Читать онлайн книгу "Hill Country Courtship"
Hill Country Courtship
Laurie Kingery
A Baby of Her OwnMaude Harkey is resigned to a loveless life until a baby is born - and orphaned - at her boardinghouse home. She'll never be a wife…but she can still be a mother. Yet a boardinghouse is no place for a newborn. Enter Jonas MacLaren - a handsome, exasperating rancher with an offer too good to refuse.Jonas can handle running a ranch - but handling his cantankerous mother is another matter. Maude matches his mother's stubbornness so she'll be a perfect live-in companion. But she's there for his mother, not for him. He'll just have to keep his wounded heart closed to her beauty, her humor, her warmth and strength - and her irresistibly adorable baby.Brides of Simpson Creek: Small-town Texas spinsters find love with mail-order grooms!
A Baby of Her Own
Maude Harkey is resigned to a loveless life until a baby is born—and orphaned—at her boardinghouse home. She’ll never be a wife…but she can still be a mother. Yet a boardinghouse is no place for a newborn. Enter Jonas MacLaren—a handsome, exasperating rancher with an offer too good to refuse.
Jonas can handle running a ranch—but handling his cantankerous mother is another matter. Maude matches his mother’s stubbornness so she’ll be a perfect live-in companion. But she’s there for his mother, not for him. He’ll just have to keep his wounded heart closed to her beauty, her humor, her warmth and strength—and her irresistibly adorable baby.
Brides of Simpson Creek: Small-town Texas spinsters find love with mail-order grooms!
This is the Lord’s doing; it is marvelous in our eyes.
—Psalms 118:23
“Mr. MacLaren—” Maude began.
“Do you think you might call me Jonas?” he dared to ask. “At least when ’tis just us?”
Her eyes bore a guarded glint now. “I’ll call you Jonas if you wish,” she said, in that delicious Texas drawl that made everything she said land pleasantly on his ears—even what she said afterward. “But, Jonas, what do I know about you, really? You’re a man of secrets—you keep more than you give up. How am I to trust you?”
He saw it as she must see it—he was asking her to trust him without any basis in truth, without any transparency on his part.
“Trust doesn’t come easily for a MacLaren,” he said. “Not after what we’ve been through.”
“Without trust there can be no honest caring,” she told him then. “If you don’t trust me enough to show me your true self, how can I know who I’m caring for in return?”
The idea that some part of her, at least, wanted to care in return gladdened his heart, if only for a moment. But how could he bare his soul to her, knowing that if she knew everything, she’d whirl away from him in horror and disgust?
LAURIE KINGERY is a Texas-transplant-to-Ohio who writes romance set in post–Civil War Texas. She was nominated for a Carol Award for her second Love Inspired Historical novel, The Outlaw’s Lady, and is currently writing a series about mail-order grooms in a small town in the Texas Hill Country.
Hill Country Courtship
Laurie Kingery
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Danielle, my daughter, who as a doula is dedicated to helping women achieve a good birth, and as always, to Tom, my real-life hero
Contents
Cover (#ub4357dfc-a081-53e4-9da5-089c17760435)
Back Cover Text (#u943d4dab-0f72-5714-8fc5-dab3dd3410fa)
Introduction (#u34ce6785-34c3-5d1e-a1a4-41ded2170693)
About the Author (#u8fcab065-f03f-5869-ac75-f4be301ed254)
Title Page (#u9835e7cb-e6d9-5dee-9576-793541389afa)
Praise (#ue54f61d2-2638-54d7-a49f-98db2bca13f9)
Dedication (#u3cc45e31-0a24-5082-ac2a-78abaed7a28a)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Dear Reader
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u29284429-1016-50df-b5a0-49ce22083eb0)
Simpson Creek, Texas, November 1869 Gilmore House
At the ripe old age of twenty-five, Maude Harkey had begun to resign herself to being an old maid. So it didn’t bother her, that November afternoon at the Spinsters’ Club Fall Barbecue and Social, that none of the male guests particularly singled her out for attention.
As president of the Spinsters’ Club, all that mattered to her was that plenty of eligible bachelors had come from the ranches outside Simpson Creek and from nearby counties to meet the others in the club. No one was misbehaving—either from having stopped at the town saloon before arriving at the party or becoming overfamiliar with any of her ladies. Everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves.
Her friend Ella Justiss, who was due to be married next Saturday, was having a particularly good time, radiant with the joy of new love. Nate Bohannan, the devoted groom-to-be, couldn’t have been more attentive, fetching her punch and barbecued chicken, seemingly unwilling to be anywhere but by her side. By the time one of them decided it was time to have a party again, Ella would be happily serving refreshments at the party, as the Spinster “graduates” usually did, and possibly already expecting their first child.
Maude was happy for them. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to be jealous of her friend’s good fortune. And, indeed, with all the challenges that Ella had faced in her life, she richly deserved the happiness she was blessed with now. Though Maude had to wonder from time to time why she, the daughter of the late town doctor, was still unwed while so many others in the club had found their matches. And she did wonder how she was going to be able to stand continuing to live at Mrs. Meyer’s boardinghouse without her good friend Ella.
After Maude’s father’s death, it had been difficult to leave her house behind and move into a rented room. The home she’d shared with her father had been quiet and peaceful, with Maude fully in control of all household matters. The boardinghouse was noisy and chaotic, and she’d struggled to settle in. Losing the comfort of her routines and the security of her position as mistress in her home had been heavy blows to a heart already burdened by the loss of her dear father.
But Ella had made it much easier to bear with her friendship and support. Maude had come to count on Ella to keep her company and chuckle with her over the quirks of some of the boardinghouse’s other residents. Now she would be the only female occupant of the boardinghouse, not counting old Mrs. Meyer, the proprietress.
Mrs. Meyer had hinted only yesterday that she intended to pass along ownership of the boardinghouse to Maude when she died. Was that to be her fate, then? Running the town’s only boardinghouse, with its eight rooms and mostly male occupants, with three meals a day to cook, and forever having to listen to grousing from the tenants that the beef was too tough, the chicken drumsticks too few, or that one of the traveling drummers took more than his fair share of the apple dumplings?
Her father had certainly expected a brighter future for her than that. He’d once told her he pictured her with a houseful of children with hair as red as her own and a husband whose greatest pleasure was satisfying his wife’s slightest whim. Maude felt she was easy to please, so she didn’t need an overindulgent husband, but the thought of living her whole life without any husband or children made her sad. She enjoyed caring for others, had cherished her role as nurse in her father’s medical practice. She’d always hoped that one day she’d have a family of her own to whom she could devote her time and loving attention. But apparently that wasn’t meant to be.
Pull yourself together, Maude Harkey, she told herself sternly. No one needs to see a melancholy face at a party. And if the Lord wants you to remain single, then there’s a reason, no doubt.
“Who’s that?”
She hadn’t noticed Violet Masterson and Caroline Collier, two of the other ex-Spinsters, coming to stand beside her, but now she followed the former’s discreetly pointed finger.
A man stood at the edge of the throng, hat in hand as was polite in the presence of ladies, but there was nothing humble about his bearing. Rather, he reminded her of a golden eagle perched high above a flock of sheep, looking for the tastiest lamb to pluck from the herd. The red-gold hair that he raked back from his forehead just then only served to further the image.
“I don’t know, but goodness, he’s a late arriver,” Maude said, glancing over her shoulder at the long table that had been heaped with food before the party. “I hope there’s enough barbecued chicken and potato salad left to feed him.” The male guests had gone through the food like a plague of locusts, and it would be a wonder if there was a sufficient amount to fill even one more plate.
“Oh, that’s Jonas MacLaren,” Caroline Collier said, following her friends’ gazes. “He’s the man who bought Five Mile Hill Ranch, out past Collier’s Roost. I heard he bargained hard with Mr. Avery at the bank and ended up getting it for next to nothing.”
“Since he’s here at our social, are we to assume there’s no Mrs. MacLaren?” Violet asked with a sidelong glance at Maude.
Maude did her best to hide her wince. She ought to come right out and tell her friends she’d decided to stop looking for a husband in hopes that they would stop looking for one for her. She knew her friends only wanted her to be happy—as happy as they were with their husbands—but she’d grown weary of the endless attempts to match her with men who clearly had no interest. Perhaps if she resigned the presidency of the Spinsters’ Club, it would make the message clear that she no longer considered herself in the market for a husband. Besides, if she was still looking, she wouldn’t look in Jonas MacLaren’s direction. The man looked positively fierce.
“There is a Mrs. MacLaren,” Caroline informed them, and Violet gave a disappointed sniff.
“What’s he doing here, then?” Violet said, indignation sparking in her well-bred English voice. “Doesn’t he know this is a party for eligible bachelors to meet the ladies of the Spinsters’ Club?”
Caroline chuckled. “Ah, but the Mrs. MacLaren in question isn’t his wife, she’s his mother,” she said with the triumphant smile of one who has withheld vital information until just the right moment. “She’s from Scotland, I hear, and quite a Tartar.”
Maude stared at Caroline, confused. “A what?”
“A Tartar,” Caroline repeated, then explained. “A person of irritable or violent temper.” Caroline had been a schoolteacher before she’d married Jack Collier. Her time spent running the schoolhouse and finding answers for the children’s endless questions had left her with a wealth of unusual facts at her disposal—along with an extensive vocabulary.
“I see,” Maude said, giving a little shiver. “Have you met her?”
Caroline shook her head. “No one has. She doesn’t leave the ranch house, I’ve heard. Very few have met her son, for that matter,” she added, nodding toward MacLaren, who was still studying the attendees. “I wouldn’t know it was him, but he came to Collier’s Roost to ask Jack something about the area. When Jack invited him inside for coffee, he declined, saying he had to get back to his ranch.”
“Perhaps she’s an invalid,” Violet suggested.
“Well,” Maude said, squaring her shoulders, “I suppose I should go and introduce myself and try to make sure he gets refreshments.”
It was a scary prospect. Something in the man’s gaze told her he might devour maiden ladies for breakfast.
A Harkey does not shirk her duty, Maude told herself, and forced her steps in Jonas MacLaren’s direction.
She saw the moment that he noticed her approaching, the way his tall frame stilled, though his eyes—hazel eyes shot through with gold, she noted, which further enhanced his golden eagle-like appearance—remained vigilant and guarded.
“Welcome to our party, Mr. MacLaren,” she called out as she drew near. “I’m Maude Harkey, current president of the Spinsters’ Club. Won’t you come have something to eat and drink?”
He studied her from head to toe as if sizing her up. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Harkey.” The Scottish burr of his voice was pleasant to the ear, though it took a little careful listening for her to figure out what he’d said. “I will,” he continued, “but I can’t stay long.”
Maude blinked in surprise. “But there are several young ladies here who’d love to make your acquaintance,” she said, forcing her lips into an appealing smile. She wasn’t the only Spinster who hadn’t yet made a match. Of the original group, Jane Jeffries was also still single, as were Louisa Wheeler, Daisy Henderson and a handful of newer ladies. “Why don’t I show you to the refreshment table, then invite a few of them over to meet you?” With any luck, he’d be so charmed that he’d stay long enough for the dancing to begin inside Gilmore House, the home of the mayor. The mayor was a strong supporter of their club, for he was the father of Prissy, the sheriff’s wife and former Spinster Club member. If Mr. MacLaren stayed through that, he might develop a fondness for one lucky girl. “I think you’d enjoy talking to Louisa, for example, or Jane—both ladies happen to be standing right over there, under the grape arbor.”
She gestured in their direction, but Jonah MacLaren’s gaze didn’t leave hers. “Why don’t you sit down with me, Miss Harkey, and I can explain why I’m here.”
He was direct, she’d give him that. Was it possible that he had decided at first glance that she was the one for him? The idea gave her a pleasant little tingle. The man was attractive, though a little intimidating, and it was always nice to feel wanted. But she didn’t believe in lightning-fast attraction. He’d have to prove to her that he was worthy of her consideration, after all, if he was going to ask to court her.
“All right,” she murmured, and ushered him toward the food table.
To her relief, there was still a respectable amount of barbecued chicken, green beans, buttered rice and pecan pie left, as well as cold tea and lemonade, and within moments she was sitting down with him at a long table under one of Gilmore House’s venerable live oaks. They were alone at the table, since most of the guests had arrived earlier and already eaten their fill before becoming part of standing conversational groups.
She took a sip of the cold tea he’d poured for her. “I understand you bought Five Mile Hill Ranch, Mr. MacLaren,” she said, silently blessing Caroline for furnishing her with an opening. She wondered for a moment if he knew that his ranch had been owned by the infamous Drew Allbright, who’d been jailed for the attempted murder of Raleigh Masterson, Violet’s husband. It seemed wisest not to bring it up.
He finished chewing the chicken he’d just gnawed from the drumstick. “That’s right,” he said, but didn’t elaborate.
“Where are you from?” she inquired, hoping her question sounded as if she was merely interested rather than prying, so he might open up a little when he answered it. His replies weren’t long or drawled, the way she was used to from Texas-raised men, but maybe that was due to his Scottish heritage. “I mean, it’s obvious you’re Scottish, but did you come directly to Texas from Scotland?”
“My mother and I last lived in Missouri, but only for a time. Before that it was New York. That was where we first arrived when we came to this country.”
Missouri had been a border state in the War Between the States. It made her wonder which side he had fought for, if he had fought for either. The war had been over only four years ago, so it was still a consideration in whether a man was respectable or not. Doctor Nolan Walker, her friend Sarah’s husband, was the only Yankee who had successfully joined the Simpson Creek community. And even for Nolan, acceptance—particularly from Sarah herself—had taken time and persistence. But if Mr. MacLaren had been in the country for less than four years, then perhaps he had missed the war entirely.
“Then may I welcome you to San Saba County? We’re glad you’ve decided to settle here.”
He lifted a brow, and she suddenly felt her remark had been pretentious. She had no right to speak for everyone, especially when she didn’t know yet if his coming was a good thing or not—or how much a part of the community he’d be. Especially if, as Caroline said, he preferred to keep to himself. With the location of his ranch somewhat distant from town, he would need to be determined to socialize in order to truly become part of the community.
“Thank you,” he said, after a long moment.
His direct gaze left her flustered. “How did you hear of the party, if I may ask? Did Mr. Collier invite you?” Oh, dear, did it sound as if she was prying again? Glory, it was hard to talk to such a closemouthed man. She tried to recall every suggestion she’d ever learned about conversational gambits, but she was drawing a blank.
He finished chewing, then said, “My segundo, Hector Gonsalvo, heard of it from one of Collier’s hands.”
Segundo, she knew, was a Spanish term Texans sometimes used for foreman, or second-in-command, especially when the foreman was a Tejano, a Texan of Hispanic heritage. She wondered if the Spanish term sounded as strange to Mr. Gonsalvo in a Scottish accent as it did to her.
“He thought it might be the answer to my needs,” MacLaren went on, then maddeningly left it at that.
The answer to his needs? She could only assume the man referred to his need for a wife. Goodness, the man was too plainspoken! She felt a flush rising above the neck of her royal blue dress.
Stalling to gather her wits, she sipped her tea. Land sakes, she might as well be as frank as he was. “So you’ve decided it’s time to settle down and raise a family, and you’re looking to find a wife. Well, a Spinsters’ Club party is certainly the right place to begin, Mr. MacLaren.”
He drew back, and his intent gaze was now shuttered. “The last thing I’m looking for is a wife, Miss Harkey.”
* * *
He saw the exact moment when she misinterpreted what he’d said and came to a scandalous conclusion. Her indignation at the suggestion sparked a temper as hot as her hair was red.
Maude Harkey rose to her feet, some five feet eight inches of spitting-mad female. “Mr. MacLaren, I’m afraid you’ve formed the wrong idea about our little group. The Spinsters’ Club was founded by ladies seeking marriage, not a...a dishonorable alliance! If that’s what you came here looking for, I suggest you seek it down at the saloon—one of the girls who serves whiskey might be able to accommodate you,” she said, her voice as icy as her temper was blazing.
He rose, too. “Miss Harkey, simmer down. I wasn’t suggesting anything remotely like what you’re thinking. My intentions are entirely honorable. I’m simply not looking for a wife—romantic claptrap has never appealed to me, you see—”
“�Romantic claptrap?’” she echoed, a dangerous chill remaining in her voice. “Is that what you call our efforts to make matches here?”
He shrugged. “Courtship and that other nonsense is all very well if that’s all a man or a woman is looking for,” he said with a dismissive gesture. “But it seems to me most of these single young women would be much better advised to be seeking employment, not matrimony. And it’s employment that I have come to offer—with nothing scandalous or unseemly to it at all. What I’m looking for is a companion—for my mother, that is.”
She sank back to her seat, her face fiery red. The flush rather became her, he noted—though he’d thought she looked even more striking moments before, with that fierce fire burning in her eyes. “I...I see. I beg your pardon, Mr. MacLaren. Your mother is in need of a companion?” she asked, her voice now scarcely stronger than a whisper.
He sat down again, too, and felt a moment of compassion for her embarrassment. “Yes, she’s got rheumatism and a host of other ailments that keep her from moving around easily, and it’s made her a mite...crotchety, shall we say?” Not that her medical condition was solely to blame for her behavior. Ill humor was as much a part of his mother as her piercing eyes and the strident voice that never failed to find fault and clamor it to the skies. “The ranch keeps me busy from can-see to can’t-see, and I thought if she had another female to keep her company, it might make it easier for her.”
And a lot easier for me. He’d taken the brunt of his mother’s ill temper for far too long, and each time he hired a companion for her and the unlucky female quit after being subjected to Coira MacLaren’s tirades, her irritability toward her son grew worse.
“So you wish to hire a companion for her,” Maude Harkey said carefully.
“That’s about the size of it,” he agreed with a nod. “I’d pay the lady well, of course, and she’d have a room of her own.”
“I’m afraid it’s out of the question, Mr. MacLaren,” Miss Harkey told him, her tone warming from icy to crisp. “Pardon my plain speaking, if you would, but I don’t believe there’s a single one of my friends in the Spinsters’ Club who would be willing to risk her reputation living out on a ranch with no one but an invalid to chaperone her.”
“She wouldn’t be alone,” he informed her. “Senora Morales is my housekeeper and cook. She lives in the ranch house and is always present. Are you quite certain no one would consider it? What about you, Miss Harkey? You look like a capable female. Do you have any encumbrances that would prevent you from taking the job?” He found he rather relished the idea of his mother’s temper meeting its match in Maude Harkey’s. Perhaps each flame would douse the other. Sen ora Morales would stop threatening to quit on a daily basis, and he’d have a peaceful household for a change.
“No, thank you,” Maude Harkey said, getting to her feet again. “Feel free to speak to Jane Jeffries about it, but be aware she has two lively boys who would not do well, I think, in a house with an invalid. You might ask Louisa Wheeler, but she is devoted to her job as schoolmarm, or Daisy Henderson—but she’s got a son, too, and what the hotel would do without her as cook, I have no idea. There are other newer young ladies in the Spinsters’ Club with fewer ties to bind them to Simpson Creek, but I’ll leave it to you to discover who they are.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the clumps of ladies and male guests clustered around the punch table and chatting in pairs at various points around the spacious lawn in front of Gilmore House.
“Failing that, you might consider putting an advertisement in the Simpson Creek Intelligencer or in the Lampasas newspaper. I’m afraid I must go now and fulfill my duties as hostess by mingling with the other guests. I wish you all the best in your search, but I’m afraid I can be of no further help to you. Good day to you, Mr. MacLaren,” she said, and sailed off in the direction of the veranda.
Regretfully, he watched her go, noting absently how gracefully she moved, even while perfectly conveying her wrathful state. There had been a moment there when, after realizing how much she had misunderstood his meaning, he’d thought he had a chance of getting her to consider the matter, if only to make up for thinking he’d been up to no good.
He stared around him at the other females of her so-called Spinsters’ Club who seemed to be unattached, but none of them appealed to him. Every one of them looked too young, too giggly or too meek of manner to survive his mother’s temper. He wasn’t sure which one Jane Jeffries was, but the very last thing Coira MacLaren would stand for was the presence of two noisy, ill-mannered boys in her home, though enough room to accommodate everyone in the vast, mostly empty ranch house certainly wasn’t a problem.
No, he wanted Maude Harkey for the position, he realized, and suddenly no one else would do. He didn’t want to examine his reasons too closely. The woman didn’t have to suit him, just his mother, after all. He wasn’t seeking a bride, as he had told her. Romance held no interest for him—not anymore. Whatever companion he hired would see as little of him as possible. One MacLaren would be more than enough for her to have to deal with.
Of course, if he was truly seeking someone only to suit his mother, then one of the meeker, more pliable young ladies might please her just fine. She’d have someone new to chew on, which she might enjoy for a time—until she’d worn the poor girl out entirely.
But he would hire Maude Harkey or no one. At least, no one here.
After taking a last look around, he retraced his steps past the wrought-iron gates of Gilmore House, found his horse where he’d left him tied at the saloon and headed for Five Mile Hill Ranch.
Chapter Two (#u29284429-1016-50df-b5a0-49ce22083eb0)
“The nerve of the man!” Maude seethed to Caroline, finding her on the veranda. “To imagine that this was an event where he could hire a—anursemaid!” She stared back out over the green expanse of lawn, but she didn’t see him. Perhaps he stood speaking to one of the ladies out of sight, or perhaps he had taken his silly offer and left. Either way, she cared very little, except to hope that he had not spoiled the party for anyone other than her.
“As he put it, the last thing he was looking for was a wife—as if anyone would have him as her husband with an attitude like that! Can you imagine, he called the idea of finding someone to love and build a life with nothing more than �romantic claptrap’!”
“A companion,” Caroline corrected her. “Not a nursemaid. At least, that’s what you said he called the position. It’s honest work.”
“I don’t see the difference,” Maude snapped, then was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Caroline dear, but there was something so high-handed about him that irritated me right down to the bone. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“No offense taken,” Caroline said cheerfully. “But perhaps you ought to consider his offer, Maude. Wouldn’t living out on a ranch be better than the boardinghouse? From the sound of it, you’d have only one cranky old person to live with, rather than all those complaining boarders with all their tobacco spitting and biscuit hogging. And perhaps Mr. MacLaren would be so grateful for your help with his mother that he might lose some of that high-handedness and realize what a treasure he has in you. He might be quite a pleasant man underneath that initial curtness.”
Maude stared at her friend. Of all the things Caroline Collier might have said, she hadn’t expected her to hint that MacLaren might decide to take a shine to her, after all.
“I don’t think Jonas MacLaren seemed like anything but a confirmed bachelor and dedicated misogynist—how’s that for a word?” she asked the former schoolmarm with a chuckle.
“Very good, Maude. You must have been reading the dictionary again,” Caroline teased. “If you’re that fixed against the man and his offer, then so be it. I can see that you won’t change your mind. But perhaps he’ll convince one of our newer members to take the job and whisk her off to his lair at Five Mile Hill Ranch, never to be seen again,” she said with a droll imitation of an evil cackle.
“And you must have been reading fairy tales,” Maude shot back. “In any case, I am not desiring to exchange my room at the boardinghouse for what might well be a worse existence. If Mr. MacLaren’s rude and dismissive manner wasn’t reason enough, the isolation of living out there would be. It’s so far away from everything I’m used to. I’ve only ever lived in town, you know. And out on the ranch, I’d never get to see any of you, or come to church...”
“Pshaw, you make it sound like it’s the end of the earth,” Caroline said.
“It’s ten miles if it’s an inch from here,” Maude argued. “Maybe farther. There’s no use arguing, Caroline, my mind’s made up.”
Caroline sighed. “All right, then. Forget I suggested it. Perhaps we should tell the fiddlers to start tuning up so our single Spinsters can invite the men inside. Too bad Mr. MacLaren left—there’d be another man to partner the ladies.”
Why did Caroline have to mention him again? Now Maude would be tormented with the image of Jonas MacLaren, his arm around her waist, gazing down at her through those intense hazel eyes as he swept her around the floor in a waltz...
But no, she refused to clutter her mind with such nonsense! She had no interest whatsoever in dancing with the man. And even if she did, he likely had no interest in “romantic claptrap” like dancing, either. Indeed, the rest of the evening—and, as far as she was concerned, the foreseeable future—would be far more pleasant without Jonas MacLaren.
* * *
Maude was startled out of her sleep later that evening by the pounding on the front door of the boardinghouse. Gracious, it’s got to be the middle of the night, she thought, as the remnants of her dream faded like smoke in a breeze. Didn’t the sign on the porch plainly state that new boarders must arrive by no later than eight at night?
But Mrs. Meyer was no stickler for rules when she had a vacancy. The boardinghouse provided her livelihood.
Still drowsy, Maude huddled under the quilt and heard rain drumming on the tin roof overhead. Then she heard Mrs. Meyer’s footsteps below and her sleepy voice calling out, “All right, I’m coming, I’m coming! Stop pounding or you’ll wake everyone in the place!”
Mr. Renz, the drummer from Kansas, had left just this morning, so there was an empty room, Maude knew—the one right next to hers. In a few minutes there’d be footsteps on the stairs, and she’d hear Mrs. Meyer’s muffled voice informing the new arrival of the house rules before she turned over the key and let them all get back to sleep.
But, instead of that, the next sound she heard was Mrs. Meyer’s running feet, followed by a pounding on her own door.
“Maude, Maude, get up, I need your help! There’s a woman here, and I think she’s about to give birth!”
Hoping she was still dreaming and there would be no one there when she got downstairs, Maude threw her wrapper on and trudged to the door, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles.
It was no dream. Mrs. Meyer stood there, wearing a threadbare, patched wrapper, her iron-gray hair in a thick braid down her back. Trembling, she clutched a candle in a tin holder. Her shakiness left a dancing shadow on the wall.
“Where is she?” Maude asked, for Mrs. Meyer was alone in the hall.
“Downstairs at the entrance,” the boardinghouse proprietress said in a hushed voice, jerking her head toward the stairs behind her. “She’s drenched—and bleeding, too, I think. She didn’t look strong enough to make it up the stairs, even with me to help her.”
Down the hall, a couple of the other inhabitants’ doors creaked opened and curious faces peeked out to see what all the fuss was about.
Mrs. Meyer seized on the closest one. “Delbert, come with me. There’s a girl downstairs about to have a baby. I need you to assist Maude to get the poor girl upstairs to the vacant room, then I want you to run for Doc Walker. I’ll get the bed ready. Hurry, now—she’s about ready to drop—”
Whether “drop” meant to deliver the baby or Mrs. Meyer thought the woman might collapse, Maude didn’t linger to clarify. Darting a glance at Delbert Perry, who looked thunderstruck at the older lady’s words, Maude dashed for the stairs.
The girl huddled in the circle of lamplight cast by the kerosene lamp Mrs. Meyer had left burning by the door, clutching an abdomen that looked impossibly large in such a small frame. In the flickering light she was waxy pale, slight in stature and possessed of a matted wild mane of a nondescript color. An irregular splotch of blood stained the floorboards beneath her battered short boots. Mrs. Meyer’s statement seemed correct in both interpretations. The baby was clearly coming—and soon—and the pregnant girl herself looked as if she might swoon from exhaustion at any moment.
“What’s your name? Is it your time? Is the baby coming?” Maude demanded as she skipped the last two steps and landed with a thud next to the girl.
“April Mae Horvath, and yeah, it’s comin’. I bin havin’ pains since early mornin’,” the skinny girl told Maude, then drew back her lips to let loose a scream as another pain seized her. The small pool of blood on the floor widened. “Is Felix here? This was where he told me he stayed when he came to Simpson Creek—he has t’be here, t’ help me...”
“Are you talking about Felix Renz, the drummer?”
The girl nodded emphatically, her eyes lit with a weary hope.
“No, he left this morning.”
The girl clutched Maude’s arm so tight it would undoubtedly leave a bruise, her eyes desperate. “But he cain’t be gone!” she cried. “I come fifty miles here to find him!” Big tears rolled down her pallid cheeks and trickled into the rain-drenched neck of her dress.
“Is he your husband? He never said—” But she’d given her name as Horvath, hadn’t she? So Renz hadn’t married this slip of a girl who now claimed him as the father of her soon-to-be-born child. Inwardly, Maude consigned the drummer to the nether regions for leaving this girl to whatever fate dealt out. But she couldn’t afford to spare more than a thought to him, wherever he may be. Her attention right now had to stay focused on the girl. His problem was now their problem, and she meant to deal with it as best she could.
Maude stopped talking and grabbed the laboring girl just as she sagged toward the floor in a faint.
“Delbert, help!” she yelled up to the town handyman, who still stood transfixed at the top of the stairs.
The four years since her father had been cut down on Main Street by raiding Comanches fell away as if no time had passed at all. She’d assisted her father at a score of deliveries. Admittedly, the situation had never before been quite so...fraught. But, still, she knew what needed to be done. “Get her arms,” she told Delbert, “and I’ll get her legs. Ella—” for her friend was awake now, too, and hanging over the railing above, watching with wide eyes “—as soon as we get past, you run down to the kitchen and set some water to boiling while Delbert goes to fetch the doctor.” Even as she rattled out the instructions, she said a prayer that Nolan Walker would be able to stanch the bleeding. From the pallor of the girl’s skin, she’d already lost way too much blood.
Once they’d helped April Mae into the bed whose covers Mrs. Meyer had hastily pulled down, and Delbert had dashed out into the downpour in the direction of the doctor’s house, Maude and Mrs. Meyer assisted the girl out of her blood-drenched dress and into one of Maude’s clean nightgowns. Every three minutes or so they had to stop what they were doing while April Mae shrieked her way through a contraction.
“April Mae, don’t scream!” Maude ordered her. “Breathe with the pain, don’t hold your breath. You’re just making it harder for that baby to come. Watch me, next time it starts, and I’ll show you—”
“Ain’t F-Felix h-here?” April Mae panted, ignoring her, while Maude grimly shoved dry towels under her to replace the blood-soaked ones she’d just pulled out. “He said he always stays here, when he...comes to sell his wares in San Saba County... You got to find him, lady,” she said to Maude, watery blue eyes pleading.
“I’m Maude,” Maude told her, realizing she hadn’t introduced herself during all the ruckus. “We’ll find him,” she promised, though she had no idea where the drummer had been heading. And when they did find him, she was going to give him two black eyes before she’d let him see his baby, she vowed. “But first we’ve got to help you give birth to his son or daughter. How old are you, April Mae? Where are your parents?” And why did they give you two months as a name?
“Fifteen last week,” the girl told her with a wan attempt at a smile. “And they’re back in Vic—” Her words broke off as another contraction seized her in a merciless grip. Maude tried to help her breathe through it—to demonstrate the technique that would help with the pain—but April Mae was too frightened and pain stricken to pay her much mind.
After an endless minute, the contraction passed, and April Mae continued what she’d been about to say. “Don’t bother writin’ them—they disowned me after they figured out I was gonna be a mother and that Felix wasn’t likely to come back. I’ve been living on what I could beg or steal ever since I set out for Simpson Creek...”
Maude mentally consigned the parents to the same place she’d wished Felix Renz. How could parents abandon a daughter who needed help, no matter what she had done? And only just fifteen, at that. That meant she’d been nothing more than fourteen when that wretched drummer had taken advantage of her innocence. Still just a child, without the wisdom or understanding to avoid falling for the wiles of a charming man.
Just then Ella arrived with a pot of steaming water. “I boiled a knife in the water, Maude, in case you have to cut the cord. Good thing you told me about that time you helped your papa deliver those twins, or I wouldn’t have known you’d need one.”
“Good girl,” Maude praised her friend with an appreciative look. She hoped Ella wouldn’t be too frightened to get married after tonight, knowing childbearing would likely be part of her lot.
But where in the world could the doctor be? If he didn’t arrive soon, he might miss the main event entirely. She’d just seen a hint of fuzzy hair while checking the laboring girl’s progress during the last contraction, so delivery was imminent. She was going to have to handle the delivery herself, Maude figured.
Both women started as the door banged open below.
“I cain’t get the doctor!” Delbert bellowed up the stairs. “He’s away fer th’ night, his wife said, at someone’s deathbed out on a ranch. But she says she’s comin’ t’help just as soon as she can take her young’un to the preacher’s wife!”
This might well turn into a deathbed, as well—a double one of both mother and baby, Maude thought grimly, as blood continued to stain the sheet crimson beneath April Mae. She’d be glad of Sarah Walker’s help, if she came in time, but while Sarah had assisted her husband, just as Maude used to assist her father, there was a limit to what either of them could do. While they’d both helped deliver babies in the past, she doubted Sarah knew any better than Maude herself how to stop the bleeding that was draining away April Mae’s life.
“Did you hear me, Miss Maude?” Delbert called again. “I said Doc Walker ain’t comin’! You want me to ride t’San Saba for their sawbones?”
April Mae’s eyes had grown even more frightened at what Delbert had yelled up the stairs, and her cheeks grew paler, if that was possible. Her breathing came in panted, ragged gasps.
“Tell Delbert we heard him, so he can stop bellowing. There’s no time to fetch the Saba doctor,” Maude told Mrs. Meyer, who stood at the door as if guarding it from the other inhabitants—though she doubted any of the other boardinghouse residents would try to enter. This room was the last place any normal man would wish to be.
Maude gently took hold of the girl’s chin and directed it so that April Mae looked at no one but her. “Don’t you worry, April Mae,” she said steadily. “I’m the daughter of a doctor and I’ve assisted at dozens of deliveries so I know exactly what to do.” It wasn’t quite a lie, but it was certainly an exaggeration. “The doctor’s wife is coming to help, and she, too, has assisted at births. And she’s a mother herself,” she added, praying Sarah would hurry. Sarah wouldn’t be able to run, for she was just about to give birth again herself.
Lord, we could use Your help here, she prayed, and then April Mae’s hand tightened around her wrist.
“It’s coming!” she cried.
And it was. After another fierce, long contraction, April Mae’s baby girl slid into the world, screaming at the indignity of it all, with a thatch of black hair as thick as her drummer father’s.
By the time Sarah Walker arrived half an hour later, breathing hard and rubbing her distended abdomen, they had the squalling baby wiped off and wrapped up warmly, and she had taken her first suckle from her mother. April Mae had fallen asleep with a weary smile on her face after telling Maude the baby’s name was Hannah.
Mrs. Meyer had gone downstairs to make coffee, which Maude sorely needed. April Mae well deserved the rest she was taking, but Maude had resolved to stay awake until she was assured that all was well with mother and child.
“I see you’ve taken care of everything,” Sarah said to Maude. “See, you didn’t need me after all. How is she?”
Maude motioned for Sarah to leave the room with her. “We’ll be right back, Ella.”
Her friend looked up from where she sat holding the sleeping baby and nodded. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m worried about her, Sarah. She lost too much blood. Did you see how pale she was?”
Sarah nodded, her face solemn. “Did you check her abdomen?”
Maude knew she referred to whether or not the womb had firmed up again after the delivery. The difference could be felt through the skin. If it hadn’t, April Mae might continue to bleed. “It’s still softer than I’d like, but I kneaded it.” Both women knew rubbing the area firmly could make the womb tighten up and stop the bleeding.
“You’ll have to keep checking every so often. Why don’t we pray, and enlist the help of the Great Physician?” Sarah suggested, holding out her hands to Maude, and together they stood in the shadowy hallway, as Sarah began, “Lord, we come to You in great need of Your healing touch for April Mae Horvath...”
* * *
“So yer trip inta town was an utter failure, Jonas?” Coira MacLaren inquired from her rocking chair near the fire. Her brogue was as thick as a stack of Scottish oatcakes, as if she’d just disembarked the ship that had carried her and Jonas from Scotland this month rather than six years ago. Though her son sat behind her, not wanting to be so close to the heat, she didn’t turn to aim her disapproval. She knew quite well the power of her spiteful words. Whether she faced him or not, she could be certain they would hit the mark. They always did.
Still, Jonas was glad she couldn’t see his involuntary stiffening. “I didn’t find anyone looking for work whom I thought suitable to see to tend you, Mother, but I wouldn’t call the trip a total waste of time,” he said, keeping his tone calm. “I had a pleasant meal.” One free of your carping. He wasn’t about to tell her he’d attended the barbecue put on by the Simpson Creek Spinsters’ Club or she’d be on him again about marrying and producing a bairn or two before she died.
Before he’d gone into town, he’d been vague about the details of his intended trip, only implying that he’d be in a position to speak to several females about becoming his mother’s companion.
“Whatever you ate, ’twas nothing you couldn’t have gotten from Senora Morales without wasting precious coin,” his mother grumbled. “But I warn you, Jonas, the time will come, and soon, when that poor overworked woman will refuse to do all the cooking and cleaning and tending of your old mother, and then she’ll quit altogether. Then where will you be? It’s not as if you could do all of that extra work and still tend your ranch, could you? You didn’t speak to a single lass about hiring on here?”
An image of Maude Harkey’s riot of red curls and eyes the hue of spring bluebonnets swam into his head. “Aye, I did speak to one, but she didn’t want the job,” he said, and hoped his mother would leave it at that.
“Just one? You’d said you’d be able to speak to several,” Coira MacLaren snapped.
His mother’s health wasn’t robust, but there was nothing wrong with her memory, unfortunately. Her mind was sharp as a dirk and her tongue just as cutting. He’d learned to cope by pretending nothing she said affected him, or sometimes, when his temper was truly frayed, by responding in kind, but it didn’t make him feel better to do so.
“There were, but I thought the one I spoke to was the best candidate.” He couldn’t say why he thought so, other than the air of competence Maude Harkey wore like a shield—and the firmness of her resolve that made him believe she might be a match for even his mother’s cantankerousness. It certainly wasn’t that he was attracted to her for his own sake. No, he was done with all that.
“Did you think to be a miser and offer her less than the thirty dollars a month we agreed upon?” his mother asked, suspicion threaded through her voice like the tightest-woven wool tartan.
It was ironic that she accused him of miserliness—normally it was his mother who took Scottish frugality to the extreme.
“No.” He hadn’t even gotten to the subject of wages, as he recalled. As soon as Maude Harkey learned what he was asking, she’d refused to consider his proposition outright. Now he wished he had gone ahead and taken the time to meet some of the other young ladies at the barbecue. He shouldn’t have let the redheaded Miss Harkey blind him to the possible suitability of the others. As he’d said, it wasn’t as if he was seeking a wife.
“Well, you’d best be searching for some way to convince a woman to come out here,” his mother continued. “I’ve no time for your nonsense or your dillydallying.”
Jonas gritted his teeth and forced himself not to respond. After all, his mother wasn’t entirely wrong. He did need to find her a companion as soon as possible. He resolved that he would make another trip into town, as soon as he could find the time to get away from the ranch.
And this time, he wouldn’t leave until he’d found a woman who’d say yes.
Chapter Three (#ulink_6f7e5863-e6dc-58ac-a66f-e1d4138df19d)
After their middle-of-the-night ordeal, Maude slept right through Sunday breakfast. When she finally awoke, she felt a pleasant sense of accomplishment. Despite April Mae’s sudden and entirely unexpected appearance on their doorstep, they had helped her deliver a beautiful, healthy baby. Maude’s father would have been proud.
She couldn’t help grinning. There was a baby in the boardinghouse, a pink innocent creature all fresh and new, with that incomparable baby smell. Soon they’d have to do what they could to track down tiny Hannah’s errant father and insist he do right by April Mae and their child, but for now, Maude could enjoy the presence of an infant in her dreary life for her to care for.
Excited about the prospect of holding tiny Hannah, Maude dressed, washed her hands with water from the ewer, dried them on a towel and left her room. She’d go to church, then on to Ella’s café and help her friend there for awhile, but she couldn’t resist taking a few minutes to cuddle the baby first and see if the new mother was resting all right.
She found Mrs. Meyer had beaten her to it. The old woman was sitting in the rocking chair in April Mae’s room, humming, little Hannah in her arms. An old wooden cradle sat on the floor between the bed and the rocking chair. Mrs. Meyer must have brought it down from the attic, Maude thought. Had it been from that long-ago time when the proprietress had been a young mother? How nice that it was getting used again.
April Mae’s eyes were closed, but she opened them at the creaking of the opening door. Her gaze darted first to the infant, then, satisfied, to Maude.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Sore...but ain’t she purty?” April Mae said, smiling at her child, her eyes bright with pride.
Mrs. Meyer rose and handed Maude the baby. “I’d better go start workin’ on dinner—noon’ll be here before we know it,” she said, and left.
“She’s perfect,” Maude agreed, even as she took note of the purple shadows under April Mae’s eyes. Her face was slightly swollen from the exertion she’d gone through the night before, but Maude told herself not to jump to conclusions that anything was amiss. All women looked like that after delivering a baby, more or less. “Is she nursing all right?”
“She’s getting the hang of it,” April Mae said, still smiling, but her eyelids flickered drowsily.
“It’s all right to go back to sleep,” Maude assured her. “You need to rest up after the wonderful job you did last night, bringing Hannah into the world. I’ll just sit and hold her for a few minutes, then put her in the cradle when I have to leave. Will you be able to get her if she wakes?”
“Mmm-hmm...”
Within seconds, her soft snores told Maude the girl slept. Now she had time to think about how April Mae and the baby’s coming was likely to change life here at the boardinghouse—and how that was likely to affect her.
But the image of Jonas MacLaren and his job offer, delivered in that delicious accent, kept intruding on her mind.
* * *
Reining in his horse on the knoll overlooking the flock, Jonas MacLaren doffed his wide-brimmed hat and took a moment to rub both temples with his thumb and fingers.
“What’s wrong, patrón?” Hector asked, bringing his mount alongside Jonas’s. “You got dolor de cabeza? A headache?”
Jonas gave his segundo a sideways glance. “I’m all right.”
“With respect, senor, you do not look it,” his Tejano foreman said in his forthright manner. “I think you are hungry. Why not go back to the big house and have something to eat? You been out with me since dawn, and I’m thinking you did not break your fast before you left the house, s� The flocks will still be here when you return.”
Jonas stared down at the peacefully grazing cluster of merinos that dotted the slope below like so many little clouds of creamy white, though some of the “clouds” had long, curling horns. They were but a small portion of his flock, which numbered about two thousand. Scattered among these were Angora goats, similarly colored, that produced prized mohair.
“Maybe I’ll see what’s in the pot in the bunkhouse,” Jonas muttered. “It’s not real peaceful in the big house at the moment.”
Hector’s dark eyes took on a gleam of understanding. “Ah. Senora MacLaren, she is on the warpath again?”
Jonas couldn’t suppress a rueful smile at his mother being compared to a rampaging wild Indian. Between all the Spanish and “Texanisms” he was picking up since he’d bought the ranch and moved himself and his mother to the Hill Country of Texas, he’d added considerably to his vocabulary.
“Yes, she is. This morning she threw a dish of huevos rancheros at Senora Morales, saying respectable scrambled eggs didn’t need heathenish peppers in them.”
“Ay yi yi,” Hector said, but his attempt to look concerned was utterly defeated by the grin he couldn’t quite stop. The senora’s tantrums were legendary, and on the ranch they had become a source of great amusement...to those who didn’t have to experience them firsthand.
“You smile, but Senora Morales told me if I didn’t find a companion for the senora within the week, she would leave and go back to her sister’s in San Antonio.”
“Do not worry, patrón. She doesn’t mean it.”
Jonas raked a hand through his hair. “This time, I think she just might,” he insisted.
“If she left, I could ask my sister, the one who lives in Refugio to come and be your cook,” Hector offered. “It would take her a while to travel so far, though.”
Jonas shook his head. “You already told me how sweet-tempered she is. I’d hate to inflict my mother on someone like that. And it really is too much work, to handle the cooking and cleaning, and care for my mother on top of that. No, she needs a dedicated companion. And to fill that role, I’m starting to think what my mother needs is someone as strong willed as she is.”
Unbidden, the image of Maude Harkey came to mind once again. He resolutely banished it. Miss Harkey had already said no, and that was the end of it.
Hector shrugged. “It’s possible.”
“Meanwhile, I’m heading for the bunkhouse. Tamales eaten in peace are better than risking my ears in the ranch house right now.” Maybe he’d get an inspiration while he ate for where he could find the right lady.
He had missed his chance to speak to several ladies at once by not taking full advantage of the Spinsters’ Club barbecue. It was unlikely he’d find so many potential candidates in one place again. But he wouldn’t let that obstacle stop him. If he knew anything, it was that no man in the world was more tenacious than a Scotsman. He would find the right woman to see to his mother’s needs.
But in the meantime he’d enjoy a quiet meal, and he might just grab a siesta afterward on one of the empty bunks. He would find a companion soon, but not tonight. And in the absence of someone to abate her tantrums, he knew he’d need his rest before he had to face his mother again.
* * *
“You go ahead, Maude,” Ella Justiss said that evening, when the last customer had left the little café that Maude helped her run. “I’m just going to wash these few remaining dishes. Would you want Nate to walk you home? By the time he did that and came back, I’d be ready to go.” She nodded toward Nate Bohannan, her fiancé, who was sitting at one of the tables, having just finished a helping of Ella’s fried chicken. “I know you want to go check on little Hannah.”
“I’d be happy to walk with you, Miss Maude,” Nate confirmed.
“There’s no need, but thank you, Nate. I’ll be fine. You two have wedding plans to discuss.” She had no fear at the prospect of walking back to the boardinghouse by herself. Simpson Creek was a safe little town, even at night. Untying her apron, she hung it up on a peg by the door and removed her shawl from another peg.
“I’ll light a lantern for you, at least,” Nate said. “Then you can be on your way.”
Maude couldn’t deny that she was eager to see that tiny little bundle of perfection, with her rosebud mouth and the thick thatch of downy black hair, so she walked quickly across the bridge over the creek and down darkened Main Street, taking a shortcut via the alley between the mercantile and the hotel to reach the boardinghouse on Travis Street.
She would discuss finding the baby’s father with April Mae, too, Maude decided, after she’d made sure the new mother had eaten some supper. Now that the girl wasn’t in labor, she should be thinking more clearly and might remember where Felix Renz had planned to go next on his circuit. The man sold pots and pans and other kitchenware from a cart, so he wouldn’t be traveling all that fast. And it was high time the man was made to take responsibility for the girl he’d left in the family way—and the new baby that had come into the world as a result. Surely when he saw that precious infant, he’d want to do right by her and her mother.
Maude heard the familiar buzz of conversation as she entered the boardinghouse kitchen through the back door. But when she proceeded into the dining room, she saw Mrs. Meyer wasn’t presiding over the long rectangular table, and the boarders were taking full advantage of her absence to leave their manners by the wayside, grabbing huge portions and wiping their mouths on the tablecloth. The serving platters were already empty.
Delbert Perry looked up from the biscuit he’d been buttering. “Evenin’, Miss Maude. Mrs. Meyer said you was t’come upstairs soon’s you got in—somethin’ about the little mother havin’ a fever.”
Fear seized Maude’s heart with fingers of ice. April Mae was so weak after the birth. If a fever set in strongly, would she have the energy to fight it? Without saying another word, she turned and dashed into the hallway then fairly few up the stairs without pausing to acknowledge what Perry called after her— “Th’ doctor’s been sent for.”
Little Hannah slept in the cradle, a thumb firmly planted in her mouth.
Mrs. Meyer looked up from where she was bent over the bed, a cloth in her hand. “Oh, Maude, I’m so thankful you’re here. Sarah Walker thought her husband might be home any minute now, but—”
If the older woman finished her sentence, Maude wasn’t aware of it. Her eyes flew to April Mae’s flushed cheeks, her overbright eyes and the pearls of perspiration beading her pallid forehead. Her heart sank at how fragile and exhausted the girl looked already.
“She’s burnin’ up with fever,” Mrs. Meyer said unnecessarily. “And every so often, she starts shakin’ fit to rattle the bed frame apart.”
Maude didn’t have to reach out a confirming hand to the new mother’s forehead to believe it. “April Mae, when did you start feeling ill?” Maude asked, careful to keep her voice calm, even though her spirit quailed within her. Childbed fever—the dreaded sequel to so many births, the cause of so many deaths among new mothers. She thought back to the few preparations she had had time to do in the too-brief span of minutes from the girl’s arrival to the delivery, procedures her father had always insisted were essential—washing her hands, placing clean linens under the laboring girl, boiling the knife that had cut the cord in a pot of water...
Had she done enough? Had she left out some essential step that would have protected April Mae from the fever that racked her now? She couldn’t think of any precaution she’d omitted, but it had been a long time since she’d assisted at a delivery and her memories of those births were not as crystal clear as they had once been. The thought that she might be in some way responsible for the state that April Mae was in left her feeling sick herself.
“I started havin’ chills this mornin’ after you left for the café, Miss Maude,” April Mae said. “Then I got so hot...an’ my belly hurts...”
Maude kept her expression blank. “Then we’ll just work on getting that fever down. I’m sure Dr. Walker will have something to make your belly feel better, too, when he gets here.” She couldn’t remember her father ever having lost a patient to childbed fever, or Dr. Walker, either, though, so she didn’t know what that “something” would be. Laudanum? And what about Hannah—what did this all mean for her? Would it be safe for the baby to continue to nurse while her mother was battling this illness, especially if April Mae was given laudanum?
Telling the girl they’d be right back, she motioned for Mrs. Meyer to follow her out into the hall.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” the boardinghouse proprietress said.
Maude nodded. She felt like a fool for having gone to work at the café as usual. She should have known this was a birth prone to such an infection, what with April Mae’s youth and her long, hard journey to reach Simpson Creek. She should have remained at the boardinghouse and stayed vigilant.
“Mrs. Meyer, do you know of any woman around Simpson Creek who might be nursing a baby right now?”
The older woman’s eyes grew wide at the implication of her question. “You think she’s going to die.”
Maude shook her head. “I hope not, but I don’t know if it’s safe for the baby to nurse if Dr. Walker gives April Mae a sedative.”
Mrs. Meyer pursed her lips. “No, I can’t think of anyone...”
Just then they heard the door open below. A glance over the stair railing brought the welcome sight of Dr. Nolan Walker entering the house.
Within moments he had been introduced to April Mae, washed his hands and examined her, his expression becoming more and more grave as he went on. “You’re giving her willow bark tea to reduce the fever?” he asked Maude.
“I did,” Mrs. Meyer said, “an hour ago.”
“Good.” He turned back to April Mae. “I’m going to give you a mild dose of laudanum to help you sleep.”
Once he’d done that, he indicated that Maude was to follow him from the room. They descended the stairs and went into the parlor so that April Mae couldn’t overhear.
“She’s very seriously ill,” he said. “I think you know that.”
Maude nodded. She had known, but to hear Doctor Walker say so, and see his solemn expression, stole her breath. She had hoped that the doctor’s knowledge and expertise would offer some easy solution that was out of her grasp—some way to make April Mae’s situation less tenuous.
“As you probably know, there’s not a whole lot we can do but treat the fever and try to keep the patient taking in fluids—and pray,” he added. “All of which you’re doing already, I know.”
Walker’s faith in her warmed Maude, but she had no time to take comfort in it.
“What about the baby, Dr. Walker? Is it safe for her to nurse from her mother, especially with the laudanum April Mae has taken?”
Walker rubbed his chin. “It would probably be better if she didn’t, until—unless—this infection starts to get better.”
“Do you know anyone who could...feed the baby?” Maude said. Men and women ordinarily didn’t discuss such intimate things, but she’d grown up with a doctor as a father and she knew this was no time to be prim. The baby’s well-being was at stake, and that was more important than some silly notion of propriety.
Walker looked thoughtful. “I’ve just returned from the deathbed of a young man, a Tejano who lived just outside Simpson Creek—that’s why I wasn’t able to come when Miss Horvath’s baby was born. His unexpected demise sent his wife into labor just after her husband died, and unfortunately her child came too early and was stillborn.”
“How awful!” Maude said, feeling a rush of sympathy for the unknown girl as she tried to imagine surviving the loss of husband and baby in the same day. “Would she... Do you think she would agree to come and feed April Mae’s baby? Would she be able to—would she have milk?”
“There’s one way to find out,” he said. “The widow just happens to be Deputy Menendez’s sister. He and their mother are at his sister’s home with her right now. I could send Sheriff Bishop out to ask if she would be willing to come into town and provide for this baby. I’ll go do that, and let my wife know I’ll be attending Miss Horvath tonight, then I’ll be back.”
Silently, Maude sent up a quick but grateful prayer, thanking the Lord that Doctor Walker knew someone who might be willing to serve as a wet nurse, and also that the doctor would be helping her care for April Mae tonight. She felt the sensation of a great burden sliding off her shoulders.
Just then a thin infant wail drifted down from upstairs. Maude felt her heart go out to the baby, so new to the world and yet so alone in it, and silently promised herself that the tiny girl would not lack for care and comfort in the next few days, no matter what happened to Hannah’s mother. Maude herself would see to that.
* * *
Despite all their prayers and Doctor Walker’s skill, April Mae Horvath slipped into eternity two mornings later.
“God rest her soul,” murmured Juana Benavides as Doctor Walker closed April Mae’s eyes. Dressed in mourning, she was the young widow who had—to Maude’s enormous relief—come to nurse little Hannah two nights ago.
“I’ll let the undertaker and Reverend Chadwick know on my way home,” Doctor Walker said, straightening.
By tacit agreement, Mrs. Meyer saw Dr. Walker out while Maude, carrying the sleeping baby, and Juana went next door to a room vacated by Felix Renz. The other drummer boarding in the house had departed just that morning. He’d promised to keep an eye out for Felix Renz as he made his rounds. Unfortunately, they had no clear idea where to look for him, specifically. April Mae had never recovered sufficiently for Maude to be able to ask.
Maude settled herself onto the room’s only chair, while Juana sat on the bed.
“Poor motherless child,” Maude murmured, staring down into the sleeping, innocent face of baby Hannah. “You don’t even know you’ve lost your mama.”
“You care about this baby very much,” Juana said with the quiet kindness she had exhibited since arriving at the boardinghouse, as Maude bent to kiss the little girl’s downy dark head.
“Yes.” Even while she had helped Doctor Walker fight for April Mae Horvath’s life, she had begun to love this helpless little life with more devotion than she had ever thought possible. She had loved before in her lifetime—her family and her friends—but something about Hannah’s helpless state made her feelings for the child deeper than any love she’d felt before, and it filled her with determination to guard the child from any further harm. With God helping me, I won’t let any more tragedy touch your life, she promised the sleeping infant.
“Perhaps you could be little Hannah’s new madre,” Juana suggested.
Maude blinked at the other girl. “But...but she has a father,” she stammered. “Even if we don’t know where he is right now, it’s not up to me to decide what is best for the child.”
Juana made a dismissive gesture, as if Felix Renz were no more than a bit of dust she had dropped from the palm of her hand. “Bah! Even if that worthless hombre is found, what kind of a life can he give her, a wandering seller of pots and pans? He did not even care enough for the little pobrecita’s mother to stay with her after he had gotten her into trouble.”
Juana hadn’t even met Renz, as Maude had, yet her assessment of the man was accurate enough, Maude thought. Felix Renz wasn’t wicked or cruel—if he was, Mrs. Meyer would not have permitted him to stay in her boardinghouse. But he was shiftless and irresponsible. Not the sort of man who could be trusted to take proper care of a newborn, even if the child was his own.
She gazed down again at Hannah’s sleeping face as Juana’s words began to take hold in her heart. She had conceived a fierce, protective love of this child from the first moment she’d held her, a love that did much to fill an empty place within her she hadn’t even known existed. Hannah needed a guardian and protector...while Maude needed someone to love. Yes. She wanted to keep this baby and call her her own.
Then she felt a pang of guilt, remembering that Juana had been the one who had been nursing this baby, despite her grief over her own lost child and husband. “But what about you?” she asked Juana. “Don’t you want to—” The infant in her arms gave a little squeak, and Maude realized her arms had tightened around her too much, in instinctive fear that the little one might be taken away from her. She relaxed them immediately, and Hannah resumed slumbering.
“I love that little dear one,” Juana said, nodding toward Hannah in Maude’s arms. “She has given me a purpose and kept me from despair after losing my Tomás and my little Tulio.” It was the first time she had mentioned her dead baby’s name, or her husband’s, since she’d arrived, though Maude often heard her weeping at night through the their common wall. “But she is an Anglo baby, s� I love her, too, and I will stay with her as long as she needs me, but if I raised her as her mother, she might not be accepted in either the Anglo world or the Tejano one, do you see?”
Maude stared at her as the simple, stark truth sank in. However good relations were in Simpson Creek between the Tejanos and the Texans—or Anglos as the Tejanos called them—outside of it there was much anti-Mexican prejudice on the part of the whites, and resentment on the part of the Tejanos, who had settled this land first. A child caught between the two worlds would face the worst of both communities’ prejudices. Juana was right—it wouldn’t be fair to do that to Hannah—and it was all the more reason for Maude to keep her.
But if Maude kept Hannah and raised her—assuming Renz never returned to claim his daughter—she would need Juana’s help, and Juana couldn’t stay here at the boardinghouse indefinitely. Maude knew Mrs. Meyer well enough to know that as fond of Hannah as she was, the old woman was already fretting about the loss of rent from the room Juana was using. She’d had to turn away one customer already. And several of the men had lost no time in complaining about the noise of the baby’s crying.
Maude would have shared her own room with Juana gladly, but the room was tiny and the bed too narrow for two. Her funds wouldn’t stretch to the rent for two rooms. And that still wouldn’t resolve the problem of Hannah’s crying disturbing the other boarders. Even if Maude tried to arrange some deal with Mrs. Meyer to rent the two rooms, Maude doubted the woman would agree if having the baby on the premises drove away any of her other customers.
Juana’s mother lived in town, and the girl had mentioned that she wanted her daughter to come home now that she was widowed, but if Juana took Hannah there, the child wouldn’t know Maude by the time she was weaned. And Juana was young and attractive. Men might not wait long to come calling. And if Juana remarried, she might move away and Maude would lose track of Hannah forever.
She thought of the little cottage on the grounds of Gilmore House, the sumptuous mansion where the mayor and his wife lived. They would have let Maude and Juana use it for nothing, and it would have been perfect for the purpose. But Ella and her new husband would be occupying the cottage until Nate could build their house behind the cafГ©, which might not be for months unless the winter was very mild.
What to do? Please, Lord, show me the way...
Just then a knock sounded at the front entrance below. She tensed, thinking she might need to answer it, but then she heard Mrs. Meyer’s steady, measured steps heading for the door. It was too soon to expect the undertaker, in all likelihood. Would Mrs. Meyer have to turn away another customer? Was there any chance it was Felix Renz? Had someone found him already?
Maude rose and pushed open the door of Juana’s room about halfway, so they could hear who it was. She saw the swift look of understanding in Juana’s eyes.
“Yes, sir. What may I do for you?”
“My name is Jonas MacLaren, ma’am,” Maude heard the newcomer say. “I’m here to see Miss Harkey, if I may?”
Maude’s felt her heartbeat lurch into a gallop. Could the Lord be answering her prayer already, just a moment after she had prayed it?
“You have a gentleman caller?” Juana asked, a small smile playing about her lips. “An amante—a sweetheart?”
“No, nothing like that,” Maude said. “Juana, do you want to go home and live with your mother?”
Juana Benavides’s reaction was quick and unmistakeable. “No, I do not. I love mi madre, of course, but her house is diminuto, tiny. And full. My abuela, my grandmother, lives there, and my brother Luis, and my younger sisters...I have been a wife, Maude. I do not want to go back and live like an unmarried daughter.” Her eyes were wistful and sad.
“How would you feel about living on a ranch, at least for a while, until Hannah is weaned?”
Juana’s lovely forehead furrowed with confusion. “You have a ranch? Then why do you live here?”
“No, I don’t own a ranch. But I have an idea. I’ll explain everything after I talk to the gentleman downstairs—if he’s agreeable.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_0a3ff005-bc0a-52ad-88d0-f796eca2da2f)
Jonas watched her descend the stairs, regal as a queen, despite the fact that the dress she wore was everyday calico and the stair treads she set foot on were threadbare.
He stepped forward to greet her and she stopped on the last step, so they were at eye level. “Good morning, Mr. MacLaren. How nice of you to come calling.” Her blue eyes assessed him, as if daring him to admit right now that the reason for his visit wasn’t in the nature of a simple social call.
He’d take that dare, he decided. He didn’t have time to dance delicately around the matter.
“Good morning, Miss Harkey...” He hesitated, as one of the male boarders loomed suddenly over the railing, staring down at him curiously. Jonas’s gaze darted around the hallway. “Is there somewhere we could talk privately?”
Maude’s smile was serene. “I believe the parlor is free at the moment,” she said, leading the way and gesturing for him to follow her.
He chose a straight-backed, cane-bottomed chair, leaving her the more comfortable horsehair-stuffed sofa next to it.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. She just sat there waiting expectantly, while he searched for the right words, the right expression, that would ensure she gave him the answer that he wanted. He could brook no more delays in finding a companion for his mother, and he knew down to his bones that Maude Harkey was the right woman for the job. But could he make her see that?
He cleared his throat, which had become thick with apprehension. “Miss Harkey, when we met Saturday, you will recall that I asked you to consider a position as companion to my mother. At the time, you declined to consider it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod.
Why was he speaking so formally? She knew as well as he did what had transpired in their conversation that day. Why did he feel he had to restate the case, as if he were some starchy-collared lawyer?
He cleared his throat again. Should he just come right out and ask her once more if she would be willing to take the job she had seemed so opposed to before, as if he just assumed that she would have reconsidered and decided to take him up on it? As if by coming here today, he was merely sparing her the trip out to Five Mile Hill Ranch to ask him if the job was still open?
No. It might be too easy for her to take offense if he took that approach. Better to be honest, to lay all his cards out on the table, so she would feel as if she was the one doing him the favor. Which she would be, of course. He’d make that clear, too. She deserved to know what she was in for if she accepted the position.
He turned to face her. “Miss Harkey, I beg you to reconsider. We need you—my mother needs you—very much. If I don’t return with at least a promise that you will come and help us, our housekeeper will quit. I have a ranch to run, ma’am, and all I’m getting done is pacifying Senora Morales so that she will stay one more hour, one more day.”
Miserably, he let his gaze drop to his hands once again. Maude Harkey was going to refuse once more, he was certain of it. He would have to retreat to his fallback position, which was pleading with her to introduce him to one of her friends who might be willing to take on the job she would not accept.
“Actually, Mr. MacLaren,” Maude said, “my...um, circumstances have changed since the barbecue in such a way that I would be willing to take the position you have offered.”
It was a moment before his mind caught up with the fact that she was accepting, not rejecting his offer. He was so surprised that a heartfelt thank You, God almost escaped his lips. Almost. It was bad enough he’d used the word beg. His pride was a bruised and battered thing now, after everything that had happened to him, but he clung to it all the same, as any Scotsman would. Stooping to begging grated on him, as necessary as it had been. It would have been disastrous if he’d actually thanked the Lord aloud, as if he’d been drowning and she’d been the one to throw him a rope. He had to remember that he would be her employer, and as such would need to get and keep the upper hand from the first.
“Thank you.” He was pleased to note that he sounded completely normal. “How soon would you—”
She held up a hand. “But I have conditions upon which my acceptance must be based, before we can be in total agreement, Mr. MacLaren.”
Now who sounded like a starchy-collared lawyer? “Conditions?” he echoed, suddenly wary.
“Yes, conditions. After the barbecue, a young girl presented herself here at the boardinghouse in the middle of the night, soaked to the skin, and—forgive me for being plainspoken, Mr. MacLaren—in an advanced stage of labor. She sought the father of the baby, a traveling merchant who often stays here on his rounds, but her timing was unfortunate. He had left Simpson Creek just that morning and has not returned since. That night, she gave birth to a baby girl, and all seemed to be well.”
He stared at her, trying to make sense of her story. Why was she telling him this?
“What does this have to do with me, Miss Harkey, and the job I have offered you?” he asked.
She turned very blue eyes on him. “Unfortunately the baby’s mother died of childbed fever, Mr. MacLaren, just a little while ago—leaving baby Hannah, for all intents and purposes, an orphan. I am resolved to keep her and raise her as my own, assuming the father doesn’t turn up and want to take responsibility, which I highly doubt will happen. My acceptance of the position you offer is contingent on being allowed to keep baby Hannah with me at your ranch—and to bring Juana Benavides, a young widow, with me to nurse the child. Senora Benavides’s baby was stillborn the same day she lost her husband, the same night that Hannah was born—you see, so she is able to feed the child.”
Now that he was beginning to grasp the enormity of what Maude Harkey was asking him, he marveled at her audacity. And it didn’t help just then that said infant chose this moment to start squalling from upstairs, loud enough to wake the dead.
“You’re expecting me to let you bring a wailing baby to the ranch house—and a Mexican woman to feed her?”
Those blue eyes narrowed. “Senora Benavides is as Texan as you are—actually more so, since as you told me you come from Scotland and her forebears lived here long before Anglo colonists came. Juana is a Tejana, Mr. MacLaren, not a Mexican.”
Her attempt to shame him—or at least that was what he thought had motivated her last words—sparked irritation in him. “You can call her anything you want, Miss Harkey—”
She went on as if he had not spoken. “And it’s not as if Juana would do nothing more than nurse the baby, Mr. MacLaren. She is quite willing to help your housekeeper with her duties, whenever she is not caring for little Hannah.”
“Miss Harkey, I did not come here prepared to hire two servants,” he informed her, determined to regain control of the situation. “Or to invite the presence of a screaming infant in my house. I’m looking for more peace and quiet, not less.”
Above them, the baby’s wailing suddenly ceased.
Maude Harkey smiled. “There, you see? She was probably just hungry. Babies’ wants are simple, Mr. MacLaren, and once satisfied, they stop crying. I will pay Senora Benavides out of my wages for the first week, until you see what a good worker she is.”
“It’s out of the question, Miss Harkey.” He could only imagine the explosion of temper from his mother if he returned with not only the promised companion for her, but a noisy infant and her wet nurse.
Maude stood, her posture as stiff as any general about to order a charge. Her blue eyes blazed icy fire at him. “Then my coming to be your mother’s companion is out of the question, as well, Mr. MacLaren,” she said. “Good day to you.”
He recognized defeat when he saw it. Worse than his mother’s wrath at the compromise he was being forced to make would be the consequences of returning to Five Mile Hill Ranch empty-handed. Not only would it enrage his mother, it would also signal the exodus of Senora Morales. He certainly couldn’t stay inside and take over that woman’s duties. Perhaps if he portrayed the deal as getting two servants for the price of one? The housekeeper, he knew, could use the help. She was no longer a young woman, and keeping the house clean and getting meals on the table three times a day was no small task.
“Fine,” he snapped. “You may bring the infant and her w—that is, her foster mother,” he said, feeling himself redden at almost saying the phrase “wet nurse” to a lady.
Apparently she didn’t like “foster mother” either, judging by the way she lifted her chin.
“I will be little Hannah’s mother,” she said. “The only mother she will ever know.”
Jonas thought he glimpsed a longing deep within those blue eyes, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to think too much about Maude’s softer qualities. Forcing an all-business tone to his voice, he said, “Very well, Miss Harkey. But being a mother to this baby must not interfere with your duties as my mother’s companion.”
She nodded, gracious in victory. “It won’t.”
“How soon can you be ready to leave?” he asked, hoping she would be that uncommon female who could pack quickly. If she was able to ready herself within the next hour, then with any luck, they might even reach Five Mile Hill Ranch before full dark, and he wouldn’t have to make another trip.
“We will have to remain here in town for Hannah’s mother’s burial,” she told him. “I haven’t spoken to the undertaker yet, but the earliest that could possibly take place would be tomorrow morning. So we could possibly return with you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Possibly? Miss Harkey, I think I’ve more than met you halfway by agreeing to accept the baby and her—Mrs. Benavides,” he snapped. “My mother’s need for a companion is urgent and cannot brook any delay. I fail to see why it’s necessary for you to remain for the burial of a girl you barely knew rather than coming to the ranch to begin work immediately.”
“Because April Mae Horvath—that’s the name of the girl who died—has no one, Mr. MacLaren,” she said. “That’s why. Her parents disowned her when they learned she was in the family way, and her sweetheart abandoned her. Those of us who spent the past few days caring for her...we were strangers, but we were all she had. And someday, I must be able to look my daughter in the eye and tell her that her birth mother wasn’t put in the ground with no one present but the preacher and the grave digger.”
There was a steely resolve in her tone that brooked no argument. He rose. “Very well, Miss Harkey. I’ll send a wagon and one of my men to collect you, the others and your effects tomorrow afternoon. You and Mrs. Benavides should be ready to go. Good day to you.” He nodded to her, then found his way to the door, feeling her gaze on him until it closed behind him.
Maude Harkey was a troublesome, headstrong female and no mistake. He felt as if battle had just been joined and he had not come out the victor. At best, they had fought to a draw and then postponed further hostilities for another day. He had to admire her ethics, though. Not many women would consider it their moral duty to attend the burial of a girl they’d only known for a few days, especially one who’d been foolish enough to believe a man’s empty promises and end up with child.
He considered taking a room in the hotel and waiting for her in town, but knew instinctively that spending some twenty-four hours cooling his heels in a rented room would make him restless as a caged wolf. The thought of paying good money for a lumpy, strange bed didn’t appeal to him, either, and he wasn’t the sort to while away the hours drinking whiskey and gambling in a saloon.
Going back to the ranch and sending Hector with the buckboard the following day would be better. Jonas would have time to prepare his mother for the arrival of not only her new companion, but two unexpected additional people. Maybe this way Coira MacLaren would have a chance to vent the worst of her spleen before her new companion’s arrival.
There was the added benefit that Jonas wouldn’t have to force himself to make conversation with Maude Harkey on the long drive to Five Mile Hill Ranch. There was something about the woman that got under his skin—and that was a dangerous symptom. He had no intention of letting a woman muddle his head ever again.
Excepting, of course, his irritable, irrepressible, unignorable mother, whose endless litany of complaints echoed through his mind night and day.
Did Maude Harkey wonder why he put up with his mother’s difficult behavior, or did she just assume he paid as much attention to the Fifth Commandment—to honor one’s parents—as much as the others? She’d wonder more after she met the woman, that was sure.
As his mother’s only child, it fell to him to care for Coira MacLaren. He was indebted to her for his existence—in more ways than one. His debt to his mother was too great to leave her to fend for herself. He was a man grown and then some, but he’d never forget he owed the woman his very survival. He’d keep her secret—their secret—forever.
He would not shirk his duty to ensure her well-being in return, even if the weight of the load sometimes felt like more than he could bear. He had no choice but to carry it alone. He had no siblings living to help him, and there was not—would never be—a wife to share his life, to halve his burdens and double his joys.
What had happened in the past had kept him from marriage, both before the war and since. He wouldn’t subject a wife to the kind of man he was likely to become as his father’s son.
* * *
Juana found Maude beating the kitchen rug, which she’d hung on the line, as if she meant to smash it into clumps of thread. Particles of dust flew from the abused rug at the ferocity of her blows.
“Maude, what are you doing? I expected you to come back upstairs and tell me what the man said. Instead I find you trying to murder a rug, no?”
Maude turned to the young widow, realizing she was out of breath and that her right shoulder ached with the exertion. Perhaps she had been beating the rug just a hair too vigorously. “N-no,” she panted, but couldn’t smother a chuckle at the thought of murdering a rug.
“Oh, Juana, h-he just makes me so angry! Not only did he expect us to drop everything and leave with him this very day, but after I explained that out of decency I needed to attend April Mae’s burial first, he said he’d send a wagon to come and collect us tomorrow afternoon—as if we were sacks of flour! Honestly, if I didn’t need to provide a home for little Hannah, I’d tell him he could take his wagon and drive right off a cliff!”
She wasn’t about to tell Juana how MacLaren had bridled at the idea of taking her and baby Hannah, too. Juana might well refuse to go if she felt that she would not be welcomed at the ranch—and who could blame her? Then the whole plan would fall apart. A home for Hannah would do no good if there was no way to see to the child’s needs at the ranch.
Juana studied her, worry furrowing her brow. “Mi amiga, you have the temper of a true pelirroja, a redhead. And you are overheated,” she said, reaching out to brush a red curl that had escaped from Maude’s coiffure away from her damp forehead. “Come sit down on the porch for a moment and I will fetch us some lemonade. Then you can tell me all about the man and what he said. I would like to know more about where we will be going tomorrow. Remember, you only told me we might be going to live on a ranch.”
Maude felt her fury slipping away like an ebbing tide in the face of Juana’s calm. She did owe her new friend an explanation. With a guilty start, she realized she had not even asked Juana if she would mind the additional duties, on top of Hannah’s care, before offering her assistance to the housekeeper. “Is Hannah asleep?”
Juana nodded. “Mrs. Meyer said she would listen for her. I will fetch the lemonade and then you will tell me all, yes?”
“Yes,” Maude agreed. “And thank you, lemonade sounds lovely.”
And it was lovely, indeed, when Juana returned with the two glasses moments later. After a few refreshing sips to restore her calm, Maude began her tale.
“He sounds proud as a Spanish grandee,” Juana said sometime later, when Maude had told her the full story, from their meeting at the Spinsters’ Club barbecue to MacLaren’s final words about sending a man with a wagon to “collect” them.
“And yet he tolerates his mother behaving like a tyrant, apparently.”
Juana shrugged. “She is his mother. He respects her.” It seemed to be explanation enough for her.
“I wonder if that’s the only reason? And why is he so high-handed about everything?”
Juana muttered something in Spanish. “That is our equivalent of your Anglo saying, �The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ If his mother likes to give orders, then perhaps that is why he does, as well. What he needs is a wife to keep him in line. I wonder why such a handsome man is not married? I peeked from the window upstairs when he was leaving,” she admitted with a chuckle. “He is so tall...and his bearing—like a king!”
“Who’d marry such an arrogant man?” Maude retorted, though she had to admit to herself that Juana was right about MacLaren’s appearance. It was a pity his personality wasn’t as pleasing as his looks. “Even if some woman has considered it, his mother probably scared her off.”
Juana laughed, and Maude let herself laugh with her. She felt her earlier tension dissolving.
“Maude, don’t worry. It will be all right. You will learn to deal with his mother, and little Hannah will have a place to grow up with you. And who knows? We may even come to like it there.”
Maude blinked at the other woman’s unquestioning acceptance. “You don’t mind that I told him you would help the housekeeper? I’m sorry that I didn’t even ask you first.” She had taken so much for granted.
Juana shrugged. “I was busy from dawn to dusk running our household when Tomás was alive. I don’t think I would enjoy being idle. I will be happy to help Senora Morales, when the little niña doesn’t need me. And now, if you don’t mind, I had better go tell my mother what I will be doing and take my leave of the family. I will take little Hannah with me. Mama will be so busy admiring her that she won’t think to object to my going so far away, I hope,” Juana added with a wink.
“And I had better tell Mrs. Meyer what we’ll be doing, then check with Reverend Chadwick to make sure he can do the funeral service in the morning,” Maude said.
Perhaps the preacher would have some wise counsel on how to deal with people such as the MacLarens, mother and son. What had she been thinking, to take on such a challenge? Was she at all suited to be a companion, much less to a woman of strong temper who would need soothing? She wasn’t the sweet and agreeable type full of soft answers that turned away wrath. She could be as fiery as her red hair and as full of opinions as a cactus was of stickers. But she had to make a success of this, or she would have no place to live with little Hannah.
Lord, help me! I’m taking on the impossible!
She shook away the thought. She had to remember that with the Lord, all things were possible.
Even putting up with Jonas MacLaren.
* * *
Mrs. Meyer was predictably dismayed when she learned of Maude’s plans. “Maude, I was planning on you inheritin’ the boardinghouse when I die, since my children don’t want to move back here and take it on. I thought of us as partners here. Was that nothing to you? Now you’re going to go somewhere else, leaving me behind?”
She saw hurt and insecurity lining the woman’s red-rimmed eyes, and felt a moment of regret at causing her pain. Truly, the woman had been kind and generous to her from the start. And the boardinghouse was a good, honest business. It just wasn’t the right business for Maude—not right now, with the responsibility for Hannah’s care resting on her shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Meyer. I hope you still think the place would be in good hands if I managed it someday—and we all hope that’s a very long time from now,” she assured the boardinghouse proprietress. “No one’s saying I will be living at Five Mile Hill Ranch for the rest of my life. I’m going to go try it. If I don’t like it, I’ll be back.”
�“Like it’?” Mrs. Meyer responded with a laugh that edged on hysteria. “What is there to like? What sane woman would like living clear out there with that tyrant and his harridan of a mother? What could have induced you to make such an insane deal, girl?”
Just then Hannah set up a thin wail above them. After Maude went and got her, she returned to finish the conversation, picking it up just where they had left off. “This—little Hannah—induced me to take Mr. MacLaren’s offer,” she said, cuddling the sweet-smelling baby closer. “I want to give her a home, Mrs. Meyer, a home with me as her mother. It wouldn’t be fair to you or the boarders to make that home here, not when she’s up crying several times a night. And you wouldn’t have let Juana stay indefinitely to nurse her, would you? She can’t afford to pay rent.”
Mrs. Meyer was too honest a woman to dodge the truth. “No, I haven’t survived this long running a boardinghouse with butter for a heart, Maude. Nothing can be free forever, not if I’m to make a living. And you’re right that the lodgers haven’t been best pleased about the baby’s cries during the night since she’s been born. I should have realized you’d seek that baby’s good over your own. But have you thought about what you’re doing to your good name, taking on the raising of that child?”
Something in the older woman’s tone made Maude bristle. “What do you mean, Mrs. Meyer?”
The other woman shrugged. “Well, what will men think of you? Will they be interested in courting a girl that has a child with no apparent father? You should have a care to your reputation, Maude.”
A sharp bark of bitter laughter erupted before Maude could stifle it. “You mean, the hordes of men who hang around outside every night, just hoping for a kind word from Maude Harkey, will be discouraged and stop serenading me? Pardon me, but unless I’m mistaken, they stopped coming years ago, which is why I’m the president of a dwindling Spinsters’ Club and still unmarried, years after most of my friends have achieved their happily-ever-afters.
“I believe thinking of how my non-existent suitors will react is what’s known as a �forlorn hope,’ so yes, I’m not exactly worried about my reputation. I’m twenty-five years old, Mrs. Meyer, and I want to be a mother to this innocent baby here, who at this moment has no one in the world to care for her but Juana and myself. And anyone who wants to question her parentage can deal with me on that issue.” She heard her defensive tone, but knew a foolish questioner would have a very poor time of it indeed.
“I—I am sorry, dear,” Mrs. Meyer said. “You know, I only want what’s best for you. If that big oaf of a Scotchman doesn’t treat you right, you just come right back here. I’ll hold your room open till we’re sure it’s going to work out for you to stay on the ranch.”
It was no light promise. Mrs. Meyer usually had a waiting list of folks wanting to board with her. “Thank you,” she murmured. It made Maude feel a little less fearful about being “collected” the next day to know that she had a place to come back to, if she needed it. But it didn’t make it any easier to think of leaving the place that had been her home for so long now.
It was even harder to take her leave of Ella, who had been her best friend through all that time. “But if you’re leaving tomorrow, you’ll miss the wedding this weekend!” she wailed. “You were going to stand up with me! Can’t you ask him to wait till Sunday to come for you?”
Hating that she had to say no, she shook her head. “I’m so sorry, really I am, Ella, but I need this new job in order to keep little Hannah,” she said, nodding toward the infant whom she’d brought with her. “He wasn’t pleased that I asked even for another day in town, to see to April Mae’s funeral. I was afraid he’d change his mind about hiring me altogether if I asked him to wait any longer. From what I understood, they desperately need the help out at Five Mile Hill Ranch as soon as they can get it.”
Ella nodded with a sad but accepting smile. “I understand, Maude. I just wish you weren’t going so far away...” She took the contented baby onto her lap and smiled down at Hannah’s happy face. “But looking down at this little one, I really do think the change you’re going to be making will be worth it. This precious child deserves a mother as wonderful as you, and the ranch is certainly the best place for the two of you. I just wish Jonas MacLaren’s mother wasn’t notorious for being a shrew!”
Maude chuckled. “It’ll be a challenge, I imagine, but that’s why the job is available. If she were sweet-tempered, they’d have already hired someone.”
“It’ll be good for your character,” her friend said, tucking a red curl that had fallen out of Maude’s chignon back behind her friend’s ear. It had always been a joke between them that Maude had a true redhead’s temperament, just as Juana had said.
“It will,” Maude agreed. “You’ll see—I’ll learn to hold my tongue and keep my temper. I’ll give Mrs. MacLaren no reason to complain of me, no matter how shrewishly she behaves.”
“Hmm,” Ella said, noncommittally. Maude bristled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing of consequence,” Ella said, mischief twinkling in her eyes. She focused her attention down on little Hannah. “You’ll like it at the ranch, won’t you, sweetheart? Yes, you will! You’ll have lots of fun! Because watching your mama learn to hold her tongue and keep her temper should be quite a show, indeed.”
Chapter Five (#ulink_b701b336-ee8a-5a9c-936f-6ed6bf52590d)
By one o’clock, MacLaren’s man had still not made his appearance. “Shall we eat dinner? Once we depart, we will not have the chance to eat again for many hours. Yet what if he appears right in the middle of the meal and expects us to take off that minute?” Juana fretted.
“Never pass up food when it’s available. It’s a long ride out to Five Mile Hill Ranch, and if he arrives while we’re eating we’ll just invite him to sit down with us. Men never pass up a chance to eat.”
Mrs. Meyer gestured them toward a table filled with steaming bowls of chili and bread still hot from the oven.
“I’m going to miss your chili, Mrs. Meyer,” Maude told her.
“I’ve taught you how to make it, girl. Anytime you have a hankering for it, just stir up some. Remember to use good stewed beef and lots of chili pepper, and don’t be shy with the jalapeños. If it doesn’t bite you when you lay a spoonful on your tongue—”
“It’s not Mrs. Meyer’s chili,” the two finished in perfect unison, then giggled.
Juana had still not taken her seat. “There he is, just as we figured,” she said, staring out the window to where a cloud of dust heralded a wagon coming toward them.
A middle-aged man with thinning black hair and a dusty bandana slung low around his neck jumped down from the wagon with a lumbering grace, knocked hesitantly on the front door of the boardinghouse, then straightened and blinked in surprise as Juana went forward and opened the door to him.
“Buenas tardes,” she said in lilting, melodious Spanish, and Maude was glad of all the Spanish words her father had made her learn so long ago. “I am Juana Benavides. You have come to take Miss Harkey, the baby and me out to Five Mile Hill Ranch, no? We were just having dinner. Won’t you sit down and have some chili with us before we go?”
“Mucho gusto, senorita,” the man murmured, and Maude could see that he was much taken with the sight of the pretty Juana. “I would be happy to join you for your meal, of course. I am Hector Gonsalvo, Senor MacLaren’s segundo—his right-hand man,” he added in English, for Maude and Mrs. Meyer’s sake. “I did not know I would have the honor of two ladies’ company today.”
The man might as well have thumped his chest like a gorilla, he was so obviously impressed with his own importance.
Maude sniffed. MacLaren better not think he could renege on the terms of the agreement, at this late stage. But perhaps he had just forgotten to tell Gonsalvo that he was hiring Juana, too. From the way the man was staring at Juana, it was clear that she was someone he would not quickly forget.
He’d better not think he was going to start up a flirtation with her friend right under her very nose the first afternoon they met, Maude thought, intercepting an approving look from Gonsalvo with a glare. She wasn’t taking Juana Benavides away from all that was familiar to her to endanger her honor.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/laurie-kingery/hill-country-courtship/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Если текст книги отсутствует, перейдите по ссылке
Возможные причины отсутствия книги:
1. Книга снята с продаж по просьбе правообладателя
2. Книга ещё не поступила в продажу и пока недоступна для чтения