The Nanny Solution (19 page)

But Walter was breaking the law, she argued with herself.

Shoving the last pin in her hair, she straightened her shoulders.
Lord, be with me. Give me the right words and the courage I need to do what's right.

She didn't stop praying until she heard her uncle answer her knock on his study door a few minutes later.

Smoothing her hair, this time for courage, she stepped inside. She hadn't even rehearsed what she wanted to say. Perhaps this was for the best. It forced her to stick to the truth, as she should.

“Uncle Walter, I want to say I'm so sorry for being such a poor guest. I dashed off right away after church and the time got away from me.”

At his desk, Uncle Walter looked up then, his expression pensive. She wished she knew what he was thinking. “It's quite all right, Victoria. As soon as we noticed you'd come home, I sent word to Clyde. He will be joining us in a few minutes.”

She couldn't stop the gasp. Clyde Abernathy was coming this late? That meant that Uncle Walter would stay, not leave for any reason. He'd be anxious to see his plans for Victoria realized.

“Mr. Abernathy is coming here? It's so late. I just assumed we'd have a quick meal before retiring.”

“It's not that late and Clyde lives alone. He wants to come.” He cocked his head. “I hear his coupe pulling into the yard right now.”

Panic surged over her. She stepped forward, feeling the sudden press of time. “But don't both of you have to work in the morning?”

Walter batted his hand. “You needn't worry about that, Victoria.” Abruptly, he sniffed the air. “You should spray on a bit more cologne, though. Clyde has a discriminating nose. While you're at it, I suggest a light cream for those hands. And clean your nails.”

Victoria curled her fingers but said nothing. She'd given her hands a good washing at Mrs. Turcot's but that had been all she'd had time to do.

Walter set down the cigar he'd been smoking and walked around his desk. Flicking his gaze up and down her frame, he frowned. “So where were you this afternoon?”

Only now he wanted to know where she'd been? She was still only twenty and under her uncle's care. Surely he should have asked as soon as she walked in. Even Aunt Louise had asked.

Like the windup toy finally being released, she began to speak, hardly believing her own calmness. “I have a confession. I went up to Mitchell MacLeod's house after church.”

His face seemed to drain of color. “Why?”

“His children are sick. I wanted to help.”

“What could you have done?”

Honestly, Victoria thought to herself, did everyone think she couldn't do a single thing?

You can't.
She folded her arms, ignoring her own doubt. “Not as much as I first thought. And then a grass fire started. Mitchell rode up to save his cattle.” She held out her hand. “Don't worry, he managed to extinguish the fire.”

“And the cattle?” By now, Walter's eyes had widened to saucers.

“They're all safe, but I'm worried about the barn. It's a tinder-dry building and there has already been one fire close by. If they hadn't managed to put the fire out completely, I don't know what might have happened.”

Abruptly, Walter's eyes narrowed to near slits. From outside the room, Victoria could hear Clyde being let in the house.

Walter's expression then eased back into a calmness that made the fine hairs at her nape stand on end. “So, tell me, Victoria, what does MacLeod say about your being here?”

Chills rose on her flesh, despite the warm room, for some servant had kindled a fire in the small, enameled stove in the corner.

“What do you mean?”

“He didn't want you to return to his ranch?”

Victoria stiffened. “No. Why do you ask?”

He picked up his lit cigar again. “So he's not courting you?”

“No.”

“And he doesn't care what happens to you?”

“He cares, but in a Christian way.”

“Then why did I see you two kissing before you came in?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. For a moment, they stared at each other, horror burning across Victoria's features while Walter continued to smoke his cigar with unruffled smugness. Then he walked back to his desk, where he extinguished it with great precision. He picked up an envelope and an ornate silver cigar case, the kind with the matches tucked into the top. Her father had had one, which her mother now retained as a keepsake.

Finally, Victoria found her voice. “Mitchell's kiss meant nothing.”

“Hmm.” Walter opened a drawer and pulled out a gun.

Victoria's eyes widened as he aimed the barrel at her.

“We shall see how little he cares for you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

V
ictoria considered screaming, but if such an act caused others to race into the room, Uncle Walter might panic and shoot them all.

With surprising swiftness, he grabbed her arm. Beyond the room, the voices had died away, and Victoria guessed that her Aunt Louise had taken Clyde into the parlor to await the others. Walter opened his study door a crack, then a bit more as he flicked a fast look one way and then the other. Victoria caught a glimpse of the quiet hallway.

His grip tightening on her, Walter yanked at her as he hurried into the hall and out the front door. The night was quiet, colder than before. Victoria heard the horse in the drive dead ahead snort quietly. The coupe that had brought Clyde here was similar to the one Walter owned, but while the Smith family's was black and ornate, this one was deep burgundy with even more delicate filigree designs on it.

Walter threw open the small door and shoved Victoria in. She cried out in pain when her shin smacked against the step.

“Shut up, girl,” he growled. “If someone comes out here, I'll shoot them. Have that on your conscience.”

“It won't be my fault.”

“It will. Get in, now.” He twisted her arm back to hasten her compliance.

Relenting to the pain at her shin and in her arm, Victoria bustled inside. Walter jumped up with a heavy wheeze and sat in the driver's spot. The light coupe lurched downward under his weight. Victoria stared in horror as he flicked the reins hard, urging the pair of horses to a full, immediate trot.

Victoria gripped the upholstery to keep herself secure. While the coupe's sitting area was enclosed in glass and steel, she could still feel the speed at which Walter drove it.

She looked out the small window behind her. Wasn't the deputy supposed to be watching the house? She couldn't see anyone. No one hurried after them on horseback.

She swallowed down her fear. Should she try to open the door and jump out? Walter had a gun. He could easily turn the horses and reach her again, where she'd be an easy target. If she survived the fall.

Or he could abandon her and head out to the ranch. With a gun. It had taken her nearly an hour to clean herself up, before going down to speak with Uncle Walter. By now, Mitchell would have returned to his home. Victoria was sure that he owned a rifle, but rarely did a man, armed or not, survive an ambush.

The coupe hit a bump and she fell forward, banging against the glass that separated her from Walter. He turned. “Stay still, girl. Or else.” He twisted back to his driving.

Or else what?
Again, they hit a bump and she grabbed the bar in front of her to steady herself.

She looked behind her again. Proud Bend had become a small collection of black, awkward boxes of various sizes, some showing off lit squares of windows that did nothing to dispel the sudden loneliness she felt. There wasn't even a moon to cast a thin, yet comforting light upon the town.

She faced forward, and, steadying herself against the bumps on the trail, she gaped as Walter raced past where the trail split. Mitchell's ranch was to the right. Where was Walter taking her?

After what seemed an age later, Walter reined in the horses and drew them to a halt. Victoria lurched forward, wondering if this was her time to escape. Her hand on the handle, she was ready to throw open the door and leap out.

Before she could, Walter jumped down and yanked it open instead. He leaned in and grabbed her hand. “Get out.”

Victoria stumbled out, her shoe catching on her hem as she struggled to find the small step. Impatient, Walter tugged harder and for his efforts she toppled forward onto the dusty, dry grass.

“Stand up, girl. I can't believe how useless you are.”

She flew to her feet. “I am not useless! How dare you treat me like this!”

“Fool woman! I'll treat you as I please. Oh, you're all alike. My wife doesn't care, my daughter refuses to obey me and now there's you, another female defying me.” He leaned in close. “It's bad enough to deal with Clyde, but not you, too. Don't you think I know that you have no intention of marrying him? At least this way, I will get something out of you.” He shoved her forward, around the back of the small carriage and into the dark night.

“Where are we going?”

“Keep your voice down.” He jabbed her in the back with what she could only assume was the barrel of the small revolver.

They trudged up a short crest. Panting, Victoria struggled to not trip on her gown, for she'd torn the front of the skirt and it drooped down. Beside her, she could hear Walter wheezing. She expected to feel the altitude, but Walter? Perhaps he wasn't the fittest man in Proud Bend.

At the top of the hill, she paused to catch her breath and try to still her pounding fear. Below and to the right lay several buildings, two of them lit with lanterns.

Mitchell's ranch!

Behind her, she heard Walter let out a short, sneering chuckle. He grabbed her arm and twisted it back. “Stay quiet, or you'll both end up dead. Now pick up the pace. I don't have all night.”

* * *

Mitch bent to tuck in a stray wire end, which finished off the makeshift fence. He'd sent Jake down to the drive in case Smith decided to fall for Victoria's plan. The sheriff had put his deputy at the Smith house, but in all honesty, Mitch didn't trust either lawman, not with Victoria's or the children's lives. And he knew of the deputy's reputation. Mitch had seen the man frequent the saloon on the occasions the pastor had asked him to escort Rachel Smith. He wouldn't be surprised to learn that the deputy had abandoned his post. Mitch hadn't even seen the lawman when he'd taken Victoria home earlier.

He straightened, feeling the strain and fatigue that followed a day of hard work. A part of him wanted this to end tonight, one way or the other, and he hated that he could actually consider relinquishing his hold on the mineral rights or, for that matter, the ranch. Anything to stop the hardship and the uncertainty for his family.

At least his children were safe in town, as was Victoria. Her willingness to help was commendable, but they had to face facts. They were too different in too many ways to be anything but acquaintances.

Satisfied he'd done all he could with this corral at the back end of the barn, he picked up his lantern. He hated that his herd was crowded, some pressing against the wire he'd strung across the open end that faced his home. But it would have to do tonight. All he could hope for was that the sheriff would catch Smith before the man did any damage. But the man had yet to arrive, which was worrisome. If they weren't successful in stopping a fire, Mitch had rigged the barbed wire so one flick would release it and the animals would be able to escape.

He walked around the barn. The cattle were restless. As he slowed his pace, he crooned out a soft song. Last summer, when he would be up at the pasture at dusk, he'd often eased their tension with his singing. Now the older cows ended their restless grunts and shifting. One larger animal deep within the herd snorted loudly, and several of them shifted back, but Mitch continued his singing as he rounded the front of the barn.

“MacLeod.”

At the sound Mitch looked up to see Walter Smith in front of him. With Victoria. They stood in the circle of light flowing from a lantern he'd hung up above the barn's front door. The animals within shifted away.

The night stilled. Did he not tell Victoria to stay put? Why was she here? Setting down his tools, Mitch stepped forward, his attention nailed to her.

Her dress was that same rose one into which she'd changed that day on the train when she'd traded her fine dark green suit for milk for Emily. It was badly torn as if she'd stepped on the front hem. He could see dust smeared on her cheek and her hair had fallen out of its usually perfect coif, rolling in long waves down one side of her head.

In that moment, he realized something. She'd paid for his child's milk, simply because she couldn't bear to see the child suffer. It had cost her a lot. It had not been a selfish act at all. The clothes she'd brought were all she owned. She had nothing else. And this one dress looked torn beyond repair.

She wet her lips. Her worried stare was wide, shifting as she swallowed. Walter Smith stood close to her, but slightly behind. The man shifted and Victoria arched her side away from him.

The hairs rose on Mitch's neck. Around the lantern buzzed a few late-season insects, drawn close by the warmth and light, their drone suddenly loud.

Victoria let out a hitching gasp. “Mitchell—”

“Shut up, girl,” Smith spat.

“What's going on?” Mitch demanded.

“You know very well what's going on, MacLeod. Shame on you, sending a girl in to do your work. Why did you want me here? To set fire to your barn? Did you think you could set me up so easily? I bet you have a man down at your gate.” Smith shook his head. “We didn't come that way. I took the left road instead of the right one that goes up past your gate.”

Mitch felt his jaw clench. “Let Victoria go. She's got nothing to do with this.”

“You're right. She has nothing to do with this.” Smith shifted slightly away from Victoria, and the lamplight glinted off a small revolver whose barrel was pressed into Victoria's side. “But she is a valuable tool to me. A way of ensuring your compliance.”

His heart pounding, Mitch gritted out, “In what?”

“In signing this.” With his free hand, Smith drew from his jacket pocket a long, battered envelope.

Mitch went cold. When Smith had first approached him to purchase the mineral rights, he'd held out a similar envelope.

Now the same envelope, albeit battered, stretched toward him. Mitch wanted to decline again. This was his land, his rights, his pride of ownership.

Pride? The stuff didn't equal to a mound of beans when a life was at risk. It had been easy for Mitch to rely on pride to see him through the bumps and curious heartaches Victoria was causing in him, but not now, not as long as she was in danger.

She'd relinquished her own foolish pride by trying to learn simple domestic tasks.

Look what his pride had done to him. It had ruined him.

When pride cometh, then cometh shame.

He was truly shamed now. He'd put his ranch above all else, and now, like the insects buzzing around the lantern, the shame had returned.

Smith tossed the envelope on the ground between them. Then, after digging in his pocket again, he tossed down a fine fountain pen. “Sign it. If you don't, Victoria will find herself in an unfortunate accident.”

Mitch shook his head, partly in disbelief. “And when this night is over and I report you to the sheriff?”

Walter laughed. For a moment, Mitch expected the older man to tell him he had the sheriff in his back pocket. The cattle within the barn's open doorway shifted restlessly. In the morning, Mitch needed to recheck the makeshift fencing he'd set up.

“You can report me all you want, but it'll be my word against yours. And Victoria will still be missing. She'll be found on your land, by the way, and you'll be responsible. I'll simply say that she raced out of my house as soon as I mentioned that Clyde was coming here for supper. I will say that when I realized she'd taken Clyde's carriage, I took off after her, knowing she would come here. I'll say that I took one of my horses and brought it back tied to the coupe. No one is going to question me, the owner of all the mortgages in this town. I will say that I'd seen you two kissing on my front doorstep. I'm sure the deputy would back me up. Oh, don't think I don't know he was sent to watch my house. I saw him arrive just before you, but I knew he wouldn't last on any guard post. We both know he prefers other activities to work, so he won't incriminate himself by saying he doesn't know what happened.”

Walter snorted in a self-satisfied way. “If you don't sign, I would add that you probably spurned her and she fled. They'll eventually find her body somewhere. But if you sign, I'll let her go and simply say she would rather choose you than marry a wealthy man who can properly care for her. Her word will mean nothing to the judge, who'll think she's only a fool woman.” He shrugged. “It's not like the other women in my family aren't foolish, either.”

Mitch worked his jaw. There was no way he would allow Walter Smith to win at this.

But unless he came up with a decent and immediate plan, Smith would win everything.

Without such a plan, Mitch had only one choice.