Truly His Type (Cowboys and Angels Book 25)

by Jo Noelle

  Rhona was all too glad to leave the pompous woman and walked down the stairs to make arrangements. If that woman had a kind bone in her body, it was probably tucked way in back. Rhona decided that she hardly cared, but she hoped Mrs. Dionysia D’Arcy wasn’t planning to stay in Creede for long.

  Later that afternoon, Rhona re-entered the dining room to see how she could help. She’d had a good meal, a bath, and a nap and was feeling much more charitable. She approached Mrs. D’Arcy’s table as Julianne and Millie stepped from the kitchen.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. D’Arcy,” Rhona said.

  The woman’s steely gaze fixed on her, but she didn’t utter a word. Nope. There’d been no improvement.

  “How was your rest?” Julianne asked as she approached. Rhona noticed that Julianne was looking straight at her, but Mrs. D’Arcy answered.

  “It was lovely. You have a very nice house. I was quite comfy.”

  Millie chuckled a little from where she was setting down the coffee service.

  “Thank you so much,” Dionysia continued. “You’ve made a fine business. It’s wonderful to meet two such enterprising women. I’m a businesswoman myself.” She placed two introduction cards in front of Millie and Julianne.

  Millie read hers aloud. “Mrs. Dionysia D’Arcy, Matron of Mail Order Brides.”

  “Please join me.” Dionysia stood, positioning her back to Rhona, and waved the other two ladies to the vacant chairs.

  “Will you join us for a coffee break today?” Millie asked Rhona.

  “Thank you. Not today. I’ve promised to help my sister.” She walked away, happy to be escaping.

  Isla had already started a load of laundry in the washing machine when Rhona arrived. “I really don’t mind doing this alone if you’d like to rest some more,” Isla said.

  “I’m ready to work.” The two took turns manning the machine, carrying hot water, and hanging the clean tablecloths, sheets, towels, and aprons.

  “You should apply for a different job, Rhona.”

  “What?” Isla didn’t answer, so Rhona tapped her on the shoulder as she fed napkins through the wringer and asked again. “What did you say about a different job?”

  Isla’s eyebrows scrunched together. “I didn’t say anything at all.”

  The pile on the floor was shrinking, and the drying lines were filling as the women worked.

  “There’s a job at the newspaper office. Go, of the now, or it’ll be gone.”

  Rhona spun around with her hands on her hips. “I know I heard that.”

  “Heard what?” Isla looked at her for only a moment.

  “You sounded just like Mama.” Rhona’s mind conjured a possibility. “Really? You don’t suppose she . . .?” Rhona shook her head. She would not even consider that.

  “Well then, you’re either tired or crazy. I’m not talking, and you’re hearing things.”

  Rhona thought about it for a moment. Would Mama, or even, could Mama . . .? Isla was right. Rhona was crazy. Still, she could just go see. What if it was true, and she could get a job there? It would be like a dream come true. She had to know. She dropped the dirty sheet back into the pile. “I’ll ask Eileen to come help with the last few.”

  “Where are you going?” Isla asked as she pinned a napkin to the wire.

  At the doorway Rhona answered, “To get another job.”

  Chapter 3

  Mark

  Mark slumped in his saddle, and his eyes closed slowly in the early morning light. As he tipped to the side, he startled awake. He was coming back to the print shop, but he felt like he’d just left. Although he hadn’t finished picking up all the letters, he’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep. He was groggy and late.

  Several people lined up at his front door as he rode up and went to the back. Were they there for printing needs or to apply for the position? Either way, it was good for him. Once inside, he removed his hat, coat, and scarf and hung them up by the door. He stirred the coals in his stove and got the fire started. Then he walked to the front.

  “Please, come in,” he said as he opened the door. Surprised to see only one person there, he looked one way and then the other. They were all gone.

  “Thank you. I’m here about the position you advertised in the window.” Rhona looked him in the eye and smiled.

  “You?” He heard the screech in his voice. It wasn’t loud, but it was definitely there. He blamed it on the fact that she’d surprised him by being alone.

  “There’s that snappy prose your newspaper is known for.” Rhona held her bag by the straps with both of her gloved hands. He saw the corners of her lips tip up a bit, pleased at her retort. She quickly looked down. When she looked back at him, her face was placid.

  “I thought there were several others waiting. Where did they go?”

  “Oh, yes, there were. Exactly three others were here to apply for the job. But when you went to the back to let yourself in, we had a little spelling bee while we stood outside in the cold, waiting for you to open.” She stepped into the print shop, and as she passed, Mark caught the refreshing scent of lemons.

  “Was that your suggestion?” He wouldn’t have predicted her tactic, but he could believe it of her. She seemed the calculating type. Her precise editing circles on his returned newspapers for the past few months were more evidence of that.

  “Yes, it was. A little game to pass the time.” She faced him.

  “And you were the winner?”

  A lovely blush spread across her cheeks, and her eyes brightened. His head knew better than to react, but his heart didn’t get the bulletin and raced like mad.

  “The competition wasn’t very stiff.” She tipped her head to the side. “Perhaps it will save you some time and grief that I helped you slim down the number of applicants.”

  Mark rubbed the back of his neck, easing the tension that was growing there. He needed the help. She was here and willing to do it. Would she be agreeable to work with? Not likely. But if they had different jobs and stuck to them and left each other alone, it could work.

  “How do I know you can spell? You said the others weren’t very accomplished.” He knew he was baiting her to do a little sparring, but it might be the most enjoyable thing he did that morning.

  “Test me.” Her chin lifted.

  “Sublimate.”

  “Too easy. S-U-B-L-I-M-A-T-E.”

  “Enthusiasm.” He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms.

  “I don’t think you’re really trying, Mr. Carroll. E-N-T-H-U-S-I-A-S-M. Give me a hard one.”

  Mark thought for a moment. How many ways had his assistants misspelled the next word as they advertised or reported on the trappers’ yearly gathering? “Rendezvous.”

  “R-E-N-D-E-Z-V-O-U-S.” She giggled and covered her mouth with one gloved hand. A very becoming gesture to him. “Excuse me. I was just considering the meaning of all three words together. Interesting choice, Mr. Carroll.”

  Mark thought of each meaning and put them together. He flushed with embarrassment at the connection. “I hadn’t meant to propose that we—” She was a smart, quick woman, just the kind he would enjoy the company of. It was humorous the way the words went together.

  She laughed a little louder, then cut it off, shaking her head slowly. “Of course not. But you passed the test by figuring that out so quickly. Do I have the job?”

  He felt strangely flattered by her compliment. And to say that he passed her test—she was fascinating. But should he hire her? Why not? His employees never lasted more than a month, and it might help him meet the deadlines he had on some of the custom printing orders.

  “Yes. Come back tomorrow.”

  Rhona’s black boot peeked out from under the last ruffle of her dress. He watched it as if he were caught in a cobra’s gaze. It swung to the side, and then her toe tapped the floor three times beside the pile of letters still there from last night. She looked up at him meaningfully. “Or I could start now.”

  Mark knew
he didn’t have time to sort that last pile and get his printing done on time. Apparently, she thought so too. “If you’re available, Miss McRae, today would be preferred. Do you need to let anyone at Hearth and Home know before you start?”

  “Thank you and no. I may have mentioned that I had a new job before I left. Shall I sort?”

  “Yes. Let me show you.”

  She raised her hand in front of her. “Not necessary. I’ve done this before. Too many times, to be sure.” She removed her gloves and tucked them into her pockets, then hung her coat and bonnet on a peg near the door. With both hands on the sides of the tray at the balancing points, she moved it to the floor beside the pile.

  Mark stepped behind the press and began preparing it to continue where he’d left off the day before. “How did you get experience with this?”

  “I worked for the vicar in our hometown in Scotland. I helped keep his house, made meals, found his glasses for him every five minutes or so, and assisted with printing when needed. Until the little church ran out of money, and I was let go. The saintly old man allowed our family to live in the hayloft until Edwin sent for us.” She shuddered as if she were shaking off the frightening memories. “The vicar liked to make religious flyers and the occasional political bulletin.”

  “It seems odd that a press would be at a church.”

  “It’s fairly common in Scotland. The religious leaders were often the leaders of education, information, and rebellion. They wore many hats and kilts.”

  Mark watched her fingers pinch around the slugs and deftly deposit them in the containers. Her movements were precise and poetic. Which he should not even be considering.

  “You had no idea what a good decision you made today, did you?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am. I did not.” He pulled his eyes away from her but not before she caught him watching.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He burst out with a laugh at her response. He’d expected her to be humble. Why would he expect that? He got to work, and so did she. The press clicked repeatedly against the plate, and it squeaked as the deckbed moved the sheets forward or backward after printing each page. Mark and Rhona worked without speaking, both doing their part.

  This might work out fine. Or was she plotting her next move? He found that he liked wondering what she’d do or say next.

  When all the letters were put away, Rhona slid the drawers back into the cabinet. “What’s next?”

  “You can begin typesetting this advertisement for Rough Road Transfer and Freight.” Mark passed her a paper.

  “Is this your handwriting?”

  Mark braced himself, wondering what pithy remark she’d make about it. “Yes.”

  “This is much easier to read than what I’m used to. I once accused the vicar of writing like an evil spirit had overtaken him.” Rhona giggled, and Mark found the sound full of pleasure.

  They both went back to work. Mark wondered about Rhona. She was different from most women he’d known. She didn’t mince words or say what she thought someone else would like to hear. And best of all, she didn’t chatter just to fill the silence.

  At the end of the day, Mark showed her where the spare key was hidden in case she ever needed to get into the shop before he arrived. He wouldn’t have her waiting in the cold for him again. He had completed his tasks, and Rhona hadn’t devastated the print shop. It had been a good day.

  That night, he took his supper at the restaurant in the hotel before retrieving his horse from behind his shop and riding home. He was looking forward to his bed and finally getting some sleep.

  “Hello, again.”

  Mark startled, and his horse shied away from—It couldn’t be. Mama M was sitting in the air as if she were riding a horse beside him. “I must be sick,” he mumbled.

  She slapped his shoulder in jest. “You’re right as rain on the heather.”

  “But—” He wouldn’t say what he thought he saw. That would only make it more real in his mind.

  “There’s a good reason for all my quirks. Well, not all of them. I had a good many quirks before I was an angel, so I can’t blame getting the wings for the way I am.”

  “Angel?” He pulled on the reins.

  “I’m a guardian angel, so I do guardian-ing things. It’s really a rather nice way to spend eternity so far.”

  Mark looked into her face and kicked his horse to start again. He could see that she really believed it. And by the way she kept popping up around him, maybe he should believe it, too.

  At that thought, Mama M began nodding furiously. “You’ve got the idea now, laddie.”

  Why would he need a guardian angel? “Are you here to keep me from being killed?”

  “Well . . . I take a little more poetic license with the word ‘guardian’ than most would, I suppose.” She chuckled.

  “Like what, then?” Mark looked around. He was talking to someone only he could see, and he wondered if others saw him talking to the air. But no one was watching.

  “You have a fine paper you put together for this town, but it could use a little something.”

  “Do you have an idea of what that might be?”

  She clapped her hands together in front of her. “Oh, yes, indeed I do. You need to appeal to more readers. Creede is changing. There are more women now.” She reached over and patted his forearm. “Have you noticed that—a special one, perhaps?” When Mark didn’t answer, she continued. “But you don’t offer anything for them. Perhaps you should write an article or two about what the ladies want to know.”

  I have no idea what ladies want. He never had known. He didn’t understand them.

  “Now that you have a woman working for you, maybe she should write the articles.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t hire her to write.”

  “But she could.”

  “I don’t know that she can.”

  “Oh, she can. Ask her about it.” Mama M laughed and slapped her knee. “It looks like we rode right past your house. You’ve got a lot to think about, but don’t dawdle. Get her writing.”

  Mark opened his mouth to say that he’d consider it, but Mama M had vanished, leaving her last words hanging in the air.

  Chapter 4

  Rhona

  The next morning, Rhona arrived at the shop at the same time Mark came riding up. He tipped his hat and turned toward the back of the building. He sat his horse very well—tall, straight back, and he moved with his horse like they were one. Sitting on a horse made him seem like a giant. Not the kind with warts but a very handsome one with broad shoulders and wavy brown hair, almost as dark as hers. “Giant” didn’t seem to fit. He was more like a knight, perhaps.

  She stepped up to the front as he rounded the corner to enter at the back. She didn’t wait nearly as long as yesterday. He must have run through the building to open the door. That brought a smile to her face. “Good morning,” she said as he swung it wide for her.

  “Good morning. I’ll get the fire going.”

  “I’ll put out the stack of paper.” Rhona arranged the sheets on the table to the right of the press, where she’d noticed he preferred it. Since she’d be the one positioning the paper behind the four-window holder, it would be quite inconvenient for her to walk around the back of the press to get the sheets and then return to install them, so she moved the rack to the left. Then she tied on an apron and waited.

  Mark joined her shortly and stopped three feet short of the press, staring.

  “Well, you obviously noticed the change. Shall we get started?” she asked, ignoring his bewildered look. “I’ll place the paper, and you’ll ink the plate?”

  He nodded, not taking his eyes off the new position of the paper table as he rolled up his white sleeves.

  His forearms were thick and corded with muscle that moved with the simple task of tying an apron over his clothes. He primed the ink roller while Rhona aligned the paper under the frames. Then they began where they’d left off the day before.

/>   “How long have you been in Creede?” Rhona said after the first few impressions.

  “Almost three years.” He made two more impressions before he asked, “What kind of press did you use before?”

  She thought he was directing her away from the topic and wondered why. Maybe she’d ask again when they knew each other better. “It was small and sat easily on the dining table. It only printed one sheet at a time, and the press had to stay in place for a couple of seconds to get a good image. It was old. Instead of having a lever to drop the press, there was a wooden screw. Each page took a long time, it seemed to me.”

  “And you might have told him so, as well.” He winked.

  “I’m that easy to predict?” Rhona chuckled while Mark nodded. “Well, you’re right. And more than once. His reply was always, ‘Patience is a virtue developed by using the printing press.’”

  They worked in companionable silence. He pulled the lever on the letterpress and held it a moment to make the impression. His legs were strong from stepping back to increase the leverage, and his arms flexed attractively. Then the deck slid back to her, and she pushed up the hinged cover and removed the paper to a table, happy to have somewhere else to look. He re-inked the letters locked in the deck, and they started again.

  She couldn’t keep her eyes off him. She’d never had that problem before. If it wasn’t such a pleasing dilemma, she might have struggled for a solution. As it was, she settled into the routine of it all. There was a comforting rhythm to the work, almost like a dance.

  After some minutes, Mark stopped the process, and Rhona noticed him looking at her looking at him. She was certain her cheeks flushed. “You’ve been muttering for an hour,” Rhona said, hoping to divert him.

  “Have I? I’m sorry. I’m used to working alone.” Mark smiled at her.

  She was lost to the sparkle in his eye. My, he’s a handsome man.