Fate's Intervention

by Barbara Woster

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Matthew popped the whip, halting the horse in its tracks. He shifted his position slightly, popped the whip again, and the horse turned ninety degrees. He watched the beautiful stallion pick up speed until he was galloping around the confines of the brand new circular training facility.

  Watching the muscles strain in the forelegs as the mighty beast pounded the dirt, he was suitably impressed, but a little puzzled as well. This was good quality horseflesh. Not at all the sort of animal he saw stabled for sale near the main house. In fact, this animal was so extraordinary, that it made Matthew wonder further how his current employer had persuaded the horse’s previous owner to part with the beast for the rumored low purchase price. If he were to believe the rumors surrounding the boss man’s taste in horseflesh and his stingy purchasing requirements, this animal shouldn’t be here today; Matthew shouldn’t be training him at all. He was glad to be doing so, but was still a bit bewildered.

  As hard as he worked in training the horse, he worked just as hard in trying to convince his employer of the benefits of selling better quality horseflesh over his current preference of horses – decrepit, old, and ready for the glue factory. It would not only benefit the stables here, but his chances of continued gainful employment and a possible raise in the near future.

  Right now, he could only train this horse in his spare time, because he was swamped training the other acquisitions that came in by the truckload every few months. If it could be called training. He barely had time to teach a horse respect for people before his boss shipped them off to the buyers.

  If he didn’t need the job so much and if he’d been on the job for more than two weeks, he might object to his boss’s business practices; might even dare to speak out about those business practices; however, since he did know his boss well enough, he kept his opinions and suggestions to himself. He didn’t want to lose his job as the previous trainer had because of the very objections Matthew was thinking about this minute.

  His distaste for the other horses remained unvoiced, but working with White Star made his job the more bearable and enjoyable. Although he needed to train the horse on his own time, he hoped that one day his boss would see the benefits and something would happen to change his circumstances – for the better. Not like before or the time before that or the time before that, and so on.

  It made him a bit nervous that his circumstances here were similar to former employment. Namely, each had a daughter that reached marriageable age while he was there, and each time those girls set their sights on him. This situation was the same. Clifford Stanharbor had one daughter. The eldest of nine children. She was thirteen going on marriage-minded, and already he’d caught her eyeing him, similar to the way Mary Lou had when she’d been thirteen going on fourteen. Why Mary Lou took a liking to him when she hit the age of maturity, he still didn’t understand. He was more than twenty times her senior.

  Still, it seemed, that no sooner had they cut the cake celebrating her birthday, than her attempts to snare him multiplied a hundredfold. She’d already been watching him with the horses, bringing him picnic lunches, and dropping hints that were none-too-subtle, but when the day came that declared her a “woman”, she went after him like a mare in heat.

  Man, but he couldn’t abide little girls that tried to be women before they even possessed a woman’s body or intellect.

  He popped the whip again and the stallion eased to a halt.

  Matthew slid a grain cookie out of his pocket and stood with his back toward the stallion, slowly wrapping up the whip. A snort sounded behind him and he heard hoof beats walking slowly in his direction. He could almost feel the horse’s caution with each step.

  He smiled when he felt the nuzzle push up against his shoulder. A horses’ curiosity beat out their tentative natures – nearly every time.

  With slow movements, he attached the whip to his belt and turned slowly. Keeping his eyes averted from those of the horse, he raised his flattened palm, offering the cookie.

  “That’s a boy,” he praised, as the horse took the proffered treat. He gradually lifted his other hand and stroked the horse on the jaw, praise flowing softly. “You worked hard today, White Star. Maybe we can see about placing a saddle on you tomorrow. Okay, boy?”

  The horse neighed and nudged Matthew’s hand, “Sorry fella. Only one cookie per session. Of course, if I get that saddle on you tomorrow, then I might just make it two.”

  He turned and headed toward the paddock gate, pleased to hear the horse following him. His boss would be pleased too. He’d only had the horse in training for a week, and already White Star was responding to simple unspoken commands. The mark of an intelligent beast.

  A stable hand appeared seemingly from nowhere as Matthew pushed through the door. He moved to take the horse back to the stables, but Matthew waved him away. This exceptional animal was ready for a real test. Would he follow Matthew all the way back to the stables? Some horses were so skittish that the slightest distraction would cause them to bolt, but if Matthew read this animal correctly, it was steady.

  If his assessment was incorrect, however, and the animal bolted, it could be lost, hurt, or stolen. In that case, Matthew would be looking for another job before the sun set. Still, he’d never been wrong before about a horse and he didn’t think he was now.

  Without breaking his stride, Matthew moved at a steady pace past the house, listening intently for the sound of the horse’s hooves pounding the dirt behind him. Still there. Good.

  When the barn came into view, Matthew sighed and picked up his pace a little. The horse followed unerringly.

  He was glad to see the stable doors open. If he had to stop and open it, it may have distracted the animal or startled him. He made a mental note to ask Moses to see about oiling the squeaking hinges.

  He went straight to the stallion’s stall, stepped inside and turned around. White Star paused outside the entrance and looked at Matthew with what he could only describe as mischief. Matthew slid another grain cookie from his pocket and held it out. Obviously, White Star wasn’t about to perform any more feats of extraordinaire without additional incentive.

  The horse snorted, bobbed its head, and then entered the stall. Matthew allowed the horse to remove the cookie from his outstretched palm, then slipped past the massive body and slowly closed the gate.

  He turned to find the stable boy standing nearby, “Make certain that he gets a good rub down, okay?”

  “Yes, Master Matthew, sir.”

  “Very good.” Matthew rubbed a hand along the back of his neck to try to relieve the tension, and left the stable.

  He turned at the sound of a carriage barreling down the lane, kicking up a lot of dust. Man, he wished it would rain. He’d eaten enough dirt this past week to spoil most of his appetite for the next year.

  As the carriage drew closer, Matthew recognized Adam, the boss man’s driver, which could only mean that Stanharbor had finished his business in New Hope early.

  The carriage slowed to a halt in front of the main house, and Matthew’s curiosity peaked. He wondered what the new Mrs. Stanharbor would look like, be like, and how she would feel about taking care of so many children. He’d never met any of the former Mrs. Stanharbors, but rumors floated around the ranch about them – all nine of them. Matthew had even seen the graveyard where Stanharbor buried the women, or rather girls, as none survived beyond their teen years. It was eerie seeing so many gravestones clustered in one small plot, because not only did Stanharbor appear to have a need for a private graveyard, but also because he knew women who had died of inexplicable causes filled those graves.

  Odder still, no rumors circulated about how each of Stanharbor’s wives died, but plenty of talk circulated about how young they all had been. One rumor abounded about a man who started a rumor about the Stanharbor women’s deaths. That rumor was that the man was dead.

  Well, young or not, doomed to die or not, he figured the new Mrs. Stanharbor was going
to have to like kids a great deal. As if thinking of the Stanharbor brood summoned them, the front door to the main house opened and all nine of Stanharbor’s seed lined up at the head of the staircase, preparing to meet their new stepmother. They must have been anticipating their father’s arrival with eager curiosity, since they presented themselves at the precise moment the carriage came within hearing range.

  His own curiosity overpowered the need for a bath, and Matthew leaned against the barn, waiting, like the children, for the carriage to roll to a stop and the door to open.

  Matthew noted, with a wry grin, that with so many children, the new Mrs. Stanharbor would need to have nerves of steel. Of course, if Stanharbor was true to the rumors bandied about, his new bride would probably be as young, which would provide a playmate for his eldest daughter, at the very least. Personally, if he ever found himself in Stanharbor’s shoes – widowed with nine children – he’d find an older, more stable woman.

  His gaze scanned the eager faces of the waiting offspring. When his eyes fell on the thirteen-year-old daughter, he froze. She wasn’t staring at the carriage, as were the other members of the Stanharbor clan; she was staring at him.

  Damn! The look registered in her eyes was one he hoped never to see again in a young child. Well, he’d not be run out of a job this time. If she decided to pursue whatever notions had her looking at him all addlepated, he’d set the record straight quicker than lightning; make it clearer than glass that he was not some adolescent’s idea of a Prince Charming; especially as he was anything but. He was a man with a man’s needs and wants and no juvenile fresh out of diapers could ever whet his appetite.

  The sound of rapping drew Matthew’s gaze back to the carriage. Adam alighted and moved to the door, opening it with a flourish. Stanharbor poured his bulk from inside. With a huff, he straightened his shoulders, his cravat, wiped the sweat from his brow, and then stormed up the stairs and into the house without even glancing toward the children.

  The front door slammed and all eyes drifted back in expectation toward the vehicle, yet no other person emerged. Adam shrugged slightly toward the children and shut the carriage door. He remounted and slapped the reins. The horses started and ambled toward the stables.

  Matthew was relieved to see Elizabeth disappear with the other children. That gave him reason to stay put and wait on Adam to park the team near the barn. Had Elizabeth made a move in his direction, he’d have hightailed it down to the river and assuaged his curiosity at another time. Now though, his hygiene could wait long enough to pry some answers out of the coachman.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “So, what gives?” Matthew asked, helping Adam unbridle the horses.

  “You smell like dead horse is what gives.” Adam waved a hand exaggeratedly in front of his face. He grasped the bridge of his nose and breathed heavily through his mouth. Matthew didn’t get the hint, so he turned his attention back to the horses.

  “I just finished working with White Star,” Matthew said.

  “You smell likes it. How’s that beautiful stallion taking with the training?”

  “Like a duck to water.”

  “Speaking of water, why not you go on down to the river and wash the smell of manure off your skin. You reek!”

  “Tell me what happened with Stanharbor and I’ll be more than happy to do just that.”

  “Nothing happened and that be the gosh-darned truth.”

  “Then why is Stanharbor back early, minus the company of the new bride he claimed he went to claim?”

  “Claimed he went to claim, huh?”

  “I thought it was rather witty. So?”

  “Well that be the strange thing about it. See,” Adam glanced around and lowered his voice to a whisper, “he did went to the Weatherman’s house and all; but a few minutes later he comes a stormin’ out of there like a bat outta hell, screamin’ somethin’ awful ‘bout how the woman had a serious mental defect and was trying to do him in, or some such nonsense. Names Marcelle, I think. Well, anyway, when I was driving away, I seen her standing in the window, recognized her from the horse auctions. Strange thing about it, she never seemed all that mad in the head to me.”

  “Sounds like the lady in question may have heard the rumors; or she simply decided that marriage to him is too scary a prospect and simply chose a creative way out of the possibility of walking down the aisle with him. Might be an interesting woman to meet.”

  “Well, there be a good possibility you may, since there be a horse auction next month down in Lander. You being the head trainer, you is likely to go with the boss man.”

  “True, but how can we be certain that she’ll be there?”

  “Been there every time, so why shouldn’t she this time? ‘Sides which, I hear tell that her pa’s been really eager to marry her off, so the auction might be the best place to snare a man for her.”

  “Maybe she is a little off the mark, if her pa’s that desperate for someone to take her off his hands.”

  “Not nuts, just old.”

  “Old?”

  “Hear tell that the girl done passed her seventeenth year. Ain’t too many men going to be busting down the door for that one, no matter if she’s a looker. It don’t help none that she done rejected boss man Stanharbor. That’s likely going to make things harder on her old man since he’s the one gotta find her a husband; and the boss man figured he be doing her daddy a favor by taking her off his hands. No, sir! It ain’t gonna be easy for Miss Weatherman now. The last woman that rejected the boss man had her reputation torn all to bits. He takes rejection personal-like.”

  “So it would seem. Still, if this girl’s such a looker, why hasn’t her father been able to find her a husband before now? Attractive looks go a long way in negating strange behavior, after all. Unless there is something seriously mentally wrong with her.” Matthew rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “Since I don’t know and can’t tell you nothing more, would you mind leaving me be and find the nearest watering hole to drown yourself in?”

  Matthew laughed and slapped Adam on the shoulder, “Sure thing, and thanks for the information.”

  “No problem.”

  Matthew stopped by his bunk and pulled some fresh clothes out of his duffel bag, and then headed toward the river for a much-needed bath.

  As he walked along the overgrown path, his mind tried to conjure a picture of the woman with the gumption to reject the powerful Clifford Stanharbor. Adam had said she was a looker, but beyond that, he knew nothing else but what his mind fabricated.

  So intent was he on attempting to draw a mental picture of the lady in question that he did not readily see the obstruction blocking his path until he nearly ran headlong into it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Matthew came to a dead stop and then retreated a few steps, eyeing Elizabeth as if she was a rattler. What in hell is she doing out here? He thought in exasperation.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” he tipped his hat politely then made to sidle past her. He may have made it if the path wasn’t so narrow and Elizabeth seemed determined to occupy the entire breadth.

  “Matt,” she said and stepped into his way again.

  “The name’s Matthew,” he corrected. “Since I’m in your father’s employ, calling me anything but Matthew is not proper. Even that is stretching the bounds of propriety. Best to call me Mr. Daragh.” He made to move around her, but she blocked his departure again, grinning widely.

  “I like Matt,” she whispered. “Do you mind if I call you Matt?”

  “Yes, I do!” Matthew’s reply was deliberately sharp. He didn’t care if he sounded rude; because he wasn’t about to willingly give the little thirteen-year-old flirt an inch with which to grab hold. “Matthew’s my given name and I prefer that you not hack it in half, especially since we’re not well acquainted.”

  “Well, perhaps we can remedy that. The well-acquainted part, I mean,” she said, moving to stand a little closer.

  Matthew stiffened. Damn! He’d giv
en her that inch after all and she was going to hold on to it and hack away until it was half an inch and then . . . he couldn’t let her get that close – mentally, verbally, or physically. Still, he had to tread cautiously. The last child he’d rejected outright had her father fire him.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Miss Elizabeth,” he hedged.

  “Why?”

  “Well, for many reasons, but the two that pop into my head right now is your age and that you’re the boss’s daughter. Those are mighty powerful incentives to not be standing here alone with you, so I’m going to head on to the river and wash up.”

  “My birthday’s tomorrow,” Elizabeth blurted out, moving again between him and the river. “Are you coming to my party?”

  “No,” Matthew said between clenched teeth. Damn! She’d be fourteen tomorrow – the accursed age. Old enough to marry, but not smart enough to know what to do with a man even if he came with detailed instructions. Some men liked that naive innocence, liked to be an instructor. Not him. When his blood started boiling, he wanted a woman who could ride that passion with him to the end.

  In all fairness to Elizabeth and all the other young women, there may be a virgin with that kind of ardor out there somewhere; however, since he tended to avoid virgins and all the encumbrances that came with them, he was not likely to ever meet one and most assuredly never bed one.

  She was standing there, eyeing him expectantly. Well, she could stand there until the end of time and wouldn’t get what she expected, and if she didn’t move out of his way soon and let him pass, he may very well have to haul her aside – physically, if need be. He already would have, if touching her was a looked-forward-to experience – which it wasn’t – and if he didn’t think she’d run and tell her pa that he’d manhandle her – which she would.

  “Carney is making me a birthday cake – chocolate with strawberry icing,” she said suddenly, as if the thought of something sweet would alter his decision.