by Jodi Thomas
“What?” everyone said at once.
Jacob glared at Nell. “Isn’t there a limit to the number of fiancés you can have, Two Bits? Husbands aren’t like dolls you can collect.”
She rolled her eyes, bothered more by his teasing than Walter Farrow’s statement. “I have never collected dolls, but I might consider husbands.”
The big man lifted a stack of papers from his case and shuffled through until he found several blue sheets of paper, all with envelopes neatly attached. “Same stationery, same seal, same signature. I have her promise to marry me if I travel to Clarendon and find her unmarried. The Stockard place will be put in my name as part of the marriage settlement.” He turned to Nell. “Are you still unmarried, Miss Smith?”
“Yes, but . . .”
Walter smiled. “There are no buts. We’ve an agreement. All that remains is to find a preacher. I’ll not hear of further delays. We both agreed in writing.”
Jacob moved closer to Nell, his ever-protecting role in full play. Harrison shoved away from where he’d been leaning on the wall beside the kitchen door and asked to see the papers.
Perturbed, Walter passed them to Harrison without introduction. He didn’t seem to care who saw the papers; after all, they were his proof. “I believe you’ll find the papers in order, and any lawyer will tell you the agreement is binding.”
Nell watched Walter, trying to guess his game as she said as calmly as she could, “I wrote no such letters. Except for the first letter asking about the Stockard land, I’ve never corresponded with you, sir. I only agreed to talk with you because the land had once been in your family.”
“Maybe you were on pain medicine?” Walter debated. “I’ve heard the drugs for pain can make you forget all manner of things. With a bullet still lodged in your back, I can only imagine what you’ve had to endure.”
He spread his hands wide as if in court as he addressed the others. “Or maybe you’ve reconsidered my offer since you’ve sobered up. Living in a house of this kind might drive anyone to drink. I have no idea of your circumstance, but I have the letters. And, despite your shortcomings, I’m still willing to hold to my part of the agreement. We can be married by nightfall, my dear. A woman like you can not afford to be too selective or wait too long. There are those in this world who might try to take advantage of your condition, and I plan to see that does not happen.”
“A woman like me?” Nell wished she had a gun within reach. The man seemed to think she’d been one of the working girls in this house before she inherited.
Walter lifted one fat finger. “A woman with a questionable past. Which,” he hurried on, “I am prepared to overlook and never mention again.”
The sheriff shook his head and backed out of the way. Nell could take care of herself. She might not have the use of her legs, but there was nothing wrong with her mind. If she said she didn’t write the letter, Walter was a fool to question her word. And as for questioning her past . . . he might end up a dead man.
Randolph Harrison held up the two blue sheets of paper. “The writing is the same. The signature on the second is a little shaky, but both are on the same paper and have her seal. The second does promise to marry him if he’s willing to travel here and finds you still single.”
No one appeared to be listening to Harrison. They all stared at Walter Farrow as if fearing he might strike like a snake at any moment.
Nell lifted her chin. “I don’t abuse drink or drugs, Mr. Farrow. Though this house had a shady past, I assure you, sir, I do not.” Her hands formed into fists around the yarn in her lap. “And, Mr. Farrow, I did not dictate, or write, the second letter.” Her gaze bore into him. “So, what is your game?”
Walter looked offended for a moment before he realized no one in the room would buy into his plan. “I came to marry you,” he said without conviction. “It pains me greatly that you no longer hold to the bond we made by mail.” His face reddened as his voice rose. “You don’t know who you are dealing with if you think you can back out on our agreement. No one, not even a cripple, swindles me!”
She saw it again. The flip side of Walter Farrow. One second cold and calm, the next threatening.
Nell glanced at Jacob and realized he simply waited for her to nod so that he might have the pleasure of clobbering Walter Farrow. She guessed that if Farrow even mentioned taking her to court for breach of contract, everyone in the room would take turns killing him.
She fought to stay in control. “I’m sorry for your inconvenience, Mr. Farrow, but there is nothing I can do. I fear the cripple isn’t marrying today.” If he’d have used any swear word, he couldn’t have hurt her worse, but by tossing it back to him, she proved no word would crush her.
She reached for the letters, and Harrison handed them over. After one glance, she knew the problem. “Gypsy, could you asked Mary Ruth to come downstairs?”
Gypsy nodded and ran from the room as if wanting to complete her chore before she missed anything.
Everyone waited in silence as footsteps thumped down the stairs. Harrison picked up a paper that had fallen from Farrow’s case and began reading it as if to pass the time.
Mary Ruth made it halfway across the room before she saw the blue stationery. Her face paled, but she didn’t look down. “You needed to see me?” she asked Nell in a voice that always seemed winter cold. “I thought you said I had the night off. I haven’t had any time for myself in a week.”
“Yes,” Nell agreed, hating how Mary Ruth always reminded her that she was an employee. “You do have the night off. I only need to bother you a moment to ask one question.” Nell turned the letters in her hands so that the nurse could read them. “Did you write these letters, and this other one, to a Walter Farrow in Dallas?” The question was direct.
Mary Ruth looked at the letters as if needing to read each completely before answering. “At your request.” Anger built in her words. “I wrote them at your request.”
“The first was at my request,” Nell agreed. “But why did you write the others?”
Mary Ruth soldiered on. “When you placed the ad for a husband, I guessed you would get no proper gentleman applying. I thought, since Mr. Farrow wrote about buying land, he must be a man of some means. He said he was a lawyer, so he’d be educated.” Mary Ruth looked angry that she was being asked to explain.
“Go on,” Nell said.
The nurse lifted her head. “Since you were offering marriage in the ad, I saw no harm in offering it in the letter. I thought by the time he arrived, you would have either found someone you liked, or you would be willing to accept his offer. Either way, the letter sounded perfectly logical to me. A person in your condition can’t afford to be too picky. Offering the Stockard place, which the sheriff said was worthless, seemed only fair. I was acting in your best interest. For your own good.”
Nell nodded as if understanding the nurse’s reasoning. “All right. I see how you might have thought you were helping, so I’ll provide the price of your ticket back to Dallas. I’m afraid there will be no reference, however.”
Mary Ruth’s eyes bulged. “You’re firing me?”
“You are already fired. You were no longer in my employment the minute I realized you signed my name to a letter I never wrote or asked you to write. I’ll give you ten minutes to pack your things and be out. A final train leaves for Dallas at dusk. You can wait for it at the station.”
“You can’t fire me. I was only doing what was best for you. You need me. You can’t even get up the stairs without me. Who will bathe you? Dress you?”
“I’ll manage.” Nell’s face warmed. She didn’t want to talk about all the things she couldn’t do. Not in front of everyone. She only knew she would not be treated like a mental cripple. She would not become a child in a world of adults just because she could no longer walk.
Gypsy sensed her mood. The old hooker stepped up beside Mary Ruth. “I’ll help you pack. I figure you only have about nine more minutes left, and if I was you, I wouldn�
��t want to be late leaving. It might not be healthy even for a nurse.”
“I’ll not stand for this treatment. I’m a professional.”
Gypsy leaned into the nurse’s side. “You bet you are, honey. Maybe you shouldn’t let her talk to you like this. Maybe you should quit?”
Mary Ruth looked from Nell to Gypsy as if considering the fact that insanity might be spreading. “You’ll never get another nurse to come here. I was the last one willing to even think about this job. You’ve fired too many of us. In a matter of days you’ll be crawling around on the floor in filth wishing you’d taken Mr. Farrow’s offer.” She glanced at Walter Farrow and ran from the room with Gypsy in her wake.
Walter folded up his case. He straightened his clothes and faced her. “I am sorry for the awkward beginning, Miss Smith, but I assure you I believed we had a straight business deal when I arrived.”
“A deal you intended to see that I held to,” Nell said.
“Only because I believe it would be in your best interest.”
He saw the anger in her stare and quickly added, “Both our interests. I don’t suppose you’d reconsider selling me the Stockard place?” The smiling side of him was back. “I truly am in need of land, and I will give you a fair price. I’d like to keep the place in the family.”
“I didn’t know Henry Stockard had family,” the sheriff mumbled. “Seems like he told me he’d tried to contact them a few times, and a lawyer sent a letter back saying they were all dead.”
“We hadn’t spoken in years. My mother would not tolerate his drinking,” Farrow answered. “He was my mother’s brother. I find it irresponsible of him not to leave the land to someone in the family.”
“Like you,” Parker guessed.
“Like me. In fact, I have evidence that he may have been under the influence of strong drink when he made out the will.”
Parker smiled. “Henry was ‘under the influence’ every day that I knew him, but that didn’t mean that he was fool enough to leave what little he had to a family that disowned him.”
“That’s not the point. I mean to have the land back. I’ll buy it if I have to. I brought an offer with me in case I found you already married. Maybe you’d be willing to sign it with witnesses so there will be no misunderstanding this time.” He seemed to hint that he still believed he’d been tricked.
Nell noticed Randolph Harrison still reading through the papers. “I’ll have my accountant look over the papers.” She raised an eyebrow at Harrison, and he nodded slightly, accepting her job offer. “If Mr. Harrison agrees, we will set a price.”
Walter Farrow looked bothered but agreed and promised he’d check back as the sheriff and Jacob showed him the door.
Nell leaned forward as Harrison sat down across from her to explain the papers. “I’ll pay you a fair price,” she said, “if you will give me your opinion.”
The thin man smiled. “I’ll charge you a fair rate and dinner as a retainer. But why trust me and not Mr. Farrow? I’m as much a stranger as he, and we’re both offering marriage because of the land.”
Nell winked at him. “Because I know Marla asks everyone who walks into her kitchen to help, and you were willing to roll up your sleeves and give her a hand. I believe you’re the kind of man I can trust.” His last statement had proved it, but she didn’t say more.
He smiled then. “I really had little choice. You see, I’m hungry. If I help, maybe we’ll eat sooner.”
“And can you cook, Mr. Harrison?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. But I can help. My mother was a boardinghouse cook until the day she died. Every time I passed through the kitchen, I was drafted into peeling or washing, or cutting something. I didn’t realize how much I missed her until I started peeling potatoes a few minutes ago in your kitchen. I had the strangest feeling of being home.”
Nell touched Mr. Harrison’s hand in comfort. Jacob and the sheriff stepped back into the room.
“He’s gone,” the sheriff said, dusting his hands. “But, I fear, like mold, he’ll be back one rainy day.”
Mr. Harrison stood and released her hand.
She didn’t miss Jacob’s lifted eyebrow, but she said nothing. The information about Mr. Harrison was his to tell, not hers.
CHAPTER 6
JACOB DALTON WALKED INTO THE EVENING SHADOWS of the porch and pulled a thin cigar from his vest pocket. He smoked little, even when he was in town and could buy tobacco, but he needed time by himself, and the cigar seemed as good a reason as any. The night was cool, the sky clear for a change. Winter’s breath still hung in the air, but it wouldn’t be long until spring. Jacob always loved the way spring rode the wind into this part of the state.
As he lit up, the thin ribbon of smoke blended with the odors drifting from town. Dinners cooking, the oily smoke from the last train, horses, and more . . . people. He’d spent so much time alone that all the familiar smells of town now bothered him.
He looked inside as though the window were a picture that had come to life. Everyone had moved from the dining table to more comfortable chairs by the fireplace. He saw Gypsy, curled in an overstuffed chair in one of the corners, sound asleep. Her duties as housekeeper didn’t seem to extend to cleanup after dinner. Jacob couldn’t help but wonder if Nell knew her story. She’d lived in this house all Nell’s life, but there’d been a time when her home was a colorful wagon traveling between Galveston and Houston. Rumor was, back then, that her people had been gold smugglers. They’d been robbed one night while on the road. Gypsy, even though almost grown, was so tiny she hid in a cabinet. All her people had been killed that night, and Jacob heard that she wandered from one fort along the frontier line to another doing laundry and other services until she reached here. Fat Alice gave her the first home she’d ever had.
Jacob smiled as he watched. Old Gypsy only had two speeds, jumpy and asleep, but Fat Alice must have known Nell would make sure she continued to have a home here.
Rand Harrison, however, was another story. He looked out of place helping Marla clear the table. Rand must have said something to the shy cook, for she smiled and nodded. Jacob studied him while Harrison couldn’t see him watching. All the pieces of Randolph Harrison didn’t fit together. His manners were very proper, cold, but not unkind. Yet tonight he said little and never tried to press his point about wanting to marry Nell. In fact, he paid more attention to Marla and the food than he did anyone else at the table.
Maybe he was simply hungry, Jacob decided. Not that Marla was homely. The cook was a fine-looking woman, but Jacob couldn’t help but wonder if Harrison would be as friendly when he found out what everyone, except the few people inside Nell’s house, called Marla. She’d had a little trouble getting started as a cook. Everyone in town referred to her as Last Meal Marla because her first few employers died.
The sheriff had rolled Nell’s chair to the desk, and they were busy looking over the blue letters Walter Farrow had left behind.
Jacob knew he’d join them in a few minutes, but right now he wanted to be where he felt the most comfortable: alone. It had been his life so long he couldn’t imagine any other way to live. To Nell and the sheriff he was just someone who passed through now and then. But they were all the family he had. They’d probably be shocked to know how much they meant to him and how often he talked about them when rangers sat around campfires telling of their families.
Leaning against the porch railing, he stared into the night sky. Chasing a gang of bank robbers through Big Bend Country was easier than having dinner in a dining room. He hated trying to follow conversation when he really didn’t care where it was going most of the time. Or worse, managing to follow it and finding out the discussion went nowhere. The sheriff loved to tell one story after another, and Nell had the nerve to encourage him. At least Harrison wasn’t much of a talker. The man’s good traits were piling up. Jacob had trouble not liking him.
The door behind Jacob opened. He straightened as the sheriff and Harrison walked out.
<
br /> “We’re heading back to town,” the sheriff said when he saw the ranger in the shadows. “You coming?”
“No.” Jacob tossed his cigar. “I think I’ll sleep in Nell’s barn if she has no objections. Don’t want to get too comfortable. I only have a few weeks off.”
“It’ll be cold out there.” Parker pointed to the large barn where Fat Alice used to let the cowhands stable their horses. The barn not only protected the animals against the cold but kept Fat Alice’s customer list private.
Jacob shrugged. “I’m used to the cold. It won’t bother me near as much as the noise at the hotel.”
Parker walked down the steps, his legs stiff with the movements. “I talked Mr. Harrison here into boarding at Victoria’s. The beds are always clean, and the meals are filling. Nell offered him the job of straightening out her books while she makes up her mind about marrying him. She even insisted on paying him in advance.”
Jacob extended his hand to Harrison. “I wish you luck,” he said surprised at how much he meant the words. If Nell wouldn’t consider his offer, she could do a lot worse than Harrison for a bookkeeper, or a husband.
“Thanks,” Rand answered. “Does that mean I’ll live past my wedding day if she picks me and not you?”
Jacob grinned. “It means, if she picks you, that you’ll live until you break her heart.”
Rand stiffened. “I told you once, Ranger, I’ve no heart to offer and ask none as part of the bargain. But, after meeting Miss Nell, I think we can be friends as well as partners. That’s all either of us want from the arrangement, I believe.”
Jacob shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Try working with her for a few days on the books and see if you still feel the same.” Jacob grinned from Harrison to the sheriff. “And don’t forget to ask how she got along with the last bookkeeper.”