Rancher To The Rescue. Barbara Phinney

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      The door behind her flew open until it banged against the wall. In lumbered Walter Burrows. Having lived in Proud Bend all her life, Clare knew both his name and his reputation.

      The tough, mean rancher seemed to have a perpetual chip on his shoulder. Clare knew he had a wife, but in all her years of living here, she had yet to meet the poor woman. But Clare had seen Burrows often enough. He’d come into the Recording Office several months back, and in the course of his business, he’d claimed he’d caught a feral pony a number of years ago. After having no success at breaking it—Clare was hardly surprised as the man was rough and cruel—Burrows had wanted to put it down. He’d heard that Noah had a “foolish notion of rescuing stupid animals,” as he’d put it. Maybe Noah could buy it from him.

      That day, Clare had watched Noah take the pony off his hands for the cost of a sack of barley. It was the first time Clare had heard of Noah’s dream of saving horses.

      Today, he rose and squeezed past Clare as if she carried a plague. He strode to the counter. “Mr. Burrows, what can I do for you?”

      “I bought me another stretch of land. I need to register it. I watched Miz Walsh come in just now and figured you were already open. You know how late women can be when it comes to work.”

      Biting back a snappy retort, Clare glanced at the large clock on the wall. There was still a good thirty minutes before opening and Mr. Pooley wasn’t even in yet. She was not late, thank you very much.

      After a fast glance at Noah, Clare quickly removed her jacket and hung it up. She heard him clear his throat before pulling out the appropriate ledger and approaching the counter. He usually asked her to assist the customers. Was he saving her from having to deal with the rude man?

      “How are you going to work the land, Mr. Burrows?” Noah asked conversationally. “Have you hired some extra help?”

      “Not yet.” The man’s voice was gravelly, a perpetual grumble. “But there are always plenty of young ’uns needin’ a roof over their heads. I hear an orphan train is coming west in a few weeks’ time. In fact, I read in the newspaper that there Children’s Aid Society will be picking up a few brats along the way. I can get me a few tough little guys and train ’em up properly.”

      Clare couldn’t stop the gasp. Both men glanced her way, and she tried her best to hide the sudden fear leaping in her chest. She doubted she was successful, for all she ended up doing was slapping her hand over her mouth and looking like a fool.

      Noah frowned as she forced herself to walk to her desk, where she fell into her chair with very little grace. Her vision swam in sudden tears.

      When people got wind of her situation, someone would inform the authorities. No one would expect Clare to be able to raise her hooligan brothers by herself. The Children’s Aid Society would then make a point to stop by.

      Clare swallowed. She needed to speak with a lawyer. Even if Noah repeated his proposal, both of them would need to adopt her brothers formally. Yes, some states were less stringent in their enforcement, but both Clare and Noah worked at the Recording Office. How would it look if they were to ignore the laws?

      One step at a time, she reminded herself. If Noah’s offer no longer stood, would she be forced to surrender the boys? Not necessarily to Mr. Burrows, of course, but perhaps to someone equally disagreeable, and maybe farther away?

      She shut her eyes. Lord, please guide me.

      When she opened them again, Mr. Burrows was shutting the door behind him, and Noah was darting a cautious glance her way as he returned to his desk.

      He has proposed to you. Do you really want to risk losing Tim and Leo?

      If he won’t propose again, you must!

      She swallowed around the gravel in her throat.

      Clare shut her eyes again. In the distance, muted by the exterior walls, came the sound of the school bell reminding her that she must consider Tim and Leo first. Screwing up her courage, she rose and walked into his office.

      Noah looked up from his paperwork, his blue-eyed gaze still wary, a slight frown marring his ruggedly handsome features. Before this nightmare had begun, when she’d just started to work here, she’d found his attention to her pleasing, warming her cheeks and making her feel as gooey as pudding inside. She’d loved it, even though he’d never been anything but professional with her.

      Now her heart constricted unexpectedly. His proposal had been just him offering a solution to a bad situation. There was no affection involved. Nothing but his good character showing and even then he’d regretted blurting out his offer. She was sure of that much.

      What had she expected? A confession of love? She would have still said no, because marriage was what weaker women searched out. She was made of sterner stuff.

      Until she realized she could lose her brothers. Now, knowing her options, her hopes plummeted.

      Noah’s brows lifted in expectation, as if waiting for her to explain why she’d barged in here as she had. Why she now lingered beside his desk. Clare fought to hold on to the courage that could waver at a moment’s notice.

      “You proposed to me yesterday,” she practically barked.

      Leaning back, Noah folded his arms. “We’ve already discussed this. You turned me down.”

      “I...I was premature.” She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “Is the offer still available?”

      * * *

      Yesterday, Noah had let his mouth decide his fate. The last time he had done that, he’d walked out of his home without so much as a backward glance. There had been no second chances then, even if he’d wanted one, which he didn’t, he told himself fiercely. There had been no way to take back what he’d said to his father. There had been no chance to rescind the promise to his ex-fiancée of keeping an ugly secret that still tormented him today.

      But now? Here was an opportunity to correct the mistake caused by his impulsive mouth. With one simple no, he could show exactly how Clare’s refusal had bit into his pride.

      When Noah’s father had told him that he was to marry Elizabeth Townsend because her father’s business, not to mention his own, would benefit from merging, there had been an expectation that Noah would roll over like a submissive mongrel and do exactly as his father had deemed appropriate.

      No. He had his own dreams to pursue, and marriage was far too sacred an institution to be based on financial gain, especially his greedy father’s.

      Besides, he’d realized in retrospect, he could never shake the feeling that he couldn’t trust either Elizabeth or her cagey father. No, marrying Elizabeth had never felt right.

      But now, he’d offered it to Clare and only to solve a financial problem in her life. To solve something her own selfish father had created. The proposal was an insane idea, one that should never have been offered. His gaze drifted down her frame.

      Then he noticed the stain on her skirt. Or should he say where a stain might have been? It looked like she’d scrubbed the material right at its middle, so much so the dye at that one spot had faded. Clare was always a sensible dresser, a woman who looked professional and modern. She’d always been neat although he’d noticed she had only one suitable skirt.

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