Книга - The Wyoming Heir

The Wyoming Heir
Naomi Rawlings


THE COWBOY IN THE CLASSROOMGiven a choice, Luke Hayes wouldn’t ever leave his Wyoming ranch. Yet when his estranged grandfather dies, leaving him everything, he’ll travel to Valley Falls, New York—but only to collect his sister and his inheritance. He won’t be roped into saving a floundering girls’ school, no matter what math teacher Elizabeth Wells says.Elizabeth has defied social convention and her own family for the sake of her beloved Hayes Academy. Luke is pure rancher from the tip of his Stetson to the scuff on his boots, yet he’s also becoming her unlikely ally. Only he can help save her job and school…but how much will she lose when the time comes for him to leave?







The Cowboy in the Classroom

Given a choice, Luke Hayes wouldn’t ever leave his Wyoming ranch. Yet when his estranged grandfather dies, leaving him everything, he’ll travel to Valley Falls, New York—but only to collect his sister and his inheritance. He won’t be roped into saving a floundering girls’ school, no matter what mathematics teacher Elizabeth Wells says.

Elizabeth has defied social convention and her own family for the sake of her beloved Hayes Academy. Luke is pure rancher, from the tip of his Stetson to the scuff on his boots, yet he’s also becoming her unlikely ally. Only he can help save her job and school…but how much will she lose when the time comes for him to leave?


“Miss Wells, I can’t say I expected to find you here, either, but this works well.

I need to speak with you.” He glanced briefly at the equation-filled slate on her lap, and the side of his mouth quirked into a cocky little smile. “Do you ever take time off from that fancy math?”

“Do you ever take time off from being a cowboy?”

The smile on his lips straightened into a firm white line, and he swung down off his horse. “I own five thousand head of cattle in the Teton Valley. I’m a rancher. That’s a mite different than being the hired help we call cowboys.”

“Indeed.” She nodded curtly and drew in a long, deep breath. With Samantha sitting beside her, she couldn’t exactly persuade him to let his sister graduate, but she still needed to ask about donating money to the academy. If only she could be polite long enough to make her request.

It was going to be very, very hard.


NAOMI RAWLINGS

A mother of two young boys, Naomi Rawlings spends her days picking up, cleaning, playing and, of course, writing. Her husband pastors a small church in Michigan’s rugged Upper Peninsula, where her family shares its ten wooded acres with black bears, wolves, coyotes, deer and bald eagles. Naomi and her family live only three miles from Lake Superior, and while the scenery is beautiful, the area averages two hundred inches of snow per winter. Naomi writes bold, dramatic stories containing passionate words and powerful journeys. If you enjoyed the novel, she would love to hear from you. You can write Naomi at P.O. Box 134, Ontonagon, MI 49953, or contact her via her website and blog, at www.naomirawlings.com (http://www.naomirawlings.com).


The Wyoming Heir

Naomi Rawlings




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


What doth the Lord thy God require of thee, but to fear the Lord thy God, to walk in all his ways, and to love him, and to serve the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul, to keep the commandments of the Lord, and his statutes, which I command thee this day for thy good?

—Deuteronomy 10:12–13


To Nathanael and Jeremiah, my amazing little boys. May you “grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Peter 3:18).


Acknowledgments

No book could ever make its way from my head to the story in front of you without help from some amazing people. First and foremost, I’d like to thank my husband, Brian. What would I do without someone to cook dinner and watch the kids and love and encourage me through each and every book I write? Second, I’d like to thank my critique partner, Melissa Jagears, for trudging through all the hills and valleys of this story with me. My writing

would suffer greatly without your keen eye and brilliant mind. I also want to thank my agent, Natasha Kern, for teaching me about writing and putting up with me even when I’m not that pleasant to put up with (which happens more often than it probably should). And my editor, Elizabeth Mazer, for her helpful suggestions and enthusiasm about my stories. Beyond this, numerous others have given support in one way or another—Sally Chambers, Glenn Haggerty, Roseanna White, and Laurie Alice Eakes, to name a few.

Thank you all for your time and effort and helping me to write the best books I possibly can.


Contents

Prologue (#uc3fca302-5c5c-515b-a479-a4f433bfa1ba)

Chapter One (#u4aaa5e13-c573-5ccf-88bb-9b0f1ba5f709)

Chapter Two (#u59f1a2ed-65a6-5cbb-90f2-7c6462ed6ec4)

Chapter Three (#u1af4b98d-1299-598e-be2d-deb8a4ac8698)

Chapter Four (#ud8d140d0-acd1-5ed1-b1f5-35cadff39a5c)

Chapter Five (#ud607a3cd-b193-501f-a3d0-1c95984e5c6b)

Chapter Six (#u00f55f86-bac0-564f-8624-fde33b18db2a)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Readers (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue

Teton Valley, Wyoming

October 1893

“Hello, Ma.” Luke Hayes removed his Stetson and stepped over the threshold to his mother’s room. His boots echoed against the sturdy pine floorboards as he moved to where Ma sat at her vanity. A faint, sour scent wound around him, tickling his nose and turning his mouth bitter. The vase of purple coneflowers on the dresser nearly masked it, as did the rose water Ma dabbed at her throat. But the subtle smell of sickness clung to the shadows and haunted the corners, a constant reminder of the enemy that would steal her life.

“You’ve come to say goodbye,” she whispered, her voice tired though she’d barely spoken.

Luke hooked a thumb through a belt loop. “It’s time. Can’t linger if I want to be back before the snow comes.”

She turned to him, and the dreary, lifeless blue of her eyes hit him like a punch to the throat.

“You should be in bed.”

“I thought I’d go riding...could ride down the trail with you a ways. To the end of the property at least.”

Just like we used to, his throat ached to speak. How many times had they gone riding together? Felt the wind in their faces and the sun on their backs as they galloped through the shadows of the mountains?

Before. Not anymore. Never again.

But a person couldn’t convince Ma of that. Luke ran his gaze over her gaunt frame. She’d dragged herself from bed and pulled on some clothes, her shirtwaist and split skirt hanging on her emaciated figure as though more skeleton than flesh. “No more riding. Pa told you as much over a month ago.”

She huffed, her skinny shoulders straightening. “Doc Binnings didn’t bar me from riding.”

“The answer’s still no.” His words sliced through the room, and he winced. He’d come to say goodbye, not get into an argument, but there seemed to be little help for it with Ma convinced she could go riding.

“There’s a letter for your sister on the dresser.” She nodded toward the white envelope.

A smile slid up the corner of his mouth. “I’m carrying one from Pa, too, and another from Levi Sanders.”

“Levi?” A flush tinged Ma’s pale cheeks. “Samantha will like that.”

“She’ll like hearing from everyone, I’m sure. She’ll be even happier to finally come home.”

Ma stopped, her hands frozen midway through fastening the gold locket about her neck. “You’re bringing her back?”

“Of course. What did you expect?”

“No. Deal with the estate as we discussed, but leave Samantha there.”

Not get Sam? The thought stopped him cold. Even if he didn’t need to leave for New York to settle his late grandfather’s affairs, he still would have gone to fetch his sister home. With Ma nearing the end, Samantha belonged with her family. “It’s time she came home.”

“I read her letters. She loves that school, makes good grades, will graduate come spring. She needs to stay.”

“Ma...” Luke scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I’ve got a letter for Cynthia, too, on the dresser over beside Samantha’s. You’ll take that one, won’t you?”

Cynthia? His hand stilled over his eyes. He hadn’t heard the name of his brother’s widow for three years and didn’t care to hear it again for the rest of his life.

But Ma was staring at him, hope radiating from her weary eyes.

“You know how I feel about Cynthia.” And if Ma wasn’t half delusional from her illness, she never would have brought up the confounded woman. “Just mail the letter yourself.”

“You’re not even going to see—?”

It started then, one of the coughing fits that spasmed through Ma’s body. She grabbed the rag sitting beside the rose water and held it to her mouth, planting her other hand on the vanity for support.

“You should have been in bed.” Luke strode forward, slipped one arm beneath her knees, and used the other to brace her back before he swooped her in his arms. The coughs racked her body, shaking her slight form down to her very bones. “Breathe now, Ma. Remember what the doc said? You need to breathe through this.”

He laid her on the bed and sat beside her, holding the rag to her face. Blood seeped into the cloth, staining her teeth and lips and pooling in the corner of her mouth. The doc had also told him and Pa not to touch the foul cloths, or they could end up with consumption. But he wouldn’t watch his mother struggle to keep a simple rag in place.

He braced her shoulders and gripped the cloth until she lay back against her pillows, eyes closed, stringy chestnut hair falling in waves around her shoulders, most of it knocked loose from her bun because of the jerking.

And she’d wanted to ride with him to the edge of the ranch.

He tossed the rag into the pail in the corner, already a quarter filled with sodden cloths, washed his hands in the basin, then moved back to her. The scents of rose water and blood and chronic sickness emanated from the bed.

She opened those dull blue eyes and blinked up at him.

“Are you...” All right? He clamped his teeth together. Of course she wasn’t all right. Every day she crept closer to death. And every day Sam stayed East was a day forever lost between mother and daughter.

“Luke...promise me.” Short breaths wheezed from her mouth.

“Promise you what?” He knelt on the floor, his eyes tracing every dip and curve and line of her features, branding them into his memory lest she not be alive when he returned.

She wrapped her hand around his, her corpselike skin thin and translucent against the thick, healthy hue of his palm. “Th-that you won’t tell Samantha how sick I am.”

“What do you mean? Haven’t you told her yet yourself? Doesn’t your letter explain?”

She looked away.

“Ma?” He stroked a strand of limp hair off her forehead. “You have to let Sam know you’re sick.”

“No.” A tear streaked down the bony ridges of her cheek. “If I tell her, she’ll come home. She needs to stay and finish school.”

“She deserves to make that choice on her own. Deserves the chance to see you before you...” Die. He couldn’t move the wretched word past the knot in his throat. Ma might not want Sam told about her condition, but Sam would never forgive herself if Ma passed without her saying goodbye. “Surely you want to see Sam again? Surely you miss her?”

Ma squirmed. “Let her finish her schooling, and we’ll see each other next summer.”

Except Ma wasn’t going to live that long. “Sam needs to know. Now.”

“I won’t let her give up the life she loves to watch me die.” She shook her head, her sunken eyes seeking his. “You mustn’t tell her. Promise me.”

He couldn’t do it. He could barely stand to leave Ma as it was, wouldn’t if he had any choice in the matter. How could he promise to keep her condition from Sam? Maybe Ma was right, and Sam wouldn’t want to come home, but she should know what was going on.

“Luke? Promise?” Ma’s voice grew panicked, even desperate.

Something twisted in his gut.

His twin’s death three years earlier had been quick, nearly instant. Watching Blake die had hurt, but watching the life slowly drain from Ma? No one should be asked to endure such a thing.

But he couldn’t very well leave her knowing he’d denied her last request.

He might never see her again. Even if he got Sam and brought her home, he might be too late.

“I promise.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. “Goodbye now, Ma.”

He stood, swiped Sam’s letter from the top of the dresser, and left, taking long strides out of her room and through the ranch house before she could thank him.

Before delight from his agreement could fill her face.

Before common sense forced him to rescind his promise.


Chapter One

Valley Falls, New York

The simple cotton curtains on the classroom window fluttered with a whispered breeze, while autumn sunlight flooded through the opening in the thin fabric and bathed her in a burst of gaiety. But the warm rays upon Elizabeth Wells’s skin didn’t penetrate the coldness that stole up her spine, numbing her lungs and turning her fingers to ice.

Elizabeth tightened her grip around the envelope in her hand. She could open it. It wasn’t such a hard thing, really, to slip the letter opener inside and slit the top. She just needed a moment to brace herself.

The envelope weighed heavy against her skin, as though it were made of lead rather than paper. She ran her fingers instinctively along the smooth, precise edges. A quadrilateral with two pairs of congruent sides joined by four right angles. The mathematical side of her brain recognized the shape as a perfect rectangle. But the contour of the paper didn’t matter nearly so much as what was written inside.

She sighed and glanced down, her gaze resting on the name printed boldly across the envelope.

Miss Elizabeth Wells

Instructor of Mathematics

Hayes Academy for Girls

Forcing the air out of her lungs, she slit the envelope from the Albany Ladies’ Society and slipped out the paper.

Dear Miss Wells...

The jumble of words and phrases from the letter seared her mind. Regret to inform you...revoking our funding from your school...donate money to an institution that appreciates women maintaining their proper sphere in society. And then the clincher. The Albany Ladies’ Society not only wanted to stop any future funding but also requested the return of the money they had already donated for the school year.

And they called themselves ladies. Elizabeth slammed the letter onto her desk. Two other organizations had also asked that money previously donated—and spent—be returned. Then there were the six other letters explaining why future funding would cease but not asking for a return of monies.

This request galled more than most. If even women cared nothing about educating the younger generation of ladies, then who would? She’d spoken personally to the Albany Ladies’ Society three times. Her mother was a member, and still, at the slightest bit of public opposition to the school, the society had pulled their funding.

She stuffed the letter back into the envelope, yanked out her bottom desk drawer, and tossed it inside with the other letters—and the articles that had started the firestorm.

She shouldn’t even be receiving letters from donors and disgruntled citizens. Her brother, Jackson, was the head accountant for Hayes Academy for Girls, not her.

But then Jackson wasn’t responsible for the mess the academy was in.

She was.

She’d only been trying to help. With the recession that had hit the area following the economic panic in March, the school had lost students. A lot of students. Many parents couldn’t afford to send their daughters to an institution such as Hayes any longer. And without those tuition dollars, the school risked being seriously underfunded. So she’d written an editorial delineating the advantages of female education and girls’ academies and had sent it to the paper.

She’d hoped to convince a couple families to enroll their daughters or perhaps encourage donations to the school. Instead, she’d convinced Mr. Reginald Higsley, one of the reporters at the Albany Morning Times, to answer her.

On the front page.

She pulled out the newspaper, the headline staring back at her with thick, black letters.



Excessive Amount of Charity Money Wasted on Hayes Academy for Girls



Since the economic panic in March and the ensuing depression, countless workers remain unemployed, food lines span city blocks, four railroad companies have declared bankruptcy, three Albany banks have failed and myriad farmers have been forced to let their mortgaged lands revert back to lending institutions. But not six miles away, in the neighboring town of Valley Falls, community and charity money is being wasted on keeping open an unneeded school, Hayes Academy for Girls.

It has long been recognized that the overeducating of females creates a breed of women quick to throw off their societal obligations to marry and raise children. It is also well-known that educated women are more concerned with employment opportunities and their own selfish wishes rather than fulfilling their roles as women....



Elizabeth’s stomach twisted. No matter how many times her eyes darted over the words, the opening made her nearly retch. The article went on to compare the lower marriage rate of women with college educations to those with only grammar schooling. It examined the divorce rate, also higher among women with college educations. And then the reporter turned back to the topic of Hayes Academy’s funding, questioning why anyone would waste money teaching women to throw off their societal responsibilities while the poor of Albany were starving.

Elizabeth shoved back from her desk and stood. Charity money “wasted” on keeping an “unneeded” institution open? How could the reporter say such a thing, when the academy prepared young women to attend college and qualify for jobs that enabled them to support both themselves and their families? An educated woman could certainly make a fuller contribution to society than an uneducated one.

Yet since the article had appeared, the academy had lost half of its financial backers.

A burst of giggles wafted from outside, and Elizabeth rose and headed to the window. In the yard, groups of girls clustered about the pristine lawn and giant maple trees with their reddening leaves. They laughed and smiled and talked, flitting over the grass alone or in packs, their eyes bright, their spirits free, their futures optimistic.

She sank her head against the dark trim surrounding the window. “Jonah, why did you go and die on me?” The words swirled and dissipated in the empty room. As though she’d never spoken them. As though no one heard or cared what a mess Hayes Academy had become when its founder unexpectedly died three months earlier.

If Jonah Hayes were still alive, he would know how to get more donors. He would write an editorial on women’s education, and people would listen, enrolling their daughters at the academy. And in the interim, while the school struggled through the recession, he would likely donate the money Hayes Academy needed to continue operating.

But Jonah Hayes was gone, and his estate had been tied up for three months, waiting for the arrival of his grandson heir from out West. In her dreams, the grandson came to Valley Falls, filled Jonah’s position on the school board, convinced the other board members to keep Hayes Academy open, obliterated all opposition to the academy.

Of course, the heir had to arrive first.

And at this rate, the academy would be closed and the building sold before the man got here.

The students returned from lunch, a cascade of laughter and conversations fluttering in their wake. Elizabeth tried to smile, tried to straighten her shoulders and stand erect, tried to be grateful for the chance to teach her students—an opportunity that she might not have in another month.

Tried, but failed.

“Miss Wells?” The shining blue eyes of Samantha Hayes, Jonah’s granddaughter and one of the academy’s most intelligent pupils, met hers. “Meredith, MaryAnne and I are going to have a picnic along the stream that runs through Grandfather’s estate tonight. Do you want to join us?”

Elizabeth did smile then, though it doubtless looked small and halfhearted. How enjoyable to spend the evening chatting with the girls beside the clear stream, watching autumn swirl. If only she didn’t have to find a way out of the financial mess she’d created for Hayes Academy, which meant she had an appointment for tonight with the extra set of ledgers she kept for the school. “I’d best not. Thank you for asking.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Concern flitted across the young lady’s face. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine, but...well, now that I think of it, I could use your help on a certain project tomorrow.”

Samantha’s eyes danced, light from the window streaming in to bounce off her golden tresses. The girl was breathtaking. More than breathtaking, really. Elizabeth smiled. Little surprise her brother, Jackson, had started courting Samantha Hayes last spring. Half the men of Albany would be courting her if they had any sense about them.

“Is it more calculus?”

She did smile then, full and genuine. If only all her students were as exuberant over calculus as Samantha Hayes. “I’m afraid not. I’ve some ciphering to do tonight, and I’d like for you to check my sums.”

Samantha excelled at finding discrepancies in account books, whether they be the school’s or Jonah Hayes’s or Elizabeth’s personal ledgers. “Sounds fun. Should we meet at the picnic spot around lunchtime tomorrow, then?”

If Samantha knew the state of Hayes Academy’s accounts, she wouldn’t be nearly so happy. Oh, well, the younger girl would find out tomorrow.

“Yes, that will be fine, but you’d best take your seat now.” Elizabeth moved to the chalkboard and turned toward her students. Thirteen expectant faces stared back at her. Last year, she’d had twenty-three in her advanced algebra class.

“Today we’re going to learn about...”

But she couldn’t finish. How could she, with the school struggling to pay its bills and teachers’ salaries? Did the girls understand how much funding had been pulled from the academy within the past five days? That they might not be able to finish their final year of high school if more students didn’t enroll or if new funds couldn’t be raised?

And part of it was her fault. Oh, what had ever possessed her to write that editorial?

“Miss Wells, are you feeling okay?”

“Can we do something for you?”

“Did you forget what you were saying?”

The voices floated from different corners of the room. Elizabeth plastered a smile on her face. “Forgive me, class, but I’ve decided to change the lesson. We’ll review today.”

Her hand flew across the chalkboard as her mind formed the numbers, letters and symbols without needing to consult a textbook for sample equations. “I’m giving you a surprise quiz. Take the next half hour to finish these quadratic equations, and we’ll check them at the end of class.” She wiped her chalk-covered hands on a rag and turned.

A shadow moved near the open classroom door, and the darkened frame of a man filled the doorway.

A man. At Hayes Academy for Girls. What was he doing here?

“Can I help you?”

He entered and dipped his head. “Excuse me, ma’am.” A Western drawl lingered on the rusted voice.

“You’re here!” Samantha screeched.

Elizabeth nearly cringed at the unladylike sound, but Samantha took no notice as she sprang from her desk and rushed toward the gentleman. “I can’t believe you finally came. I missed you so much!” Samantha threw her arms around him for all the world to see.

Most unladylike, indeed. Did Jackson know about this other man? These were hardly fit actions for a girl who’d had an understanding with another man since last spring.

“Samantha...” Elizabeth drew up her shoulders and stepped closer. Their quiz forgotten, the other students watched the spectacle. “Sir, if the two of you would accompany me into the hallway. Students, please continue working.”

The girls returned to their work—or attempted to. Half still peeked up despite their bent heads.

Elizabeth moved to the door and held it for Samantha and the stranger. Neither moved. She anchored her hands to her hips and ground her teeth together. Of all the days. Didn’t the Good Lord know she hadn’t the patience for such an interruption this afternoon?

The man hugged Samantha, bracing her shoulders with a hand that held...a cowboy hat? Elizabeth blinked. Surely she didn’t have a cowboy in her classroom. Her eyes drifted down his long, lanky form. He wore a blue striped shirt, some type of leather vest, a brown belt and tan trousers complemented by a pair of what could only be called cowboy boots. And was that a red kerchief around his neck?

Plus he was covered in dust—whether from traveling or working with cows, she didn’t know—but she could well imagine the dust embedding itself on the front of Samantha’s—

A cowboy. From out West.

No. It couldn’t be.

But it was. She knew it then, as surely as she knew how to solve the quadratic equations on the board. Samantha clung to her brother.

The Hayes heir.

The man who held the power to either continue Hayes Academy or close the school for good.

“Samantha?” Elizabeth’s vocal cords grated against each other as she spoke, but she had to get her student and Mr. Hayes out of the classroom.

Finally, the girl pulled back from her brother and looked around the roomful of staring students. She flushed and moved into the hall, the dark skirt of her school uniform swishing about her ankles. The cowboy followed but only to crush his sister against him in another embrace.

Elizabeth wasn’t sure whether to roll her eyes or scream.

* * *

Luke Hayes hadn’t hugged his sister in three years, two months and thirteen days—not that he’d been counting—and he didn’t plan to stop hugging her because some fancy teacher squawked at him like a broody hen dead set on guarding her eggs.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” he spoke against her head, still unable to unwind his arms from her.

“It’s all right,” came her muffled reply.

She’d grown taller and curvier since he’d seen her last. Looked grown-up, too. Her hair was done up in a puffy bun, not long and free as it had been in the Teton Valley. And she smelled different, no longer of sunshine and wildflowers but like fancy perfume. He tightened his hold. He should have come and yanked her out of this school sooner, regardless of what Pa had to say about it. “I missed you. Can’t rightly say how much.”

Inside the classroom, the teacher said something in that stern voice of hers. Then the distinctive clip of a lady’s boots on wood flooring grew louder, and the door closed with a thunk. “Samantha Hayes, what is the meaning of this?”

Sam pulled away from him, her eyes finding the floor. “I’m sorry, Miss Wells. I didn’t mean to make a scene. This is my brother, Luke, from Wyoming.”

The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Sam didn’t need to cower like a whipped dog because she had hugged him. He crossed his arms and met the teacher’s stare.

Hang it all, but she was a beautiful little thing, with deep hazel eyes and a wagonload of reddish-brown hair piled atop her head.

Her name should be Eve, for if ever God had created a perfect woman, she was it. Adam would have taken one look at that long, smooth face, milky skin and sparkling hazel eyes and been lost.

Good thing he wasn’t Adam.

“Sir?”

He swallowed and took a step back, while Sam snickered beside him. Why was he staring? Pretty or not, she was a city woman—just the type he avoided. Citified women didn’t fare well out West. They squealed when a bear meandered into the yard, left the door open on the chicken coop and complained about getting water from the hand pump—he knew. His twin brother had up and married one of the useless critters.

He scowled, but still couldn’t pull his eyes from the gentle curve of the teacher’s cheek or the soft pink of her lips. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“Miss Elizabeth Wells.”

Did she know a strand of hair had fallen from her updo and hung beside her cheek? Or that she had a big smear of white—most likely chalk—smack on the front of her plum-colored skirt?

“I’m Samantha’s mathematics instructor and private tutor.” She arched an eyebrow, a rather delicate and refined eyebrow.

He snuck a hand atop Sam’s shoulder. “Your letters haven’t said anything about having trouble with mathematics.”

Sam smiled up at him, that familiar toothy grin that had always wriggled straight into his heart. Except the grin didn’t look quite so toothy anymore, and her lips had a rather refined curve to them. “Oh, no, Luke, not trouble. Miss Wells instructs me in preliminary calculus after school. That way I can head straight into the calculus class when I attend college next fall.”

College next fall? He pulled his hand from her shoulder. “Sam, we’ve got a load of things to talk about, what with Grandpa’s passing an’ all. Go on and gather your belongings. You’re coming to the estate with me. I’ve already arranged it with the office.”

Her face lit up like sunlight sparkling off a cool mountain stream. “May I be excused from classes early, Miss Wells?”

The teacher’s gaze went frigid, those beautiful eyes likely to turn him into a pile of ice. “If the office has granted you leave, I’ve no authority to say otherwise.”

Luke bit back a cringe. He wouldn’t say the office had said yes. Exactly. He’d just handed a letter explaining the situation to the secretary, who would probably give it to the boss lady.

“Thank you, Miss Wells.” Samantha gave him a brief, tight hug before pulling away. “It’ll only take a moment to pack a bag.”

“No, Sam, not a bag.” He slung his Stetson atop his head. “All of your belongings. You won’t be returning.”

The teacher let out a little squeak, her hand flying up to clutch the cameo at her neck. “Surely you don’t mean to pull one of our brightest students from the academy. Why Samantha’s...”

He shut out the teacher’s prattling and focused on Sam. Her face had turned white as birch bark.

Confound it.

He should rip out his tongue and hang it up to dry. He hadn’t meant to tell Sam she was leaving like that, but he’d spent most of his trip out East pondering things. He’d promised not to tell Sam about the consumption, but he’d never promised not to take her out of her fancy school. If he could get Sam to make a clean break from this place, convincing her to come home with him should be easy as coaxing a thirsty horse to the drinking trough. She could help him sort through Grandpa’s things for the next few weeks, and then she’d be off to Wyoming before she had a chance to think about missing her school.

He stepped forward and rubbed Sam’s back. “Now don’t go bawling on me, Sam. It’s just that—”

“How could you take me from here?” Her voice quivered.

How could he?

How could he not? Grandpa was gone now—there was no kith or kin anywhere in the whole of the state of New York to tie her here. Surely she didn’t expect to be left here without anyone to look after her. She must hanker to see Ma and Pa and the ranch. To fall asleep to the sound of coyotes yipping and awake to the scent of thin mountain air. To see Ma before she died.

“Samantha.” The teacher laid a slender hand on Sam’s arm. “Why don’t you head to your room and freshen up? I’ve a matter to discuss with your brother.” Her eyes shot him that ice-coated look again. “Privately.”

Sam fled toward the staircase, muffling her sobs in her hand. And something hollow opened inside his chest, filling him with a familiar ache.

“Mr. Hayes, I do not appreciate having my class interrupted or one of my students upset.”

He turned back toward the teacher. Though the woman only reached his shoulder, she acted like she commanded an army. A firm line spread across those full lips, a hint of fire burned beneath her cool eyes, and her face looked as blank as a riverboat gambler’s.

He’d gone and raised her hackles, all right. She probably had a hankering to sit him in the corner or send him to the office or apply some other schoolboy-type punishment.

He tipped his hat. “I’m sorry. I’d no intention of disrupting anything, miss—” or of sending Sam away in tears “—but I haven’t seen my sister for a fair piece, and I wasn’t keen on waiting any longer.”

Not that he was about to plop down and explain the bad blood between Pa and Grandpa to the woman.

“I understand that, sir, and I appreciate your apology.”

“If you’ll excuse me, then.” He dipped his head and shifted toward the stairs. “I best find her and get on to the estate.”

“Mr. Hayes.” The teacher stepped in front of him, a bold move for someone so tiny. “You can’t take Samantha from here.”

He crossed his arms. “My sister’s not rightly your concern.”

“Yes, she is. You made her my concern when you sent her here.”

“Now listen. I never sent her here and neither did Pa. This school thing was all Grandpa’s idea. Pa just wanted to get Sam away from the Teton Valley while we dealt with a few troubles. We figured she’d come live with Grandpa and go to the local high school hereabouts. No one ever mentioned Sam coming to this fancy school until she was already here.”

But that bit of information seemed to have no effect on the teacher. Her eyebrows didn’t arch, her jaw didn’t drop and her eyes didn’t flash with questions. Instead, she pointed her finger and shoved it in his chest. Hard.

“Be that as it may, she has been a student here for over three years without your interference, and she has done exceptionally well. I’m sure you want the best for your sister’s future, and she thrives in this environment. She’ll make an excellent student at Maple Ridge College a year from now.”

College. There it was again. That lousy word that threatened to keep Sam out East for good rather than home where she belonged. “Look, I appreciate what you’re doing here, trying to educate women and all. And if you want to teach fancy mathematics to the girls in your classroom, you go right ahead.”

“It’s advanced algebra.”

“Call it whatever you want. But with no more family in the area, there’s nothing to keep Sam here. My sister will finish her schooling in Wyoming and won’t be attending college next fall. She’s coming home with me as soon as I straighten Grandpa’s affairs.”

The teacher raised her chin, her small nose jutting arrogantly in the air. “This conversation is becoming ridiculous.”

“I agree.”

“I’m sure if we schedule an appointment to discuss the situation with your sister and the headmistress, we could reach a more satisfying conclusion for all affected.”

Oh, he could think of a satisfying conclusion, and it involved him and Sam hightailing it out of this confounded school, never to return. “I said my sister won’t be returning, and I meant it. She’s got obligations at home.”

“Mr. Hayes, you are making a grave and regrettable mis— Is that a gun?” Her voice squeaked, all semblance of propriety fleeing while she stared at the Colt .45 holstered on his right hip.

Somewhere down the hall a door closed, and the clip of shoes on flooring resonated against the walls. He shifted his weight to his left leg and cocked his right hip, purposely exaggerating the firearm’s presence. Not that he wanted to scare her, but she was a sight to behold with her perfect little feathers all in a ruffle. “We use them where I come from.”

Unfortunately, she didn’t stay flustered quite long enough. She clamped her hands to her hips and glared. “I’d thank you to remove it from the premises at once. We’ve no need for guns at Hayes Academy. Why, the entire class probably saw it.”

Luke crossed his arms. “I seem to recall something in the U.S. Constitution about citizens bearing arms.”

“Yes, well, certainly not in a school.”

“Now look here—”

“Mr. Luke Hayes, I presume.”

Luke flicked his eyes toward the tall woman coming down the hall. She moved the way a shopkeeper did when suspecting someone of pocketing a gold watch—quickly and full of purpose.

The woman stopped and extended a wrinkled hand. “What a pleasure to meet you. I’m Josephine Bowen, headmistress here at Hayes Academy.”

“Luke Hayes.” He gave the hand a hearty shake.

“I trust there’s no problem?” The headmistress slid a stern gaze toward Miss Wells.

He’d seen similar looks on teachers’ faces plenty a time in his youth. It always preceded him being dragged to the front of the schoolroom for a switching.

But Miss Wells didn’t so much as flinch under the heated stare. “Mr. Hayes and I were discussing his sister’s schooling. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I should return to my students.”

“Yes, Miss Wells.” The headmistress nodded. “Do return to your class, please, and thank you for taking time to make Mr. Hayes feel welcome.”

He rubbed his jaw. Hopefully the rest of Valley Falls didn’t plan to “welcome” him the way the fiery little teacher had.

Miss Wells gave a tight smile as she opened the classroom door, then disappeared inside.

“Mr. Hayes, we’re simply delighted to have you.” The headmistress’s overly bright voice echoed through the hallway, but she wasn’t lecturing him on pulling Sam out of school. Then again, she probably hadn’t read his letter yet, or she’d be bawling like a cow in labor.

“Hayes Academy has benefited greatly from your grandfather’s generosity, and we look forward to doing the same with you,” she continued.

Seeing how he’d never met his paternal grandfather, he hadn’t the foggiest notion what Grandpa’s generosity entailed. “I haven’t talked to Grandpa’s lawyer yet. In what ways, exactly, has my grandfather aided you?”

Miss Bowen beamed up at him. “Where, sir, do you think the name Hayes Academy comes from?”

He’d figured as much.

“Twenty years ago Jonah Hayes donated the land that this school sits on and a good portion of the funds to build it.” The headmistress clasped his hand. “Three years ago we used another donation to replace the windows on the second floor and renovate the grounds. Surely you noticed the horticulture as you came in? But right now, we’re simply hoping to—”

“I’m sorry, but I...” Won’t be making any donations. The words turned to dust in his mouth. The headmistress’s severe face shone with delight, and he’d already upset enough womenfolk since walking into this school. Two an hour ought to be his limit. “Settling Grandpa’s estate is a mite complicated. I don’t know how much I can promise.”

Her shoulders sagged—if that were possible for a woman who exuded perfect posture. “Of course, I understand it will take time to fully grasp the reins of your grandfather’s financial concerns. But I do hope you’ll bear in mind that, while your grandfather left a wonderful legacy, in order for it to be enjoyed by future generations, we must all endeavor to keep the legacy alive. Perhaps the board members call fill you in on some of your grandfather’s other contributions when you meet them.”

“Board members?” This whole school business was growing a bit too involved. He took a step backward and glanced toward the stairway. The hot, stale air inside the building clung to his skin, and the hallway’s white walls and dim lights were a mite too suffocating. He needed to get outside, breathe some fresh air, feel the sun on his face. What was keeping Sam?

“The school board meets once a month.” Miss Bowen’s grip tightened on his arm, her nails digging in a tad too forcefully. “Of course you’ll fill your grandfather’s seat. What a shame you missed last night’s meeting, though. We truly needed someone present to keep the needs of Hayes at the forefront. Otherwise I’m afraid our precious institution gets eclipsed by the needs of the nearby college and boys’ school. Unfortunately the most I can do now is provide you with a copy of the minutes.”

“Uh, sure,” he mumbled, then stuck a finger in his collar and pulled, but that didn’t stop the tight feeling in his throat.

“But I will be able to introduce you to the board at the banquet tomorrow night. How marvelous that you’ve arrived in time to attend!”

“Banquet?” he croaked.

“Yes, the annual banquet for Maple Ridge College and its two preparatory schools, Hayes Academy for Girls and Connor Academy for Boys. All are located here in Valley Falls, but as most of the board members are Albany businessmen, the banquet is held in Albany. The Kenmore Hotel. Seven o’clock.”

Seven o’clock. Albany. Tomorrow night. These fancy eastern women wanted money, his gun off, his sister in school, his presence at some uppity banquet and him seated on a stuffy school board. And he’d only been off the train an hour.

What demands would they come up with tomorrow? And how was he ever going to survive a month?


Chapter Two

Mug of coffee in hand, Luke stood at the French doors in his grandpa’s study, looking out over the estate’s immaculate back lawn. To the west, the Catskill Mountains, shadowed in blue and gray, rose over the fields and trees like sentinels guarding the land below. Pretty enough, but not anything close to the untamed wilderness he hailed from.

He rubbed a hand over his face.

What was he even doing in New York State, standing in a fancy house that he’d somehow inherited rather than Pa?

You be careful out there, Pa had told him before he left. Your old codger of a grandfather was awful wily. Wouldn’t surprise me if he found some way to chain you to that wretched estate of his, even from his grave. The tension had risen like an old, unhealed wound still festering between Pa and Grandpa despite one of them being cold and buried. Probably ruined Sam in the few years he had her.

Not once in his twenty-eight years had Pa said anything good about Grandpa. Luke had about fallen over three years ago when Pa sent Sam off to the man. But the ranch had been no place for a young girl after Blake’s death, and she’d needed to go somewhere.

Someone rapped at the office door, and Luke turned.

“I’m here...like you asked.”

Oh, Sam was there all right. With a face chiseled in granite.

His boots sunk into some highfalutin gold and burgundy rug as he walked behind Grandpa’s desk. With lions’ heads carved into eight columns and sprawling paws to serve as feet, the desk belonged in a king’s throne room rather than a study and wasn’t something he cottoned to sitting behind. Still standing, he gestured to her. “Sit.”

Head high, back rigid, she took dainty steps toward a gilt chair with blue cushions that faced the desk. She still wore that lifeless school uniform of a white shirtwaist and navy skirt, the black armband around her right sleeve indicating she was in mourning for a man he’d never met. And yet, she carried herself like a lady. Maybe that was the problem. She wasn’t so much the girl he remembered anymore, but a woman.

A citified woman.

He cleared his throat and placed his half-empty coffee mug on the desk.

She tilted her nose into the air. “You shouldn’t set that on the wood. It could ruin the finish.”

He lifted his eyes, and their gazes collided. He set his jaw. She straightened her spine. He narrowed his eyes. She raised her chin. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped and a servant called. A door closed on the floor above, and footsteps plodded down the hall. But neither of them moved.

“Since I inherited this desk, along with the rest of the estate,” he said slowly, his eyes still burning into hers, “I reckon it’s not your concern how I treat it.”

“You shouldn’t use phrases like ‘I reckon,’ either. It’s most unbecoming.”

He gripped the edge of the desk and leaned over it. “I’m not interested in being ‘becoming,’ Samantha. I’m interested in settling this slew of money Grandpa left me and taking you home. Where you were born, where you were raised and where you belong.”

“You can’t make me leave.”

Figured stubbornness was the one thing that fancy school hadn’t stripped from her. “Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“I can’t tell you what to do? What gives you the right to tell me?” She jumped from the chair, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “I’m staying here and graduating, then I’m going to college to study mathematics and architecture. Because I want to be an architect one day.”

Her tongue lingered over the word architect, and her eyes burned with a fierce passion. “Not that you’ve bothered to ask why I want to go to college.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or bang his head against the wall. At least Sam had something she wanted to do, some reason for avoiding their family—though she’d evidently had the good sense not to mention such a ridiculous notion in her letters to him.

Had probably told Ma all about it, though.

A woman architect. Who’d ever heard of such a thing?

“Well, aren’t you going to say something?” she snapped.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a fine dream you’ve got, Sam.” Or a crazy one. “But I’ve got to take you home before you go off chasing after college.”

“You don’t. Ma would want me to stay here. I just got a letter from her last week saying how much she loved hearing about how happy I am in Valley Falls.”

Of course Ma would say that. But then, Ma hadn’t exactly told Sam about her consumption, either. And if Ma were here, watching his conversation with Sam right now, she’d be upset with the way he was handling things.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the knots tightening his muscles. If he could manage a ranch with five thousand head of cattle, he could convince Sam to go back home while still keeping his promise. Couldn’t he? “Look, I’m sorry for how I brought up your leaving at school. I didn’t mean to yammer about it in front of your teacher. The words just slipped out, when you talked about packing a bag. But you can’t stay in New York now that Grandpa’s passed. Who would look after you? Besides I need your help around the estate for the next few weeks while we get ready to leave.

“You can start going through the things in Grandpa’s room. You know better than me what should be kept or sold off. I figured Pa might cotton to a couple of keepsakes.” Which was probably more a dream than anything, given that Pa hadn’t talked to Grandpa in over thirty years. “The sooner we sort through this estate, the sooner we can get home.”

“I cared about Grandpa,” she said, nodding toward the black band around her upper arm. “And I’m happy to sort through his things, but don’t you try using that as a way to get me out of school. There will be plenty of time for me to sort through things outside of school hours. Come Monday morning, I’ll be back at Hayes Academy. And I’m not going to Wyoming.”

Had Sam been this disagreeable three years ago? He tried to envision it but ended up with the mental picture of a sweet girl crying over her injured cat in the barn. “I happen to love you, and I happen to want my sister with me, under her family’s care.”

“If you loved me, you’d let me stay. I love it here! This place is my life.”

Love it. She once said that about the Teton Valley. “What about Ma and Pa? You haven’t seen them for nigh on three years.” And Ma might not be around in another year.

She ducked her chin and toyed with the fabric of her skirt. “Do they know you’re trying to take me away, trying to quash my dream?”

A fist tightened around his heart. His sister stood before him, her body tall and womanish, her eyes alive with hope and passion, her mind determined to win their argument. He’d had a dream once, too—one he shared with Blake about buying a cattle ranch. No one had told him that he couldn’t. If anything, Ma and Pa had encouraged him and Blake to make their own ways in life. And they had.

And while he’d been out West, grieving Blake and seeing to the cattle ranch that now belonged solely to him, Sam had grown up, become a woman.

But woman or not, she still had a dying ma in the Teton Valley, and he had a promise to keep. Except didn’t he also have a duty to reunite his sister and mother before it was too late? “I’m not trying to quash anything, Sam. Ma and Pa miss you. Is it so hard to believe they want to see you again?”

Her back went rigid as a fence post. “They sent me away.”

“Come on now. Once you get back home and see some of your old friends, things won’t seem so bad. Levi Sanders took over his pa’s ranch a year back, and he’s looking for a good wife who knows the ways of a ranch. Not a silly city woman who can’t tell the front end of a horse from the rear. Here.” He dug in his pocket and held out the creased envelope. “Levi sent you this letter.”

She clutched her hands together defiantly, but her actions didn’t hide the moisture shimmering in her eyes.

He blew out a breath. What was he to do with a girl who was hard as iron one minute and all weepy the next? “Take the letter, Sam, and stop being so all-fired stubborn.”

“What about Cynthia and Everett? Are you forcing them to go back, as well?” she whispered furiously.

He froze, a flood of bloody images he couldn’t erase scalding his mind. “I wouldn’t take them back West for all the land in the Teton Valley.”

“They’re—”

“Enough.” He slashed the air with his hand, cutting her off. “We’re discussing you, not the woman responsible for Blake’s death. Now take the letter.” He shoved the envelope across the desk as a knock sounded on the door.

The butler poked his head inside. “Mr. Hayes? Mr. Byron, the lawyer, is here for your meeting.”

“Thank you.” But his gaze didn’t leave Samantha.

She huffed, stood and snatched the letter. “Fine. I’ll read it. And I’ll reply. But I’m not going back to Wyoming. I’m graduating from Hayes Academy, and then I’m attending college. I’m going to become an architect one day. You just see if I don’t.” A tear slipped down her cheek before she flew out of the room.

Luke blew out another breath and rubbed the heel of his palm over his chest, but the action didn’t quell the pain in his heart. He should have never let Pa send her away, should have stood up to his sire the moment Pa had suggested Sam had to leave after Blake died. But he hadn’t, and now he was good and stuck.

He couldn’t drag his sister, crying and screaming, away from a place she loved. And she wasn’t about to come willingly...unless he told her about Ma. But then he’d be breaking his promise, and a man couldn’t just up and ignore a promise like that.

His fingers dug into the polished wood top of the desk. If he did nothing else on this confounded trip, he’d convince Sam to come home on her own.

If only he could figure out how.

* * *

Elizabeth’s head ached, her neck muscles had turned into a mass of knots and her stomach roiled as though it would heave out her lunch—despite the fact she hadn’t eaten any.

She could blame most of her discomfort on Luke Hayes.

She’d grown up with a politician father. She’d seen him, her younger brother, Jackson, and even her mother wheedle donations more times than she could count. Goodness, she had wheedled donations before. She knew the best way to go about it. Smile. Look pretty. And agree with everything the potential donor said.

Not three hours earlier, the man who could save Hayes Academy had stood in front of her. She hadn’t smiled. She’d probably looked a fright with chalk on her skirt and her hair askew. And she’d disagreed with everything he had said.

Goodbye, Hayes Academy.

She sighed. Was she was being too hard on herself? Luke Hayes had interrupted her quiz and then pulled her brightest pupil out of school. Certainly he didn’t expect her to smile and say, “Yes, that’s fine. Ruin your sister’s future. I don’t care in the least.”

She opened her bottom desk drawer and stuffed into her satchel the letters she needed to work on the ledgers. He had no right to rip Samantha out of class then spout off about his sister not being her concern. Of course she was concerned—she knew exactly what the girl was going through. The battle was all too familiar.

What do you mean, you’re going to college?

A pretty girl like you should find a husband.

Just because one man jilted you, doesn’t mean the next will.

A college degree? What’s wrong with the schooling you already have? Why do you need more?

The sharp comments twined through her memory. Why should her desire to teach mathematics matter, when she could get married and have children? People had been asking her that for six years, and now Mr. Hayes had said the same about Samantha.

Maybe if she had explained the possibilities that awaited Samantha after she had a high school diploma and college degree, he’d let his sister continue her education.

Maybe.

But how many people understood her own pursuit of mathematics? Mr. Hayes would likely squelch his sister’s dreams just as so many people had tried to kill hers.

Elizabeth straightened and slipped her satchel over her shoulder. She wasn’t doing herself any favors by stewing over Luke Hayes, and she needed to stop by the kitchen and inventory the recent food delivery before she even went home.

She closed and locked her classroom door, then walked down the hallway toward the large double doors at the opposite end of the building. The tinkle of girlish giggles from outside floated through the main entrance to the school, and the clear autumn sun filtered through the windows beside the doorway.

If only she didn’t have the cook to meet with and ledgers to refigure, she could enjoy that picnic with her students. But some things weren’t meant to be. She pushed through the doors leading into the dining hall, then weaved her way through the maze of tables and chairs toward the kitchen at the back.

Dottie McGivern, the school’s cook, stood at the counter just inside the kitchen.

“There you are. Been wondering whether you were going to show up.” Dottie’s plump hands dove into a bowl of dough and began to knead. “We need more flour, apples and sugar.”

Elizabeth sighed. Of course they did. It only made sense. She already had the ladies’ society, Samantha’s brother and the school’s financial woes to deal with. Why not add trouble with the food order, as well?

“I’m assuming you didn’t get the amounts you ordered?” Again?

Dottie pointed to the half-empty shelves lining the wall of the kitchen. “Now look here, Miss Wells. I’ve been cooking for a long time, and I know how much money it costs to feed a slew of girls. Or at least how much money it should cost. So when I say I need a hundred and fifty dollars each month to pay for food, I mean a hundred and fifty dollars, not the fifty dollars’ worth of foodstuffs that showed up this morning. That look like a hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of food to you?”

“No, it doesn’t.” This could not be happening again, not with the school in such dire financial straits. It seemed every time Dottie had a load of food delivered, something had gotten mixed up and only a portion of the needed food was delivered. “I don’t understand. Jackson says he authorizes the food money to be released every month. You should have plenty of supplies, not be running out.”

Dottie wagged a flour-covered finger at her chest. “Talk to your brother, then. Maybe you got your messages mixed up, but the delivery that arrived today wasn’t no hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of food.”

Yes, she would talk to Jackson. Indeed, she hoped something had become mixed up. Otherwise, the academy was being cheated somehow. And not just with groceries. This was the fourth time such a thing had happened since the school year started. Jackson said enough money for materials and bills had been released, yet the gas company claimed they never received payment, the store they ordered teachers’ supplies from was missing money as well, and Dottie said only a third of her food arrived.

“Miss Wells, there you are. I feared you had gone already.” Miss Bowen’s head poked through the swinging kitchen door, her perfect coiffure and straight suit grossly incongruous against the counters piled with potatoes, messy casserole dishes and frazzled works in the kitchen. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I simply must speak with you. In private, that is.”

Miss Bowen sent Dottie a brief smile and then disappeared back through the door.

Elizabeth squeezed Dottie’s arm. “I’ll be back tomorrow to figure this out.”

The fiery-haired woman nodded. “Thank you.”

Elizabeth headed out of the kitchen and toward the far corner of the dining hall where Mrs. Bowen stood. The lines of her gray dress looked so stiff that the woman couldn’t possibly be comfortable walking. Or standing. Or sitting. Or doing anything at all. But a smile softened the creases of her face.

“I need to speak with you about the school board meeting last evening.”

Of course. Why not discuss the school board meeting? It was just one more thing to add to her list of disastrous events. At this rate, she’d better not bother to go home later. She’d likely find her house burned to ashes or swallowed by an earthquake. “What about it?”

“Well, naturally the board is concerned about the bad publicity Hayes Academy received earlier this week.”

Which the school board undoubtedly blamed on her, since she’d written that editorial. “Do they plan to file a complaint with the Morning Times? To the best of my knowledge, no one, not a school board member, nor you, nor I, nor anyone associated with Hayes Academy, was asked to defend it in an official article. I suppose it will be left to me to write something in response.”

Miss Bowen blanched. “No. I’m afraid that won’t be necessary. In fact, I do believe several of the board members requested you not write anything more for the paper.”

“Does someone else plan to write an editorial, then?” Surely the school board didn’t intend to let Mr. Higsley’s article go unanswered. “Or perhaps the board could invite the reporter to the school? The man might well retract some of his comments, were he to see firsthand how beneficial—”

“The school board is considering closing Hayes Academy. Immediately.” The words fell from Miss Bowen’s mouth in a jumbled rush.

Elizabeth’s heart stuttered, then stopped. She opened her mouth, hoping something intelligible would come out, but all she could do was stare at Miss Bowen’s pale, pinched face. She should have known. She’d suspected the school board would lean in this direction, of course. But so quickly? Before she even had a chance to refigure the ledgers or write another article or find more donors?

“I see. Did...did my father...” She pressed her eyes shut, hated herself for even asking, but she had to know. “...support closing the school?”

Miss Bowen’s eyes grew heavy, and Elizabeth’s gaze fell to her feet. Of course Father would pull his support. He discontinued support of anything politically disadvantageous. He wouldn’t care that he had championed the school during his past two reelection campaigns.

“Elizabeth? Are you all right?”

“Yes. Fine.” Except her throat felt like sawdust had been poured down it, and her stomach twisted and lurched as though it would lose its contents again.

“The decision hasn’t been finalized yet. There’s hope in that, I suppose, though I must confess the majority of the members seemed to have already made up their minds. Still, the school board wants a detailed report from your brother on Hayes Academy’s financial status by the end of next week. They’re scheduling another meeting two weeks from now.”

“That’s when they’ll decide whether to close the school?”

“Yes.”

“So there’s hope.”

“A glimmer.” But no hope shone on Miss Bowen’s face.

And rightly so. One week, maybe two. That wasn’t much time.

“Elizabeth.” Miss Bowen touched her shoulder. “Where do we stand financially? I know several letters from our sponsors have come this week. I’m assuming your brother has received more?”

“I’m heading home to calculate numbers.”

“Surely you must have some idea.”

She glanced toward one of the small dining room windows. The sun still burned clear and bright outside, but the little shaft of light barely seemed to penetrate the dark, empty room. “It’s not good.”

“Well.” Miss Bowen’s lips curved into a painfully brilliant smile. “Perhaps things will improve shortly. I asked Mr. Hayes about the possibility of another donation.”

Her head snapped up. “When he was here earlier?”

“Why of course. When else would I have seen him?”

Lovely timing. He’d probably pasted a grin on his face and agreed to everything asked of him, especially since she’d just finished lecturing him about bringing a gun into school and pulling his sister out. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t say no, but he didn’t rush to make a commitment, either. I’m sure he just needs more time.”

The headmistress’s voice held a fragile kind of promise. Elizabeth rubbed her temples. She didn’t want to shatter it, not when it would shatter soon enough on its own. “That’s something at least. He probably doesn’t realize how much responsibility for this school he’s inheriting. I’m assuming his lawyer will inform him sometime over the weekend.”

“I’m sure Mr. Hayes will want to continue in his grandfather’s stead, or he wouldn’t have come East at all. But I want you to speak with him about a donation.”

“Me? Speak with him? Certainly you’re in a better position to solicit funds.”

“Don’t be foolish, Elizabeth. You have such a convincing way about you, when you’re passionate about an issue. I doubt the man will be able to tell you no.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. Luke Hayes certainly hadn’t found saying the word difficult earlier that afternoon.

And he likely wouldn’t have trouble saying it again.


Chapter Three

“Sell it all,” Luke said from behind his grandfather’s desk. “The companies, the estate, everything but the stocks.”

The lawyer, Mr. Byron, cleared his throat. “You can’t.”

“Why?” Luke waved his hand over the will spread across the desk. “Is there some sort of stipulation that prevents me from selling?”

“It’s not done.” Mr. Byron folded his stubby arms across his chest and peered through his spectacles. “Your grandfather intended for you to continue running the companies he worked so hard to establish, not to sell them off.”

Luke stared at the papers he’d spent the past two hours poring over, the lines of neat handwriting growing blurry beneath his gaze. He’d inherited nearly everything his grandfather had owned. Fifteen accounting offices with an insurance company attached to each branch, and a smattering of investments both in Albany businesses and on the New York Stock Exchange. “This shouldn’t even be mine. My father should inherit it.”

“Your grandfather was very clear. He wanted the estate and businesses to fall to his only living grandson.” The lawyer spoke without inflection, as though the words didn’t threaten to shatter the life Luke had built out West.

The unreachable little spot between his shoulder blades started to itch. Had Grandpa thought Luke would feel obliged to stay, once he saw the vast holdings? According to Pa, Jonah Hayes had manipulated everything and everyone around him. When the old codger tried forcing Pa into a marriage all those years back, Pa left, and Grandpa disowned him. Was Grandpa trying to get back at Pa by pulling his pa’s only living son back East?

Luke stretched his arm behind his back and tried to scratch the nagging itch. He couldn’t spend his days in an office, staring at lists and numbers, instead of ranching. Falling asleep to the distant howl of wolves and breathing the sharp air of the first mountain blizzard. Working with his hands to brand the cattle, round them up and drive them east. Seeing the prairie change from summer to autumn to winter to spring, all while the bold, jagged Tetons to his west watched like slumbering giants.

No. He wouldn’t leave the West. Not for all the wealth of his grandfather’s estate. “If Grandpa left everything to me, then he shouldn’t care what I do with it, and I want it sold.”

“You don’t realize the scope of what you ask.” The lawyer shoved his spectacles back up on his nose, only to have them slide halfway down again. “Think of all the problems selling such large holdings will cause. With the economy as it is, you’ll get maybe half the true value of your grandfather’s companies.”

Luke clenched his jaw. Beating his head against a brick wall would be easier than talking to the lawyer. “I don’t care about the money. My ranch does well enough. But if Grandpa was bound and determined to leave me his estate, the least I can do is take the money from it back to Pa, who should have gotten all this in the first place.”

“I appreciate that you want to reconcile things between your father and late grandfather, but you must consider some of the other people caught in your decision. What will happen to all the employees at Great Northern Accounting and Insurance if you sell?”

How was he to know? The new buyers would likely keep some of the employees. It wasn’t as though he put thousands of people out of work just by choosing to sell Grandpa’s companies. He wouldn’t be shutting down the businesses, merely putting them in the hands of men actually interested in running them.

“And what about the staff here at the estate? Do you realize how many people’s livelihoods you will be terminating with the single command to sell?”

Luke raked a hand through his hair. He hadn’t thought of the servants, either. Whoever bought the estate would probably have his own slew of servants to replace Grandpa’s. He’d need to have a meeting with the staff next week, explain the situation and let all but the minimum go.

No. That seemed too abrupt. Maybe he would keep them on for an extra month and give them time to find new employment.

But how would they look for other jobs if they were working here? Perhaps he should give them each a month’s salary and then release them.

And where would they sleep and eat for the coming month? The servants all lived on the estate, and kicking them out meant they had no home, even if he sent each of them off with a heap of money. Would his former employees even be able to find other jobs? He didn’t need to live out East to know that many of the country’s wealthy had lost money since the panic had hit. People were cutting back and getting rid of extra staff, not hiring more.

“Have you ever fired a person before, Mr. Hayes?” Byron leaned over the opposite side of the desk, his brown eyes extra large behind his glasses.

Luke bristled. “Of course.” Cowhands who were lazy or dishonest or lousy with cattle. But he’d never before fired a good, honest worker. It seemed a shame for decent people to lose their jobs because of a business decision. His business decision.

This whole affair was too complicated by half. Why had Grandpa left everything to him in the first place? He’d made a big enough mess of his own family. What made Grandpa think he could run an estate, and one of the largest insurance and accounting corporations in the East? He needed to get Sam, take her back home and see Ma through until she passed. Surely Grandpa would have understood that he didn’t have time for servants and accounting companies and whatever else.

“You could look for a manager,” the lawyer supplied. “Someone who would run the companies in your absence and report back to you in Wyoming. Then you could travel here every two or three years to see that things are being managed properly.”

Luke rubbed the back of his neck. The manager idea wasn’t half bad. It made more sense than anything else at the moment.

“You would continue to make a profit off the companies, as well.” The lawyer pounced on Luke’s moment of deliberation like a cougar on an unsuspecting rabbit. “Think of it as an extra source of income. It’s a rather sound business decision to make. Of course, you’ll have to interview potential managers while you’re here. But once you’ve found a man, you’d be free to return to Wyoming.”

“I don’t want to commit to anything like that just yet.”

“Why don’t you ponder the decision over the weekend?”

Yes, he’d better think it through. He didn’t want a lot of strings tying him to the East. And yet... “Then the employees would be able to keep their jobs?”

“All but the ones on the estate.”

“I’ll give you an answer next week.”

“Excellent.” A smile curved at the edges of Mr. Byron’s pudgy lips. “Let’s move on to your sister-in-law’s inheritance then, shall we?”

The world seemed to freeze around him, his blood turning frigid at the mere mention of her. “My grandfather left money to Cynthia?”

“Yes, a tidy sum of—”

“I don’t want to know.” Luke turned away and crossed his arms, but the image came back to him like hot, glowing embers buried beneath layers of ash. Cynthia with her pregnant belly cradled between her body and legs while she kneeled on the ground. Her fiery hair tangling in the mountain breeze, her eyes shining with tears, her voice pleading with him. And lying beside her, his dead, blood-soaked twin.

“Your sister also stands to inherit a nice amount,” the lawyer continued.

Luke walked to the French doors and pushed them open, then sucked in a breath of cool outside air.

“Samantha will receive ten thousand dollars either when she marries or turns twenty-five.”

Luke drew in another deep breath and tried to wrap his mind around the lawyer’s words. Samantha. They were talking about his sister now, weren’t they? Not the woman who’d let his brother die. “Has Sam been told?”

“Yes.”

He stared out into the darkening valley, rife with the music of insect sounds and toads and the faint rustle of the breeze. Returning to Wyoming beautiful and single, Sam would have been the talk of the Teton Valley. But with a ten-thousand-dollar inheritance, she’d attract every bachelor west of the Mississippi.

“In addition to her inheritance, your sister also has a separate fund to pay for the rest of her schooling.”

“What?” The calming air he’d just inhaled deserted his lungs.

“The remainder of Samantha’s year at Hayes Academy is, of course, already paid for. But this fund contains money for further education. College—not just a bachelor’s degree but a master’s program, even a doctorate, if your sister so desires.”

Luke turned back toward the lawyer and stalked to the desk. Grandpa’s will just kept getting better and better. “That’s ridiculous. She needs to go home to her family. Not chase some dream she has little hope of achieving.”

Perhaps if she wanted to be a teacher or a nurse, he could understand her desire to attend college. But architecture? She’d be laughed out of her classes. And even if she managed to graduate, who would hire her?

The lawyer cleared his throat. “Educating women was one of your grandfather’s passions, and something he devoted much time and money toward. He wouldn’t want any less for his granddaughter.”

Educating women. Why wasn’t grade school enough of an education? That was all the education he had, and he managed just fine. In fact, he’d wager Grandpa didn’t have more than a grade school education either, and the man had built a financial empire.

Luke poured what was probably his third cup of coffee and sank down behind the polished mahogany desk, brow furrowed as he stared at the pages of the will.

Why was God doing this to him? He hadn’t asked to inherit this estate. He just wanted to put his family back together and go home where he belonged, but now Grandpa’s will made it possible for Sam to stay with or without his approval. He took a sip of coffee and set the mug on the desk.

You shouldn’t set that on the wood. It could ruin the finish.

He blew out a breath. His sister was right—not that he cottoned to being reminded. Still...he grabbed a page of the will and stuck it under the mug.

His head ached, he was covered in road dust, and his face needed a shave. What he wouldn’t give for a good scrubbing in the stream, but first he needed to talk to Sam again. Or at least try talking to her. Hopefully their next conversation would go a little better than the first two they’d had. “Can we continue this discussion tomorrow? I’ve had about all I can take for tonight.”

The lawyer turned from where he stood shuffling through his own copies of the papers. “We’re about done, as it is. Let’s cover the charities quickly, then you can have the weekend to look over the will. Perhaps you’ll stop by my office in Albany on Monday with any further questions? Or if you wish, I can come here.”

“Albany on Monday’s fine.” He’d walk there barefoot, if doing so would end this fiasco for the night.

“Here’s the list of institutions your grandfather contributed to over the past five years.” Mr. Byron handed him three sheets of paper. As though the twenty-five names on one sheet wouldn’t have supplied his grandfather with enough philanthropic opportunities. “I’d expect the majority of these charities will send representatives to speak with you about donations in your grandfather’s memory.”

He’d figured that much when he’d talked to the headmistress at the academy earlier. He’d probably spend a week doing nothing more than explaining to the representatives that he would be heading West before he decided what to do with the funds.

“This is one you need to be particularly aware of, though.” The lawyer slid yet another piece of paper across the desk. “You may not know it, but your grandfather was the founder of Hayes Academy for Girls and stayed rather involved in that institution. It’s assumed you’ll fill the role he vacated.”

Luke frowned as he glanced at the papers for Hayes Academy—lists of finances and supplies, students and faculty. Easy enough to make sense of and not so very different from the accounts he kept of the ranch. “There’s a projected deficit. Am I in charge of raising money for my sister’s school?”

The lawyer shoved his drooping spectacles onto his nose yet again. Following the pattern, they slid right back down. “Either that or donating it yourself.”

He was never going to get back home. It took every ounce of pride in his body not to bang his head on the desk.

“Hayes Academy for Girls was your grandfather’s crowning social achievement. He remained rather proud of the school and very involved in its running, right up until his heart attack.”

Luke ran his eyes over the lists of expenses on the papers again. Looked like things could be managed a little better, but what was he going to do with the mess? He might be able to tell his lawyer to sell an estate, but he couldn’t exactly tell the lawyer to sell a girls’ school that he didn’t even own, could he? “All I see is projected expenses based on current enrollment. There’s no ledger?”

“The manager of the accounting office in Albany has the official ledgers, but the mathematics teacher, a Miss Elizabeth Wells, keeps her own ledgers and reports to the accountant. You might check with her about the school’s current financial state, particularly in regard to the day-to-day details. She stays more informed about such things than the accountant or the school board.”

Miss Wells. Lovely. He could just imagine how that conversation would go. Howdy, Miss Wells. Now that I’ve pulled my sister out of your school, I want to scrutinize every last figure you’ve recorded in your books. “How much, then?”

Byron’s eyebrows furrowed together. “How much what?”

“How much money did Grandpa’s will bequest to them?” Luke spread the papers into a bigger mess across the top of the desk. “For all the figures on these papers, I can’t find the amount.”

“Your grandfather made no bequests for a single charity. Everything was given to you, with the exception of the sums for Cynthia and your sister. He probably assumed once you saw the extent of his philanthropic endeavors, you would continue donating in his stead.”

Luke stuck a finger in his collar and tugged. Likely another way for good old Grandpa to trap him in this uppity little eastern town. “How much did my grandfather usually donate?”

The lawyer pointed to a number on one of the sheets.

“Two thousand dollars for one school year?” Luke jumped to his feet, the thunderous words reverberating off the office walls. He could understand five hundred dollars, or maybe even a thousand. But two thousand dollars so girls could learn fancy mathematics? “That seems a little extreme.”

The lawyer’s eyes darkened, and he jerked the paper away. “On the contrary. As I already mentioned, your grandfather advocated educating women, and it’s only natural he use his money toward that end. Since its inception, the school has been very successful at seeing its graduates enter colleges across the country.”

Luke leafed through the pages. “But it looks like donations are down...enrollment, too. It isn’t much to say the graduates go to college, when there’s no one to graduate.”

“That is hardly the fault of the school,” Byron insisted. “The current economic state has, of course, caused some students to delay their educations. And of late, there has been a bit of local opposition to the school.”

Byron handed him two newspaper articles: An Editorial on the Necessity of Educating Young Women by Miss Elizabeth Wells, and Excessive Amount of Charity Money Wasted on Hayes Academy for Girls by a certain Mr. Reginald Higsley.

Luke let the papers fall to the desk. “The derogatory article appeared at the beginning of the week. Has the school board printed an answer?”

The lawyer shook his head. “Your grandfather always handled situations such as this personally. But if you’re concerned about the articles, you may find it interesting that your grandfather was a rather large investor in the Morning Times.”

Luke sunk his head in his hands. “I see.”

And he did. He hadn’t even been in Valley Falls a day, and his life had been upended, flipped around and spun sideways a couple times. He was never going to survive here for a month.


Chapter Four

“These numbers don’t look good.” Samantha frowned and glanced up from the ledger she’d had her face buried in for the past fifteen minutes. “Do you think the school will close?”

“I don’t know.” Elizabeth moved the chalk in her hand deftly across her slate, finishing up some ciphering with yet another depressing result.

She and Samantha had spread a blanket beneath a large maple tree overlooking the back fields on the Hayes estate. The afternoon sky boasted a brilliant blue, and the breeze snapped with autumn’s crispness; birds circled the air above, and the nearby brook babbled gaily as it flowed over rock and sticks.

In short, it was a perfect autumn afternoon. But Elizabeth could hardly enjoy it when her time with the ledgers last night had revealed a frighteningly small amount of money left in the bank account. The academy barely had enough funds to pay teacher salaries and outstanding bills, and it was only October. They hadn’t even purchased the coal for the boiler system yet.

Elizabeth set her chalk down. “The school board will make the final decision about the academy closing. But Jackson’s findings will be a big part of it.”

Samantha blushed and ducked her head at the mention of Jackson’s name. “That doesn’t sound very promising.”

“No. Did you spot any mistakes in my mathematics?”

Samantha shook her head and shifted the still-open book to the ground beside her.

Elizabeth sighed. If only there had been a mistake, an extra five hundred dollars tucked into an account somewhere. But Samantha would have caught something so glaring. Goodness, Samantha would have caught a mistake ten times smaller than that. The girl was a pure genius when it came to ciphering.

“I don’t suppose it matters much either way for me.” Samantha gave a careless shrug of her shoulders—hardly a ladylike gesture—and slumped back against the tree trunk. “It’s not as if I’ll be around.”

An image of Luke Hayes, standing in the school hallway with his arms crossed and that frown on his face, flashed across her mind. “Is your brother still determined to take you out of school? If there was such a problem with your attending, why didn’t he or your father protest earlier, when you first started?”

“It’s not my going to the school that’s the problem. It’s staying in Valley Falls now that Grandfather is gone. Luke’s decided I have to return to Wyoming.”

The breath stilled in Elizabeth’s lungs. Pulling Samantha out of school was bad enough, but to take her all the way back to Wyoming? Samantha’s future would be ruined. “Why would he want such a thing?”

Samantha tucked her knees up into her chest and huffed. “Because he’s a tyrant, that’s why.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.” There had to be. No one would be so cruel without a reason, not even the intimidating man she’d argued with yesterday.

“Not really. All he’ll say is that Ma and Pa miss me, there’s no one left to care for me here and I belong back on the ranch.”

Elizabeth reached over and squeezed Samantha’s hand. “Do you think it would help if I talked to him? Maybe if I explained all the opportunities graduating would give you, he’d let you stay.”

“It won’t work, not with my brother. Once he gets an idea into his head, he doesn’t listen to reason.”

Elizabeth let the silence settle between them, punctuated by the chirping of birds, the nattering of squirrels and the constant trickle of water over rocks. There wasn’t much she could say, really. She’d speak with Luke Hayes, all right, do anything she could to keep Samantha here. But Samantha knew the man better than she did, and if Samantha didn’t think anything was going to change Luke Hayes’s mind, the girl was probably right.

“How long since you’ve been home?”

“Three years.”

“That is rather long.” Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek. “Christmas doesn’t afford a long enough break for you to travel home and come back, but maybe if you offered to return to Wyoming for a visit after you graduate, your brother would let you stay until then.”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking of something else...” Samantha drew in a breath and fixed her eyes on the ground. “Do you think it’s wrong to...to hope Jackson proposes? Then I could stay here, marry him and not bother with anything Luke says.”

The meadow grew silent around them as she stared at Samantha’s flushed cheeks. Her brother and Samantha certainly showed signs of being a good match. But Samantha had dreams of being an architect, and she was still so young...

“I—I think marriage is a very serious decision, one that affects the rest of your life. If you marry Jackson, you should do so for the right reasons. Because you love him, want to spend the rest of your life with him, and will be happier with him than you’d be without him. Marrying for any other reasons will just cause trouble.”

It was a lesson she’d learned far too well when she’d been Samantha’s age.

A horse nickered somewhere in the distance, and the ground reverberated with the steady thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump of the beast’s gallop.

“I suppose you’re right.” Samantha looked up from the speck on the ground she’d been staring at. “That sounds like Triton’s gait, but who would be riding out this far? The stable hands don’t usually head this direction.”

A moment later, a rider in a cowboy hat appeared atop a magnificent dark brown steed at the far edge of the field.

Samantha scowled. “I should have guessed. My brother has to spend at least six hours of his day on a horse, or he goes crazy.”

Elizabeth tried not to watch as Luke Hayes approached, but in truth, she could hardly take her eyes from him as he raced across the field. He seemed to move as one with the strong horse, his legs hugging the beast as though it were an extension of his own body. It hardly seemed possible to imagine the man stuffed into Jonah Hayes’s office, going through the endless papers.

“Good afternoon.” Mr. Hayes reined the horse to a stop beside the blanket, towering over them like a king; then his eyes narrowed on his sister. “You didn’t say anything about coming out here, Sam.”

Samantha’s eyes flashed, and she crossed her arms over her knees. “I wasn’t aware I needed to ask permission to go for a walk on the estate.”

He raised one of his arrogant eyebrows and scanned the blanket, ledgers and slates sprawled on the ground. He didn’t need words to express the thoughts clearly written across his face: this doesn’t look like an unplanned walk.

Samantha huffed and picked up the ledger again, interested anew in the endless columns of numbers.

“Miss Wells, I can’t say I expected to find you here either, but I’ve a need to speak with you.” He glanced briefly at the equation-filled slate on her lap, and the side of his mouth quirked into a cocky little smile. “Do you ever take time off from that fancy mathematics?”

“Do you ever take time off from being a cowboy?”

The smile on his lips straightened into a firm, white line, and he swung off his horse. “I own five thousand head of cattle in the Teton Valley. I’m a rancher. That’s a mite different than being the hired help we call cowboys.”

“Indeed.” She nodded curtly and drew in a long, deep breath. With Samantha sitting beside her, she couldn’t exactly persuade him to let his sister graduate, but she still needed to ask about donating money to the academy. If only she could be polite long enough to make her request.

It was going to be very, very hard.

She blew out her breath and forced herself to smile.

“Can I help you up?” Mr. Hayes extended his hand.

She stared at it for a moment, hesitating to reach for him. But really, what was the point of being rude when she still had to ask about that wretched donation? She placed her palm firmly in his.

Mistake.

His wide, callused palm engulfed her small fingers, and heat surged through the spot where their skin met. He raised her to her feet without ceremony, as though he didn’t feel the impact of their touch somewhere deep inside. As soon as she was able, she tugged away her hand and shoved it behind her back, where it could stay safely away from Mr. Hayes.

The rascal didn’t even seem to notice, just pinned her with his clear blue eyes. “It seems you’ve taken quite an interest in the business affairs of Hayes Academy here lately.” Afternoon sunlight glistened down on Mr. Hayes’s head and cowboy hat, turning the golden-blond tufts of hair beneath the brim nearly white.

Elizabeth forced her gaze away from his hair. Why was she staring at it, anyway? So the man had beautiful blond hair. His sister did, as well. Blond hair wasn’t that uncommon.

Except when it shimmered like silvery-gold in the sunlight.

And she was still thinking about his hair. Ugh! “I teach at the academy. It’s only natural I’d be interested in it.”

“Interested enough to write editorials for the newspaper?”

Every bit of blood in her face drained to her feet, and her limbs felt suddenly cold. Did he hate her for interfering? Feel she had no business fighting for new students? Resent the negative attention she’d drawn to the school when that dreadful reporter retaliated?

The emotionless look on his face gave nothing away. His eyes stayed that cool blue, the same shade as a winter sky, without a hint of either understanding or disdain as they waited for her answer.

“Educating women is important to me.”

“I gathered that much yesterday. A bit hard to miss, actually, but I’m curious about the school ledgers at the moment.” He nodded toward the books, the one lying on the blanket and the other still in Samantha’s lap. “My lawyer informs me you’re keeping a set. I assume these are them?”

Oh, perfect. Just what she wanted to discuss. “My brother in Albany has the official ledgers. Perhaps you should talk to him.”

“I intend to, but I’d like a look at yours, as well.”

“No.” The word flew out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Samantha slammed her ledger closed. “Why do you want them? So you can look for some excuse to close down the school? As if pulling me out isn’t bad enough.”

Mr. Hayes glanced briefly at his sister. “This has nothing to do with you, Sam. I’m only doing the job Grandpa left me. Miss Wells, you must be aware that since I’ve been given my grandfather’s seat on the school’s board, I can request your books at any time.”

She knew very well what he could request, and what he’d likely do if he saw the books. He’d take one look at how little money was in the account and want the school closed immediately.

“Mind if I borrow your rag?”

“Excuse me?”

Mr. Hayes held up his hand—the same he’d used to help her stand. His palm was practically white, smeared with chalk dust.

Heat flooded her neck and face. She didn’t need to look down to know her own hands were covered in fine powder.

“Messy place, these fields.”

She reached into her pocket, grabbed a hanky—one of the ones she was forever using to wipe her chalk-covered hands on—and held it out to him. “I apologize. I don’t usually forget to clean my hands.”

“Thank you.” He rubbed the cloth over his palm and returned it.

She wiped her hands furiously, even though she’d be back to work the second he left.

He simply watched her, a half smile quirking the side of his mouth. “You missed a spot.” He pointed to her right sleeve, where a huge smear of white stood stark against the yellow of her dress.

“Thank you,” she gritted.

“So can I take those ledgers now?”

“I’d—” ...rather eat a toad!

Could she lie? Tell him things were going well—or at least as well as they had been before the newspaper article appeared on Monday morning—and tear out the last pages of the ledgers so the school appeared to have money?

She rubbed her fingers over her temples. No, of course she couldn’t do such a thing. She’d never been one to lie for convenience, and she wasn’t about to develop the habit now. He’d find out the truth soon anyway; just as he’d learned of the article she’d written to the paper. Better to be honest.

No, better to ask for another donation, and then be honest.

Except she didn’t want to ask the arrogant man in front of her for a penny.

Taking her requests to Jonah, with his kind smiles and grandfatherly manner, had been easy. But the man who had stormed into her class yesterday and torn Samantha out of school wasn’t exactly grandfatherly.

Or approachable.

Or kind.

“Miss Wells?”

She stared into Luke Hayes’s rigid face, his mouth and eyes stern and unreadable, and forced herself to form the words. “Actually, I’ve been wanting to speak to you about the ledgers and the academy. We’ve recently had difficulty with several of our donors, and I was hoping you could make a donation to Hayes Academy.”

There. She’d said it. Surely she deserved some type of award. A medal of honor, a golden cup, a life-size statue of herself erected in the town square.

“Yeah, that would at least be something nice you could do for the school.” Samantha crossed her arms over her chest. “Seeing how you’re dead set on pulling me out of it.”

But Mr. Hayes didn’t bother to look at his sister. “Grandpa donated slews of money to Hayes Academy. I don’t understand why you can’t be happy with what it’s already received.”

She threw up her hands. The man’s brain was as dense as a piece of lead. “Happy? You think I want a donation to make me happy? Girls’ futures are at stake, not my happiness. It’s an issue of keeping the school open, so we can train young women, not pleasing me.”

Mr. Hayes rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Why is girls getting high school diplomas so all-fired important? I never graduated from high school, and neither did Grandpa. Yet here I am, doing a fine job of running my ranch without any piece of paper from a high school.”

She opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut. What did she say to that? Was it true Jonah Hayes never finished school? Probably. A lot of young people left to find work before graduating even now, let alone sixty years ago.

Mr. Hayes’s face remained set, his jaw determined, but sincerity filled the little sun lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He wasn’t furious with her as he’d been yesterday but was asking an honest question.

And here she was, parading the importance of educating women in front of him, when he’d never finished his own education. Did he feel slighted or belittled? That hadn’t been her intention. “Well, you see, a high school education is important because—”

“Never mind. I read your article last night. I don’t need to hear some highfalutin list of arguments in person. Just give me the ledgers, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh...um...” And there again the man had her speechless. From ledgers to donations and back again, she could hardly keep up with the conversation. “Will Monday be all right? Samantha and I have a bit more work to do on them this afternoon, and I’ve some issues to discuss with my brother. I truly need the books over the weekend.”

Mr. Hayes blew out a long, tired breath, the kind that held a world of weariness in the exhaled air. “Monday, then. Sorry to disturb you ladies.” And with that, he swung back onto his horse and galloped off.

Elizabeth tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. The conversation surely could have gone worse. At least she hadn’t stormed away in a rage, and he hadn’t refused to give money to the school—

Though he hadn’t agreed to give any, either.

So why did she have a sour taste in her mouth?

She turned and offered Samantha a weak smile. “I feel like I handled that wrong.”

Samantha shrugged as she settled back down beside the tree. “It’s Luke. Anytime you disagree with him, he’d say you handled something wrong.”


Chapter Five

Covered in dust and smelling of sweat, Luke hurried through the back entrance to Grandpa’s house. After spending the first half of the day sorting through the things in Grandpa’s office, he’d decided to take a peek at the stable. After all, if he shut down the estate, he’d need to sell off whatever horseflesh Grandpa had acquired. But at a glance, some of that horseflesh had looked a little too good to be sold. So he’d hopped astride Triton, the finest beast in the stable, for a little ride.

He certainly hadn’t expected to find Samantha and Miss Wells. He glanced down at his hand and couldn’t help but smile. The white stain from her chalk dust had long since faded, but he’d never forget the memory of first looking at his hand and seeing white, then watching the color rise in Miss Wells’s face.

With her bright hazel eyes, perfect mouth and head of thick mahogany hair, the teacher was just as beautiful today as she had been yesterday...and terribly determined to wheedle money for the school out of him.

Luke rolled his shoulders as he headed through the back hallway and out into the grand hall. Should he give the school some money? It wouldn’t hurt anything. Grandpa had left him more than enough. And it might help Sam to see he wasn’t some type of greedy tyrant.

But then, he didn’t rightly know what he wanted to do with any of Grandpa’s money yet, besides give it to Pa. And how unfair would it be to all the other charities Grandpa had supported if he discounted them and wrote out a bank draft to Hayes Academy because a pretty little teacher with shiny hazel eyes smiled at him?

Twenty-four hours in Valley Falls and his brain was already half mush. He had to get out of this place. Soon.

Luke strode through the grand hall toward the bright marble staircase. He’d stayed out riding Triton for too long after meeting up with the womenfolk. Now he needed to bathe fast, if he didn’t want to arrive at that fancy banquet late. He could always scrub up quicklike in the stream behind the house, but this place crawled with enough servants that someone would probably venture along while he washed. Plus Sam could probably list a good ten rules about why a man couldn’t take a simple bath in a stream these days.

A knock sounded behind him on the front door, not more than three feet away. He glanced around the large empty room with its glittering chandelier and polished white marble. “I’ll answer it.”

The butler emerged from a doorway on the left, but Luke pulled the door open anyway. A dark-haired young man stood there, dressed in a tuxedo and top hat, his skin smooth and pale as though he’d never seen a day in the sun.

The man pondered him for a moment, then a polished smile curved his lips, and he thrust his hand out. “Good evening. You must be Mr. Luke Hayes.”

Luke shook the offered hand, the scent of his body’s odor rising as he moved his arm. The other man deserved some credit for not gagging.

“I’m Jackson Wells.”

Wells. As in related to the mathematics teacher? Couldn’t be. Miss Wells was proper all right, but she didn’t come off as slick, like the spiffed-up man in front of him. “Howdy, Mr. Wells.”

“I’m manager at the Great Northern Accounting and Insurance office in Albany.” He rubbed the brim of his top hat.

“Nice to meet you.” So this was the accountant for Hayes Academy—who also happened to share the same surname as his little mathematics teacher? He scratched behind his ear. The lawyer hadn’t said anything about the accountant and teacher being related, but he supposed it was possible.

And either way, he had a couple hundred questions to ask the man, if not for needing to be ready for that banquet thing he’d gotten roped into.

“Your grandfather hired me a few years ago. I imagine you own the accounting office now? It’s a pleasure. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

“Thanks for coming around, Mr. Wells. But I’ve got a banquet to get to. Let’s schedule an appointment at the office on Monday. About nine o’clock?”

“Yes, sir.” Wells’s gaze drifted down Luke’s sweat-encrusted clothing, and the man frowned. “Were you planning to travel with us tonight? Should Samantha and I wait for you?”

“Samantha and you?”

“Of course.”

“Traveling?” Luke’s scalp heated. The man spoke too easily, as though he expected to wrap Sam up in a blanket and haul her off to...to...

Well, it didn’t really matter where the man wanted to cart her off to. The dandy was too old for his sister. “Sam’s not taking visitors today.”

Something flashed in Wells’s eyes. A challenge? It was gone too soon, replaced by that overly polished face once again. “Is there some trouble with Samantha accompanying me to the banquet tonight?”

Samantha at the banquet? Luke slammed the door in Wells’s face. “Sam!” He grimaced as his shout echoed up the polished stairs.

“Mr. Hayes, sir.” The butler stepped forward. “Perhaps I can show Mr. Wells into the gentlemen’s reception room, where you can discuss the situation.”

Luke turned to the butler. What was his name again? Stebbens? Stevens? “Thank you, no.”

Sam appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a long silvery-lavender gown. “Is Jackson here?” A thousand bursts of sunlight radiated from her face.

He should speak, send her a look, do something to show his displeasure. But he only stared as her beautiful figure descended the stairs. It couldn’t be his sister. Her hair, a mixture of honey and spun gold, piled atop her head in curls, a few of which hung down to frame her soft face. Her cheeks glowed the perfect shade of pink and her lips...she’d dyed them red with something.

Sam glided to the base of the stairs, an uncertain smile curving the corners of her mouth.

A fist pounded on the door.

The butler cleared his throat.

His sister sniffed the air. “Goodness, you stink, Luke.”

“Where did you get that dress?” His voice was too hoarse, and try as he might, he couldn’t look away. Oh, he knew she was of marrying age. Had handed her a letter from Levi just yesterday, likely with a proposal inside. But giving her a letter from an old friend was a far cry from letting her traipse around town dressed like that with the spiffed-up stranger outside.

“Grandfather ordered it made for a ball earlier this summer. I didn’t attend, of course, after his heart failed, but I was able to have the color switched from blue to lavender. It’s appropriate for attending the banquet, with my still being in half mourning, don’t you think?” She spoke eloquently and smoothly, with a gentle lift of the shoulder here, and slight ducking of the chin there. She was practically a grown woman, wearing that beautiful gown and honoring her late grandfather.

But none of that changed the two most important things. She was still his sister and... “Did you say you were going to the banquet, the one I’m attending?”

He opened his mouth to add she was too young, then stopped and attempted to blow out his frustration in one giant breath.

It worked great—until his shoulders tightened into knots.

Sam frowned. “No. I’m wearing satin to a banquet in the town park. Yes, the banquet you’re attending. I gave Jackson my word. Now, if you would please step away from the door so Stevens can let Jackson inside. He came all the way from Albany just to pick me up.” Her dress swished, catching the light from the chandelier as she waved toward the door.

Luke raked his hand through his hair. Mourning indeed. Why couldn’t the gown be some other color? A bright childlike yellow or pink. Not shades of lavender and silver that shimmered in the lighting and caused her skin to look as creamy as warm milk. He wanted his old sister back. The one that skinned her knees trying to climb trees and didn’t cry when she fell off a horse.

Again, the knock.

Luke gritted his teeth and looked between his sister, the butler and the door. He’d give his grandfather’s estate away in a second, if he could be instantly back in Wyoming, Sam by his side. But since that wasn’t an option, what else could he do? Keep the slick-looking man outside, and haul Sam upstairs to hog-tie her to her bed for a day or two?

She’d never speak to him again. “Stevens, please show Mr. Wells into the...” He snapped his fingers, the name of the room escaping him.

The butler raised his eyebrows. “The gentlemen’s reception room, sir? Or would you prefer the drawing room since the lady is present?”

Wasn’t one room the same as another?

“The drawing room will do nicely.” Samantha moved toward the double doors on the right.

Luke followed her into the room and nearly had to step back out. The carpet. The molding. The drapes. The furniture. Gold gleamed at him from every direction, and the few things that weren’t gold were white. Someone had painted the walls a blindingly pure shade, and the white cushions on the furniture looked so bright they’d likely never been sat on. A large marble fireplace, also white, dominated the far wall, while floor-to-ceiling windows sent shafts of sunlight into the room.

He narrowed his eyes at his sister, who stepped daintily across the room. “Hang it all, Sam. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to this banquet earlier?”

Samantha sat on a small fancy sofa thing with perfect cushions, her chin quivering slightly. “I didn’t feel like being yelled at.”

“I’m not...” Yelling. Though he was close. He pressed his lips together to keep from saying more.

“Mr. Hayes.” Stevens stood in the open doorway. “Miss Hayes. May I present Mr. Jackson Wells.”

Wells cast Luke that too-polished smile but walked straight to Sam. “Ah, Samantha, your beauty this evening is riveting.” The man settled onto the dainty couch, somehow confident the fragile furniture would hold two people.

Luke eyed the chair beside them. Those spindly gold legs would likely collapse if he sat down, and if the chair didn’t break, his filthy clothes would ruin the cushions.

“Thank you, Jackson. It’s lovely to see you, as well.” Samantha sent the dandy a smile despite her still trembling lips and extended her hand, palm down, which Wells kissed.

Kissed.

He should burn the man’s lips off.

“Luke, allow me to make introductions.” Samantha sniffed, her nose tilted into the air, but something wet glinted in her eyes.

Certainly he wasn’t being a big enough fool to make her cry, was he?

“This is Jackson Wells, son of our esteemed local assemblyman, Thomas Wells. He also works for you, as manager of Great Northern Accounting and Insurance’s office in Albany.”

“I know he works for me.” And the knowledge didn’t curb his urge to chase away the scoundrel with his Colt.

“Jackson.” Samantha’s smile seemed more genuine as she glanced at her suitor. “This is my brother, Luke Hayes.”

Wells’s gaze, sickeningly friendly, rested on Luke. “We’ve spoken.”

“Mr. Wells.” Luke nodded, his voice vibrating like a dog’s low growl. Probably wouldn’t do to fire the man just for being sweet on his sister, but it was tempting.

Wells leaned forward and whispered something in Sam’s ear, and she laughed softly.

Luke flexed his fingers. “Don’t eastern folk ask permission from the man of the family before they start courting a lady?”

Samantha stopped midwhisper, and Wells stood. “I spoke with the late Mr. Hayes before he passed. He was thrilled when I requested to call on Samantha. He and my father are acquainted, of course, and—”

Luke cut the boy off with a wave of his hand. “And you expect to take her to the banquet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Plans have changed. Samantha is accompanying me. You can meet her there.”

Sam sprang from her seat. “Luke, you can’t—”

“Perhaps you’re concerned about a chaperone?” Wells interjected. “My sister is awaiting us in the carriage. She’s a spinster and a perfectly acceptable chaperone.”

“Miss Wells, Luke.” Sam held her chin at a determined angle, but she blinked against the tears in her eyes. “The mathematics teacher you met at the academy yesterday.”

So Miss Wells and the dandy were related after all. And that also made her the daughter of the local assemblyman. No one had bothered to tell him that, either.

What was the daughter of a politician doing teaching mathematics like some spinster?

Not that it mattered. Nope. Certainly not. Whatever Miss Wells chose to do or not do, whoever she happened to be related to or not related to, was no concern of his.

Luke rubbed his hand over his forehead and glanced back at his sister, only to find more tears glistening in her eyes. Confound it. Why did she cry at everything he did? Made him feel like an ogre—which he most definitely was not.

Or so he hoped. Maybe he had some questions for Sam, and needed to have a long chat with her suitor, but now was hardly the time to go into all that. Clearly Sam and Wells had arranged to attend the banquet, and it hardly seemed fair to stop them just because he’d arrived in town and hadn’t known about their plans.

But he still didn’t cotton to the idea of Sam going off without him. “How about this. Sam and I will go to the banquet together. Sam, if your friend and the mathematics teacher want to tag along, so be it.”

Sam bit her bottom lip and sent him an uncertain glance. “Does that mean you’re going to change clothes?”


Chapter Six

Elizabeth scooted toward the far side of the carriage, giving the rancher—not cowboy—more room as he sat beside her. She hadn’t considered that he and his sister would attend the banquet together, or that he would insist they take his carriage, not Jackson’s. She didn’t want to share a carriage with the man after offending him earlier that afternoon.

Though she still wasn’t sure how she’d offended him. Surely the man couldn’t be upset because she’d asked for a donation, could he?

She clasped her gloved hands together on her lap. What had Jonah been thinking, anyway, to leave the estate to his grandson? It would have been much simpler had Jonah divided up his legacy before his death and donated everything to charity. Then again, maybe he’d planned to do that in a few more years. No one had been expecting that sudden heart attack.

“Good evening, Miss Wells.” Mr. Hayes’s voice rumbled from beside her.

She glanced his way, then down at her lap. My, but he did look dashing in a tuxedo, all the wild strength of the West, thinly veiled in dark evening attire. Now if only he would trade in that cowboy hat for a proper top hat.

But cowboy hat or not, he’d still be the most sought-after man at the banquet. He had too much money and too-fine looks for people to ignore him. Not that she cared in the least.

And she’d best find something productive to talk about, lest she sit here contemplating his appearance for an hour. “Jackson, about our previous discussion, have you—”

“Not now, Elizabeth.” Jackson flicked his hand as though getting rid of a fly. “I’m sure Mr. Hayes has more pressing things to discuss than your preoccupation with food costs at the academy.”

“I’m not—”

“Mr. Hayes.” Jackson nodded at the rancher. “Please accept my sincere condolences about your grandfather.”

Mr. Hayes’s hands gripped the edge of the seat, and his body tensed as though he would vault from their bench and squeeze between the courting couple across the carriage. The man was quite good at issuing threats with his eyes, and this one read: Jackson Wells, touch my sister, and you’ll regret it.

“Jonah Hayes was a great businessman,” her brother continued. Whether oblivious to Mr. Hayes’s disapproval or purposely ignoring it, she couldn’t tell. “Not to mention one of my father’s most faithful and generous supporters.”

“Yes.” Mr. Hayes’s eyes glinted with studied coolness. “I understand my grandfather was a faithful supporter of a great many things.”

Jackson laughed, the overly loud sound bouncing off the carriage walls. “Have you considered following in your grandfather’s footsteps and donating funds to one of New York’s longest sitting and most popular assemblymen? My father has personally passed legislation that...”

The sun cast its fading orange rays inside the carriage while the familiar discussion about politics and campaigning swirled around her. Elizabeth shifted in the seat and made herself comfortable as the carriage wheels rumbled over the road.

If they were exactly 5.2 miles from Albany and they reached Albany in 56 minutes, that meant they traveled at a rate of 5.474 miles per hour. So say the wheels on the carriage were twenty-four inches in diameter, what would be the wheels’ rate of rotation? She closed her eyes, letting the numbers and equations dance before her.

But even with her eyes shut, the scents of grass and sun and musk emanated from the person beside her, and the seat dipped ever so slightly in Mr. Hayes’s direction, making him rather unforgettable—even with her equations.

It was going to be a long ride.

* * *

As the carriage threaded through the crowded streets of Albany, Mr. Hayes and Jackson continued to discuss Father’s politics. Jackson talking about Father’s campaign and funding for an hour wasn’t unusual, but Mr. Hayes not agreeing to give away a penny?





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/naomi-rawlings/the-wyoming-heir/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.