Hill Country Courtship. Laurie Kingery
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He stared around him at the other females of her so-called Spinsters’ Club who seemed to be unattached, but none of them appealed to him. Every one of them looked too young, too giggly or too meek of manner to survive his mother’s temper. He wasn’t sure which one Jane Jeffries was, but the very last thing Coira MacLaren would stand for was the presence of two noisy, ill-mannered boys in her home, though enough room to accommodate everyone in the vast, mostly empty ranch house certainly wasn’t a problem.
No, he wanted Maude Harkey for the position, he realized, and suddenly no one else would do. He didn’t want to examine his reasons too closely. The woman didn’t have to suit him, just his mother, after all. He wasn’t seeking a bride, as he had told her. Romance held no interest for him—not anymore. Whatever companion he hired would see as little of him as possible. One MacLaren would be more than enough for her to have to deal with.
Of course, if he was truly seeking someone only to suit his mother, then one of the meeker, more pliable young ladies might please her just fine. She’d have someone new to chew on, which she might enjoy for a time—until she’d worn the poor girl out entirely.
But he would hire Maude Harkey or no one. At least, no one here.
After taking a last look around, he retraced his steps past the wrought-iron gates of Gilmore House, found his horse where he’d left him tied at the saloon and headed for Five Mile Hill Ranch.
“The nerve of the man!” Maude seethed to Caroline, finding her on the veranda. “To imagine that this was an event where he could hire a—a nursemaid!” She stared back out over the green expanse of lawn, but she didn’t see him. Perhaps he stood speaking to one of the ladies out of sight, or perhaps he had taken his silly offer and left. Either way, she cared very little, except to hope that he had not spoiled the party for anyone other than her.
“As he put it, the last thing he was looking for was a wife—as if anyone would have him as her husband with an attitude like that! Can you imagine, he called the idea of finding someone to love and build a life with nothing more than ‘romantic claptrap’!”
“A companion,” Caroline corrected her. “Not a nursemaid. At least, that’s what you said he called the position. It’s honest work.”
“I don’t see the difference,” Maude snapped, then was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Caroline dear, but there was something so high-handed about him that irritated me right down to the bone. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“No offense taken,” Caroline said cheerfully. “But perhaps you ought to consider his offer, Maude. Wouldn’t living out on a ranch be better than the boardinghouse? From the sound of it, you’d have only one cranky old person to live with, rather than all those complaining boarders with all their tobacco spitting and biscuit hogging. And perhaps Mr. MacLaren would be so grateful for your help with his mother that he might lose some of that high-handedness and realize what a treasure he has in you. He might be quite a pleasant man underneath that initial curtness.”
Maude stared at her friend. Of all the things Caroline Collier might have said, she hadn’t expected her to hint that MacLaren might decide to take a shine to her, after all.
“I don’t think Jonas MacLaren seemed like anything but a confirmed bachelor and dedicated misogynist—how’s that for a word?” she asked the former schoolmarm with a chuckle.
“Very good, Maude. You must have been reading the dictionary again,” Caroline teased. “If you’re that fixed against the man and his offer, then so be it. I can see that you won’t change your mind. But perhaps he’ll convince one of our newer members to take the job and whisk her off to his lair at Five Mile Hill Ranch, never to be seen again,” she said with a droll imitation of an evil cackle.
“And you must have been reading fairy tales,” Maude shot back. “In any case, I am not desiring to exchange my room at the boardinghouse for what might well be a worse existence. If Mr. MacLaren’s rude and dismissive manner wasn’t reason enough, the isolation of living out there would be. It’s so far away from everything I’m used to. I’ve only ever lived in town, you know. And out on the ranch, I’d never get to see any of you, or come to church...”
“Pshaw, you make it sound like it’s the end of the earth,” Caroline said.
“It’s ten miles if it’s an inch from here,” Maude argued. “Maybe farther. There’s no use arguing, Caroline, my mind’s made up.”
Caroline sighed. “All right, then. Forget I suggested it. Perhaps we should tell the fiddlers to start tuning up so our single Spinsters can invite the men inside. Too bad Mr. MacLaren left—there’d be another man to partner the ladies.”
Why did Caroline have to mention him again? Now Maude would be tormented with the image of Jonas MacLaren, his arm around her waist, gazing down at her through those intense hazel eyes as he swept her around the floor in a waltz...
But no, she refused to clutter her mind with such nonsense! She had no interest whatsoever in dancing with the man. And even if she did, he likely had no interest in “romantic claptrap” like dancing, either. Indeed, the rest of the evening—and, as far as she was concerned, the foreseeable future—would be far more pleasant without Jonas MacLaren.
* * *
Maude was startled out of her sleep later that evening by the pounding on the front door of the boardinghouse. Gracious, it’s got to be the middle of the night, she thought, as the remnants of her dream faded like smoke in a breeze. Didn’t the sign on the porch plainly state that new boarders must arrive by no later than eight at night?
But Mrs. Meyer was no stickler for rules when she had a vacancy. The boardinghouse provided her livelihood.
Still drowsy, Maude huddled under the quilt and heard rain drumming on the tin roof overhead. Then she heard Mrs. Meyer’s footsteps below and her sleepy voice calling out, “All right, I’m coming, I’m coming! Stop pounding or you’ll wake everyone in the place!”
Mr. Renz, the drummer from Kansas, had left just this morning, so there was an empty room, Maude knew—the one right next to hers. In a few minutes there’d be footsteps on the stairs, and she’d hear Mrs. Meyer’s muffled voice informing the new arrival of the house rules before she turned over the key and let them all get back to sleep.
But, instead of that, the next sound she heard was Mrs. Meyer’s running feet, followed by a pounding on her own door.
“Maude, Maude, get up, I need your help! There’s a woman here, and I think she’s about to give birth!”
Hoping she was still dreaming and there would be no one there when she got downstairs, Maude threw her wrapper on and trudged to the door, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles.
It was no dream. Mrs. Meyer stood there, wearing a threadbare, patched wrapper, her iron-gray hair in a thick braid down her back. Trembling, she clutched a candle in a tin holder. Her shakiness left a dancing shadow on the wall.
“Where is she?” Maude asked, for Mrs. Meyer was alone in the hall.
“Downstairs at the entrance,” the boardinghouse proprietress said in a hushed voice, jerking her head toward the stairs behind her. “She’s drenched—and bleeding, too, I think. She didn’t look strong enough to make it up the stairs, even with me to help her.”
Down the hall, a couple of the other inhabitants’ doors creaked opened and curious faces peeked out to see what all the fuss was about.
Mrs. Meyer seized on the closest one. “Delbert, come with me. There’s a girl downstairs about to have a baby. I need you to assist Maude to get the poor girl upstairs to the vacant room, then I want you to run for Doc Walker. I’ll get the bed ready. Hurry, now—she’s about ready to drop—”
Whether