# Rancher To The Rescue

Barbara Phinney

A Practical EngagementClare Walsh isn’t too keen on marrying, but it’s the only way for her to keep her family home…and custody of her two younger brothers. So when rancher Noah Livingstone offers a union in name only, Clare reluctantly agrees. Accepting Noah’s strictly practical proposal has an unexpected catch, though—she’s actually falling for him.Though Noah is drawn to vibrant, independent Clare, he knows romantic feelings will only complicate their marriage of convenience. But when secrets from his past threaten Noah’s fragile new family, he must make a difficult choice. Will Noah risk all his dreams to secure a real future with Clare?

A Practical Engagement

Clare Walsh isn’t too keen on marrying, but it’s the only way for her to keep her family home...and custody of her two younger brothers. So when rancher Noah Livingstone offers a union in name only, Clare reluctantly agrees. Accepting Noah’s strictly practical proposal has an unexpected catch, though—she’s actually falling for him.

Though Noah is drawn to vibrant, independent Clare, he knows romantic feelings will only complicate their marriage of convenience. But when secrets from his past threaten Noah’s fragile new family, he must make a difficult choice. Will Noah risk all his dreams to secure a real future with Clare?

“Did you want me to propose properly? On my knee?” Noah glanced around awkwardly.

Clare shook her head. “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. As much as I am grateful to you for it, Mr. Livingstone, I just need to say that I value my freedom. 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.

She looked up at him. Good grief, was that a sparkle in his eye?

One corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “You’re welcome?”

BARBARA PHINNEY was born in England and raised in Canada. After she retired from the Canadian Armed Forces, Barbara turned her hand to romance writing. The thrill of adventure and her love of happy endings, coupled with a too-active imagination, have merged to help her create this and other wonderful stories. Barbara spends her days writing, building her dream home with her husband and enjoying their fast-growing children.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading this book. I must admit, it wasn’t easy to write. There isn’t any of the suspenseful danger that often fills my stories, but rather, I focused on emotion.

Clare resented being abandoned by her parents, and yet she knew it was wrong to feel that way. It wasn’t until she understood love that she could forgive her parents.

Noah struggled against his father when he’d tried to bend him to his will. He also participated in a lie, but didn’t know how to fix either problem.

Asking God for forgiveness and help is the best way to start to fix any problem. But you need to trust Him. All in His perfect timing.

Love isn’t always easy, but its rewards are worth it when we set aside selfishness. Carry one another’s burdens. Love as God loves you.

Happy reading and God bless!


Read on for an extract from THE OUTLAW’S SECOND CHANCE by Angie Dicken.

Rancher to the Rescue

Barbara Phinney


www.millsandboon.co.uk

Who can discern his errors?

Forgive my hidden faults.

—Psalms 19:12

Dedicated to my loved ones. My patient husband and children and such local friends as Barbie, Joan, Eva, Karen and Sally. Thank you for all your support. I couldn’t have my writing without you. God bless.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Dear Reader

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Proud Bend, Colorado, April, 1883

“Did I read that right?” Clare Walsh peered up from her chair at the Recording Office in Proud Bend, Colorado. She blinked rapidly. “My parents are gone?”

Standing over her with a deep frown, Noah Livingstone lifted the telegram again. A moment ago, Clare had thrust it at her supervisor, hoping and praying she’d misunderstood the shocking words. She now watched him scan the paper yet again, her breath held so tight that her lungs hurt.

Please, Lord, let it not be so.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, Miss Walsh,” Noah hedged.

She rolled her eyes. “They’re on a ship that’s now missing! How else am I going to put it?” She didn’t care that her tone was sharp. The telegram that had arrived less than fifteen minutes ago held nothing that warranted polite hedging, even from the calm and reserved Mr. Noah Livingstone.

She swallowed and bit her lip. Her parents’ steamship had been lost at sea.

Noah pulled up a chair and sat close to her. The Recording Officer scanned the telegram one more time, as if, like her, he might hope to read something different in it. When his gaze lifted to hers, his intense blue eyes softened.

Her heart flipped.

“The telegram says that their steamship is overdue at Liverpool, England,” he said in a gentle tone that rolled over Clare in the soft, soothing way she so appreciated. “It says it may have been lost at sea.”

The office around them was small, already crowded with two desks, numerous filing cabinets and a small glassed-in private office for Noah. With the other clerk, Mr. Pooley, hovering close by, the whole interior felt suddenly claustrophobic. Noah carefully folded the telegram and set it down on Clare’s desk, before taking her cold hands into his.

His fingers were warm and the grip, while not hard, was firm enough to offer a welcome sense of security. When she sniffed, his fingers tightened around hers.

She could also smell the scent of his soap, faint and slightly stringent, as he leaned closer to her. She wanted to inhale deeply, it was so pleasing, but fought back the urge. This was hardly the time.

It had been six weeks since her parents left rather hastily for the Kurhaus in Baden-Baden, Germany. They were to be gone for six months in an attempt to bring relief to her mother’s crippling arthritis. A cure, touted by the new doctor who’d moved to Proud Bend last summer, offered hope where there hadn’t been any before.

She and her superior sat and did nothing for the longest minute of her life. Noah stared at their interlocking hands. Clare’s gaze wandered from his ruggedly handsome face to fall upon an open letter on her desk, another portent of bad news that had arrived by an errand boy mere minutes before the telegram. In it, the bank manager had firmly requested a meeting to discuss her parents’ overdue mortgage payment.

Her whole body then seemed to coil and tighten. She wanted to push everyone away, to shout and deny both sets of terrible news.

But then she shut her eyes again, took several deep breaths and fought the impulse. She was stronger than this. She could handle any situation.

She also wanted to stop herself from gripping Noah’s warm hands even tighter. In all the months she’d worked here, he had been nothing but professional with her. To have this—this sudden familiarity—was quite frankly too much of a comfort for the modern woman that she was.

Still, Clare took it just the same, as she recalled the last day before her parents left.

Six weeks ago, while Mother had ushered Clare’s much younger brothers into her bedroom with her so they could help her pack up the last few items, Clare’s father had divulged that he’d emptied his bank account, paying only March’s mortgage payment. He had been concerned that they might need extra funds for the long journey and promised to return whatever money he had left once they arrived in Germany. Clare had expected the money any day now.

With an inward cringe, she stole a furtive look at the letter she’d left open on her desk a few minutes ago. Her father had knowingly left her broke. He knew the next payment would be overdue. Why had he done that?

“When exactly did their ship leave?” Noah asked quietly.

Clare looked at him through blurring tears as she reluctantly untangled their fingers. She fumbled for the small calendar on her desk, all the while staring at the bank’s letter.

“They left for New York six weeks ago, and arrived there a week later. Father had wired me the name of the steamship they’d booked passage on.” She flipped to the previous month on which she’d written the name. Her voice quivered. “The SS Governor was to leave three days after they arrived. Crossing the Atlantic is supposed to take two weeks. The ship was due to arrive at Liverpool two weeks ago, and then depart immediately for Rotterdam, where they were to take a river barge to Baden-Baden. If all had gone well, they would have arrived at the Kurhaus by now and the money would be en route back to me.”

Clare cleared her throat. “According to the telegram, the ship is two weeks overdue. When was the telegram sent?”

Noah picked it up again. He consulted the clock on the wall. “Early last night. The ship’s company office in New York sent it.”

Clare nodded glumly, hating how little the telegram told her. What had been done to find the steamship? Had other ships been told to look out for Governor on their journeys across the Atlantic? Maybe the ship had been found, and another telegram with good news was on its way to her.

“Anything could have happened,” Noah told her softly. “We don’t know for sure that they’re gone. Don’t think the worst yet.”

Clare pulled back her shoulders. Those kind words were meant to be a comfort, but they felt like a smothering cloud of smoke. She opened her desk’s bottom drawer, exposing her purse. “I need to tell the boys,” she muttered as she stood.

Her little brothers, Tim and Leo, were in school right now, but Clare could remove them for the day. Miss Thompson, their schoolteacher, would understand.

Noah jumped to his feet, stepping quickly sideways to block her exit from the back area of the Recording Office. Mr. Pooley, the other clerk who had been hovering close by, threw a fast look at him. “Don’t tell them yet,” Noah said.

Clare stopped, rolling her own gaze up to his handsome face. Tall and slim, yet as strong as braided wire, Noah Livingstone had a rancher’s frame with tanned features and clear blue eyes. In his day suit, he was a fine figure of a man. If it were any other circumstance, she’d revel in the thought of how close he stood to her. It would warm her the way a stovetop warmed milk pudding. He was everything she could admire in a man.

Clare blinked away the thought. She should be ashamed of herself for that disrespectful notion at such a time as this. Thankfully, Noah had been nothing but professional with her. Still, he was a man she could relish watching anytime, if she was given to such folly.

She gave herself a firm mental shake. Yes, it was a good thing that college had schooled such romance out of her. College, and her mentor, Miss Worth, had taught her that women needed to be strong at all times and independent to the core. There will come a day, Miss Worth often predicted, when women will have as many rights as men. It was time women earned those rights by setting aside simpering affections for the less fair sex.

Men. Boys. Her brothers. Clare’s heart sank. She had to tell them something. Every day, Leo asked about their mother.

Tears pricked her eyes as a difficult realization dawned on her. She was to be their mother and father now.

She’d always been honest with her brothers. Even when she was a mere teenager and was impatient with them, she’d never been anything but truthful toward them. Keeping this terrible news from them felt like a lie to her. No doubt, they would ask again about Mother and Father. It seemed pointless to avoid the inevitable.

They’d always challenged authority, more out of curiosity and love of life than impudence. She would have to tailor that trait now, tell them they were strong enough to handle the loss.

“Don’t tell your brothers anything yet,” Noah repeated quietly, leaning down and tipping his head to interrupt her thoughts. “Let this news sink in first.”

She shot him a fast look. “Wrong choice of words.”

A wry but sad smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. He nodded. “You’re right. I apologize. But think about it first. Their ship is only two weeks late. Anything could have happened.”

Her shoulders ached they were so tight. “My brothers deserve to know.”

“Yes, but not necessarily today,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Give yourself time to think about what you’re going to say. In fact, go on home.”

Clare took the moment to study him. Crystal blue eyes, framed by tanned skin and the tiniest of smile lines, more likely from the sun than any jocularity. Despite the reason for his proximity to her, she wanted that moment to last.

“Why should I go home?” she asked softly.

“You should take whatever time you need to get strong enough to tell them.”

Immediately, she bristled. Wasn’t she strong enough now? Again, her gaze fell on the bank’s letter on her desk. It lay there, wide-open for any and all to read, asking her to make an appointment to discuss the overdue payment.

Something clutched at her. Maybe she wasn’t strong enough. Maybe being a guardian to her brothers these past few weeks had drained her of the strength she would need to take on the role of parent. Tim and Leo were active and needed strong supervision and she would need to be at her best to handle them after they learned about their parents. What if Noah had seen that need where she hadn’t?

She snapped her eyes from the bank’s letter, hating how it reminded her of her troubles. But to lean forward and rip it from the desk as though it was a burning pot on a hot stove would call attention to the fact that the bank needed to see her, that its errand boy had hand-delivered the letter. No doubt, those around her would realize that her father had left her nothing with which to pay his bills.

And yet, Clare thought with a sigh, that news certainly didn’t surprise her. Her mother had often mentioned how her father tended to be flippant about money. Yes, he’d been busy with his work until Mother’s illness worsened so badly that he’d fussed over her incessantly. Her father had been more focused on her health than earning enough to cover their expenses. Late last year, he’d even let it slip that he’d started dipping into their savings.

Clare rubbed her forehead.

“Go home,” Noah told her, the words themselves firm though his tone stayed soft and gentle. “Do you need someone to go with you? I can send for the pastor’s wife. Or would you prefer I walk you home?”

Head still down, Clare stared at Noah’s boots. As usual, they shone. She knew he’d ridden in on his horse and had changed from his cowboy boots to these fine shiny ones. He had such attention to detail. His house was probably immaculate, too.

“Thank you, but no,” Clare answered with a brisk shake of her head. This morning, in her haste to round up her unruly brothers and send them off to school, she’d left their house looking as though a windstorm had barreled through it.

College hadn’t fully prepared her for the life she now faced. She’d taken good housekeeping courses, as all women at that college were required to take, but her studies had mostly focused on moral philosophy, English and geography, and as such, her marks reflected her interests. Good housekeeping hadn’t been her best subject.

Clare lifted her chin and leveled a stare at Noah Livingstone. If he felt she shouldn’t tell her brothers about their parents yet, then she certainly didn’t need to go home to wallow in the terrible news, either. “Nothing can be achieved at home.” Except cleaning it. “I wish to stay here and work.” She paused. “I need my salary.”

With a single long-legged stride, Noah reached the small swinging gate and opened it. His face was a mask of concern. “No, Miss Walsh. Clare. This has been a shock to you. Take the rest of the day off. In fact, if you need another, or even the whole week, it’s all right. We’ll manage.”

Clare swallowed. Today was Monday. What would she possibly do for an entire week? Brood and worry?

Still, the offer tempted her. No! If her parents were not coming home and the bank needed its mortgage payment, then taking time off work would be the worst decision. Again, she looked down at the letter on her desk. She should have tucked it away immediately after reading it. How could she be so foolish as to leave it open for all to glance upon?

The bank deserved its payments, though. They also deserved to know what had happened to her parents. She could stop by on the way home, perhaps make that appointment the manager had strongly suggested.

All right, she finally acquiesced. A few hours off but not the whole week. She could ill-afford that. But Noah was right to say that she needed time alone right now. Her gaze bounced from Noah back to the letter. She’d wanted so badly to be that model employee every office had. A tall order for a woman some might say, but she’d wanted only to prove it was time for everyone to see that women could do so much more than stay at home and have babies, or work the land until their fingers bled and their backs ached, while men took the jobs that required an education. She wanted to say honestly to Miss Worth the next time she wrote her that she was indeed the strong woman her mentor had demanded of her.

After digging her purse out of the bottom drawer, Clare grabbed the letter that lay open on her desk. She shoved it so hard into her purse, she was afraid she’d poked a hole in the bottom. Then she marched past Noah, careful to ensure that she appeared as strong and resolute as any man might.

“I’ll be back this afternoon.” Holding her breath lest she release a quivery sigh, she strode out of the office.

* * *

As Noah stood at the front door of Clare’s family home, he could hear the grandfather clock deep within the Walsh house ring quarter after two. Not fifteen minutes ago, he’d closed the office for the day, sending Mr. Pooley home. It hadn’t been busy and Noah had a decent justification if anyone should complain or if Clare wanted to keep her somber news private for the time being. He’d reassured himself with the internal promise that he would check on her and that was exactly what he was doing.

Her bad news had cut into him nearly as much as it had her. Nobody had expected this and to see her hover on the verge of tears drew a lump into his throat and his own tears to spring into his eyes.

But what could he have done to comfort her? Helplessness weighed on him and he prayed hastily for some guiding words.

Anything that would help her.

He shivered. Initially, the day had promised a bit of warmth, but the sky had clouded and the wind had turned, now bearing down from the north and chilling Proud Bend.

He knocked, grimacing at the harsh sound. Then he waited. And waited. Finally, Clare opened the door.

She was wearing a frilly, spotless apron over her work clothes and had pushed up her long sleeves almost to her elbows. Whatever she was doing, she’d either just started it, or it was a clean task. He noticed, however, that her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and a crumpled handkerchief bulged out the apron’s dainty pocket. Her task had been punctuated with tears.

All he wanted at that moment was to draw her into his arms and hold her there, to somehow transfer his own strength to her, the strength he’d learned—

Noah cleared his throat. This wasn’t about him, nor was it the time to think about his own situation. Clare needed him. “I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced. I closed the office early because I wanted to check on you.”

She looked dismayed and quickly wiped her eyes. “I’d fully planned to return after lunch, but by the time I’d left the bank, I knew I couldn’t go back to work.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I needed to tidy up anyway. I expect I’ll have visitors as soon as word gets out, and I didn’t want them to faint at the mess.”

It was a small attempt at humor, and Noah offered her an equally small smile for her effort. “Where I come from, they put a black wreath on the front door. It stops people from visiting.”

Clare looked thoughtful. “I haven’t heard of that custom before. Where do you come from?”

“A small town west of New York City. It was always easy to get a hold of a black wreath. I don’t think we can say the same here in Proud Bend.”

“It wouldn’t matter. People would only stop by and ask why I have a black wreath hanging on my door.” Clare stepped back. “Come in.”

Noah crossed the threshold, all the while removing his Stetson. The inside was cool and dark, appropriate for a house of mourning.

Unexpected indignation rose in him. There couldn’t be any mourning yet. No one knew where her parents were. So there shouldn’t be a need for an unheated house. Clare was being forced into accepting a fate that might not exist.

Noah dug out the telegram, as Clare had not taken it when she’d walked out. All she’d taken was that letter that the bank’s errand boy had delivered. “I thought you would want this.”

She accepted it slowly. “Thank you.” But instead of reading it again, she set it on the small table near the front door. “I should keep it, but frankly, I want to burn it.”

“Understandable.” Noah cleared his throat as he removed his coat. “Is there anything more I can do, Clare?” Her Christian name slipped from his lips without forethought and he glanced away.

She shut the door and hung his coat on a half-filled tree beside her. “Come into the parlor.”

If Noah expected an answer to his question, he needed to follow her there. Like the rest of the house, this room was chilly. It didn’t help that the front window offered only the dullest of daylight. Today, there was no warm April sunshine to heat the room. Clare dropped with precious little grace into one of those fussy, high-backed chairs every parlor seemed to have. They were often too short for Noah’s long legs, so he remained standing.

“My mother’s arthritis worsened the month before they left,” she began, as if expecting him to understand wherever she was starting her story. “She doesn’t travel well by train, or else my father would have made arrangements to take it all the way to the port of Halifax in Nova Scotia.” She looked up at him. “Or to travel to St. John’s in Newfoundland. But that would require a sea crossing to the island, also.”

Noah listened patiently. Clare was good at reading maps, he’d learned since she’d started working for him six months ago. She must have excelled at geography in college to know the port city of St John’s in England’s Newfoundland was the closest North American port to Europe. Some of the steamships must stop there before beginning their transatlantic voyages.

“The doctor said that breathing the sea air would do her good, so they wanted to leave from New York City, but I wonder if it might have made a difference if they’d left by one of those other ports.”

“What do you mean?”

She rose and walked to the long table against a far wall. There, she picked up several pamphlets. “I was tidying up today and found these. They have information on the different steamships and their ports of call. Perhaps if they’d taken one of the other lines, they might have arrived safely. These ships are newer.”

“Why didn’t they take one of them?”

“Mother gets nauseated on trains, so they went only as far as New York City and took Governor. It has the longest sea voyage. Honestly, I cannot see how breathing damp sea air is supposed to help arthritis, but I’m not a doctor.” Sighing, she set down the pamphlets again. “Governor is the oldest ship and also the most expensive, which I realize now was not good for the family finances. Although Father didn’t mind spending money.” She looked up at him, her expression resigned. “He could be a bit cavalier about that, I’m afraid.”

Noah cleared his throat. “Speaking of finances...today, you received a letter from the bank.” He’d seen the bank’s errand boy deliver it. He’d caught Clare’s sinking expression as she read the single page. But shortly after, that awful telegram had arrived, and he’d forgotten all about the letter.

Clare looked away. “I’m sure you can guess what the bank said. Father paid all the bills for March, but that’s it. His payments were always due the first banking day of the month.” She rubbed her forehead and groaned. “Let me think. Father paid March’s mortgage before they left six weeks ago. So April’s payment is now two weeks overdue.”

“Did he leave you access to his accounts?”

With lifted brows, Clare shook her head. “There was no need. They’re empty.”

Noah cocked his head, a frown deepening. “I don’t understand. Your father paid March’s mortgage at the beginning of the month, but didn’t expect to be in Europe until the end of the month. Surely, he would have realized that it would take a month to get the money back to you? That would automatically leave you a month behind in your payments, and yet he emptied his account, anyway?”

Clare looked like she was getting a headache. “He was afraid Mother would need extra time to recuperate from either the train ride or the sea voyage. He wasn’t sure she’d be able to travel to Baden-Baden—that’s where the Kurhaus is—right away. The transatlantic trip is said to be awful, and once in Liverpool, they’d need another short steamship voyage to Rotterdam before going upriver to the Rhine. He said he planned to send back enough money to pay the bills. I had assumed he’d paid at least two months, but I hadn’t asked.”

Clare flicked up her hands. “My father didn’t always consider the finances first. He often said that there would always be bills.”

Except it was irresponsible to make those bills worse, Noah grumbled internally. It might be wrong to condemn Clare’s father, and Noah did know of Mrs. Walsh’s ill health, but he didn’t feel like crushing the uncharitable thoughts rising unbidden in him. “There are more in his family than his wife.”

His clipped words cut crisply through the cool air. Yes, that was true, he decided firmly. And yes, there was more to life than earning money.

Noah tightened his jaw. People needed to look past their own needs to the needs of others. People needed—

He shut his eyes and stopped his thoughts. This wasn’t about his family. This was about Clare Walsh, the lovely, vibrant, independent woman in front of him. It was about what was probably the worst day of her life.

Would it be inappropriate to draw her into his arms? Surely if anyone needed to be comforted right now, it was her.

Yes, it was inappropriate, and a woman like Clare would resent the belief that she needed a good, strong hug right now.

“The plan had been to return whatever money they didn’t need,” Clare was saying. “They had expected to stay for the summer in Germany, but hoped her treatment would take less time. I don’t think he even cared that the mortgage would be a month late. My father often thought that there was no point in worrying about money.” She sank into her chair again. “I guess he didn’t worry about not surviving the first leg of the voyage, either.” An angry glance up at Noah told him that tears glistened again in Clare’s eyes.

Immediately, Noah dragged a chair closer to her. He perched on the edge of the rounded and uncomfortable seat, his knees poking up into the air. He really hated these fussy, overstuffed things. “Clare, we don’t know what has happened yet.” He rubbed her upper arm, then dropped it quickly, afraid the touch was too personal. “Did you explain that to the bank manager?”

Looking resigned, she shook her head. “All I did was make an appointment. I can hardly ask them to wait until proof comes of my parents’ deaths. That may never happen. The manager may give me an extension, but that will come with a penalty. My wages won’t cover even the basic mortgage payment, let alone one with a late fee attached. And what about the other bills, such as food and coal? Where would the money come for them?” She sighed in exasperation. “You see, I can’t afford to take time off to sort out my parents’ affairs. That would leave us with no money.”

Outrage bubbled through him and he struggled to quell it. Her shortsighted father had left her in a bind that no woman should be in. “When is your appointment?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll be speaking with the manager. Maybe before I go there, I’ll have some better answers.”

To what questions? Noah doubted proof of her parents’ condition one way or the other would come in the next twenty-four hours. Or the money she needed, for that matter. Again, resentment bit at him with a ferocity that had up to now been reserved for his own parents’ manipulation.

No, this isn’t about them. You’ve left them behind, them and that lie you’ve agreed to be a part of.

Focus on Clare.

“Clare, let—” He had just begun to speak when the front door opened and juvenile screams tore through the house.

Clare’s brothers were home.

Noah felt his eyes widen as they barreled into the parlor. The boys were in a terrible state, their clothes muddied and ripped, their faces smeared with dirt. They skidded to a stop when they spied him rising to his feet.

Clare also stood, although her movements were slower, far more careful. She blinked and swallowed and Noah wondered if she was going to blurt out what she’d learned about their parents. Surely, Tim and Leo, suddenly looking younger than their nine and seven years respectively, could not fully understand what had happened. Yes, they’d understand if their parents had died, but not something as tenuous as being overdue at their first port of call. That they could be lost at sea. Children tended to see in more clear-cut ways than adults did.

Noah held his breath, all the while watching Clare, praying she’d say nothing. At least for now.

Eyebrows raised, her eyes shutting for a long moment, Clare sat down again before asking quietly, “Why are you two home early?”

The older boy, Tim, stared at his scuffed and muddied shoes. “At lunch, we went outside and down to the river. There’s a part where a spring comes right through the bank. It’s all muddy.”

“And why did you go there?”

“So we could smear mud on our faces to scare Mary Pemberton. She sits by the window ’cuz she isn’t allowed to go outside and get her dress dirty.”

“She’s a scaredy-cat and told Miss Thompson on us,” Leo added.

“Enough of that,” Clare scolded. “She reported only the truth and should not be criticized for doing the right thing.”

Tim shrugged. “We weren’t allowed back in school unless we came home and changed.”

The younger boy hastily wiped mud off his cheeks with his sleeve. It had dried and now fell in flakes to the carpet. He then wiped his hand on his torn pants and more mud fluttered down.

From some distant recess of the house, the clock struck the half hour. “It’s two thirty,” Noah commented. “How long is your lunch break, boys?”

“And how did your clothes get ripped?” Clare asked quietly.

Tim’s gaze dropped to his filthy shoes. “We climbed a tree down at the river. One of the branches goes right out over the water without touching the mud.”

“So we could clean ourselves off without coming home.” Leo finished his brother’s explanation, as if their unorthodox ablutions were perfectly normal. “But Miss Thompson told us to!”

Tim nodded. “We thought it would be better that way.”

“In case someone saw you and reported it to me, you mean?”

The boys looked confused. Noah wondered if they were even capable of such subterfuge, or they actually thought it would be easier that way.

“But we fell into the mud,” Tim answered. Being the older brother, he knew that they’d done wrong, whereas Leo didn’t. Or else Leo was ignoring the obvious.

“I’m hungry,” Leo announced, oblivious of his brother’s contrition. “You didn’t give us enough food for lunch. And it’s cold in here.”

Noah glanced at Clare in time to see her shut her eyes again. A crimson stain crept up her neck. What was she going to do? They needed discipline. Guidance. They also needed to learn there were consequences to their actions.

“Go upstairs and change,” Clare said wearily. After a slight hesitation, she added, “Supper will be a bit late, but I want you to clean yourselves up first, anyway. Just don’t make a mess upstairs, but bring down those filthy clothes when you’re done. I’ll have to mend and wash them before school tomorrow. Let’s hope they dry in time.”

For a long moment, the boys merely stared at her, as if sensing something was off. Then, after a nudge from the older brother as he turned to leave the parlor, the younger one followed.

When Leo had closed the door behind him, Clare sagged.

Noah laid his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t tell them yet.”

“I can’t, not without crying my eyes out. They won’t understand what it means to be lost at sea, anyway. They don’t realize how big the Atlantic is.” She sank back into the chair again. “Look at them.” She threw up her hand before smacking it against her chest. “Look at me! I can’t even discipline my own brothers.”

“They’re not dogs that need immediate correction. You can do it later tonight. They’ll know why.”

Clare shook her head. “It won’t be fair. I learned in college that children’s misbehaviour is simply an expression of another emotion, in this case, missing our parents. Tim and Leo need time to fully work out how they’re feeling about Mother and Father being gone.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Noah tightened his jaw to stop from contradicting her. He’d seen those boys around town even before their parents left. He’d heard Tim and Leo from within the confines of the Recording Office, too, before the school bell rang. He shouldn’t ask, but the question slipped from his mouth. “How is missing your parents getting converted into obvious mischief?”

She pulled from her apron pocket that crumpled handkerchief and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “They began to act up when our parents started to prepare to go to Europe. I think they were scared. Misbehaving would bring our parents’ attention back to them, and thus reassure them that they’re still loved. In their minds, if Mother and Father left, it would be because they didn’t love us anymore. It’s all quite understandable when you consider how we treat our children in today’s world.”

Noah had no desire to be drawn into something he knew nothing about, but he couldn’t help pointing out, “They misbehaved long before your parents left. Plus, it’s been weeks since they left and children adapt easily. What explains their disobedience today?”

“Me. I’m the one whose love they’re afraid to lose now. They think I’ll leave next.” She looked up at Noah with another bleak expression. “It’s all well-documented psychology. But that doesn’t matter right now. Think about today. How can I tell them that our mother and father aren’t ever coming home again when they’re grieving their temporary absence?”

Noah didn’t know if he agreed with this modern parenting nonsense. It sounded more like lack of discipline and flimsy excuses. But he wasn’t there to argue with her. He needed to tread carefully. Clare deserved that much. “A little bit of understanding is always a good thing.”

He felt his mouth tighten. Understanding. He’d had little of that from his parents.

Stiff-necked, his parents, mostly his father, had watched Noah leave them, not the other way around. They had gladly opened the door for him, too. Did they ever grieve for him? He’d certainly grieved that they’d refused to accept any wishes apart from their own. They’d refused to accept that Noah had his own dreams that didn’t fit into their plans for his life. His father’s plans, supported by his mother, who wanted only to maintain peace in her family.

They’d forced him into a situation that became a secret no one should have to keep, he added to himself bitterly.

Forget it. It was two years ago. Concentrate on the here and now. Clare needs help. She couldn’t yet deal with telling her brothers about their parents, not while she was reeling from the shock and certainly not while trying to figure out how she was going to keep their home.

Noah’s jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more than to help her. But how? Offer advice? She deserved her dignity, and wouldn’t appreciate him telling her what to do.

Clare, you need to let go of that pride.

He straightened. She also needed help and he wanted to be the one who offered it first. “Can you rent out part of your home?”

“To whom? Women usually stay with families. That would leave only men. Would you like me to board single men to earn extra money?” She rolled her eyes as she brushed an unruly tendril of hair from her forehead. It fell back into its vacated place once again, determined to misbehave. “Can you imagine my reputation then? Would that do the Recording Office any good? Or my job, for that matter? If the people of Proud Bend believed I was acting immorally, they’d demand you fire me immediately.”

The idea of Clare opening her home to single men sparked a stinging moment in him. A jealous moment that had nothing to do with their office’s reputation. “Surely some women need a place to stay?”

“The only single women of any decent reputation live at home or with a selected family.”

A thump from upstairs drew his attention to the ceiling. He could hear the boys banging around and wondered what possible mischief they were getting into.

He looked back at her as she wrung her handkerchief. “And if you can’t pay the mortgage?” he asked.

Another bang from upstairs. Clare shot her gaze upward as her mouth tightened. “We both know what’s going to happen. I’ll lose this house. It’s the only home I’ve ever known. I could find a room somewhere, yes, but no one will take me with those rambunctious boys.” She sighed. “I appreciate your concern, Noah, but you needn’t worry. This is my problem and I will solve it.”

With a heavy heart, Noah knew right then what Tim and Leo’s lives would be. They’d be sent to different ranches or hired by some unscrupulous mine owner to work underground. Orphanages were rare in the West because there was always menial work for the few boys out here, be it on ranches, in mines or on the railroad. If that happened, they’d grow up seeing neither Clare nor the other brother. And with their record of mischief, their discipline would be harsh. The bleak look on Clare’s face told him she already knew that fact and it cut her to the quick.

Noah shut his eyes, hating to look at her expression. A surge of anger rose within him at the notion of this family being ripped apart.

Compassion flooded in, wringing out the ire and banding his chest. He wanted to grab her, hold her tight to fend off the bleakness of her situation.

Instead, though, he opened his eyes again and the most unexpected words tumbled from his mouth.

“Marry me, Clare.”

Chapter Two

Noah stifled a gasp. Thankfully, he had enough forethought not to race from the house and thus insult the woman he’d just proposed to. But that didn’t stop him from clamping shut his mouth as he stared, aghast, at Clare.

It wasn’t as though he was opposed to marriage. No, he simply hated the idea of marrying to appease a situation of someone else’s making. To subjugate a person so as to benefit another, as his father had tried to subjugate him.

But he wasn’t naive. He realized that for centuries marriages had been proposed with financial gain in mind. He just didn’t want to be a party to one, especially the one he’d flatly refused two years ago. Greed, his father’s mainly, had birthed the idea that Noah, as his eldest son, should marry a woman whose family business could be merged with the Livingstone’s. The other family involved would get a secure future for their only child, a young woman whose sole purpose in life appeared to be to remain in the lifestyle to which she’d become accustomed.

And, of course, Noah’s father would continue to rule all their lives how he saw fit, all the while expanding his wealth and power.

No. Marriage for someone else’s convenience was more than distasteful to him.

Resentment tightened Noah’s chest as he stared at Clare. He’d told himself years ago that he would not bow to his father’s wishes. He would marry only because he loved the woman and thanks to the scarcity of decent women in Colorado, marriage was unlikely to happen.

Noah paused. Had that been an unconscious reason for choosing to go west?

No. For as long as he could remember, he’d nursed a dream of building a special type of ranch in Colorado, one fed by the offer of free land if he worked it and filled it with livestock. In his case, horses and pack animals. They were as necessary as the railroad, yet many had been discarded, especially after the war, or left to turn feral and compete with cattle for water and food. As a result, ranchers who wanted no animals, save their own valuable cattle, to use their precious grass and water supplies rounded them up to sell or sometimes, if the horses got too close, they would shoot them. Abandoned horses and ponies didn’t provide the income that cattle could.

He had often thought of creating a program to relocate these magnificent beasts, away from the competition for food and water.

But for others that were caught, Noah knew he could rehabilitate them and other abandoned equine. The offer of free land given him would help. His job at the Recording Office would provide the funds to grow that dream. He’d even saved enough to hire a part-time ranch hand.

His father had been furious that Noah had considered pursuing this dream, even if it offered a chance to become a Recording Officer, the youngest in the state. Eventually the promise of the job had been fulfilled and he had his dream ranch as well as a prestigious position.

But in his father’s mind, if Noah wasn’t going to do his bidding, the fool son could leave and never return.

That had been two years ago, and the angry, unfair threat still stung, just as the Walshes’ choice now stung Clare.

Was that why he’d blurted out that idiot proposal?

No. The idea of defying his father, even if the man wasn’t around, wasn’t his main reason to propose. He’d realized Clare was in very real danger of losing her family. And the boys, having just lost their parents, were in danger of being torn from everything they had ever known. Noah had proposed to help her fix her situation.

But it had been a foolish offer and Clare’s expression right now proved she agreed with that assessment. She knew nothing of his reasons, nor was he going to explain it to her. It was just that she hadn’t considered seeking a husband, either.

From upstairs, another series of bangs and thumps drew Noah back to the present. Clare’s brothers were definitely up to no good. Oh, yes, she needed a fast solution to her very serious problem.

His answer had been to offer her marriage. And he—

“No.”

He frowned at Clare. “What did you say?”

Her shoulders were pushed back, her jaw firmed and she snapped yet again, “I said no. No, I won’t marry you.”

* * *

Clare hadn’t expected to blurt out the first answer in her mind, at least not with such force. But it reflected how she felt.

“Did you just turn me down?” His brows knitted together, as if he’d misunderstood her. “Why?”

She bristled. Did he not know anything about her by now? They’d been working together for six months. During that time, he’d heard her say more than once that she was never going to marry, but rather work hard and prove that women could be a valuable asset to any organization. They might even run that organization someday. If that had to come at the cost of staying single, so be it, for marriage was a prison sentence to a woman. It had turned out that way for far too many of her friends. Hadn’t Noah also heard her announce that fact on more than one occasion?

Irritation continued to bubble through her. He apparently hadn’t listened to her at all. And what’s more, he looked genuinely surprised that she wasn’t groveling with gratitude. She lifted her brows and shut her eyes in one long, slow blink. “You heard me correctly. I don’t know how to say it any more clearly.”

Silence fell like a stone between them. Noah finally shut his gaping mouth, only to open it and speak again, this time slowly and calmly. “Your brothers need stability right now. They need a father figure.”

“They have a father. Even you thought it was premature to assume he’s lost at sea. Any number of things could have happened. My brothers and I have a father and he will be returning. Isn’t that the attitude you wanted me to adopt?”

Despite her haughty logic, she swallowed. Her answer wasn’t the main reason for her refusal. She was certainly not denying the obvious, that her parents could be gone, but with the irritation still simmering within, she couldn’t help but contradict him with his own words. No, the point was that he hadn’t bothered to listen to her. Over these past few months, he hadn’t paid her words the slightest attention. She didn’t go to college and return to her hometown to give up all her dreams at the first faltering. Clare Walsh had a sterner constitution than that.

Noah’s jaw tightened and his brows pressed together. “And if your parents don’t come home?”

Clare flinched but refused to waver. “I’ll deal with that when the time comes.” She cleared her throat, knowing it sounded like she was denying the obvious possibility, but she wasn’t. She was simply being strong when she needed to be. “I don’t need anyone, thank you very much. I can handle this situation as well as any man.”

“We’re not discussing the virtues of your gender, Clare, just your ability to keep going in your current state. You’re not going to make it.”

She flared up. “I can and I will. I’ve already told you I can solve my own problems.”

A deep crease forming between his brows—those perfectly shaped ones, Clare noted—Noah leaned forward, closer to her. “You don’t need to do this alone, Clare,” he said softly.

Temptation tugged at her, and she battled it back with tight words. “Are you just saying that to ensure you have a good employee who’s ready to work?”

Clare watched as hurt flickered over his features. It was quick, and disappeared as quickly as it appeared. But in its wake was a tight jaw with narrowing eyes. They were also brief as he schooled his expression. “Clare, I have only your best interests at heart here. Nothing more.”

Did he? Clare was hardly a master at reading people, for her life here had been sheltered and college had seen more of the same. But for a few moments after his words, she wondered about their veracity.

She should stop the suspicion. Of course, he would not want her to lose her brothers, or end up in the poorhouse. But still, was there something more behind his words? Clare wasn’t sure.

One thing she was sure of was how his soft words and strong expression drew her closer to him. If she just leaned forward a mite and reached out her hand, she could brush his cheek, feel his warm breath on her face and revel in the deep attraction she was feeling right now.

Pulling herself together against the nonsense, she stood abruptly. How dare he assume she’d fail and need his help! Then she marched into the hall, returning to the parlor doorway with Noah’s Stetson and coat. “I think you should leave. Thank you for stopping by. I will be at work as expected tomorrow.”

Noah sighed and his tone softened further. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.”

“I do. I need the money, and I obviously need to prove to you that I am going to persevere.” She would. She had no idea how, but she would. “Good day, Mr. Livingstone.”

His mouth set grimly, Noah donned his coat and took his Stetson and his leave. Clare kept her gaze steady on the interior of her family’s parlor. Only when she heard the front door open and shut, did she cross over to her chair and sink into it with eyes closed against the tears that were already forming there.

Lord, what am I going to do?

Only silence answered. Stiffly, she rose and plodded into the kitchen. She bent to stir the cool embers in the firebox of the stove, knowing hot water would be needed to clean her brothers’ clothes. Not to mention needed for supper. She could hear the boys upstairs, the renewed bangs and thumps telling her that they were doing more than cleaning up. She’d get their evening meal started and then investigate the situation up there.

In the pantry, she glanced around. For the last few weeks, she hadn’t had much time to shop for staples, leaving their meals sparse and lean. Today, as suppertime approached, she lifted the lid on the corned beef barrel.

Empty save for one small scrap of fat. Supper would be biscuits and milk with the few winter vegetables she had left. She could braise them in that bit of fat. Then she would boil some eggs for the boys’ lunches, reminding herself not to eat any biscuits so they could take the remainder in the morning. Squaring her shoulders, Clare walked over to the small tea canister on the shelf at the entrance to the pantry. Mother always kept grocery money in it, in a small pouch under the leaves. She hadn’t had time to check how much was there.

Her heart sank as the realization hit her.

The pouch was missing. Father had taken it.

A loud crash followed by a whomp and a riotous screech startled her. “Clare!”

She raced upstairs, growing ever more horrified as the smell of burning kerosene met her nostrils halfway up. Tearing into the boys’ room, she gasped. Their small rug was on fire, the overturned kerosene lamp nearby fueling it!

Yanking the half-dressed boys out of the room, Clare lunged for the lamp to right it, snapping back her hand before she burned it. She then grabbed the water basin, dumping it onto the fire. It sprayed burning droplets of fuel in every direction.

She let out her own scream.

She grabbed the boys’ bedspread and smothered the fire, falling on her knees to smack the last few errant flames beyond one corner of the spread.

Reaching behind her, she poured the rest of the water from the jug onto the floor, the bedspread and the rug that peeked out beyond another corner. Then she scoured the whole room to ensure no wayward embers smoldered, crawling on her hands and knees the entire way. Satisfied there was no more danger, she rolled up the rug and bedspread to take them outside.

Still on her knees, all she could manage was to drop her head. Thank You, Lord. Thank You for not allowing this to become worse. Thank You for keeping Tim and Leo safe.

Only after repeating her prayer several times, in utter gratitude, did Clare look up toward the door.

Tim and Leo were peeking into the room. Their faces were still smeared with dried mud. Filthy and anxious, they looked like they’d fallen out of their favorite Henry Castlemon book, the one where the boys chased a raccoon through a swamp.

“You didn’t need to light the lamp!” she told them harshly.

“I’m sorry. It was cold in here and we’re not allowed to start a fire in the stove.” It was the older brother, Tim, who spoke as he pointed to the small potbellied stove nearby. “Don’t get mad at us. Please?”

Fighting tears, she struggled to stand, but sagged again when she saw the section of her skirt below her apron was smeared with wet ashes from the burned rug. Her only work skirt was ruined. In fact, her entire outfit was soaked and rumpled, save the section protected by her apron. Clare whimpered when she noticed a burn hole at the sleeve of her blouse. She sank down farther.

And looked at the floor. Although the damage was minimal, the black, scorched area would need to be repaired. How did one fix such a large scorch mark? Not to mention how much water had seeped down through the plaster ceiling below.

Helplessness washed through her. How was she supposed to mind her two brothers when they couldn’t even be trusted with the simple task of cleaning themselves up?

Clare dropped her head into her hands and shut her eyes. As she knelt there, she could feel her brothers creep in and sit down on the floor near her.

One boy laid his head along her left side and gripped her arm. The other shifted in front and hugged her knees, dropping his head into her wet lap. Automatically, Clare reached out with her right hand and stroked his hair. The straight, silky strands told her without looking that it was Tim. Leo had the curly hair.

“I miss them,” Tim whispered, knowing she would understand who he was talking about.

“I know. I miss them, too.” When Clare heard one of them sniff, she fought to stop her own tears. She wrapped her left arm around Leo and drew him close.

She’d told Noah that she couldn’t punish these boys. And still she couldn’t. She loved them. She understood them. She missed their mother and father right along with them.

Sitting there until the damp seeped through to her stockings, feeling her hunger gnaw at her stomach and knowing she didn’t have enough food for a decent meal, she finally admitted to herself that one awful detail.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do any of what she’d boasted to Noah a few minutes ago. Not by herself. How had her mother managed a house, battled crippling arthritis and controlled two unruly boys?

Clare swallowed. Father had been there to help, taking time off work. He’d seen the boys off to school, given them strict orders to return home immediately after and had set out chores for them to do, all to help ease his wife’s burden. Clare had been away at college during most of that time, money no doubt spent on her when it should have been saved. When she had returned home last fall, she’d pitched in, even after taking a job as clerk at the Recording Office.

Yet, in the last six weeks since their parents had left, Tim and Leo had grown wilder, and Clare had struggled to keep their family home life stable.

She needed to get up. There was simply too much to do tonight to sit there feeling sorry for herself. Laundry, supper, cleaning up this mess, and the one below in the dining room—it all had to be finished before she could crawl into bed. Before tomorrow.

Before tomorrow, when she would ask Noah if his offer still stood.

With a gasp, she lifted her head. Was she really considering his proposal? When she heard Leo sniff, she bit her bottom lip, and cold, hard reality gripped her. She could no longer keep going the way she had been. They’d either have a house to turn over to the bank or, if Tim and Leo weren’t watched more carefully, no house at all. Either way, they would lose it. No doubt after that, her brothers would be taken from her. She couldn’t afford a solicitor to fight for her family, either.

Moving them aside, Clare rose wearily, cringing at her soiled skirt. Perhaps mindless work would help her form the words she needed to say to Noah Livingstone in the morning.

She should start with an apology.

* * *

Noah was always the first one in the Recording Office, an admirable work ethic. Through the window, Clare could see him poring over some paperwork in his small, glassed-in office.

Normally, she would’ve plastered on a bright smile, for a good attitude was as important as good training. But as she pushed open the door, her heavy heart wasn’t allowing any of that.

Noah looked up from his desk as she walked in. Eyes wary, expression guarded, he said nothing as he watched her. Her heart sank further. Oh, what damage had she inflicted in turning him down? Had it really been that personal?

This morning, she’d been churning possible words around in her head. But seeing Noah now, all thought escaped her. Could she really expect him to gather the pieces of his pride and propose to her again? Did she really want him to?

Tears stung her eyes. Yes, she did. She had two little ruffian brothers, and they were a family, and families shouldn’t be separated. But no man would want to take on the responsibility of parenting those boys, and surely her employer realized that. If she asked Noah to propose again, would he? Was that what she needed?

Yes, unfortunately. He’d only proposed to repair her financial situation and the look of consternation on his face immediately after proved he regretted his impromptu suggestion.

But did she really want to get married? Who would take her career seriously then? Married ladies didn’t work, didn’t aspire to be successful businesswomen. They allowed their husbands to control their lives. She’d seen it with all of her college friends who’d abruptly cut short their education in order to wed.

She remembered seeing the disappointment in their eyes when she asked if they were still pursuing the dreams they’d shared while at college.

No, she couldn’t bear for that to be her.

Noah Livingstone would surely sense the resentment she would no doubt harbor. It was only his nobility that had done the talking yesterday.

Forget it. She would not ruin his life to ease her own financial burden. Miss Worth had said more than once that strength came from discipline.

Clare stiffened, all the while fighting both tears and her indecision. She’d finished her crying. Miss Worth had a valuable saying about women’s tears. They were a weak woman’s weapon. A strong woman used her head.

No, Clare would not cry anymore.

Having listened to Clare quote her mentor on more than one occasion since returning from college, her father had disagreed with most of the woman’s opinions. They were too general, he’d scoffed, though he offered no other explanation, nor practical advice.

At the memory, resentment rose unexpectedly within Clare. She hesitated as she quietly closed the office’s main door. Resentment? At her father? She shouldn’t be feeling that at all. That emotion wasn’t the most important thing right now. She would deal with it later. First, she needed to be sensible, not flopping back and forth like the long ears on Leo’s favorite stuffed toy.

Gathering her courage, she pushed through the small swinging gate at the end of the counter and came to a stop in the threshold leading to Noah’s private office.

She could hear the clock on the wall behind her ticking, as if marking time, impatiently waiting for her to follow through with the important decision she’d made last night.

Testing her, like a professor waiting for the correct answer to a timed question that would determine whether or not she passed life or failed it.

Except that Clare was no longer confident that her next move was the right one.

Or even if Noah was still willing to help her.

There was only one way to find out. She drew in a deep breath and began to speak.

Chapter Three

“Good morning.” Clare groaned inwardly. Her words sounded so stilted.

“Good morning.” His attention returned to his work. Clare could practically feel the temperature drop in the room.

She threw back her shoulders. This was far too serious a situation for her to be intimidated by him. Noah had proposed to her. And as much as she hated what it really meant to her freedom, she knew she needed to accept it. If the offer still stood, that is.

“Yesterday, you proposed to me.”

“Yes, I did.” He then paused without looking up. “If I remember correctly, you turned me down.”

Oh, how she wished he would just look at her. She crushed the urge to snatch away the paper he was pretending to read. “About that. I think we need to—”

The door behind her flew open until it banged against the wall. In lumbered Walter Burrows. Having lived in Proud Bend all her life, Clare knew both his name and his reputation.

The tough, mean rancher seemed to have a perpetual chip on his shoulder. Clare knew he had a wife, but in all her years of living here, she had yet to meet the poor woman. But Clare had seen Burrows often enough. He’d come into the Recording Office several months back, and in the course of his business, he’d claimed he’d caught a feral pony a number of years ago. After having no success at breaking it—Clare was hardly surprised as the man was rough and cruel—Burrows had wanted to put it down. He’d heard that Noah had a “foolish notion of rescuing stupid animals,” as he’d put it. Maybe Noah could buy it from him.

That day, Clare had watched Noah take the pony off his hands for the cost of a sack of barley. It was the first time Clare had heard of Noah’s dream of saving horses.

Today, he rose and squeezed past Clare as if she carried a plague. He strode to the counter. “Mr. Burrows, what can I do for you?”

“I bought me another stretch of land. I need to register it. I watched Miz Walsh come in just now and figured you were already open. You know how late women can be when it comes to work.”

Biting back a snappy retort, Clare glanced at the large clock on the wall. There was still a good thirty minutes before opening and Mr. Pooley wasn’t even in yet. She was not late, thank you very much.

After a fast glance at Noah, Clare quickly removed her jacket and hung it up. She heard him clear his throat before pulling out the appropriate ledger and approaching the counter. He usually asked her to assist the customers. Was he saving her from having to deal with the rude man?

“How are you going to work the land, Mr. Burrows?” Noah asked conversationally. “Have you hired some extra help?”

“Not yet.” The man’s voice was gravelly, a perpetual grumble. “But there are always plenty of young ’uns needin’ a roof over their heads. I hear an orphan train is coming west in a few weeks’ time. In fact, I read in the newspaper that there Children’s Aid Society will be picking up a few brats along the way. I can get me a few tough little guys and train ’em up properly.”

Clare couldn’t stop the gasp. Both men glanced her way, and she tried her best to hide the sudden fear leaping in her chest. She doubted she was successful, for all she ended up doing was slapping her hand over her mouth and looking like a fool.

Noah frowned as she forced herself to walk to her desk, where she fell into her chair with very little grace. Her vision swam in sudden tears.

When people got wind of her situation, someone would inform the authorities. No one would expect Clare to be able to raise her hooligan brothers by herself. The Children’s Aid Society would then make a point to stop by.

Clare swallowed. She needed to speak with a lawyer. Even if Noah repeated his proposal, both of them would need to adopt her brothers formally. Yes, some states were less stringent in their enforcement, but both Clare and Noah worked at the Recording Office. How would it look if they were to ignore the laws?

One step at a time, she reminded herself. If Noah’s offer no longer stood, would she be forced to surrender the boys? Not necessarily to Mr. Burrows, of course, but perhaps to someone equally disagreeable, and maybe farther away?

She shut her eyes. Lord, please guide me.

When she opened them again, Mr. Burrows was shutting the door behind him, and Noah was darting a cautious glance her way as he returned to his desk.

He has proposed to you. Do you really want to risk losing Tim and Leo?

If he won’t propose again, you must!

She swallowed around the gravel in her throat.

Clare shut her eyes again. In the distance, muted by the exterior walls, came the sound of the school bell reminding her that she must consider Tim and Leo first. Screwing up her courage, she rose and walked into his office.

Noah looked up from his paperwork, his blue-eyed gaze still wary, a slight frown marring his ruggedly handsome features. Before this nightmare had begun, when she’d just started to work here, she’d found his attention to her pleasing, warming her cheeks and making her feel as gooey as pudding inside. She’d loved it, even though he’d never been anything but professional with her.

Now her heart constricted unexpectedly. His proposal had been just him offering a solution to a bad situation. There was no affection involved. Nothing but his good character showing and even then he’d regretted blurting out his offer. She was sure of that much.

What had she expected? A confession of love? She would have still said no, because marriage was what weaker women searched out. She was made of sterner stuff.

Until she realized she could lose her brothers. Now, knowing her options, her hopes plummeted.

Noah’s brows lifted in expectation, as if waiting for her to explain why she’d barged in here as she had. Why she now lingered beside his desk. Clare fought to hold on to the courage that could waver at a moment’s notice.

“You proposed to me yesterday,” she practically barked.

Leaning back, Noah folded his arms. “We’ve already discussed this. You turned me down.”

“I...I was premature.” She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “Is the offer still available?”

* * *

Yesterday, Noah had let his mouth decide his fate. The last time he had done that, he’d walked out of his home without so much as a backward glance. There had been no second chances then, even if he’d wanted one, which he didn’t, he told himself fiercely. There had been no way to take back what he’d said to his father. There had been no chance to rescind the promise to his ex-fiancée of keeping an ugly secret that still tormented him today.

But now? Here was an opportunity to correct the mistake caused by his impulsive mouth. With one simple no, he could show exactly how Clare’s refusal had bit into his pride.

When Noah’s father had told him that he was to marry Elizabeth Townsend because her father’s business, not to mention his own, would benefit from merging, there had been an expectation that Noah would roll over like a submissive mongrel and do exactly as his father had deemed appropriate.

No. He had his own dreams to pursue, and marriage was far too sacred an institution to be based on financial gain, especially his greedy father’s.

Besides, he’d realized in retrospect, he could never shake the feeling that he couldn’t trust either Elizabeth or her cagey father. No, marrying Elizabeth had never felt right.

But now, he’d offered it to Clare and only to solve a financial problem in her life. To solve something her own selfish father had created. The proposal was an insane idea, one that should never have been offered. His gaze drifted down her frame.

Then he noticed the stain on her skirt. Or should he say where a stain might have been? It looked like she’d scrubbed the material right at its middle, so much so the dye at that one spot had faded. Clare was always a sensible dresser, a woman who looked professional and modern. She’d always been neat although he’d noticed she had only one suitable skirt.

It was no longer suitable.

His train of thought turned to her brothers. Their clothes would have been washed last night, also, and most likely repaired. Like Clare with her work skirt, the boys’ clothes they’d sullied were the only ones they owned that were suitable for school. Yes, children arrived wearing whatever they had, but only farm boys wore overalls. It was a point of pride to wear a nice jacket and knickerbockers. Clare would do her best to ensure her brothers weren’t dressed like ragamuffins.

Then he remembered her gasp a few minutes ago when Mr. Burrows had announced he would take a couple of boys from the Orphan Train.

That institution had been created to foster out children to good homes, to be loved and cared for. While it worked as such sometimes, there were protests out East by people who felt it was nothing but farming out indentured servants, or worse, a different kind of slavery. Noah couldn’t say one way or the other. He did agree that it wasn’t an ideal solution, but with thousands of orphaned and abandoned children in cities, what else could be done?

He groaned softly and berated himself for his stupidity. Of course. Clare’s gasp should have told him immediately what she was thinking.

His breath stalled in his throat. Had his own defensiveness overshadowed Clare’s fear? Mr. Burrows’s crass remarks just now had proven that the Orphan Train was the worst fate for her and her brothers.

Lord, I don’t know what to do. It’s wrong to marry for financial gain. It’s wrong to take sacred vows simply to correct other people’s selfish errors.

There had to be some affection, surely?

“Is the offer still available?” Clare asked again, this time softly, a melodic question that rolled through him like a tune on a delicate flute.

He forced his attention back to the conversation at hand. Clare looked tired this morning and he felt his brows press together at the sight of the violet shadows under her eyes. “Did you tell your brothers about your parents?”

Her expression clouded. She offered him a single, slow sigh and he knew her answer before she spoke it. “I couldn’t. Not yet.” She wet her lips. “I’ll think about what to say but I need answers to some of my questions, first. Hopefully, they will come today at lunchtime.”

“What questions? Besides you seeing the bank manager, what else do you need to do?”

“Well, I need to find a carpenter—”

“A carpenter?”

She hesitated before clearing her throat. “There was a small incident last night.”

“What happened?”

“Just after you left, the boys tipped over their lamp and the rug caught fire.”

His heart stumbled and he gasped. “Is everyone all right?”

“Yes,” she added hastily. “We’re fine.”

“Why did you light the lamp, anyway? It wasn’t dark out when I left.”

“I didn’t. One of the boys did. I don’t know which one, and frankly, I think both were involved. They said they were cold and they aren’t allowed to put on a fire. They don’t always think first.”

“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?”

Clare blinked at him. “Of course. But what about here?” As if to add to the question, the door opened and in walked Joe Pooley, the young clerk Noah had hired just before he’d taken the chance with her last fall. They both nodded stiffly to him.

Noah glanced around the office. “We should maintain a certain formality here, I think. I know some people keep that formality even at home, but do you think that’s necessary?”

“No, but I hadn’t thought I would ever marry, either.”

Quirking a brow, he asked with a hint of surprise, “You never harbored those girlish dreams of finding true love?”

She sniffed. “I did when I was much younger, yes, but college taught me otherwise. My mentor, Miss Worth, often said it did women the world over a disservice simply to hand over our freedom to our husbands, and I witnessed it firsthand with several of my friends. They were the perfect blushing brides, but then I saw them a few months later, asking their husbands for advice, for money, or to be taken places. Those women had reveled in their freedom at college. We answered to no man. My married friends lost all of that elemental freedom.”

“Surely they realized that beforehand. I mean, if you wish to call marriage a loss of basic freedom.”

“Most realized it was gone. And they missed it. They aren’t even allowed to get a job anymore, something my mentor thought was important. That’s what chasing true love has done for them. All I wanted was to decide my own life.”

She stopped it there, expecting amusement at the notion, or a blunt contradiction. Instead, Noah merely stared at her. Gone from his blue eyes was the wariness, now replaced by something she couldn’t explain. Was it sympathy? She hated that she couldn’t identify it. “I was going to own my own business someday, and not just some small enterprise like a sewing room or laundry service or an extension of my husband’s business like the general store here. My career was going to be big, like owning a warehouse that brought goods from overseas, or a string of haberdasheries up and down the Rockies with my name on each of the marquees.”

Noah looked perplexed. “Then why come back to Proud Bend and take a minor job here?”

“Mother needed my help.” She felt a pang of hurt deep inside. “There were days she could barely get out of bed. I knew I needed to learn administration beyond what I took in college, and there aren’t too many places where I could learn it while still helping to care for my mother. I came home on faith that I would find something that could start me on a career path. My father got me this job.”

“Your training got you your job. Your father just arranged for it,” Noah reminded her. “He said something about putting your education to good use.” After a short pause, when Clare said nothing, he added with a shrug, “Allow me to sort out what’s needed for our, um, wedding. Is there a preferred date? Pastor Wyseman will want a few days to publish bans. He is a bit old-fashioned that way.”

Noah’s crisp tone sounded like he was arranging for a tailoring session, or a bank appointment, Clare thought with a sinking heart. His self-sacrificing proposal was a noble gesture, but she felt, well, begrudging. She hated that his stellar behavior made her feel petty and ungracious.

She cleared her throat. “Anytime is fine. It’s just a business arrangement, anyway.” Then, head held high, she strode from the office.

* * *

Noah watched her leave. He’d had a way out of the situation that had been similar to the one that had forced his hand back home. But what had he done? He’d offered the proposal again. He was truly a fool. Clare Walsh had told him, not in so many words, that her ideals from college were so important to her that only the direst of circumstances would cause her to deviate from them.

Yes, her circumstances were indeed that. As a result, their marriage would only be a business arrangement. She’d said that last part quite bluntly. It was going to be a frosty life together.

Heat burned up his neck and into his cheeks. His noble act now slapped him in the face. Remember what you told your father a few years ago? You’re hypocritical, Livingstone. You’d said you would only marry for love.

His parents and Elizabeth’s parents had wanted a marriage of both families and fortunes. It was strictly for their benefit, with Noah’s father thinking he was getting the monetary advantage.

But here, Clare was at risk of losing everything she held dear. Even her freedom, which now must be sacrificed in order to save other things, like family unity and her home.

Her house. It would soon be hers, if her parents really were lost at sea. Clare had wanted to own her own business, and probably her own home. She was getting one of those dreams, but might soon have to rent it out just to pay its mortgage.

At that thought, Noah walked out of his office. He stopped in front of Clare’s desk. Beyond, Pooley was helping a young couple at the counter, leaving him a modicum of privacy.

Clare was in the midst of copying the last of the land deed ledgers. Last year, when Noah had hired her, it was to fill the temporary position of copier, transcribing thick ledgers that had been damaged when the roof had leaked. Now that she was full-time, she continued that work at her desk, all the while helping at the front counter if the need arose, which it rarely did. Noah watched her for a moment as she carefully transcribed a line, taking pains to be neat and accurate.

She looked up, a question on her face. Those big, soft, sad eyes made her complexion seem paler today. Her pert little nose was slightly red. Today, she’d neglected to apply the powder most women preferred. A telltale sign that she was out of sorts.

Noah scrubbed a hand across his jaw, knowing he should do more for her. She was grieving and yet kept insisting on going about her regular business as if nothing was amiss. He cleared his throat. “You returned to work because you felt you needed the money. You have bills to pay and a mortgage to sort out.”

“Yes.”

“Since we’re engaged, that’s not the case anymore, so you don’t need to be here.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he hurried on, “You can be at home taking care of other things. As soon as I get the necessary paperwork in order and at Pastor Wyseman’s convenience, we can get married. It could take a few weeks, though, so keep that in mind when you meet with the bank.”

He watched her throat bob slowly, hating how he sounded as though they were discussing a small task here at work. “Here’s a thought to present to the bank. Why don’t you rent out your house? Many families who want to move West will often want temporary lodging while they’re building a home for themselves. If you rent yours, it can pay your mortgage. There may be enough left over for other expenses like taxes.”

Clare blinked those long black lashes at him. Did she not understand him? Had he not made himself clear enough?

He explained further, “However, you’ll first need to gain some legal control over your parents’ estate. You won’t be allowed to rent out the house until you have care and control of it. Did your parents arrange for that?”

Those soft lips pursed and she shook her head. “Not that I’m aware,” she finally said. Her expression might give the impression of innocence more often than not, but today, it showed only hurt. Then, abruptly, her jaw tightened and she set down her pen. Her hands dropped to her lap and she shut her eyes.

She was angry. Noah folded his arms. “What arrangements did your parents make? Surely they knew that crossing the Atlantic wasn’t without risk?”

She shrugged, but from the color rising in her cheeks, he knew the action was anything but casual.

“How quickly did your mother decline before they left?”

“Quickly enough to make my father forget.”

“So he probably forgot to make any legal arrangements or update his will, if he had one,” Noah said, keeping his tone reasonable. He pulled out his pocket watch to consult the time. “You’ll need to see a lawyer, then. You said you were going to the bank at lunch. It’s too early for that, but you should consult a lawyer first, anyway. Go do that now. And ask him how long your parents need to be missing before they are presumed dead and death certificates are issued. I haven’t yet had to deal with that situation here.”

* * *

How crisp and businesslike he sounded, Clare decided, fighting back a sudden surge of irritation. Seeing a lawyer first was good idea. Something she should have already thought of.

Was that why she was upset? That she should have considered it before he did?

Resentment rose above the anger and she hated it. A few minutes ago, she’d practically asked Noah if he would solve her problems for her. Now she was upset when he was trying to! When did she become so fickle?

Her cheeks burned. She shouldn’t have had to take her problems to a man. To anyone, for that matter. She was college educated, someone her parents had entrusted with their youngest children. She’d taken a semester of family law, albeit one tailored for ladies only, but one nonetheless. She should have had these answers already.

“Is there something the matter?” Noah asked again.

Not something. Everything. She tried not to look miffed, instead, leaning forward and plastering on her face the calmest expression she could manage. If she was going to be married to this man, she should at least be honest with him. “I can’t help but feel as though the idea of renting my house should have been...well, mine! Frankly, I don’t think I should be turning to you for the solutions to all my problems.”

Clare felt her heart plummet. Oh, how petty she sounded!

To add to that, grief draped over her.

Noah looked surprised. “You would have thought of it eventually. You have a lot on your mind right now.”

“That’s very gracious of you, Noah,” she said, only remembering after speaking that he’d suggested more formality in the workplace. “I mean, Mr. Livingstone. But I don’t agree. It’s not just having a lot on my mind. I have to give up my home, the only one I’ve ever had. It’s, well, sad.”

“It’s for the best. I own a ranch. I can’t leave it.”

“I don’t know how you manage both a job here and a ranch. Animals need care all the time.”

“The ranch is small, and I have a hand come in twice a week to help.”

“But it’s still a ranch!”

Noah cleared his throat. “I only have one animal right now.”

“Really?” She could feel her expression go slack. “That one you bought from Mr. Burrows?”

“Yes. As I mentioned before, I want to run a ranch for rescued equine. All kinds. Pit ponies, feral horses, abandoned mules.”

“I know that.” She frowned. “But why? Old horses and such can only be put out to pasture.”

“Because they’re not just put out to pasture! Grazing land here is valuable and given only to cattle. Feral horses and retired mine ponies are seen as stealing grass and water. I want to start a program of saving them. Some I will be able to rehabilitate.”

“What good will that do? Most will be too old or cantankerous to have any value.”

“But not all. Some will be useful, pulling carts, teaching children. There is a new society that cares for animals that relies on donations, so perhaps my ranch will, also.” His voice rose. “After the war, many horses were put down, and I feel that was such a waste. We can’t be cruel to animals. That’s not what God wants of us. We’re caretakers of this earth. It’s time we started acting like it.”

She arched a brow. “Even wild or feral ones and their offspring?”

“Yes! Can’t anyone see that horses, mules and ponies built this nation? But they’re treated well only as long as they serve men.” His tone had a fierce edge to it.

“So you care for this pony each day before you come in?”

“Yes. I can even show your brothers how to care for him. They’ll need to learn to do chores anyway.”

She bristled. “They have always had chores. This morning I had them sweeping and bringing in wood.”

“I can teach them how to work around horses. My father might have owned a large manufacturing company, but we also had a dozen draft horses doing much of the work, like hauling goods and all the heavy lifting in the factory. Father hired men to care for them, and I learned stable duties and care from them.”

Clare frowned. “You didn’t learn how to run his business?”

Noah shifted back from her desk. “Yes, but every spare moment I had I was in the stables. Horses fascinated me. I learned how to coax the best work out of them. It’s not by the end of the whip, either. I can teach Tim and Leo the same thing. It’ll do them good to work in a stable.”

She jumped to her feet. “Why? So you can ‘train ’em up good,’ like Mr. Burrows wants to do? I’ve lived here all my life and I know what he’s like!”

At her loud words, Pooley turned around. Noah held up his hand. “I’m not Mr. Burrows. He just wants free labor. I want Tim and Leo to have a chance to learn some valuable skills. Learning how to control a big animal through love and care can help with their unruly natures. They’ll learn patience and personal discipline. I’ve seen the stablemen who worked for my father coax Percherons to do almost anything with just a soft, patient word.”

With a remorseful expression, she sat down again. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to lose my brothers, that’s all.”

Noah pressed his palms onto her desk and leaned forward. He was so close, she could smell the faint cologne she’d noticed on his handkerchief. “I’m sure someone at Anderson and Haley law firm will be able to help you keep custody of them. Go see them this morning. Then go to your bank appointment.”

“And pile up more bills,” she muttered.

“It can’t be helped. I expect you back to work at one. After work, you can fill me in on what happened, all right?”

With a short, tight nod, she stood. As she walked past him, she stopped, her voice dropping to a mere whisper. “After we’re married, will I still get to work here?”

She rolled her gaze upward until it bumped into his. She could hear the naysayers now. Taking a job from a man, taking food from some family’s mouths. Was she expected to stop work just because of a marital status?

Noah looked grim. “This is not the time for that discussion. You have more urgent issues.”

Clare sagged. “I’ll do my best to get this sorted out as quickly as possible.” She waited a moment, before adding, “I’m grateful I’ve been able to share this with you. Regardless of why any, um—” she glanced over at Mr. Pooley as her voice dropped “—marriage is formed, honesty is still paramount in it, don’t you think?” She offered a small, hopeful smile. “We’re off to a good start, and you’ve been noble to a fault. I appreciate that.” Before he could protest, she hastily shook her head and quickly retrieved her coat and hat before leaving.

* * *

Noah felt a chill race through him. Noble? Honest? He was neither, and neither virtue had prompted his proposal. Thinking of Elizabeth and of her humiliation, the humiliation he’d caused her, he recalled again how he’d agreed never to reveal the true circumstances surrounding their broken engagement.

At the time, he’d believed it was the least he could have done for her. But back then, his faith in God had been weakened by an unchristian father who cared little for religion and who wanted only to line his pockets. Being in Proud Bend, listening to Pastor Wyseman’s excellent sermons and seeing the man’s resounding faith, Noah’s own faith had been bolstered.

But now it faltered, tripping over the lie he’d allowed to stand for two years. And had yet to reveal to Clare.

He could fix her situation with a proposal, but he wasn’t completely noble in his motivation, or in his inaction these past two years.

The honesty upon which Clare thought their marriage was going to be based was nothing but a sham.

And like Clare with her own situation, he had no idea how to fix it.

Chapter Five

It was at work, in the late afternoon of the next day, when the whole situation seemed to weigh the most heavily upon Clare. She’d thought she’d known all about getting married. After all, she’d helped several of her college friends prepare for their weddings, and she’d been a bridesmaid just a few weeks ago when her friend, Victoria, had married Mitch MacLeod.

Victoria had asked both Clare and her cousin, Rachel Smith, to attend her. But since Rachel had married the sheriff’s brother just before last Christmas and moved to some town in Illinois, returning only for the wedding, the bulk of the preparations had been on Victoria and her aunt Louise.

Clare had underestimated the number of forms to fill out. They should have been second nature to her, what with her job at the Recording Office, but she had found her hands shaking as she’d written her own name on several sheets attesting that she was indeed Clare Margaret Walsh, a spinster.

Also, her heart had pounded like she’d run a mile when Pastor Wyseman met with her and Noah, and even more so when he’d met with her privately in his tiny office at the parsonage.

“Are you being coerced into this marriage?”

She gaped at the pastor. “I beg your pardon?”

It was a question that Pastor Wyseman had felt morally obligated to ask, he explained.

All Clare could do was shake her head mutely until he’d asked her to speak out her answer. Her voice cracked with nerves. “No, I’m not being coerced.”

She was merely saving her family, she added only to herself.

“And your parents, Clare?” the pastor asked. “Are they coming back for the wedding? I would have thought they’d be in Europe by now, but Noah has asked for the ceremony to happen as soon as possible. Why is that?”

Clare swallowed. With eyes wide and body as still as stone, she found she couldn’t answer.

Then, suddenly, she blurted the whole story. The events, including what Noah had said, that her parents might still be found alive—everything poured out from her like a torrent. She couldn’t stop a single word, even if she tried.

Pastor Wyseman listened, his attention riveted to her. Then, after some quiet words of comfort, and one short reprimand admonishing her for not asking for his help earlier, he prayed.

“It sounds to me like you’re still unsure of what to do,” Wyseman said after ending his prayer. “I won’t issue the bans, as is my custom, until you’re ready, Clare. Let me know before the service on Sunday.”

Relief swept through her. Just giving voice to all the anguish made her feel better.

Still, it would be best to have the ceremony as soon as possible. She wasn’t the sort of person to put off a task based solely on its level of unsavoriness. “The end of next week is fine.”

He consulted the small calendar on his desk. “Friday, April 21?”

She nodded. The truth settled into her. She would be married that day. Less than two weeks and she hadn’t told a soul. Precious few knew about her parents.