The Nanny Solution (8 page)

Victoria stared at the money. The thick roll could have been only ones, but regardless, it still represented more money than she'd seen in a long time. “What's that for?”

“My uncle gave me money to pay whoever might accompany me to Proud Bend. Since Mr. MacLeod refused it, I expect my uncle wants me to keep it. But I can tell by the look on your face that you need it. And you're obviously well-bred enough to spend it wisely.”

This was the strangest woman Victoria had ever met. Still, all the hopes she'd recently had rushed back at her. All the things she could do, the things she could escape from if only she had money. She shifted Emily to free up her right hand.

Chapter Nine

M
itchell's words rang in her ears. She remembered him saying he didn't think it was right to take money for so little work.

The hand she held out began to tremble slightly.

The money could help her in so many ways. She could rent a room at a women's boardinghouse. She wouldn't owe Uncle Walter, or be forced into a marriage to his partner. Even if it was only ones, the amount of money Clare Walsh thrust out toward her was still substantial. It was freedom.

Her face heating again, Victoria shut her eyes.
Lord
Jesus, do not test me so.

She lowered her hand. Whether it was divine intervention in the way of new strength or simply the fear of humiliation, she didn't care to decide. She found herself saying, “Mitchell said we'd hardly be doing anything to warrant payment. So, no thank you.”

Clare reached out and grabbed Victoria's elbow with her left hand. In her right was still that wad of bills. She hastily shoved it into her pocket before taking both of Victoria's elbows. “I'm so sorry! It was crass of me to offer you money. I can only blame my professors. They encouraged us to be forceful.”

Victoria struggled to stop the embarrassment still flowing through her, for both her and Clare. “Should you blame your professors?”

Clare dropped her arm. “No, I shouldn't. I apologize for being completely out of line. This is not the way I was raised.”

After hefting the sack containing the diapers, Victoria opened up the door. She wanted to add an admonishment, but held back. If she did, she'd be no better than Clare with her outspokenness.

Instead, she left the woman alone as she shut the narrow door and stepped into the aisle. Emotions roiled inside of her as she moved within the rocking car toward Mitchell. She'd done the right thing by declining the money. So why did a small, shamefully insistent part of her regret it?

* * *

Mitch took the baby from Victoria when she returned to the seat. Beside him, Ralph was chattering on about the animals he saw, insisting loudly that Mitch watch out the window at the beating rain that had begun.

He smothered a yawn. Tomorrow morning, they would wake up in Denver, and then take another train down to Proud Bend. It would feel good to finish this trip. He'd love nothing better than to take his horse, Bruiser, out for a long gallop, to breathe in the fresh mountain air and be done with this stuffy train car.

Ralph poked John, who hit him back. Up until that point, they'd been well behaved, but Mitch knew it wouldn't last. “Whoa, both of you!” He immediately divided the boys.

Victoria hurriedly took back Emily and handed her to the young mother across the aisle for a feeding. “Here, allow me,” she told Mitch as she moved between the boys. Immediately they folded their arms across their chests and glared at each other.

Mitch frowned. He had no idea which son to reprimand, having not seen how the incident started. And he had no idea how he was going to handle his family once they were at the ranch. There would be no taking Bruiser out for a good run anytime he felt the urge. His life was changed forever.

Resentment bubbled in him, and he worked hard to push it down. He'd had the luxury of time when he'd started this trip, but that was slowly being eroded, like the embankment at the end of his high pasture where the surveyor had inspected the minerals. With each passing hour on this train, the indulgence of not thinking of his new life at the ranch was disappearing. He knew what he had to do. As he stared silently out the window, he ran through a plan to find a housekeeper. There had to be plenty of capable women in the area. His pastor would know whom to ask. He would discuss the matter with him as soon as they reached Proud Bend.

The day was waning and thankfully the storms both inside and out were also. They were scheduled for one more stop before evening fell, but he heard the conductor tell the passengers it would be short in order to make up the time lost to the trees on the tracks.

Once night fell, the porters made up the beds. Victoria busied herself with the smaller children, saying nothing but a brisk good-night to him before slipping into the lower berth.

Mitch turned to see how that young Miss Walsh was faring. She'd taken a seat with an older woman and then taken the upper berth. Its curtains were closed, her belongings tucked away with her. With all the seats now opened for sleeping, the aisle had narrowed considerably. A single, dull kerosene lamp lit each end of the train car, to allow the porters to watch for thievery and mischief. Their oily scent hung in the still, hot air.

With a heavy sigh, he climbed up for another uncomfortable night with the boys. The novelty of bunk beds had long since worn off for all of them.

* * *

Victoria silently thanked the good Lord for firm ground, even if it was just dust and gravel, rutted deep from the last heavy rain. The town of Proud Bend was spread out at the base of the mountain, all wooden buildings with false facades and rough streets. Beyond the town limits, great, stunning mountains rose, their peaks already dusted with the autumn snows. Below, mixed with the evergreens, the yellow leaves had turned to brown. There didn't seem to be as many reds or oranges in the fall foliage as in Boston, though she was sure that the peak had passed. In the southerly wind lingered a foul smell of coal and sulfur burning. Not overly strong, but since it was late in the afternoon, it could have been waning for the day. Somewhere to the south was a good deal of industry, Victoria guessed.

She stepped down on wobbly legs and across to the wooden platform, taking Ralph's and Mary's hands as she went. Mitchell followed somewhere behind them, carrying the basket that held Emily.

One quick sweep of those meeting the train told her who Walter Smith was. She hadn't seen him in nearly a decade, but the family resemblance was uncanny. He had her mother's pale hair, although his was graying more than his sister's. The older woman with him could only be Aunt Louise. Still gripping Mary and Ralph, she hurried over to them.

The greeting was awkward. Aunt Louise seemed kind enough, albeit wary, but Walter's keen eye rolled up and down Victoria's dusty frame, appraising her worth, no doubt. She'd slept poorly last night, her mind churning through the previous day's events. Clare's odd offering still lingered in her thoughts, taunting her, although the woman had been piercingly correct in her assessment of Victoria's situation.

And then there was Mitchell, who had remained inscrutable for the rest of the trip. He'd said precious little to her since he'd been pitched into her arms. She'd felt an uncharacteristic leap to her heart—in fact, to all her senses—and the experience had left her flustered and bewildered, so she was thankful for the brevity of their ensuing interaction.

Somewhere behind her was Mitchell, for the crowd of passengers and townsfolk had thickened and no doubt split them. He had accused her of being penniless and going West to secure an affluent lifestyle and had threatened to expose her plan. It was hardly a crime, but he'd certainly made her feel like a criminal.

“Your trip was good?” Aunt Louise asked, reining in Victoria's errant thoughts.

“As well as can be expected,” Victoria answered, still hanging on to the small children and grateful for them, for they prevented her from wondering if she should at least shake hands.

“Who are these brats?” Walter demanded, peering down his long nose at the children. “They can't be yours. Abigail didn't mention any grandchildren when she wired me about taking you in and paying your expenses. I won't take any children.”

Victoria bit her tongue to avoid snapping out something equally rude. The children were tired and cranky, but they were not brats. And did she look old enough to have birthed a seven-year-old and a five-year-old? Apparently the train trip had been harder on her than she realized.

“I assisted a gentleman who was bringing out his family,” she finally gritted out, also realizing that Walter didn't seem to care who overheard her need for a home. “Their mother died in childbirth and Mr. MacLeod needed help with the children. In return, he paid my train fare. I told my mother not to ask you to send money because there was no need. I had decided to telegraph you with my arrival time from one of the stops along the way.”

Walter's eyes narrowed. “MacLeod? These brats are his?”

“Yes, these
children
are mine.”

Victoria glanced to her right, where Mitchell had come to a stop, setting down the wicker basket. Walter's expression narrowed further as he glared at Mitchell. Aunt Louise, on the other hand, merely peered into the basket that held Emily. Her eyebrows shot up, but she said nothing. The appearance of the baby seemed to surprise her.

Walter spoke to Victoria. “So you've been working on the train? Abigail had promised you would be rested. I should have known something like this would happen when she didn't ask for the fare.” He flicked his glare up to the car from which she'd alit. “Second class?” He sighed, as if long-suffering. “You may as well have been traveling with the cattle.”

“I doubt first class could have been any more accommodating. The service was excellent and the beds comfortable.” Victoria could hardly believe that she actually rose to her uncle's provocation.

The older man flicked his attention back to Mitchell. “MacLeod. What a coincidence it was you who employed Victoria. It's not cheap to bring the whole family out.”

Completely irritated, Victoria spoke before Mitchell could answer. “What would you expect he do? Abandon his family? Give up a baby because her poor mother didn't survive childbirth?”

Aunt Louise's gaze flew directly to Walter, but the man didn't acknowledge it. Victoria frowned. Was she expecting her husband to retort? Uncle Walter continued to ignore his wife and turned instead to Mitchell. “You're going to need a woman to care for them,” he warned.

Mitchell stiffened. “I believe that's my own business, Mr. Smith, and not yours.”

“Walter!”

Everyone turned at the sound of the loud, gravelly male voice. A rotund man of about fifty toddled over. He wore an expensive coat over what looked like a fine suit, and on his head was a beaver pelt top hat of excellent quality.

“Clyde! Here, meet my niece, Victoria.” Although the words sounded pleasant, Walter's expression seemed guarded. “Victoria, this is Clyde Abernathy, my business partner. Sorry, Clyde, for her disgraceful appearance. She traveled second class, of all things.”

The man peeled off his hat to reveal wisps of flyaway gray hair over a peeling and oily scalp. Victoria gripped the children's hands even more tightly.

“I'm so glad you have made it here safe and sound. The delay had us all concerned.” Clyde grinned widely at her.

Oh, dear, he's missing teeth.

“She's lovelier than you described, Walter. Not at all disgraceful. I can't wait to escort her on a tour of our fine town. It'll be an excellent opportunity to get to know each other.”

So the pair had obviously been discussing her as a potential bride, even though Uncle Walter hadn't sent any money that he might use as leverage. She averted her gaze from the unseemly man and her eyes lit on Clare Walsh. The young woman was greeting her parents with great affection.

The wad of bills flashed through her mind and she had to tell herself again that she'd made a sound decision not to accept the money Clare had offered. She pushed away those thoughts and looked back at Clyde. “I'm afraid that won't happen for some time, Mr. Abernathy. I am very fatigued from my trip.” She stepped back again, and took the children with her.

“And if you'll excuse me, I see my ranch hand has arrived.” Mitchell lifted the basket, and turned to Mary and Ralph. “Let's go. Say your goodbyes to Miss Templeton.”

Mary and Ralph gaped at him. Neither moved a muscle. In fact, Victoria felt Mary's grip tighten in hers. To her own surprise, she found her hand squeezing it back. She pressed out a tight smile. “Walter, I have several bags. The young porter knows which ones they are. Could you please direct him to your carriage while I say my goodbyes to the children?”

Walter scowled, then catching sight of the young porter tossing someone's bag down onto the dirt below, he strode off to ensure that Victoria received all her luggage in good order. Most likely he had no wish to replace any items should they be damaged. Aunt Louise remained, but a small smile hovered on her lips. Clyde made no effort to help Walter, either.

Suddenly, the children threw their arms around her waist, with Mary letting out a loud wail of full-out terror.

Chapter Ten

M
itch gently peeled the crying Mary away from Victoria, but the child wrenched free of him and clung to her again. Bending her knees, Victoria looked up at him. “Give me a minute with the children, please?”

Their gazes locked. Her pale eyes were filled with tears, and it gripped him unexpectedly. She gave the two young children a soft smile as she gently extricated herself from Mary's tight grip. “Now, we're not going to say goodbye, are we?”

Mitch heard a small catch in her throat as his two young children shook their heads.

“Why aren't you coming with us?” Ralph asked.

“I came out here to visit my uncle and aunt,” she said. “I'll be in town and when you come in, you can come to see me. Be good for your father, and always help him out.”

“Who's going to take care of Emily?” Mary whined.

Victoria's shoulders stiffened. “Your father will find someone. She'll be just as nice as me. You'll see.” Even as she said it, Mitch heard the plaintive note in her words.

He stole a swift glance to the fat man standing beside Mrs. Smith. Abernathy was watching Victoria, all the while licking his thick lips.

Mitch's fingers dug into his palms, even the hand holding the wicker basket's handle.

“We need
you
, Miss Templeton,” Matthew said coming up beside Mitch. The boy was usually cautious with his words, but those few he spoke summed up perfectly how they were all feeling.

Except Mitch. He didn't need a socialite in his house. It was obvious to him now that her trip here was to find a wealthy husband. But the thought cut through him.

Victoria would be the mistress of one of the fancy houses with their rose-colored rhyolite facades. She'd have an assemblage of servants to do her every bidding. There were plenty of men and women here in Colorado who had discovered that mining was harder work with poorer pay than they'd expected. Many of the women ended up working as servants in fine homes or in the local saloon. Since working as a maid was the preferable choice, they'd probably line up to be hired by Victoria. She'd have her pick.

He needed a solid, hardworking housekeeper, preferably older, willing to come out to his house every day, a woman who knew how to care for children. Victoria cared
about
his children, but she couldn't care
for
them. She didn't know the first thing about that. She needed money, but that was no reason to hire her.

She looked up at Mitch as he frowned at her. He would
not
hire her to look after his children, no matter how soft and watery her gaze became. Their mother had abandoned them, albeit unwillingly. The minute Victoria realized she couldn't care for them, she'd abandon them, too. Only willingly.

Mary threw her arms around Victoria's neck, and Mitch watched her cling to the child fiercely. He stiffened, refusing to be moved by the poignancy of the moment. For the few days on the train, he'd allowed himself a bit of foolish, ignorant luxury. He'd lived for the moment, not worrying about how he was going to both ranch and look after his children. Now he was paying the price for it. With thinned lips, he knew he had to break up this cozy moment before it swelled out of control.

Victoria finally released Ralph and Mary. “Be good, and when you come to town, ask your father if you can see me, all right? I'll always be here.”

With a long series of sniffles, Mary nodded. Victoria straightened. With sudden coolness, she said to him, “Thank you for employing me. I hope you will all settle into a routine without too much trouble.” Her attention strayed to Abernathy and her voice dropped. “As soon as you get your finances sorted out, I would appreciate my wages.”

Tight-lipped, Mitch reddened. Did she think he'd forgotten it? With a nod, he looked away to discover his ranch hand, Jake, pulling in closer with the cart, and just in time, too. He gruffly corralled the children. The sooner they were out of town, the better.

“MacLeod!” The rough voice stilled him. He turned. Walter Smith was striding toward him, having abandoned his supervision of Victoria's luggage. From the right, Jake was approaching just as quickly. The ranch hand was young and, while generally good-natured, he could turn into a guard dog in the blink of an eye. He knew the history Mitch shared with Smith and wouldn't mind stepping in between the pair if he had to.

Mitch held out his hand to Jake. This wasn't the first time he'd had to pull in the reins. Jake stopped.

“Get our stuff,” he ordered his ranch hand. “Matthew, show Jake where it is.”

Jake grabbed the basket at Mitch's feet, and immediately Mitch reached out his hand. Only when Jake peered into the basket did he let it go. The obvious question rolled over his features, but Mitch crushed it with a shake of his head.

Matthew peeked up at the scene with cautious curiosity, but mindful of his father, he led Jake away.

Mitch turned to Smith. The older man's gray eyes glittered like rock washed with melting snow.

“Did you want something, Mr. Smith?” It bit at him to be so polite, but he refused to be anything else.

“Got your family all back, I see. Did I hear correctly about your wife?”

Mitch's jaw tightened. “Yes, she passed away during childbirth.” He waited for the inevitable questions, but they didn't come. Then he realized why. Smith didn't attend church. He wouldn't know that Mitch had been there every Sunday for the past year.

“I'm sorry to hear that, MacLeod,” Smith said. “But life goes on. I expect you will be bringing in the necessary paperwork for the changes to the mortgage.”

“As soon as it's all finalized, you'll be the first person I see.” Stalling the man wasn't his intention, but Mitch needed to get his family settled, find someone to keep house and mother Emily and, after that, see about ensuring he had enough money to make his quarterly mortgage payment. In that order of importance. Walter Smith and his “necessary paperwork” were not even on the list yet.

Smith took a step closer. “I hope you'll be smart enough to reconsider my offer on your mineral rights, MacLeod. I'm offering a fair price and you'll need the money for your children.”

Fair price? Smith's offer was laughably low. The banker must have thought that Mitch was like most men out here—ready to make a fast buck and spend it just as quickly on liquor and women. But Mitch's parents didn't raise a fool. This past winter, Mitch had done some research. Only a few deeds created when the government began selling land actually included the mineral rights. That offer had been rescinded quickly, letters to ranchers like himself had been sent, demanding they sign on to new deeds. But those few ranchers had rallied together and won their case. They could keep their mineral rights, Mitch included.

“I'll be keeping my mineral rights, Mr. Smith, until I decide to sell them on my own terms.”

“Shame.” Walter's face hardened, his mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. “You'll be needing cash when the mortgage payment comes due. And it's coming due soon. Oh, and make sure you have all the necessary papers concerning your wife's untimely passing. I wouldn't want there to be any mistakes that might mess up the timing of your payments.”

Mitch threw back his shoulders. “I have heifers for sale and buyers lined up. I'll be making my payments right on time—don't worry.”

Smith's eyes brightened, and for a brief instant, Mitch wondered if he'd erred by mentioning his plan. He stepped closer, enough for the brim of his Stetson to touch the brim of Smith's fine hat. “If you'll excuse me, I have more important things to do.” With that, he ground his heel into the dirt and strode away.

Fifteen minutes later, Mitch flicked the reins of the team to move them faster now that they'd put the town behind them. Mary and Ralph huddled on the seat between him and Jake, while Matthew and John bookended the wicker basket in the bed of the cart. Mitch could hear the baby fussing. He had a tin of that new baby milk, and made a mental plan to rise early in the morning to get the additional tins that he would need. He'd store it in the well between feedings.

As the team trotted along, he could feel Jake's stare on him. “Go ahead and ask. I know you want to,” he muttered.

“I think I should wait until these young-uns are sleeping.”

Mitch grimaced. Of course. “Fine, whatever you want.”

The trip out to his ranch took over an hour, all uphill. With Castle Rock, and its namesake mountain behind them to the southeast, they faced the wide expanse of the Rockies.

He blew out a long sigh. It was good to be home again. He would get out of this suit, then bathe and shave and pull on his favorite pair of work pants and a sturdy cotton shirt. Then slip into those boots he'd left by the door, the ones perfectly molded to his feet, and narrow enough to slip into a stirrup in that single swing into the saddle. They weren't fancifully embroidered like Jake's were. The man liked to spend money. Mitch preferred the suppleness of one sheet of fine leather, without the encumbrance of extra stitching.

The wind picked up, delivering to them the scent of pines and streams. He inhaled deeply. Yes, it was good to be home, even if he still had to feed the children and tuck them into bed before he faced Jake's inevitable questions.

* * *

Only when she was refreshed by a bath, a nap and clean clothes did Victoria realize how draining the long trip had been. Her aunt had asked her to come down to the parlor for tea before supper, and when she'd arrived, Victoria discovered the woman had set everything out between two fussy Queen Anne chairs.

From the tall nearby window, she could see the wide front lawn, the picket fence and the vista of mountains behind the few homes across the street. This late in the day saw few people, and yet the Rockies behind the town still caught the waning, late autumn sun.

Victoria sank into her seat and accepted a steaming cup of tea from Aunt Louise. It tasted wonderful. The older woman sipped her own before glancing toward the closed door of the well-appointed parlor. Victoria watched her over the rim of her cup, trying her best to gauge the woman who would be her hostess for an indefinite period. Aunt Louise didn't seem to resent her arrival. Actually, she almost seemed pleased to have a member of her sister-in-law's family here. Victoria was sure her own mother would not have been so accommodating.

Taking another sip, Aunt Louise looked again at the door. Victoria set down her teacup. “Are you expecting someone, Aunt Louise?” After dropping the women off at the house, her uncle and Mr. Abernathy had returned to the bank.

“No, of course not.” She smiled and refocused her attention on Victoria. “Your telegram surprised us. We were waiting on a request for money. There was none, but it was rather a short note, even for a telegram. It just said when you would arrive.”

“I'm not surprised. It was Mitchell MacLeod who sent it, not I.”

Aunt Louise leaned forward and sipped her tea again. “Another surprise, your showing up with a strange man.”

“Mitchell needed a woman to help him with his children. The solicitor we shared suggested me, because Mother had told him I was coming here. Mr. Lacewood suggested to Mitchell that he might avail himself of my assistance, and in return, Mitchell paid for my fare and a small recompense.”

“Walter
was
prepared to send you money,” Aunt Louise chided softly, hiding the lower part of her face behind her teacup.

Victoria frowned. Her words sounded almost like a warning. Or was Aunt Louise baiting her?

She took her time answering. How much did her aunt know of Uncle Walter's plans to marry her off? Did she know that Victoria had been penniless and alone and had to vacate her home immediately? Mr. Lacewood felt that the house would sell quicker if it was empty. Victoria could feel the heat of shame rise in her cheeks just remembering when she and her mother listened to his advice, the day after Mitchell had visited.

“I didn't want to impose on either of you any more than I am,” she answered with caution. “Not when I could earn the fare.”

“But second class? With all those children? And a baby, too? It must have been terrible for you.”

“I had the baby and the little girl in the bunk with me. It was cramped, but not intolerable.” Mary had kicked several times during the nights, and the basket took up far too much room. Yes, the nights had been difficult, but Victoria had survived them.

She smiled to herself. Yes, she had.

With a frown, the older woman set down her cup. “You said that Mr. MacLeod's wife died in childbirth. Was that the baby she delivered?”

“Yes.” Even now, Victoria felt her heart wrench at the thought of those poor children. Their wide, haunted looks as they'd said goodbye.

“How old is the baby?”

“A little more than a month. She was born in early September.” Victoria blinked as she looked out through the lace sheers. Evening had descended and the delightful mountains were easing into darkness. When would Walter come home, Victoria wondered. A shiver ran through her. Would he bring Mr. Abernathy with him?

“Are you cold?”

Victoria lifted her teacup. “No. I was just looking at the mountains.”

“They are lovely. We take breakfast in the morning room. On nice mornings, I sit outside. From there, you can see Castle Rock and the town, plus the Proud River. It makes for pretty scenery.”

“Does the river bend here?”

“Yes, that's why the town is called Proud Bend. It's a good town. But like any out here in the wilds, it has its seedier side. Fortunately, your uncle will have no part of that.” Her tone tightened. “We from Boston are here to, how shall I say it, lift the standards? Do our part, that is.”

A few days ago, Victoria might have agreed, but the words now sounded snobby. Aunt Louise arched her brows. “It's common knowledge that our class has had to move West to preserve our finances.” Abruptly she laughed. “In order to preserve our way of life, we've had to move away from it. Can you imagine?”