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“Here in Pinewood?”
“No. I was attacked in Dunkirk on my way here.”
“Greed makes men do evil things.” The words left a bitter taste in Callie’s mouth. Her father was numbered among the greedy. Why else would he plan to sell her hand in marriage to the highest bidder? Her stomach knotted. She looked down, rinsed out the cloth then applied it to the wound again.
“Sadly, that’s true, Callie. And what brings you to Pinewood, Mr. Ryder? Are you seeking employment as a logger? Or a sawyer or teamster?”
“I came to visit a distant cousin...Johnny Taylor. But I was told by the clerk in the mercantile that Johnny and a man by the name of Arnold Dixon quit their jobs and headed west a few days ago.”
Johnny Taylor and Arnold Dixon. Thomas Hunter’s friends. The men who had so frightened Willa. Was Ezra Ryder of the same ilk? She frowned, turned the cloth over and again held it on Ezra Ryder’s bowed head. “What a shame your cousin didn’t know to expect you, and you made your journey in vain.”
“Yes, indeed.” The sympathy in Sophia’s voice belied the sharpened look in her eyes. “Were you close with your cousin, Mr. Ryder?”
“No, not at all. I know him only from when we were young boys, and my uncle brought his family to visit us on the farm. My visit here was to renew our acquaintance.”
There was something underlying the ring of truth in Ezra Ryder’s deep voice—something he wasn’t telling. Her shoulders tensed. She detested lies and subterfuge. And disdained the men that indulged in them. In her experience, they were many. She dabbed the softened blood from his hair, dropped the cloth in the water, dried her hands on the long white apron that covered her blue wool dress and opened the small crock.
“So you are without funds, and without a place to stay?”
“Thanks to those thieves, and my cousin’s leaving town, yes. That is why I inquired if there is work I can do in exchange for my meal...and perhaps a place to sleep?”
“I see.” Sophia glanced around. “I’m sure there is something...”
“The stables need a thorough cleaning.” A cheeky suggestion. It was not her place to interfere in her aunt’s business, but she didn’t want the man given work around the kitchen. It was her sanctuary. She clamped her jaw to keep from saying more, and smoothed the salve over the exposed gash.
“An excellent suggestion, Callie.” Sophia gave her a warm smile, then lowered her gaze to Ezra Ryder. “My groom suffers from rheumatism and can no longer care for the stables as he once did. You may clean them as payment. But you must do so as Joseph directs.”
“I understand, madam.”
There was politeness and acquiescence in Ezra Ryder’s voice, but not a hint of subservience. Sophia ran her gaze over his neatly trimmed hair. The man had recently been to an excellent barber. She frowned, held back the questions crowding into her mind and put the cover back on the crock and placed it on the table.
“Very well. There is a cot you may sleep on in the equipment room. You’ll find a mattress tick you can stuff with fresh hay in the tin cupboard, and— Yes, Mary?”
The maid in the doorway gave an apologetic smile. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Sheffield, but there’s a gentleman out front that wants a room.”
“Thank you, Mary. I’ll come right along.” Her aunt rose.
Ezra Ryder stood and made her a small bow. “Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Sheffield.”
Sophia nodded and stepped toward the doorway, paused and looked over her shoulder. “Callie, Ezra will need blankets. You’ll find some in the chest in my bedroom.”
Something akin to shock flashed in Ezra Ryder’s eyes at the subtle message of his servile position contained in her aunt’s use of his given name. It was followed by a flicker of amusement. A strange reaction for a man come begging. He glanced her way, caught her studying him.
“I’ll get the blankets.” She hurried through the door that led to her aunt’s private quarters, snatched three blankets from the chest at the foot of the bed and returned to the kitchen. He had donned his jacket.
“Here are the blankets—” She glanced up at him and his first name stuck in her throat. There was something about the man that commanded respect. “The Allegheny has flooded the fields out back and is only a few feet from the stables, but these should be sufficient to ward off the damp and the cold.” She handed him the wool blankets and stepped back.
He nodded, fastened his gaze on hers and smiled. “Thank you for your suggestion to your aunt that I might help in the stables. I’m grateful for the opportunity to earn bed and board. And thank you for tending my wound. It already feels better.”
She turned from the look of admiration in his eyes and began clearing the table. “The salve is made by the Senecas. It’s very effective. I’ll apply more in the morning.”
“I don’t want to trouble you, Miss... I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Conner. And it’s no trouble to dab salve on a wound.” She glanced up and again found that look of admiration in his eyes. “Try not to roll onto your back while you’re sleeping, or you’ll irritate that wound.”
A smile curved his lips and crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. “I shall do my best, Miss Conner.”
She stared at his smile, then leaned down and picked up the dishes she’d stacked. There was definitely something amiss. The man was too self-assured, too confident for someone in his situation. “Breakfast is at daybreak. Come along with Joseph. It would be well to eat before you go on your way.” The reminder of his temporary stay helped. There was something unsettling about Ezra Ryder.
He nodded, opened the door and stepped outside.
She listened to his uneven footfalls cross the porch and thump down the steps then shook her head and carried the dishes to the sink cupboard. Mr. Ryder was a handsome man with impeccable manners and a very charming smile. He was, also, a man with a secret. She had no idea what he was hiding or why, but she was certain he had not been completely honest. How she hated deceit! The social circle in Buffalo was rife with it.
She turned to the worktable, unloaded the basket and began the pudding she had planned for the hotel guests’ dessert tomorrow. She should never have mentioned the deteriorating condition of the stables. The sooner Mr. Ryder left the better.
* * *
Ezra scowled at the pain that shot down his leg. The boots of the men who had ambushed and robbed him last night had left their imprint in the bruise on his shoulder and on his right leg. The protest in his thigh when it took his weight coming down the porch steps confirmed that.
He paused and rubbed the ache to loosen the stiffened muscle, then flexed his sore fingers and smiled grimly at the memory of his fist connecting with one of his attacker’s jaws before something solid slammed against the back of his head and darkness took him.
One good thing. He’d already followed Johnny’s suggestion and purchased and changed into the rough clothes he’d wear for his visit here in Pinewood before he’d taken the stage from Buffalo. His city clothes and shoes would never have held up to the long walk he’d been forced to make from Dunkirk in the inclement weather. Thank goodness for the kindness of the teamster who had offered him a ride on his supply wagon or he’d still be slogging his way down the muddy, rutted road to Pinewood.
He scrubbed at the back of his neck to try and ease the dull throb in his head and started down the path to the barn. He would not forget Will Gladeon’s good deed. When he’d found a way to contact his bank in New York City, the teamster would be amply rewarded. As would Mrs. Sheffield and Callie Conner.
He frowned and kicked a stone out of his way. He would have to be cautious around Callie Conner. The young woman was stunningly beautiful, but she was also prickly and wary. He hadn’t been able to see her face with her standing behind him, but he’d felt her stiffen a few times while he was telling his tale. And the way she had looked at him when she handed him the blankets...
His frown deepened to a scowl. There was no doubt Miss Conner was suspicious of him. Evidently it would take more than Johnny’s suggested change of clothes to convince people he was a logger. He’d have to be careful. He had to stay in this village until he’d figured out a plan to get home to New York City, and the last thing he wanted was for people to discover he was a wealthy man.
The thought of the people of Pinewood learning the truth about his financial state soured his stomach. Still, there was no reason for that to happen. His trip here to Pinewood for a respite from the constant stream of people back home who pretended to favor him because of his money and position could still work. All he need do was allay the wary Miss Conner’s distrust.
What a shame your cousin didn’t know to expect you...
The thought he’d been holding at bay ever since Callie Conner had spoken those words crashed into his mind. Johnny had known. And that answered a lot of questions. Like how the thieves had chosen him to rob when he was dressed like a logger and others on the stage looked far more prosperous. Or why Johnny would quit his job and head west when he had expected his visit. Johnny and his cohort. Two men. Two thieves?
He sucked air into his tightened chest and limped forward. Johnny had told him to bring enough funds to carry him through his visit and pay for his return trip home as there was no bank in Pinewood. He had brought more than enough money to pay for two trips west. And Johnny had known the stage would make an overnight stop in Dunkirk.
He clenched his hands and set his jaw. Everyone wanted his money. Even family. And evidently some were willing to kill him to get it. His only protection was his anonymity. He couldn’t trust anyone.
Chapter Two
“I’ve finished the bread dough for tomorrow’s baking, Aunt Sophia. I’m going over and visit with Willa and Matthew for a little while.” Callie smiled and swirled her burnoose around her shoulders.
“That’s a lovely idea, dear.” Sophia rested her hand on her account book and lifted her head. “You’re working too hard.”
“I’m enjoying every minute of it. I never get to cook or bake at home.” She caught her breath, then gave a little laugh to cover her verbal slip. “You know how it is in the social whirl. There are always visits to make and parties to attend. Why, I don’t even own an apron!” She gave another little laugh, lifted her hand in farewell and headed toward the front entrance.
“Remember me to Willa and Matthew, dear.”
“I shall.” She let herself out onto the large porch and hurried through the pool of light created by the lamps on either side of the door to the steps.
A gust of wind flipped the sides of her burnoose backward and fluttered the curls at her crown. She pulled the attached hood forward and yanked the edges of the short cape back in place against the chill of the damp air. Cold, wet drops splatted against the back of her hands as she lifted her hems and picked her way across the muddy ruts of Main Street. She angled a look from beneath her hood toward the night sky. “Please, almighty God, not another storm. The floodwater is almost to the barn.”
The wind whipped her words away. Raindrops pelted her face. She ducked her head and ran up the walk to the parsonage, trotted up the steps to the shelter of the front porch and rapped on the door. Yellow light glowed in the window beside her, disappeared as someone crossed in front of the lamp inside. The door opened. She smiled at the silhouette against the light.
“Callie! What a lovely surprise. Matthew has gone to pay a sick call, and I was wishing for some company. Come in,” Willa said, then stepped back, a welcoming smile curving her lips and brightening her blue-green eyes.
“Thank you, Mrs. Calvert.” She laughed, scrubbed the soles of her shoes on the braided rug in front of the door and stepped into the warmth of the small entrance hall. “It still seems so strange to think of you as a married woman, Willa. And a mother.” She hung her burnoose on a peg by the door and pushed the curls back off her forehead.
“I know. It’s hard for me to believe at times it happened so quickly. But when Matthew grinned at me...” Willa laughed and led her to the chairs by the fireplace in the sitting room. “Well, let’s just say my resolve to never marry—”
“—disappeared like the mist over the river when the sun comes up.” She finished Willa’s sentence as they’d done for each other since they were old enough to talk, and both of them dissolved into giggles.
“Exactly.” Willa gave her a quick hug. “It’s so good to have you back in Pinewood, Callie.”
“It’s good to be back. It’s...comforting.” She stretched her chilled hands out to the warmth of the fire. “I thank God every day that Rose went to live with her daughter the day after I arrived. It made everything work out perfectly. Aunt Sophia has never questioned my stepping in to temporarily fill her need for a cook at the hotel.”
“You mean you haven’t yet told Sophia the reason for your unexpected visit? You’ve been back for over a week.”
Guilt tweaked her conscience. She gave a reluctant nod. “That’s why I came over tonight. I need your advice, Willa. Aunt Sophia mentioned today that she will have to start seeking a cook to replace Rose, and that will take away my excuse for prolonging my stay and—”
“—Sophia will start wondering why you don’t go home.”
“Exactly.” She turned and sank into the chair opposite Willa. “If I stay overlong she will become suspicious.” A wry smile curved her lips. “And you know Aunt Sophia when she is after information.”
“I do indeed.” Willa’s eyes crinkled. “Remember when we came home with our skirt hems all wet and she suspected we’d gone floating downriver on Daniel’s homemade raft?”
“And we denied it.”
The coconspirators in childhood crimes burst into laughter.
“It’s funny now—” Willa wiped tears from her eyes and shook her head “—but, when Sophia plunked us down on that porch settle and—”
“—we sat there with our skirts dripping water and shaking our heads no, too scared to even talk.”
“Scared? I was terrified! Sophia was relentless—until we confessed and promised to never do it again.”
“I know. I’ve never been able to withstand Aunt Sophia’s questioning. Not to this day.” Her laughter faded. She looked down and smoothed a fold from her long skirt. “And that makes things...difficult.”
“Not if you tell her the truth, Callie.”
Her stomach tensed. She shook her head. “It’s not that easy, Willa. I want so much to stay here and live with Aunt Sophia, but I can’t tell her I ran from home to escape Mother’s and Father’s plans to marry me off to a wealthy man. Mother is her sister. And their relationship is already strained since we moved from Pinewood.”
Willa’s smooth brow furrowed. “I thought Sophia knew that your parents’ reason for moving to Buffalo was so you could make an...advantageous marriage.”
“Yes.” She nodded and let out a long sigh. “That’s why their relationship suffered. Aunt Sophia knew how I felt about Mother’s and Father’s plan. How can I tell her that they will not listen to my pleas, but continue to parade me on the social circuit like some bauble for purchase! She would be so upset with Mother. Oh, why couldn’t God have made me average or even plain?”
“Are you questioning God’s wisdom, Callie?”
“No. I know His wisdom is perfect. It’s my submission that is faulty.” She surged to her feet, strode across the room and stared at the rain making tiny rivers down the small window panes. “It would be so much easier if I were plain. Father never would have moved us from Pinewood, Mother and Aunt Sophia would not be estranged and I could have a normal life.”
She drew in a breath and spun back around. “Those rich men in Buffalo don’t care about me, about who I am, Willa. They only want me because I will look pretty on their arm at their social gatherings. I’m no more to them than...than their expensive watch fobs, or their perfectly matched horses that pull their fancy carriages. I’m only another way for one of them to gain ascendancy over the others. They don’t love me—they want to own me. And they’re bidding against one another for my hand—to Mother and Father’s glee.”
The tension in her stomach turned into painful spasms. She pressed her hand against her abdomen and raised her chin. “Those men are greedy, arrogant, shallow and pompous. And they are duplicitous liars, the lot of them. You know it’s true, Willa. You met a few of them when your heart was broken, and you came to visit. Well, I’ll not have any of them! I want a husband who loves me, not one who wants to own my beauty.”
The starch left her spine. She moved back to the chair, sat and took a slow, deep breath to ease the discomfort in her stomach. “I cannot bear the thought of being wed to one of those men, Willa. But how do I stand against Mother’s and Father’s wishes? All of their aspirations for increased wealth and prestige rest on me. I have no wish to disobey or disappoint them, but I despise the shallowness of the life I will lead if I marry any of the men who are bidding for my hand—especially Mr. Strand. And I’m afraid he is the one who will win Father’s blessing. What am I to do?”
Willa rose and came to her. She yielded to the warm comfort of her friend’s arms about her, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes.
“I think you must tell Sophia the truth, Callie. Tell her that there are men vying for your hand, and that you came to stay with her to gain time to decide what you will do. And then trust the Lord. He will provide your answer.”
* * *
Ezra folded the end of the ticking to hold in the clean hay, flopped the stuffed mattress down on the taut roping of the narrow cot and spread one of the blankets over it. He unfolded the other two to use for covers and looked around his sleeping quarters.
The small room boasted wood plank walls with one small, dirty window instead of the painted plaster and large, draped mullioned windows in his bedroom at home. And the furnishings! A cot with a straw tick and wool blankets instead of a four-poster bed with a feather mattress and linens. A dusty old grain chest instead of a polished, mahogany highboy. Harness and halters and bridles hanging from pegs on the wall instead of paintings and a bookshelf. And a bare puncheon floor instead of waxed wood and an Oriental carpet. And no fireplace. No source of heat at all.
He shook his head, sat on the wood edge of the cot and removed his boots. He was too sore from his beating last night and too weary from the work he’d done this evening to be concerned about the lack of luxury. And the cot was a vast improvement over the pile of hay he’d found himself in when he’d come to after his assault by those thieves—no, by Johnny Taylor and his friend. He’d been thinking about it all evening, and he had no doubt it was Johnny. It was the only thing that made sense.
The shock of his cousin’s betrayal struck him again. To rob him was one thing, but to knock him unconscious and leave him half buried in a haystack to die...
He scowled and rubbed the back of his neck. Had Johnny told anyone else of his wealth? Was he in danger? It didn’t seem likely, since Johnny had wanted his money himself. Still, he’d have to figure a way to get in touch with Tom Mooreland and have his business manager send funds to pay for his return trip to New York City. Perhaps Mrs. Sheffield would advance him postage money and add the expense to his room and board. He’d found the post office inside the mercantile when he’d gone to ask the proprietor where to find Johnny.
The incongruity of his position brought a grim smile to his lips. He owned a bank and an insurance company along with various other enterprises, was one of the wealthiest and most highly respected businessmen in New York City, and he hadn’t money enough to post a letter. Ridiculous!
He stretched his muscles, grimaced at the pain in his shoulder and thigh, and took a deep sniff of the air. The smell of the hay and grain and leather and horses reminded him of his parents’ farm in Poughkeepsie. It had taken a lot of hard work to keep the place going, but he’d always found time to spend with the horses. He’d missed them when he’d started working for Mr. Pierson at the brokerage. Perhaps he could talk Mrs. Sheffield into keeping him on until his money arrived. At least he’d have food to eat and a place to sleep. One of his strengths as a businessman was his ability to make fair, but advantageous deals. It was worth a try.
He snuffed the stable lantern, stripped down to his long underwear, tossed his clothes on the chest, slipped beneath the covers and stretched out on his right side. The hay crackled and yielded beneath his weight. He folded his arm beneath his head for a pillow, careful not to wipe the salve from his wound.
Callie Conner. He’d never seen a woman possessed of such beauty. Her skin was flawless, her features delicate and refined. And those incredible violet-colored eyes! But it wasn’t only her face. Her voice was soft and melodious, her movements lithe and graceful. Best of all, there was no coquetry, no coyness, about her. Far from it. The woman seemed completely unaffected by her beauty. He couldn’t say the same for himself. She’d drawn his gaze the way flowers draw bees. He’d had to remind himself not to stare.
He frowned and adjusted his position to ease the ache in his thigh, listened to the drumming of the rain against the wood shingles on the roof. Why was someone as beautiful as Callie Conner content to be a cook in her aunt’s hotel? It certainly wasn’t because she lacked spirit. Those beautiful, violet eyes had thrown sparks when he’d tried to refuse her care of his wound. That baffled him. He’d only been trying to protect her sensibilities. Why should that make her angry?
He broke a stem of hay that was poking him in the ribs and closed his eyes. Why was Callie not out front greeting guests in her aunt’s hotel? One look and men would vie for the chance to court her. Wealthy men. He should know. She had certainly drawn his interest. And not only because of her beauty, but because she was different than the young society women he knew—all of whom were eager to marry his money. Or was she different? Was the beautiful Miss Conner as unaffected as she seemed, or was it simply that she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to marry a wealthy man?
He opened his eyes and stared at the shadowed darkness. He’d made this visit to Pinewood to free himself from those sort of doubts, to spend a few weeks among people who did not know him so he would not have to weigh every word and action to determine if someone liked him, or was merely trying to curry his favor in order to secure a loan from his bank or gain a position of note in one of his companies. Why should he let the robbery and Johnny’s treachery ruin the plan?
He tugged the blanket closer around his neck to stop the cold air sneaking beneath it from chilling his back and closed his eyes. It would be pleasant to get to know the prickly Miss Callie Conner better. Much more pleasant than dodging the sycophants back home. If he could talk Mrs. Sheffield into keeping him on as a stable hand to pay for his room and board, he’d hold off on writing that letter to Tom.
Chapter Three
Her eyes burned from her sleepless night. Callie tied her apron on, stepped to the fireplace and lifted the large bowl of risen bread dough off the warm hearth. She squeezed her eyes shut to bring moisture into them, dumped the dough out onto the floured worktable and gave it a punch to deflate it. Hopefully, Sophia wouldn’t notice the faint circles under her eyes.
She separated the dough, shaped and slapped it into the pans she had waiting and covered them with a towel. Sophia would welcome her into her home permanently if she asked, but, in spite of Willa’s reassurances last night, it was not that simple. The words she’d overheard her father speak to her mother three years ago haunted her.
“My dear Mrs. Conner, we have produced an exceptionally beautiful daughter, and the young men in Pinewood are noticing. I believe it is time we moved to Buffalo and introduced Callie to the social circuit. One of those wealthy men will pay handsomely for her hand and our financial future will be secure.”
She sighed, shook down the ashes in the stove and added kindling and wood to the embers to heat the oven. Were her parents in financial stress? It didn’t seem so, but how could she know? She had learned from overhearing bits and pieces of conversations between the wealthy businessmen who traveled in the social circuit that things were not always as they appeared. And then there was the rift between her mother and Sophia to consider. She did not want to cause greater estrangement between the sisters.
