Victoria frowned. Not early at all. She’d been downstairs before her aunt and cousin and had seen Uncle Walter speaking with a man at the front door. Neither man saw her, but it was obvious that the conversation had been argumentative. In fact, she’d caught a few of the words, her uncle saying he would do it himself, after the stranger claimed he would not jeopardize his land or his herd.

  Uncle Walter had then warned the visitor that he would regret not doing as he was told.

  Horrified that she had been eavesdropping again, however accidental both times had been, Victoria had hurried into the dining room, and thus pushed the incident from her mind until now.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw another tall man slipping into the sanctuary, a child in his arms.

  Mitchell, with Mary. Where were the other children?

  She had no time to wonder, as the service began.

  Afterward she was filing toward the door with the rest of the family when a gravelly voice called her name.

  “Miss Templeton?”

  She turned, and found herself staring at Clyde. He lifted her hand to kiss it, but she yanked it back. “Mr. Abernathy, please. This is a church.”

  “I’m so sorry I missed you this past Friday. Perhaps I can beg Louise to have me over today for lunch?”

  Victoria opened her mouth to remind him that such would be far too short a notice when she was suddenly besieged about her skirt by small, but strong arms.

  She looked down into Mary’s bright eyes. The girl had greatly improved since Friday, for she was smiling broadly and her cheeks bore a healthy glow.

  “Miss Templeton! I go to the same church as you!”

  Victoria laughed. “There’s only one church in Proud Bend, but nevertheless, I am glad to see you.” Her heart leaped as she looked up behind the girl, her curious gaze bumping into Mitchell’s. Feeling suddenly awkward, she scooped the little girl up and was rewarded by a tight hug about the neck.

  Clyde shrank back. “Has this child ever been taught manners?”

  Victoria bristled, turning Mary away from him. “She’s merely happy to see me. Don’t you have any children, Mr. Abernathy?”

  “My late wife and I were fortunate enough not to have any. They are messy, bothersome creatures.”

  Victoria glanced over at Mitchell, whose expression had turned dark. He peeled Mary free of her embrace. “Allow me to remove my bothersome daughter from your presence, Mr. Abernathy. And I can assure you that my late wife taught our children excellent manners. Good day, sir.” With that, he squeezed himself through the crowd of worshippers and was gone.

  “Now, my dear, where were we?”

  She spun back to the old man, ignoring the crowd moving past to shake the pastor’s hand. Another time would have found her calm and collected, never once showing anything but the best manners ever. Public displays of anything but cool politeness were for the less cultured, her mother always said.

  But something burst inside of her, and words and emotions that would have curled her mother’s hair now poured from her. “We were nowhere, Mr. Abernathy. And we never will be anywhere.” She barely drew a breath as she continued. “Children are a gift from God. Manners are important, yes, but it’s more important to simply love children for who they are. And never abandon them or not want them at all! That little child has been sick and since I didn’t see her brothers, I can assume they are still sick. It’s a blessing to see her out and about and happy and healthy!”

  With a shocked look, Clyde pulled his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and covered his nose and mouth with it. And not from shock of her outburst, either, although she now realized that it was probably a mistake for her to berate her uncle’s business partner.

  No, Clyde covered his face because he was afraid of catching whatever Mary had come down with. Poor little thing. She didn’t deserve to be treated like a leper.

  With a huff, partially to stop from saying even more, Victoria gathered up her skirt and pressed into the crowd. She had to find Mitchell to ask how the boys were. And Emily. A sickness in a house often saw the baby perish first.

  Please, Lord, let them be all right.

  Breaking free of the crowd at the entrance, she spotted Mitchell and called out his name. He turned, a frown still chiseled into his face. Victoria hurried toward him. “How are the boys? And the baby? Are they still sick?”

  Though he replied, his words were cool. “Yes, but Jake thought Mary and I should get out of the house. He volunteered to look after the rest.”

  “Even the baby?”

  “He likes children.” Mitchell’s attention was diverted by a scurrying figure. Clyde was hurrying away, his handkerchief still covering his mouth.

  Suppressing a remark at the sight of the cowardly man, she focused on the concerned father before her. “And what about this week coming? What do you plan to do?”

  * * *

  Mitch had learned that with children, planning his days in advance was an exercise in flexibility. Yesterday he’d needed to get out and check on the herd. Instead, Saturday had found him caring for the children, while Jake fixed the fence and moved some of the herd back to the main pasture. When he’d returned in the evening, Jake reported that five of the heifers he’d been set to deliver to other ranchers were dead.

  Mitch would have to return the money. Now he would not be able to make his bank payment.

  Rubbing his forehead with his free hand, for the other held Mary’s tightly, Mitch had to push that worry away. The children needed him more.

  He looked at Victoria, splendid in a navy outfit with a matching hat and purse. The hem of her closely cut skirt was deeply ruffled and her long, snugly tailored jacket had contrasting piping. How she’d managed to hurry over to him in that skirt was beyond him. But then again, on Friday, he’d witnessed Victoria mounting a sidesaddle unaided, deftly flipping free a detachable skirt in the process, and then reattaching it just as quickly once she’d settled against the pommel.

  What had she just asked? He’d been awake much of the night and fatigue was stealing his attention.

  “I asked what your plans are,” Victoria said as if guessing that his thoughts were miles away.

  “I plan to go home and relieve Jake. Victoria, you don’t need to worry—”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “What?” He gave her a stern look. “You don’t need to. Whatever happened to the day of rest?”

  “Let no man judge you in meat or in drink, or in respect of an holyday.”

  Mitch stepped back, his eyebrows shooting up. She’d quoted a Scripture verse he’d heard many times from his father when there were cows to milk. It rolled off her tongue with the ease of a woman who’d studied the Bible diligently.

  “Now give me fifteen minutes.” Before he could say another word, she yanked up her skirt and spun away. He watched her hurry over to Rachel Smith, speak quickly with the woman, and then rush away in the direction of her uncle’s house.

  Like when she mounted that horse, Victoria could be quick and efficient when she needed to be. If she kept that pace up, she’d be back at the church in less than five minutes.

  His tired gaze roamed back toward the church and bumped into Rachel’s. She smiled at him, far too smugly, he thought. He moved on.

  Behind the church stood a long, open stable, manned by several volunteers whose jobs before the service were to unhook the horses and lead them out of the sun. Some farmer had donated the hay and feed while several young boys, some he was sure as young as Matthew, watered the mounts. As he approached now, one man led his horse out of the stable to the line of empty carriages and wagons.

  He should just bundle Mary onto the wagon and be on his way before Victoria could make it back. But she would probably follow him and it wasn’t in his nature to be rude.

  “Come on, Sweetpea,” he told Mary gruffly. “Let’s hitch up the horse.”

  Mary held back. “But what about Miss Templeton?”

  He sighed and looked down at Mary. “We’ll wait for her.” Perhaps one quick afternoon to convince Victoria that she couldn’t handle a household. The kids were sick, anyway. They wouldn’t miss her when she scooted out in horror a quarter of the way to suppertime. By then she’d have learned how tough life out here could be.

  Mitch stopped when he noticed that the Smith carriage, a gold-trimmed black coupe that looked more suitable for royalty than the town’s banker, was parked in front of the wagons and carriages.

  Walter Smith stood beside it, smoking a cigarette, obviously waiting for his family and not caring that he blocked the rest of the congregation from leaving. Mitch hadn’t seen him in church, but he’d noticed the rest of the family immediately upon entering.

  All right, he’d noticed Victoria immediately. She’d looked briefly around, but had then quickly turned to face the front. He was sure she hadn’t seen him slip into a back pew with Mary, instead of the usual one behind the Smith ladies.

  But the point was that Walter Smith hadn’t been in church, but was here now waiting for his wife and daughter. Bold of him.

  Mitch turned, noticing that Mrs. Smith and Rachel were still talking to the pastor’s wife, seemingly in no hurry to leave. So why was Smith waiting dutifully here for them?

  “So, MacLeod,” Smith began as he approached. Mitch was determined to squeeze his wagon past the sleek and small carriage. “I hope you’re still able to make that mortgage payment no later than Monday. I heard you had some trouble.”

  So that was why he was here. As in any small town, news traveled fast, but since he hadn’t yet confronted Donner about his pack of wild dogs, and Jake was likely too busy to have mentioned it, Mitch took a stab at what really happened. Had Smith convinced Donner to set his dogs on Mitch’s herd? He had seen Donner and Smith drinking together on those few evenings he’d spent escorting Rachel on her mission work, as per the pastor’s request. Smith was probably here to gloat. Or maybe put even more pressure on Mitch.

  Mitch gritted his teeth. “Don’t you worry about my payment. It will be on time.”

  “And the herd? How’s it doing? What about that spot of trouble?”

  “I still have plenty of heifers to sell, Mr. Smith. They’ve all been bred, too, and are safe up in a fenced pasture.”

  “Fencing doesn’t make good neighbors, MacLeod. You’re more than likely going to get some opposition for that. The herds have to roam and get water.”

  “It’s my land and I am not blocking access to water.” With that, Mitch scooped Mary into his arms as he passed Smith.

  The banker blew smoke into Mitch’s face as he passed alongside him. Mary coughed. Mitch fought the urge to set his daughter down, rip the cigarette from the man’s lips and grind it into the dirt beneath their feet. But what would that teach his daughter? That violence was the answer? No, he wouldn’t do it.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you did with that sale, MacLeod. I’m not stupid.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You finagled the sale of the heifers. I don’t know how, but it won’t happen again.”

  Mitch went cold. The ranchers had backed out of the purchase of his heifers, only to change their minds. They all had mortgages or loans with Smith’s bank. Had Smith threatened them? Yet Jake had convinced them to risk it. How? Jake wasn’t that silver-tongued.

  As soon as he returned to the ranch, he’d ask him. Until then, Mitch hefted Mary higher and walked past Smith to his wagon, grateful for the young man who’d just finishing hitching the horse. With a thank-you, Mitch set Mary on the bench and climbed aboard beside her. Squeezing past the Smiths’ fancy coup without scratching it was tough, but he did it.

  Smith stood on the opposite side, his expression like the twisted growl of an ugly dog.

  Mitch swung to the left to come out onto the road in front of the church, an easier feat since most worshippers had departed for their noon meals.

  “There’s Miss Templeton!” Mary cried out, pointing down the road in the direction of the Smith mansion.

  Mitch groaned. Victoria was hurrying along the road, still dressed in her fine Sunday outfit, the feather in her small, velvet hat fluttering backward in the breeze she created with her haste. The ties of the big bow under her chin danced as if in full merriment. Over one forearm was her small drawstring purse, and being gripped tightly in her other hand was a small portmanteau that Mitch immediately recognized as one of Victoria’s many pieces of luggage.

  As he pulled alongside her, he noticed her attention yank away. He looked over his shoulder. Donner, his cantankerous neighbor, was down at the stables speaking with Walter Smith. Both men’s demeanor was stiff as if they had yet to sort out an argument.

  Mitch looked back at Victoria. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, really. I just noticed that my uncle is here. He didn’t attend the service but must have come to collect Aunt Louise and Rachel. Who is that man he’s talking to?”

  “Edgar Donner, my neighbor. Why do you ask?”

  “Does he attend church?”

  “No. In fact, he’s rarely in a decent enough state to get up early on a Sunday morning. Something must have happened.”

  “He came to visit my uncle early this morning. I saw them arguing, right at the front door.”

  Mitch had wanted to ask what they’d said, but refused to participate in gossip. He liked to think he was above that. But both men were the argumentative type and Donner was well-known to be inside Victoria’s uncle’s pocket. Who knew what mischief they could be into?

  Hopping off the bench, Mitch took the bag and hefted it as if weighing it. “Are you planning to spend the night?”

  Victoria looked confused. “No. Why do you say that?”

  “Because of all of the luggage you’re toting.”

  “This one little bag?” she asked as he helped her up onto the bench seat. “I’d need more than this if I planned an overnight trip.”

  He tossed the bag into the wooden bed behind him and climbed up beside her. Without urging the horse on, he asked, “Then what is in it?”

  “My working clothes.” Victoria sat primly on the seat, moving only slightly to allow Mary to climb onto her lap and press her cheek against Victoria’s fine, velvet-trimmed waistcoat.

  “You have working clothes?”

  Victoria tossed him a sharp look. “You need help and I am now fully capable of helping you. So tuck away your pride, Mitchell, and do the right thing.” She sat ramrod straight on the bench, her chin high. “Let’s go.”

  Despite his dignity prickling him like a field of thistles, Mitch laughed and flicked the reins. The horse moved forward.

  “What’s so funny?” she snapped.

  “Absolutely nothing.” He sobered, knowing that he shouldn’t have laughed. After all, he was bringing her home to teach her a lesson. Now, with Mary contentedly curled up in Victoria’s arms, her own little hand reaching up to finger the still-dancing ostrich feather on Victoria’s cap, he realized he should not have agreed to bring her at all.

  But then Victoria smiled at him, a soft smile as contented as Mary’s snuggle, with shining eyes and the satisfaction of a cat with cream.

  Something caught in his throat and he fought the urge to smile back. This wasn’t going to work out, and he was a fool to allow it to start in the first place.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Victoria pulled a very unladylike face. So Mitchell didn’t think she had working clothes? He’d soon see. She had a perfectly good dress in last year’s style.

  When they arrived at his ranch, she asked for a private room in which to change. Emerging a few minutes later—well, perhaps a bit longer than that, Victoria amended silently—she pulled from her pocket a small leather-bound notebook, something she’d studied with due diligence most of Saturday evening after that long, tiring day in the kitchen.

  She looked around. The small room from which she’d emerged, ready to work, had been relatively orderly; judging by the bigger bed, it was Mitchell’s. But this room and the kitchen were both disasters. Clothes were strewn around and whichever child had slept in the bed closest to her had thrashed all night. Although the day was sunny, the room was dark. In one corner, a small lamp burned, adding its pungency to the already distasteful smell.

  The boys stared at her, each face pale and wan. In her basket, Emily slept. Thankfully.

  Apprehension swelled in her throat and Victoria pushed it down with a hard, determined swallow. She hurried over to the window and threw up the sash. It creaked in protest. When she turned, she saw Mitchell in the doorway, still in his Sunday best, much like he’d done Friday, his arms folded and his expression as closed off as the bedroom behind her.

  “Okay. You wanted to help,” he muttered.

  So that was it. He was setting her up to fail. Indignant, she marched passed him into the kitchen. She needed hot water. Testing the contents of a large cauldron sitting on the stove, she found it tepid. With growing determination, she stooped, opened the stove door and peered in. Only a cooling bed of embers. Jake had allowed the fire to die out.

  With a sniff, she pressed open her notebook and laid it flat on the floor beside her. Thankfully, she’d not only taken notes, but sketched out a few diagrams. She read through the page again.

  “What are you doing?”

  She looked back at Mitchell. “I’m putting on a fire. I need hot water if I am to clean this place and make a meal.”

  “Do you plan to burn your notebook?”

  “Of course not. It’s showing me how to start a fire. Now, go out to your barn.” She flicked her hand. “Check on your cattle or do whatever Jake is doing. I’m fine here.”

  Mercy, she wasn’t fine. She didn’t even know where the firewood was kept. In her uncle’s house, there was a separate room off the kitchen for it, one that led to the outside so that a servant could restock the firewood but not allow a constant winter draft to flow in.