The Texan's Dream (9 page)

“If we are to work together,” he finally said without turning around, “I think it best we establish a few rules.”

Kara straightened, wondering if the man ever faced anyone directly in conversation. “Is this about the kissing again?”

“No.” He shifted so their eyes met. “This is about you always …” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not accustomed to a woman … to anyone being so close. I like to keep my distance from people. All people.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “If we are to work together, we need to maintain certain boundaries.”

For a moment, Kara didn’t understand. She’d grown up in a neighborhood where people hugged a greeting, held hands at funerals and weddings, patted one another as a part of conversation. Except for a few times, she’d been no closer to Jonathan Catlin than she was to anyone.

“Until I took over this ranch, I traveled. I was always surrounded by strangers. I didn’t mean to startle you by moving away. I’m not used to people patting my arm or slipping things from my pocket. Or trying to comfort me.”

“But those were my glasses and I meant—”

He didn’t let her finish. “I prefer not to be so close to y … to people. I think if we are to maintain our strictly business relationship, we should both remember that. Unless politeness or necessity demand, I think there is no need for me to be within several feet of you, Miss O’Riley.”

“All right, what else?”

“Else?”

“You said rules.”

Jonathan nodded. “Rules. Well, I think we should be completely honest with one another. If I do something that bothers you, I’d like to be aware of it.”

“Agreed.” He hadn’t said he’d change, she noticed.

“Is there anything you need to tell me before you begin your first day of work?”

Kara took a deep breath. “No.”

“Then breakfast will be in an hour. The dining hall is directly across the foyer. I’ll see you then, Miss O’Riley. We’ll begin on the books immediately after breakfast.”

Kara nodded and walked from the room. Before she even had time to look at her new home, Jonathan set down the rules. He acted like she was some silly girl going around touching him all the time. Didn’t he know that the most difficult part of her job was going to be putting up with him? At least he said he’d be gone most of the time. Then she’d know some peace from his stare.

She didn’t even like the man, much less want to be close to him. His imagination must be as overactive as hers if he thought otherwise.

Suddenly, the coldness in the house reached all the way to her bones. It was going to be a long, long year.

ELEVEN

AN HOUR LATER, JONATHAN WATCHED KARA DESCEND the stairs. He never liked the old house he inherited. It was drafty and full of cracks. But with a woman inside, it seemed almost like a home. And a home, Jonathan reminded himself, was the last thing he wanted.

After his parents’ place was destroyed and burned, he’d made a new life with the Apache, only to have their village raided and trampled to the ground. When he was barely fifteen, he swore he’d never call a place home again. Jonathan had managed to drift for years before his grandmother died and left him the ranch.

He told himself he didn’t want the place, that he’d get rid of it as soon as he had it running smoothly. He told himself he didn’t care about the land. But three generations of Catlin ranchers flowed in his blood, and Jonathan wasn’t sure he could run far enough or bleed fast enough to purge them from him.

As he watched Kara, for the first time in years he forgot about wanting to be somewhere else. Her midnight hair was now tied properly in a bun, and she looked fresh scrubbed and pressed. He was surprised to find himself a little saddened by the transformation.

He’d never tell her how beautiful she’d been earlier that morning still new from sleep, her hair wild and free around her shoulders, her stockinged feet showing beneath her skirt. He probably had no right to see her like that. After all, in a year she’d be another man’s wife. She would marry her Devin O’Toole and live in one of those tiny row houses he’d seen by the mills in Pittsburgh. In five years she’d have five little Irish brats and more backbreaking work than she could endure. Her year in Texas would be only a faraway memory.

Jonathan turned and stormed into the dining room before she noticed him staring. He must be crazy. He didn’t want to see her as anything but a bookkeeper. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in any way with her as a woman. If he had to set a hundred rules, or a thousand, he’d make sure he got no closer to Miss O’Riley.

To his surprise, everyone waited in the long dining room. Jason Newton, his foreman, stood by the windows talking with Gideon, the man who ran the grounds. It didn’t appear his crutches had slowed Gideon down much. He was still yelling orders at his granddaughter Angela, who served as cook. Angela was long past the age to have moved out from beneath her relative’s thumb, but an old maid has little options. At thirty she was too old for the young cow hands who worked the range and too young to be interested in any of the old men who guarded the place.

Gideon kept a close eye on the girl. His daughter, Angela’s mother, had fallen in love at sixteen, gotten pregnant and died in childbirth. Gideon would see that such a thing never happened to his only grandchild. Word was he’d sworn to shoot any man who even looked at her too long.

Four of the Old Guard were also present for breakfast. Luther, the nearest the ranch came to having a doctor, leaned on his cane. Willis, a former cavalryman and Texas Ranger, rattled coins in his pocket as he paced.

Snort, who’d pulled a night watch, would be headed to bed as soon as he ate, but he would come to breakfast first. Snort considered it part of his responsibilities to keep up with all the happenings on the ranch.

H. B., the oldest and meanest of the men who’d settled on the ranch, stood by Snort’s side like an armed guard. Jonathan remembered how his grandmother always called the man “my H. B.” like he was a house pet. Jonathan’s opinion differed. He half-expected H. B. to start foaming at the mouth any minute. The man was as tough as they came in Texas.

The group of men paid little notice to Jonathan as he entered. For a moment, he didn’t understand why they weren’t seated. Usually breakfast was an informal meal with men eating as soon as they arrived. But today, they all waited, watching the door.

A few seconds later, they fell silent, as if someone had rung a bell all heard but him. Jonathan didn’t have to turn around. He knew the moment when Kara entered the room. All the men straightened and grinned with whatever teeth they had left. Snort even made an effort to comb his hair down with a wide swipe of his palm.

“Gentlemen.” Jonathan didn’t look back at Kara. “May I introduce the bookkeeper?”

One by one, the others moved toward her and introduced themselves. All seven men waited for the lady to sit down. Jonathan had never seen such strange behavior. They were acting like the Queen of England had come to breakfast.

When Angela entered with the food she served Kara first and, to his amazement, none of the men complained.

“I’m Angela,” the old maid said as she deposited food on the table. “I’m also Gideon’s granddaughter, but I don’t like to be reminded of that.”

Gideon groaned at her attempt at humor.

“If you need anything, Miss Kara, you just let me know. I’m here from dawn ’til dusk.”

“Thank you, Angela.” Kara smiled politely. Jonathan watched Kara and wondered if she had any idea that Angela had just been nicer to her than he’d ever seen the old maid be to anyone. He drank his coffee and listened to the others.

Conversation at meals had always been reports about the ranch or complaints. Suddenly they were asking how Kara liked the weather, if she slept well last night and what could they do to make her happy? It was enough to sour the milk.

The only time Jonathan got a word in was when she looked directly at him and asked about Wolf. Jonathan quickly explained that Wolf never stayed a day longer away from Molly than necessary. He’d left before dawn with a saddlebag full of food and a good horse. With luck, he would be in Austin by nightfall.

“Like the McLains always say, Wolf will keep an angel on his shoulder and his fist drawn until he’s among family once more.” Jonathan mumbled more to himself than anyone. “Wolf’s their brother by honor if not by blood.”

Before Kara could ask more about the McLains, the Old Guard, inspired by the tale of Wolf’s hurried departure competed with stories of their ranger days. Days when they’d traveled twice as far in half the time with no food at all. Snort finally topped them all by adding that his horse died and he had to carry the carcass the last twenty miles.

Jonathan waited quietly until Kara finished her meal and then stood, declaring it time to work. All the men scrambled to their feet and bid her good-bye. Snort even waggled his fingers in as foolish a gesture as Jonathan had ever seen a seventy-year-old man make.

Jonathan thought he heard Kara giggle as she followed him into the study with her ledger book in hand.

The study was the only room in the house Jonathan liked. It was small, with floor-to-ceiling books on two sides and a wall of windows facing the courtyard. He had the feeling that, in years past, the ranch had been run from this room more than any other.

“Near as I can tell,” he said as he directed her to the desk, “we’ve never had anyone here who can keep books. Several years ago, my grandmother tried, but she went blind. No one took an interest after that.”

“Is that why the house is kept so dark?” she asked.

He hadn’t really thought of it before. Most of the time he spent inside was after dusk. “I guess so. I remember Angela saying bright light bothered Victoria’s eyes.” Jonathan pulled out the desk chair for her and waited.

Kara hesitantly sat behind the massive desk.

He continued, “Since my grandmother became ill, Newton kept every receipt in this box. Somehow, by the end of our year here the books have to show a profit or the ranch will no longer be mine.” He shoved the box toward her.

“Why would she make such a rule?” Kara asked.

“She wanted me to work it. Maybe even fight for it. She thought I wouldn’t see its value if I didn’t live here.”

“And do you?” Kara looked up at him.

“Not really,” he answered honestly. “This place is not what I want, but I’ll give it my best effort.”

“And what do you want, Mr. Catlin?”

It was an easy enough question, but the answer was impossible. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’d like to feel someplace was special.”

“Or someone,” she whispered, looking away.

As he stared he thought, for a moment, he could read her mind. She’d never been special to anyone. Maybe no one ever had or ever would value her dearly. The thought made him uncomfortable. She deserved better than this Devin O’Toole who could let her go away for a year without making her believe he valued her.

Jonathan changed the subject. “There’s a safe to your left that usually stands open. We put money from the sales of cattle into it in the fall, and Newton, Gideon or myself take out whatever is needed to run the place or pay the men.”

“The safe is never locked?”

Jonathan looked amused. “No one would steal from the headquarters. The Old Guard may look useless, but my guess is a thief would be dead before he could get off the land. You only met the four old men who choose to live at the bunkhouse. There are almost a dozen more scattered over the land who prefer to be alone.”

“So, all your money is guarded by retired rangers?”

“Not all. There’s an account in Henrietta, another in Dallas. If Brady, a little settlement an hour from here, ever gets big enough to have a bank, I’ll put some there. So far all they have is a mercantile, a saloon and the telegraph office. And a stage that runs once a day to Fort Worth.” Jonathan watched her write something down. “You’ll find all the information you’ll need in the box. We could ride over to Henrietta one day and check the accounts or even to Fort Worth.”

When she didn’t ask any questions, he reached for his gun belt draped over a chair by the window.

As he strapped it on, she found her tongue. “Aren’t you going to stay and help me?”

“No. If anyone comes in needing payment for a bill, pay them. If you’re unsure, Newton should be around somewhere. I told him to check on you. I’m riding over to the Wellses’ place and see if they know anything about that shot taken at us in Kansas City.”

Kara looked worried, but he couldn’t tell if it was from being left alone or that he planned to face Wells. Before he could say anything, Angela entered with a steaming cup of coffee. To his surprise, the woman walked right past him and offered it to Kara.

“I brought the lady coffee.” The housekeeper leaned forward. The desk looked low next to Angela’s six-foot frame. “If you prefer, I’ll make you tea. I make wonderful cookies for tea. Miss Victoria, Jonathan’s grandmother, used to have them every morning.”

Kara smiled up at the woman. If she’d been shorter, people would have called Angela plump. At six feet, large was the only word that came to mind. “Thank you. Coffee will be fine.”

Jonathan frowned. Angela treated Kara like she was the mistress of the house. She didn’t even notice him standing in the middle of the room.

“I might like a cup of coffee,” he mumbled.

Angela looked up at him as if he interrupted something important. The woman feared no man, but her smile showed respect. “You don’t have time, Mr. Catlin. Snort and H. B. are already waiting for you in the courtyard. Snort said he wouldn’t sleep knowing you were riding alone. They’re going with you to see Wells.” She turned back to Kara and asked about what time she’d like lunch.

He was being dismissed, Jonathan thought. One bookkeeper seemed to be all everyone could think about.

“Open all the shutters in the house, Angela. It’s far too dark here.” He stormed out of the study, not giving either woman time to answer.

Before he reached the front door, Kara caught up to him. She grabbed his arm with her hand. Jonathan stopped as if she held him with iron.

“Be careful,” she whispered, her green eyes filled with worry.

He was in no mood to be ordered, or mothered. Staring at her fingers on his sleeve, he hissed, “I thought we agreed not to touch.”

She pulled her fingers away and locked her hands behind her. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

He almost felt guilty. “You have no need to worry. I’m not going looking for a fight. I’ve only met Wells a few times. He never struck me as a wise man. If he had anything to do with someone shooting at us, I’ll be able to see it in his eyes.”

Kara straightened, her voice suddenly formal, almost void of the Irish accent. “Should I tell Angela to keep lunch ready for you?”

“No.” He shoved his hat low. “Or supper either. The Wellses’ headquarters is half a day’s ride away, and we’ll stop in town on our way back.”

She nodded and watched him walk out the door. He was a cold, cold man. But he was the only one she really knew here. Everyone else, though nice, was a stranger.

Suddenly, she felt very much alone. The only person she felt she knew for hundreds of miles was Jonathan Catlin, and he didn’t even want her touching his arm.

As she moved to the doorway and watched him swing up onto a horse like he’d been born for the saddle, Kara had the feeling she was being watched. The hair stood on the back of her neck, and air colder than that outside drifted past her. She remembered something her father used to repeat about houses having moods. He’d laugh and say, “Some homes welcome you with a ‘come in and sit a spell,’ while others seem to be waiting for you to leave.”

Kara tried to shake the feeling. She could see no one looking at her as Jonathan and the others rode out. When she turned, the foyer and the study were empty. Yet, the coffee she had left steaming only a few minutes before was cold. Not lukewarm or tepid, but cold, as though it had been stored in snow while she was gone.

She poured the coffee into the planter beside her desk and hoped it didn’t kill the weedlike plant that struggled to survive. Then, with little idea of what she was doing, Kara went to work. She sorted the receipts from the box by date and recorded each carefully in the ledger. Since she had no beginning balance, all the numbers were negative for several weeks. Finally, she found a sales sheet for cattle and the books began to balance.

Angela brought in lunch. Kara continued to work as she ate. By midafternoon, she’d reached the fourth month of ranch operation and the scratchings on the receipts began to make sense.

Jason Newton dropped by every hour. After being bombarded with questions several times, his visits grew further apart. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t a man who took to book work. Every time Kara asked him to read something or figure out the exact numbers scribbled on a scrap of paper, he looked like she was asking him to take medicine.