Courting Miss Callie. Dorothy Clark

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      “Sadly, that’s true, Callie. And what brings you to Pinewood, Mr. Ryder? Are you seeking employment as a logger? Or a sawyer or teamster?”

      “I came to visit a distant cousin...Johnny Taylor. But I was told by the clerk in the mercantile that Johnny and a man by the name of Arnold Dixon quit their jobs and headed west a few days ago.”

      Johnny Taylor and Arnold Dixon. Thomas Hunter’s friends. The men who had so frightened Willa. Was Ezra Ryder of the same ilk? She frowned, turned the cloth over and again held it on Ezra Ryder’s bowed head. “What a shame your cousin didn’t know to expect you, and you made your journey in vain.”

      “Yes, indeed.” The sympathy in Sophia’s voice belied the sharpened look in her eyes. “Were you close with your cousin, Mr. Ryder?”

      “No, not at all. I know him only from when we were young boys, and my uncle brought his family to visit us on the farm. My visit here was to renew our acquaintance.”

      There was something underlying the ring of truth in Ezra Ryder’s deep voice—something he wasn’t telling. Her shoulders tensed. She detested lies and subterfuge. And disdained the men that indulged in them. In her experience, they were many. She dabbed the softened blood from his hair, dropped the cloth in the water, dried her hands on the long white apron that covered her blue wool dress and opened the small crock.

      “So you are without funds, and without a place to stay?”

      “Thanks to those thieves, and my cousin’s leaving town, yes. That is why I inquired if there is work I can do in exchange for my meal...and perhaps a place to sleep?”

      “I see.” Sophia glanced around. “I’m sure there is something...”

      “The stables need a thorough cleaning.” A cheeky suggestion. It was not her place to interfere in her aunt’s business, but she didn’t want the man given work around the kitchen. It was her sanctuary. She clamped her jaw to keep from saying more, and smoothed the salve over the exposed gash.

      “An excellent suggestion, Callie.” Sophia gave her a warm smile, then lowered her gaze to Ezra Ryder. “My groom suffers from rheumatism and can no longer care for the stables as he once did. You may clean them as payment. But you must do so as Joseph directs.”

      “I understand, madam.”

      There was politeness and acquiescence in Ezra Ryder’s voice, but not a hint of subservience. Sophia ran her gaze over his neatly trimmed hair. The man had recently been to an excellent barber. She frowned, held back the questions crowding into her mind and put the cover back on the crock and placed it on the table.

      “Very well. There is a cot you may sleep on in the equipment room. You’ll find a mattress tick you can stuff with fresh hay in the tin cupboard, and— Yes, Mary?”

      The maid in the doorway gave an apologetic smile. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Sheffield, but there’s a gentleman out front that wants a room.”

      “Thank you, Mary. I’ll come right along.” Her aunt rose.

      Ezra Ryder stood and made her a small bow. “Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Sheffield.”

      Sophia nodded and stepped toward the doorway, paused and looked over her shoulder. “Callie, Ezra will need blankets. You’ll find some in the chest in my bedroom.”

      Something akin to shock flashed in Ezra Ryder’s eyes at the subtle message of his servile position contained in her aunt’s use of his given name. It was followed by a flicker of amusement. A strange reaction for a man come begging. He glanced her way, caught her studying him.

      “I’ll get the blankets.” She hurried through the door that led to her aunt’s private quarters, snatched three blankets from the chest at the foot of the bed and returned to the kitchen. He had donned his jacket.

      “Here are the blankets—” She glanced up at him and his first name stuck in her throat. There was something about the man that commanded respect. “The Allegheny has flooded the fields out back and is only a few feet from the stables, but these should be sufficient to ward off the damp and the cold.” She handed him the wool blankets and stepped back.

      He nodded, fastened his gaze on hers and smiled. “Thank you for your suggestion to your aunt that I might help in the stables. I’m grateful for the opportunity to earn bed and board. And thank you for tending my wound. It already feels better.”

      She turned from the look of admiration in his eyes and began clearing the table. “The salve is made by the Senecas. It’s very effective. I’ll apply more in the morning.”

      “I don’t want to trouble you, Miss... I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

      “It’s Conner. And it’s no trouble to dab salve on a wound.” She glanced up and again found that look of admiration in his eyes. “Try not to roll onto your back while you’re sleeping, or you’ll irritate that wound.”

      A smile curved his lips and crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. “I shall do my best, Miss Conner.”

      She stared at his smile, then leaned down and picked up the dishes she’d stacked. There was definitely something amiss. The man was too self-assured, too confident for someone in his situation. “Breakfast is at daybreak. Come along with Joseph. It would be well to eat before you go on your way.” The reminder of his temporary stay helped. There was something unsettling about Ezra Ryder.

      He nodded, opened the door and stepped outside.

      She listened to his uneven footfalls cross the porch and thump down the steps then shook her head and carried the dishes to the sink cupboard. Mr. Ryder was a handsome man with impeccable manners and a very charming smile. He was, also, a man with a secret. She had no idea what he was hiding or why, but she was certain he had not been completely honest. How she hated deceit! The social circle in Buffalo was rife with it.

      She turned to the worktable, unloaded the basket and began the pudding she had planned for the hotel guests’ dessert tomorrow. She should never have mentioned the deteriorating condition of the stables. The sooner Mr. Ryder left the better.

      * * *

      Ezra scowled at the pain that shot down his leg. The boots of the men who had ambushed and robbed him last night had left their imprint in the bruise on his shoulder and on his right leg. The protest in his thigh when it took his weight coming down the porch steps confirmed that.

      He paused and rubbed the ache to loosen the stiffened muscle, then flexed his sore fingers and smiled grimly at the memory of his fist connecting with one of his attacker’s jaws before something solid slammed against the back of his head and darkness took him.

      One good thing. He’d already followed Johnny’s suggestion and purchased and changed into the rough clothes he’d wear for his visit here in Pinewood before he’d taken the stage from Buffalo. His city clothes and shoes would never have held up to the long walk he’d been forced to make from Dunkirk in the inclement weather. Thank goodness for the kindness of the teamster who had offered him a ride on his supply wagon or he’d still be slogging his way down the muddy, rutted road to Pinewood.

      He scrubbed at the back of his neck to try and ease the dull throb in his head and started down the path to the barn. He would not forget Will Gladeon’s good deed. СКАЧАТЬ