“They weren’t a troublesome lot,” the first mate said with a smile. “Your father provided well for their care on board.”
“Thank ye.” Ian signed the paperwork and opened the pen door. “Stay, boy,” Ian ordered. There was no sense making the sheep walk around the pen. He checked each of their legs and hooves. Satisfied, he opened the gate and encouraged them to walk toward Harbor Street. As the sheep exited the pen, Ian whistled, giving Conall the command to walk the sheep down the dock and toward the road.
Between Ian and Conall the sheep obeyed. They continued on until he reached the halfway point to his ranch. There he told Conall to rest. The sheep stopped moving and grazed on the green grass in front of them. His ram was a bit more cautious and surveyed the area for a moment before he grazed.
Jackson Hastings pulled up with his wagon. “Hi, Ian, these the sheep you been waiting on?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jackson climbed down from his rig and examined the stock. “Fine-looking ram.”
“Thank ye. Me father was very generous in giving him to me.”
“Five ewes and a ram are a very generous gift. As a man who’s raised livestock for most of my years, I know good stock. Can I give you and the sheep a lift to your ranch?”
Ian glanced at the sheep. They were tired. “That be right kind of ye. I should have brought me wagon.”
“Glad to lend a hand.” Fifteen minutes later the sheep were bleating in the back of the wagon. Conall sat up front with Jackson Hastings and Ian. “They don’t know a good thing when they find it,” Jackson said.
Ian chuckled. “That be true enough.”
“How’s the house working out for you?”
“Very well.”
“You might consider building an addition after your stock is doing well, perhaps in the winter.”
“House is fine for now.”
“I suppose for a single man that would be true but… well, it isn’t my place to say…”
“What?”
“I thought you were looking to get married one day. My wife and I started with a small house but we planned on building it larger and with a second floor once the children started coming.”
Ian felt his cheeks redden. “If I find a wife, yes, I would need to build an addition.”
Jackson smiled. “I don’t mean to pry but weren’t you and Miss Lang…?”
“Our betrothal was ended by mutual agreement when I arrived.” Ian wasn’t about to tell his personal business to a stranger, although Jackson was obviously close to the Langs if he knew about the betrothal. More importantly he didn’t want to stain Hope’s reputation in the community.
“Ah, I understand. She’s a fine woman, though.”
“Aye, that she is,” Ian acknowledged. They arrived at the driveway to his property. “Ye can let us off here. The sheep will need to walk off their concerns about riding in the wagon.”
Jackson chuckled. “They are a loud bunch.”
Ian and Jackson made quick work of getting the sheep off the wagon and onto the road. Ian whistled and gave Conall the signal to bring the sheep down the lane. He turned back to Jackson and extended his hand. “Thank ye again.”
“You’re welcome. Come by the house sometime, perhaps a Sunday dinner. I’ll check with the missus and let you know.”
“That is most kind.”
Ian stood there for a moment as he watched Jackson climb back up on his wagon and pick up the leather reins. Jackson turned and waved. Ian lifted a hand in reply. Ian paused. How many people know about our betrothal?
* * *
Hope sat at a small tea table with Sandra Allen, whose husband owned the local mercantile. A few strands of her ash-blond hair tumbled down the sides of her cheeks. Sandra kept her hair back with a rose-colored ribbon. They were enjoying a warm cup of tea, chatting about her husband’s business, when a man carrying a bushel barrel of pumpkins came in. “Excuse me.” Sandra went to the counter. “Looks like a mighty fine batch, Mr. Middleton.”
“Thank you. I’ve got three more bushels in the wagon. Would you like any of those?”
“I think we can sell a second bushel.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Middleton placed the basket on the floor and hustled outside to retrieve another bushel.
Hope’s mind raced over all Sandra had to think about in order to be prosperous in her business. For instance, items that could spoil could constitute a loss. Hope was glad she was going to be dealing in fabric. Hope thought she and Sandra could work out a deal where Hope would not have to pay the full retail prices since she would be purchasing the entire lot. After Sandra finished with Mr. Middleton she came back and sat down with Hope. “Where were we?”
“I’m looking into starting my own dressmaking shop.” Hope went on to explain her desire to work with Sandra.
“I’ll have to speak with my husband, but if you’ll take care of all the paperwork, and we simply have to be the receivers of the fabric, that sounds like a fair deal. When are you hoping to begin?”
“I’m still looking into storefronts, but I’m also considering working from my home until I build up a client list.”
“Count me in. I’m in need of a dress that doesn’t get in the way of hauling items up and down from the shelves, and that won’t knock items off the display tables. I like that business outfit you made a while back for yourself. It was sharp looking and didn’t come with excessive layers. So what would be the cost of one of your dresses?”
“I’ll have to get back to you on the cost. I’m still analyzing the figures. I don’t want to jump in and start a business without looking at it thoroughly.”
“You always did have a head for numbers.” Sandra leaned in a bit closer. “And business, like me,” she whispered and winked.
Hope chuckled. “We don’t have many dressmakers with shops in St. Augustine and there could be a good reason for that. One is that we are a major port so the latest fashions from New York, London and Paris are available at all times. Then there are our northern visitors who come for a season and then return. They come with trunks full of clothing.”
Sandra leaned back. “You have a point there. Like I said, I’d love a skirt that didn’t have the excess fabric but I don’t want to be too modern. I’m not certain my customers could handle that.”
“I understand. Let me take your measurements and I’ll draw up a design or two.”
Sandra beamed. “Could you make the skirt separate so I can change blouses if they get dirty with all the dust that comes off those shelves?”
“Anything you want.”
Sandra went to retrieve her tape measure. Hope took her measurements and wrote them down in her notebook where she kept all her notes concerning this venture.
The door jangled as a new customer walked in. Hope looked up. Sunlight glinted off the chestnut hair of Ian McGrae, who paused in the doorway, his blue eyes sparkling. “Miss Lang, a pleasure to see ye.”
“And you, Mr. McGrae.” Hope knew she should leave but her feet didn’t want to obey. Instead she sat back down at the table and poured herself another cup of tea.
“May I join ye?” Ian stood with his hat crunched in his hands.
Hope cleared her throat. “Sure.”
“Thank ye,” he said, pulling up a chair. “Me ram and ewes arrived earlier today.”
“When will the breeding begin?”
“Soon.” Ian cleared his throat and leaned in closer. “I feel terrible about the other day.”
“Mr. McGrae, I’m afraid we are a bit like oil and water.” Hope looked down at her lap. “We don’t mix well.”
Ian sat back. “Perhaps ye are right.”
Sandra marched over with a bolt of fabric in her arm. “What do you think of… Oh, forgive me, Mr. McGrae. What can I help you with?”
“I’m in need of some red ochre and vegetable oil.”
“Sure, I’ll see what I have.” Sandra handed the bolt of fabric to Hope.
Hope fingered the cotton f
abric with a painted design of pink rose petals on a sea of blue-gray. It would make a beautiful skirt and vest for Sandra. She’d even put in a pocket like Grace had shown her when working as a laundress.
“Ye sew? Of course, ye sew. I saw ye at the house-raising party.”
Hope stood up, counted to three and calmed herself. How is it he can be so oblivious to how much his words hurt? “Mr. McGrae, if you’ll excuse me I have some errands to run. Would you please let Mrs. Allen know that the material would be perfect and that I’ll see her in a couple of days?”
* * *
Ian stood and grabbed her arm before she could flee. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to say the right words with ye.” Tears filled her vibrant green eyes. His gut twisted. “I’m so sorry, Hope,” he whispered. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, to push all the distance between them away.
“You are forgiven, Mr. McGrae.” She pulled away.
“I want more,” he whispered.
She froze for a moment, and then continued out the door.
Had she heard him? Ian drew in a deep breath and sat back down at the small tea table. He’d never had much need for a fancy table. The teacups were finely made porcelain. He lifted a cup. It was English Derby porcelain, some of the best. He placed the teacup back in its saucer. These were the items that Hope Lang was used to in her life. These were the very items he could not provide for a wife. He closed his eyes and tried to remind himself that he was not the kind of man Hope Lang would need. She was meant for the finer things in life.
And yet, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from pursuing her.
“Mr. McGrae,” Mrs. Allen called from the counter. “I have the items you requested. Where’s Miss Lang?”
Ian slid the cherrywood chair back and walked to the counter. “Miss Lang said the fabric ye picked out would be perfect.”
“Good, thank you for telling me. I take it you know Miss Lang?”
“Yes, her family helped with the building of me house.”
“Ah yes, I heard about that. The Langs are good people. They’re from Ireland, too. Did your families know one another?”
“Me parents are friends with Mr. and Mrs. Lang. But the Langs have not been back to Ireland for many years.”
Sandra added up the cost and he handed her the money. “Pleasure doin’ business with you, Mr. McGrae.”
“Same here, Mrs. Allen. God bless ye.”
“And you, sir.”
Ian grabbed his items in the sack Mrs. Allen provided. “Forgive me for saying so,” she said. “But Miss Lang is a good woman.”
Ian smiled. “Yes, I know she is.” He placed his hat upon his head and exited the building. He didn’t need to be reminded about the kind of woman Hope was. He’d seen with his own eyes. He knew the warmth of her embrace, her kiss…
He caught a glimpse of Hope rounding the corner a couple of blocks down. Perhaps he should apologize again. He started toward her. No. He’d apologized. Clearly he just needed to stay away from her because it would be best for both of them.
He swung around in the opposite direction and headed home. He had a lot of work ahead of him and he couldn’t be distracted with the beguiling features of Hope Lang.
Chapter 11
Hope ignored Ian’s insulting comments about her social standing and calmed herself before entering the city clerk’s office.
There were two locations in particular she was curious about. One was owned by a business corporation. The other had been in the family for many years but the grandchildren were planning on selling it. Of the two, the building on the second lot needed more work but it also provided a second level where she could live. She didn’t have a huge desire to move out of her family home but if she purchased the property she could rent the upstairs and help pay the mortgage off faster. Did she have the equity to do so? In truth, she didn’t. But her father did. Did she want to go into business with her father?
Hope worried her lower lip. Her musings were interrupted by a conversation loud enough for others to hear.
“I’m tellin’ ya, H.W., you’re askin’ for trouble. You can’t pull this off. The judge has already asked for proof.”
Hope’s ears perked up. She scanned the office but saw no one. There were several smaller offices and storage spaces out of view of the public area. She glanced back down at the ledger she had open before her.
“But the guy said he’s got proof.”
“Have ya seen it?”
“No, but he says…”
“Hey, look, it’s your life. But I wouldn’t mess with it. I’m just sayin’, it don’t seem right. Where’d you meet this guy anyway?”
“Six months back. He’s in and out of town on business all the time.”
Hope tried to pull her focus back to the paperwork in front of her. The more she thought about it, the more practical it seemed to start her business from home. That meant no overhead…but also not much room, either.
Hope closed the ledgers. “Thank you,” she called out to the Billy Newman, the assistant clerk who was still in the back room talking with H.W., whoever he was.
On her way home, she couldn’t help but wonder what the two men were referring to. Naturally, her mind shifted to Ian and his land troubles, although that was being taken care of by his attorney. Then again, this H.W. seemed to be trying to cut corners, perhaps even skirt the law. Hope shook off the conversation. It wasn’t her place to deal with the issue, nor did she know what the two men were actually referring to. Stop trying to come up with another reason to see Ian. He’s made it clear that you aren’t the kind of woman he wants as a shepherd’s wife.
At home she found her mother in the kitchen canning some pumpkin and making watermelon-rind pickles. The watermelon would be a refreshing treat after walking around the dusty streets of St. Augustine. “Hello, Mum. You’ve been busy.”
“That I have, darlin’, that I have. Come, sit and tell me what has you running to and fro. You’re done working at the inn, aren’t ye?”
“Yes. Grace is healthy enough to work now. I’m still going to lend her a hand on the weekends when they have a lot of guests. But she’s past the worst and out of danger. She and Richard are sending a letter to his family and they’re looking into hiring a chambermaid.”
“They will be so pleased to hear about the baby.” Her mother grabbed a towel and wiped her hands. Then she set two oyster dishes on the table and filled them with chunks of watermelon. “I do love watermelon.”
“Me, too.” Hope forked a cool chunk of the sweet red cubes.
“You still haven’t told me what you’ve been up to the past few days.”
“Oh, well, I’m looking into the possibility of starting my own dressmaking business. I’m thinking I have to start small and work from the house but I don’t know that I have the room to spread out enough. I certainly can’t cover the dining room table with fabric every day.”
Sally Lang laughed and said, “Ye are right about that.”
“I can’t afford to rent space in town without first building some equity. I’m between that proverbial rock and a hard place.”
Her mother put down her fork. “Hope, ye do know yer father might be willing to invest…”
“I know, Mum. I’m trying to do this on my own. I’m not above asking father for help but I’d like to have all the facts and figures in front of me. I did however gain a client today. Sandra Allen would like me to design a dress similar to that business outfit I designed and made last year.”
Her mother chuckled. “It was practical, but it sure wasn’t the latest style.”
Hope grinned. “That’s why I’m leaning toward the design aspect of the dressmaking. Many women I know want practical clothing. Perhaps I can hire some gals to do the sewing.”
“My, my, ye do have big dreams.” Sally put her arm around Hope. “Now. Tell me what’s happening between ye and Ian.”
* * *
Ian scanned the barn to determine how much grain and hay he’d need for
the winter months. Next season he would plant some hay and grasses for his livestock but this year he’d be dependent on what they could eat from the land and what limited grain he could provide for them. Sheep, unlike cattle, would eat the grasses right down to the soil, which meant a longer time for the grasses to return.
He walked up to the pen he’d put the ram in. “How ye doing, boy?” The ram ignored him and continued munching on the fresh hay. “Looks like ye are adjustin’.”
Ian glanced up at the pound of red ochre and vegetable oil he’d purchased at the mercantile, then remembered his encounter with Hope. Was she right that they were like oil and water?
He grabbed the gallon of oil and marched over to the house. Inside he found an empty mason jar that had contained canned vegetables. He poured some water in the bottom of the jar, then stopped and went back to the barn. He opened the red ochre and dipped his finger into it. Again, he went to the cottage, placed his finger in the water, instantly turning the water red. Ian smiled. It reminded him of Hope and her red hair. Then he poured the same amount of oil into the jar. Placing the lid on tight, he shook it. Bubbles of water and oil mingled. Then he put the jar on the table. As it settled, the oil and water separated. Ian sighed. Perhaps she was right.
Tara was lying on the floor with her six puppies crawling around her. Some were nursing, others were playing. He pulled Clare up from the lot. “How ye doin’, girl?” She yawned, her pink tongue stretching out and curling back into her mouth. Ian cradled the pup close to his chest. “Ye are a cutie.” He couldn’t help but wonder if Clare was taking a special place in his heart because she was Hope’s favorite. Hope. She just doesn’t understand the real problem with our different social classes. He’d love if that wasn’t an issue between them, but he knew better. He’d seen it more than once back home in Ireland. It just didn’t work. After a few minutes of snuggling and petting the pup he returned her to her mother.
He glanced back at the jar. Most of the bubbles were gone. The red water sat on the bottom and the oil lay on the top. He took the jar and shook it again, harder this time, even though he knew the two would never completely blend.
The Shepherd's Betrothal Page 9