Rancher to the Rescue Page 5

  It was a choice. If he’d chosen the opposite, he’d have lived an opulent life, married and had children, and not wanted for anything.

  Except his freedom.

  But because of their poor planning, Clare’s parents had forced her into a far more hopeless situation. And all choice had been ripped from her. Suddenly, Noah could fully understand the resentment rising in her. It was rising in him, too.

  Which meant only one thing, he realized with a sudden chill. His offer of marriage could not be rescinded.

  His jaw tightened and he tried his best to relax it. “Yes. The offer still stands,” he muttered, cautiously meeting Clare’s soulful gaze.

  “Thank you,” she said in a soft voice. “I’ll marry you.”

  She blinked. If he’d expected a look of relief, he was to be disappointed, for right then, Clare burst into tears again.

  Chapter Four

  Even through her tears, Clare could see Noah’s sinking expression. He really hadn’t wanted to marry her, she told herself. And it didn’t help that she’d dissolved into tears. She shouldn’t be crying, not right after a marriage proposal.

  Friends of hers from college had been giddy and blushing, enjoying the excitement and romance of that special moment when their beaux had sunk to one knee and proposed.

  Clare felt herself stiffen, which was probably a good thing considering the unladylike draping across his desk had resulted in her corset digging into her flesh.

  Yes, but those women who’d married beaux while at college soon learned what marriage really meant to women. Clare wanted the narrow wooden chair she’d dragged forward to swallow her up. She was joining their ranks.

  Noah rose and walked around his desk, all the time pulling his neatly folded handkerchief from his breast pocket. He dangled it in front of her, and she snatched it. Drawing it up to her face, Clare caught the scent of his light cologne, a woodsy smell that was slightly stringent and cedar-like in quality and totally suited to him. She couldn’t help but draw it in with a silly, noisy sniff. After dabbing her eyes and nose, she stood and offered it back to him.

  He held up his hand. “Keep it. If we are to be married, you’ll probably be washing it sooner or later.”

  Truer words were never spoken, Clare thought with dismay. Oh, she didn’t mind doing laundry, all the sorting and siphoning off the soft rainwater, not to mention the boiling and wringing, were necessary and mindless tasks, done all day once a month if everyone stayed clean. But it was what all that represented. All of her principles, her beliefs that women should be treated as more than indentured servants, would be washed away like the mud on Leo’s pants. She was a person, and should have the same rights as men, and at that moment, the laundry chore Noah had just mentioned in passing was proof she would never see that dream in her own life.

  She balled the handkerchief up in her palm. With a swallow, she said, “I won’t cry on our wedding day. I promise you that much.”

  “Thank you. In the meantime, Mr. Pooley will be here soon, so I suggest you dry your eyes. Of course, he already knows of your loss, so tears are bound to be expected.”

  She pulled herself together. Tears might be expected, and yes, she’d done her share of crying yesterday, but she wouldn’t give anyone here in this Recording Office reason to think she was a wilting woman unsuitable for the workplace.

  They stared at each other, Clare hardening herself and Noah looking like a lead actor who’d forgotten his lines at the climax of a play. After glancing awkwardly around, he asked almost vaguely, “Did you want me to propose properly? On my knee?”

  Clare shook her head violently. “No! No, thank you. It’s all right. It’s not like we’re...in love.”

  She cleared her throat and straightened further. “I’m not some silly woman who needs all that foolish romance and fuss. Our marriage is just an agreement to assist me at a difficult financial time.” Her tone became frostier. “As much as I am grateful to you for it, Mr. Livingstone, I just need to say that I value my freedom. Don’t get me wrong. I won’t sully your reputation or that of this office, but if college has taught me one thing, it’s that I should be deciding my own life.”

  “Of course.” The soft words were slow. It was clear he had no idea what she was talking about.

  “So if you think you will be making every decision for me,” Clare continued to explain, “I’m here to tell you that that won’t be happening.” There, she’d said her piece.

  For now.

  The one corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. Good grief, was that a sparkle in his eye? “You’re welcome.”

  Flushing, Clare stood and brushed past him to exit his office, her skirt swishing with disapproval as she walked. Why on earth had she blurted out that awful diatribe? Noah had done nothing to warrant her icy speech. She stopped and returned to his office, where he still stood watching her march around the desks like a tin soldier.

  “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

  Oh, dear. She didn’t sound very regretful, either. What a way to start an engagement. Sure that she would be apologizing her entire married life, she straightened her shoulders. “I truly appreciate all you’re doing for the boys and me. I won’t make you ashamed of me or regret this decision, but you’ll have to be patient, Mr. Livingstone.”

  She paused. The whole time she’d been working at the Recording Office, she’d been focused on land deeds, first transcribing damaged ones then recording new information as it came forth. “I mean, I have to admit I’m not sure what paperwork needs to be completed.”

  “I’ll take care of the license. They expect me to do it anyway.”

  Clare fought another bubble of irritation. Applying for a marriage license shouldn’t be confined to the man. Still, Noah was hardly lording it over her. “Thank you, Mr. Livingstone.”

  “Perhaps we can start by calling each other by our Christian names?”

  Clare blinked at him. “Of course. But what about here?” As if to add to the question, the door opened and in walked Joe Pooley, the young clerk Noah had hired just before he’d taken the chance with her last fall. They both nodded stiffly to him.

  Noah glanced around the office. “We should maintain a certain formality here, I think. I know some people keep that formality even at home, but do you think that’s necessary?”

  “No, but I hadn’t thought I would ever marry, either.”

  Quirking a brow, he asked with a hint of surprise, “You never harbored those girlish dreams of finding true love?”

  She sniffed. “I did when I was much younger, yes, but college taught me otherwise. My mentor, Miss Worth, often said it did women the world over a disservice simply to hand over our freedom to our husbands, and I witnessed it firsthand with several of my friends. They were the perfect blushing brides, but then I saw them a few months later, asking their husbands for advice, for money, or to be taken places. Those women had reveled in their freedom at college. We answered to no man. My married friends lost all of that elemental freedom.”

  “Surely they realized that beforehand. I mean, if you wish to call marriage a loss of basic freedom.”

  “Most realized it was gone. And they missed it. They aren’t even allowed to get a job anymore, something my mentor thought was important. That’s what chasing true love has done for them. All I wanted was to decide my own life.”

  She stopped it there, expecting amusement at the notion, or a blunt contradiction. Instead, Noah merely stared at her. Gone from his blue eyes was the wariness, now replaced by something she couldn’t explain. Was it sympathy? She hated that she couldn’t identify it. “I was going to own my own business someday, and not just some small enterprise like a sewing room or laundry service or an extension of my husband’s business like the general store here. My career was going to be big, like owning a warehouse that brought
goods from overseas, or a string of haberdasheries up and down the Rockies with my name on each of the marquees.”

  Noah looked perplexed. “Then why come back to Proud Bend and take a minor job here?”

  “Mother needed my help.” She felt a pang of hurt deep inside. “There were days she could barely get out of bed. I knew I needed to learn administration beyond what I took in college, and there aren’t too many places where I could learn it while still helping to care for my mother. I came home on faith that I would find something that could start me on a career path. My father got me this job.”

  “Your training got you your job. Your father just arranged for it,” Noah reminded her. “He said something about putting your education to good use.” After a short pause, when Clare said nothing, he added with a shrug, “Allow me to sort out what’s needed for our, um, wedding. Is there a preferred date? Pastor Wyseman will want a few days to publish bans. He is a bit old-fashioned that way.”

  Noah’s crisp tone sounded like he was arranging for a tailoring session, or a bank appointment, Clare thought with a sinking heart. His self-sacrificing proposal was a noble gesture, but she felt, well, begrudging. She hated that his stellar behavior made her feel petty and ungracious.

  She cleared her throat. “Anytime is fine. It’s just a business arrangement, anyway.” Then, head held high, she strode from the office.

  * * *

  Noah watched her leave. He’d had a way out of the situation that had been similar to the one that had forced his hand back home. But what had he done? He’d offered the proposal again. He was truly a fool. Clare Walsh had told him, not in so many words, that her ideals from college were so important to her that only the direst of circumstances would cause her to deviate from them.

  Yes, her circumstances were indeed that. As a result, their marriage would only be a business arrangement. She’d said that last part quite bluntly. It was going to be a frosty life together.

  Heat burned up his neck and into his cheeks. His noble act now slapped him in the face. Remember what you told your father a few years ago? You’re hypocritical, Livingstone. You’d said you would only marry for love.

  His parents and Elizabeth’s parents had wanted a marriage of both families and fortunes. It was strictly for their benefit, with Noah’s father thinking he was getting the monetary advantage.

  But here, Clare was at risk of losing everything she held dear. Even her freedom, which now must be sacrificed in order to save other things, like family unity and her home.

  Her house. It would soon be hers, if her parents really were lost at sea. Clare had wanted to own her own business, and probably her own home. She was getting one of those dreams, but might soon have to rent it out just to pay its mortgage.

  At that thought, Noah walked out of his office. He stopped in front of Clare’s desk. Beyond, Pooley was helping a young couple at the counter, leaving him a modicum of privacy.

  Clare was in the midst of copying the last of the land deed ledgers. Last year, when Noah had hired her, it was to fill the temporary position of copier, transcribing thick ledgers that had been damaged when the roof had leaked. Now that she was full-time, she continued that work at her desk, all the while helping at the front counter if the need arose, which it rarely did. Noah watched her for a moment as she carefully transcribed a line, taking pains to be neat and accurate.

  She looked up, a question on her face. Those big, soft, sad eyes made her complexion seem paler today. Her pert little nose was slightly red. Today, she’d neglected to apply the powder most women preferred. A telltale sign that she was out of sorts.

  Noah scrubbed a hand across his jaw, knowing he should do more for her. She was grieving and yet kept insisting on going about her regular business as if nothing was amiss. He cleared his throat. “You returned to work because you felt you needed the money. You have bills to pay and a mortgage to sort out.”

  “Yes.”

  “Since we’re engaged, that’s not the case anymore, so you don’t need to be here.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he hurried on, “You can be at home taking care of other things. As soon as I get the necessary paperwork in order and at Pastor Wyseman’s convenience, we can get married. It could take a few weeks, though, so keep that in mind when you meet with the bank.”

  He watched her throat bob slowly, hating how he sounded as though they were discussing a small task here at work. “Here’s a thought to present to the bank. Why don’t you rent out your house? Many families who want to move West will often want temporary lodging while they’re building a home for themselves. If you rent yours, it can pay your mortgage. There may be enough left over for other expenses like taxes.”

  Clare blinked those long black lashes at him. Did she not understand him? Had he not made himself clear enough?

  He explained further, “However, you’ll first need to gain some legal control over your parents’ estate. You won’t be allowed to rent out the house until you have care and control of it. Did your parents arrange for that?”

  Those soft lips pursed and she shook her head. “Not that I’m aware,” she finally said. Her expression might give the impression of innocence more often than not, but today, it showed only hurt. Then, abruptly, her jaw tightened and she set down her pen. Her hands dropped to her lap and she shut her eyes.

  She was angry. Noah folded his arms. “What arrangements did your parents make? Surely they knew that crossing the Atlantic wasn’t without risk?”

  She shrugged, but from the color rising in her cheeks, he knew the action was anything but casual.

  “How quickly did your mother decline before they left?”

  “Quickly enough to make my father forget.”

  “So he probably forgot to make any legal arrangements or update his will, if he had one,” Noah said, keeping his tone reasonable. He pulled out his pocket watch to consult the time. “You’ll need to see a lawyer, then. You said you were going to the bank at lunch. It’s too early for that, but you should consult a lawyer first, anyway. Go do that now. And ask him how long your parents need to be missing before they are presumed dead and death certificates are issued. I haven’t yet had to deal with that situation here.”

  * * *

  How crisp and businesslike he sounded, Clare decided, fighting back a sudden surge of irritation. Seeing a lawyer first was good idea. Something she should have already thought of.

  Was that why she was upset? That she should have considered it before he did?

  Resentment rose above the anger and she hated it. A few minutes ago, she’d practically asked Noah if he would solve her problems for her. Now she was upset when he was trying to! When did she become so fickle?

  Her cheeks burned. She shouldn’t have had to take her problems to a man. To anyone, for that matter. She was college educated, someone her parents had entrusted with their youngest children. She’d taken a semester of family law, albeit one tailored for ladies only, but one nonetheless. She should have had these answers already.

  “Is there something the matter?” Noah asked again.

  Not something. Everything. She tried not to look miffed, instead, leaning forward and plastering on her face the calmest expression she could manage. If she was going to be married to this man, she should at least be honest with him. “I can’t help but feel as though the idea of renting my house should have been...well, mine! Frankly, I don’t think I should be turning to you for the solutions to all my problems.”

  Clare felt her heart plummet. Oh, how petty she sounded!

  To add to that, grief draped over her.

  Noah looked surprised. “You would have thought of it eventually. You have a lot on your mind right now.”

  “That’s very gracious of you, Noah,” she said, only remembering after speaking that he’d suggested more formality in the workplace. “I mean, Mr. Livingston
e. But I don’t agree. It’s not just having a lot on my mind. I have to give up my home, the only one I’ve ever had. It’s, well, sad.”

  “It’s for the best. I own a ranch. I can’t leave it.”

  “I don’t know how you manage both a job here and a ranch. Animals need care all the time.”

  “The ranch is small, and I have a hand come in twice a week to help.”

  “But it’s still a ranch!”

  Noah cleared his throat. “I only have one animal right now.”

  “Really?” She could feel her expression go slack. “That one you bought from Mr. Burrows?”

  “Yes. As I mentioned before, I want to run a ranch for rescued equine. All kinds. Pit ponies, feral horses, abandoned mules.”

  “I know that.” She frowned. “But why? Old horses and such can only be put out to pasture.”

  “Because they’re not just put out to pasture! Grazing land here is valuable and given only to cattle. Feral horses and retired mine ponies are seen as stealing grass and water. I want to start a program of saving them. Some I will be able to rehabilitate.”

  “What good will that do? Most will be too old or cantankerous to have any value.”

  “But not all. Some will be useful, pulling carts, teaching children. There is a new society that cares for animals that relies on donations, so perhaps my ranch will, also.” His voice rose. “After the war, many horses were put down, and I feel that was such a waste. We can’t be cruel to animals. That’s not what God wants of us. We’re caretakers of this earth. It’s time we started acting like it.”

  She arched a brow. “Even wild or feral ones and their offspring?”

  “Yes! Can’t anyone see that horses, mules and ponies built this nation? But they’re treated well only as long as they serve men.” His tone had a fierce edge to it.

  “So you care for this pony each day before you come in?”