The Nanny Solution (12 page)

Victoria sympathized with her new friend. “How did you get a job so soon? It's only been three days. I've barely left the house.”

Smiling and shrugging, Clare rolled her eyes. “My father knew I wanted to work, so he made some enquiries.”

“So liberal of him.”

Clare laughed. “My mother convinced him to put my college skills to good use. So here I am.”

“What do you do?”

“Come to the back behind the screen and I'll show you. I have to lock up for lunch soon. It's part of my duties. I've brought us some things to eat. My lunch is only half an hour, but I thought that we could walk down to the bandstand and eat there.”

“I didn't even know that Proud Bend had a bandstand.”

Again Clare laughed. “We tease my father about that. He lobbied for one to be built, even though Proud Bend doesn't have a band.”

Victoria smiled, trying her best to push aside her jealousy.

Clare continued her chatter. “I've discovered that the only eatery in town is more suitable to miners after a hard night. It's open far too late, too. Our home is down the street from it, and they woke me up last night. Honestly, you would not believe the people who go in there at all hours! I saw a rather tall, regal woman with black hair just strolling past with a young man as if she was out shopping. It was very odd, indeed.”

Victoria's heart lurched. Her cousin Rachel was tall with long, black hair. Could that woman have been her? She bit down on her lip to stop herself from saying something she shouldn't.

“Come, Victoria, sit here while I finish up. They've put me way in the back to recopy some of their ledgers that were damaged when the roof leaked. It's a boring job, and frankly I'm capable of so much more, but I keep telling myself that it's a start and I am still young.”

On the desk were several ledgers, all stained brown. A fresh one and a good quill and ink set had been arranged in front of the only open ledger.

“Let me lock the door first, so we don't get any more customers.” Clare hurried around the screen.

Victoria sat down, her attention falling on the open ledger. She caught sight of the name at the top.

Mitchell Tyrell MacLeod.

His name leaped from the page at her, and like a moth to a lamp, her gaze drew in closer. He'd registered his deed to the ranch, citing his wife as co-owner.

Louise's words that first day here returned to her. There was a reason for everything. And Mitchell returning to his ranch home with a baby that wasn't his needed a reason, also.

Could it have something to do with the ranch?

The bell on the top of the door jingled, causing her to jump. She hastily slipped back farther behind the screen as she heard Clare's light voice call out, “Mr. MacLeod! We were just about to close.”

* * *

“Miss Walsh? I hadn't expected to see you here.”

Entering the office, Mitch held open the door, wondering if the young woman was leaving, but she carefully turned the Open sign over.

“I work here now. It's just a temporary position transcribing some ledgers that have been damaged, but I hope to be hired full-time after this.” She beamed at him.

About to ask if she could deal with his request before lunch, for he didn't want to stay in Proud Bend any longer than necessary, Mitch cleared his throat. Then the door behind him opened and in walked a young man whom Mitch recognized immediately as the assistant to the county recorder. Noah Livingstone, if Mitch remembered correctly. The man had dealt with Mitch when he'd recorded his deed several years ago. Noah was tall, but where Mitch was slim and wiry, this man was thick shouldered and looked as strong as an ox, odd within the office environment.

With a nod to him, Mitch began, “I'm running late with my errands. I would appreciate it if you could take care of me before you close for lunch. I have to change a name on my deed.” Mitch gave the date he'd registered it.

Mr. Livingstone consulted his watch. “I think we can see to it. We're usually closed at this time, but I forgot something and had to return. Let's see if we can get you sorted out right now.” He turned to Miss Walsh. “Please pull the ledger for that year.”

“I have it out already, Mr. Livingstone,” she answered with a flush and a smile that sparkled a little too brightly for such a simple task. Mitch frowned. Was there a romance budding here?

Noah lifted his brows with a nod. “Of course. That ledger was damaged. Please bring it here.”

Mitch watched as Miss Walsh slipped around the few desks to stand beside a back screen. Ledgers were stacked up on the desk that was partially hidden. The pleats in the plain, off-white cotton that made up the majority of the screen suddenly ruffled and shifted. Mitch saw Miss Walsh peer across the desk into the depths that were hidden from him. Did she just give a short, almost imperceptible shake of her head to someone?

Mitch pondered what he should do. He wanted only to finish his errands and return to the ranch as quickly as possible. He'd stopped at the Smith house, but only the maid was there and Mitch had been reluctant to leave Victoria's salary with her. He would try again after this errand. Jake had the children and would be itching to return to his chores.

Should he ask Miss Walsh if she had been alone? What would happen if she had someone back there? Mitch had no desire to get her into trouble, but he didn't want to be overheard, either.

“What do you need recorded?” Noah asked as Miss Walsh returned with the ledger.

Mitch straightened his shoulders. He didn't have time to ask Noah to search behind the screen. He would just have to risk it. He lowered his voice. “My wife has died, and she passed on her share of my ranch to her youngest daughter.”

While Noah gave no reaction to Mitch's pronouns, Miss Walsh flicked up her head and frowned slightly. Mitch could have waited for more, but pulled in a deep breath and hastily added, “My wife's new baby has inherited her share of my ranch. So I hope you will understand my desire for discretion here. This is a delicate matter and I now have five children to consider. The children—the four I share with my late wife and this baby—shouldn't suffer for their parents'—” he paused, swallowed, “—mistakes. Can I count on you to be discreet?”

“Absolutely, Mr. MacLeod.” Noah's chin hardened as he stood even straighter. “While the records are always public and cannot be denied someone who requests to see them, we are certainly not going to gossip about what we see. Are we, Miss Walsh?”

The young woman's eyes widened. She looked as if she'd been dunked in hot water as she answered, “Absolutely not, Mr. Livingstone.”

Mitch gave Noah all the information that he needed to update the deed. All the while, Miss Walsh's eyes grew wider with the answer to each question. Mitch almost expected her to fly apart at any moment. He quickly thanked Noah, nodded to Miss Walsh and left.

As he dipped his head to don his Stetson, Mitch noticed Noah following him out. “I see you go to church,” the man said conversationally.

Mitch nodded as they walked slowly toward the corner of the building. There they stopped. “Yes, though I don't see you there.”

“I sit in the back. I pick up several of the widows on my way. They're always tardy. I told them once they're going to be late for their own funerals.”

Mitch laughed, but as he glanced toward the door, the laugh died.

Victoria was slipping out of the office.

Chapter Fifteen

A
s she stepped over the threshold, Victoria's gaze slammed into Mitchell's. Her heart stalled at the look of shock on his features.

For a moment she couldn't speak, though her mind whirred. She'd had no intention to eavesdrop on Mitchell's plea for privacy. But she had, and in her guilt, she'd hurried out of hiding to escape outside.

Now, captured by Mitchell's cold stare, she fought the urge to turn tail and run. Though it had been a few minutes since both he and Mr. Livingstone had departed the recorder's office, she'd assumed Mitchell would be gone from sight.

But there he was, and written boldly across his face was all the proof she needed. He realized she'd heard all of what he'd said to the assistant county recorder. She'd heard the words his pride had not wanted her to hear the other day when she'd asked him about Emily.

The urge to race over to him rushed through her so quickly, she felt her legs tense in preparation. But what could she say? That Emily's paternity didn't matter? It had for some reason, or else she wouldn't have asked. She was no better than Aunt Louise.

Her aunt's words echoed in her memory. Had Mitchell brought the baby out here only because she owned half of the ranch? Victoria bit her lip, unable to answer and hating that such an answer meant something to her.

Before Victoria could move, Mitchell turned and walked around the corner. The young man with him—Mr. Livingstone, she assumed—nodded and, oh, so thankfully, did not glance toward the door, but rather walked in the opposite direction.

Spurred into action by her need to say something, anything at all, Victoria lifted her skirt and hurried to the building's corner. Surely if she talked to Mitchell, told him that she hadn't meant to eavesdrop and that he had nothing to be concerned about, he'd understand.

Victoria hurried around the corner, her expression hopeful, and yet she was half-scared that Mitchell would be waiting for her, arms folded, scowl lining his suntanned features.

But he was gone. She heard hooves pounding the ground, and quickly peered down the intersecting road.

On his horse Mitchell had already retreated down it. She had no idea where the road led, though she assumed to a trail that took him back home. Her heart squeezed.

“What's wrong?”

She turned to find Clare had approached. “Mitchell saw me leave the office.”

Clare blanched. “Oh, no!”

“Don't worry. Mr. Livingstone didn't see anything.”

“That's not the point.” Her shoulders dropped. “I will have to admit to Mr. Livingstone that I hid you behind the screen.”

“You didn't. I just sat there for a moment while you locked up. There was no intention to deceive. It was just an accident.”

“No. Although I wasn't told I couldn't bring anyone in here, I should have said something. I need to admit my error to Mr. Livingstone.” She took Victoria's arm and led her away. In her other hand swung a small pail that contained their lunch.

Victoria stole a fast glance at her new friend. The woman had strong, determined morals. Such a good quality.

She looked away. She also needed to admit her part in this accident. To Mitchell. But how?

Throughout their lunch, Victoria felt the growing need to see Mitchell. Finally swallowing the last of her cress and cheese sandwich, she took the damp napkin in which her meal had been wrapped and wiped her hands.

“Do you know where Mitchell's ranch is?”

Clare blinked. “No. But we can go back to the office and look at the map. It's available to the public.” Clare consulted her pendant watch. “We have time, if we hurry. And, yes, I can read a map. That's one of the reasons I feel I can do so much more than transcribe ledgers.” Hastily, she gathered up the remains of their meal, then as she began to stand, she stopped and peered hard at Victoria. “It wasn't your fault, you know. Are you planning to apologize to Mr. MacLeod for eavesdropping?”

Needing to do something with her hands, Victoria took the small tin from Clare as they strode to the office. “I should.” She offered a watery smile. “It's the same reason you feel the need to apologize to Mr. Livingstone.”

“Is it?” Clare's soft, breathy question surprised Victoria. She looked at her new friend, finding the woman searching her face. What on earth for?

Suddenly, Clare's smile returned. “Come on. The map is on the wall beside the door.” Her expression turned conspiratorial. “I understand completely why you need to go.”

* * *

Victoria was still mulling over Clare's odd tone when, two hours later, she turned her mount in past the wide sign that read “Proud Ranch.”

The mare, a piebald pony, was excellent, as good as any she'd ridden at the stables north of Portland, Maine, where their summer home was. Her mother had insisted she learn to ride at an early age, and right now, Victoria was as thankful for the lessons as she was for Aunt Louise being willing to loan out her favorite mare for the afternoon.

She was also thankful for Clare's ability to read a map and set out detailed directions. Victoria had written them down carefully.

Now, paused at the entrance and facing the small log home down a long lane, Victoria struggled to draw a breath. She shouldn't be nervous. Asking forgiveness was a good Christian trait. But perhaps she should have waited until Sunday at church to explain and ask Mitchell's forgiveness.

The words she'd rehearsed faded in her mind.

Just as Victoria spurred her pony forward, she caught sight of Mary. Immediately, she pulled back on the reins and the calm mare stilled.

Oh, dear, why hadn't she thought to bring something for the children? She hated that she'd forgotten them. She would lavish them with hugs and love instead.

If Mitchell didn't send her packing immediately.

Urging the mare forward, Victoria kept her spine straight and her face plastered with a worriless smile. Mary, bundled up in a coat against the cool air of the mountains, ran up to her as the mare came to a stop. With care, Victoria slipped from her sidesaddle and to the ground. She'd been trained to have a stool and a groom, but many years ago, her instructor had insisted she learn to mount and dismount from a sidesaddle without assistance. She was glad for it now.

Mary stood there, looking slightly paler than she had a few days ago. “Hello,” Victoria said with a bright smile, expecting a greeting far more enthusiastic than the somber look she was getting. “Where is everyone else?”

“In the house.”

“On a nice day like this? Or are you doing chores?”

“Only Papa is. He's cleaning the throw up.”

Victoria gasped. “Who is sick?”

Mary remained unsmiling. “All the boys.”

“I need to see your father.” Head down, Victoria bustled past.

“I'm here.”

Victoria flicked up her head at the sound of his voice. Mitchell, with his arms folded, stood in the doorway.

All of her courage drained away and she could no longer recall her apology.

Get ahold of yourself.

Victoria smoothed her outfit and adjusted her gloves. With a quick straightening of her shoulders, she lifted her chin. What had happened at the recording office had been an accident and she was ready to do the Christian thing.

She stalled that thought. It didn't matter as much anymore. Not while the family was sick. Behind him, deep in the house, Emily wailed. Hoping the baby wasn't sick, as well, for far too often they could not fight even the slightest flu, Victoria hurried up to Mitchell.

“What's happened? Are the children sick?”

He walked back inside. “It's not that bad. Just a stomach ache or two. You needn't have come out.”

Determined not to be brushed off, Victoria followed him inside. “I didn't come here about that. I came to apologize.”

“For eavesdropping on me?”

She looked around the small kitchen. Dishes were piled high in the dry sink, while food had been prepared and then forgotten on the table. The stove was stoked so hot, Victoria found it almost too hard to breathe. And the place smelled like a sickroom.

Turning back to Mitchell as he stopped in the doorway to the other room, Victoria sighed. “It was an accident. Clare had invited me to lunch and asked me to wait at her desk behind the screen until she locked the door. We were planning to eat at the bandstand, but she—”

“Why there? It's a stupid place. Proud Bend doesn't even have a band.”

“Clare's father lobbied to have it built. I don't know why, nor do I care. We simply chose to eat there. While Clare gathered her lunch, I stepped outside and that was when I saw you talking to Mr. Livingstone.”

“Oh, so you have come here to ask me not to make a formal complaint against Miss Walsh?”

Frustrated, Victoria sighed. “No. Clare said she would apologize to her supervisor. I came here to ask your forgiveness for my mistake and tell you that I won't repeat a word of what I heard.” She wanted so much to tell him that it didn't matter if he hadn't fathered Emily. But the question still lingered. Had he brought the child here because she owned half of the ranch? Relinquishing guardianship would have meant that Emily's new guardian, whoever that would have been, would control her share.

Oh, Victoria ached to ask Mitchell.

But his eyes narrowed. He filled the doorway into the other room, blocking her passage should she have wanted to investigate the soft sounds beyond. Through the bottom third of the doorway she could see a small, rustic bed, with bedding she recognized from the train, mussed as though the sleeper had thrashed all night.

Eyes watering and heart pounding, Victoria moved her gaze back up to Mitchell's stern expression. “Your children are sick. Let me help.”

There must have been something soft and coaxing in her strained whisper because his shoulders drooped slightly. He took a step toward her, just as his gaze dropped to her mouth.

In the heat from the kitchen, with her full riding outfit still on, Victoria felt suddenly warm. Mitchell tilted his head and lowered it. She felt her eyes widen. He was so close.

Then he spoke. “Have you learned anything more since our last discussion? Can you run a household, Victoria? Can you nurse children back to health?”

Her face heated further. She blinked rapidly. It was as if Mitchell had stripped away all her pride, all that she'd held dear. “Please don't ask that,” she whispered. “I want to do something.” She leaned toward him, and heard his indrawn breath.

Then he shut his eyes. “Victoria, I know you mean well. When I first met you, I doubted you could even polish a fork. I can see you care for the children, but caring isn't enough.” He paused and opened his eyes again. “Even love isn't enough. Ranching is a tough life. It's not meant for families.”

His voice hitched as he continued. “Please leave, Victoria. I don't want the children hurt. I don't want to be—” He cut off his hoarse words.

She reached out and touched his arm. The cotton was rough, durable, the muscles beneath firm. It was as if she could trust this man with her life. He seemed so salt-of-the-earth dependable. Hardworking stock. She had to shut her eyes for a moment, for surely he was stealing her focus. “I can help. I can learn to—”

He took her wrist and pushed her hand away. “No, you can't help. Now, leave before I do something stupid.”

She leaned closer. “Like letting me try?”

He shook his head. “No, like kissing you.”