The Shepherd's Betrothal (16 page)

Drake stood and walked up to Ian. “For the next couple of weeks would ye only meet me daughter in a public setting or here at the house? After that, we shall talk once again. At that point we shall decide how to proceed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Drake turned and faced his daughter. “Hope?”

She nodded.

“Sally, let us leave these two to discuss in private.” Drake took his wife's hand and led her out of the parlor.

Ian turned and faced Hope. She was angry, or maybe not angry as much as frustrated. “I'm sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don't you go calling me sweetheart after all of this.”

“Hope.” He engulfed her in his embrace. “Please, I understand the humiliation of all this but yer parents are right, it isn't good for yer honor to be alone with me all the time. I will be the first to admit I like having ye at me side. But there is something you're not telling me. Until ye can…”

She turned in his arms and faced him. “I'm sorry, Ian.”

“Oil and water, me dear.” He winked.

She snuggled her face into his chest. He held her with compassion.

“Then we are agreed, we shall do as yer parents have asked and only meet in public for a couple of weeks.” He kissed her forehead.

She took in a deep pull of air and released it slowly.

“All right. Do you still want to meet me at the registrar's office tomorrow?”

“Yes, it is public.” He smiled.

Hope chuckled. “You cannot spend too much time away from the ranch.”

“No, but I can ask Mr. and Mrs. Sanders to be our official chaperones if ye come to the ranch.”

“Father would agree to them.” Hope stepped away. “Why does this have to be so hard?”

“Our decision to break our betrothal was a good thing, Hope. I do not know if we shall marry one day but I do know that if we do, it will be a better marriage.”

Hope turned and smiled. “Yes, I think it would be.”

“Come, sit with me and tell me more about this storefront and if ye are planning on hiring anyone to work with ye.” Perhaps he should consider doing the same. It would give him time to visit with Hope if someone was working at the ranch.

“I would love to hire some women…”

“What about men?” he teased.

Hope laughed. “No man would listen to me. But if there was one who would, I'd hire him.”

“And I might have to hire a chaperone.” Ian laughed.

“The shop is a public place.” She winked.

Ian fixed his eyes on her. “Then I shall visit there from time to time.”

“I was thinking earlier today that soon we won't be spending too much time together, once I open my shop.”

“I know, but we'll make the most out of the time we have.”

Ian returned to his ranch with the desire to hire someone. But if he hired a ranch hand he'd have to increase his profits. On the other hand, he wanted the freedom to join Hope for dinner, to visit her at her shop, to pursue a life that was more than shepherding. How could he have gotten it so wrong? A shepherd's life was simple and yet, he was discovering, not all that simple. His father had both hired hands and his sons to work the ranch.

That settles it,
he decided.
Tomorrow I'll start spreading the word.

Conall pranced anxiously back and forth, alert to danger and watching over the herd. Ian pushed open the door to his house.

Papers lay scattered on the floor. Tara cowered under the bed with her puppies. He counted…there were still six. Someone had ransacked his home looking for something…but what?

H
ope couldn't believe what had happened last night. She and Ian were now officially courting. Well, not officially, but they were in a relationship.

Hope glanced at the clock on the mantel. She was due to meet Ian at the registrar's office in fifteen minutes. “Mum, I'll be back. I have to run to the registrar's office.”

“Ye be careful. I don't mind telling ye that yer father and I are worried about this snooping ye and Ian will be doing.”

“Nothing will happen, Mother.” Hope had to admit she was a bit concerned about the process, as well. Someone working in the office was altering documents to make changes to persuade the courts to rule in their favor. Father had gone to Sheriff Bower earlier in the morning with regard to the name S. H. Wilson.

Hope walked to the town hall and was surprised to see the sheriff speaking with Ian.

“Miss Lang.” He took a step forward. “Your father told me you were going to investigate. I have come to say, I won't stop you but I want you to report to me any of your findings. It is a good thing that you frequent this office to do research for your father's investments. You are a known person. However, Mr. McGrae is not. My concern is for your safety.”

“Mr. McGrae will be with me. I should be safe and not a cause for anyone's concern.”

The sheriff touched the brim of his hat. “Be careful, Miss Lang.”

“I will, Sheriff.”

He nodded to Ian and went on back to his office. “I should have asked him if he's heard of S. H. Wilson.”

Ian reached over and held her elbow. “After we search the records. I'm curious if this kind of a situation has gone on before.”

“Perhaps. But I really want to know who S. H. Wilson is.” Hope followed Ian's lead. There had to be something at the town clerk's office she could find to prove the Sanderses' rightful ownership. Hope prayed she could find the missing piece to solve this problem.

“What's going on behind those pretty eyes of yers?” Hope blinked back to the present. “Nothing. We should look to see if Wilson's name is on any other documents.” They entered the registrar's office. “Good morning, Miss Lang, how can I help you today?” asked Harold Swain, the town clerk. Harold had been working for the city for as long as Hope could remember. She couldn't imagine him being involved in this.

“I need to look at the records from 1830 through 1835.”

“That's going back a ways. Let me fetch them for you.” Harold left toward the records room.

Ian leaned in closer. “Why five years?”

“To ward off suspicion. I've often looked through several years with regard to the same property when researching for my father.”

Ian nodded. Harold walked back in. “Would you like to sit at a desk, Miss Lang?”

“Thank you, that would be nice. May I have an extra chair for Mr. McGrae?”

“Certainly. McGrae, ain't you the fella from Ireland with those dogs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. McGrae.” Harold extended his hand. “You bought William Sanders's place, right?”

“Some of it, yes, sir.”

“The Sanderses are good folk. Well, don't let me go rattling on. You young folk have work to do.” Harold escorted Hope to an unused desk. Ian grabbed a chair from another desk and set it beside hers.

She opened to November 3, 1831, the date William purchased his ranch, according to his records. She traced her finger down the lines searching for the right date. Sure enough, the purchase was there in black and white. Hand-scrawled like every other entry before and after the Sanderses' purchase. “It's here, Ian,” she whispered.

Ian leaned in and looked over her shoulder. “Aye, thank the Good Lord it be there.”

Billy Newman, assistant town clerk, came into the office and stopped short. “Miss Lang, what can I do for you?”

“Mr. Swain got the records I needed. Thank you, Mr. Newman.” Billy's complexion blanched. “Forgive my manners, Mr. Newman. This is Ian McGrae.”

Billy's hand shook as he reached it out toward Ian's. “How do you do?”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Newman.”

“Call me Billy, everyone else does.” Billy glanced over at the wall clock.

Suddenly Hope could feel in the pit of her stomach that Billy Newman knew something about Ian's property and the claim being made on it.

“Forgive me, I left some paperwork in my wagon.” Billy scurried out of the office.

“What was that all about?” Ian asked. “Is he always like that?”

“No, I think he knows something.” Hope closed the book she'd been going through and brought them all to Mr. Swain's office. She tapped on the glass window on his door. He looked up from the paperwork on his desk and smiled.

He stood up and made his way to the door. “That was quick.”

“Has the sheriff spoken with you about Mr. McGrae's property?”

“No, but I do remember seeing a note from Ben Greeley about a mix-up on the plot numbers. I had Billy take care of that. Easy fix. Why? What's going on?”

“Mr. Swain,” Ian said. “Would ye please come with us to the sheriff's office? There's a private matter we need to discuss.”

Harold raised his right eyebrow. He glanced from Ian to Hope. Hope nodded. “All right, let me get my coat. I'll leave a note for Billy.”

“May I take this 1831 ledger with us, as well?” Hope asked.

“No, but I'll take it.” He winked. “Can't have you being responsible for items under my care.”

Hope smiled. “Of course not.”

Billy hadn't returned by the time Mr. Swain was ready to go, so he locked the door behind him. Within minutes they were sitting in front of the sheriff with Mr. Swain. Hope laid out her suspicions and showed the sheriff that the property was sold to the Sanderses on the exact date as their papers stated.

“And you had no idea Mr. McGrae's property was being disputed?” the sheriff asked Mr. Swain.

“No, sir. I'll be happy to look through all the records in the past year,” Mr. Swain offered.

The sheriff stood up. “All right, Miss Lang, Mr. McGrae, leave the rest of this investigation in my hands. I'll keep you informed once I have it all sorted out.”

“But, Sheriff…” Hope started, but stopped when Ian rested his hands on her shoulders. “Yes, sir.” She amended her response. “Oh, one more thing, Sheriff. A few weeks ago I was in the registrar's office and some men were talking. And someone, it sounded like Billy Newman, said, ‘I'm tellin' ya, H.W., you're askin' for trouble. You can't pull this off. The judge has already asked for proof.' At the time I didn't think it had anything to do with Mr. McGrae's problems but now… Of course, he didn't specifically mention the name S. H. Wilson.”

“Thank you, Miss Lang. I'll keep that in mind. You and Mr. McGrae should go now.”

Hope fought off every desire to run back to the clerk's office and demand that Billy tell what he knew. Then again, it wasn't her place. Sheriff Bower was more than capable. Ian extended his elbow. Hope placed her hand in the crook and peace washed over her. It felt right.

* * *

“Thank ye, Sheriff. If Billy is involved I believe we may have come to the end of this mystery.”

“I hope you're right, Mr. McGrae. However, I suspect you are not the only person to have been targeted. I intend to apprehend those involved and charge them to the full extent of the law.”

“Thank ye, Sheriff. Mr. Swain, I appreciate yer help.” Ian placed his hand on Hope's and led her out of the sheriff's office. “The sheriff is right, this is his matter now. But I do want to thank ye for all yer help, Hope. I don't know if we'd ever have figured out what was going on.”

“But we still don't know what is going on.”

“We know enough for now. We can assume that Billy Newman is in business with this S. H. Wilson fella.”

“But why? Why you? What did they hope to gain from all of this?”

“Money, property, who knows? Does it really matter?”

“Yes.” She was delightful when flustered.

Ian smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing. You're adorable.”

Hope groaned. “Don't start with that, not now, not after the lecture last night.”

“What lecture? I thought yer parents were very understanding. Back in Ireland I might find meself at the other end of a shotgun standing before the minister and a bride.”

Hope giggled. “Father would never do that.”

“Don't test him, darlin'. He's Irish. And we Irish tend to be…”

“As if I didn't know about ye Irish?”

Ian smiled. “No, sweetheart, ye know all too well about the Irish.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Now, why don't ye show me that storefront where ye are going to be moving into tomorrow.”

Hope led him through the streets to a building not far from the main business area. She pointed through the windows. “What do you think?”

“I think ye have a lot of cleanup to do.”

“The previous tenant hadn't paid their rent for a couple of months so they didn't leave under the best of circumstances. Tomorrow I move in and can start to clean and set up the place.”

“If I can lend ye a hand, I will.”

“Thank you.”

“Let's go to Pedro's. I want to share with ye something I was thinking about last night.” Ian held out his arm. Hope slid her hand in the crook of his elbow.

Hope kept pace as he led her toward the old city gates, toward Pedro's, the small Cuban restaurant. They were seated by Maria, Pedro's wife. “What may I get you, Miss Lang? Mr. McGrae?”

“The house special for me,” Ian said.

“I'll have the same.” Hope smiled. “And a tall glass of iced tea.”

“Tea I have, but the ice delivery has not come yet.” Maria apologized.

“Water with lime will be fine.” Maria nodded and left their table.

Ian reached across the table and opened his hand. Hope placed her delicate hand within his. “Hope, I'm going to hire at least one, possibly two people to help me at the ranch.”

“Can you afford that?”

He rubbed her silky fingers with his thumb. “It will be hard to do it this year, but I can't ignore me ranch, and I want to see ye.”

Maria came up to the table with their beverages. “Miss Lang, I hear you are going to start a dress shop with clothing for the workingwoman in mind.”