The Nanny Solution (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

M
itch stepped forward.

Walter leaned close. “That's it, MacLeod, do what your conscience tells you to do.”

“I will. And, Smith, you may think you're winning, but when you put worldly things over human life, you don't win. It's a false security.” With that, Mitch picked up the pen and envelope. Not letting his eyes leave the pair standing near the barn doorway, he opened the envelope and pulled out the papers.

A quick scan told him they were indeed the mineral rights papers he'd seen at the beginning of this mess.

And that was what his land was going to be after this. A mess. If he'd considered Smith's offer earlier, he could have negotiated the preservation of the land, but now all he could do was negotiate Victoria's release.

“Let her go, Smith.”

“Just as soon as you sign the papers and return them to me.”

He looked down again. The price had been changed, reduced to a mere pittance. Smith had expected that Mitch would not be able to make his mortgage payment. In lieu of calling in the loan, he would have offered this agreement. But this amount wouldn't cover his mortgage payment, leaving Mitch still in default. This ranch and the rights would go to Walter.

Jaw tight, Mitch removed the ornate cap from the pen and signed the last line. Then, while waiting for the ink to dry, and with great precision, he screwed the cap back on the pen. Satisfied that the ink was now dry, Mitch folded the papers and returned them to the envelope.

As he stepped forward and handed them over, he heard Victoria sniffle.

“It's all right, Victoria. I did what was best.” Then to Smith, he growled out, “You have my rights. Let her go.”

After tucking his revolver into a pocket and grabbing the envelope, Smith pushed Victoria forward into Mitch's arms. “Fill your boots with her. Women are nothing but trouble.”

Mitch hauled Victoria closer to him. He looked down at her as she shut her eyes and leaned her cheek against his chest for one long moment. Smith pulled out his cigar case. “It was good doing business with you, MacLeod.”

“Get off my land,” Mitch spat out.

Smith tapped out a thin cigar and flicked open the matchbox at the top of his case. “If you had read that agreement closely, you would have noticed that I have added a right of way clause. I'm allowed here as many times as I want. For as long as I want. Of course, that assumes that you keep ownership of the land, which we both know won't happen.”

Smith gripped a match. After snapping closed the box, he scraped the match head quickly against the striker.

It flared to life, complete with a shot like a small firework rocket, streaming into the doorway beside him.

The burning match head flew into the dark depths of the barn. Straight toward one of the already agitated animals.

It bellowed, and kicked back at another cow before bolting forward to break through the fencing. Suddenly panicking, the others followed suit.

The stampede started so quickly, Mitch had barely enough time to slam Victoria against the barn wall beside the open door. He pressed against her, pinning her so close she could not move a muscle.

* * *

Victoria had never heard such a roar as the powerful hooves of frightened animals. She could feel Mitchell's tall frame press her hard against the roughhewn logs of the barn. His hands encircled her head, pinning her so snugly, her cheek scraped against the harsh wood of the barn. The rush of air, thick with bovine fear, brushed past both their faces.

She had no idea where the animals went. They all rushed through the bottleneck toward the open area where her uncle had held a gun on her. At such a speed, it was as if the stampede was a pyrotechnic in itself. And amid the noise of pounding hooves there was a cry and a terrible, sharp crack. Bones breaking? A shot fired? She didn't dare guess. No wonder some heifers had been hurt when the animals had stampeded that afternoon. Now all Mitchell could do was protect her and let the herd run free around his house, through his garden, and down the lane. They would eventually run themselves out.

The herd finally gone, Mitchell eased away from her. Victoria turned to face him, but he spun back, directing her attention away from the barn door. “Don't look!”

She gasped. “Uncle Walter? Did he survive the trampling?”

“Stay back, Victoria.”

She did, but turned in time to see Mitchell leaning over Walter's body to check him. Glancing back at Victoria, he shook his head. She bit her lip.

Something fluttered out of the circle of light to land at her feet. She stooped to snatch it. It was the tattered remains of the agreement to sell the mineral rights. Mitch hadn't closed the envelope and somehow the hooves had ripped it to shreds, so much so that the evening breeze spread it like fine seed. All Victoria had now was the envelope and the first page, both barely recognizable.

A growing noise from beyond the house caught their attention. Mitchell grabbed her and shoved her into the barn, pulling the door closed. He pressed her once again against the wall.

When the pounding hooves ended, it was Jake who called out, “Are you all right?”

Mitchell opened the door. “Victoria and I are fine. And you? The herd headed your way.”

“I'm fine,” Jake answered as he dismounted. “The herd took a sharp left and disappeared toward Proud Bend. The town will stop them. We'll round them up in the morning when they've worn themselves out.”

Seeing the body, Jake bent over Walter, his expression as grim as Mitchell's.

“Arson wasn't in his plans tonight after all,” Mitch explained, “but murder and blackmail were. He came around the back way so that's why you missed him.” He paused. “He came to get me to sign the rights over to him.”

Jake flipped open Walter's tattered jacket, revealing the revolver the older man had tucked in his pocket as well as a wound in his side. He checked the gun. “He'd loaded all the chambers, but I can see that one has accidentally discharged. It shot him in the side, probably when he fell.”

“Get a blanket for him,” Mitchell ordered Jake. His words were quiet, filled with compassion for the man who'd just threatened to murder and extort.

Victoria glanced over at him. Tears burned her eyes, but they were not for her uncle. They were for everything but him.

“We need to get into Proud Bend,” Victoria finally said with equal gentleness. “I should be there for Aunt Louise.”

Mitchell nodded. “I'll take you home.”

“Thank you.”

“Don't look at him.” Mitchell paused. “If nothing else, your uncle confirmed what we both suspected.”

“What's that?”

His shoulders stiff, he answered, “That I would never be able to give you anything.”

“How do you figure that?”

“If he had survived, I would have lost everything because the amount I sold the rights for wasn't enough to cover my mortgage payment. And now I have probably lost more heifers. Some were no doubt injured and whichever ones weren't branded will be claimed by other ranchers. Plus the expense of whatever damages this stampede caused. Either way, I've lost the ranch. I don't even have anything for my children this winter. They came here with nothing.”

Victoria bit her lip. Mitchell looked away. He was so wrong, but she found she couldn't speak.

“Where are your horses?” he asked her.

She stifled a sob, swallowing it too quickly for it to bubble to the surface again. “Uncle Walter took Clyde's carriage.” With a shaking hand, she pointed to the hill to the south of the house. “It's on the other side of that rise.”

He was frowning at her. “Are you up for a walk? I can carry you if you wish.”

Victoria shook her head tightly. “No, I don't wish to be carried. I'm perfectly fine.” She plucked at her skirt, realizing as she bent that one of the stays of her corset had torn through the soft cotton to jab her in the side. “Although I can't say the same for my clothing. But it's just clothing.” With her head high, she lifted her hem and marched away from him.

At the edge of the barn, she turned in time to see Jake covering Uncle Walter. She looked back at Mitchell. His face was a mask of anger and pain. So much tragedy for him. Though he was released from that terrible blackmail, he had nothing, not a thing for his family. His herd had killed a man, and now his ranch faced foreclosure. When he glanced back at her with a hollow expression, she added another tragedy.

They could never find happiness together.

She swallowed hard. It was too late, or perhaps it was never meant to be.

It wasn't about any money, though, or the size of a house. Mitchell was simply too proud. And that pride had been ripped from him, along with a stampeding herd.

Victoria frowned. Wouldn't those mineral rights Uncle Walter had purchased have belonged to him, anyway, after the foreclosure? Why go through with the blackmail? Yes, he'd have had to share them with Clyde, but their value could have made both men rich, for iron and gold and rhyolite were valuable products. Why make Mitch sign over the rights when he just had to wait a day or two?

Victoria trudged along, her mind trying desperately to find the answers she sought. Ahead of her, Mitchell walked so stiffly proud, it must have hurt him. She knew how he thought. He had nothing to give her, so he would not offer even a word of comfort.

The trip into town with Mitchell driving was punctuated by only one short stop. The sheriff met them on the road, his horse as edgy as he himself appeared to be. Mitchell explained all that had happened, keeping his tone tight and clipped.

“I saw the stampede,” the sheriff answered. “I was delayed because of my deputy, and when I saw the herd headed into town, I tried to divert it. My concern is mostly for the train. It had been delayed in Denver and has only just arrived. It doesn't have a cow catcher on the front and if any wandered onto the track, they could have derailed the train.”

“What happened to the deputy?” Mitchell looked even fouler than before. “Can you get him to find some men to round them up?”

“My deputy is in the drunk tank. He is no longer employed in that capacity.” At their bewildered expressions, for Victoria had opened the coupe door to listen, the sheriff explained, “I had asked him to watch the Smith house, but he stayed only a few minutes. When someone reported a fight at the saloon with guns drawn, I went down there and found him unfit to work. This is why I didn't leave for your ranch right away.”

Victoria pursed her lips. So that was why no one had followed Uncle Walter when they left. At the thought of him, she turned toward Mitchell. “We had best be going. I need to see my aunt and cousin.”

Mitchell eyed her, his frown deepening. She didn't want to linger on what he might be thinking. All she knew was her aunt needed to hear the truth about tonight and Victoria was the best person to gently break it to her.

Fatigue rolled over her but she fought it back. She needed to be strong, for if Aunt Louise decided to blame Mitchell for this, he needed an ally whether or not his pride wanted one.

But as soon as Mitchell helped her out of the coupe and Victoria was standing in the Smith driveway, she felt all nerve, all strength and all courage drain from her as if someone had pulled the plug from the washbasin she'd used the day Rachel taught her how to wash clothes.

Victoria's knees then buckled and she collapsed to the ground.

* * *

Dim lamplight greeted Victoria as she opened her eyes. She was in her bed.

In bed? She'd been tucked in her bed, her hair carefully braided and set to one side, her bedclothes snug around her. Blinking, she sat up, and seeing that she was alone, she eased back onto the well-fluffed pillows. Now she remembered. It had happened as soon as she'd stepped from Clyde's coupe. The day had been long and she'd eaten nothing. With that and the broken stay in her corset constantly digging into her side, she'd collapsed. She vaguely recalled being given a draught to help her sleep, and feminine arms preparing her for bed.

It must be the very early hours of Monday, before sunrise. With her lamp still lit, someone must have been sitting up all night with her. Mitchell? Her heart leaped at the thought, but whoever it had been was gone.

After a few moments, when it became clear that her guardian wasn't returning, Victoria slipped from her bed. She felt remarkably refreshed despite all that had happened. It was a new day, a chance to tell Mitchell how she felt, how she was willing to stand by him, even if he had nothing. She quickly set about completing her toilet. As she reached for her dark blue dress, her stomach growled in strong protest, but she had to ignore it. Food must wait.

The choice of attire needed to be somber. Strange that last week, she'd hated somber clothing due to Charles's death, and now the reaction was repeating itself with Walter's.

Victoria wondered who had broken the news to Aunt Louise and Rachel. She should be downstairs with them. But surely, it would be too early, especially if her aunt had been given a draught like she had been.

Satisfied with her dress, she stepped into the hallway. Only one sconce at the end of the hall was lit, and Victoria returned to her room for her lamp. The mood of the house weighed heavy on her like the Boston weather in late summer when a humid afternoon pressed against the bones to warn of an impending thunderstorm. Scents of roasted meat and vegetables, of bread and something sweet snaked up to her, and Victoria was shamed by her empty stomach's reaction to the fact that someone else was up early, cooking and baking.

The tall grandfather clock in the hall downstairs struck the hour as Victoria stepped from the staircase. Pausing, she held her breath and counted. Eleven? How could it be eleven at night? She slowly stepped forward, trying to fathom how long she'd slept. It had been long past eleven when she and Mitchell had returned to the house, so it must be Monday night. Had she slept around the clock?