The man looked at Johanna who stood massaging her red wrist, and his thick brows dropped low over his eyes. He seemed to know exactly what she meant. “I don’t see a problem with it. Edmund is wealthy and kind. He’ll take care of her.” He folded his arms across his chest. Benjamin wasn't certain if it was a gesture meant to show his determination, or if he was bent on protecting himself from the old woman.
Mr. McDonough's mother gave a very unladylike snort. “Is that what you think marriage is about? Taking care of someone? Is that all you feel toward Kathleen? An obligation to take care of her?”
Benjamin watched as Mr. McDonough turned red and drew back, spluttering. “Well . . . well, of course not! After thirty years together, she and I have a very personal bond I refuse to speak of.” He seemed very uncomfortable at the topic.
Slapping the table, the old woman straightened. “Exactly! Why do you think I haven’t remarried in the year since your father died?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Because I loved him, you nincompoop! No one can ever compare. Marriage isn’t about taking care of someone.” She paused. “Well, not entirely. It’s more about love. How in heaven’s name do you expect Johanna to love a man three times her age?”
He didn’t answer, but his lips thinned even more with the pressure. Benjamin became increasingly grateful he was hidden behind the door. He didn’t want any of their attention with this business at hand.
“She can’t, that’s what. Don’t you dare make her marry that man!”
Mr. McDonough leaned forward. “He’s already coming! He’ll be here in two weeks, having traveled all the way from New York to marry her. What am I supposed to do? Run across this great nation and stop his train? Tell him ‘never mind,’ when he gets here?”
“Yes! Absolutely!” The grandmother slapped the table again. “A girl like Johanna is a fine catch indeed, but she needs to be with someone her own age. Someone she can relate to. You can’t send her away with that man.”
He sat down heavily and rubbed his temples. “The decision has already been made. I have no choice.”
“You always have a choice! There are plenty of fine young men around here—”
He interrupted her. “Yes! But she won’t choose one! That’s what started this whole mess!”
“Then give her to one of them! Anything is better than marrying a man almost as old as me.”
“And who would you recommend? She hasn’t liked any of my suggestions.”
Johanna looked as if she was getting tired of them speaking as if she wasn't in the room. The grandmother didn’t even look behind her, but her thumb pointed directly at Benjamin still hidden behind the door. “How about him?” His mouth went immediately dry and he began to sputter as panic set in.
Mr. McDonough’s brows rose nearly to his hairline. The grandmother spun and she began to chuckle at the look on his face. Johanna turned as well, spying him, her face reddening. He could feel her stomp on his foot once again as if she had just done it. She would never go for it. Never even think about marrying someone like him, and why should she? They were from entirely different classes. He was a common farmer, a homesteader, gardener, and fixer. She was the daughter of a wealthy man who owned a hotel. What could they ever have in common?
“Now, wait a minute—” she started. "He's the man Edmund Berkeley sent, and I'll have nothing to do with him!"
Her father shook his head. "That was a trick Jesse played, I'm sorry to say. He's just here for work."
Johanna's eyes flew to his face. "I—"
Grandmother cut her off. “He’s a fine specimen, wouldn’t you agree, John? What do you say?”
John McDonough didn’t seem happy, but he nodded sharply. “Yes. He could work.” He sighed and went back to rubbing his temples. “Fine. Have your way, Mother. Edmund will arrive in two weeks. Mr. Jarrett—you have two weeks to woo and win my daughter. She may work in the gardens with you rather than as the maid I’d intended. You may even take her home with you and put her to work there. I don’t care what you have to do, just make it work or she’ll be forced to marry Edmund Berkeley.” He made a shooing motion and the three of them left the room.
Benjamin never even had a chance to object before the old woman grabbed his wrist and pulled him out the door with one hand, Johanna with the other. All he could think was, What have I done?
* * *
Benjamin left John McDonough’s office in shock, the woman in purple britches clamped to his arm as if she was afraid he would run away. He’d have been lying if he didn’t admit the thought crossed his mind. He didn’t have time to get married. He barely knew this woman, and though she was beautiful, she was a spitfire and most likely more than he could handle. What would he do with her? And take her home? Had John McDonough actually told him to take his eldest daughter home with him, a perfect stranger?
The old woman didn’t let go until they reached the dining room, at which point she pulled out a chair and pointed at it, eyes boring into him. “Sit.”
Benjamin didn’t argue. He sat. So did the old woman in purple, and Johanna McDonough. The younger woman wouldn’t meet his eyes and seemed to be a bit red in the cheek, and well she should be. The anger started to burn. Did she have any idea of the position she’d just put him into? Or was he just a convenient scapegoat to release her from an unpleasant situation. He didn’t need this. He had no obligation here. The fire in his gut burned until he stood and turned away. An iron grip took his wrist. He looked down at the old woman who glared back at him.
“I said to sit, boy.” She didn’t break his gaze.
He felt his eyes narrow. “I am no dog to do your bidding.” Just because she was wealthy, she did not have the right to treat him like a servant. He wouldn't obey her.
One of her brows quirked up. “Not a dog, no, but you’ll certainly be living like a dog if you don’t listen. Now sit!”
Despite his best intentions, he listened and sat heavily in the wooden chair, still glaring at her. She was at least gracious enough to let go, nod, and say, “Thank you. I owe you an explanation.
“I’m Ida Mae, and John McDonough is my son.” She met his eyes and continued. “I apologize, Mr. . . .” She paused. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember your last name.”
“Jarrett,” he almost growled. “Benjamin Jarrett.” This day was not going at all as he’d hoped. Did he even still have a job after being nominated as a groom for the feisty young woman?
“Yes. Mr. Jarrett. I apologize for putting you in this position. My son has put Johanna in an untenable situation, and I jumped at the first person who could help, and in this case that happened to be you. I won’t force anything on you, but if you two can come to some kind of agreement, you may just save her from a difficult fate. John may think marrying her to Edmund Berkeley is doing her a favor, but I’ve known that family for years. She won’t gain anything from it but pain, suffering, and near slavery." She met his eyes and her face fell. Benjamin had no idea what he looked like, but if it was an honest reflection of his resentment and anger, he didn’t blame her for looking elsewhere. “I’m sorry. It seems I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Ida Mae moved as if to leave.
Benjamin stood. “I’ll make an attempt, Mrs. McDonough. I don’t handle surprises all too well, and you can’t surprise a man much more than throwing a beautiful woman at him and having her father tell you to marry her.” He felt the heat rise in his own face now. “I’m sure you understand.” He hadn't meant to call her beautiful. He would have preferred it if she'd thought he hadn't noticed her appearance at all.
Johanna looked as if he’d just removed a log from her shoulders. She glanced at Ida Mae before she spoke. “Thank you, Mr. Jarrett.” The relief in her voice was evident.
Chapter Five
Johanna accepted a pair of leather work gloves from Benjamin when she entered the garden she’d been in just that morning. Now, after lunch, she was ready to work, though still embarrassed and angry over the whole situation. Who was she to be thrown
between two men to see who could win her heart and hand as if she were a bone tossed to a pack of dogs? It wasn’t fair—not in a day and age when women had enough freedom to own land and work it like a man—but not until she was twenty-one.
She wished she was three years older so she could go off and get her own homestead. A thought crossed her mind. Perhaps she could convince Mr. Jarrett to marry her, but only until she was old enough to stake her own claim. Would any man agree to such a thing?
Oh, how she longed for that freedom. Instead, she took the gloves and put them on, then turned to Benjamin. He was in charge here, not her, and though she knew many of the plants, particularly the flowers, she wasn’t as familiar with the food crops. Johanna hated to admit it, but she needed his help.
He gave her a timid smile, then put a hand on the raised bed of plants before her. “We’ve got some weeding to do, then fertilizing, watering, and harvesting, if there’s anything to harvest. Do you know how to do that?”
Johanna nodded, distracted by his thick, nearly black hair, particularly the curls that swept his neck and collar. She wanted to reach out and touch them, but she couldn't. Not through the leather gloves. Besides, she couldn't be that forward.
Benjamin nodded once and gave the wooden beams a couple of solid thumps, much like he would a horse’s flank. “Great. Then I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be right over there if you need anything.”
She sincerely hoped she did not. He flustered her. Once things had been straightened out over the Edmund Berkeley business, she’d been mortified at stomping on him, all because Jesse had been playing a prank after she’d yelled at him that morning. The kid was the one who deserved a stomp, but it sounded as if her father had dished out a harsh punishment. Hopefully he’d learn something from it.
Johanna bent over and began to pull at the grassy weeds that sprang up near the dark thistle that was used for tea. She threw the green straws that looked similar to chives to the side, landing in small tufts and piles around her feet, occasionally stepping on it as she moved around.
She was beginning to take some pleasure in this gardening business. There was nothing like the smell of freshly combed earth, nor the scent of living plants. She hummed as she worked, separating the dark thistles from the bright grass and was nearly halfway across the bed when she heard a man cry out and felt a hand thrust her aside.
“What are you doing? I thought you said you knew how to garden?” He knelt and began to gather the green from around her feet. She stepped back, surprised and further embarrassed, as well as slightly angry.
“You said to weed. I pulled the grass from the thistles used for tea.” Even to herself her voice sounded defensive. What had she done wrong?
He looked up at her, exasperation written across his face. “The thistles are the weeds. That’s why you needed gloves. The thistles used for tea are over there,” he pointed across the way and she could see the difference. “You’ve been pulling out the lemongrass.”
Johanna’s heart almost stopped. It might be a simple thing to someone else. Lemongrass wasn’t anything special to most people, and was a weed around the states, but when combined with other herbs and sometimes fruits, it made delightful teas. She’d pulled out so much, there was no way it could all be used in tea before it dried. She wanted to cry. Her first job as a gardener and she’d made a fool of herself.
Saying nothing, she also knelt and began to gather the grass, trying to hide the tears that fell into the dirt around her. When she could compose herself, she asked. “Can they be replanted? Will any of the plants take root again?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. We could try, but if they don’t take to the soil, they will rot and be wasted. Better to collect it and hang it to dry. Lemongrass can be used that way as well, and not just for tea. It can be ground and used as seasoning in the kitchen. It’s not a complete loss, but it will take time to grow more to harvest for fresh teas.”
She wasn’t sure what she felt at that point. A mixture of anger, relief, embarrassment, and she had to admit, admiration. Benjamin certainly knew a lot about plants, but then by coming from a farm and having his own homestead, it would make sense. Well, perhaps. She thought again. Why would he have need to know about things like lemongrass? That wasn’t a skill that would be gained from farming. That came from culinary training, or working in a rich man’s garden. She wanted to ask, but didn’t dare.
Once all the lemongrass was gathered, Benjamin took a wicker basket and placed it gently inside, then handed it to Johanna. “Take this to the kitchen and tell them to make a batch of fresh tea with as much as they can, then hang the rest to dry. I’ll tell them how to use it later.” He turned away and spoke over his shoulder. “I’ll finish this up and when you return, we’ll move on to something else. We’ll work together.”
And then the anger flared. She wanted to beat him over the head with the basket, but she knew in the back of her mind, it would do no good. Instead, she spun on her heel, left the greenhouse, and walked through the door leading directly to the kitchens. Father had designed the hotel that way so there was always easy access for the cooks to get what they needed, fresh, and be little waste.
She found the head chef and delivered the instructions Benjamin had given. Mr. Bird cocked his head, much like his namesake. “Hang it to dry, eh? All right. If he says so.” He eyed the basket. “That’s a lot of lemongrass.” Johanna turned red and pressed her lips together.
“Yes. It is. Thank you, Mr. Bird. I’m sure Mr. Jarrett will explain later.” She turned and left the kitchen before she could say anything that might incriminate her. Once back in the garden, she went to Benjamin’s side, angry that she noticed his strong shoulders and sleek muscles. He was strong, but not in a rough, railroad kind of way. It was different, and she liked it very much. She wasn't certain she'd ever noticed how attractive a man's shoulders could be, and she was slightly flustered that she noticed now.
As if nothing had happened, Benjamin spoke. “The lemongrass is not like regular grass. You can tell by the color and shape.” He took a piece and held it between his fingers. "See the dark green reed? He pressed his fingers together and she heard the crunch, like breaking lettuce. Do you hear it?” She nodded. “Both are rare in nature. Usually the odd stuff is the most delicious—or poisonous. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which.” He let go of the grass and pulled out a thistle, then walked over to the next row, beckoning her to follow. He gently cupped a growing nettle between his fingers, and held the weed thistle beside it. Now that they were side by side she could see the difference, and before he could say anything, she nodded.
“I see it now. I wish I had before.” She fought the emotion inside of her. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes, but refused to let them fall. She wouldn't be humiliated simply because she hadn't known what lemongrass looked like.
He didn’t meet her eyes. “It’s fine. One thing my father taught me was to make use of our mistakes. Either learn from them or find a way to use them.” He shrugged. “Today you get to do both.”
Before he could say anything more, he moved to the next box—the one he’d been working on when he discovered her mistake. “You haven’t worked in the garden much, have you?" It wasn’t really a question.
She resented it. “I’ve never had to. I’m only here now as a punishment for standing up for my rights and to give us a chance to get to know one another. So you can ‘woo me.’ It’s ridiculous.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. There was no way he'd ever have feelings for her after the way she'd treated him.
He turned and met her eyes, his brow lifted in surprise. “Why ridiculous?”
She sniffed. “Really, sir? You and me? What kind of future would we have together? Are you going to abandon your homestead and come live here with me and my family? Help us run the hotel and hot springs? Or would I have to leave my home and become a farmer’s wife? There’s no hope for the situation to ever work.” But at the back of her mind, she wondered if really, t
here was a way. He couldn't live nearly so far as New York, and that was her only other alternative.
Benjamin’s lips tightened and a flash of anger sparked across his eyes. “Don’t count me out yet, missy. Yes, you have some tough choices to make, but it looks like it’s me or the old man. It’s not like I want this either, you know. I’m perfectly content living alone.”
“So am I!” she yelled.
He laughed, then stopped. “You don’t live alone, my dear. You’re surrounded by family trying to live your life for you. Even your grandmother.” He leaned forward with the last words, seeming to want to get her goat.
Johanna had enough, she pulled back her arm to slap him, but he was prepared and caught her wrist before she had a chance to connect. She tried with the other hand, and he took that one too, then pulled her arms straight down and pushed them behind her back. Even angry, she couldn’t help but be stirred by the smell of him as he came close, holding her still. She tipped her head up, letting her angry eyes speak for her. She could feel his breath against her lips, and let out an involuntary shiver, despite the warm summer air.
Benjamin’s eyes showed the same spark of anger. His body was almost completely crushed against hers as he bound her fists with one large hand. With the other, he reached to her face and brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun. His eyes softened. “Even angry, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he whispered. Then, shocking her completely, he leaned down, just a few inches more, and met her lips with his own.
Under most circumstances she would have kneed him in tender places, or bitten his lip, but Benjamin, infuriating as he was, also happened to be an incredible kisser. Unlike the other boys who’d kissed her over the years when her father hadn't been looking, Mr. Jarrett pressed his mouth to hers softly, not trying to force more upon her than she was willing to give. She couldn’t help but melt. She relaxed against him, and he let go of her hands. Without thinking, she wrapped them around the back of his neck and ran her fingers through his dark curls. Just as she'd thought, they were soft beneath her fingertips, and she pressed even closer to him.
Johanna (Dakota Bound Book 1) Page 3