Love Inspired Historical January 2015 Box Set: Wolf Creek Father\Cowboy Seeks a Bride\Falling for the Enemy\Accidental Fiancee (42 page)

After church Marybeth declined her employer's invitation to Sunday dinner, explaining she needed to help Mrs. Foster. Although that was true, her aching head and heart were the real reasons she had no wish to spend the day with anyone except Rand. She told herself she'd simply grown used to him, even fond of him because of his kindnesses. Yet another thought would not let her be. Was it possible she loved him? She'd never been in love, never even dreamed of it because of her parents. Mam's unshakeable love for Da had kept her imprisoned in an unhappy marriage, something Marybeth vowed she'd never accept for her own life.

Another voice whispered to her that Susanna and Nate appeared happy, even blissful, after three years. Mrs. Foster often reminisced about her late husband's tender devotion to her, and her tear-filled eyes made it clear she still grieved for him. Maisie and Doc Henshaw, as different as two people could be in personality and upbringing, seemed wildly happy. Pam and Charlie Williams were like comfortable old shoes together, both wearing age lines that turned up in constant smiles. Was it possible Marybeth and Rand could find that same sort of happiness?

No, she just couldn't take the risk. Until she found Jimmy, she would not place herself under the authority of someone as bossy as Rand Northam. Maybe not even then.

Despite all of her internal arguments against caring for him, she still felt the sting of disappointment when he wasn't waiting for her after work the next day. Annoyed with her own obvious contradiction, she stalked off down the boardwalk, the heels of her high-top shoes thumping against the wood in a most unladylike sound.

She stepped down onto the dusty street and came near to colliding with Mr. Hardison, who seemed to appear from nowhere.

“Say, young lady.” He laughed softly as he gripped her arms and steadied her. “You and I keep bumping into each other.”

“I'm so sorry, Mr. Hardison. I wasn't paying attention.” She pulled free from his light grasp and continued her trek home.

He fell in beside her. “Where's Mr. Northam today?”

From his tone, one would think they were old friends. Maybe the animosity was only on one side. Still she wouldn't discuss Rand with a man he disliked.

“Lovely day, isn't it?” She gave him a bright smile to soften the rebuke of not answering his question.

He laughed again. “I understand. Yes, it is a lovely day when I have the privilege of escorting a beautiful young lady home.”

The very idea!
Heat raced up her neck and she stopped to face him. “Is that what you're doing, sir? Because I don't recall your asking or my granting permission for such a privilege.” She never should have let him walk her home those weeks ago, for he seemed to think that gave him the right to do so anytime.

Hand on his chest, he blinked, frowned and tilted his head in a charming, clearly abashed manner. “Do forgive me, Miss O'Brien. I didn't mean to be presumptuous.” He exhaled a wounded sigh. “Surely you know I've been admiring you from afar. If Mr. Northam doesn't realize what a prize you are, he's making a serious mistake. Someone is going to steal you away from him.”

Marybeth huffed out a sigh of her own. She was not some sort of prize to be given to the highest bidder or stolen from someone who owned her, but she wouldn't contradict him again. He wasn't a bad man. In fact, from all she'd heard at the bank and at church, he was beginning to fit into the Esperanza community. According to Mr. Means, he was making plans to build a hotel or some such business.

“Yes, of course I forgive you.” She resumed her walk. “And, yes, you may escort me home. Today.” She hoped he understood this was not to be a standing arrangement.

“I'm truly honored.” After a few moments of walking in silence he said, “Forgive me, but I couldn't help overhearing your, eh, discussion with Mr. Northam on Saturday. Something about you wanting to go to Wagon Wheel Gap and find someone named Jimmy? Mr. Northam seemed very much against your plans.”

Marybeth's head ached from a long day at work and not eating enough dinner. What did it matter if the whole town knew about her missing brother? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wasn't sure she'd seen Mr. Hardison sitting near enough at the picnic to hear her argue with Rand. And if he had been, hadn't he heard her order Rand not to come see her again?

No matter. It would feel good to talk about Jimmy. She gave Mr. Hardison a shortened version of her reason for coming to Colorado to search for her brother, taking care not to say she'd never intended to marry Rand. In any event, for the past two days, that idea had begun to sit sour in her stomach. But again, maybe Mr. Hardison didn't hear the part of the conversation that included Rand's accusation.

“Why, my dear, you should have told me about your brother sooner.” He beamed as if she'd given him a gift. “Why don't you let me help you make that trip? Why, I'd even escort you there. What would you think of that?”

Hope sprang up inside her so fast that she couldn't speak for several moments. In that brief time, serious reservations crept in. Apart from Rand's dislike of this man, she had her own responsibilities to think of. She must honor Rand's wish and pay him back and then save more money for the trip.

Even beyond that, she could see God's hand in delaying her trip. Just today Mr. Means had explained more about banking during harvest time. With crops and herds sold, more people would be making deposits, even investments. For those whose crops had failed, loans could be granted to see them through the winter. Her employer needed her, and if she deserted him after all of his generosity, her integrity would be in shreds. He'd never rehire her and never give her a recommendation. Like Rand, he would lose all faith in her. Worse than that, she would be just like Da, who'd never even tried to be responsible.

“Well, what do you say?” Mr. Hardison jolted her from her thoughts. “Shall we make that trip before the snows block the roads?”

She cast a demure look his way. “You're very kind to offer, but I can't leave now. Mrs. Foster and Mr. Means both depend upon me.”

“Maybe it's time you looked out for yourself, my dear.”

Confiding in this man had been a mistake, as were her kinder thoughts toward him. He'd addressed her twice as “my dear” in an almost suggestive way. This time it grated on her nerves. Before she could comment, Reverend Thomas strode toward them from a side street. To Marybeth's shock, he wore a gun strapped to his leg. Even on their picnic to the foothills, he'd been unarmed.

“Hello, folks. How are you two on this fine day?”

Mr. Hardison answered with little enthusiasm, but Marybeth felt nothing short of relief at seeing the preacher.

“I'm well, Reverend.” She soon found herself walking between the two men as they neared her home. “Are you coming to discuss next Sunday's hymns with Mrs. Foster?” She could think of no other reason for him to continue accompanying them, but she hoped he'd see her into the house.

“Ah, you've made an excellent guess.” He laughed in a nonchalant way. “Do you suppose if I stick around long enough, she'll invite me to dinner?”

“If she doesn't, I will.” Marybeth glanced up at Mr. Hardison. “How about you? Have you met Mrs. Foster's new boarders, Mr. Bean and the Chases? We have the nicest discussions around the supper table. The Chases have some exciting stories about settling here in the Valley right after the war.”

His responding smile was more of a grimace. “Thank you, my dear, but I already have plans. Perhaps another time?”

“As you wish.” If he called her “my dear” one more time she would correct him in no uncertain terms.

He left them at the front gate, but Marybeth didn't relax until they entered the house and closed the door. “Oh, my. You came along at just the right time.”

“Uh-huh. I couldn't get away as soon as I'd planned, but it worked out just fine. The Lord's will is never late.”

“You planned?” Her voice rose a few notches above normal, so she quickly added, “How very thoughtful.”

This sounded very much like some sort of collusion with Rand. Was he now trying to control her life through other people? Instead of anger, a feeling of being protected warmed Marybeth's heart. She hadn't resisted the help and protection of the church ladies back home in Boston. Why should she object to the decent people of this community looking out for her? If not for her desperate need to find Jimmy, she could easily sit back and enjoy that protection, as long as no one tried to control her.

As for Reverend Thomas's planning to walk her home, how could she fail to appreciate it? With men like Mr. Hardison roaming this town, she would do well to encourage him. Nothing in his demeanor suggested anything other than pastoral concern.

Everyone in town must have heard about her falling-out with Rand. The next day, several unattached men lingered at her desk or at the teller's cage when she took Mr. Brandt's place on his dinner hour. At the end of the day, as she donned her straw hat and white gloves, Mr. Means exited his office and approached her desk.

“Miss O'Brien, I have been sitting in my office this past hour trying to think of a reason, an excuse, actually, for asking you a rather impertinent question.” He cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. “I could think of nothing other than my wish to continue in your company. Therefore, if you would not find it disagreeable, may I have the honor of seeing you home?”

Was this more of Rand's collusion? No, he wouldn't ask her employer to watch over her, not when he'd exhibited a bit of jealousy toward the man on more than one occasion. Marybeth had never received so much attention in her entire life. While it should be flattering, she only felt uncomfortable. But Mr. Means's company was certainly preferable to Mr. Hardison's.

“I would enjoy that very much, Mr. Means.”

“Nolan. Please call me Nolan outside of banking hours.”

His eyebrows arched as if he was seeking her agreement, which gave her no choice but to say, “Yes, of course, Nolan. And you must call me Marybeth.”

As they walked, a cool autumn wind cut through her light shawl and threatened to blow off her straw hat, and grit sprayed over them, preventing conversation. Halfway home, they passed the preacher, who tipped his hat and kept walking in the other direction.

Appreciation and understanding swept through Marybeth, and the tears stinging her eyes had nothing to do with the sand blowing into them. God's servant, Reverend Thomas, was indeed keeping an eye on her, just like the angels mentioned in the book of Hebrews who ministered to Christians and kept them safe. When he didn't join Mr. Means and her in their walk toward Mrs. Foster's, she assumed he approved of Mr. Means...Nolan. Which was a good thing, wasn't it?

* * *

In late October, Rand watched as his drovers herded the last of the steers off the property and up the trail toward La Veta Pass. Maybe next year he and Nate could convince Dad to send the steers in boxcars to the Denver market so they'd be more likely to make it over the Pass before the first snows hit. They'd argued it was a much safer, easier mode of transport than driving the critters through the long, dangerous mountain passes. In previous years they'd lost too many steers, whose market value surpassed by a long shot the cost of sending the herd by train. But Dad held out for the old ways, still not entirely trusting trains for such a valuable cargo. So now the drovers faced countless nights sleeping on the cold ground and always having to watch out for wolves and grizzly bears on the lookout for an easy meal.

Their best cowhand, Seamus O'Reilly, told Rand and Nate he planned to stay in Denver for a while. Seems he'd come down from summer grazing to find Lucy sporting with another man, so he needed some time away to heal. He'd heard about a camp meeting to be held in the city by some preacher from back East, so after the cattle were delivered, he planned to herd the cowhands in that direction to keep them out of trouble. He promised to be back at the ranch by Christmas. After a summer in the mountains, he deserved the time off.

Rand understood how Seamus felt, but he hadn't wanted to burden his friend with his own woman troubles in the middle of sorting out the cattle. Nor did he tell him about Hardison. Knowing the Irishman, he'd want to take care of the gunslinger before he left town. As much as Rand needed to confide in someone, he figured he and his friend would have time to talk on the way to Denver. Being out under the stars had a way of making men open up to each other.

Rand had just begun to pack his gear when Nate announced he'd be taking the trip instead.

“Sorry, brother,” Nate had said over dinner a few nights earlier. “I just got a letter from Dad today. I'm going to Denver. You stay here and see the church addition gets started.”

After losing Marybeth, Rand had felt like he'd been kicked for a second time. Since that fatal card game three years ago, he'd been trying to live a perfect life, trying to do everything in his power to make his family proud of him. Did his father think he couldn't be trusted to get the money from the cattle sale safely home? Did Dad think he'd gamble it away, as he used to gamble away his own pay? Or maybe get into a gunfight in Denver, where countless cowboys would be congregating in the worst areas of town?

He wouldn't argue with Nate or try to usurp his authority, but watching that last steer being driven off the property without him sure did stick in his craw. His commiseration with Seamus would have to wait.

After his long morning of work, he ambled over to Williams's Café for some pie. Maybe Marybeth would be fetching coffee for that pompous banker. The last he'd heard from her, she'd sent Tolley home with a deposit slip and a cryptic note stating she had transferred the cost of her train fare into the Northam account. Nothing else. No mention of missing him or wanting to see him. Of course he didn't blame her. After his harsh accusation, why would she want anything to do with him?