Peter heard the titters first. Without seeming to, he glanced from beneath his hat brim to discover two young girls lingering in the shadows next to the pharmacy. They were looking at him. There had been a time when he wouldn't have believed they laughed at him, but that had been knocked out of him recently. Stoically he walked on.
He wished he could stop in the pharmacy and buy her a box of candy or something. It was the least he could do for the woman who had saved his life. She hadn't come to visit him once throughout the wait for the trial. She hadn't been in the courtroom. He could understand that. The neatly laundered clothes had told him all he needed to know. She didn't harbor any ill feelings toward him, but she couldn't afford to make a spectacle of herself. He still wanted to thank her.
He wandered into the pharmacy wondering if he couldn't arrange to pay the bill later. It was a truly foolish idea, but he needed to at least try. He lingered over the fancy wrapped packages of chocolate bonbons and wondered if the prim little schoolteacher would like such decadence, or if she wouldn't prefer the little sewing kit with the shiny scissors and needles and pincushion.
He didn't know how long he'd stood there, lost in this decision, before he heard the voices whispering in some corner of the room. The acoustics in here were rather odd. He could barely see the women out of the corner of his eye, and he would swear they were too far away for him to hear, but he heard them just the same.
"That's the one, Isabelle. That's the one I told you about. It's easy to see how she fell for him. Isn't he the handsomest thing you ever saw? Of course, you haven't met the schoolteacher yet. She's a mousy little thing, just as prim and haughty as they come. You wouldn't think it of her, but those are the ones who fall the hardest, they say. The school board's voting tonight, but there isn't a chance they'll extend her contract. Mr. Danner means to see to that. And Mr. Holt never was for a woman teacher no how. I heard they've found a man over Obion way willing to move here. It doesn't do for a woman like that to be teaching our young, now does it?"
Peter considered crushing the pretty box of candies in his hand, but he couldn't pay for them and he'd only make a scene. He set them back on the shelf and walked back to the street, his mind churning.
She was prim and haughty, all right, and probably as cold as the devil. She had a way of looking at a man as if he wasn't any more than a cheap piece of glass not worth picking up. She was a calculating bitch who planned to marry for money.
She was the woman who had saved his life.
Pretending to light a cheroot, Peter stopped near the open barbershop door. The men inside didn't even see him. Their voices carried clearly. Their message was the same. The schoolteacher would lose her job tonight. They didn't believe for a minute that the arsonist had just accidentally fallen asleep in one of her beds. They weren't entirely convinced he wasn't an arsonist. The next logical step to these theories was set forth by the surly voice of Bobby Fairweather: the schoolteacher and arsonist were no doubt in cahoots.
Even the men in the barbershop found that hard to swallow, but Cutlerville, Ohio, wasn't so different from Mineral Springs, Texas, and Peter knew how it was in his hometown. Once a nugget of gossip got rolling, it snowballed fast. The schoolteacher would be out of a job and a home and not a soul in town would dare to help her.
She could wire Daniel, maybe. Daniel would send her enough money to go to her sister or brother or someone. Peter crushed his cheroot under his boot and kept walking out of town. He remembered her refusal to accept charity, even for her bull-headed neighbors. She wouldn't like wiring Daniel.
He smiled as he remembered the day he had seen her flying through town on her tricycle, ribbons flying. He'd never seen a woman on a cycle before. And she knew how to type. She wrote a perfect hand, and she was educated enough to teach. A woman like that could have any number of uses. A mining business needed good secretarial help.
He didn't think she would be much interested in going to New Mexico on the basis of a prospective job in a business that didn't exist. But he wanted her there.
His footsteps quickened. He could see the advantages. He was a practical man. She was a practical woman. They would work well together. He didn't think she could be any more cold than the ladies he had considered courting back East. He'd once planned on marrying Georgina, and she'd never even kissed him.
All he had to do was offer the schoolteacher wealth. She wouldn't refuse him. He had found just what he wanted in a woman, just a little sooner than he had anticipated. He had wanted a woman to cook and warm his bed, one who wouldn't cheat on him behind his back. He could almost swear on a stack of Bibles that Miss Janice Harrison would never even look at another man. And she could cook better than any woman he'd ever known. He was a little uncertain as to the warming his bed part, but he rather thought she would do her duty, and that was all he needed, wasn't it? He had never expected more.
Peter's heart beat faster as he approached the little house where the new ruffled gingham curtains blew in the open window. He had never expected to find a wife who could also help him in his business, but he was coming to like the idea. It would be nigh on to impossible to find qualified help in the. wilds of New Mexico. And then, when they had children, she could teach them.
The thought of having children gnawed a little worriedly at his stomach, but he figured if Daniel could handle it, he could. He was thirty years old. It was past time that he start a family, now that he was going to have the wealth to raise one. If he had the wealth to raise one. He couldn't dwell on that right now. He had to persuade one Janice Harrison that he was going to be a rich man indeed.
* * *
Janice shook her head at the big man standing on the braided rug in front of her chair. Jason Harding wasn't used to sitting still, but he made her nervous with his pacing up and down. She wished he would light somewhere and quit towering over her.
"I'm sorry about the school board, Jenny, but you've got to understand their thinking. You swore in a statement to a court that you let a man sleep in your house. A schoolteacher just can't do things like that. It don't look right. Their hands are tied, Jenny."
He wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know The starch that had held her back straight ever since Jason had appeared at her door began to seep out of her. She had hoped he'd come here to rescue her, to swear that he knew she was innocent, that he wanted her to be his wife. She had been prepared to accept him too, ever though she was terrified of what it meant. The idea of sleeping in a bed with a man twenty years older than her self didn't bother her so much as his size. Jason Harding was a large man. He could easily hurt her with his awkward clumsiness. But for Betsy's sake, she would have married him and escaped the horror of homelessness.
But it didn't look as if she would be making the sacrifice. Harding was an old-fashioned man. He thought a woman should be sweet and pure and all that nonsense. She hadn't known how she would tell him about the impure part anyway. He would never understand. Maybe it was better this way.
She hid a grimace as Jason generously offered to find her a job elsewhere. He didn't even mean to offer her a better position at the ranch or a place to stay. If Carmen had been here instead of in Natchez, she would have made the obtuse man see the necessity, but the only thing Jason understood was cattle.
Cold fear crept around Janice's heart as she promised to consider his offer of help. She really and truly had to leave her home. That knowledge hadn't begun to sink in until now.
With her heart in her throat and panic in her eyes, she watched Jason ride away.
* * *
The schoolteacher looked so startled at Peter's presence on her doorstep that he had time to study her, to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing. She hadn't bothered with those silly spectacles, and her hair was escaping from its prim knot as seemed to be its wont. She was much too pale, and her eyes were red-rimmed. That gave him an unwanted jolt. She'd been crying.
Peter didn't bother to continue his inspection. He shoved open the door with one arm and caught her waist with the other, dragging her into the front room with him and slamming the door behind them. She went without protest, still staring at him. He'd heard about people succumbing to shock. He rather thought she suffered it now.
"I've given this a lot of thought, so don't think I'm acting on impulse," he said. "I know your opinion of men. I know you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself."
He pushed her into one of the straight-backed chairs that were the room's essential adornment. "But I hate taking care of myself. I'll never get used to it. I want a wife. I've put it off until I have the wealth to support one, but I've almost got it, Janice. All I need is that loan and I can buy a mountain of gold. I'll be rich. I'll be wealthy beyond all your dreams. Tell me you'll marry me now so we can go to New Mexico together. I don't want to go back alone."
Damn, but he was making an impassioned fool of himself. Peter flung his hat to the nearest chair with disgust. He hadn't intended to reveal so much. He hadn't even known that much about himself until he'd said it. He winced at the way he must sound to this unflustered woman who could sit through a performance like that and keep her hands crossed in her lap. He felt like an idiot, but he didn't know how any man could ask a woman to marry him without sounding like a candidate for an asylum.
Janice dropped her gaze from his face to her lap. "Don't you have to ask the permission of your family or something? I'm not exactly the type of woman they would expect you to marry."
Peter didn't know if it was joy burning along the edges of his veins, but whatever it was, it was heady and frightening at the same time. He crouched at her feet and reached for her hands. "I'm thirty years old, Janice. 1 think I can make my own decisions by now. You're exactly the kind of woman I expect me to marry."
Her lips trembled, and he had to bite back a tremble in his own. In a few minutes he ought to have the right to kiss those lips. That thought nearly undid him. He had difficulty focusing on her reply. She hadn't said no. She seemed to be saying yes. She just seemed to be as confused as he was.
"Betsy is only ten," she murmured, biting her bottom lip and looking away from him. He could feel her stiffen as he squeezed her hands, but he didn't say anything. He waited for her to go on. "I can't leave her behind. She has to go with me."
Betsy. The sister. In Natchez. Not good, but possible.
Peter clasped her hands tighter, realizing they were ungloved. He began to explore them with his fingertips. Her hands weren't soft, but they weren't callused either. She had firm hands, with neat nails. Carefully he phrased his reply. "Your sister is welcome to stay with us. I haven't sold my ranch yet. The two of you could stay there until the mine is producing and I have time to move you up the mountain. It would probably be good for you to have company. But I have to get back there quickly. There may not be time to bring your sister back from Natchez just yet."
She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "She's with Kyle's family and Evie and Tyler. I could wire them, ask them to keep her a little while longer." She frowned. "I just hope the journey out there won't be too difficult for her."
That was when he knew he had her. Peter didn't think he'd ever felt true elation before. He didn't know if he felt it now. He didn't see how it could be. It was too surrounded by doubt. But just for one wild moment, he felt the exultation of freedom.
He threw his arms around her, dragged her up against him as she stood, and kissed her soundly.
She stiffened harder than a maple board. Peter didn't care. She was in his arms. He had won. She was going to be his. He felt triumphant enough to grin down at her. Gray eyes returned his stare with uncertainty.
"It's going to be all right... Janice. May I call you Janice now?" She didn't answer, but Peter took her silence for consent. Wonderingly he touched a strand of golden hair gleaming in the sun from the window. In a few short hours he would have the right to touch her anytime he wanted. She would be his. He felt a sense of satisfaction at that knowledge.
"I know this is sudden, Janice. I hate rushing you like this. But I only have six weeks to get back and claim the option on that land. We could marry today, and I could leave you here to pack, but I can't promise to be back real soon. I'd rather you came with me, but I'll leave the choice to you."
He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. It could be months before he got back here again. The town would have found another teacher. They would want her out of this house. She would have to endure the whispers and stares and the speculative glances. He didn't know how much that meant to her, but he had guessed it meant a lot. He could see the decision in her eyes when she looked up at him.
"How soon will we have to leave?" she whispered hoarsely.
"As soon as I talk to the Hardings. Tomorrow, or the next day." He felt her shiver in his arms, but he didn't try to hold her closer. She was resisting his touch as it was.
She nodded. "I can pack my clothes by then. What will happen to the rest of our things?" She glanced around at the neat front room, the sewing machine that she apparently treasured, the carefully accumulated pillows and crocheted doilies and other accessories that made this house a home.