Barbara Phinney - Rancher To The Rescue

“You need to start disciplining them.”

Her chin wrinkled and for a few long moments, she didn’t speak. “I can’t,” she whispered. “They miss our parents. They’re grieving because they think Mother and Father will be gone for what seems to them to be forever. I don’t have the heart to start punishing them, and then, a short time later, tell them our parents are never coming back! It’s cruel and unfair. So, please don’t ask me to punish them. I can’t! I miss our parents, too. I know how they feel.”

Another pause followed. “And frankly, well, I feel betrayed, too,” she added.

She dragged forward the chair that sat against the glass wall and collapsed into it. Her hand covered her nose and mouth, but Noah could see tears welling up in her soft brown eyes before she laid her arm across his desk and dropped her forehead onto it.

Disconcerted, he glanced around. Was there something he was supposed to do? “Your parents—”

Her head snapped up, her eyes, although watery, flashed pure anger. “Don’t tell me they’ll be coming home, because we both know that is very unlikely!” The anger dissolved immediately. “This is insane. I’m not mad at you. I’m furious at them for leaving us in the lurch.”

Noah guessed he must have looked a little confused, because she threw up her hands. “I don’t care if it doesn’t make any sense! That’s the way I feel, if you really want to know.”

If truth be told, Noah didn’t want to know. Still, something gripped him deep inside at the sight of Clare’s anguish. Life was far more unfair to her than it had been to him. He’d walked out of his home because his parents had tried to force him to do something he didn’t want to do.

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 His offer of marriage could not be rescinded.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?”