Letter Perfect ( Book #1) (6 page)
“Hush,” he growled softly as he swiped her hanky and dabbed at her cheek. “What’s done is done.”
“Mama said that, too.” She finally turned loose of those ridiculous gloves and claimed the hanky. In mopping her face, the woman turned the smudge by her temple into a streak of mud.
Josh couldn’t fathom what to do with the woman. At seventeen, Laney might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she’d exhibit far more poise than this bundle of nerves.
“Perhaps we’d be wise to concentrate on what Miss Caldwell will do now that she’s here,” Rick said.
The brave way she straightened her shoulders didn’t distract Josh from the pained expression on her pretty face. “I’m capable in all domestic matters. Do you gentlemen know of a family in need of a housekeeper or governess?”
“No.” They spoke in unison—Rick undoubtedly out of honesty, Josh out of the certainty that no family would survive Ruth’s so-called assistance.
“It might be crass to discuss money, but I have eighty-three dollars and seventeen cents with me. Could I start a dress shop? I’m able to sew quite well.”
The poor girl was scrambling to find a way to support herself. Josh frowned. “That’s unnecessary.”
“Let me examine the will.” Rick opened an oak filing cabinet and pulled out the document. The drawer glided and clicked shut, and the metered
tick tock
of the wall clock’s pendulum was the only sound in the room as he silently read the will. Finally he grimaced, glanced up, and gave Joshua a strained look.
“Miss Caldwell, there was a gentlemen’s agreement. A few of us were aware of it, but for the sake of your father’s dignity, it wasn’t written down. Your father’s remedy for it was contained in his last will and testament.” He picked up the paper and read aloud, “‘Since I made other financial arrangements for my wife, Leticia Porter-Caldwell, she is to receive nothing from my estate. As there was no issue from our marriage, I hereby bequeath all of my possessions, both real and personal, as well as my portion of Broken P including lock, stock, and barrel in equal portion to Joshua McCain Senior and Junior.”’
Ruth Caldwell didn’t react.
Joshua’s blood ran cold as Rick set down the legal document and placed his hand on it, as if to obscure the words. “This will is now invalid since we’ve established you exist, Miss Caldwell.”
Joshua unfolded from his chair and gritted his teeth. He paced as far away from her as he could get, stared out the window, and didn’t say a word. He wasn’t a man to cuss or drink, but if he were, he’d be doing plenty of both right about now. Instead, he held his tongue and searched his mind for a way to handle this devastating blow. Later on, he and God were going to have to hold a lengthy conversation about this.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Miss Caldwell said softly.
Joshua wheeled around. “What he’s saying, Miss Caldwell, is that you’ve just inherited a chunk of my family’s ranch.”
I
mpossible,” Ruth said. She looked from one man to the other. Her gaze kept swinging back to the black-haired cowboy. His hazel eyes commanded attention—the golden centers had glittered with intelligence earlier; now they burned with fury. Pointing out the obvious to him felt ridiculous, but it had to be done. She crumpled her hankie into a ball and said, “In case it escaped your notice, I’m a woman. Women cannot own land.”
“They do in California,” the attorney informed her.
Confessing her shortcomings ought to be second nature by now, but Ruth still hated to parade her flaws. Nonetheless, she had to admit, “I’m an unmarried woman, not a widow.”
“We guessed that.” Joshua McCain’s dry tone hovered in the room.
The attorney leaned across his desk. “The rest of the nation based property laws on English common law, where a widow is permitted to keep her dowering portion of the marital property or a woman can inherit if a gentleman oversees the funds or property; California constitution took the Spanish heritage of allowing women of single, married, or widowed status to own property in their own right.”
Ruth stared at him for a moment before she realized her mouth was hanging wide open. She snapped her jaw shut.
“The will specifically states the marriage was without issue.” The attorney’s voice sounded more than reasonable, but Ruth picked up on the strained undercurrents as he went on to explain himself. “The property was divided in accordance with that belief. Since the division was predicated on a falsehood, what we need to do is establish your true identity.”
“Look at her.” Joshua McCain waved a callused hand at her. “She’s Alan Caldwell in a dress.”
Once again Ruth found herself gaping. She spluttered, “Sir!”
“I mean … well, there’s no mistaking she’s her father’s daughter,” Joshua stated.
“It remains, I’d be remiss in not tracing the paper work,” the attorney persisted.
“Very well.” Suddenly beyond weary, Ruth decided to humor the man just to get all of this taken care of. Then she’d go to the hotel, bathe, and sleep for a week. “What do you require?”
“Something official. If you happen to have a birth certificate, that would be the best.”
She shook her head. “My birth is recorded in the family Bible beneath Mama and Father’s marriage.”
Joshua drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Rick, what does this mean?”
“Miss Caldwell has rightful claim to her father’s land. Depending on who hears the case, she could inherit his full half of the Broken P.”
Ruth felt tension crackle in the room.
“We’ll have to put it on a docket and wait till the circuit judge makes his rounds—unless you want to go to Sacramento and have the case heard sooner. Even then you’ll have to wait a bit.”
Snorting, Joshua rose from his chair. “I’m not racing off to get bad news.”
Bad news. That’s me
. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I don’t know that I want to lay claim to any property. It scarcely seems right since Mr. McCain has done all of the work.”
Mr. McCain spread his hand wide and rubbed both temples as if he suffered a horrendous headache. “Lady, you don’t know how tempting it is to accept that, but it’s not what you want or what I want that matters here. It’s what your father would have wanted.”
“Perhaps, Miss Caldwell, you and Mr. McCain can reach an amicable resolution on your own,” the attorney suggested.
Fully aware she was in over her head, Ruth blurted out, “I’d want you to represent me, Mr. Maltby. Surely a woman ought to have a professional advise her in such a matter.”
“Now hold on a minute,” Joshua protested.
Mr. Maltby lifted a hand. “Wait. I drafted the will. I’m legally obliged to represent the decedent’s wishes. If you choose not to iron out the matter among yourselves, you’ll need to seek representation from other professionals.”
“Like who? You’re the only one around,” Joshua rumbled. He paced back and forth like prospective grooms did in the parlor before Miss Pettigrew ushered in possible bridal candidates.
“I suppose I’d better—”
“Come with me,” Mr. McCain interrupted her. Wrapping his hand around her wrist, he tugged her to her feet. “You can stay at the ranch until we get this ironed out.”
Ruth didn’t want to go anywhere with him. For once, all of those seemingly silly etiquette lessons came in handy. She blurted out, “I don’t think that would be proper.”
“It’s fine, Miss Caldwell,” the attorney assured her. “Josh has a sister and a housekeeper. I recommend you agree to this arrangement for the time being.”
So much for etiquette
.
“It’s settled, then.” Josh headed toward the door with her in tow. “You can contact us at the Broken P as soon you find out when the circuit judge is coming.”
They stepped outside, and Ruth blinked in the powerful sunlight. “Oh, look! My trunks are over on the boardwalk!”
Josh yanked her back. “Where are you going?”
“My things—”
“Probably weigh a ton. I’m going to have to rent a buggy to haul it all to the ranch.”
“Well, then.” Ruth glanced up and down the street. “Where is the livery?”
“Other side of the saloon. You stay put here.”
Ruth whipped out her fan and opened it. “I’m sure it’ll take you a little while to hire a conveyance. Since I’m in town, I’d like to see what’s on hand. That mercantile over there looks quite impressive.”
“You’re not shopping and buying more junk for me to haul around.”
She resisted the urge to waft the fan at him. It would probably do him some good. Joshua McCain had a hot temper and needed to cool off. Instead, Ruth forced herself to speak calmly. “It would be foolish for me to buy much. I’m already having things shipped.”
The muscles in his jaws twitched. “You’ve got more stuff on the way?”
“It won’t get here for a while, but it made sense. After all, I’ll need to set up housekeeping at some point.” Feeling her words ought to pacify him, she said, “Why don’t you go get a wagon while I explore a little?”
“Lady, the last thing I want is to have to go searching for you. I don’t have that kind of time to waste.” He heaved a sigh. “Just promise you’ll stay on the boardwalk. It won’t take me long to hire a rig, and I need to get back home.”
“That’s a reasonable compromise.” She smiled. Mr. McCain could be reasonable, after all.
Half an hour later, Ruth sat in the hired buggy and stared straight ahead. She couldn’t bear to sneak even a furtive peek at Joshua McCain. Somehow, she’d managed to tweak his temper twice now. She didn’t want to add to her list of offenses. Bad enough he was certain she’d cheated him out of part of the ranch; but as if that transgression weren’t sufficient to put her on his bad side for eternity, she’d stepped amiss once again.
While Joshua went to rent a buggy, Ruth had walked the length of the boardwalk, then crossed the street and headed back toward her trunks. It was the logical thing to do. Joshua McCain would find her and her belongings all ready to go. Halfway down the boardwalk to the stage station, a pleasant-looking woman stepped out of a shop and smiled at her. How was she to know the woman in that plush dress was … well …
“Madam Velvet,” he muttered under his breath beside her, then shot her a scowl dark enough to wilt the heartiest daisy. He opened his mouth, then shut it. After a prolonged silence, he rasped, “Didn’t you ever read about Rahab or Jezebel in the Bible?”
“Yes.”
“That … ah …
profession
wasn’t limited to Bible times.” His right spur jingled as he scraped his boot side to side on the floorboard, and he studied her with his glittering eyes. The corners of his mouth tightened, then he rasped, “In case you didn’t know, not all women are ladies.”
“I didn’t realize she was …” Ruth’s voice died out.
Josh’s head wagged back and forth. The only thing darker than his black-as-sin hair was his mood. He muttered something unintelligible to himself again.
“Women of easy virtue aren’t supposed to—” Ruth groaned.
Heaving a sigh, Josh gripped the reins more tightly. His hands were huge, callused, and capable-looking. “Things are different out here. Back East, women of her ilk stay in the Bowery; here, they pretty much go where they please. The Nugget—that’s the local watering hole—has rooms upstairs for them to …” He cleared his throat. “Has rooms for them.”
Awkward as the conversation had been, Ruth appreciated learning such details so she didn’t blunder again. Josh looked every bit as uncomfortable as she felt, and for some odd reason, that fact made her like him a little. Nervously drawing whorls on her skirts, Ruth half whispered, “She didn’t have paint on her face or nails. Aren’t they all—”
“I wouldn’t know,” he snapped. “I don’t avail myself of their company.”
“Gratified as I am to be assured of your morals, how am I to recognize such a woman if you cannot?”
“Honey,” he drawled, “I didn’t say I can’t recognize them. I just don’t get close enough to study the particulars. No decent woman acknowledges Madame Velvet, let alone speaks to her. You were ready to have her to tea!”
He shook his head once again. Ruth couldn’t be sure whether the action depicted utter disbelief or implied she’d proven herself to be impossibly dim-witted. He didn’t leave the subject to die an already uncomfortable death. Instead, he accused, “Leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re already wading into trouble.”
Heat zoomed up her throat clear to her hairline. Ruth flipped open her fan and used it vigorously. She couldn’t look at him, let alone respond to his accusation. Other women were blessed with talents like conversing, arranging flowers, and conducting soirees. She’d been cursed with the “talent” of humiliating herself with illconsidered plans. Headmistress Pettigrew labeled it “a predilection for creating a scene.” Ruth had the sinking feeling that Joshua McCain and Headmistress Pettigrew were cut of the same cloth. He could shake his head just as condemningly as she had.
Her trunks jostled the vehicle. Josh glanced back to make sure they hadn’t lost one. He barely spoke a word the whole rest of the trip, but the sour look on his face let her know she was as welcome as a spider in a teapot.
After an inhospitably silent ride to the Broken P, Ruth looked forward to getting away from Joshua, sponging away the grit, and having a decent cup of tea. As soon as she spied the clapboard house, misgivings assailed her. The fences, barn, and livestock all looked picture-perfect. On the other hand, though sturdily built, the house looked as if it were more for show than hospitality. The tattered plants bracketing the steps of the veranda warned that this place lacked any vitality or warmth.
