by Freda, Paula
Seth shook his head. “Lee, let’s get down to business. The Triple R is legally yours. I don’t have enough assets to buy the ranch back outright, but I can raise a sizable down payment and mortgage the rest.”
“I’m not selling the Triple R, not yet,” Leatrice said.
Mildly surprised, Seth searched her face. What was she up to? “I’m not selling, not yet, but I do have a solution. You might not like it; in fact, you’ll probably think I’m crazy, but I’d consider well before walking out of my life and the Triple R forever.”
“Out of your life,” Seth murmured. “Then this solution has something to do with you and me personally?
“Yes,” Leatrice said, her color heightening. “I’m not going to bandy words or make excuses. For a long time both of us have known how we feel about each other. If I were Montanan born and bred, I’d be Mrs. Driscoll by now. This past year I have tried to prove myself to you, but with only occasional visits to your ranch, with you fighting your feelings for me every step of the way, nothing much has come of my attempts. I have one last card to play.” She met his gaze and almost staggered under its intensity. “It’s my last card, I promise.” His gaze had her riveted and her courage threatened to falter. “Go on, Leatrice, play your last card.”
At least he hadn’t denied his feelings for her. That was all he had to do, and she would have signed the Triple R back over to him right on the spot. By asking her to play her last card, he’d proved her diagnosis correct.
Leatrice said nervously, “All right. I’ll give you back the Triple R, and I’ll throw in the Bar LB at one quarter of its cost, if you will permit me to stay one year under your roof, so that we can have time together, time for you to learn about the real me, not the fancy clothes and the refined manners, but the girl inside desperately in love with you.” For the first time since she had entered the room, his expression softened. She felt encouraged. “I’ll pay you the same fee you’d charge a tourist, like the Sweeneys who rent cabins for the summer. And perhaps you could find some work for me to do so I could make myself useful and—"
“And not be bored,” he finished for her.
“No, that’s not what I was going to say.” What she intended saying was …and prove that I am as good as any woman born and bred in your country. All at once Seth looked tired. “Leatrice I think you are crazy, but you’re not the first woman to do something unorthodox in the name of love. The Triple R means too much to me to lose it in the name of pride. I agree to your terms, but only on condition that you let me buy it back, as I offered before.”
“At the end of the agreed upon year, along with the Bar LB,” Leatrice emphasized. “In fact, I want you to run the Bar LB while I stay at the Triple R.” Leatrice knew the offer was irresistible. Not in his wildest dreams could Seth have imagined owning a cattle ranch the size of the Bar LB, along with the Triple R, on his limited resources. What man in his right mind could refuse? She waited for a reply. Seth hesitated. He appeared to be struggling with his thoughts. Finally he nodded.
“I’ll call my lawyer.”
“No, no written agreements, no lawyers. Just a gentleman’s word.”
“Just a gentleman’s word,” Seth repeated. “I certainly have been one.” He clapped the battered Stetson on his head, adjusted it, tilting the brim slightly at an angle. “Lee, if that’s all, I’ve got a horse ranch to tend to.” He sounded weary. “Move in when you like.” Halfway out of the study, he turned. A corner of his mouth went up and an almost humorous expression entered his eyes. “Coincidentally, my housekeeper is leaving at the end of the week. Her son is returning from a stint in the Army. Want to give the job a try?”
Leatrice practically glowed. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Can you cook?”
“I studied in Paris.”
“I should have guessed,” he said. “Well, leave the expensive dresses and jewelry at the Bar LB and bring some work clothes. You’ll need them.” He turned and walked out of the study.
Leatrice listened to the clack of his boots as he crossed the foyer and went out the front door. She strode to the French doors and focused on the mountains Seth had been watching. They reminded her of her favorite candy, Snowcaps. She suddenly felt cold and hugged herself. Who was she after all, to be playing with Seth’s life? What pompous arrogance gave her the right to imagine she could win him over, body and soul, by her mere presence in his home? The glass panes in front of her glinted with sunlight. The pale golden rays touched her diamonded earrings and cuff links causing them to shimmer and sparkle. She felt even colder, and shuddered, not knowing what the future held. She wanted Seth to accept her; she wanted the right to spend the rest of her life at his side.
CHAPTER THREE
Everything in the Meredith’s residence, a restored Federal mansion, including the servants, glinted with cleanliness, crispness, dignity and antiquity. The Merediths, themselves, exemplified these qualities as they sat opposite each other on pink Chippendale sofas, with a Sheraton table between them. Mr. Meredith, elegant in a gray suit of the finest tailoring, inquired, “What do you think, Beth? Has our daughter found herself a beau at last? Mrs. Meredith chuckled light-heartedly. “I’m inclined to think so. And from her description of his character, I’m inclined to like him.
Mr. Meredith had his doubts. “They’re both proud and stubborn. They’ll clash.” Beth placed her cup of tea on the table, careful not to spill any on her white silk robe.
“Now, Thomas, she’s a grown woman, and ever since she reached the age of reason, no fool. We’ll have to trust her judgment.”
“Love can cloud the mind. Do you remember?” he added, alluding to a memory they privately shared — a warm memory. His thin lips spread into a smile and his chunky cheeks and broad nose colored. His light blue eyes crinkled, shooting fine lines across his temples and ample forehead.
Beth contemplated his thinning hair. She would miss its supple waviness.
“Exactly,” she remarked.
Like his wife, Thomas Meredith was tall and statuesque. He had played football in college, had toyed with the idea of going professional, but in the end the family estate and his father’s brokerage firm had appealed to him as the more sensible career. He had met Beth under most unpoetical circumstances — a broken leg after being tackled. The medical team had carried him off the field in a stretcher, past the bleacher on which Beth sat. Never in his young life had he gazed upon such perfect airbrushed beauty. Never had he encountered such clear, expressive eyes, a soft hazel. Her exquisite oval face was filled with sympathy and concern.
As soon as he healed and returned to class, he began searching for her. Lucky for him, Beth was a student at the college he attended. She was a freshman, and the daughter of a prominent citizen in the community. He wasted no time setting about wooing Beth and making her his own.
Thirty-five years of marriage had not dampened their love for each other. Rather the original fervor had amplified, become more meaningful, surviving and expanding the physical passion, while the shared joys and sorrows melded their spirits and minds. They had been granted one child, Leatrice, a self-willed, blue-eyed beguiling siren. They had given her everything money could buy, and everything that money could not buy — their love and devotion. Leatrice had returned that love and devotion, done her best to please them, excelling in her studies, her beauty and good manners. Only one thing they had been unable to provide her. A good man. With the many suitors who vied for her affections from her teen years onward, Leatrice found fault with each one. What was she looking for, Thomas often puzzled.
“Dearest, you seem worried,” Beth said.
“I am worried.”
Beth stood up and walked around the table to sit at her husband’s side. She placed delicately lined fingers upon his large, age-spotted hand. “Thomas, I think our daughter is in love.”
Mr. Meredith agreed. “We’ll stand by in case she needs us.” Early that evening Mrs. Meredith took out her personal directory and entered Le
atrice’s new address and telephone number where she could be reached for the next twelve months.
CHAPTER FOUR
Leatrice rested her chin on top of the mop stick in her hands. Beads of sweat hung on her forehead. Her hair, along with the remainder of her, and the red plaid shirt and blue jeans she wore, was soaked with perspiration.
How could Seth Driscoll live this way, she wondered? Black patches glowered up at her where the red and white linoleum had cracked and peeled from age and wear, and mocked her efforts to clean it. Seth kept his stalls and paddocks meticulously clean, his fences constantly repaired, and his tack equipment routinely checked and updated. He was scrupulous about his personal hygiene, yet he showed a minimum of concern for his home.
Of the four rooms in his wood framed one-story house, the kitchen was the worst. The plaster walls were cracked and peeling, and faded to a sickly lime green. The cabinets were thick with repeated coats of white enamel. In several spots the numerous coats of paint were wrinkled and ridged, and one could glimpse the original rusted metal beneath.
Except for a small electric broiler, the appliances in the room were at least forty years old, the cast iron wood burning stove much older. The white exterior of the refrigerator had long since yellowed and bore innumerable scratches. And the shape of the thing! It had rounded corners. Leatrice eyed the appliance malevolently. She had come to the conclusion that the freezer must have automatic frosting, because weekly she had to pick-and-shovel the ice out.
The sink, or rather a kitchen tub, was as ancient. She lifted the mop and dunked its coarse roped hair in the soapy water, swished it about, then twisted the roped hair until it reminded her of decaying hay. She put the mop out to dry, closing the back door soundly in protest.
Once again she noted her hands and groaned as she held them up for inspection. Three weeks as Driscoll’s housekeeper and not one of her fingernails remained intact. Her hands were a mess. She had tried rubber gloves, but found them a nuisance. She hated the feeling of her fingers confined in the rubber. Now her hands once smooth and silky were red and dry, palms rough with calluses forming, cuticles frayed and fingernails chipped and broken.
She touched her face. A thin layer of dust soaked in her sweat covered it. Between the dust, dirt and perspiration, makeup was useless, and by nightfall she was too exhausted to contemplate applying it, especially after hearing Seth express his dislike of painted faces.
The hours were murder. Up at five a.m. to cook breakfast, a large breakfast, Seth had a healthy appetite, and dinner at six in the evening. Would he ever forget the first meal she cooked for him? Minus a toaster, she used the small broiler to toast four pieces of bread. The requested sunny-side up eggs cooked to an elaborate elasticized plastic inside the old iron pan on the wood burning stove which she was certain had belonged to Seth’s grandmother. In the meantime, because her attention was tied up with the eggs, the toast burned to a crispy, crunchy black, and the coffee boiled over in the aluminum pot, spluttering brown liquid and grains to sizzle merrily over the burner and stovetop.
Her generous offer to update his kitchen was met with a flat refusal. Not a very good beginning, she reflected, freeing a potholder from its hook and using it to grasp the heated handle of the coffeepot perking on the stove. But her next meals had been decided improvements.
Leatrice poured herself a cup of coffee. She liked it strong and black. Seth liked a teaspoonful of sugar to take away the bitterness.
She sat at the metal-topped table and watched the hot vapor rise from her cup and evaporate while the coffee cooled to a drinkable temperature. She was determined to prove to Seth that she was as good as any Montanan-bred woman. This was not a case of unrequited love. Seth had been attracted to her from the day they had first met, and he’d told her so more than once. But he’d also told her that the girl with whom he chose to spend his life, must be born and bred in his country — country is what he called Montana, his native homeland.
Another hour and Seth was due home for supper. Leatrice had steaks in the fridge ready for broiling and potatoes set out for peeling, cutting and frying. Earlier she had prepared a salad. In a corner of the kitchen counter was deep dark-crusted apple pie and homemade bread in a straw basket under a checkered dishcloth that Linda, a local girl who regularly cooked for the ranch hands, had brought over in the morning. Linda, always Linda. Indispensable Linda. Helpful Linda. Always-on-hand Linda. It would be nice not to owe Linda so much. Linda made few, if any mistakes. Seth had commented he was lucky the former housekeeper had recommended he hire her to cook for his men.
The knob on the back door jiggled and a sturdy, yet soft feminine voice, appropriate for the country girl to whom it belonged, asked, “Lee, may I come in. Got something for you.”
“Come in,” Leatrice answered.
Linda entered flourishing a plastic canister. “Just finished baking some cookies and thought Seth and you might like some.”
“Thank you.” Leatrice seemed to be constantly thanking her. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked and wondered why she had.
Linda smiled. “Yes, love some.”
Leatrice placed the canister of cookies next to the homemade bread and fetched the sugar bowl and another cup from a cabinet above the counter, and set them before Linda who had seated herself at the table.
“Help yourself,” Leatrice said. She took the creamer out of the refrigerator and set that before Linda as well.
Linda bent forward to pour herself a cup of coffee. Leatrice noted again the girl’s light brown hair, bleached where the sun had toyed with it the longest. Her skin was tanned and healthy, and there was a muted blush to her small-boned cheeks. Her lips needed no tint. They were a natural, almost bright red. Linda was twenty years old, slim as a reed, and quick and tireless.
Leatrice envied her. “Mind if I peel the potatoes while you drink your coffee?” she asked. “I’m slow and Seth likes his supper ready and waiting.” Linda shook her head, smiling. “Of course, not. By the way, planning on going back east for Christmas?”
“I hadn’t thought of it,” Leatrice said, starting awkwardly on a large potato.
“Here, let me help you,” Linda offered.
“No. No thank you.”
It had snowed last week. The vast pastures, the sloping ridges, the black buttes, the massive grey mountains, the spruce and fir and cottonwood, were all mantled in white.
At her parents’ home in the Hudson River Valley, the Christmas tree would already be raised, trimmed and lighted. Silver and gold balls and small silk angels with white fleece wings would have been added to the tree, with tinsel draped over the branches, and the stardust sprinkled, and imitation snow sprayed generously, all to the edification of Leatrice’s parents, her relatives and the large staff employed at the Merediths’ mansion.
“I’ll have to talk to Seth about his plans for the Holidays,” Leatrice said. “I’m starved for some R&R.” There was no television at the Triple R. The newspaper, thankfully, came with the post each day. It was Leatrice’s responsibility each morning to drive the pickup three miles to the mailbox.
A radio as old as the refrigerator graced another corner of the kitchen counter, and in the parlor a suitcase sized phonograph that played 78s, 45s and 33s, was the main attraction, after the camelback flowered couch.
“The Star Wars Trilogy is playing at the Rimrock, and the Silver Saddle Restaurant may be more of what you’re used to — gourmet food, carpeting, fancy woodwork. Saturday nights they also have entertainment and dancing,” Linda told her, smiling. She had a beautiful mouth, teeth straight and white, but Leatrice was sure she’d spotted a pair of fangs.
“Carpeting and fancy woodwork, hmmm,” Leatrice remarked casually. She thought of the flauntingly luxurious dining rooms that were the norm for her. “I’ll keep it in mind.” She found it difficult to keep her tone free of sarcasm. “Well, I have my own supper to start,” Linda said, getting to her feet. “And twelve hungry men wanting it ready and wa
iting. I’ll see you in the morning.” “Oh, goody,” Leatrice grumbled under her breath to the girl’s retreating back. An hour later Seth arrived home and came straight into the kitchen. His jaw was covered with a day’s growth of sand colored bristle. He smelled and looked tired as he shed his shearling coat and Stetson and hung them on the hooks near the back door. “You look worn out,” Leatrice greeted.
Seth pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “I am.” His broad shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes, leaning back and rubbing the back of his neck. “A good meal and some rest will help you feel better.” She took the steaks out of the broiler and served Seth and herself dinner.
They ate mostly in silence, both exhausted from their day’s chores. Over coffee, Seth asked, “Think you could lend a hand tomorrow spreading feed over the north pasture?”
Leatrice put her cup down. She wouldn’t mind at all if she weren’t so tired. Anything to get her out of the house and into the fresh air.
Seth explained, “I’ll just need you to drive the truck while I dispense the bales of hay.” Her momentary hesitation hadn’t escaped him.
It had not taken Seth long after Leatrice assumed her duties as his housekeeper to discover how little she actually knew about ranching. Despite the year she’d operated the Bar LB, her knowledge of ranching was limited to approving, selling and buying. Her foreman, Tanner, and the men under him, were the Bar LB’s real operators. Seth was now in charge of both ranches. Occasionally his ego balked, but he had no intention of letting foolish pride cause him to lose the Triple R and the fifteen years of backbreaking labor he’d invested in the horse ranch, nor the excellent reputation as a breeder of the finest horses he’d earned over the years. Besides, he was certain that long before the year was over, Leatrice would tire of the work and lose interest in her obsession to prove herself in his eyes. He was the one man she could not have. Yet he couldn’t deny to himself that from day one she’d cast a spell over him that continued to hold him captive. He was lucky she didn’t realize how difficult it was for him not to make love to her.