and said they lived south of town in the Bowen community.
“You’ve got yourself a fine catch, missy,” said the woman. “Lots of girls around here have tried to lasso this boy since the day he first started shaving.”
While the Archers laughed, Rand rolled his eyes in a charming way. “You folks have a nice day.”
They took their dismissal in good humor and left. Once again the situation gave Marybeth pause. They obviously didn’t fear Rand. Miss Pam and Lucy didn’t, either. When had Marybeth decided he was her father come back to life? Maybe she didn’t have to be afraid of him. Maybe she should dismiss her fears and give him a chance to prove himself.
“Are you ready to go?” Rand started to push back from the table.
“No.” Trying to gather her thoughts, Marybeth took another sip of coffee.
“Oh.” Rand settled back down. “You want dessert? Apple pie? Or Miss Pam’s special elderberry pie?”
His sudden eagerness to please made Marybeth want to laugh, but what she must tell him was too serious for her to indulge in any such levity.
“No, thank you.” She glanced out the window, where people walked to and fro on their daily errands. On the way here, she’d noticed many people giving Rand friendly waves. Like Miss Pam and Lucy, every single one appeared to admire him. Still, she must proceed with caution. “I have to tell you something.” She lifted her coffee cup for another bracing sip.
“I was afraid of that.” His face fell and his shoulders drooped with disappointment. “You won’t marry me because I’m too ugly. There was a reason I didn’t send a picture, you know.”
Marybeth almost spewed coffee all over him, barely catching the liquid before it escaped her lips. Now she could see the mischief in his eyes that bespoke an awareness of his good looks without being excessively prideful, a rare quality. Most handsome men of her acquaintance strutted about, clearly proud of their appearance.
Once she regained her composure, she shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more serious than that.”
“Ah.” The humor left his face but a gentle twinkle remained in his eyes. “Go on. You can tell me anything.”
She would take him at his word, at least for now. Borrowing from her Irish legacy of masterful storytelling, she wove the “sad but true tale” of her family, punctuating it with a few well-placed tears and carefully leaving out several details. Eight years before, when her brother was only fifteen, he’d been beaten up by neighborhood bullies. Da had called him a coward for not standing up to the thugs, so Jimmy had left home and never come back. He’d written only one letter a year or so later, posting it from Del Norte, Colorado, and saying he was headed to Wagon Wheel Gap to do some silver prospecting. Now that their parents had died, the mention of which brought genuine tears to her eyes, at least for Mam, she knew she had to search for her only living relative before she settled down.
At this point she batted her eyes, sending a few tears down her cheeks, and then dabbed at them with a handkerchief and gave Rand a look that pleaded for understanding.
“I’m sorry to hear about your dad and brother not getting along.” He shook his head and stared off with a thoughtful look. “Describe your brother to me.”
Marybeth started. Could it be this simple? Was it possible that Rand knew him? “His name is Jimmy O’Brien.” She couldn’t keep the eagerness from her voice. “I haven’t seen him since I was twelve years old. He was just a couple of inches taller than I was, so he may be about five feet, five inches now, if he takes after our father. He has red hair and hazel eyes.” She searched her memory for other details, but none came to mind. She certainly would not mention Mam’s silver locket, which she’d given him to keep Da from pawning it to buy liquor. Marybeth laughed softly. “And, as if you haven’t already figured out, he’s Irish.”
Rand’s frown of concentration intensified. “Does he speak with a brogue?”
“No.” She shook her head. “We both worked hard to get rid of it so we could get better jobs.” She had worked especially hard to speak without the brogue, hoping to find employment as a servant in an upper-class home, something a rich rancher couldn’t possibly understand. “He did pretty well, and the ladies at my church were so impressed by my efforts that they sent me to Fairfield Young Ladies’ Academy, where I met Rosamond.” She bit her lip, hoping she didn’t sound proud, wondering how much further to go. “I learned deportment, but I also learned typing and accounting skills.” In her letters she’d mentioned the academy but not the training in office work.
“Typing.” He scratched his head. “I’ve heard about those typewriting machines but haven’t ever seen one. I did receive a letter written on one. Makes a real nice page, just like printing in a book.”
She beamed a smile at him, encouraged that he didn’t seem the least bit angry. “Yes. I’m hoping to find work, perhaps in a bank or for a lawyer.”
“Work?” Now he frowned again, but still without anger. “But I’m responsible for your care. I’ve made arrangements with Mrs. Foster on the condition you would agree to live there until our wedding.” His eyes narrowed. “Marybeth, please assure me that you didn’t take advantage of my parents’ kindness just so they would pay your train fare so you could find your brother.”
“N-no, not at all.” Yes. At least partly yes. “Please recall the part of our agreement stating that either of us has the right to cancel our wedding if we’re not compatible.”
“And in just forty-five minutes, you’ve decided we’re not compatible?” The edge in his voice sent a shiver through her middle. “Seems you’ve already made up your mind.” He raised his hand as if he wanted to hit something, and Marybeth prepared to duck. Instead he waved off the gesture and stared glumly out of the window.
To her surprise, instead of being angry he seemed wounded, even depressed, so much so that she felt sorry for him.
Could it be that he wasn’t like Da at all? Could she trust him to help her find Jimmy? Despite being a gambler and gunfighter, maybe he had a core of decency she could learn to trust. But how could she really know for certain?
* * *
Rand wished he hadn’t raised his hand that dismissive way, as he always did to show gunslingers that he wasn’t planning to fight them, for the gesture appeared to have scared Marybeth. He turned to stare out the window to watch the traffic in the street. She hadn’t even given him a chance. Maybe hadn’t even intended to try. So much for his parents’ and sister’s harebrained idea of finding him a proper Christian lady to marry. He should have just married one of those nice girls who lived down in Bowen. There sure were enough of them to choose from. But Dad had wanted to bring fresh blood into Esperanza; ladies with fine manners like Mother’s to help some of the wilder gals like Maisie improve their ways.
Thoughts of Mother always stopped him short. He raised a familiar silent prayer that the doctors at the Boston hospital would be able to find out what caused her breathing problems. Dad had been so anxious about her health that he’d left Esperanza, the community he’d spent the past thirteen years building, the town that looked to him for guidance for every important decision they made. Yet Dad had willingly made the trip back East for Mother’s sake. Rand longed for that same kind of marriage, where the most important thing was to take care of one another, no matter what the personal cost might be.
His folks had taken his sister, Rosamond, along to enroll her in the Boston finishing school Mother had attended as a young girl. There they’d met Marybeth, and Mother had decided she was the perfect young lady for Rand. Until today he hadn’t cared much about those fine manners Dad insisted the local girls needed to learn. But after meeting Marybeth, he couldn’t imagine marrying one of those cowgirls he’d grown up with. Still, he was beginning to wonder how his folks could have been so mistaken about Marybeth. Couldn’t they see she’d had another plan all along?
Rand had made a few