CHAPTER SIX
Blake wandered down the street he knew like the back of his hand but barely saw a thing. As much as John had wanted his girls to return to Eden, Blake never once thought they actually would. Too many years had passed. Mixed feelings swirled inside, causing his gut to twist like a wet rope. Truth was, without John, Blake didn’t fit anywhere anymore. Sure, he had the ranch, and the ranch hands were loyal, but John had been his family. Without him, Blake was alone, as if he were standing in the middle of the desert, without a direction to go.
He turned into an alleyway alongside Poor Fred’s Saloon to escape all the curious stares from the townsfolk. Had word already gotten out that he’d been included in the reading of John’s will?
Leaning on the cool board siding of the saloon, he lifted one boot and placed it against the wall as he pushed up his hat and ran his palm over his forehead, thinking of Ann. How he wished his wife were still alive. They’d met the night of the harvest social, and it had been her laugh that had first captured his heart. After her death, her father and sister moved on, looking for work down south. Ann had been a good listener who gave his concerns deep thought. His time with her had been too short. As well as loving her deeply, he’d valued her opinion like gold.
What would she advise me today? And Marcia? Thinking about his infant daughter was too painful to even try. Frustrated, Blake pushed those memories away . . .
What will the Brinkman sisters decide? Taking the payout would leave the ranch strapped. There wouldn’t be money for any new heifers next year, or the purchase of the chunk of land John and I had been eyeballing, saving any extra cash like misers. That opportunity will disappear in the blink of any eye if the sisters return to Philadelphia.
His face heated. He had no real right to feel angry, but he did anyway.
Suppose if I work like a dog, I’ll be able to hold the ranch steady and see it back to the present holdings in a few hundred years.
As much as he hated to forfeit such a huge chunk of money, the Brinkmans’ staying in town might prove even more problematic. What if, after six months, they sold out to the Diamond J, the spread he and John had been fighting for years for trying to dam the river?
Be a partner with the snake who owned the Diamond J? Nope, won’t do it. At least if the Brinkmans take the money now, I’ll be holding the reins. I’d have to let a few men go. None of ’em would be happy.
John had been so proud when they’d had to enlarge the bunkhouse. It was a sign the ranch was profitable, really making money. But there was no help for what he’d have to do.
“Blake?”
Turning, he saw Clint Dawson leading his horse up the alley.
“You okay?”
Blake didn’t miss the concern written in the sheriff’s eyes. Everyone knew Clint had taken John’s passing hard as well.
“How’d it go today?”
“Me and the Brinkmans are partners in the ranch, split fifty-fifty.” He hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but he was still astonished at the outcome.
Clint gave a long whistle. “Congratulations. That’s a windfall. John always did think of you as a son.”
A lump of regret pushed up Blake’s throat. Everyone will think the same thing, and why not? It’s true.
But the money wasn’t why he’d stayed so long at the ranch. The land, the dilapidated house, even the five little girls, had felt like home since the day he’d set foot on the property. He nodded, unable to dispel the uncertainty hanging over his head.
“Too bad I don’t have something substantial to hand on to my son, when my day arrives,” Clint said. “I’m sure Cash would be mighty grateful if he didn’t have to clean stalls for the rest of his life.” He closed his mouth. “Sorry, pal, didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” Clint stepped close to clasp Blake’s shoulder. “We all miss John. Nobody’s going to be forgettin’ him anytime soon.”
Blake hefted a sigh. “To top things off, we’re having supper together tonight at Mademoiselle de Sells to get to know one another.” He glanced away, feeling mulish. “I’d rather not go.”
The tall Coloradan chuckled. “Can’t say as I’m not more than a bit jealous. Spending time with not one, but five, beautiful, rich women? What more could a man want?” He shook his head. “Imagine John leaving you all that.”
“Truth be told, hearing I’m now a well-off landowner does have my brain in a fog. When Henry summoned me to the reading, I figured John had left me a token of his friendship. Like a watch or rifle. Maybe a few acres. Not half the ranch.”
“And you’re complaining about an evening of fine wine, steak, and conversation. You should be horsewhipped. How about I take your place? I doubt those women will even notice the switch. I remember those little tykes well enough,” he said, with a thoughtful nod of his head. “The oldest one was bossy.”
“You remember Mavis? She’s now Mrs. Applebee.”
Clint hooked a thumb in his belt, his lips curled up in amusement. “I sure do. Like it was yesterday. I was somewhere around sixteen or seventeen, I think. John hired me to do chores out at the ranch. Mrs. Brinkman was doing the washing, so John had the little ones with him in the barn. Let’s see, I don’t believe the youngest had been born, so there were just four of ’em, but that was enough little-girl madness to spin my head around. Couldn’t get a thing done with watchin’ ’em.” He gave another hearty laugh. “Worse than a gaggle of geese—and Mavis dogged my heels all morning, telling me this and that. It’ll be interesting to see how they turned out. Did Mavis’s husband come as well? Is she still roundish?”
“She’s widowed. And no, tall and slim. Pretty too. They all are.”
Clint thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “What do you make of ’em?”
“They’re nice enough,” Blake hedged. If you don’t get too close. “I’ll find out more after supper.”
“They staying on? Eden could use a few single women prettying up the town.”
Blake couldn’t blame the man for being excited. Most women there were either grandmothers or already married with a passel of kids hanging on their skirts. He thought how bravely Belle Brinkman had looked him in the eye, a silent challenge written on her face.
She’s no shrinking violet. No way, not by a long shot. “Don’t know yet.”
“By the way, heads up to possible trouble,” Clint said, gathering his reins. “I ran into Moses and a couple of your hands today. Having to report to a buncha petticoats isn’t sitting very well with ’em. There’s been talk around the bunkhouse of quitting.”
“Moses?” Blake couldn’t believe it. The ranch hand had saved Blake’s life during the Civil War, when Blake was just a kid secretly tagging along with his older brother. His chest tightened. If Moses hadn’t stitched up the wound that gave Blake the scar, Blake would have died. He was eight years older than Blake, and the two had always been close.
“No, not Moses. Mostly Praig.”
Blake shook his head. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least. Praig is happiest when he’s picking a fight about something. I’m amazed Moses was even riding with him. The two don’t usually mix. I’ve had to step between them more than once.”
Clint shrugged, and Blake turned to walk with him toward the livery. He had hours before supper. He’d saddle up and head back to the ranch. Check on the men. With what Clint had told him, leaving the men alone longer than necessary didn’t feel prudent. With the arrival of the Brinkmans’ stagecoach, everyone seemed as spooky as yearlings. Him included.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mavis looked at the calling card Mr. Glass had given her before they’d left his office that morning. “This is it,” she said, glancing at the gold paint on the large window. “Mademoiselle de Sells.” She returned the card to her reticule. “I’ll bet the food is delicious.”
Eden had turned out to be larger than Belle had anticipated. Instead of just one or two straight streets, the town contained a multitude of smaller, curvier roads and alleyways that connected to the
large main street, as well as others that splintered from it. This charming area made Belle think the street planner had tossed a handful of noodles onto the wall and then said, “There, that will do. No newcomer will ever be able to find his way out.” Here, the lane was narrow and there were buildings lining it. And surprisingly, even though Main Street, on which the hotel was located, was dirt, the smaller alleyways were paved in cobblestones. Darkness had yet to fall, but flickering lanterns hung along the route, making the area feel inviting. Many of the shops stood vacant, waiting to be leased. Although quite bare of detail, they reminded Belle of drawings she’d seen of Italy, Paris, and London. At least this area of town coaxed her in. She was surprised just how much she liked it.
A smile appeared on Katie’s lips for the first time since the morning. “I hope it’s delicious. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve worked up quite an appetite. I think I could eat one of those huge steaks we saw along the way in the train stations. I’m feeling quite unladylike.”
“It’s the mountain air,” Belle replied, realizing she was hungry as well. “Or maybe it’s all the searching we did in the cemetery. There were so many gravestones. Even with five of us, investigating the churchyard was a task.” She looked down at her feet. “And my toe still aches from stubbing it. I wonder if Mr. Glass has arrived? Or Mr. Harding?”
“Look.” Emma discreetly pointed to a figure coming their way. “There’s Mr. Harding now. Our partner.” He was looking the other way and hadn’t yet seen them.
Mavis palmed her gloved hands nervously. “Should we wait, or go inside? I feel like a fish out of water. I doubt my every move. What’s proper here in Colorado?”
“Let’s go in,” Lavinia whispered, reaching for the door. “Hurry. Mr. Harding makes me nervous. Hopefully Mr. Glass is already inside, at the table.”
“Too late,” Belle said under her breath. “Smile, girls. He’s seen us. Entering now would be impolite.”
Blake’s step faltered, but only for a moment. Then he came on, a strained, uncertain smile on his face.
Does he find this as difficult as we do? Jealousy stirred when Belle realized he’d shared every day with their father for the past eighteen years, but his own daughters hadn’t had a single moment.
He stopped and touched the brim of his hat. “Good evening, ladies.”
Belle smiled, then remembered how rudely he’d grinned when Lesley had been tossed from the room. He was taller than she’d noticed, and certainly strong, but he wore the same black string tie he’d had on that morning, and somehow it didn’t suit his sun-darkened skin and wind-mussed hair. She pictured him on horseback, shouting orders and laughing at a ribald joke. So unlike Lesley, who rarely changed from his business attire.
Not trusting herself to say anything genuinely polite, she waited for Mavis to respond.
“Good evening, Mr. Harding,” Mavis said. “It’s nice to see you again. The weather couldn’t be any prettier.”
“You’re right about that. This is the best time of year in Colorado. Temperate.”
His gaze shifted Belle’s way, but lingered for less than the beat of a butterfly’s wing. She could see why the man frightened Emma. She was sure his eyes could see into her soul. And at the moment, the jagged line that ran down his neck looked more noticeable than ever. Emma edged closer to her.
“Were you able to find the restaurant without a problem?” he asked. “Sometimes newcomers find our streets a bit confusing—especially in this part of town.” He looked around, seeming ill at ease.
“We were, thank you,” Mavis replied, glancing at the door.
He sprang forward as if just now realizing they were waiting for him to oblige. “Please, allow me,” he said, opening the door.
A wave of delicious aromas cascaded from the tiny restaurant, enveloping Belle. Her mouth watered. “Thank you, Mr. Harding.” She stopped behind the others crowded into the tiny reception area, well aware Mr. Harding was only a step behind. She realized she did remember him.
Perhaps it’s his voice. I remember something about him being angry with me. Could that be?
The establishment seemed so different from the few she’d glanced inside in the main part of town. The entry was lit with lanterns, and a very pretty young woman stood at a desk by a closed door. She was dressed in a frilly white frock, and her face lit up like the sun when she smiled.
“Welcome to Mademoiselle de Sells,” she said with a French accent. Her gaze touched on each of the sisters’ faces, then landed on Mr. Harding. “Your table is ready if you’d like to be seated.”
“Thank you, Amorette,” Mr. Harding said, the hard edges of his personality seeming to melt away. “Is Henry here?”
When she shook her head, the abundance of corn-silk–colored curls around her face and shoulders bounced and bobbed. Belle had a hard time looking away.
“No, monsieur. He is not.” She glanced at a rectangular metal clock resembling a carriage that sat on a shelf behind her. “You are a few minutes early. Knowing Henry, he’ll be along soon.”
A look of panic briefly crossed Blake’s face. “I’m sure you’re right. If you’ll show us to our table, we’ll wait for him there.”
Her bright smile reappeared. “Very well. Please follow me.”
The dining room was beautiful. The bricked-in room only had five tables—four small and one larger that sat in front of a window. A courtyard outside provided the view. The large table was set for seven but could have easily held more. They were the only diners so far. A candle burned in the center of each snowy-white tablecloth, with long fingers of wax cascading over the brass candlesticks toward the tables. Baskets of flowers were attached to the walls. The shiny wooden floor was spotless. All in all, Mademoiselle de Sells was enchanting.
“This is lovely,” Lavinia whispered, her gaze moving around the room.
Blake pulled out a chair for each of them, Belle last, and then took his seat across the table from her. She unfolded her napkin and placed the cloth on her lap. No menus were offered.
“Thank you, Amorette,” he said, making the name sound like a caress.
Are the two of them sweethearts? Why doesn’t Lesley say my name like that? As agreeable as her beau was, he’d never invoked shivers down her spine like Mr. Harding’s voice did. Belle was surprised to feel a pang of jealousy.
Blake gifted the waitress with one of his rare smiles. “Can you please ask Jean-Luc to send out something to drink?”
Mavis looked at Belle, her expression unreadable, and Belle remembered the reason they were there. Are we just supposed to sit silently through dinner, mutely agreeing to whatever Mr. Harding and Mr. Glass, friends of Father’s, want us to do? No. Belle knew what she wanted. Take the payout, and as soon as a respectable time had passed, head straight home, where she’d accept Lesley’s proposal at his parents’ party. Down the table, Katie touched the rim of the pretty china teacup in front of her, and Lavinia chewed on her bottom lip, a horrible habit she’d picked up on the train ride west. Where has our gumption gone?
“So today we went in search of our father’s grave,” Belle stated, not liking the picture of incompetence they were creating for Mr. Harding, the man their father had given fifty percent of his ranch. She looked across the table.
We aren’t a group of wallflowers, so we’d better stop acting like we are.
Mr. Harding’s brows shot up. “You did? I’m sorry. I should have anticipated you might want to see John’s grave. It’s not in the cemetery, but out at the ranch.”
“Yes. A man driving a wagonload of wood enlightened us on that point. Said Father used to hire him every year to supply the orphanage.”
“That would be Nels Carson. I’ll be happy to show you around the ranch tomorrow, if you’d like. Henry and I thought you’d be tired from your trip and would need a day or two in town to rest. But that can be remedied first thing in the morning, if you’re up to it.”
Belle looked around at her sisters, who said nothing. “We’re u
p to it, Mr. Harding. We didn’t come all this way to stay in our rooms and sleep, I can assure you.”
“Fine, then.”
There was a note of irritation in his tone. Maybe he didn’t like being corrected. It was wrong of her to provoke him, but remembering his rude grin earlier, she added, “I assume Lesley will be welcome.”
“I don’t see why not.”
Mr. Glass entered the room, Amorette leading the way—as if anyone could get lost in the postage-stamp–size establishment. He stopped to hang his hat next to Mr. Harding’s on the way.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting. I got caught up in paperwork, and I lost track of the time.” He looked around the table at all the expectant faces. “I assume everyone had a pleasant day? And time to rest? Coming all the way from Pennsylvania is no small feat. Again, I apologize for my tardiness.”
A man emerged from what Belle thought must be the kitchen door with a round tray and glasses. He placed them on the table, left, and returned quickly with a bottle of red wine. He opened and poured.
“Compliments of your father,” Mr. Glass said. “He wished he could be here when you arrived, but I know he’d still be glad that his daughters are finally in Eden.”
Everyone lifted a glass, sadness in their eyes. Belle watched Mr. Harding over the rim of her glass as she sipped her wine. On the rare occasions he did smile, it was more with his eyes than his lips. His nature seemed serious, and he left most of the talking to Mr. Glass.
But Father trusted him wholly, and that says a lot.
After a few minutes of chitchat, Mr. Glass got serious. “I’ve been contemplating what you said earlier. About not receiving any letters or support from your father. I took the time this afternoon to put together a few documents listing the funds he sent throughout the years. You’re welcome to come to my office and review them.”
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