Surrendered (Intrique Under Western Skies Book 2)

by Elaine Manders

  “Where will they stay?” Rachel asked. “The boardinghouse is filled up with jobbers most nights.”

  “We’ll turn the upstairs of the saloon into a rooming establishment.”

  “Who’ll you get to work in a place that big, Carianne? Everybody here has jobs or keep busy farming.”

  “Molly’s girls.”

  “You’re going to have them strumpets working for you?” Dorcas pressed her lips into a thin line, letting Carianne know she wasn’t pleased.

  “Why not? You remember Nelly Grimes. She went to California to apprentice for my friend as a seamstress, and she’s doing very well. She and my friend will be coming here in the fall to open a dress shop. No reason these other women can’t hold an honest job.”

  “Lor.” Dorcas fell back in her chair.

  “No, wait a minute, ladies.” Myra stood, her hands waving. “Carianne has a good idea. It’ll bring all sorts of business to the town. Frank’s been worried how the mercantile will carry on if Sollano folds.”

  Everyone tried to talk at once, but Carianne’s hearing couldn’t get past Sollano folds. Had someone heard Rhyan was really selling out? What would happen to Carlos and Maria? The dairy workers? The cowboys? “Why would anyone think Sollano will fold?”

  “Those ranchers whose cows were infected with anthrax from Rhyan’s stock are suing. Brought in a big law firm from New York City. It’s in all the papers. The Sollano hands are real worried.”

  It was worse than she’d thought. She was aware Sollano had suffered losses, but that it would fold—

  Rhyan was in serious financial trouble. She’d have to insist he take her money for the chapel and for helping Maggie, and whatever else she could afford. Was it possible to buy Sollano? Probably not, even with her jewels thrown in, but she could certainly help.

  Sollano fold? Ridiculous. Even if another owner came in, the ranch would remain. As usual, gossip had gotten out of hand.

  She turned to focus on the painting above the mantle, a placid scene of a winding river with ducks swimming across. Her gaze dropped to the French clock. How much time was left? She’d have to see Rhyan immediately. Did she have the strength to look into his eyes and discuss business in an impersonal way? Make him see sense?

  Would he even see her? She couldn’t go to the ranch house. Too many memories. But she could go to the chapel. Brother Hal had asked her for some books for the men to add to their Bible study. She’d ask him to get Rhyan to come to the chapel to—what? Do an inspection. Yes, he ought to do that, and she’d ask Brother Hal to let her know the time. She’d bring the books for Rhyan’s inspection at the same time.

  That was stupid. Rhyan wouldn’t care what books she brought. But what other excuse did she have?

  The Lord would have to guide her in what she’d say. All she had to do was find out when he would be there and just happen to be waiting.

  She pressed a finger to her suddenly throbbing temple. How could she think with these women jabbering?

  Rachel looked up from her book. “Who’s going to clean up that place? It’ll take an army of workers just to get the stench out…not that I’ve been close enough to smell it, but I’ve heard.”

  Carianne looked from one to the other of the ladies. She’d hope they’d volunteer.

  Her mute appeal got to Myra. “We’ve got to help Carianne. Ladies, I say we do it.”

  Carianne let out the breath she’d been holding and smiled her widest. “Thank you all. I knew I could depend on you.”

  As the ladies enjoyed their lemonade, she dismissed thoughts about the saloon and focused on the greater problem. How to convince Rhyan to let her help. Maybe she could make him think she loved the ranch, not him.

  She had to face him sometime, let him know she had no intention of leaving town. This might be the perfect opportunity. Maybe after she saw him, she could accept they’d never be together and look to what God wanted her to do with her life, instead of what she wanted.

  Chapter 12

  An overcast sky held in heat like a blanket. If it weren’t for a brisk wind blowing in Rhyan’s face, his ride out to the new chapel would’ve been downright intolerable.

  Hal Thompson, the wrangler turned preacher, wanted him to inspect the place. After weighing every excuse he could think of to get out of it, he decided it made sense. If the builders expected him to pay the outrageous sums they charged, the work had better be flawless from the pillars to the steeple.

  He trotted his horse to the hitching post and pulled up short. A good thing the ride had cooled him off some because a smoldering coal suddenly lodged in his gut.

  Barney, Carianne’s roan gilding, turned his head and sidestepped. What would she be doing here? For a moment, desire to see her warred with desire to run. Going in would be fraught with danger. Not going in, impossible.

  After dismounting and tethering his stallion, he took in the beauty of the building. It was designed after the style of European Baroque chapels. Made of the same stone as the ranch house, the light gray hues stood out in pleasing contrast to the prairie grass. The sun, streaking through the clouds, caressed the building, making it glow like a pearl. He glanced to the graveyard at the right before squinting up to where the steeple speared the sky.

  Etched into the stone above the double doors were the words The Cowboy Chapel. He wondered what would happen to it when no cowboys were left.

  Straightening his shoulders, he clasped the door handle and jerked it open without giving himself time to turn tail and run. Carianne kneeled on the floor in the aisle with a broom and dustpan. She looked up and their eyes locked.

  A mule might as well have kicked him in the head. He stood there gawking like the first time he’d seen her. How long ago it seemed, though it was just a few months’ time. Long enough for his whole life to change, and if he’d thought he could go back to the way it was before, he was mistaken.

  “Mr. Cason, welcome.” Hal came from a side door and waited at the altar.

  Carianne got to her feet. She propped the broom against a pew and brushed the front of her dress with her elegant hands, all without taking her gaze off Rhyan. She stood between him and Hal, so he’d have to pass her.

  “Miss Barlow was gracious enough to clean up the place. The workmen left a lot of sawdust. She’s been here all morning, setting everything to rights.” Hal smiled at Carianne as she joined him.

  Taking a deep breath, Rhyan closed the distance between them, sparing a gaze around the room. “I should have thought someone else could have done that.”

  Hal took it as an admonishment. “I could have, but I had to finish my sermon—the first. I wanted it to be the best I could deliver.”

  “I wanted to do it.” Carianne hitched her chin up, as if daring him to object.

  “Well, it looks fine. Where’s the inspection document?” Rhyan asked. He wouldn’t argue the point. Just sign the inspection and leave.

  “Here it is.” Hal indicated the paper lying on the table containing the prayer box. “And a pen and inkwell.”

  Rhyan bent over the table to sign.

  “I’d like your opinion, Mr. Cason. Do you think I should tell the men about my background?”

  “You have nothing to worry about, Brother Hal. Divorce means nothing to Mr. Cason.”

  The censure in Carianne’s tone struck Rhyan speechless for a moment. He hadn’t expected her to greet him with admiration, but pure anger shot from her beautiful hazel eyes.

  Rhyan straightened and shifted to the preacher’s scowling features. It finally percolated to his brain what she said. Divorce? What did that have to do with anything? Then he recalled Hal’s problems with a divorced wife.

  “It’s up to you, Hal, but I don’t think it’ll make any difference to anyone here.”

  “See, I told you,” Carianne said, gracing the preacher with a smile and paying no attention to Rhyan. “Everyone has mistakes in their past. I can’t believe God would want us to keep bringing them up.”

  Jus
t like Carianne to be telling a preacher what God would want. Hal shot Rhyan a questioning glance.

  “As she said, the men won’t care. Most of them have a lot worse in their background than you.” He turned and headed for the exit. If there was one thing he didn’t need it was to get in on one of Carianne’s philosophical tirades.

  He heard her boot steps rapping the marble floor from behind. As he got to the steps, she caught up and swung in front of him. “I brought flowers to lay on Smitty’s grave. Would you like to see it?” She held up a bunch of daisies. The animus was gone from her voice, and nothing more than courtesy showed in her eyes. Kind but impersonal.

  Her curved lips held his attention a moment too long. The question sent a prick to his conscience. He’d not even paid respects to his oldest ranch hand. “Of course.” He settled his hat back on his head and followed her to the graveyard.

  His grandparents’ graves dominated the yard, but it wasn’t hard to pick out the new site where freshly turned earth still scarred the ground in front of a simple marker.

  Carianne laid the flowers on the mound and hugged her middle, eyes downcast with long lashes cutting crescents on flushed cheeks.

  Rhyan forced his gaze from her to the flowers. “The place isn’t the same without him.” Nor without her.

  “No, it isn’t. We all miss him.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  She nodded toward the building. “The chapel is beautiful but costly, I know. I want to pay for it.”

  The change in subject was so abrupt, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “What?”

  “You wouldn’t have built it if I hadn’t insisted. You…the ranch…can’t afford it right now, and I—”

  “No, do you know just how costly it is?” He pointed to the chapel as if she didn’t know what he referred to.

  She made her sigh sound like a shudder. “Yes, I saw the bill, but my jewels would cover it, and what you paid for Maggie to—”

  “No! I’m not taking your jewels. They’re still in the safe in my office. I’ll send them to you.”

  He watched her chest rise and fall in a huff. For all her effort to appear calm, the pulse in the hollow of her throat was going wild. “I don’t have anywhere to put them.” She raised her voice even as the pitch dropped almost to a growl. “Why won’t you let me help? You’re just being stubborn.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m not taking your money or your jewels.” He ought to just walk away, but her flashing eyes compelled him to send another jab. “I’m sure Colt wouldn’t want you throwing your money away that way.”

  She drew back as if he’d struck her. “Colt? What does that mean? If you’re suggesting—” She sputtered, then drew a deep breath. “You think you know everything, don’t you? But you don’t. You don’t understand me.” She waved her arms like a bird ready to take flight. “There are whole worlds out there you don’t know about.”

  “And Colt does…understand you, that is?”

  She threw her head back and sent a searing glare. “Colt. Yes, he understands. There’re a lot of men who understand.” She raised her index finger to stab his chest with each word. “And every one of them can do anything you can do.”

  Her eyes darkened and her bosom heaved as she flared her arms out. Then she made the mistake of pouting those shapely lips.

  Quick as a streak of summer lightning, he slipped his arms under hers, pulling her against him. “Is that so? Can they do this?”

  What possessed him? As soon as their lips touched, he lost all reason. She melted into him. Drinking in her familiar lilac scent like a drowning man, he deepened the kiss. This is what he needed, and nothing could pull them apart.

  Except the sharp jab of elbows in his chest.

  She yanked away, hand raised. “How dare you kiss me that way after tossing me aside like yesterday’s rubbish.”

  The sound of her slap reverberated through the air. He wouldn’t have believed she packed such a wallop. His cheek stung from the blow, and he rubbed it with his fingertips. If he had a mirror he was sure he’d find the imprint of her hand on his cheek.

  As deserved as the slap was, he didn’t regret it. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, though he wasn’t sorry in the least.

  He wasted his breath, anyway. She was already half way across the yard. He doubted anything he said would bring her back.

  ***

  Carianne took extra time rubbing Barney down. The mindless task soothed her more than the horse. Even after forty-eight hours, her lips still throbbed from Rhyan’s kiss, and that made her mad. At him for his audacity, but mostly at herself.

  She’d inveigled herself into their meeting at the chapel to offer her help in keeping the ranch.

  All for his sake. Even if divorce freed Abby to marry him, he must know she’d have nothing to do with a bankrupt man, no matter how handsome. Carianne loved him enough as a friend to want him happy, even if that meant marriage to Abby.

  Then again, she might have it all wrong.

  She meant to ask him point blank if he intended to go back to Abby, but she’d wasted her one chance because his kiss rattled her. Made her forget everything except the pain of losing him.

  It wasn’t like her not to confront people. She’d never had that problem in the past. Had he stolen her confidence as well as her joy? After his kiss, all she could think of was to run.

  She didn’t regret slapping him. It felt good. That was out of character for her, too. Words were always a better weapon in any confrontation.

  The slap still felt good, though. Kept her from crying.

  So he refused to let her help save the ranch, even to pay for the chapel. Why had she thought for a moment he’d see reason? She was beginning to see things Rachel’s way. Men were too full of ego to give a woman credit for an ounce of sense.

  Now she didn’t have time to compose herself before opening the doors to the library. But somehow, she’d have to greet everyone with a smile when all she wanted to do was have a good cry.

  The time for crying was over. She’d thought Rhyan was different. Well he wasn’t, so let him figure it out for himself. Let him lose Sollano. She couldn’t control the situation or him, but she could stop being stupid.

  She’d spent enough time worrying. The whole morning was lost because she’d waited at the chapel until he showed up. Now the situation was worse than ever. That was the stupid part.

  The creaking of a wagon told her the ladies were arriving. She gave Barney a final pat, put the curry brush back in place, and squared her shoulders as she crossed the yard to greet the library patrons.

  Since she’d reopened the little library housed in her front parlor, the number of patrons increased daily. Those rumors following in the wake of the spring festival had been put to rest. The retraction of those newspaper stories naming her Rhyan Cason’s mistress helped changed minds.

  But it took leaving Sollano for good and showing an interest in Colt to truly satisfy the local gossips. They now considered it safe to associate with her.

  Everyone trooped in and female chatter filled the little house up to the rafters. They looked on the library as a meeting place rather than a quiet refuge. This might as well be a quilting bee. As conversation and laughter ebbed and flowed, Carianne paid little heed until talk shifted to the possible closing of Sollano.

  Rhyan wouldn’t let that happen despite his refusal to accept her help. Yes, he had huge liabilities, but he wasn’t destitute. Yet. It still worried her all those employees could lose their jobs. The cowboys. The household help.

  As the poet had said, “No man is an island.” Rhyan could sell out and leave. Go back to Washington and to Abby, but the people who depended on Sollano for a living would suffer.

  She tilted her chin a notch. It wasn’t fair.

  Why did these women have to remind her of Rhyan? What would their reaction be if they knew about that kiss in the graveyard? Fortunately, they’d never know. She’d never mention it, and Rhyan wasn’t the type. They were the
only ones—

  Had Brother Hal seen them? Not that he’d say anything, but her cheeks burned at the thought someone had watched. How long had that kiss lasted? For a moment when Rhyan kissed her—maybe a long moment—she’d held onto him in a stupor.

  But only because it surprised her.

  Or maybe because she liked it. Like a wilting flower sucking in water.

  Why had he kissed her after making it clear he wanted to have nothing more to do with her? Just when she was ready to get on with her life. Now it would take a long time to get the taste of his kiss off her mouth.

  Rachel poked her shoulder. “I’m going to get Gulliver’s Travels for the boys and a picture book for Becky.”

  Carianne wiped her hands on her apron and took the books to record. “Let me get you something a little more challenging for Becky.” She sat at her desk and rummaged through the stack of books sitting to one side. After sliding Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm out, she handed it to Rachel.

  Myra laid her selection on the corner of the desk. “By the by, Carianne, did anyone tell you Emma’s coming back next week?”

  Ink blotted the page where Carianne recorded the book titles. “She was going to stay until August. What happened?” As if she didn’t know. Emma had heard about Rhyan and maybe about her and Colt too. He was her son, after all.

  “Her son-in-law came home earlier than expected. She wrote me she’d meet everyone at the barn dance next Saturday. You going, aren’t you?”

  With a disinterested nod, Carianne returned to the ledger. She’d promised Colt she’d go to the dance.

  It would be good to see Emma, but that lady didn’t mince words when giving her opinion, which was often. Emma would have a few things to say about the situation. Was it too much to hope Emma would wait until she had Carianne cornered somewhere private? Not at the dance.

  “Emma probably wrote to me too. I just haven’t gone to the post office lately.”