So it wasn’t Cara who wanted her gone—it was only Clay. And now she knew why Cara wanted to teach her housekeeping skills. She hoped to marry off Madeline to her widower brother.
She made it back into the cabin without anyone knowing she was gone, shivering from her ill-advised trip outside without even a shawl.
She finished the dishes quickly, her cheeks burning with anger and embarrassment. How dare he speak of her that way! She’d done nothing to him! He was the one who had forced her to endure a night in a filthy cabin and then brought her to stay at his sister’s house, making Madeline feel like an intruder because she knew that Clay was being compensated for the trip—not Cara. Not to mention, he was the one maligning her fiancé.
And she had cooked for the man! The thought just burned her. For some strange reason she’d been eager to please him with her first-ever cooking. Perhaps just to show him that she wasn’t the helpless creature that she must appear to be.
She knew she’d allowed herself to become emotionally paralyzed more than once in his presence, and it embarrassed her. Madeline Barstow was never at a loss for words, and never without complete control of her emotions. It was the fatigue of the trip and the shock of new surroundings that had her behaving so, on top of finally having the reality of her father’s death and her financial reality come crashing down on her. But no more! She wanted him to know that she would be just fine in this new life.
Who cares what that boor thinks of you? He’s scraggly, uncouth, ill-mannered, and a gossip. His opinion shouldn’t matter a whit!
She wouldn’t let herself even think that it really might. But she couldn’t get his angry words out of her mind...conceited...brat...high and mighty...a menace. The words echoed in her head until she thought she might throw a dish at the wall. She almost gave in to the urge, but was saved the humiliation of explaining such an outburst, by Ben walking back into the room.
“Well, the little ones are settled...” he trailed off when he found Madeline alone. “Where is everyone?”
“Oh!” she wiped away the tears she hadn’t realized were there, then turned to him. “I believe Clay went out to the barn to help Cara with something.”
The door opened, and Cara ducked into the house, closing the door against the wind and hanging up her shawl. “My, but it’s brisk out there!” she exclaimed with a cheery smile, which faded when she saw Madeline’s face. “What’s wrong?” She set the lantern down on the table and looked at her husband with chagrin.
Ben looked back and forth between the two women, obviously not wanting to be in the middle of whatever he’d walked in on. “I just walked in.” He glanced at Cara with an I didn’t do it expression.
Cara turned back to Madeline with a sympathetic, questioning look. This wasn’t a woman to take the answer of “nothing” and let it go at that. Madeline would have to say something.
“Oh, I’m just frustrated with my lack of kitchen skills,” she waved away the subject. “Don’t mind me. I’ll have these finished up in a few minutes.”
“No, you’re tired from your trip. Do you want to turn in early?”
“I’m fine, I can handle it, thank you.”
“The little children are down,” Ben deftly changed the subject, “and the older children are reading. I told each of them lamps out at the end of their chapters.”
“Oh good, thank you dear.”
Footsteps crunched outside, then the stomping off of boots. The door opened, and Clay stepped in.
Madeline avoided his gaze, and turned to Cara. “You know, I’m still fine with doing the dishes, but maybe we should take a break and get my things settled where I’ll be sleeping, before the children are all asleep. I wouldn’t want to wake them later.”
“Oh, good idea,” Cara agreed. “You’ll be sharing a bed with Martha—I hope that’s alright.”
“That will be fine.” Madeline spared a glance at Clay, who had his back to her, wiping his feet on the small rug near the door.
“Mary sleeps in our room,” Cara pointed to the farthest door off the kitchen area, “so it will be just you and Martha in her room. Clay will sleep in the loft with the boys, as he usually does when he visits. And you’ll be in here...” She walked toward the door just past the woodstove and opened it.
Madeline scooted around the two men, her eyes averted, and followed Cara into the room.
“I’m sorry it’s so small. The double bed takes up most of the space.”
That was an understatement. The room was just big enough to fit the double bed pushed against the far wall, with a small, low chest of drawers beside it, which doubled as a nightstand. There would be barely enough room for her to change her clothing. Martha smiled up at them from the bed, where she was tucked in and reading a book.
“You have a lovely room, Martha.” She smiled at the young girl. “And so very neat, too.”
“I’m the neat one,” the girl with long, light brown pigtails grinned. “Lawrence is not so very neat, and Joseph is a pig.” Martha scrunched up her nose at the word, as if she smelled something bad.
The women laughed.
“Martha, why don’t you scoot over toward the wall so we don’t have to move you later. Miss Barstow will sleep on this side of the bed. You can slip your book behind your pillow when you’re done, so the top of the dresser stays clear. Go ahead and leave the lamp burning low when you’re done, just this once, so Miss Barstow can see her way around.”
“I will, Mama.”
Cara turned to Madeline. “If she’s still awake when you come to bed, just ask her to turn to the wall so you can change. But I suspect she’ll be sound asleep after that romp in the snow.” She kissed her daughter goodnight, and left the room.
Madeline turned to follow her and retrieve her bag, when Clay appeared in the doorway with it in his hands.
“Thought you might need this. Where should I put it?”
“Oh.” She avoided his gaze. “Over there on the dresser will be fine.” She stepped back to let him in, but the close quarters of the room made it so that his arm brushed against her as he passed.
“Pardon me. It’s a little tight in here.” He set the bag down on the dresser and turned. Was that a flush on his cheeks?
Her own must surely be pink. “Thank you for bringing it.” She kept her eyes down, but instantly realized that in the small room, so close to him, that meant her eyes rested on his lower body. She inhaled sharply and turned her head aside, gazing instead at the lamp.
There was an awkward moment of silence, then he turned to leave. “Madeline?” He turned back, leaning against the doorframe. He glanced uncomfortably past Madeline, where his niece lay in bed, then met Madeline’s eyes again. “Did I...is there something wrong?”
“No.” She looked away again.
“I feel like...your demeanor toward me has changed. Have I offended you in some way?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Madeline.” He sighed. “I know women better than you might think. I know the silent treatment when I see it. I know an angry woman when I see one.”
“I’m not angry, Mr. Porter. I’m merely tired.”
“There!” he whispered sharply. “Right there. Mr. Porter again, is it? You’re definitely angry.”
“No, I’m—”
“Your shoes.”
She looked up at him, then followed his gaze downward. “My shoes?”
“They’re wet.”
Her eyes widened. Oh no. “They are not, they’re just—”
“I can see the bits of snow melting on the edges of them.”
His eyes met hers, and she felt like a deer caught in the sight of a hunter’s rifle. “I...”
“Were you outside? When I was in the barn with Cara?” Now his eyes widened.
Madeline glanced back at Martha, and lowered her voice to a hissed whisper. “It’s a free country, Mr. Porter. My movements are none of your concern, and I am not discussing this with you.” Before he could utter a word, s
he darted around him and out of the room with the agility of a mouse.
“Hey...” Clay whispered loudly.
She heard the door to Martha’s room shut quietly and his footsteps following close behind her.
Madeline could feel Cara’s and Ben’s eyes on her as she headed toward the sink.
“No you don’t.” Clay took her by the wrist and dragged her to the front door.
“Let me go!” she hissed.
“No.” He grabbed the lantern still sitting, lit, on the table and dragged her out of the house.
“What are you doing? Where are we going?”
He said nothing, just strode toward the barn dragging her behind him. Once inside, he slammed the door shut, hung the lantern on a bracket, and began to pace back and forth.
“What did you hear?” he asked, stopping short in front of her. His chest heaved as if he were out of breath.
“Who said I heard anything?” She clasped her hands primly in front of her.
“Please.” His voice was soft. Desperate. “Madeline. What did you hear?”
“I heard enough,” she said quietly, looking away.
“I’m sorry. You have to understand. I had a wife. It’s not that you’re not attractive. You are. Very attractive.” He ran his hands through his hair. “My sister is under the impression that I’m in love with you.”
“What?” She stared at him. What is he talking about?
“I know! It’s crazy, right?” He laughed—a tense, rough laugh—and paced the floor. “We just met, and she’s talking about me falling in love with you. She just wants me to be happy. She means well. But I just can’t marry anyone again. Not even to save them. You understand that, right?”
Madeline felt her face flush with anger. “And who told you I need saving? Or that I had any interest in marrying you? Particularly when your opinion of me is so very low.”
He stopped, surprised at her words. “Low? What would make you say such a thing?”
She sniffed, looking away. “Please. Let us not pretend, when we both know what you said.”
“What I...?”
“Conceited?” She walked toward him, punctuating each step with his insulting words, until he was forced to back up or be run over by her. “Spoiled? A brat? A menace?”
Clay’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, Madeline, no—”
“Don’t bother to deny it. I heard it all. Or enough, at least. I’m sure your tirade went on long after that, but I didn’t see the need to endure any more of it.”
“Wait...so you didn’t hear anything after that?”
“No. Are you relieved? My, you must have really spouted a few gems, after I left!” she walked away, back toward the middle of the barn, wrapping her arms around her to fend off the cold. It was warmer inside the barn—out of the wind, with the horses and cows in their stalls—but the air was still frigid. Her fingers were going numb.
“I’m sorry, you’re cold. Take my coat.” He hadn’t taken it off when he’d come into the house earlier, and he held it out to her.
“No. I don’t want it. I don’t want anything from you. I am your passenger, nothing more. You were paid to transport me, not to insult me, or offer to save me from some imagined danger.”
“Madeline, it’s not imagined. I haven’t told you the whole story. Croft, he...he could be violent—”
“Stop!” She held up a hand. “I have had enough of your malicious gossip. I am marrying Samuel Croft.”
“Madeline, please,” he tossed the coat down on the tack box, and took hold of her upper arms, shaking her a bit, “I said those things...because I was irritated with my sister. And I’m frustrated, and feeling guilty.” He let her go.
“Guilty?” She raised an eyebrow, wondering what load of malarkey he was spouting now.
“Guilty, yes—for putting my own financial concerns ahead of yours. I don’t dislike you. I promise. You just...we just...” he scrubbed a hand over his hair. “We’re two different people, that’s all. You have a way of poking at me that gets my ire up. Don’t let me running my stupid mouth keep you from hearing me. Because I need to tell you something important, and you need to listen.”
“I don’t see why I should listen to a thing you have to say.” She folded her arms against the cold, her resolve not to accept his coat weakening as the cold seeped down to her bones.
“Please...just listen. Give me one minute, and then I’ll never say another word.”
She flashed him a furious look, but she said nothing.
“There are stories of Croft cheating his employees, which is nothing new. But I’ve also heard tell of him beating a horse near to death, and punching a young boy who worked for him. The details—I can’t speak of such things to a lady, but if even half of it is true, it would be very unwise for a woman to place herself under the total control of such a man.” Clay took her by the shoulders. “You will be alone Madeline. Alone. No worker there will say a word to stop him, should he ever...mistreat you. You will be trapped. There will be no escape.”
A flicker of fear shivered through her, then she shook herself free of his grasp. “You’re just trying to scare me,” she snapped.
“What for? If you believe me—if you turn back now—I will have to pay Croft back his money and I will lose all future business from him. If he wants to, he could make up false stories about me. Say I’m irresponsible...that I lost cargo...whatever he wants. Even with Croft’s bad reputation, people will think twice before they risk their expensive cargo with me, after hearing such slander.”
“If he is such a scoundrel, why work for him?”
Clay sighed. “I knew his reputation. Heard the stories. But most involved him finding fault with people who do jobs for him, and shorting them their pay. So I insisted on getting paid up front, to eliminate the risk. I needed the money, so it was worth it, to me. It was only recently that I’d heard the worst of the stories. And I talked myself into believing it was just gossip.”
“Why do you need the money so badly? You have no...” She was about to say no family to support, but stopped herself in time. “I just don’t see what you could need so desperately that it would be worth working for a man you appear to despise.” It was a grossly inappropriate question, but Madeline didn’t care a whit for manners at the moment.
“I work for the butcher in Helena. He isn’t well, and needs to retire, but has no children to pass the shop to. He offered to let me buy it on payments, but he needs a certain amount as a down-payment, so he can set himself up to live. I don’t have that kind of money, so he’s giving me time to come up with the down-payment. But if his health gets much worse, he’ll need to sell it to someone who has the cash in hand. He doesn’t want to, but he’ll have no choice.”
“And being a butcher is your dream?”
“Owning my own business, being in control of my own life—that’s my dream.”
“Why? Have you not had control over your life prior to this?”
Clay sighed and ran both hands through his hair. “I grew up very poor in St. Louis. My parents died of a fever when Cara and I were little, and my uncle took us in. There was never enough food. My uncle was generous, and cared for us even though it meant taking food from the mouths of his own children. We felt we owed it to him to make our own way in the world once we were old enough. I was determined to find a way to provide for the two of us, without help from him. I got a job and started saving up. Making plans.
“Then Cara met Ben when she was seventeen, and she fell for him with a passion. His dream was to come out west and live a frontier life. She wanted to go with him, and since Cara was all I really had left of my parents, I came along with them. Ben and Cara got married before the wagon train was scheduled to leave. When we got to Coulson, Montana, they stayed with some relatives of his, and I was a ranch hand for a while.” His voice grew hoarse, and he cleared his throat.
“And then you met your wife?” Madeline softened as the sadness come over Clay’s face.
�
�No. Tabitha and I…we met on the wagon train to Montana. She was seventeen, like Cara, and her family was moving out west to join relatives who lived in Coulson. We...well, the four of us became fast friends. Inseparable. She and Cara really hit it off. She was almost as devastated as I was when...” he broke off. “Anyway, most of my life, I haven’t had a real home of my own. I went from my uncle’s house, to a few different ranch bunkhouses, to living over the butcher shop. The only time I had my own place was the last year that I…before Tabitha…we, uh, rented a small cabin on a ranch not far from Ben and Cara, when they lived outside of Coulson.”
He swiped his knuckles under his nose and sniffed. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Madeline’s heart went out to him.
“But after she was gone…I moved on. Let the place go, became a ranch hand again, for a while. Cara and Ben moved here a year later, and I moved to Helena and eventually got the job at the butcher shop. I just want a place that’s mine, that’s all. A business that’s mine. I want to be independent, and able to take care of myself, without having someone else calling the shots.”
“I can understand that.”
He laughed. “You’ve never worked a day in your life, have you?”
She pursed her lips with irritation. “Perhaps not. But I’ve had my whole life run by my mother, filled with expectations for me and rules to follow. My every move was watched by my governess, or my mother, or my tutors. Then everything I knew was taken away from me, and I was expected once again to do what I was told, or else fend for myself.”
“I guess that would have been hard.”
“It was. It is. But it’s freeing, as well. And frightening. I’ve never had to make my own decisions before. I’m afraid of making the wrong one.”
“Then don’t make the wrong one.” He stepped closer...close enough to touch. “Don’t marry Croft.”
The last of her anger drained away. He didn’t hate her. He cared about her. At least enough to risk his own income, his own dream, rather than see her ruin her life.
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