Destiny's Embrace (5 page)
“A woman out here needs to know how to ride.”
“And if she doesn’t, is it expected that she learn before she leaves the train station?” Eyebrow raised, she waited for his counter. If he had one he didn’t voice it.
Instead, his attention back on the team, he asked, “Your late husband like your feistiness?”
A small wave of panic roiled her insides. “Yes, he did,” she lied.
“How long have you been widowed?”
“Almost three years.” It occurred to her that maybe she should’ve worked out the details on her fictional marriage and widowhood beforehand, but she hadn’t anticipated being questioned about what is normally considered a private matter, at least back East. She thought it best to change the subject. “Mrs. Yates didn’t inform me who’d I’d be employed by.”
“Me.”
She went weak. He settled his eyes on her just long enough to show dry amusement before concentrating on his driving again. “Mrs. Yates is my
madrastra
, my stepmother.”
“I see.”
“I have two younger brothers, Andrew and Noah.”
“Do they live with you, too?”
“No.”
“Are you married?”
He shook his head. “Not looking to either. You planning on marrying again?”
“I doubt I’d meet another man as honorable as my Henry, so no.” There, she’d given her mythical husband a name. “How much farther do we have to travel?”
“About three hours.”
“That long?”
“Be considerably shorter if you knew how to ride.”
Suppressing a snarl, she ignored him in favor of taking in the impressive view and the expansive sky.
They’d been on the road for close to two hours. They’d driven past a few farms and large fenced-in fields, which assured her that although it appeared as if Yates was escorting her to the middle of nowhere, there were other people around. However, she’d yet to see anything resembling a town or an inn. She needed to use the facilities. Wondering how he might react if she asked that he stop somewhere convenient, she gave him a quick glance.
“Problem?” he asked.
Mariah had no idea how to ask a man about something so personal.
“Thought you always spoke your mind.”
Determined not to rise to the bait, she replied calmly, “If you could stop someplace convenient where I might use the facilities, I’d be ever so grateful.”
He hauled back on the reins and the two horse team halted. “Trees over there look like a good spot.”
Mariah first took in the thick stand of trees he’d indicated, then him. Surely he must’ve misunderstood her request. However, as she met his unreadable features, it dawned on her that he hadn’t misunderstood. He actually expected her to . . . in the trees!
“Not trying to embarrass you or anything,” he told her, “but this is the way it is out here in open country. And the longer you wait to decide, the longer it’s going to take us to get where we need to be, Mrs. Cooper.”
There was something about him that made her think he was enjoying this, and that set her to simmering again. She understood they were in open country, but where she hailed from, people, and especially women, did not use trees. Doing so not only subjected you to public disdain and ridicule, it could also get you hauled before a magistrate and fined.
“Your decision?”
The light of humor in his eyes made her want to sock him right in the nose. “The trees will suffice.”
He came around to help her down. Hoping her fiery glare would reduce him to ash, Mariah politely took his hand only to have him swing her down and set her on her feet before him. Surprise warred with her temper, while odd unnamed feelings washed over her from standing close enough to feel his body heat mingle with her own.
He looked down. “I’ll wait here.”
“I most certainly hope so.” Mortified beyond belief, she marched to the trees.
“Keep an eye out for snakes!”
She stopped, stared back and after shooting him a quelling look, resumed her march.
Upon her return, he was leaning leisurely against the wagon. “Better?”
She couldn’t believe he’d asked her that. “Don’t you know anything about being a gentleman, Mr. Yates?”
“From your squawking you obviously don’t think I do, so what did I do wrong, now?”
Before she could reply, he picked her up and held her aloft for an inordinate amount of time before slowly depositing her back on the seat. The warmth of his hands on her waist meandered fleetingly up her spine. Fighting off the effects, or attempting to, she managed to find her wits. “A gentleman never asks a lady something so personal.”
“I’m a rancher. Spend my time breaking horses and shoveling manure. Never had time for gentleman’s finishing school.”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. How on earth was she going to work for this insufferable man?
“What are you doing?”
“Counting to ten.”
He actually chuckled. “Does a gentleman ask why?”
She opened her eyes. “Only if a gentleman wants to see a lady lose her religion and begin speaking in tongues.”
He folded his arms and surveyed her with a smile teasing his full lips. “You’re pretty plucky for a city woman.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, are we going to finish this journey or not?”
“Bossy, too.”
“Thank you.”
He climbed back up to his seat and without uttering another word, set the team in motion.
Logan grudgingly admitted that he liked her. He rarely ran into women capable of giving back as good as they got. Most seemed content to simper and twitter, especially in his presence. There was no simpering or twittering in this one. Her pluck made him wonder who’d worn the pants in her marriage. No getting around her beauty though—gorgeous as a morning sunrise. With the dearth of eligible women in the area, every man within fifty miles would come calling on her and her feline gold eyes, but it wouldn’t matter because he was pretty sure she wouldn’t be staying.
Mariah spotted a large gray boulder on the side of the road. It appeared to have writing chiseled into the surface. “What’s that?”
“Locals call it Owl Rock.”
“What’s its purpose?”
“New settlers in the area carve their names into it when they arrive in the county.”
She found that to be very interesting. “Can we stop, so I may see it?” To her surprise he did, and walked around to her side of the wagon. Again, his hands found her waist and swung her down. As he set her on her feet, that same smoke life feeling returned. Something about him was attracting her, even though it was the last thing in the world she wanted. “If you’d just offer me your hand, I can get down on my own.”
He folded his arms and studied her before saying, “I’ll try and remember that.”
Breaking away from the invisible hold of his gaze, she walked over to the boulder. It was necessary for her to peer close in order to make out the names: Logan, Henderson, Haskell, and others. Many were coupled with dates, which she assumed were when the people arrived. “Would it be all right if I added my initials?”
“Let’s get to the ranch first. I can always bring you back if you decide to stay on.”
Mariah thought that was an odd thing for him to say, but she didn’t challenge him. Instead she walked with him back to the wagon. He offered her a hand so she could climb back up. She told herself she wasn’t affected by the warmth of his grasp, but it was a lie. “Thank you.”
“Trying to be a gentleman.”
She shook her head but said nothing as they resumed their journey.
“Is there a church in the area?”
“Yes. It’s Baptist.”
“Do you attend?”
“No.”
He’d spoken the word so succinctly, she didn’t ask him why.
They were now within hailing distance of the ranch, and Logan thought over how he wanted to proceed. No sense in stopping by Alanza’s first. He’d take her by his place, and once she saw the mess inside, she could go to Alanza and cry off. “We’ll be coming up on the ranch in a few minutes. I’ll take you by my place first. If you decide you don’t want to take the job, you can spend the night with my stepmother and I’ll get one of the hands to take you back to the train in the morning.”
“Why wouldn’t I stay?” Her tone was as cool as the golden she-cat eyes.
“Place needs a lot of work. Once you get a good look at it you may not want to take it on.”
“I see.” Mariah sensed he was attempting to scare her off. He’d already made it clear that he found her unsuitable, but he must have straw for brains if he thought she’d made the long journey across the continent just to run back to Philadelphia. No matter how hard the work proved to be, it would be a cakewalk compared to putting up with him.
Thoughts of their ongoing battle were soon set aside as he guided the team through a set of tall wrought-iron posts that had to have been created by an artisan of great skill. Worked into the pillars were roses, horses, cattle, and elaborate Christian crosses. Emblazoned across the front of the arch over the gate were the large scrolled letters
DESTINO
. She wanted to ask him for an interpretation, but the team propelled the wagon forward.
“Welcome to Destiny.”
She assumed that was the English translation of the word on the gate, but before she could ask or acknowledge his welcome, her attention was caught by a large sprawling house ahead. Philadelphia had some grand homes, but this beautiful place surpassed anything she’d ever seen. It was two stories and constructed of stone and wood. On the upper portion were a series of verandahs made of the same fine ironwork as the posts at the entrance. At ground level and set out off to left was more ironwork encasing a courtyard bursting with colorful flowers and shrubs.
“My stepmother’s home,” he explained as the wagon rumbled past on the narrow unpaved road. “Her family originally owned this part of the ranch. My father owned the portion I live on. We combined both places when I was young.”
“It’s very lovely.” The courtyard led to a breezeway covered by a long stone roof whose length continued across a series of low-slung connected buildings.
“I’ve never seen a house built this way.”
“Alanza’s Spanish.”
That surprised her because she just assumed his stepmother would be a woman of the race. They were now past the house, and the land on either side of the road opened up as it had upon leaving the train station. Up ahead, mountains loomed in the distance, but the immediate area was grassland as green as jewels. She saw horses and a small herd of cattle and men on horseback tending to both. She spied orchards and a small group of workers moving among the trees.
“What do you grow in the orchards?”
“Lemons, oranges, a few apples.”
“Lemons?”
“Yes. They grow on trees.”
She held on to her temper. “I’m aware of that. I’ve just never seen any before.” Near the orchards, was a field of staked, squat, treelike plantings that were also unfamiliar. “And those?”
“Vineyards.”
“Grapes?”
“Yes.”
She’d seen grapes growing back home, but those vines bore very little resemblance to this California version. Things were certainly different. “How much farther?”
“Just over the next rise.”
“This is quite a change from Philadelphia, with all its buildings.” The quiet was noticeable as well. No vendors hawking wares or trolleys rumbling over tracks, no streets filled with people and voices. She wondered how long it might take her to get used to the quiet and the slower pace.
A house came into view that she supposed was his. Like his stepmother’s, it, too, was made of stone and wood, but it had only one level. The outside appeared tidy enough, so she couldn’t imagine what it was about the interior that had him so convinced she wouldn’t stay. Near the house were corrals and barns and mounted men moving between them. A small group of men in boots, vests, and hats sat perched on the rungs of one of the corrals. From the loud hoots and yells, she assumed they were engaged in something, but she was too far away to make out what.
He must’ve seen the questions on her face. “They’re breaking horses for sale.”
And at that moment, a rider on a horse popped into view. His jumping and twisting mount seemed to be trying to unseat him. Just when she thought the man might stay in the saddle, he was sent flying through the air and her hand flew to her mouth in dismay. He landed on the ground inside the corral. The angry horse charged him, but he scrambled to his feet and cleared the short fence a second later. The other men laughed at his plight while the horse raced around bellowing with rage. Mariah had no idea what to make of it. A glance over at her employer showed his amusement.
“This is how you break a horse?” she asked, her eyes still on the beautiful, angry horse trying to find a way out of the confining corral.
“One of the ways.”
The wagon caught the attention of the men and upon seeing her they went still. Mariah felt self-conscious under their quiet regard.
“They’ll want to meet you, but we’ll wait until later, unless that’s ungentlemanly, too.”
“Are you always so trying?”
He smiled. “Always.”
The men were still watching.
“Back to work,” he called over. “You’ll meet her later.”
He jumped down. When he came around to her side, she said firmly, “Again, I prefer to step down on my own, if you don’t mind.” She didn’t want to be gossiped about before she even crossed his threshold. Nor did she care to be swept up like a sack of flour or worse, his paramour.
He complied. Still cognizant of the men’s curious eyes, she followed Yates to the door and inside.
T
he unpleasant smell assaulted her first. She’d smelled chicken coops more fragrant, but the acrid order was quickly eclipsed by the sheer size of the unholy mess spread out before her, and for just a moment her knees weakened as she slowly took it all in. Piled-up boots, horse blankets, trousers, union suits, and tin plates competed for space with coils of rope, rain slickers and a multitude of other items so unfamiliar she didn’t even know their names, let alone their purpose. The windows and walls were dirty, and she had no idea if the floor was carpeted or bare wood. A pointed look behind her showed Yates standing with his arms folded, his face again unreadable. “I see why you need a housekeeper, but someone with kennel experience might be more appropriate.”
He stiffened in response, giving her a modicum of satisfaction. She removed the pins from her hat and took it off, but held on to it because there was no clear space to set it down. “Why is all this in here and not in say, a barn?”
“Bunkhouse burned down a year ago. Barns are full of barn implements, so I had the hands move their gear in here.”
“So is the new bunkhouse nearly finished?”
“Haven’t had time to start it.” Once again, his eyes offered no discernible reaction.
“I see.”
Logan figured in about thirty seconds, she’d be hiking up her fancy skirts and hightailing it back to Sacramento. No way was a city woman like her going to tackle such a mess. He watched as she continued her survey.
“How many hands are in your employ?”
“Six, full time.” Alanza wasn’t going to be pleased when told the housekeeper fled the place like her slips were on fire.
“I’ll take the job.”
He froze.
“I’d like to get started as soon as possible. May I see the rest of the house?”
It took a few seconds for his brain to move. “What?”
“I said, I’ll take the job.”
“Why?” This was not going the way he’d assumed.
“I didn’t travel all this way just to turn around and go home again, Mr. Yates.”
“But.” He snapped his mouth shut.
“Your home is a sty, but it can be righted. Now, will you kindly show me around, please.”
The determination in her gaze made him contemplate her silently before grudgingly surrendering. “Kitchen’s that way.”
They waded through the chaos toward the kitchen. She tripped over a bed frame, and had he not reached out and kept her upright, she would’ve fallen.
“Thank you,” she responded, sounding not at all pleased by the misstep.
For unknown reasons, his irritation rose upon seeing the disapproval on her beautiful face. She was judging him by the chaotic mess, and although she had a right to, he didn’t care for it.
The kitchen was no better. A battered armoire leaned against the ancient stove and dilapidated cold box. He seemed to notice for the first time how scarred and beat-up everything was.
“And these holes in the cabinets? Moths?”
He shot her a look. “Gunshots.”
“Interesting. Were you under attack?”
“No. Horseplay and whiskey.”
“I see. Does that stove work?”
“No.” And hadn’t in over a year.
She exhaled audibly. “What other duties do you anticipate me handling?”
“Cooking and laundry.”
“Then I assume you’ll be purchasing a working stove.”
“Yes,” he replied tightly.
“Good.” She made her way over to the cabinets and looked inside at the three chipped plates and two dented metal tumblers. “I take it you’ve been eating elsewhere.”
“Most of the time, yes.”
“If I’m to cook for you, we’ll need proper china and tableware.”
He watched her take in the dirty windows.
“What other rooms do I need to see?”
“Bathing room. Follow me.”
He escorted her down a hallway that led to the rear of the house. He decided that not only was she bossy, she was bossy and demanding. Proper china indeed.
Judging by all she’d seen so far, were Mariah a less formidable woman she’d already be making plans to return to Philadelphia as quickly as possible. Cleaning this place and putting it into some semblance of order was going to be an undertaking of Herculean proportions. Inside the bathing room now, she glanced around at the large space with its pedestal sink, water closet and huge claw-foot tub. “You have indoor plumbing.”
“Yes.”
After her encounter with the trees she was grateful for that boon. “And that door over there leads where?”
“My bedroom.”
He appeared to be waiting for some kind of reaction from her but she gave him nothing. She pulled off her gloves. “We’ll be sharing this bathing room?”
“For now.”
She wasn’t happy with that, but seeing as there was nothing to be done, she set her feelings aside. “Where to next?”
“My study.”
As they entered she looked around.
“You seem surprised,” he observed.
“I am. The bookcases actually hold books, as opposed to, say, socks and dirty shirts.”
It was clear he hadn’t appreciated the dig, but she saw no reason for him to be offended by the truth. “And where will my room be? Mrs. Yates said she preferred I live in.”
Her room was in the back of the house. It was small and blessedly clear of clutter. The only furnishings were a bed and a chest of drawers. Mariah walked over to a door on the back wall. Easing it open she found it led outside to a small fenced-in courtyard that held a small wooden bench. Pleased by that, she closed it again and surveyed her sparsely furnished room. “Would it be possible to have a sitting chair in here, and a lamp?”
“I’ll see what Alanza has in storage.”
“Thank you. Now, would you be so kind as to bring in my trunks?”
He left her, and Mariah stepped out into the little courtyard again. By all the cigar butts and cheroot tails littering the ground, she guessed the space was used by him and his men. The area needed cleaning, but once that was accomplished, the bench would provide a nice spot to catch her breath after a long day, or to work on her drawings. The magnificent view of the mountains and the low border of tall pines was breathtaking. She could hear the men over at the corral but she supposed at night there’s nothing but echoing silence. Definitely something she would have to get accustomed to.
She heard him return and so stepped back inside. “Thank you. I’d like to begin cleaning up the front parlor first thing in the morning. Will it be possible for you to have everything removed by then?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve a ranch to run and we’re busy at the moment. You take some time writing up a list of things you think you’ll be needing to do whatever it is you plan to do, and the hands and I will begin moving things in a few days.”
“I already know what I need, Mr. Yates.”
“Then take a few days to get your sea legs under you. I’m sure you’re tired from the long train ride.”
“Don’t you want the house cleared out and cleaned?”
“I do, but on my schedule.”
“Ah. And if our schedules don’t coincide?”
“We go with mine.”
“You’re determined to lock horns with me?”
“No, you’re determined to lock horns with me, so rest up for now, and when you’re ready we’ll visit my stepmother and have some supper.”
“Do you lock horns with her, too?”
“Often.”
Stalemate.
“Let me know when you’re ready, Mrs. Cooper.”
As he left her alone, Mariah wondered if there was a cure for male arrogance. Apparently, she’d traded one tyrant for another, but as she’d noted on the ride over, she had no plans to revert to her formerly spineless self. It was quite obvious that Logan Yates was accustomed to throwing his weight around and bowling people over with it. And yes, the train ride had taken a lot out of her, but this house needed immediate attention if for no other reason than to rid it of the smell, which was wafting all the way back to her little room. His assumptions to the contrary, she wasn’t afraid of work and she certainly wasn’t afraid of him. Filled with determination, she changed out of her traveling ensemble and into one of her older blouses and skirts. Once that was done, she tied on an apron, put on her imaginary Queen Calafia crown and went to wage war on his fouled excuse of a home.
Outside, Logan walked over to the corral. Laying down the law to the bossy widow felt good. She worked for him, not the other way around.
Eli Braden was the first to speak up. “Well?”
“Says she’s staying, and wants us to start clearing the parlor. Told her I was too busy at the moment. Maybe in a couple of days.”
“She as pretty up close as she looked from here?”
The level gaze that greeted the remark made Eli grin. “Guess the answer’s yes.”
Logan refused to acknowledge that she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. The golden eyes and full mouth had already branded themselves in his mind’s eye. “Real bossy.”
“She’ll need that to handle you.”
“She’s here to clean the place, not order me around.”
“You must didn’t make that clear enough.”
Logan appeared confused by his words, so Eli used his chin to direct his friend to what he was referencing. Logan turned around to see the Widow Cooper dragging a bed frame out the door. He also saw that she’d changed her clothing and was now wearing a sweeping black skirt and a high-necked, long-sleeved blouse that fit snugly over her curves. The wire bed frame was twice her size, and her difficulties in maneuvering it were apparent, but she was persistent and soon had it out on the grass. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she walked determinedly back inside.
“Oh, hell,” Logan muttered.
His men didn’t bother hiding their amusement.
Out the door she came again, this time, arms loaded with shirts and denims. She dumped them next to the bed frame and sailed back into the house.
“Once word gets around about her beauty, men will be lined up from here to the Bay to take her off your hands,” Eli quipped.
The last thing Logan wanted was his ranch overrun by a bunch of calf-eyed men, but any man loco enough to take her on would regret it, because she was obviously too bossy for her own good, and deaf to boot. Hadn’t he just explained that he wanted her to wait for him to decide when the house cleaning would begin?
While he and the hands looked on, she kept up her pace. For the next half hour, the pile of items on the grass grew to include boots, bedding, and other items belonging to him and his men. Finally, she stopped and directed those golden eyes their way. To his surprise, she marched over. Pointedly ignoring Logan, she said, “Gentlemen, my name’s Mariah Cooper and I’m the new housekeeper. I’d suggest you come and claim your belongings.”
Logan found this cat-eyed woman so unlike any other he’d encountered, he wasn’t sure what to do. “And if they don’t?” he asked coolly.
She finally looked his way. “Anything still in the pile come morning will be kindling for a bonfire.”
Eyes widened.
Logan noticed stripes of what appeared to be blood on her fingers. He thought about her dragging the metal bed frame. “Did you cut yourself?”
“No.”
Bossy and a liar. “Let me see your hands.”
“Mr. Yates, I suggest you let me worry about my hands. You should be more concerned with getting the lumber for the new bunkhouse you need to build.”
Tamping down his rising temper, he repeated softly and slowly, “Let me see your hands.”
Her tightly set face and raised chin challenged him as if she equaled him in both height and weight.
“Show me your hands before I take you over my knee and paddle your fancy little behind.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, I’d dare,” he promised.
The ranch hands eagerly watched the exchange as if the boss and the little lady were acting out a play on the stage.
“Once again, you are no gentleman,” she tossed back.
“So you keep reminding me. Show me your hands.”
Gold eyes flaring, she presented her bloodstained palms.
He took hold of first one wrist and then the other. “Fool woman. Eli, go and get me something to clean up these cuts.”
While he hurried off, she pulled her hands free. “I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”
“Was it going to be before or after the bonfire?”
Her face said she hadn’t cared for that dig.
“You trying to get lockjaw?” he demanded quietly.
Mariah had no idea what lockjaw was, but decided it had to be something he’d made up, until he explained, “You get it from rust in your blood. One of the symptoms is your jaws lock up, which for you might be just the ticket, but many people die from it.”
She stared.
The man Eli returned with a small brown pharmacy bottle and some gauze. She reached out to take them only to have Yates take possession of the items first. “Hold out your palms.”
“I’m perfectly capable—”
“Yeah, I know. Hold out your hands.”
Mariah huffed. Dealing with him was putting her dangerously close to a full blown case of apoplexy, but the challenge in his eyes made her remember his promise to paddle her so-called fancy little behind. That he’d actually carry out the outrageous threat wasn’t something she wanted to chance, nor did she want it to be witnessed by his employees, so she thrust out her palms.
He poured a bit of the bottle’s liquid content onto a piece of the gauze and to her surprise went about the task gently. But whatever was in the bottle stung more than the cuts themselves. “What is that?”
“Witch hazel.”
The irony of that was inescapable, but she held still and let him finish. Eli next handed him a small white tube. The paste inside was gently rubbed on the cuts. Mariah tried to ignore the way her senses fluttered in response to Yates’s soft-touched ministrations, and to the dark eyes probing her own.
“Where’d you get all these calluses?” he questioned quietly. The slow slide of his thumb over the toughened skin at the base of her fingers sent her senses into a silent swoon.
“Chopping wood and pumping water since the age of nine.”
“For who?”
“My mother. Are you done?” She needed him to release her so she could shake off her disturbing reaction. His touch and nearness were affecting her like no man before, and she didn’t know the reason for it or how to douse the odd sensations. He, however, seemed to be still mulling over her reply. She assumed her callused hands didn’t jibe with his view of whoever he thought her to be, but she let him think what he wanted because she doubted he’d believe the truth, even if she hit him over the head with it.