The Shepherd's Betrothal (6 page)

“Sit.” Hope's hands shook. She sat down where she'd been reading moments before.

Ian sat down and leaned forward.

“Miss Lang, I had words with yer brother today and I must confess I have held a secret that ye should be aware of.”

She studied his face as Ian paused, looking at her with those sapphire eyes. She forced herself to focus. “If you must tell me, please continue.”

“I must because I am as guilty as ye in wanting to break our betrothal. I came to America not to marry ye, but to break the bond and pay me father's debt. Yer sending the letter was an answer to me prayers. And yet I felt hurt and rejected. I am a very foolish man. I turned me anger to ye rather than accept me own guilt and shame for breaking me father's agreement. I know I am not the kind of a man ye would want to marry but I am wondering if we could be friends.”

Hope swallowed and felt relieved. Tears welled in her eyes. What could she say? “It seems to me both of us reacted poorly to our parents' arrangement.”

Ian sat back in the chair. “Aye.”

“Why did you decide to come to America, to buy property?”

Ian smiled. “I had the funds and more to start a new life once I didn't have to pay me father's debt. I liked what I'd heard about the area, and there seemed to be a market for sheep, according to Mr. Leonardy, the butcher.” Hope chuckled.

“I know who Mr. Leonardy is.”

“Aye, that ye must.” Ian's smile faded. “I don't know why I was so hard on ye. You're a remarkable woman.”

Hope's stomach fluttered at his words. His brilliant blue eyes sparkled even in the dull lamplight as he smiled at her. “I like your smile,” she blurted out.

Now he was grinning. “Aye, me mum thought she should have named me Fane, because it means happy.”

“What does Ian mean?”

“It's like the name John, meaning God is gracious. I took a bit of ribbing over the years because it is mainly a Scottish name now. But me mum liked the sound of it, so I was named Ian Patrick McGrae.”

“Patrick is a good, strong name.” Hope relaxed. It was good to enjoy each other's company this way. It felt comfortable and friendly.

“Aye, it was me grandfather's name. Being the third son, all me father's names had been taken.” Ian chuckled. “Fortunately, I wasn't the last son, like me brother Padraig Erinin McGrae, who also bears some of our grandfather's names.”

“Padraig? What's that mean?”

“Nobly born. A fine name if ye are meant to be a saint, which Pad is not.”

Hope laughed.

“'Tis good to see ye laugh, Miss Lang. But I must be gettin' on. Conall and Tara will be wonderin' what I'm about.”

“Thank you for coming, Mr. McGrae.”

Ian stood up and stepped toward the doorway, then turned back toward her. “If it be no imposition, or improper, would ye dine with me, Miss Lang?”

Hope's pulse quickened. “I don't know how long Grace will be needing me.”

He nodded.

He looked so disappointed that Hope jumped up and came to his side. She reached out, grabbed his arm and whispered, “Ian.”

His eyes implored hers.

“I do forgive you. I need time, and Grace does need me.”

Ian smiled. “Ye are right, it isn't the right time. Ye are a good woman, Miss Lang. I wish I hadn't been such a fool. Good night.”

“And I, too,” she whispered after he exited through the front door.

I
an spent the next month clearing the land, repairing the barn and fences and making everything ready for his sheep to come from Ireland. They would be a part of his breeding stock. In the meantime, he'd sought out local stock, traveling hundreds of miles via steamboat along the St. Johns River. At the end of the month he had fifty head of sheep that seemed to be enjoying their new home. Conall and Tara were doing their job and doing it well. Tara was slowing down a bit with her pups about to be born, so Ian relied on Conall to do most of the work.

“Come, Tara.” She waddled up beside him. “Good girl.” He patted her head and gave her a drink. She lapped it up quickly. “Rest, Mum. Your time is soon.”

Ian couldn't wait to see how the young pups would look. His mind traveled back to Grace Arman. She was still with child and encouraged to do nothing around the inn.

Hope continued to work at the inn but was no longer living there. He'd seen her on more than one occasion when he'd been invited to the Langs' for dinner by Gabe. Oddly, he felt at home with Hope and her family.

She continued to impress him. He'd learned that she was an asset to her father's investment business. She helped analyze the income and expenses. She put numbers together quickly in her mind. He often wondered why her father hadn't hired her to work at his office but understood she was now being paid a consulting fee for bringing in clients. It was rare even in America to see a woman in business, and truthfully, she worked behind the scenes. But those who knew the family well knew Hope played an important role.

He got up from the porch and went inside. As for financial reports, he had some of his own book-work to do. He sat down at the table with his ledger in front of him. Even with the outright purchase of the land, Ian still had reserves.

A knock at his door drew his attention. “Come in, door's unlocked.”

“Forgive me, Mr. McGrae, but I should not,” came the muffled sound of Hope's voice through the closed door.

Ian jumped up and answered it. “Hope—Miss Lang! What a pleasure to see ye.”

She bowed her head slightly, her soft red hair cascading down her shoulders. “Forgive my boldness, Mr. McGrae, but…” She paused.

Ian looked at her closely, and could see that something was wrong. “No imposition at all. How may I help ye?”

“I learned some information today that might affect you and your property. I don't know how to say this, but there is a claim against this land. Someone is claiming Mr. Sanders was not the owner and did not have the right to sell it to you.”

“A lawyer drew up our agreement. How could the land not have been his?”

“That's why it surprised me, as well. I was looking at the town records investigating something for my father when I stumbled upon the claim. It might have some validity.”

Ian stepped onto the porch, brushing past her. He leaned against a post and gazed upon the rolling green pasture. After all the work, and the sheep he'd purchased, what was he going to do? “What do Mr. and Mrs. Sanders say about this?”

“I didn't speak with them. I came to you. I thought you should know.”

“I appreciate ye letting me know this.”

“I think you should speak with Mr. Sanders, ask if he has his original purchase agreements for the land, especially the surveyor reports. Then you and Mr. Sanders need to secure a lawyer to represent you and take the matter to court, if need be. My guess is that someone is lobbying a false claim but I can't be certain.

“At a cursory glance, the claim seems legitimate. However, I have concerns. For one thing, the claim that Mr. Sanders didn't have the right to sell the property to you seems odd since he and his wife have been living on this land for forty years.”

Ian took in a deep pull of air. “Then we need to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Sanders straightaway. Will ye come with me so ye can share what ye have found?”

Hope nodded. She pulled back her hair into a soft bun.

“Ah, ye had yer hair down for me,” Ian teased, surprising himself almost as much as he surprised her.

Pink infused her cheeks as she stammered, “No, I just didn't take the time to put it back up.”

“The pink on yer cheeks goes well with the fire in yer hair.” The poor woman could barely speak. Ian sobered. Maybe he had been inappropriate. This wasn't the time to tease her. “My apologies, Miss Lang. Let's go see if the Sanderses are home.”

Ian petted Tara and told her to stay. He whistled at Conall and the dog came running. “Watch the sheep, boy. I'll be back.” They headed up the pathway that led to the Sanders home. “Tell me, Hope, if ye had yer druthers, what would ye like to do in the future?”

“Honestly, I'd like to fashion clothes.”

Ian stopped. “Really?”

“Yes. There are many things impractical about women's clothing, like bustles for example. Whoever designed them… well, I don't know what he was thinking. The fact that it became the fashion rage for so many years boggles my mind. I think a slim, trim skirt with just enough room to walk or run is more than a woman needs.”

“Isn't that what most women wear around the house?”

“Yes, but I'm thinking in the business world. A woman should be free to move as easily as a man and yet still be feminine.”

Ian couldn't argue with the part about ‘being feminine,' and he didn't know this country well enough to know what the business world was like. “Ye might have a point there.”

“Most people don't believe women will be working more outside the home. But I see changes happening since the war. The women who were left behind had to tend to their family needs, pay their bills when their husband's income was gone or never arrived to them from the field. It's brought about a confidence in women. Look at Grace and what she does at the inn.”

“Yes, I can see yer point. But don't ye think a woman needs to be home to raise the children?”

“Of course. But for those seasons when there are no children I believe we can do so much more.”

Ian found her ambition attractive. In fact, everything about her was attractive.

* * *

Hope pored over the paperwork that Mr. and Mrs. Sanders provided. They were stunned that someone would try to make a claim on their land. She scribbled down notes of plot numbers, dates of purchase, the original owner's name, moving through each document until she came to the bill of sale between the Sanderses and Ian. “Ah, I think I have found the problem,” she said as she scanned the details.

William jumped up. “What is it?”

“Look here. In the original draft from the lawyer, the number is 607.86 for the plot of land. In the final draft the number is 608.76.”

“All of this because of a typographical error?” Mable asked.

“Hopefully it is that simple. Here are my notes. Take these to your attorney and he should be able to fix the matter without much fuss. However,” Hope cautioned, “it is still troubling that someone would use this to make such a claim against you.”

Ian stood up and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Thank ye, Miss Lang. We would have missed that! In fact, we missed it back when we signed the paperwork.”

“You're welcome. If there is anything I can do just let me know. I have a pretty good eye for details and I'm fairly good at researching documents.”

Mable smiled. “I'd say you're more than competent, dear. Thank you again for all your help.”

Hope nodded. “I better get going before the sun sets.”

“Ian, you should escort this young lady home,” William prodded. “It isn't right to have such a pretty young woman walking by herself.”

Hope chuckled. “Thank you for the suggestion, Mr. Sanders, but I drove the carriage.”

“Oh. Well, in that case you should be getting home before dark.”

“Yes, sir. Good night, all.”

“Good night.”

Ian hustled over to the door before she reached it. “I'll walk ye to yer carriage.”

“Thank you, Mr. McGrae.”

Outside, a pink-and-purple ribbon was forming on the horizon as the sun settled in the west. Just then, a sharp howl rent the air and Ian bolted toward his house.

Hope ran after him. Something must have been happening with the dogs or the sheep. She lifted her skirt and pumped her legs harder, trying to keep up. Her heels sinking into the soil, she dug up the ground like a plow turning over the dirt for the first planting.

Tara lay moaning on the porch as Ian petted her head and her belly. The dog was panting hard and about to give birth. Suddenly and without explanation, Ian left Tara's side as Conall growled out in the field. He ran toward Conall, calling out to Hope to please stay with Tara.

She rubbed behind the ears of the beautiful dog, sliding her hand to her tummy. “Oh my, you have quite a litter in there.” She could feel at least four if not six distinct puppies.

She heard Ian yell off in the distance, then whistle.

Tara whimpered. “I'm here, Tara. I'll help you through this.”

Ian came back drenched in sweat, his face drawn, carrying Conall. Hope saw the blood on Ian's shirt. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“A bobcat was trying to get one of the sheep. Conall fought him off. How's Tara?”

“About to give birth.”

Ian groaned. “Hope, I hate to ask this of ye again but would ye stay with the dogs? I want to round up the sheep.”

“I'm fine. I'll clean up Conall.”

“Ye can find some rags on the floor of me closet.”

“I'll be fine. Go, take care of your sheep.”

“Thank ye.” Ian laid Conall on the porch. “Stay,” he ordered. He grabbed his shepherd's crook and ran off.

“Let me see what that bad bobcat did to you, boy.” Conall looked up with one blue eye and one brown eye. “Shh, boy, I know how to clean a wound. Let me get the rags.”

Just then the Sanderses came over, William carrying a shotgun. “What was all that commotion?”

“Oh dear, what happened?” Mable asked, looking down at Conall.

“Ian thinks he tangled with a bobcat.”

“I'll gather thread and some needles,” Mable said as she headed toward the house.

“Miss Lang, should I send word to your family?” William asked.

Hope let out a nervous chuckle. “No, it won't matter. They'll understand once I explain everything.”
I hope.
“Tara is about to deliver her puppies and I'm about to get some rags to clean up Conall's wounds.”