Rancher to the Rescue

by Barbara Phinney

  Burned floor? He’d forgotten about that.

  “Will Mr. Livingstone feed us?” Tim asked.

  “Of course,” Clare answered.

  “More than you? I’m hungry and we didn’t get much for lunch. Father always gave us more than you give us.”

  Noah’s arms fell to his sides as cold washed through him. He cleared his throat, pulled up a chair and sat facing the boys. “It’s Friday. Why don’t we have supper at my house? We can see where you’ll sleep and you can meet Turnip.”

  “Who’s Turnip?” Tim tipped his head to one side, and his eyes narrowed.

  “That’s the pony I have. He was feral once.”

  “What’s that mean?” Leo asked.

  “He used to run free wherever he wanted. His parents were wild, but they may have been tame at one time.”

  The boys’ faces lit up. “Can we ride him?”

  Noah hesitated. “Not yet. I still need to train him. But someday I’m sure he’ll be broken. He’s smart. I’ve seen him figure out how to open his stall door with just his mouth.”

  The boys were suitably impressed.

  “So don’t worry,” Noah finished. “We’ll get him trained.”

  His promise seemed to satisfy them, although, Noah noticed, they still clung to their sister, the only one left from their family. Clare, he noted as well, wasn’t ready to release them from her embrace. She was right when she said they were missing their parents.

  “Well, then,” he said, smacking his knees gently as he rose. “Let’s finish up here.” He had enough food at home, thankfully, to give everyone a decent meal. And thanks to the few chickens he had, there were eggs. He also had several loaves of bread, plenty of carrots, and onions to go with a steak big enough to share. He helped Clare into her jacket and gave her an encouraging smile.

  She returned it hesitantly. “Did you bring your cart in this morning?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I’ve arranged for some staples to be delivered at lunch. We have plenty of food.”

  Clare flushed. “Do you cook all your own meals?”

  “I have to. My ranch hand can’t cook worth beans. It’s not fine restaurant fare, but it’s good. I hope you like steak.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I grew up in Proud Bend. Of course I love steak. As for fine restaurant fare, Proud Bend is sorely lacking in that department. I don’t go into the saloon for their noon meal, nor would I visit that place down by the train depot.”

  “I’d question your ability to taste if you did eat at the depot.”

  Clare pulled a face. “No, thank you. I’ve heard they serve the same coffee, day in and day out, but just boil it again with a few extra grounds. I’m sure it would peel the skin off one’s tongue.”

  Something warm washed through him. This was the Clare he’d hired full-time six months ago. Bright and outgoing, with a lively sense of humor. Noah couldn’t help but welcome her back. “What did you eat when you were out East at college?”

  “There was a dining hall, and it had standard fare, but beside our dormitory was this little English inn that sold meat pies—”

  “You were allowed to go unescorted into an inn?” His brows lifted. “I question your college’s leadership.”

  She laughed, albeit softly. “No, we weren’t, but a few brave ladies sneaked in. Of course, I was not one of them,” she added hastily.

  “Of course.”

  “Anyway, they had English pasties and these things called scones.”

  “I’ve heard of them. Aren’t they just biscuits?”

  “Oh, no! They’re drier, and served with jam and clotted cream, which sounds horrible, I know, but it’s really delicious. They sweeten it with honey. It’s thick and a little bit tangy and they serve it at ‘teatime,’ which is an afternoon meal made only of scones and spreads.” She looked down at her brothers, smiling. “The boys would love that.”

  “Sounds fussy. I don’t think I could live on that.”

  “It’s only a snack.” Clare laughed again, the sound tinkling through the quiet office like a wind chime in a gentle breeze. It had been days since he’d heard the sound and after the tearful moment earlier, Clare’s soft laugh was welcomed. It did much to lift the mood around them.

  Before long, they had locked up the Recording Office and were on their way to Clare’s house for her wagon. Noah walked his horse. After changing their clothes, the boys helped Noah hitch the family wagon to their horse, but needed no help to scramble up into the box. Clare also changed into a more suitable outfit, and now sat on the bench beside him. Noah took up the reins and they settled in for the short, fifteen-minute ride to his ranch. He’d tied his own horse to the back of the cart and, looking over his shoulder once, he noticed that Leo was stretching out over the tailgate to try to pet the animal. Tim yanked his brother back and both dropped to the floor of the box.

  “We’re almost there,” Noah reassured them as he turned onto a short trail.

  “Do you have a name for your ranch?” Clare asked.

  He shook his head. “At one time, I thought I would name it after its first equine resident.”

  “Some people name their ranches after a special pet,” she offered.

  “Well, my dog’s name is Nero, which is all right for a dog but not for a ranch.”

  Clare’s eyes twinkled. “So that leaves Turnip Ranch.”

  “Which doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “I don’t know why.” She smothered a giggle.

  “I do.” By now, they’d reached his home, a modest ranch house compared to Clare’s fine two-story clapboard home. It was made mostly of logs, but more sprawling than most. Along the south side, the promised green of summer had started. He pulled to a stop beside the garden he’d planned to plow and cultivate this week. Nero bounded over. Ahead was the stable and beyond, in the small fenced-in paddock behind it, the pony, Turnip. The animal lifted its head and stared at them, his ears pricked forward. He stopped chewing and snorted, but did not move.

  “Can we see the wild pony?” Leo asked Noah as he helped Clare from the cart.

  “Let me change out of my suit first.”

  Once on the ground, Clare smoothed her skirt. “Why don’t I start supper and you three can unhook the horses.” She looked gently at her brothers. “Only after those things are done can you see Turnip.”

  Noah watched her enter his house. Was she going to poke around, clean and fuss and make herself at home? He’d always prided himself on being neat and clean, but surely, a woman would rearrange things to suit herself.

  He swallowed. This was the home he’d made for himself after leaving New York State. It had been his escape, a place he didn’t have to share, and now a woman, the fiancée he didn’t even love, was striding toward it with the speed of a lit fuse cord toward dynamite.

  He shook off the unflattering comparison. Clare wasn’t as bad as that. She was merely full of life, open and honest with her feelings.

  Honest to a fault.

  You should tell Clare about Elizabeth.

  As swiftly as the internal prompt appeared, he shoved it away.

  Once in the stable, after being allowed to help him release the horses into the paddock with the pony, the boys received their first lesson on taking care of the tack. Noah took down a bottle from the shelf. “Tack should be cleaned every day, but sometimes we can’t do that. If you don’t have time, at least clean the noseband of the bridle. It’s the part that catches the most sweat.”

  He showed the boys how to wash the tack and scrub the noseband. “You should always oil the leather, but not too much because it may make it stretch. You can shake out the blanket or beat it if you like. But don’t wash it with soap. The most it needs is a good beating.”

  Noah threw the blanket over one of the stall doors
and handed one boy a rug beater and the other a small broom. They began to beat the saddle blanket with great enthusiasm.

  Satisfied he would get a clean blanket, Noah walked out into the paddock where Turnip was grazing. “It’s okay, boy,” he crooned softly as he approached the skittish stallion. “I’m home.”

  Noah had been working with Turnip for months now, and the animal had shown some signs of acceptance. He could lead the pony out in the mornings, and oftentimes, lead him back in, as long as his movements weren’t too sudden.

  Today, thankfully, Turnip allowed Noah to take hold of the bridle, hooking it to a short, braided lead. They walked together into the stable.

  A shriek ripped through the building, with Leo swinging his beater around in a wide, dangerous circle, while Tim ducked each time to arc the broom about a foot above the straw-strewn floor. Leo jumped over it, taking that time to flail the carpet beater about.

  Turnip bolted away from Noah, who still gripped the short rein. With the pony’s sudden movement, Noah felt his arm wrench backward as Turnip twisted away from the wild scene. In the turn he made, his haunches knocked Noah down to the dirt floor.

  Knowing immediately what would come next, Noah leaped to his feet and shoved both boys out of the stable, before slamming himself to the floor.

  Chapter Six

  The pony kicked, thankfully bucking only into the dusty air. Then, with a sharp scream of its own, the pony raced out the back stable door and into the paddock.

  Noah scrambled up, and, gripping his painful arm, he managed to slide the back door to the paddock tightly closed. He doubted Turnip would return to wreak more havoc, but refused to risk it. When he turned and fell against the door, he spied Leo scurrying into the house. The small boy stumbled on the doorstep, but finding his footing again, he rushed inside. Cradling his sore shoulder, Noah sagged with relief. He was okay, but where was Tim?

  As if to answer him, the other brother peeked around the front stable door before stepping over the threshold. In front of him lay both the broom and the rug beater, each dropped in the terror of the moment.

  “Are you okay?” Noah asked the boy.

  Tim nodded, his youthful eyes wide with horror. The saddle blanket slipped from where it hung over the stall door. It fell with a thud. Tim jumped back in fear. Beyond, the back door banged open and out hurried Clare. She was followed more slowly by Leo.

  She skidded to a stop at the open stable door, pulling Tim close to her. Thanks to the closed one behind Noah, she eclipsed the daylight. “Noah? What happened?”

  He walked up to her. “The boys spooked Turnip.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He raced out into the paddock. I just closed that door.”

  “What were they doing?”

  Noah walked outside to sit on the narrow bench beside the door. He hugged his arm close to his chest. “They were fooling around with the rug beater and the broom. I should have realized that when I brought in Turnip that their wild swings would startle him, but he’d been calm up to that point.”

  Swiftly, Clare patted Tim down, turning him around for an inspection until she, with her hands, captured his pale face to peer hard into his shocked expression. Then she inspected Leo, who kept his distance from the stable.

  Satisfied that both brothers were okay, she straightened. “Go into the house, both of you. Sit in the kitchen until I come inside. And don’t touch a single thing. Do you hear me? Not one thing!”

  Noah watched the pair trudge slowly toward his home, not fully convinced that Clare’s simple instructions would be obeyed. With a groan, he stood and walked up beside her. “The last time you ordered them to do something, an ‘incident’ occurred that included you needing to find a carpenter.”

  Her answer was only a gaping look of realization, followed by a sinking expression. “True, but this time, I think they’re really scared. Usually they question everything. Look at them now, though. Scared silent.” She paused and thought a moment. “I should be taking advantage of this.”

  Not yet able to smile, Noah watched Tim’s and Leo’s slow, wary steps, with Tim’s backward glance toward the adults as they disappeared into the house.

  Clare turned to him, her sharp stare inspecting the length of his frame. “Are you all right?”

  He grimaced and letting out a short, breathy noise, he returned to the nearby bench. “Turnip wrenched my shoulder. I wasn’t expecting him to move so suddenly. Then he knocked me over as he spun around. I landed wrong, but it was a good thing.”

  “How so?”

  “I landed close to the boys and was able to jump up and shove them outside. By that time, Turnip had turned and started to kick, but thankfully, he only caught the air.”

  With a gasp, Clare paled.

  “It’s all right,” he said with a grimace. “I’d figured out pretty quickly what he’d planned to do, so no one got hurt. Turnip then raced out into the paddock. I closed the door, but I might have wrenched my shoulder more doing that.”

  “I can see you’re hurt, and badly, too.”

  “I’ll heal.” He watched Clare’s growing concern. She sank down on the bench beside him, her face etched with worry. Blinking rapidly, she reached for him, but he shifted away. It wasn’t just his tender shoulder he didn’t want her to touch. If she started to fawn all over him, it would do their business arrangement no good. She’d already stated in no uncertain terms that marriage was a last resort, so he’d be crazy to start thinking theirs might grow into something more intimate.

  No. He’d been injured before. He’d heal. But the heart was a different matter. He’d been hurt by his family and wouldn’t subject himself to being hurt by Clare, for surely, an independent woman like her wouldn’t go for the foolishness of love.

  “Go into the house, Clare,” he told her quietly, trying to keep the pain from his voice. “See to your brothers. They need you more than I do.”

  * * *

  Clare glanced over at the door, unsure of what to do. She needed to get back into the house. As neat as it was inside, it wouldn’t remain that way for long with her brothers in there, regardless of her orders to them.

  But they were scared, so maybe that fear would curb their mischief.

  She glanced back at Noah, in time to catch his cringe as he tested out his aches and pains. Her heart lurched and she felt a chill wash through her. He was in pain. Surely, he needed help, didn’t he?

  He didn’t want her to help him.

  Should I stay, Lord?

  She threw back her shoulders. Noah needed help. Her help. The boys were fine for now.

  She reached forward and touched his hand gently, the one that cradled his shoulder. When he looked up at her, she leaned toward him. “Let’s get you into the house,” she said softly. “Maybe I can get you a cold cloth? Do you have any liniment we can put on your shoulder?”

  Clare ran her hand over his, allowing it to trail down his arm, hoping she might gauge his reaction and get a better sense of whether or not to take him in to see the doctor.

  Noah grabbed her wrist and pushed it down to her side. “Don’t.”

  “Why? Does it hurt?”

  His answering look seemed odd. It wasn’t one of pain, but determination, as if fighting some battle within. Why didn’t he want her to touch him?

  Then, as he released her, his gaze dropped to her lips. She felt it more than saw it. He swallowed and suddenly her own mouth became as dry as dust. Finally, she swallowed, also. He looked, well, hungry, like the boys always did when supper was delayed as Mother struggled with her pain.

  Clare bit her lip. Why was he looking at her mouth as though he wanted to kiss her?

  Her heart leaped in her chest. Oh. Could it be because...

  “Go into the house,” Noah told her again, his voice firmer.
“In the cupboard above the stove is a small, clear bottle.”

  “What is it?” She gasped. “It’s not liquor, is it?”

  “No!” He shook his head, stopping suddenly as he cringed. “It’s Mexican Mustang Liniment. I use it on my horse sometimes, but I think it warrants testing on me today.”

  As he tried to stand, she leaned toward him. “Let me help you up.”

  “No. Go inside. Put on a fire. It would be nice if the liniment was warmed a bit. I’ll be in shortly.”

  She rose, hesitantly. “All right. I’ll warm it. Then I’ll rub it on your shoulder.” She reached for him again.

  “No! Just go inside!”

  Stepping back, Clare swallowed, then nodded. She hurried toward the house. At the door, she turned, but Noah hadn’t moved.

  She should go back to him, insist on helping him and refuse to take no for an answer. Whatever foolish pride was stopping him from accepting help needed to be ignored.

  But what if he was attracted to her and didn’t like that idea? It certainly would do nothing but complicate the simple arrangement they had, and frankly, Clare told herself fiercely, she shouldn’t even be thinking about such an improper thing. She’d just lost her parents, despite the hope that maybe their ship, Governor, was only overdue.

  Noah had looked like he’d wanted to steal a kiss. At the same time, if he could have pushed her right off the bench, she was sure he would have. Maybe his injury stopped him. Or had he realized before she had that such a bold move must not happen?

  Clare bit her lip. This marriage was only a formal arrangement to help her financially. Noah’s sudden attraction, no doubt a product of his vulnerability, should be curbed. Indeed, Noah was wise to stop it before it got out of hand.

  Sudden regret twisted her heart, and she found her breath catching in her throat. Regret? Had she actually wanted him to kiss her?

  Yes, she admitted to herself. She’d admired Noah since she first met him, regardless of the fact that she had not wanted a beau, or a marriage.