The Nanny Solution. Barbara Phinney
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He handed a calmer Emily back to Victoria.
“Her milk doesn’t seem to sit well with her,” she commented.
“She’ll have to get used to it. There is no substitute.”
Lips pursed, Victoria began a slight rocking, something that accentuated the insistent clacking of the wheels on the rails. Before long, the baby was asleep. Mitch glanced at his children. As expected, they took the rear-facing seats, but Ralph and Mary weren’t impressed with the arrangement, craning their necks to peer out the window at what was coming.
His gaze wandered. Some other passengers still looked his way with open curiosity, except the new mother across the aisle. She was taking an extraordinary interest in Victoria.
And why not? Victoria’s outfit was stunning, especially compared to the basic accommodations second class offered. The color of a forest at twilight with equally dark lace and plenty of pulled up layers tucked in spots to make the whole skirt look like a series of green waves, her outfit was sober but tasteful. It could almost count for a mourning suit. In fact, it seemed to respect both necessities—that is, mourning and traveling. She’d also abandoned her hat, he noticed, though he couldn’t say when. She must have set it up in the compartment above them beside his Stetson. Did she know that whole compartment would become a berth in a few hours?
“Can we play a game?” Mary asked.
Mitch nodded. “Why don’t you play I spy?”
Thankfully, Matthew started them off. Mitch’s heart lurched. They’d lost their mother and yet they seemed to be handling it better than he was. It was a fact that Ralph had acted up yesterday, and Mary cried herself to sleep most nights, but overall they were adjusting. Mitch was grateful that a simple game could keep them occupied.
He’d been out West for so long, they hardly knew him. Matthew and John remembered him, and Ralph took his cues from his brothers and had warmed to him, but Mary had treated him with distrust. For the briefest instant, Mitch regretted his decision to ranch, but he stalled that thought. It put food on the table. He’d made the best decision he could for his family.
And Emily? His attention dropped to her as Victoria laid her gently in the wicker basket on the floor between their feet. Along with some sheets that the porter had tucked away, he’d had that basket delivered directly to the train.
The baby squirmed and Victoria placed a quietening hand on her. Mitch felt his jaw tighten. He had been gone so long that Agnes had turned to another man. Emily would never know either of her parents.
No. She would have him.
As Victoria straightened from her soothing pats, their gazes locked again. She had the most perfect features. Regal, yet not overly aristocratic. Despite being genteel, she was broke, he assumed, and therefore she would have had few decent marriage prospects in Boston. If she wasn’t too fussy, her chances might be better out West.
Mitch tore his gaze away and glared out at the passing landscape. Forget it, he told himself. Compassion was the ruination of a man, especially a rancher who needed to focus on providing for his family.
Families need more than food and shelter.
He bristled. Where had that thought come from?
From your own common sense, fool. Haven’t you already learned that? Providing for children took more than putting food on the table. It meant being there, supporting the mother of one’s children.
A stab of pain radiated out from between his tightening shoulders. Well, he was a rancher. He couldn’t spare the time. He’d do right by the children, but this just proved again that ranchers were better off staying single.
“I won!” Mary called out, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s my turn now.”
Remembering his letter, Mitch pulled it out and opened it. His reading skills were fine, but it was a struggle to understand Lacewood’s long, flowing script.
After a short preamble, the solicitor began to explain that Agnes had made certain arrangements before she’d died. A chill ran through Mitch. Had she known she would not survive childbirth? Had it been a difficult pregnancy?
His heart sank as he read further. A few years back, Agnes had signed on to the ranch’s mortgage just as he had, although the paperwork had taken many weeks and visits to the post office to complete. Agnes had considered that fact in her will.
Then he read Lacewood’s summary. Not only did Mitch now have an extra mouth to feed, and to figure out how he would explain Emily’s presence without getting tongues a-wagging, but he also had this to explain to the bank that held his mortgage—a month-old baby who wasn’t even his blood now owned half of Proud Ranch.
Mitch’s fingers tightened around the fine vellum paper that carried Lacewood’s letter. Agnes had left her estate to Emily, no doubt concerned that he would abandon the infant otherwise. She’d been mistaken but had left him in a difficult spot nonetheless. He needed to tell the bank at Proud Bend that Agnes had passed. The bank manager, a man who had as many scruples as Colorado had oceanfront homes, would expect Mitch to provide him with the proper papers to say he’d inherited her share, but all he had was proof that Emily was now half owner and Mitch was her guardian.
He could contest Agnes’s will but, Lacewood had advised, the judge would ask the reasons. If Mitch was to answer that he wasn’t the girl’s father, the judge would not look favorably on him continuing guardianship and thus controlling the ranch, nor would he give Mitch full ownership and leave the infant with nothing, against her mother’s wishes.
Mitch rubbed his forehead. He had no desire to see any harm done to Emily, nor did he want to smear his late wife’s memory by revealing her indiscretion.
Not for the first time, Mitch wondered about the man who had fathered Emily. No one came forward with a name. No man owned up, either, and Mitch had been too stiff-necked to search for him. He’d had enough to do in Boston, and as far as he was concerned, if the man had abandoned Agnes, he didn’t deserve Emily.
Regardless, he could not lie to any judge, should he contest the will. At his first meeting with Lacewood, the solicitor had pointed out that in the eyes of the law, any child born to a married couple was assumed to belong to the husband. It was only a legal assumption, yes, but it was also best for Mitch to continue with that thinking.
Except for the fact that in Proud Bend, he’d been seen at church every Sunday. When would he have found the week needed to travel east, father a child and return?
He would deal with any questions as they arose. First up, he needed to sell some yearlings to make his mortgage payment. And quickly, too, for last fall, he had seen the wily bank manager smear the reputation of Proud Bend’s haberdasher, thus costing the man his once viable business. Two months later, the bank foreclosed on the store, then sold it for a tidy profit.
If Mitch didn’t make his mortgage payment, that bank manager would do the same to him. Or, more specifically, force Mitch to sell his land’s mineral rights for a song, because the man had already made an offer for them. Mitch felt his face heat and tension rise in him.
He would not be cheated out of what was rightfully his.
Shutting his eyes, Mitch tipped back his head until it hit the top of the seat back. Since he had absolutely no idea what to do, he was left with two options. Pray and wait to see what would happen.
He had already prayed, many times since returning to Boston.
But he was very bad at waiting.
“Are you a gentleman farmer?”
Mitch opened his eyes. Sitting primly beside him, Victoria waited with the calm expectation that he’d answer her promptly. “I beg your pardon?”
She repeated her question.
“No.”