The Rancher's Courtship. Laurie Kingery

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      She’s sad, isn’t she? An image of Caroline Wallace’s tearful face rose unbidden in his mind. She had wept because she’d thought she had been rude—and her tears had moved him a lot more than he was comfortable with. He had been surprised by his urge to comfort her, in spite of the harsh words they’d just exchanged. He’d wanted to comfort his brother’s—what?—almost-widow?

       Amelia’s question was an awkward one. It would be heartless to tell them she wasn’t really their aunt, so they had no reason to ever see her again.

       “Yes, she’s been sad for a while now, since Uncle Pete died last winter, but she understands why we have to go on to Montana.”

       A few paces later, Abby said, “The fellows’ll be surprised to see us when we go back in the morning.”

       Jack tried to suppress a flinch. His drovers wouldn’t be surprised in a good way. They’d endured the presence of his girls with good grace, knowing it was temporary, but it had meant they’d had to be ultracareful about their language and their actions. Children had no place on a cattle drive. The men would think their boss had gone loco when he returned with them, but it was his herd, and they were his employees. Knowing he had no choice, they’d have to respect his decision, even though they wouldn’t like it—or leave his employ.

       “Come on, girls,” he said, rising and heading down Main Street toward the hotel.

       But the hotel had no rooms available, having rented them out to folks in town for a funeral. The clerk referred him to the boardinghouse behind it.

       When they arrived at Mrs. Meyer’s establishment, though, the tall, bony proprietress informed him she only had one cot to spare, and it would mean sharing a room with her aged father. Obviously that wouldn’t work for the three of them.

       It was starting to look as if returning to the herd tonight was their only option. But the day had been overcast, and now the clouds were looking distinctly threatening. Rain was coming. The girls hadn’t noticed yet, but they would soon, and Abby was frightened by storms.

       “I still think we should stay at Miss Caroline’s house,” Abby announced.

       “Yeah, Papa. After all, we were going to stay with her and Uncle Pete while you were gone, anyway. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you stayed there, too.”

      When pigs fly, he thought. She’d apologized for her heated reaction and politely offered them lodging, but he was sure she was relieved he hadn’t taken her up on it. He’d be about as welcome under that woman’s roof as fire ants at a picnic.

       “Girls, Miss Caroline doesn’t have a house of her own, since Uncle Pete died. She lives with her parents. I—I’m not sure there’d be room,” he said, feeling guilty because Caroline had invited them, so there must be room enough.

       Amelia shrugged, as if to say, So?

       Then thunder rumbled overhead, and Abby cast a fearful eye upward. “Papa, it’s going to rain,” she said uneasily. “Can we ask her, please?”

       It was the last word, desperately uttered, as if she was fighting tears again, that did in his resolve. Lucinda, their mother, had died during a thunderstorm, and though his daughter didn’t realize that was the source of her fear, Jack knew it, and he knew he was going to have to do the very thing he least wanted to do—swallow his pride, go back and take Caroline up on her offer.

       He sighed. “All right, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask,” he said, and they walked down Simpson Creek’s Main Street back toward the school again.

       Caroline had just seen her last pupil, Billy Joe Henderson, out the door. She’d had to keep him after class long enough for him to write a list of ten reasons “Why I Should Not Throw Spitballs in Class.” After erasing his hurriedly scrawled list on the chalkboard, she was clapping the erasers together outside the window and wishing she’d assigned Billy Joe this chore too when she heard footfalls on the steps outside.

       Billy Joe must have returned for his slingshot, which he’d left on top of his desk.

       “I thought you might be back,” she murmured as she turned around, only to see it wasn’t Billy Joe at all.

       Jack Collier stood there, and once again, he had a hand on each of his daughters’ shoulders. His face was drawn and his blue eyes red-rimmed, and the twins’ faces were puffy from recent crying. The girls stared at her, eyes huge in their pale faces.

      So he’s told them about Pete’s death, she thought with a pang, remembering how awful those first few hours of grief had been for her. Their mourning was just beginning.

       Caroline’s eyes were a bit swollen, Jack noted, and he wondered how hard it had been to carry on with class as if nothing had happened after their emotional confrontation.

       “Miss Wallace, I—I wonder if it’s too late for me to take you up on your offer of a bed for the night? The hotel doesn’t have any rooms available, and the boardinghouse couldn’t accommodate all three of us.”

       She looked at him, then at the girls, then back at him again. “All right. I was just about to go home, so it’s good that you came just now.” As he watched, she gathered up a handful of slates, tucking them into a poke bag, and took her bonnet and shawl down from hooks by the door.

       “I’ll take that,” he said, indicating her poke, and held the door for her.

       She gave him an inscrutable, measuring look. “Thank you, Mr. Collier.”

       He untied the horses from the hitching post. “Is there a livery where I can board the horses overnight?”

       She nodded. “Calhoun’s, on Travis Street, near where I live.” Then she turned to the girls. “My father is the postmaster,” she said as they all walked out of the schoolyard and onto the street that led back into town, “so we live right behind the post office. Papa and Mama will sure be happy to have some children to spoil tonight,” she told them. “My brother Dan’s still at home, but he finished his schooling last year and works at the livery, so he fancies himself a young man now, too old to be cosseted.” Jack thought there was something in her gaze that hinted she’d be happy to have the children around, too, if only for one night.

       “How old is he?” Abby asked.

       “Thirteen,” Caroline said. “And how old are you two? I’m guessing six?”

       “Right!” Amelia crowed, taking her hand impulsively. “How did you know, Aunt Caroline?”

       “I’m the oldest,” Abby informed Caroline proudly, taking her other hand. “By ten minutes.”

       “Is that a fact?” Caroline looked suitably impressed.

       He was touched by the way she’d taken to his children, even if she’d decided he had about as much sense as last year’s bird nest, Jack thought as he followed behind them leading the horses.

       He was dreading the meeting with her parents, knowing he’d be unfavorably compared with Pete, who had always been so wise in everything he’d done. Pete would have never been so foolish as to set out for Montana so late in the year with a herd of half-wild cattle. The only remotely impulsive thing Pete had ever done was moving to Simpson Creek to court the very woman СКАЧАТЬ