Lone Star Heiress

by Winnie Griggs

  “Guilty.”

  “Well, I call that downright wasteful.”

  He smiled at her nonsensical notion and waved a hand toward the swing. “Feel free to make use of it while you’re here.”

  She gave him a challenging grin. “Well, you can be all stuffy and grumpy, but I like a bit of play in my life. And there’s no time like the present.” With a saucy smile she started across the lawn, a defiant spring in her step.

  He leaned against a porch support, crossing his arms and enjoying the view.

  Ivy sat on the board and set the swing in motion, soaring high and laughing aloud at the pure joy of it. She pumped her legs and threw her head back with as much enthusiasm and abandon as would any of his students during recess. Rufus followed the movements of the swing, barking encouragement and running to and fro.

  As Mitch watched her, it occurred to him that perhaps her presence in his heretofore serene household was going to change his life more than he’d considered.

  He watched her with her unruly braid flying out behind her and her unapologetic laughter ringing around him, and couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry.

  He told himself if he had any modicum of sense remaining he’d head inside. But for some reason he never followed through on the thought. It was fifteen minutes later before Ivy abandoned the swing, and even then, she did so reluctantly.

  When she finally rejoined him on the porch after a quick game of fetch with Rufus, she was grinning. “That was fun. You ought to try it sometime.”

  He decided not to grace that comment with a response. “Have you selected a patch of ground for your garden yet?”

  She surveyed his backyard. “I think that spot right there by that clump of clover flowers will work for a small herb garden. The vegetables can go next to your east fence.”

  He studied the two spots she’d indicated and nodded. “You have a good eye.”

  “I told you, I have a knack for gardening. Nana Dovie says that God gives each of us at least one thing we’re good at. He gave you the ability to draw those wonderful pictures. And to open your students’ minds to learning new things. I guess gardening is what He gave me.”

  She continued to surprise him with her homespun insights.

  “Any idea where I could get some cuttings?” she asked. “It’s late to be trying to plant from seeds.”

  He thought about that for a moment. “Reggie has a nice garden out behind her house. And her place is near Mrs. Pierce’s. Perhaps after we get your things moved in, we can stop by and speak to her.”

  He looked at his pocket watch. “Speaking of which, we have another two hours before Mrs. Pierce will be ready for you. Is there anything in particular you’d like to do?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “I can start working the ground for the garden. I’ve actually missed mine these past few days.”

  “Then by all means, till away.”

  “Do you have any gardening tools?”

  “There were some left by the previous owner. They’d be in the toolshed. Come on, let’s see what we can find.”

  He led her to a small outbuilding in his backyard. When he opened the door, he paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. He ducked his head to step inside the small room, and she followed him without hesitation.

  He heard her chuckle. “Even your toolshed is organized.”

  She said that as if it were a bad thing. He had actually spent a great deal of time organizing this place when he’d first moved in and was quite proud of the result. There were tools of all sorts arranged on shelves or hanging from pegs. The center of the room held a couple of sawhorses, three small kegs—one with chains, one with nails and one with wooden stakes—and a lawn mower.

  “What’s that?” she asked, pointing.

  “That’s a lawn mower.”

  “A lawn mower?” Her nose wrinkled in question.

  “I push it across the yard and it cuts the grass.”

  Her expression cleared. “Well, now, ain’t that something. It sounds a mite easier than using a scythe.”

  “It is.” He crossed to the wall to his left. “Here’s a spade, a garden fork and a trowel.” He handed them to her. “I’ll grab the hoe and shovel. Is there anything else you see here that you think you’ll need?”

  “I’ll need a bucket for watering, but otherwise I think that’s it.”

  He waved her toward the exit. “There’s a bucket on the back porch you can use. Now, let’s break some ground.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to help me?” she asked with a smile.

  “I figured I’d help get the ground ready. Then you’re on your own.”

  They started with the patch of ground she’d earmarked for the herb garden and worked side by side, digging up the sod and turning the soil until they had what looked like a proper planting bed.

  Ivy sat back and admired their handiwork. Then she gave him an approving look. “I do believe you have done this before.”

  He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I never said I hadn’t. Just that I wasn’t particularly fond of it.” He grabbed the shovel and hoe and moved toward the toolshed, wishing he could push the memories away as easily.

  Then he paused, struck by a startling thought. It was only now, when they were done, that the memories of his other life, the one he’d shared with Gretchen, had intruded. Up until then he’d actually been enjoying working side by side with Ivy.

  He wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. It was definitely unsettling. And he wasn’t ready to face what that might mean just yet. “I think we’ve done enough for today,” he told Ivy. “Time to clean up and get your things moved from the hotel.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ivy slowly rose and trailed behind him with the hand tools, wondering at his change of mood. What was it about gardening that put that stiffness in his demeanor? No, not stiffness exactly. More like a deep sadness.

  There was obviously something in his past eating at him, shadowing his happiness in the here and now. Such a kind, generous man didn’t deserve to be robbed of joy that way. She ached to ask him about it, so she could help him get past whatever it was. But she didn’t have that right. Not yet, anyway.

  Something inside her stirred. She might only be here for three more weeks, but she planned to do everything she could in that time to discover his secret pain and help him through it.

  Whether he wanted her to or not.

  She owed him that much and so much more.

  After they stowed the tools back in the shed, they made their way to the porch, where they poured water into a chipped basin and washed their hands and faces.

  When they were done, Mitch handed her a cloth to dry her face and took a second one for himself. “I’ll help you move your things.”

  “Thank you, but don’t feel obliged. I can manage on my own.”

  “Obligation has nothing to do with this,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m merely one friend helping another.”

  So he thought of them as friends now. That lightened her mood. She hadn’t had many friends since Lester had made everyone believe the worst of her. “Then I accept your offer.”

  “Good. Before we head out, though, perhaps we should find something to eat. Mrs. Pierce did say you were responsible for your own meals.”

  Ivy knew if they went back to Daisy’s he’d insist on paying again and she wasn’t really comfortable with getting deeper in his debt. “Why don’t I fix us up something from your pantry?”

  “I hadn’t intended for you to start working for me today.”

  “It’ll be a practice run of sorts. I can get used to your stove and figure out what supplies I’ll need.” She gave a little smirk. “Besides, it’ll just be one friend cooking for another.”

>   His lips twitched. “Very well. I’ll stoke the stove while you gather the ingredients.”

  Ivy stepped over to the pantry and studied the contents. Without access to perishables she’d have to get creative. And she’d definitely need to do some shopping before she fixed breakfast in the morning.

  There were several jars of various vegetable preserves—had he purchased these or had friends such as Reggie and Daisy given them to him? She studied the jars and identified several kinds of beans, carrots, squash and pickled tomatoes and cucumbers. There were a few she couldn’t identify without further scrutiny and she decided to ignore them for now.

  On another shelf, she found sweet ingredients such as honey, jams, preserves and syrups. So he possessed a sweet tooth—good. It gave her hope that he was still open to a bit of frivolity in his life.

  Then she spotted the cornmeal. Did he have molasses? Yes, there it was. She turned to him. “Do you like corn bread?”

  He nodded without looking up from the stove.

  “Nana Dovie has a recipe she uses for when the hens aren’t laying. It looks like you have everything I need if you want me to fix up a batch.”

  Mitch straightened. “As long as you’re eating with me, I’m game to give it a try.”

  She grinned. “You just want to make sure I won’t feed you something I wouldn’t eat myself.”

  “Something like that.”

  His tone was dry, but she saw that half smile tease his lips again.

  “Fair enough.” Ivy began pulling ingredients from the pantry. He crossed the room and took the sack of cornmeal and the jar of molasses from her and carried them to the table. When she had everything else she needed for the corn bread, she started looking for a mixing bowl.

  He moved to help, but she stopped him with a raised hand. “You take a seat and leave me to figure things out. Like I said, consider this a dry run.” She looked around. “I don’t suppose you own an apron?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Never mind. I can do without.”

  Ivy went to work. Mitch stayed in the kitchen with her, watching while she worked. He said it was so he’d be on hand if she had questions, but she got the strangest feeling he had other motives, as well.

  Not that she’d let herself think on what those motives might be. That would involve a bit of wishful thinking. And a woman who was leaving town in three weeks couldn’t afford to do such a thing.

  * * *

  Mitch watched as Ivy busied herself in his kitchen. Her movements were confident and sure, and in very little time she had the pan of corn bread in the oven.

  “Now, let’s see what we can fix to go with that.” She moved back to the pantry, still talking to herself as she considered and discarded several options.

  It was fascinating to listen to her one-sided conversation, so full of whimsy and humor. Did she have any idea how revealing of her unique outlook on life it was?

  She cast a glance over her shoulder. “You must like bland food—I don’t see much in the way of herbs or seasonings.”

  “As I said, I’m a man of simple tastes.”

  “Simple doesn’t have to be tasteless.” She turned back to his pantry and finally pulled out two jars. “Field peas and pickled tomatoes—I might be able to do something with these.”

  It was an unusual combination but he didn’t question her. To his surprise, she poured the beans into a pot, then poured about half the jar of pickled tomatoes into the same pot, adding a bit of molasses to go with it.

  Well, he’d said he was game to try anything she would eat herself. He supposed she was taking him at his word.

  And to his surprise, the unusual mix of sweet and tangy turned out to be quite satisfying when taken as a whole.

  Much like the woman herself.

  Once the meal was over, Mitch insisted on helping her clean up.

  “That’s my job,” she insisted.

  But he was having none of that. “Not until Monday. Now, why don’t you scrape these plates into that bowl on the back porch for your dog while I fill the basin with water.”

  Without giving her a chance to argue further, he turned and headed for the counter.

  He allowed himself a small smile at the sound of her grumbling about stubborn, bossy know-it-alls, but there were no further arguments. She washed and he dried, and in no time they had the kitchen set back to rights.

  As he rolled down his sleeves, he had another thought and went to the pantry. Quickly scanning the contents, he pulled out a jar of fig preserves and a tin of crackers, and held them out to Ivy. “Take these, please.”

  She took them with a puzzled frown. “What do you want me to do with them?”

  “Since you haven’t had time to do any shopping yet, you’ll need something for breakfast in the morning.”

  She held them out to him. “That’s very kind, but—”

  He raised his hands palms out. “You’ll be doing me a favor—Mrs. Peavy gave me the preserves, but I’m not overly fond of figs.”

  And without waiting for her response, he turned and moved to the door.

  Why did she have to be so all-fired stubborn about accepting his help? Her constant questioning of his offers was making him have to think about the reasons he was doing this.

  And that was making him decidedly uncomfortable.

  * * *

  Ivy walked beside Mitch as they headed for the hotel and tried to decide whether to be angry with his I-know-best attitude or not. One part of her wanted to just relax and enjoy the flattering attention. But the other part of her, the one that knew she would be leaving Turnabout soon, warned her not to grow accustomed to such gallantry.

  She left Mitch in the hotel lobby while she went up to her room to pack her things. It didn’t take long, but when she came back down she discovered Mitch had already settled her bill. And that was taking matters too far.

  “Mr. Parker, I thought I made it clear to you that I didn’t want to accept any charity.”

  “This is just a loan. I intend to hold the amount out of your first week’s pay.”

  “Even so, you should have discussed this with me first. You can’t keep going around making all these decisions on my behalf, no matter how kindly it’s meant.”

  He nodded solemnly. “I’ll keep that in mind. Do you have the money to pay Mrs. Pierce?”

  Was this how he discussed matters with her? Thankfully she could answer yes to his question, even though paying Mrs. Pierce would take just about all she had left.

  He nodded and reached for her bags, but she didn’t relinquish them. “Thank you, but I can manage.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t.” He gave her a don’t-argue-with-me look as he plucked the saddlebag from her shoulder. “Nevertheless, I insist.”

  She rolled her eyes at him but surrendered the items. “You are the most stubbornly polite man I ever did meet.”

  He slung the saddlebag over his shoulder and took firmer hold of the handle of her carpetbag. “Then you either haven’t met many men, or they were the wrong kind of men.” And with a wave of his hand, he indicated she was to precede him out of the hotel.

  When they reached Mrs. Pierce’s home, Ivy paused on the front porch. “I can take my bags now.”

  Mitch stepped up to ring the doorbell. “I’ve carried them this far—I can take them up the stairs for you.”

  “But Mrs. Pierce has asked me not to bring guests inside her home.”

  The door opened just then and Mitch turned to the woman in question. “I’m certain Mrs. Pierce won’t mind if I come inside just long enough to deliver these things to your room. Would you, ma’am?”

  Mrs. Pierce stepped aside for them to enter. “I suppose that will be acceptable,” she said with a decided lack of enthusiasm.


  The widow moved to the staircase, then paused. “As I said earlier, I require a week’s payment, in advance.”

  Ivy reddened at this pointed reminder. She should have offered that up immediately. She quickly loosened the strings on her purse and carefully counted out the amount they had agreed on. Looking at her woefully depleted coin purse, she wondered once again if she was making the right choice in staying here.

  Mrs. Pierce accepted the money with a regal nod, then started up the stairs. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.”

  As Ivy climbed, she noted the elaborately carved banisters and beautiful stained-glass window on the landing. The widow certainly had a beautiful home.

  Topping the stairs, Ivy counted seven doors facing the U-shaped landing. Like those on the first floor, they were all closed. Was Mrs. Pierce hiding something? Or just keeping her new tenant out?

  Mrs. Pierce led them to the door at the far end of the landing. “This will be your room. I assume it will meet your needs.”

  Ivy stepped inside and took everything in at a glance. The curtains on the windows were a pretty shade of green. The room was a little smaller than the one at the hotel and the furnishings were obviously odds and ends, but it was nice nevertheless. “I’m sure I’ll be quite comfortable here.”

  Mitch set the luggage down.

  Before he straightened fully, Mrs. Pierce gave him a stern look. “I believe your delivery duties are complete.”

  Mitch sketched a short bow. “Of course.” He turned to Ivy. “I’ll wait for you outside.” Then he unhurriedly made his exit.

  The widow turned back to Ivy. “Since you’ve agreed to do my wash, allow me to show you where the laundry equipment is stored.”

  Ivy nodded and followed her back downstairs. Laundry was actually her least favorite chore. But it was a task she had to do for herself anyway so doing it for her landlady wouldn’t be much extra work.

  Later, as she and Mitch walked toward the Barrs’ home, Ivy reflected on how fast things were changing. She’d only met Mitch four and a half days ago, but now it felt as if he was a dear friend. She’d planned on being away from Nettles Gap for a week, and now it looked like it would be a month. In just the past few hours, she’d attended a stranger’s funeral, confronted a rival for her inheritance, taken a room and a job, found a new plot of ground to cultivate and made several new friends.