Second Chance Brides (Texas Boardinghouse Brides 2)

by Vickie McDonough

  Mark nodded. He crossed the room, grabbed his brother’s chair, and hauled it next to hers. Shannon’s heart thudded like a dancer’s feet pounding out a fast-paced jig. How could she concentrate when he was so near?

  “All right. List Foster’s name in the first column.”

  She dipped the pen in the ink bottle and did as asked, taking heed to make her printing neat.

  “Now, see how he ordered different lengths and sizes of wood? Look across the top columns of the ledger and find the correct size of wood, then go across on Foster’s line and record the amount ordered. There are columns for the other things people most often order, but if you can’t find what you need, use the last column. There’s room to write in the item description, if you write small. Try to be neat, because this is our permanent record.”

  She nodded, but his emphasis on neatness made her hand shake. She hadn’t had call to write anything other than her name since coming to America. Pushing her fretful thoughts away, she recorded another entry. She dipped her pen into the bottle, and Mark heaved a boisterous sneeze. Shannon jumped. The bottle tipped sideways. Her hand shot toward it, but the ink spilled across the desk in a spreading pond.

  Mark muttered something she couldn’t make out and grabbed the ledger. “Bottom drawer. Ink blotters.”

  She tugged hard on the lowest drawer, pulled out a stack of blotting papers, and dabbed at the mess.

  “Don’t push on it.” Mark snatched a stack of papers off the pile. “You have to dab it, or you’ll press it into the wood.”

  Shannon sat back, feeling like the village eejit. She’d been here less than an hour and had already made a mess of things. Looking down to avoid Mark’s glare, she sucked in a gasp. The ink on her hands had stained her dress. How would she ever get it out?

  Mark threw the dirty blotters into the trash can. The pool of ink was gone, but a nasty stain marred his immaculate desk.

  He shoved his hands to his hips and stared at it. Finally, he looked up at her. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea.”

  He stormed out the back door, letting the screen slam. Shannon jumped. She wanted to flee back to her room at the boardinghouse, but she was stuck in Mark’s chair. Tears blurred her eyes, but she forced them away. If she swiped at them, she’d probably end up with ink on her face. Oh, what a nightmare.

  Leah had told her she needed to toughen up if she was going to survive living in Texas. But that possibility looked far slimmer now. Surely Mark would dismiss her, and if he didn’t, how could she face him again?

  A few minutes later, the bell over the door jangled. Shannon glanced up to see Rachel enter, carrying a teapot and two tin cups.

  “How’s it going so far?” Rachel’s smile slipped from her face as she stared at Shannon. “What did those yahoos do?”

  Shannon shook her head. “’Twasn’t them. ’twas me.” She waved her ink-stained hand over the large blotch. “Not here one whole hour, and I’ve ruined Mr. Corbett’s desk.”

  Rachel hurried over and set the teapot down on a clean corner of the desk. “Oh, dear. Is that why the men are gone?”

  “Garrett left Mark and me alone right after dropping me off.” She glanced down at her hands. “He hadn’t even mentioned me to his brother. Mark was not happy at all about me being here. And then this happened.”

  Rachel sat in Garrett’s chair and took Shannon’s hand. “Things aren’t as bad as they might seem. I’ve got a spare apron you can wear over your dress to hide the stain, and I would imagine the men can sand out the stain on the desk.”

  Shannon’s heart flip-flopped. “You truly think it can be removed? I feel like an eejit for making such a mess.”

  Rachel smiled. “I’m afraid I have no idea what that is, but I’m sure you aren’t one.”

  “I believe you say idiot or imbecile.”

  “Well, I know for certain you’re not one of those. Let’s have our tea before it’s cold. Then I’ll find Luke, and he can help you back home.”

  Home. Shannon liked the sound of that, but the boardinghouse wasn’t her home. It was only a place she was staying until she could make it on her own or find a husband. In truth, she had no home.

  Rachel held the lid to the pretty teapot covered with violets and ivy and poured tea into both cups. “I apologize for bringing tin cups, but I was afraid I’d break the china ones if I tried to lug them down here along with the pot.”

  “’Tis fine. Thank you for thinking of me. I’m very glad you came when you did.”

  Rachel set a steaming cup of tea in front of her. Shannon sipped it, allowing the warmth to soothe her. “I don’t know if I should be leavin’ or stayin’. I need this job, but I don’t think Mark Corbett wants me here.”

  “Maybe I could talk to him. I’ve known the Corbett brothers since I was a girl, and they’re practically my relatives now. It’s not like Mark to be unkind or inhospitable. He’s a good man with a big heart. Far more patient and tolerant than most.”

  Shannon tried to get Rachel’s description to match what she’d seen of Mark Corbett, but it didn’t. Yes, he’d rescued her during the storm but had done so begrudgingly. And he’d been angry at her ever since, casting stormy looks her way whenever he saw her. For some reason, she brought out the worst of him. “I don’t believe he wants me working here, but I so need the employment.”

  “Mark will come around. He doesn’t like it when Garrett pulls something over on him.” Rachel sipped her tea and gazed toward the window. “I don’t know if you can tell, but Garrett is the oldest. Mark is the solid one, though, and Garrett is…well, let’s just say he hasn’t fully grown up yet.”

  Shannon smiled at that. “He does behave more like a lad.”

  “Yes.” Rachel nodded. “Mark has always felt he followed in Garrett’s shadow. Their pa didn’t like that Mark could read and was studious, especially when he couldn’t read and thought book learning was for womenfolk.”

  Swallowing hard, Shannon remembered how she had tried to please her da, but nothing she ever did made him happy. He’d wanted a son, not a wee lass. She ducked her head as the unpleasant memories of him repeating that every time she angered him made her tears burn her eyes. They were not so much different, she and Mark. Perhaps she’d misjudged him. All she’d done was cause him trouble, albeit not intentionally. She needed to prove to him that she had value. That she could ease his burden and do the work he needed her to do.

  “I don’t want to paint Garrett as a bad person. He has a good heart, but he just gets too carried away with his teasing and prank-pulling.”

  “Like when he ordered all of us brides for your husband.”

  Rachel’s cheeks flamed. “Yes, like that. He wanted to help Luke get over me, but God had other plans.” Rachel reached across the desk and laid her hand over Shannon’s wrist. “I believe God used Garrett’s scheming to get you and Miss Bennett to come to Lookout because He has plans for you here.”

  “Truly, you believe that?” A flame of hope flickered within Shannon’s heart. Did she dare believe that her very steps had been orchestrated by the hand of God? She believed in God but felt He’d turned his face from her.

  Rachel nodded and smiled, her pale blue eyes shining. “I believe it with all of my heart. If God can work the miracle He did to reunite Luke and me, it’s a small thing for Him to bring you here—maybe to give you a husband, too.”

  Shannon so wanted to believe, but God had not answered many of her prayers since she’d come to America. Her parents had died in spite of the many pleas she’d sent heavenward. She’d lost the man she’d hoped to marry, and at the same time her only hope of support. And now she may well have lost her job.

  Maybe if she could prove her worth, Mark might let her stay.

  Rachel stood and stretched. “I’d better get back home and start on dinner. Noon will be here before we know it. I’ll find Luke and have him come and get you.”

  “Nay, I’ll stay, but if I’m not back by dinner, could you please send the marshal f
or me?”

  Rachel nodded but stared at her with concerned eyes. “Are you certain?”

  Shannon nodded. “If you could just hand me that ledger on Garrett’s desk, perhaps I can show the Corbett brothers that I’m an asset and not a liability.”

  After having lunch at the café, Mark strode back into the office, and breathed a sigh of relief that Miss O’Neil was no longer there. But instead of enjoying that fact, guilt needled him. How had she gotten back to the boardinghouse? Had she hobbled home on her injured foot? Had his uncouth actions caused her more pain? More humiliation?

  He crossed the office and stared down at the large stain on his desk. His mouth twisted up on one side. He’d worked hard to keep his desk looking nice, but Miss O’Neil had certainly made a mess of it. Thank goodness she hadn’t spilled the ink on the ledger.

  Speaking of the ledger, he looked around the room and found it on the shelf beside the file box. He snatched it up, determined to try and record the orders in spite of his cast. He’d just have to work slow—if he could even hold the pen.

  He dropped down into his chair and opened the drawer that held the orders. At least half the pile was gone. His heart skittered. Surely Miss O’Neil hadn’t opened the wrong drawer and used the orders to wipe up the spill. He tried to remember, but things had happened too fast. Trying to remember the details of all those orders would be a nightmare.

  He yanked open the other drawers and searched them, then he got up and rummaged around the stacks of catalogs and papers on Garrett’s desk. He picked up the trash can and poked around the ink-stained papers but didn’t see any of the completed order forms. He shoved his hands to his hips and looked around the office. Where could that frustrating woman have put them?

  Seemed like every time he got near her, something unpleasant happened. She was like a bad luck charm. He lifted his nose and sniffed. Her flowery scent still lingered.

  Heaving a sigh, he sat down and opened the ledger book. He found the page where the last entries had been recorded, and his hand halted. Several new pages of entries had been recorded in a slanted, feminine handwriting. He studied the entries, and each one looked accurate, based on his memory of those orders.

  “Hmph! Would you look at that.”

  Maybe she was sharper than he’d given her credit for. But where were the order forms?

  He carried the ledger back to the shelf and set it down. Then he thumbed through the file box until he found Foster’s account card. Each of the items from Foster’s last order had been recorded in the proper place, and the order form had been filed behind the account card as if he’d filed it himself.

  Mark stared out the window, a slow appreciation for Shannon O’Neil growing within him. She’d stuck to her guns and finished her task, even though she’d been upset and hadn’t been completely taught how to do the job. She hadn’t tucked tail and hobbled back to the boardinghouse like he’d expected.

  Evidently, she was quite capable of tending the books. But every time she got near him, something bad happened. Could he survive having her work here?

  He thought about the worry in those big green eyes when she’d spilled the ink. She’d looked scared to death, as if he might strike her. He scowled, wondering what she’d endured in her young life that would make her so fearful when she’d just had an accident.

  Yeah, she’d ruined the top of an expensive piece of furniture, but it could be repaired. He was certain he could sand out the stain and refinish the top of the desk. She didn’t know how well he took care of his things and how it bothered him when other people didn’t. Had his fierce reaction to the accidental ink spill wounded her?

  He hung his head, ashamed that he’d lashed out and made her feel worse. Her feelings were far more important than a desk, and he was certain that he’d thoroughly stomped on them. A flicker of warmth welled up within him. A desire to protect Shannon O’Neil from further pain. As far as he knew, she had no one to take care of her. To watch over her.

  He had no idea why and might well die trying, but the desire to protect her heated his chest.

  Mark hung his head as another thought charged into his mind. Hadn’t the very same reaction—the desire to protect Annabelle—been what had caused all his trouble in Abilene?

  CHAPTER 9

  Leah sat on the front porch of the boardinghouse, rocking her chair and staring out at the small town. She simply had to find some kind of work or she would go batty. But what kind of work could an unmarried woman do in such a small town?

  When the Corbett brothers had offered to pay her way back home, she’d said no. Definitely, no. But maybe she should have allowed them to send her to Dallas or some other big town where there would be more opportunities for a woman.

  At least here in Lookout, she knew a few folks, but in a big town, she would be alone.

  The screen door creaked, and Shannon strolled out.

  “Off to work, I see.” Leah smiled. Now that they were no longer competing for the same man and were bound together by their similar situation, she and the Irish girl had become friends.

  “Aye.” She fanned herself with her hand. “’Tis hot already. I will be happy when the weather cools some.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. It may be awhile. I’ve heard it’s sometimes November before cool weather decides to stick around.”

  “Blessit be, how will we ever make it that long?”

  Leah shrugged. “We’ll do what we have to do, just like we have been.”

  Shannon nodded. “Aye, you’re right. We’ll do as we must.”

  “Are things going better with the Corbett brothers, now that you’ve been there a few weeks?”

  Shannon lifted one shoulder. “A wee bit. Garrett likes to play jokes on his brother and me, and Mark gets angry at him. I don’t mind them so much, except that day he put a snake in Mark’s desk drawer, and I was the one to find it. Ach! I nearly did an Irish jig. Good thing my ankle had healed.”

  “I’d like to have seen that.” Leah chuckled and then shook her head, glad she didn’t have to deal with the Corbett brothers on a daily basis. “That Garrett needs to grow up. Sounds like he’s pulling schoolboy pranks.”

  “Aye, that’s exactly what he’s like. Maybe he just needs a good woman to settle him down.” Shannon waggled her brows at Leah.

  “Don’t look at me. I’ve had my fill of those brothers. Mind yourself. You be careful around them.”

  “Well, I should be off. Have a grand mornin’, and I shall see you at noontime.”

  Leah waved and watched Shannon walk away, her mulberry-colored skirt swaying. She’d purchased the new dress with the money she’d made working two weeks for the Corbetts, and well she needed one. Shannon had had only two old faded dresses when she came to Lookout, and one of them was stained with ink. Now the Irish girl wore an apron to work covering her new dress.

  Leah leaned her head back and considered a new garment. Having one would be wonderful. Yeah, she had four, but like Shannon’s, hers were old and faded.

  She mentally calculated each item in her hope chest, wondering if there was something she could part with that might be worth some money. Sam—she smiled, remembering the man she’d hoped to marry—had made the small wooden trunk, which had served as her hope chest, for Christmas the year before they were to marry. But the trunk was all she had left, and her hopes and dreams had been buried more than two years ago, along with Sam.

  She closed her eyes, trying hard to imagine his face. He always smiled, and his brown eyes had glimmered with orneriness and love for her. Tears moistened her eyes. Life would have been so much different if he had lived. Why, she’d probably be a mother with a child by now. At least she’d been spared that.

  While most women longed to marry and have children, she was different. She wanted to marry—Dan Howard’s tall form intruded into her thoughts—but she didn’t want children. And what man would marry her, knowing that?

  After changing hundreds, if not thousands, of diapers, wiping
noses for her youngest siblings every winter, watching babies die…

  No, she wouldn’t put herself through that. If she couldn’t find a man who didn’t want children, she’d remain unmarried. She’d be a spinster.

  But even a spinster needed a way to support herself. What could she do?

  Teaching school was out of the question. Even if she had more than her sixth-grade education, there was still the issue of dealing with children day in and day out. She shuddered. No thank you.

  She was an excellent cook, but she’d talked to Polly Dykstra, and the woman didn’t need any help other than what she already had. Her sister was a seamstress and owned the dress shop across from Polly’s Café, but with so few women in the town, she only worked part-time making dresses.

  The screen screeched, and Rachel walked out. “My, it’s cooler out here. The kitchen is always so hot. I halfway wish I had one that was separate from the house.”

  “That would help keep the rest of the house cooler, but you’d have to carry the food farther—and what would you do if we had rain?”

  “True. I hadn’t considered those issues.” Rachel dropped into the rocker beside Leah’s and fanned her face with her hand. “How are you doing today?”

  “Bored. I wish you’d let me do more around the boardinghouse.”

  Rachel smiled and leaned her head back against the rocker. “I just can’t let a boarder work. It doesn’t seem proper.”

  “So? Who cares?”

  “I suppose just me. I guess you’ve not had luck in finding employment since we last talked?”

  Leah shook her head. “I was just sitting here, trying to think of something.”

  Rachel yawned and stretched her arms out in front of her. “Luke mentioned that his cousins are talking about having a get-together this Saturday and asked Polly to bake some cookies and pies. Maybe she could use help with that?”

  She shrugged. “I asked her about working in the café, but she has all the help she needs.” She glanced sideways at Rachel. “Just what kind of get-together are those conniving brothers planning?”