“Fine!” He snarled, then turned back toward Marcelle, who was attempting to clean a majority of Mark’s stomach contents off the front of her gown with her handkerchief. “I guess now I owe you two apologies,” he said, and in a mockery of civility, bowed deeply at the waist. “If you would please forgive my crude behavior, madam . . . ,”
Marcelle’s gaze narrowed angrily and she blocked out the rest of his phony apologetic speech. She’d suffered more humiliation at the hands of this man than she ever had in her entire life and now he had the audacity to make light of everything that had happened.
Before she could reconsider her actions, she pulled her skirt tightly against her legs and brought her knee up sharply into contact with his lowered face. She smiled in satisfaction when he howled loudly and collapsed onto his rear end, gripping a bloodied nose.
“You wretched female! You’ve broken my nose!”
“It’s no more than you deserve,” Marcelle snapped, then turned to address her father and Matthew, both of whom stood rooted in stunned surprise. “I do believe that a bath is now in order, so if you gentlemen will excuse me.” Without another word, she turned on her soft-soled heels, raised her chin proudly, and strode off.
“She’s something else,” Matthew murmured, watching her retreat.
“That she is, young man. That she is,” Peter agreed.
“Would someone please hand me a handkerchief?” Mark whined, blood seeping through his fingers.
“If I were you,” Matthew threatened, “I’d suffer a little inconvenience and keep my mouth shut, or I’m going to add more injuries to the one that Marcelle just inflicted on you. Now get up! We’re leaving!”
“What?”
Without answering, Matthew reached down and yanked his brother up by the elbow, pulling him toward the front of the house. He spied Nancy and her son, Joseph, standing on the porch.
“Joseph, go on to the stables and wait for me,” Matthew said. “You can help me saddle the horses,” he said and smiled when the boy jumped down the flight of stairs and ran toward the barn – no questions asked.
Matthew shoved his brother down on one of the steps and then followed in Joseph’s path. He reached the stables just as Joseph did.
“Okay, kid, let’s get these horses saddled. I want to get to town and back before suppertime.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Matthew, sir,” Joseph said, beaming up at the man that had become his hero. He ran over to collect the tact while Matthew went to the saddle racks. Minutes later, they were leading the horses from the stable.
“Mount up!” Matthew snapped at his brother, noticing that he hadn’t budged from where he left him.
“Mount up? If you hadn’t noticed, brother dear, my blood is still free-flowing, so if you don’t want me to pass out before you can haul me away, I suggest that someone get me some cloth to wipe up with and staunch the flow of blood.”
“Nancy, would you mind?” Peter asked, leaning against the balustrade.
“Yes, sir.”
Nancy reappeared a moment later and handed a towel to Mark. He gingerly wiped his hands and face then fingered his already swelling nose. He held his head back for a few more minutes, the towel pressed in place, until the flow of blood subsided, then tossed the bloodied towel toward Nancy.
Nancy gasped and Mark grinned viciously.
“Well, it appears you’ve regained your spunk, so get on the horse and let’s go.”
“And how, pray tell, am I supposed to lug my belongings back to town on the back of a horse?”
Matthew cursed under his breath. He’d been so angry and eager to see Mark gone, that he failed to think about the luggage sitting on the stoop. Well, he wasn’t wasting another moment to go hitch up the wagon.
“You can either hold it in your hands or leave it. It’s your choice. Either way, you are mounting up in the next minute so we can ride out of here.”
Mark glared at his brother, but didn’t argue further. He knew he’d pushed his brother’s patience to the end and didn’t relish the idea of having any more of his precious body parts damaged. He was just surprised that Marcelle’s father hadn’t taken a whack at him yet. One glimpse at the elder man, however, told him that he’d be willing to have a go himself if Matthew weren’t already handling the situation, so he wisely decided to get out while the getting was good.
He gripped the two suitcases and walked over to the horse.
“The least you can do is hand up the cases after I’m mounted, since I can’t very well mount the horse while holding them or reach down and pick them up after I’m mounted.”
Matthew nodded and handed up the cases after Mark settled in the saddle. He then moved to his own horse and mounted.
“Is Miss Weatherman cleaned up, Nancy?” He asked the maid who was still staring down in disgust at the towel. Her head jerked up at the address, as if she’d just snapped out of a trance.
“She’s doing it now, Mr. Matthew, sir.”
“Can you manage supper on your own tonight? Miss Weatherman suffered a great deal and will need some rest,” he said, glancing over to Peter for acceptance of the request. No matter his feelings for Marcelle, nor despite his name on the deed to the property, he was still just a hired hand and it wasn’t up to him to make decisions regarding the household – yet. Not while Peter Weatherman was alive, but Peter merely stood there smiling at him, nodding approval. He nodded back, then turned back to Nancy. “Can you manage okay, then?”
“I’ll see to it, sir. Will you be back in time to join the family then?”
“Without a doubt,” he said.
“Very good, sir.”
“Mr. Weatherman, before we go, I’d like to apologize on my family’s behalf for what my brother put your daughter and you through.”
Mark huffed, but a look from Matthew kept any comment silenced.
“You’re a good man, Matthew,” Peter said, and shot Mark a look that made it clear he wouldn’t say the same about him. He wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Matthew, brother or no. “And I’d like to thank you for taking care of my daughter the way you have.”
Matthew nodded, then turned his horse toward the front gate, “I’ll be back as soon as I see to Mark’s travel arrangements,” he said. “I don’t want there to be any doubt that he’s leaving town.” He glared at his brother, tipped his hat toward Nancy and Peter, and then spurred his horse into a trot. The movement tightened the lead rope between White Star and Black Wind, the mare that he´d given Mark to mount. Black Wind started and reared slightly, startling Mark into dropping one of his cases.
“My case!” He yelped, but Matthew ignored him and kept on going. “Hey! Stop! We need to get my case!” He yelled again, but the only response was the laughter that followed him out the front gate from Peter and Nancy.
“We’ll see that it gets to New York. That is if the goats don’t eat it first,” Peter called, but made no effort to shoo away the curious animals that strutted toward the expensive piece of luggage.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Matthew returned to the house just as the sun was lowering on the horizon. He was dusty and dirty and in sore need of a bath. He popped open his watch and nodded. He could squeeze one in if he hurried. He lifted his head and sniffed. The pungent aroma of spices drifted to his nostrils and his stomach growled in response. He leapt from the horse and retrieved his rucksack.
“Joseph,” he called as he trotted past the tiny little cabin on the edge of the Weatherman’s property, “See to the horses for me, will ya? I need to clean up.”
“Yes, Mr. Matthew, sir.” The boy tossed down his wooden truck and ran toward the house. Matthew smiled and veered off toward the river.
He’d had a hard time getting Mark settled in at the hotel, especially since he was still fuming over his expensive case. He’d refused to dismount and register if Matthew didn’t return posthaste and retrieve his luggage before the goats made a meal of his underclothes. Although Matthew had calmed down considerably on
the ride into town, he was still, in no way, up to dealing with petulant behavior. After refusing to dismount after Matthew’s second request, Matthew strode to the side of Black Wind, reached up, and yanked Mark’s remaining piece of luggage from his grasp – hurling it onto the dirt-packed street. That worked.
Mark leapt from the horse and laid siege to the luggage as if it were a valuable piece of jewelry, glaring at his brother all the while. It took another threat of damage to his already swollen nose, for Mark to passively enter the hotel and retire to his room. To make matters worse, they’d arrived at noontime and the depot had already closed for lunch, forcing Matthew to locate and interrupt the ticket master’s meal. He’d then had to pay the man a considerable bribe, as well as pay for his ruined meal, in order to procure the tickets required for the next morning’s departure.
By the time he headed back to the ranch, his temper flared again. It was only when he reached the house and smelled the food that his mind settled and he found himself smiling. Fifteen minutes after turning the horses over to Joseph, hair still glistening from his bath, Matthew moved toward the stable to check on the horses. He smiled widely as he noticed the tack hanging neatly on their pegs, the saddles laid over the racks and the horses munching contentedly on straw inside their stalls, the dust brushed from their coats. Joseph was definitely going to make a great ranch hand some day, he thought, making his way toward the house. He noticed the light on in Nancy’s little cabin and made his way over.
Nancy answered at his knock.
“Mr. Daragh, have you only just arrived home, sir?” Nancy asked.
“Just a short while ago.”
“Well, you best be getting on to the main house. I’ve already laid out supper for the family.”
“I’m on my way now. I just wanted to stop by and give something to Joseph that I picked up in town,” he said, peering into the little room behind her. “He is in here, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir. Just sitting down to his meal. Come on in for a moment, then.”
“I done take care of the horses for ya, like you asked me to, Mr. Matthew, sir,” Joseph said, shoveling another fork full of potatoes into his mouth.
“I saw that, Joseph, and it was indeed a job well done. I wanted to stop by and thank you for your assistance.”
“Huh?”
Matthew smiled, “I’ve brought you something from town as my way of thanking you for all the help you’ve given me with the horses.”
“A gift! For me?” Joseph jumped from the table and skid to a halt in front of Matthew. “What is it?”
“Mind your manners, Joseph,” Nancy scolded lightly. “You can wait until it’s given and you best be thanking Mr. Matthew proper like or you won’t be keeping it.”
“Yes, mother,” Joseph answered dutifully, his eyes gleaming with delight.
Matthew opened his saddlebag and pulled the package, wrapped in brown paper, from inside. He carefully laid the package on the table, then stepped back and watched as Joseph tore it open with the enthusiasm that only a child of that age can muster.
“Wow!” He exclaimed, as he eyed the exterior of the box. With a sudden care that belied his eagerness, he opened the box and slid the contents onto the table.
“A real fire engine and horses to pull it with! Mama, look! It’s a real fire engine and it comes with its own horses!”
“I see that,” Nancy said in wonder. “It’s truly a special gift and now, what do you say?”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr. Matthew, sir.” The little boy threw his arms around Matthew’s legs and squeezed tight, then released him and turned back to his mother. “Is that enough thank you, mother? Can I play with my new toy now? Please, please, please, please?”
Matthew grinned at Nancy and quietly slipped out of the house, closing the door behind him. He was glad that the boy liked the new toy. He could tell that he got so little in his life.
Matthew trotted toward the house, a smile in his heart.
“Hello. Anyone about?” He yelled as he stepped into the foyer and laid his gear in the corner.
“We’re in here, Matthew. Do hurry or your food will get cold,” Marcelle called and the smile in Matthew’s heartbeat quickened. It felt good to return home and have a lovely voice greet him, he thought and then re-thought. He didn’t want another wife, he reminded himself. His Melody had been the entire world to him and no one would ever be able to replace her, but with Marcelle, he didn’t have to worry about marriage. Peter had arranged their living conditions, so he intended to enjoy the warm welcome without worrying about unnecessary entanglements.
“I’m sorry for being delayed,” he said, entering the dining room and taking his seat across from Marcelle.
“That’s perfectly all right, son,” Peter said. “Did you see your brother off?”
“Not quite,” Matthew said, as Marcelle heaped a pile of food onto a plate and passed it over to him. “Thank you, Miss Weatherman.”
“You are quite welcome. So, why ‘not quite’?” Marcelle asked, taking a sip of wine. She’d hoped that Matthew’s brother was long gone and she’d never have to lay eyes on him again. The ‘not quite’ wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She took another sip of wine to help stabilize her jittery nerves.
“The train doesn’t pull out until tomorrow morning. I put him up in the hotel until then.”
“He seemed adamant about remaining in town until you agreed to go home with him, so what makes you think he’ll make that train?”
“Because I’ll be on it with him,” Matthew said and shoved a fork full of beans into his mouth.
“You’re leaving?” Marcelle said, her own appetite suddenly gone. “But you just got back last night.” She tried hard not to sound whiny or clingy. After all, a few kisses didn’t entitle her to lay claim to the man. He was still free to come and go as he pleased, but did that pleasure include returning? She couldn’t help but wonder.
“It’s better that I go now. That way I can be back before the winter snows start,” he said. Marcelle breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
“Think it will really take that long to sign some papers and turn the company over to your brother?” Peter asked.
“I wish I could explain things in detail, but I’m afraid there’s simply too much to go into. Many things are involved in transferring ownership. More than just signing over documents,” Matthew said. “And if I take care of those pesky little details now, then I won’t have to concern myself with them later, when I need to be concentrating on the foals that will certainly be due to arrive in the spring.”
“White Star taking to the mares okay, then?” Peter asked.
“More like, they’ve taken to him just fine,” Matthew said, and Marcelle grinned at her father, remembering what he said about the woman selecting the man. Obviously, that theory applied to horses as well as people.
“Anyway, if I’m not back in time to oversee their breeding, then there won’t be any foals to speak of come the spring,” Matthew said.
“White Star is a big boy, Matthew,” Marcelle teased, “don’t you think he can manage without your assistance? I mean, I’ve been out there when he’s entertained the mares and he seemed quite capable then?”
Peter coughed on his wine and Matthew on his roasted pork.
“Was it something I said?” Marcelle asked, sipping on her wine, her eyes wide with exaggerated innocence.
Matthew wiped his mouth and laid down his linen napkin, the look on his face causing Marcelle to blush, “You know exactly what you just said, so you can wipe that “I don’t know what I did’ look off your face, you little tease.”
Marcelle laughed and then reached over to pat her father on the back when he choked on his wine again at Matthew’s accusation.
“Perhaps you’d best reconsider having wine with your meal, Father,” she said solicitously.
“Perhaps you two could hold off antagonizing each other until I finish my wine,” Peter breathed, wiping his face.
“I’ll get it,” Marcelle said. She started to push away from the table, but didn’t get far before Matthew leapt to his feet and slid her chair back for her. “Thank you. Would you like some custard and cream, Father?”
“Not for me, dearest,” he said and pushed his own chair back. “I think I’ll retire for the evening.”
“But aren’t you feeling better? You said you were, so why can’t you stay for a little while and enjoy a game of whist. Oh! We can’t play that because we’re short one person, but perhaps you can play chess with Matthew,” Marcelle said, knowing that she was rambling and probably sounded overly concerned as well, but she didn’t care. Her father had said he was feeling great, but he was still retiring early. Did that mean he was having a relapse, or had he lied to her about his condition as he’d done before?
“Relax, dearest,” Peter smiled, patting his daughter on the hand. “I feel just fine. I just want to spend a little time reading before bed, and the best light for that is in my room.”
“Are you sure, Father?”
“Quite. Now,” he continued, turning to address Matthew, “when are you departing, Matthew?” He said. He laid his napkin down, and slid his chair back from the table.
“It’ll be fairly early, sir,” Matthew said, standing as well.
“Then I’ll wish you a safe and eventful journey right now, since I won’t be up when you leave, no doubt.”
“Thank you, Mr. Weatherman.”
“And I think it’s about time you called us by our given names, don’t you? After all, we can’t stand too much on formality when you’ve done my daughter and me such a valued service, now can we?”
“It would be my pleasure, Peter. Marcelle.” Marcelle shivered as her name rolled off his tongue. She liked the way he said her name, and was glad her father had opened the doorway to informality between them.
“And I do expect you to wire us upon your arrival, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“I’ll do that. I’ll also send a wire when I’m ready to head back.”
Fate's Intervention Page 17