of her ever marrying and having her own children grew more and more remote every day. It saddened her that the only children she’d ever be able to love were someone else’s.
Her glance stilled when it reached Daniel, the newest addition to the growing number of children living at the orphanage. He was sitting quietly beside her, his meal untouched. He hadn’t spoken or eaten more than a mouthful of food since he’d been left there three days before. All she or Almira had been able to find out from the uncle who’d left him there was that he was seven years old, he’d lived on a farm, and his parents had been killed in an accident a few weeks before.
Olivia’s heart went out to him. She couldn’t imagine being alone at such a young age, although all the children who lived there were in the same situation.
Still, something about Daniel had found a soft spot inside her and he’d stolen a piece of her heart.
“Don’t you like stew?” she asked.
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he raised his head and looked at her. His eyes were huge in his small face. He shook his head.
“You must be hungry. You didn’t eat breakfast either.”
He shrugged, slumped further down into the chair and hung his head.
The baby in Olivia’s arms squirmed, letting the milk from the bottle dribble down his chin. Olivia quickly wiped the milk away, then picked him up and rested him on her shoulder, gently rubbing his back until she heard him burp.
A few seconds later, Olivia arched her neck so she could steal a peek at the infant. He was fast asleep. “I’ll take the baby upstairs,” she whispered to Almira. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
By the time she came back downstairs, the room was empty except for two of the older girls clearing the table. Daniel’s plate hadn’t been touched.
Worry tugged at Olivia. They’d left him, assuming that when he was hungry enough, he would eat. How long could a child go without food? she wondered. Surely not much longer.
�
��It seems Daniel doesn’t like stew,” she told Almira as she stacked the dirty plates on the work table to be washed.
Almira set the pot of leftover stew in the icebox and closed the door. “I’d like to offer each of the children what they like, but it would be impossible to satisfy every one of them. We’d never be finished cooking.”
“I know, but I’m worried. He’s going to get sick if he doesn’t eat soon,’” Olivia said.
Almira nodded. “I don’t know what else we can do.”
“I don’t either.”
Olivia was still pondering the problem on her way home later that afternoon. Surely there must be something that would tempt him to eat.
Chocolate. She’d never met a child who didn’t like chocolate. She chuckled to herself. Now that she thought of it, she’d never met a grown-up who didn’t like chocolate either.
Turning back, she hurried along the boardwalk to the mercantile. Elias Todd looked up from counting nails when the bell above the door jingled and she went inside. “Afternoon, Miss Olivia,” he called out with a wave. “What can I get you today?”
She smiled and returned his greeting. “Do you have any chocolate?”
The shopkeeper dropped the handful of nails he was holding into a bag, then wiped his hands on a cloth. “You’re in luck. Got a new supply in just this morning.”
“That’s wonderful.” Olivia mentally sifted through the recipes she had on hand at home, mentally calculating what other ingredients she’d need.
Eager to start baking a batch of cookies she hoped Daniel wouldn’t be able to resist, she hurried home with her purchases. On the way, she’d also made a decision. She’d make enough cookies for the children at the orphanage, but she’d set some aside to take to Landry, too. She suspected that, living alone, he rarely got any kind of desserts or sweets, and everyone needed a treat now and then.
She shouldn’t worry about him. He’d made it quite clear he didn’t want her to bother him. Yet something about him – perhaps the loneliness she saw in his eyes in spite of the way he pushed people away – drew her to him.
Landry's Back in Town (Rocky Ridge Romance Book 1) Page 2
