They continued on in silence for another mile or two. She was getting a crick in her neck from looking so determinedly away from him. “Oh, I can’t take it anymore,” she cried, turning in her seat to face him fully, one leg bent under her. “Please, can we talk about it?”
He glanced at her, his face stoney, before turning back to the wagon ruts ahead, leading toward the small cluster of buildings ahead. “What is there to speak of?”
She watched his profile for a while, his strong chin and aquiline nose. He was a very attractive man, she thought. Part of it was the way he was put together, but most of it was his bearing. He carried himself with such dignity and strength.
She was growing very fond of him, and hated that she’d made him feel bad. She should have stayed after he’d made his remarkable pronouncement, talked with him, and explained that she had no reason to marry except for love. She didn’t need a man to support her; she could do that on her own just fine. Instead she had rushed out of the room like a child, nursing hurt feelings. Again she considered how their trip would be very different had he only told her he cared for her.
There was no doubt in her mind that she had grown fond of him. The thought of leaving his ranch and moving back to town to work at the laundry filled her soul with a bleakness she couldn’t bear. It would be easy to give in and say yes, but she just couldn’t. He had only offered out of a sense of duty, but surely even he could see that she had no reputation to save and his gesture was pointless.
Someday, she would like to marry. Her husband would be tall, like Jack, and kind and strong, as well. They would love one another passionately and he would be understanding of her past.
To be a wife for any reason other than affection was akin to being a soiled dove, as far as she could tell. The biggest difference was that in a marriage the payment was higher and there was a little more job security.
The wagon had reached the lane to the Coffmans’ house on the edge of the settlement and Jack turned the wagon in that direction. He glanced at Esther. “What are you looking at?”
She’d been a thousand miles away, lost in a daydream where he’d knelt before her and kissed her hand before asking her, no, begging her, to marry him. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
He was looking at her peculiarly but was saved from answering when Mack’s wife, Aimee, came out of a glassed in room at one end of the house. She called from the steps, “Mack’s in town at the church doing a job for my brother.”
Jack waved and turned the wagon in a loop, heading back down the lane.
The church was only one door down from Bridget’s laundry. Esther didn’t bother to wait for him to come around and help her down, earning a scowl from him. He grabbed the bags of laundry before she could and carried them easily to the door of the building. “I’ll meet you at the store in an hour,” he said shortly.
Looking at his stiff back and rigid manner, she blurted out, “Jack, please don’t be so offended by my decision.”
“Oh, did you make a decision? As far I could tell you simply ignored me.” He stalked off toward the church and never looked back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Loud hammering came from the parsonage and Jachym figured that was where Mack would be found. He went to the door and knocked but his knuckles were no match for the banging within. He turned the handle and stuck his head inside and immediately was spotted by Pastor Whitney. He was standing next to Mack near a staircase where it appeared they were repairing the banister.
“Come in, Mr. Marek,” Matthieu said happily, gesturing for Jachym to enter.
“I’m just here to pay Mr. Coffman for the work he did for me yesterday. I had to leave suddenly before he was finished.”
Mack straightened. “I wondered where you’d gone off to.” He reached out and took the folded bills the rancher held out to him.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Matthieu pointed at his study door. “I’d like to talk to you.”
Jachym sighed. He’d never had so many busy bodies sticking their noses into his life before.
Seated in the book lined room, the door shut against the now muffled hammer falls, Matthieu rested his chin on one fist. “It has come to my attention that my wife visited your ranch yesterday.” He paused and seemed to be searching for the right words to say. “I do not condone what took place. She told me she and Emma Leonetti were advising Esther when you came up and they told you about your housekeeper’s past.”
Jachym nodded. “Yes, that’s true. I had no idea.”
“And I had no idea you didn’t know, which might explain why we seemed to have difficulty understanding one another’s point of view when we last spoke.”
Marek nodded. He would have preferred that Esther have told him herself, privately, or that he had known from the very beginning. A little bit of anger rose in him at the idea that Therese could have prevented this drama had she only shared the truth of Esther’s background when he’d asked if she was qualified.
“Are you any closer to a resolution? Your living situation is really causing quite a stir.”
While he would have like to tell the preacher it was none of his business, Jachym had an idea that he might glean some advice if he could only get past Whitney's confounded desire to give unsolicited moral opinion. “I asked her to marry me.”
The pastor’s eyes twinkled. “Did you now? When do you want to have the wedding?”
Jachym looked away, his spine straight, his neck stiff. “She didn’t respond. We haven’t talked about it since.” He turned back. “I don’t understand why not. I am a far better catch than she is.”
Matthieu’s chin fell off his fist and his eyes opened wide. “Wait a minute. Let’s back up. How did you ask her? And please don’t tell me you said that part about being a better catch.”
“I said that it would be fair and honorable for me to marry her and it would stop the talk.”
“That’s not actually a question.”
“Well, no, I suppose not, but it means the same thing.”
“And what did she say or do?”
Jachym crossed his arms across his chest. “She said nothing and she merely walked away.”
The pastor was quiet for a moment, looking off into space. “American women are possibly different than the women from where you come from.” When Jachym nodded, he continued. “They are more independent and usually marry for love.” Marek scowled. “You must respect her individuality, but know that your living arrangement is still sinful.”
The rancher stood up, signaling he was done with the conversation. “Maybe I should get all the other soiled doves in town to come live at my house and be chaperones.”
“I am sure that wouldn’t help one bit.”
Jachym stomped into the mercantile, still a little angry at the pastor’s useless advice. Of course American women were different that the traditional women of his homeland. Inside the store he saw Esther was fingering bolts of fabric. She glanced in his direction and seemed to hesitate.
He walked right up to her side. “Have you found anything you like?”
She smiled and again that restless feeling clenched his belly. His head almost swam with the strength of it. “I see several I like but I haven’t decided on one yet.”
He waved his hand at the rolls of colored muslins and flannels. “Choose your favorite two then.” He turned to the counter where the owner was standing. “Mrs. Price, have you thought more about my offer to sell you beef?”
They spoke at length about amounts and prices, before coming to an agreement. He shook the storekeeper’s hand just as Esther approached carrying two bolts of cloth. One was a pretty pink flower-sprigged muslin and the other a solid dark brown flannel. When she gave the measurements she wanted of each, they were vastly different. “Are the lengths so at odds because of dress style?” he asked.
“No,” she said, again smiling at him. “One is for my dress and the other is for a pair of trousers for you.”
“And which is f
or which?” he teased, smiling back at her until he saw that Lucy Price was scowling at them both. But even her unpleasant inspection of them couldn’t dampen his good mood. He’d made a valuable business deal and maybe the pastor had given him some good advice after all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Are you happy with that fabric?” Jack asked, twitching the reins to set the wagon off. “They have a catalog for ordering other prints.”
“Those are so expensive and it seems so fussy to do a thing like that.” Esther shook her head, but she couldn't help a little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He seemed much warmer since she'd gone shopping at the general store. The ride back to his ranch looked as though it was going to be much more pleasant than the ride to town. “I don't need anything more than all the other women have here.”
“Sometimes we get things we don't need so we can be happy.” He gave a little nod down to his own clothes. “I could wear rough homespun because it's practical and cheap.”
Her eyes lingered on the smart cut of coat and trousers. He favored blacks and charcoals, she'd noted, and they looked good on him with his jet black hair, pale hazel eyes, and the light olive tone of his complexion. It could have made him look severe and unapproachable, but instead it only drew dramatic attention to how striking he was.
“You also have enough money that you can spend a little on ordering special things,” she pointed out. “On top of being a very charitable man. You gave quite a bit of meat to the needy during Christmas, I heard.”
His black brows rose with surprise. “Where did you hear a thing like that?”
Emma Leonetti had mentioned it, after Jack had ridden off the day before. Esther bit her lip rather than give the easy answer, though, honest as it was. For the moment things were enjoyable between the two of them and she didn't want to ruin the moment by reminding him of all of that again. “Women speak to one another, you know,” she said, as vague as possible while being truthful.
“Yes, I gave. During that blizzard I almost died in that I told you about, I had two steers butchered and donated the meat.” He shook his head. “But I didn't do it for praise.”
“I know.” She laid her hand on his upper arm, feeling the swell of muscle beneath his coat, the tension in it from holding the reins and guiding his horses. During the blizzard, she herself hadn't been aware of too much outside her own personal concerns. She'd had a scare with her chimney getting blocked up by the snow and had nearly asphyxiated, along with her neighbors. A few weeks later one of those neighbors succumbed to pneumonia, her lungs having never fully recovered from the smoke. It had been a hard winter Thanks to the generosity and concern of people like Jack, she and so many others had survived it, though. “I'm just saying, you're quite a bit more comfortable than I am when it comes to money, so it makes sense for you to have nicer, special ordered things.”
He chuckled. “You make me sound vain.”
“No, not vain. Just... a man who takes care of himself. I like that.” A lot of the prospectors she'd had the misfortune of interacting with hadn't cared for themselves at all. Even when they did well with gold dust, they didn't repair their clothing, or replace the tattered and stained pieces. They got so used to living rough when they didn't have a choice about it that they forgot how to live better once they did. Instead, they tossed their money around on things that didn’t improve their lives, like alcohol and the company of women.
His eyes lowered to her hand on his arm briefly and just that look made her tingle in response, feeling warmed by the brief moment between them. And brief it was, because he broke it with his next words. “I'm going to move into the bunkhouse.”
“What?” She drew her hand back from his arm, staring at him. “Why would you do a thing like that?”
“It's indecent for us to share a house when we're unmarried. Obviously, you can't stay in the bunkhouse and I don't care to leave you in town.”
“Jack, I'm only the housekeeper. You're not supposed to give up your house to the housekeeper.” Was it a problem with the language barrier? Maybe he didn't realize that the housekeeper only kept the house clean, not literally keeping the house all to herself. No, that was absurd. They had servants in Bohemia. It was rude and dismissive to assume foreigners were stupid. Then why was he doing it?
“I have made my decision.” He declared it like a king from his throne, accent growing a bit thicker around the words. It was clear there was no changing his mind on the matter, which was at once utterly exasperating and yet endearing as well. The man could be stubborn, sure enough, yet she'd yet to see any of that stubbornness used to a cruel or thoughtless end.
“All right then. How long you do you plan on staying in the bunkhouse?”
“That's easy.” Now he smiled, watching her from the corner of his eye. “I'll stay there until you agree to marry me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Esther didn't put up too much of a fight over Jachym moving out, which he took as a tacit acceptance of his courtship. Even if she hadn't said she'd be willing to marry him, she hadn't told him that sleeping in the bunkhouse was a fruitless gesture once he'd explained his reasoning. The entire ride back to the ranch, she said nothing more about marriage, simply discussing her sewing and some plans for putting in a kitchen garden. A garden she could only benefit from if she married him, he knew.
Back at the ranch house, he helped her down from the wagon and carried in her bolts of cloth. He had his own chores to take care of and accounting books to amend, so left to care for those matters. When he saw her again, she had dinner on the table, set for two.
She looked up at the sound of him entering the room. “You don't plan on eating with your hired men as well, do you?”
He took his chair and shook his napkin across his lap. “Sharing a meal should be acceptable when we're courting, yes?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a hint of a smile as she ladled stew into his bowl. “Is that what we're doing?”
“Do you want it to be?”
It was a question this time. He'd thought over what the pastor had said, recognized that just making flat declarations likely wouldn't help matters, and had then practiced it in his head before dinner. Though giving orders of his own came easily, he loathed receiving them. Didn't she deserve the same respect and autonomy that he wanted for himself? And so he asked and waited, unable to breathe for want of her answer.
She took her chair and that hint of a smile blossomed. Her head bowed slightly—a shy, girlish gesture—and she nodded. “Yes. I might like courting, but I don't promise anything.”
“Of course not.” He reached across the table to lay his hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “No promise yet, but I hope you might promise me a great deal later on.”
Color came to her cheeks and she turned her eyes away from him. He had the urge to take her cheek in his hand and make her look at him again, let him drink in the sight of her. Whatever sins she had in her past, whatever she had done to survive, there was still purity to her, whether anyone else saw it or not. Her heart was sweet and good, deserving of everything a man could give.
Dinner was quiet, but satisfying. The more he had of Esther's cooking, the more he wanted. The thought of marrying her was quickly becoming a much more welcoming thought, beyond just a matter of honor. He could have a meal like this every night, perhaps hire on a maid to help her around the house once children came. She'd likely want to be closer to town with children, making it easier for them to get schooling year round, instead of only during good weather. If they did have children, would they have that big smile of hers that glowed with warmth?
After the table was cleared, he bid her goodnight, gathered up his things, and walked out to the bunkhouse. Since he'd fired the former foreman, there was an empty bed in there, and why not use it for himself for the time being? He pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth of the little house, to be greeted by all the men staring at him with wide eyes. A few were in nothing but
their long underwear, while the others had stripped to the waist, suspenders hanging from their hips. A pot bellied stove provided ample heat against the lingering spring chill, but the press of men's bodies might have done that as well. None of them bathed as often as they should either, Jachym thought, bringing one hand up to cover his nose as discreetly as he could.
“Boss,” Paul said, giving a little nod. He was sprawled on his bed with a guitar in his hands, which he appeared to be tuning. The bunks were two beds high, three in a row. One of the beds had been stripped of linens when Andy left to take over the old foreman's cottage. “What can we do for you?”
“I'm sleeping here tonight. Maybe for multiple nights.” Jachym carried his things over to the empty bed to start making it.
“What's wrong with your house?” one of the other men asked. Benjamin was his Christian name, but everyone called him Froggy, for some reason Jachym hadn't been able to decipher. Maybe it was his big, bulging eyes.
“Miss Esther White will be staying in it alone for now, because sharing it was improper.”
“I'd like to share a house with her,” Froggy muttered under his breath.
“I'd share more than a house,” another added, moving his fists and hips in some fashion. Jachym didn't catch the complete movement involved, but he could guess it had been a rude gesture.
Jachym fixed the crude mime with the sort of death glare his commanding officers used to use to make privates cower. “I hear any man speak of her that way again and he'll be out the door that day. You understand?”
There were a few mumbled “yessirs” around the room and that was the end of the talk, to his relief. Considering how little work the ranch hands actually got done, he wasn't sure if keeping any of them on other than Andy was even worth it. Froggy was likely the second most reliable, as he oversaw slaughter and that always went smoothly. As far out as they were and without a slaughterhouse in Sweet Town, it was necessary to do a lot of the work on the ranch itself. No trains brought fresh meat to their region, which meant if anyone wanted it, they either had to raise it or hunt it themselves. Or buy it from Jachym.
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