An Impossible Price: Front Range Brides - Book 3

by Davalynn Spencer

  The man laughed outright. “It’ll cost you extra, but sure. I’ve got fried chicken, potato salad, pickles, and canned-cherry pie.”

  “Bear sign?”

  Another chuckle. “On the house.”

  While Hoss packed the meal, Clay waited at the counter.

  “You that horse doctor, Ferguson?”

  He turned to an older gent in dungarees and a chambray shirt.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You know anything about farrowin’ hogs?”

  Visiting quieted at the nearby tables, men listening in on the conversation.

  “My share. Do you have a question?”

  The older man’s eyes snapped as he scratched his unshaven cheek.

  “My son’s got a sow he’s worried about. Bred January first, and she hasn’t farrowed yet. You got any recommendations?”

  “Are you sure of the breeding date?”

  Someone snickered behind him, and the farmer glanced that way with a poorly hidden smirk. “Sure enough.”

  “All right, then. Since she needs a hundred and fourteen days, tell him he can plan on April twenty-fifth, give or take a day. Make sure she’s got clean straw and enough room so she doesn’t crush her pigs. Keep the bedding clean and give her good feed and water. She’ll need to keep her strength up.”

  Someone snorted. “Told ya.”

  The farmer’s humor faded, and he went back to his table amidst guffaws and rude jokes.

  Clay had played the game before.

  Hoss set two paper sacks on the counter and lowered his voice. “You’re workin’ at Parkers’, aren’t you?”

  “For now.”

  “Bring back my dishes and I won’t charge you extra.”

  “Fair enough, but it might not be today.”

  Hoss waved the detail aside and took Clay’s money with a wink. “Have a nice time.”

  Clay felt every eye pinned to his shirt as he walked out, but he’d won the first round.

  He put the sacks under the rear bench and covered them with one of Deacon’s quilts he’d tucked in earlier that morning. Then he drove up the street and turned around at the livery.

  John was on hand. “Mornin’, Mr. Ferguson.”

  “John. Any customers?”

  “Yes, sir.” He pulled a note from his trousers’ pocket.

  Clay took the paper and dropped two bits in John’s hand. “Obliged.”

  “What’s this for?”

  “Your cut for helping me get my business going.”

  Pride bent the boy’s mouth in a smile, and he pocketed the coin. “Thanks.”

  Clay flicked the gray down Main Street, and as soon as he pulled up in front of the tailor’s, Sophie came out. Mrs. Eisner stood on the threshold.

  He doffed his hat. “Mornin’, ma’am.”

  “Good morning.” Addressing Sophie, she added, “Thank you again for stopping by.”

  Sophie settled next to him, more relaxed than she had been. Good news did that for a person.

  He took the next corner, and she looked over suspiciously.

  “I’m turning around. The Fairfax place is north of here about two miles.”

  Main Street gave him cause to look to the sides of the road when he was really looking at her. She’d done her hair up with a ribbon, and it was all soft around her face. If she were a filly or a heifer, he’d know just what to say about her fine appearance. As it was, uncertainty kept him lock-jawed for fear of saying the wrong thing. She hadn’t been too pleased earlier when he said she looked different. Even beautiful had driven doubt through her eyes.

  He could handle a cantankerous old pig farmer but didn’t know what to say to the woman he’d set his hopes on.

  The road out of town stretched lazily until they reached the turn off that ribboned over grass-covered hills. Recognizing the low saddle ahead, he slowed the gray.

  Sophie took it all in, turning on the bench and scouting the land like she was looking for something. When he stopped short of the saddle, her brow wrinkled.

  “Is this it?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Then why did you stop?”

  Because I want to kiss you and ask if you’ll marry me. “I want you to get the full effect of what’s on the other side.”

  She snugged her shawl tighter, and one hand fingered the neckline of her dress. A very becoming neckline. “I’m ready.”

  He lifted the reins. The gray took the cue and eased over the dip between two hills.

  Sophie gasped, and he stopped again, relieved that it all hadn’t been a fanciful dream.

  Chapter 17

  Stunned by what lay before her, Sophie blinked a couple of times to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.

  With the morning sun still behind them, the sky ahead was cornflower blue over a long green meadow where cows and their calves grazed. A white barn and farmhouse stood off to one side like proud parents, and as Clay had mentioned, a creek skirted the north end of the little valley.

  No wonder he wanted this place.

  “Fairfax? You said the name was Fairfax?”

  “That’s right.”

  “More like Fair View. You know, fair, as in lovely. What a lovely view.”

  “I know.”

  She glanced over, expecting him to be taking in the small ranch, not her. The look in his eyes said everything she’d always wanted to hear a man say and scared her right out of her wits. Quickly, she faced forward.

  He flicked the reins, and the horse started down the gentle slope. Before they reached the house, an older woman came out on the porch and waited while Clay drew up in front.

  “I’ve had two people stop by. Guess they heard through the grapevine, but I kept my word to you.” She rubbed her right hand.

  “I appreciate it, Mrs. Fairfax. I made it as soon as I could.”

  He jumped down and offered his hand to Sophie, his eyes gentle, fingers warm.

  She’d never been so turned upside down but managed the porch steps without tripping.

  “Mrs. Fairfax, I’m Sophie Price. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  The woman sniffed and raised her chin, glancing between the two of them as if they’d broken the law by riding out together.

  “Are you Mr. Ferguson’s intended?”

  Clay stepped forward. “Miss Price works closely with Dr. Weaver as a midwife in Olin Springs and has agreed to give me her opinion about your house. Is now a good time to see it?”

  Considering Clay’s explanation, and after an obvious appraisal of Sophie’s deportment, Mrs. Fairfax led them indoors.

  Clay squeezed Sophie’s elbow, but she refused to look him in the eye. The see-saw was pounding her insides.

  “It’s a small but comfortable home. My husband and I raised three children and enjoyed many years here until his passing.” She dabbed an eye with her tatting-edged hankie, and Sophie struggled to dredge up sympathy for what she considered exaggeration.

  “How is your hand, Mrs. Fairfax?”

  The woman’s expression shifted immediately as she flexed her fingers. “Much better. I do believe that potion you gave me has made a difference.”

  Clay smiled and nodded his approval, then led Sophie into the kitchen.

  Cozy, with a cook stove, ample cupboards, a table and chairs, and a view of the hills beyond the house. A backdoor opened to the spring sunshine and looked out over a fenced garden. Sophie liked the kitchen much more than the kitchen’s owner.

  Two bedrooms, the main room they had entered, and the kitchen made up the entire house. Sophie’s home had three bedrooms, a parlor, and a short hallway, but there was no comparing the Parkers’ sprawling home or Maggie Snowfield’s. However, the little house stood on its own merits.

  “May we see the back?” Sophie held the woman’s eye, daring her to refuse the request.

  “By all means.”

  Clay opened the back door and stood aside as Sophie stepped onto a wide porch, as expansive as the front. Two rocking chairs faced
the west with a glorious view of not-so-distant mountains. The sunsets must have been breathtaking.

  A privy and root cellar were not far away, and with Mrs. Fairfax leading, she and Clay walked around the house to the barn. Chickens scratched in the yard. A cow bellowed from the pasture, and birds chittered in cottonwood trees and willows.

  Sophie’s heart swelled. She loved it all. “You have a well, I assume.” She hadn’t looked for a windmill, but now saw it peeking above the barn in good repair. Another point in favor.

  Clay took hold of the barn’s front door, off its runner and sagging against the building that needed a fresh coat of paint. Up close, the years were evident.

  Sophie could relate.

  She wandered away from Clay and the owner, who were discussing other aspects of the property, for she had done what he asked—looked at the house and formed an opinion. If she had the money, she’d buy the place herself, raise a gateway, and hang a sign that said “Fair View Ranch.”

  In spite of the bumpy ride her emotions had taken, her stomach growled. An early breakfast called for an early dinner, and it was likely after noon. She’d be starving by the time they made it home to the ranch, and she still had supper to fix. Poor foresight on her part for not putting a roast or beans in the oven before they left.

  The creek drew her, and she was tempted to pull off her boots and stockings, hike her skirt, and trounce through it just to raise the owner’s ire. But that wouldn’t be fair to Clay. He had the chance for a fresh start and didn’t need her making the woman mad.

  “What do you think?”

  She spun and would have fallen in the water had he not grabbed her arm. Lost in less-than-charitable musings, she’d not heard his approach.

  She smoothed her skirt and ruffled feelings, and glanced past him to the quaint little house.

  He side-stepped into her view, snagging her heart and attention with a hopeful look not unlike what she’d seen on Willy when he wanted a cookie. She was helpless. And hopelessly smitten.

  “The house is small, but for a single man starting out, I think it’s lovely.”

  He scowled and looked away.

  Like it or not, that was her answer. He’d have to deal with it. She headed for the buckboard.

  He stepped in front of her. “But what do you think as a woman who … what would you think of a kitchen like that? Or of the yard and garden, and … well, the whole place. Would you like it?”

  Again with the see-saw. What did it matter?

  Expectation drained from his eyes as he moved closer and lowered his voice to that raspy tone he’d developed in the last three years. “You don’t like it.”

  Before he left for school, he’d simply sounded like a young man, not some deep and unexplored cavern.

  She shivered involuntarily.

  “No. I mean—that’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  She folded her arms, wishing she hadn’t left Mae Ann’s shawl on the seat so her hands would have something to hold.

  Meeting his earnest gaze, she had to tell him the truth.

  “I would happily live here myself.”

  ~

  Swallowing a whoop was the hardest thing Clay had ever done. Right up there next to not kissing Sophie Price on the mouth in front of the snooty Mrs. Fairfax. Hopefully, there’d be plenty of time for that and more after he signed the deed.

  He laid a hand on Sophie’s shoulder, and nearly buckled at the slight tilt of her head. Holding tight rein on his manners and good sense, he gave a light squeeze and went to make Mrs. Fairfax an offer.

  After the expected dickering over price, she accepted when he held out his earnest money and mentioned he’d be paying in cash. Her tone changed considerably as she rolled the bills and tucked them into her apron pocket. “I’m leaving all the furniture other than a few personal items such as my sewing machine, dishes, and such. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I do.”

  “Includes the buggy, buckboard, and livestock. I certainly don’t have any use for them anymore.” She gazed out over the pasture, then back at the barn. “As soon as you bring the remainder of the money, I’ll sign the deed over to you and you can file it.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Fairfax.” He offered to shake on the deal, and her hand went slack on his next words. “May I ask a favor?”

  Satisfaction thinned in light of her natural suspicion. “And that might be?”

  “I’ve brought a picnic along in hopes that Miss Price and I might eat at the north end of the property, on the other side of the creek where the path crosses.”

  The woman nearly burst into tears and he took a step back, fearing she’d launch herself at him. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  She waved a frilly handkerchief with one hand and pressed the other to her lips. “You go on ahead, young man. Never mind me.”

  Fighting for composure, she pocketed the hankie and drew herself up. “I will telegraph my daughter as soon as I receive your payment, and you can move in when I’m gone, which should be within the month.” Turning for the door, she paused. “Congratulations. I wish you well.”

  Within the month. And he hadn’t said anything about proposing.

  He stepped off the porch and surveyed the land around him. Everything he saw would be his. The buildings. The pasture. The animals. His gaze slid toward the creek, where a woman in a yellow dress stood like a spring flower. She was what he wanted most of all.

  Thankfulness rose in him like a blister. Sophie would call it a blessing. He couldn’t form the words, though an ache started beneath his ribs and spread across his chest. He rubbed it with the heel of his hand and climbed to the wagon seat.

  She watched him approach, and when he reined in and extended his hand, she stepped up and took her place beside him. An omen? Or just the everyday nature of things. He didn’t put stock in omens, but life gave signs of health or disease, and they could be trusted.

  “Hungry?”

  She flattened a hand to her stomach. “Starving, I’m sorry to admit.”

  “Good.”

  She puffed out her disapproval.

  He chuckled.

  “Look under the seat in back.”

  She turned around, which moved her closer to him, and reached for the quilt. “You went to Bozeman’s.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I did. Fried chicken, bear sign, and a couple other things. Plus the quilt to sit on, though I can’t account for any critters since it came off Deacon’s bed.”

  She laughed like she was happy—a lighthearted sound that shivered down inside him.

  He turned off the path onto a green patch for the horse, jumped down, and offered his hand. As Sophie reached for it, he circled her waist with one arm and scooped her legs out from under her with the other. She clamped on to his neck in alarm, and he spun her around just to hear her laugh.

  “Clay Ferguson, what’s gotten into you?”

  She had. All the way into that deep, dark corner he’d shut off from the light of day. She made him feel almost whole.

  “Put me down. Mrs. Fairfax is probably watching from her front window.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The place is mine. Fair View Ranch.”

  He said it without thinking, without considering her reaction to the idea until her hand clapped over her mouth and her eyes grew round as dollars.

  Reluctantly, he set her down, then gently held her by the arms. Touch would tell him what she was feeling whether she trembled or tensed or relaxed. He’d felt her do all three.

  Together with her eyes and her voice, touch would tell him what she was thinking.

  She made to step back, but he wouldn’t let go. Her gaze dropped to the thick grass where they stood, and he hooked one finger under her chin and lifted it.

  Eyes shining, she brushed beneath them, her fingers trembling.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  “How do you do that?”

  Now he was worried. “Do what?”


  She took the hand that lifted her chin and held it in both of hers. “Know what I’m thinking.”

  He cupped her face and lowered his mouth to hers, skimming her warm lips. She didn’t pull away, but laid her hand on his chest, right over the spot that burned like living flame. Encircling her as he had before, he pressed her close, this time kissing her deeply. And this time her arms went round him and her fingers fanned out on his back.

  Internal reins pulled hard, and he broke from her sweet lips, resting his head atop hers but still holding on. Her racing heart matched his and stampeded all his words against his skull. He had to corral them and cut out the right ones.

  The perfect ones. Those she wouldn’t refuse.

  He took a half-step back, sliding his hold down her arms, keenly aware of the rise and fall of flushed skin above her ruffled bodice. “Sophie Price, will you be the mistress of Fair View Ranch?”

  Her breath caught, and her eyes said she needed to hear more. But what? What did a woman want to hear from a man? What did that man say?

  Maybe he wasn’t clear enough, was trying too hard to impress her rather than saying what was on his mind.

  “Would you marry me?”

  She closed her eyes and his heart dropped. How could he let her go? How could he go without her?

  “Yes.”

  Less than a whisper, it shuddered through him. He touched her face. He had to see the answer in her eyes.

  She smiled and blinked at pooling tears. “Yes, I will marry you.”

  Lifting her, he swung her around—

  “But only if …”

  He stopped, aware that she was pushing against him, that she had a condition. He set her down and waited to be shot by a firing squad. It couldn’t be any worse than the sudden jerk on his soul.

  She fussed with her dress, and her crooked smile tugged at her cheek. “Only if you let me eat before I faint dead away.”

  Her playfulness did things to him. Things he couldn’t act on now. But feed her—that he could handle.

  Needing to touch her, he brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Price, but I’ll concede.”

  She spread the quilt close to the creek, and he set the paper sacks in the center. She opened one and took out Bozeman’s idea of a picnic: a paper-wrapped pickle, tin cup full of potato salad, another one with cherry pie squashed inside, and two pieces of chicken also wrapped in paper. The last bundle held bear sign.