Page 10 of Willing to Wed the Rancher
“I concur,” Mr. Grover said as though the matter were settled. “A woman cannot manage a spread like this without a man.”
Irritation flared to life again inside Clarabelle. She didn’t consider herself to be a suffragist or feminist or whatever the title was for women who wanted more rights, but she hadn’t realized just how few women were truly independent the way men were. If Eric had been able to live on his own with just the children, why couldn’t she? Why did men have a double standard when the roles were reversed?
Maverick shook his head at Mr. Grover. “I’m not doubting Clarabelle’s capability to manage the Meyers’ spread. She’s a hard worker, and we’ll pitch in and help.”
Clarabelle offered her brother a smile of gratitude for his confidence in her.
“What I’m worried about is her safety,” Maverick continued. “With a killer on the loose, I don’t want her staying here alone and being in danger.”
Everyone fell silent.
Maverick did have a good point. Until they learned who had murdered Eric, they had to be cautious.
Ever since she’d found Eric in the field, she’d been trying to figure out who might have hurt him. With the way he’d been worried during the past week, she’d concluded that the killer hadn’t been a random stranger passing by. Someone he’d known had caused him to be concerned. Or something had happened to make him think he was in danger. But who or what?
All of that had nothing to do with her. In fact, Eric had seemed confident she’d be fine taking care of his children. “I must stay here for now to tend to the livestock and crops. And the children need the stability. They’ve lost their mother and father. It wouldn’t be fair for them to lose their home too.”
As soon as she spoke the words, she knew Maverick would understand. They’d lost their pa and ma in short succession. It would have been even more devastating if they’d been forced from the place they loved and had to learn to start over and fend for themselves somewhere new.
Maverick studied her face, then nodded. “All right. But I’ll give you Pa’s pistol, and you’ll need to promise to wear it at all times.”
“I promise.”
“And if there’s any sign of danger, you’ll come straight over to the ranch?”
“I will.”
“In the meantime,” Mr. Irving cut into the conversation, “we’ll be doing our best to find Clarabelle a husband who can take over the spread and help raise the children.”
“I agree,” Mr. Grover said as he began to open the door and put an end to the conversation. “Clarabelle needs a husband. The sooner she’s married, the better.”
As the men began to file out of the bedroom, Clarabelle wished she had the ability to stand up for herself. But as always, the protest lodged in her throat. She could only pray everything would work out for the best.
5
Franz slowed his steps as a cabin came into view. The morning sunlight was shining on the rustic log structure, as if pointing a finger to direct him there.
It had to be Eric’s home.
Franz pulled the third of Eric’s four letters out of his pocket, then perched his spectacles upon his nose and skimmed the letter to the part where Eric had described his little farm just north of Breckenridge.
A log cabin set back from the road. Stone chimney. Two front windows made of glass. Door and shutters painted green.
Yes, everything was just as Eric had described.
Franz folded the paper, tucked it back into his pocket, then frowned at the home.
Why had Eric been happy with such a hovel, no bigger than the peasant cottages on the land their family had owned for generations in and around Neubrandenburg? How could Eric be proud of a house made of logs when he’d grown up in a castle on Lake Tollensesee? Made of stones quarried in the area, the family estate had a grandeur and history that had drawn even the emperor for a visit once when he and Eric had been boys.
Franz pocketed his spectacles, released a sigh, and continued on the wagon path he’d been following since leaving town.
He’d arrived by stagecoach late the previous evening. Even though darkness had fallen, the light coming from the windows of homes and businesses had illuminated the wide mainthoroughfare enough for him to see that the town was just as simple and ramshackle as he’d been told.
Stumps littered the landscape where trees had been cut down to make room for more construction projects. Canvas tents and log structures intermingled with buildings mostly made of wood, many of them with false fronts, which was apparently a way to make them look bigger and more important than they really were.
Spirited music had spilled out of the open doors of saloons and dance halls, and the streets were busy at the evening hour with men loitering on boardwalks, laughing and talking and smoking cigars.
Franz had gone straight to the nearest hotel, purchased a meal, then taken a private room. Although he’d partly wanted to go right away to Eric’s home and show himself, another part had hung back—the same part that had delayed him in Denver for the past week.
