Her Unexpected Destiny_Seeing Ranch series

by Florence Linnington

  If she’d been hoping to evade the foreman’s notice, that did not happen. Mr. Conkrite swept in right away, coming down the line and stopping a few feet away from Greta.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  Greta, already looking pale, blanched even further. “Reporting to shift, sir,” she whispered in a mousey voice.

  Tomb-like silence settled over the entire floor. No one spoke. Hardly a finger moved. Every person’s attention was on Greta and Mr. Conkrite.

  The foreman hooked his fingers into his belt and sighed long and low. “You weren’t here yesterday,” he softly said.

  “I know, sir.” Greta coughed again. “I was ill.”

  Mr. Conkrite pinched the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t have been that ill if you are here today.”

  “But I was, Mr. Conkrite. I—”

  “You know the rules.”

  Greta desperately licked her trembling lips. “Please, Mr. Conkrite. I need this job. My mother, she—”

  “They’re not my rules. You know that.” He pursed his lips and looked away from her agonized face.

  Fury boiled in Allie’s chest. She had seen this exact scene several times before: a woman missed a day of work and was told not to return. There was no arguing. One worker left, and there was another person waiting to replace them, another person who would come in whether they were sick or not, who would work until the moment they fell over.

  She could not take it any longer.

  Before she could say something, though, Juana caught her eyes.

  No, her friend mouthed, hard determination in her every feature.

  Allie ground her teeth together. Juana was right. Allie hated it, but it was the truth. If anyone tried to defend Greta, they would end up fired as well.

  “Go,” Mr. Conkrite told Greta. “Take it up with Mr. Burke. There’s nothing I can do for you.” He frowned and looked at the floor, and Allie could tell he was disappointed in himself.

  She understood that well, for she felt the same way.

  Allie watched Greta leave, feeling that, for some reason, looking away would mean disrespecting her. She was in pain, and even though Allie could not help, it was wrong to ignore her.

  “Speaking of Edgar Burke,” Mr. Conkrite shouted to the room, “he’s coming for an inspection today. You know what that means. Look sharp. Anyone who embarrasses this floor will hear it from me.”

  Allie and Juana exchanged a look. They did indeed “know” what Mr. Burke’s visit meant. The owner of the factory had a reputation for not only requiring production perfection from his workers but for demanding other things from them as well.

  A shiver went up Allie’s spine at the thought of him. He visited every few months, and each time he did, his gaze lingered on her for an unnatural amount of time. She did not look forward to his drop-ins at all.

  Doing her best to put him out of her mind, she got to work on her looms. Time passed in an untraceable way, Allie’s mind entering a hazy state as her hands repeated the same motions over and over.

  When Mr. Burke entered the room, she felt it. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the factory. Turning, she found him right away.

  He walked down the line, hands behind his back, beady eyes surveying the production before him. Everything about him suggested he was from a world Allie and the women around her did not know, a world of finery and full meals three times a day. A world of culture and time to do nothing. He was dressed as he usually was, in a black vest, jacket, and hat, with a gold chain leading to a watch in his breast pocket.

  There were two men with him—one with a handlebar mustache and one who had gray hair and walked with a cane. She’d seen them both once before, though she didn’t know if they were business associates of Mr. Burke’s or merely friends tagging along on the tour.

  Right before Mr. Burke and the other men were to Allie’s looms, the lunch bell rang.

  No one ceased working, instead continuing to move their arms and hands as they looked to Mr. Conkrite, who looked to Mr. Burke.

  The factory owner nodded.

  “That’s lunch!” Mr. Conkrite called.

  The workers all moved for the stairs, almost everyone planning on eating at the small green spot next to the factory. Before Allie could make to join them, Mr. Burke caught her eye.

  “You, come over here.”

  Allie obeyed, sending a glance at Juana as she walked slowly to Mr. Burke. Her friend’s frown made her stomach twist even harder.

  “I’ve noticed you,” Mr. Burke said. “You’re a hard worker.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Burke,” Allie answered.

  All of the weavers had departed, and Mr. Burke’s two companions stood along the far wall speaking with Mr. Conkrite.

  A long moment passed as Allie waited for him to say something else. His gaze remained firm on her, and Allie tried not to shudder.

  “Let’s go into the office to talk.” Mr. Burke nodded at Mr. Conkrite’s tiny office, which was right next to the door to the landing.

  Every instinct in Allie told her not to go into that room. The simultaneous ringing of every bell in every factory in Manhattan could not be louder than the voice in Allie’s head shouting at her to decline.

  But it was not an offer Mr. Burke had extended. It was an order.

  Her heart jumping into her throat, Allie followed him into the tiny office. The heat in it was even harsher than in the work area, and when Mr. Burke closed the door behind them, a suffocating sensation overcame her.

  Allie pressed her palms together in front of her. “Is everything all right, Mr. Burke?”

  His smile did not reach his eyes. “Yes, dear. I only wanted to ask how everything is going for you here.”

  “Very well, Mr. Burke. Thank you for inquiring.” Before she could stop them, her eyes darted to the door.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yes—yes, sir,” Allie stammered. Why were they still in the office?

  “What’s your name?”

  “Alice Braun, sir,” she answered, not wanting to reveal the nickname used by only those she cared for.

  “That’s a very pretty name.” He sidled up closer to her, and a sour taste filled Allie’s mouth. “Almost as pretty as your hair.”

  Before she knew it, his hand was on a loose strand along her cheek. Allie gulped, Mr. Burke’s smoke-laced scent intruding upon her lungs.

  “Thank you,” she croaked. “Should we not get to lunch, Mr. Burke? Will you be joining us on our, ah, break?”

  “How about we stay in here?”

  Before she could answer, his hand moved to the back of her neck. With dizzying speed, his second palm landed on her hip. Allie shook. No, this could not be happening. Not to her.

  Sidestepping away from him, she whirled around, her back to the wall. “Mr. Burke, my foreman will be worrying about me.”

  “No, he won’t,” he answered smoothly.

  Allie had gone the wrong way when she’d stepped around him. Instead of landing near the door, she found herself in the far corner. Desperately, she surveyed the area around her.

  A desk. A chair. An umbrella inches from her right hand. That was all.

  Allie sucked in a fearful breath as Mr. Burke lunged her way. She would not freeze up. She would not succumb to his vile will.

  She did not even think about her next move, only clasped her hand on the umbrella. From that point on, everything happened so fast.

  Mr. Burke reached for her. She threw her left arm up, blocking him with her forearm as she swiftly struck the side of his head with the umbrella’s wooden handle.

  Mr. Burke cried out, momentarily dazed. Allie took the opportunity to jump to the side.

  “You wretched...”

  Her hand on the half-open door, she spun around to look at him. A thin trail of blood trickled down his temple. Mr. Burke touched it and then stared at the red liquid on his fingers as if he could not comprehend what had happened.

  All
ie gulped. Her hands trembled, but she did not let go of the umbrella. She couldn’t.

  “You’ll pay for this,” he hissed.

  “Mr. Burke...” She trailed off, her voice shaking as badly as her hands.

  “You’ll be in a jail cell by tonight. You know that?” Mr. Burke barked.

  Terror filled Allie. She could not go to jail. Losing her job was one thing, but jail?

  Her testimony of self-defense would never hold up. Mr. Burke was a powerful man with clout across the whole city, and Allie was only a simple factory worker. He could have her thrown into jail with a flick of his wrist.

  They both knew it.

  There was only one thing to do. Dropping the umbrella, Allie turned and ran.

  11

  11. Matt

  Chapter Eleven

  June 1883

  Matt leaned over Oatmeal’s stall as she chewed her meal of oats. She’d earned her name, seeing as she was always the horse who got the most excited when supper time rolled out.

  “How you doing, girl?”

  Matt stroked her mane, fine with her silence. Her belly had seemed to grow even more in the last few days. The newest addition to Denton Farms would be coming any day or night.

  A light knock on the stable’s doorway made him turn around.

  “Hello in here,” Nat said, tipping his hat back and grinning.

  “Nat Keenan. What are you doing out this way?” Matt stepped forward and shook his friend’s hand.

  “What do you mean, this far out? Your farm is right outside town.”

  “But nowhere near Winding Path,” Matt commented, mentioning the ranch where Nat worked.

  Nat shrugged. “I wanted to come and say hi, see what trouble you’re stirring up over here.”

  “Me?” Matt laughed. “This is coming from the mouth of the man who put worms in his school teacher’s lunch pail.”

  Nat’s nose wrinkled. “I’ll never live that down, will I?”

  “No. Never.”

  Noticing Oatmeal, Nat went over to her stall. “She’s looking ripe.”

  “I’m on pins and needles waiting.”

  Nat petted Oatmeal’s nose. “Only because of the horse?”

  Matt didn’t have an answer. There was still enough light left that he could see Nat’s face, but it was an impassive one. He wasn’t giving anything away.

  “Our brides are friends,” Nat commented.

  “Huh? Melissa hasn’t said anything about that.”

  “Helen has.” He chortled. “Or she sent word through my mother. They were visiting this afternoon, and I already know about it. Haven’t even seen Helen yet.”

  “Word travels fast,” Matt murmured. He hadn’t seen Melissa since breakfast, as he’d brought his lunch into the fields with him, but he couldn’t wait to set eyes on her again.

  “Something bothering you?”

  Matt twisted his lips around. He’d never been one to talk much about personal affairs, but Nat was his closest friend. Matt knew he could trust him.

  “There’s… distance… between me and Melissa. I’m wondering if it will always be that way.”

  “Huh.” Nat was quiet for a while. “I don’t know much about women...”

  “Get on with that nonsense.”

  Nat chuckled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Womenfolk follow you around like flies do honey.”

  Nat shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I know them too well.”

  “Well, how about Helen? You know her. And she’s been through a lot herself.”

  Nat nodded solemnly. In some ways, Helen was likely still recovering after bandits had kidnapped her before she even had a chance to properly arrive in Shallow Springs.

  “Helen has a lot of passion.” Nat smiled. “She loves it here. She loves me.” Somehow, he grinned even wider.

  Matt lightly punched Nat’s arm. He was happy for his friend… and he wanted the same happiness for himself.

  “I need to get on.” Nat pushed off from the stall. “Don’t worry yourself too much about Melissa. Women are mysterious.”

  “I suppose,” Matt grudgingly answered.

  “She’s here, ain’t she?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She came to marry you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Nat threw his hands up in the air in mock excitement. “Then that means something!”

  Matt laughed. “I suppose it does.”

  “Let things be, farm boy. They’ll work out.”

  “All right, cowboy. Thanks.”

  Tipping his hat, Nat departed into the graying dusk.

  Matt finished up his tasks in the barn and pulled his hat off as he walked across the yard. A refreshing breeze wafted through the grasses, and he paused, closing his eyes and taking some time to enjoy the moment.

  “Hello,” a quiet voice said.

  Just like at the washbasin the day before, Melissa had caught him in another unguarded moment. Not that he cared. Matt didn’t want to hide anything from her.

  “Hi there,” he answered. “What are you doing out here?”

  Her dark silhouette moved closer to him. “I thought perhaps I would peek at the animals before supper. I see you have already finished in the stable, though, so I will—”

  “I’ll take you in there.”

  Melissa hesitated. “Aren’t you eager for supper?”

  “Is it ready?”

  Again, she did not answer right away. “Not for another ten or fifteen minutes,” she finally said.

  “Well, that’s ten or fifteen minutes we can make the most of.”

  Melissa laughed the slightest bit. “I suppose that is true.”

  “Let’s go then.” Matt jerked his head at the stable. “I have a feeling the animals would like to see you.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “What would you say if I told you I can talk with animals?” At the stable, Matt found the tin lantern and matches.

  “I’d say you were mad,” Melissa answered as light filled the stable.

  “Good, because it’s not true. However...” He rubbed Trigger’s nose as Bird walked into the stable to see what was happening. “The horses do like you. I know that.”

  Melissa bent down to scratch Bird’s head. The hound dog ignored that, though, and lay down, asking for a belly rubbing instead.

  “Where is Baxter?” she asked the dog.

  “Probably out sniffing around, looking for wolf and moose tracks.”

  Melissa looked up in worry. “Is it safe for him to be out by himself?”

  “Don’t worry. Baxter can take care of himself. So can his sister here, by the way.” He nodded at Bird, who’d gotten up and was ambling out of the stable.

  “And how is sweet Oatmeal?” Melissa straightened up and went to the pregnant mare’s stall. Without paying attention, she set her hand on the wood, accidentally placing it right on Matt’s.

  “Oh,” Melissa gasped, drawing her hand away. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, the words coming out slow and hushed. Matt felt as if fireworks were exploding inside of him. He gazed at Melissa, his temperature climbing higher and higher.

  Melissa bit into her bottom lip. Even in the poor lighting, her blush was obvious. And though her eyes kept darting away from him, she remained where she was, standing only a foot or so away.

  “When do”—she cleared her throat—“when do you suppose the baby will come?”

  Babies. Did Melissa want children?

  “When do you want it to?” Matt asked, feeling dazed.

  Her brows pushed together. “What?”

  Matt mentally shook himself. “Sorry. I was, uh, confused. I’m not sure when it’s coming. Could be any day now.”

  “Ah.” Melissa nodded, so Matt nodded as well. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, but he didn’t want the conversation to end. As much as Matt loved his parents, he wasn’t interested in going in to supper and sharing Meliss
a with them. No, he wanted her all to himself.

  He considered bringing up their wedding but decided against it. He didn’t want to hound her about it. In truth, he wasn’t in much of a rush. He already had Melissa in his life. Sooner or later, he would get her into his home.