The Lady's Arrangement (Help Wanted)

by Colleen L. Donnelly

  Regina walked away. Not walked, ran. Hied, hightailed it, to her house. Walter nuzzled my shirt as I stayed where I was, next to him, as far as I’d followed her, and watched her go.

  “I know,” I muttered as the door slammed behind her. I stared at the house. “I should have hitched you to the wagon and taken her straightaway to Liberal instead of shaking her hand. Found a parson and given her my name. Even paid Flynn’s debt on this place. Think Jim would foot that bill as part of my job?”

  Walter snorted.

  I rubbed my hands together. Hers had felt so warm. So tiny in mine. I turned to Walter. “Best give it a day. Maybe two. So she can adjust.”

  It was late. She shouldn’t have expected more than a handshake this late in the day. I stared at the house, saw the tiny glow through the kitchen window. “Come on, Walter.” I led him away from the barn’s doorway, looked one last time at the widow’s window, and headed for the stars.

  ****

  The corral was empty when Walter and I returned. We’d taken a loop around the ranch in the early morning light, Walter collecting dew on his hooves as we waited for the sun to make it day.

  I led Walter into the pen. “More feed for you without Boss here.” I rubbed his back while I listened. No noise came from Regina’s house. Her barnyard had never been so quiet. I glanced over my shoulder at the door. Closed. I needed Courage. I needed to ride more so I could think more. Get my thoughts back on the business side of this arrangement she and Jim had made for me. I laced my fingers through Walter’s mane. I thought best from the back of a horse traveling across wide open spaces. Especially red spaces. Walter tossed his nose into the air and stepped away. I glanced back at Regina’s house, then at Walter’s back end as he abandoned me for his breakfast.

  “You’re no help.” I went to the barn, opening and slamming the gate behind me. The two bottom rails dropped to the ground. “Neither are you.” I shoved the boards against the gate post with my boot.

  Walter stared from across the pen. “Well, what am I supposed to do? Go in and get her? Talk to her? Wait until she comes out? That might be never.” I glanced at the wobbling fence behind him, the way it leaned, the poor quality of the wood it had been made with. “Built by an Easterner and maintained by a man who needs two hands. Well, I gotta do something.” I marched deeper into the barn and scavenged around where I’d found Flynn’s tools. Shiny. Too light. Not the sort of tools I would choose, but evidently tools that seemed right to a man from New York. I gathered up what looked like the best of them that weren’t piled in the wagon, and toted them outside, around the end of the barn to the first corral post.

  I looked at the house and listened. Nothing. I turned back to the fence. Maybe I should just kick it down. One good shove the right direction and the whole string of posts and rails would topple. I liked the idea of a loud breaking sound.

  I dropped Flynn’s tools into the dirt, set my boot against the first post, and shoved. Rails tumbled, wood snapped, a satisfying crack split the air. I flattened the first post to the ground, and gave it a good stomp.

  “I beg your pardon. I don’t mean to interrupt.”

  I turned, keeping the post pinned beneath my boot. Doc sat in the barnyard, he, his horse, and his buggy between me and the house.

  “Where’d you come from?” I glanced around as if I could spot him sneaking up. I should have. If I kept wrangling with that redheaded woman, I’d go soft like Walter, and lose my rangering skills. “Why you here again so soon?” I stared at the man who should be saying, “I do,” instead of me. “Did you forget to do something?” I looked at his jacket and wondered what he’d think if I latched onto his lapels and dragged him off his buggy and into Regina’s house.

  “I shouldn’t have left yesterday… I mean, I need to check with Mrs. Howard.”

  I glanced toward the house, still as a morgue, then back to where he sat atop his buggy. I’m getting ready to live your life, you coward. If you’d do what a man’s supposed to do, then I wouldn’t be here.

  I nodded toward the house. “I think she’s in there.” I disappeared into the barn, made it just inside the door, and stopped. I looked to the side and stared at the widow’s pitchfork. She’d skewer poor Doc on that thing, and her boy’d be no better off than he was now. They might all three be worse for it in the end.

  “Doc.”

  He paused and glanced back.

  “She’s busy. Got things on her mind. Maybe you could talk to me, instead.” I sidled to the post and rails I’d kicked down. Flynn’s tools lay in a heap at my feet, and Walter stood at the far side of the pen. Doc glanced from me, back to the house, then to me again. I walked to the second post. It was still standing—barely—and I laid my hand on its wobbly top. Doc Harris wasn’t a man who would burn down a ranch when it needed to be. Slivers from the post jabbed my skin, irritating where my father’s barn’s splinters remained. Doc was a good man, but he wouldn’t create wounds for memories. He wouldn’t know how to use them to heal.

  “It’s her I came to see. I need to talk to her.” His eyes had that strain of where he wanted to be.

  “She’s in the middle of a discussion with me. When we finish, then it’s your turn.”

  Chapter 20

  Silent. Men surely are too silent. Doc left without a word. Jess lies with his eyes closed.

  Ted stalks about with a frown on his face. Ben stays outside, hammering away at my fence. And Flynn. One conversation would have spared me all of this. ~Regina

  “Next time you decide to tear something of mine down, ask me first.” I stared at Ben, at his back where his shirt lay damp against his skin. I brushed strands of red curls from my face, fluttering in my way, already loose from the combs and pins I’d spent twenty minutes fixing and re-fixing. Just in case.

  “Ours. Not yours.” Ben straightened from the stoop he was bent into. He swiped an arm across his brow, streaks of dirt smearing his forehead.

  Trails of sweat ran below the smears, drips collecting in his brows and lashes as the rest cleared paths down his cheeks. He swiped his arm across his eyes again, then dropped it, taking a nice long gander from my head to my toes. At the skirt I’d put on, the blouse and its fine lace tucked tight at its waist. “Mrs. Miller.”

  “Not yet. In case you didn’t notice, I look nothing like a squaw.”

  “Oh, I notice.” He took a step my way, glistening in the sun as he did.

  “I’m going to town, Mr. Miller.”

  “Alone?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  He came closer, close enough I could smell the work on him, the sweat and the dust, the old broken boards. He stopped right in front of me, and stared down. “How about we make this a little easier for both of us. Get to know each other proper. You like proper.” He swiped a hand down the front of his shirt, another streak of wet grime left behind. “I’m Ben. Ben Miller.” He extended a damp hand. “I hail from a little bit of everywhere. Mostly south. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “If this is another handshake deal, I can tell you Mr. Gulliver isn’t the sort of banker who would consider such a gesture a legal document. And neither do I.”

  “No, ma’am, this isn’t a handshake deal, and you ain’t no squaw.”

  “Okay, then. I’m Regina. Regina Howard from New York. Well, from Liberal, Kansas, now. And I’m not shaking your hand, so let it drop. I’m going to town.”

  “What’s this?” Ted appeared at the mouth of the barnyard—the way he always did when no one was looking or wanting him there—astride Boss, his good hand pointing at what was left of the corral.

  “Going into town.” Ben grinned down at me. “I’ll finish when we get back.” Ben watched my hair, the floating strands that flitted across my face, then glanced down to my skirt again.

  “I knew if you stuck around I’d be cleaning up your messes. Ben.”

  Ben gave his hat a tug. Ted was wasting his breath. It was as if he wasn’t there. Only I was in Ben’s world. Me and town.
“I’ll go hitch up the wagon, ma’am.”

  Chapter 21

  My stepmother always said we sleep in the beds we make. I’m used to sleeping on the dirt. ~Rex

  Liberal wasn’t so large I hadn’t figured out where to leave the wagon so it would be easy enough to get to. Regina’d been quiet most of the ride, fidgeting with the bag on her lap, and watching ahead the first half mile or so. It was the looking to the side she did the rest of the trip that wasn’t right.

  Walter’d tossed his head in the air as we started out, making me think to talk to the woman that was about to become my arranged wife, ask her about errands she might need to run, dry goods to buy, or the bank—if we got done what we were supposed to.

  The widow listened to my first few questions, the green of her eyes growing darker with each one. I brought up every single bit of shopping I could think of, even suggested an extra errand or two, until she turned those dark eyes to the side and kept them that way. I’d tightened the reins on Walter for causing me so much trouble. I hopped down when he came to a stop in town, walked to her side of the wagon, and extended a hand.

  “You look right nice, Mrs. Howard.” And she did. I knew the right dress—any dress—would set off that tiny waist and the rest of the shape she buried beneath her husband’s…her first husband’s…clothing.

  “I can manage.” She bent around my hand and managed those nice clothes, dropping to the ground in them without my help.

  “That skirt didn’t get in your way at all.”

  “I’ve never met a man so obtuse.”

  “Obtuse?”

  “I’ll see you back here. Later.” She didn’t look up as she marched off, but I nodded anyway. She turned to the right when she reached the boarded walk, her small frame, her fiery red hair, and that swishing skirt disappearing around the corner.

  I walked to Walter. “You weren’t any help at all. Otherwise Mrs. Howard and I would both be smiling. Be glad you’re not a mare.” I gave his back a smack. “If you were, I’d sell you today and get me another horse.”

  Chapter 22

  If I could buy anything, anything at all, it would be time. ~Regina

  “I’ll see you when I’m good and ready.” That’s what I should have said as I left Ben behind. “I’m coming with you…we have an arrangement to take care of.” That’s what he should have said back. But he didn’t.

  I hurried to the postal office. That bank had better have something of Flynn’s after all, and be ready to do some bargaining, since Ben wasn’t going to be a bit of help to me and Jess.

  “We got a wire in for you.” Mr. Green pulled a note from the wooden slots behind him. “Looks like your father.”

  “Thank you.” I turned from Mr. Greene and opened and read the offer my father made often—ever since Flynn’s death and even before, while I was growing up—to take care of things. I read his usual words—strong, clear, precise, but loving—as he insisted again I let the ranch go. He offered to move Jess and me back to New York, settle us into a new home close to a good school. I stared at what he said was best. It would be so easy… No more Ben, no more Mr. Gulliver… Just let go… “No.”

  “Pardon?” Mr. Greene called from the counter.

  “Sorry. Just talking to myself.” I felt that familiar take-charge air in my father’s instructions. Everyone wanted to take charge of me and my ranch, leaving me constantly saying no. Except to one man. The one I should have said no to, and stuck to it to begin with. Ben.

  “I’d like to send a wire.” I returned to Mr. Greene and ignored his raised brow as he slid me a form. “Doing well. Expect letter.” I scrawled in cursive, then handed to Mr. Greene both the form and a letter I’d written that was full of promise regarding our situation. Jess is happy. We’re adding to the ranch. Everything except the name it needed.

  “That’ll be ten…I mean, two cents,” Mr. Greene said.

  I parted with the coins, and thanked him. I gazed at what was left of my money in the bottom of my bag as I stepped out onto the boarded walk. Not enough for a horse and some cattle. Doggone you, Flynn. If I had our money, I’d be buying my way out of this fix instead of needing to marry my way out of it.

  I glanced down the walkway. No Ben. Thank God. I headed toward the bank.

  “Mrs. Howard, where’s your wagon parked?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Mr. Wayne stood in front of his dry goods store. He leaned on his broom, his long, thin stature a twin to it. He smiled and waved me inside.

  “I’m not here to buy anything. I was going to the bank.”

  “Of course.” Mr. Wayne held the door. I stepped inside, a plethora of flour, fabric, hardware, and oils I couldn’t afford meeting me. I can live without new fabric. I can live without extra tools. I caught sight of the candy jars along the counter. All of the colors Jess used to get when Flynn was alive. How can my boy live without those?

  “Tell me where your wagon is, and I’ll carry this out for you.”

  “But…” I stared at the glistening sticks. “I can’t…”

  “Is it close?” Mr. Wayne slapped his hand on a stack of flour, dried meat, and more things than I’d seen in ages. Far more than what a few sticks of candy would cost.

  “Excuse me, but those things aren’t mine.”

  “You’re Mrs. Howard.” Mr. Wayne smiled, dusted his hands on the front of his apron.

  “Yes, of course, we both know that.” I hated silly games. “But…”

  “Some fellow came by and gathered all of this up and said to put it with whatever else Mrs. Howard bought.”

  Whatever else I bought. Colors shone from the jars. “I’m not buying anything, and whoever that fellow was, he can’t expect me to pay for his supplies. He can get his own!”

  “He did get his own. These are all bought and paid for. Gave me a little extra to help you tote it to your wagon.” Mr. Wayne rubbed his hands together.

  “Mr. Wayne…” I stepped closer to the pile that stood higher than my knees. “Who was this man? Was it Doc?”

  “No, ma’am, though the doctor’s kind enough to do this sort of thing. No, this fellow was tall, with black hair. Seen him in here the other day, just looking around. Kin of yours?”

  “Not at all…but I’ll be sure to thank him.”

  Mr. Wayne smiled as he loaded his arms with half of what Ben had bought. “Thank him good. I’ll need to make two trips.”

  “I’ll show you the wagon.” I led the way, the fire in my cheeks growing with each step. Leave it to a man to be sensible about his meals he’d yammered about all the way into town and know nothing about… I stood to the side, watched Mr. Wayne stack both loads of Ben’s supplies in the back of the wagon, a large heavy pan clattering in last of all. “What’s that?” I marched to the end of the wagon as Mr. Wayne shoved the monstrosity toward the front.

  “You don’t have one of those?” He frowned. “Best skillet made.”

  “I would argue with that. My cookware from New York is excellent. Nothing like that beast. It looks too heavy to lift.”

  “No wonder you’re so thin.” He chuckled. “You need one of these to cook a real meal out here. I’m surprised you don’t have one.”

  “Well, I don’t. But I suppose if I can ever lift it, there might be a use for it.” Like taking a swing at that tall varmint with the black hair.

  Chapter 23

  Shouldn’t have to sniff twice to know there’s a rat nearby. ~Rex

  I watched from beside a nearby building as Regina marched Mr. Wayne to the wagon, and grinned when the frying pan hit the wagon’s bed. Good thing I paid him, since there wasn’t much gratitude in her thanks. Wasn’t much kindness in her face, either, as she glanced around when the man was done. I stepped back and prayed she hadn’t spotted me. Gave her enough time to decide I wasn’t around, then peered around the building’s edge and caught the back of her heading the direction of the bank. She wasn’t supposed to be going there today, except with me. It was all that ne
rvous talk that must have driven her to it. Walter’d never forgive me if the widow went in there and found out Ted was a better option than me.

  I stepped out as she pushed through the bank’s door. I hello-ma’am-ed and howdy-sir-ed my way to the bank’s front. Bold. Like I wasn’t terrified of the little woman inside. I knew better than to act shady around a bank. Too easy to get shot that way.

  Regina was seated with her back to me as I stepped through the door. She was facing Mr. Gulliver, her bag and her hands in her lap. I kept my head down and my shoulders hunched, pausing at the center table in the lobby with the other customers who were speaking of the weather, waving paperwork, and signing their names. Maybe she already knew Ted could sign. Maybe shaking her hand, tearing down her corral, and making silly chatter on the way to town had made her madder than I thought.

  I pretended to sort through papers as I eased around the table’s edge, working my way close enough to hear what the widow…my arrangement…my wife-to-be… said. I stacked and restacked blank sheets, some with lines and places for dates, all of them with a spot for dollar amounts.

  “Mr. Gulliver, my good name as Flynn’s wife…widow…should suffice.”

  I wondered if her cheeks were the same color as her hair. Red. I wanted to look.

  “For the moment, that is. After that, I have a proposal for you, Mr. Gulliver.”

  I glanced to the side as the banker leaned forward, elbows, arms, hands—all of it draped in wealth as he eased her way. “No, ma’am, you’re mistaken. I have a proposal for you.”

  “Not before mine.” I was behind Regina before Mr. Gulliver could propose Ted as her man, my hands on her shoulders, as I stared over her head into her banker’s face. I leaned close to that red, as close as I dared. “There you are. Are you ready?”

  She looked up, her eyes the size of something her banker would appreciate—dollars.