28

THREE DAYS AFTER Mr. Miller’s death, Connor rode over the cold-hardened ground toward the foreman’s cabin on the Sullivans’ property. Despite the frigid temperature, Connor’s palms slicked with sweat beneath his gloves. His heart pumped as fast as when he’d ridden Excalibur for the first time, and the same emotions swirled inside him. Half fear, half thrill—not knowing exactly how the horse would react.

Just as he wasn’t sure how Jo would react to this visit.

Connor had thought long and hard over the last few days, trying to figure out a solution to her problem. One where she wouldn’t need to leave the area to look for work. The best idea he’d come up with seemed a little drastic at first, but the more he prayed about it, the more it seemed like God was on board with Connor’s plan.

Now if only he could convince Jo.

Connor approached the lean-to, relieved to see Jo’s sorry old mare inside, which meant she was around, unless she’d wandered off on foot.

He slid off Dagger’s back and tied the reins to a post.

He paused to utter one last earnest prayer that the Lord might see fit to bend Jo to Connor’s way of thinking, or that she’d at least be open to the solution he was about to propose. Then, squaring his shoulders, he walked up to the front door of the cabin and knocked loudly three times.

Several seconds later, the door opened. Surprise registered in Jo’s pretty eyes, the bright color highlighted by her blue dress. Her long hair flowed freely over her shoulders in golden waves.

Realizing he was staring, Connor swallowed and pulled off his cap. “Good morning, Jo. May I come in?”

She frowned. “Why are you here?”

“I have an idea I’d like to . . . discuss with you.” He stuffed his cap in his pocket.

She eyed him doubtfully, then shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t take too long. I have to finish cleaning.” She moved inside, and he entered behind her, pulling the door shut.

The interior smelled like lye and vinegar. A bucket of water sat on the floor near the sink.

He looked around and whistled. “This place has probably never been so clean.”

Jo wiped her hands on her apron. “I want to leave it in good condition for the next people.”

He stiffened. “Has Caleb hired a new foreman already?”

She moved to the sink. “Yes. A man with a wife and three young children. He needs the cabin by tomorrow.”

Connor kept his expression neutral, all the while thinking this might work to his advantage. Seth had accepted a job as a stable hand, so he had quarters in the bunkhouse. But where was Jo planning to go?

“What did you want to discuss?” she asked over her shoulder.

Connor took a deep breath and walked toward her. “I think I’ve come up with a solution to your . . . situation, and I hope you’ll hear me out.” He took her by the hand and led her across the room to the battered sofa in the living area.

They sat down, and though she tried to pull her hand free, he kept it tucked in his, feeling somehow more confident with that tangible connection.

He cleared his throat. “Jo, I hope you know how much I admire and respect you. Your talent with the horses, your hard work, and your loyalty to your family are a few of the wonderful qualities you possess.”

Wariness crept into her eyes.

“Even when I thought you were a boy, those qualities grabbed my attention. Then when I discovered you were a girl . . . well, everything made sense.”

She pulled her hand free. “What do you mean by that?”

He ignored her question, intent on saying the speech he’d prepared. “I think I’ve come up with a way you can stay at Irish Meadows and continue to train the horses.”

Hope lit a flame in her eyes, and she leaned toward him. “Really? How?”

He licked his bone-dry lips and swallowed. “You can marry me.”

Her mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious.”

Connor shifted on the lumpy sofa, battling his ego at her look of incredulity. “Think about it, Jo. As my wife, you could train the horses without having to pose as a man. You wouldn’t have to worry about where to live or having enough food to eat. And you’d still be near your brother.”

He held his breath, waiting for her reaction. Once the ramifications of the idea set in, surely she’d see the logic in his plan.

However, instead of seeming relieved, Jo jumped up and strode to the hearth. She stood with her back to him, her toe tapping on the wooden floor.

Connor swallowed and got to his feet, banking his impatience until she turned to face him.

She planted her hands on her hips. “I think you’re overlooking a few minor details.”

Annoyance flared. She didn’t seem the least bit grateful for his solution. “What details?”

“Even if your father agreed to the idea—”

“I can handle my father. What else?” He crossed his arms.

Her nostrils flared, reminding him of an annoyed filly. “Did it ever occur to you I might not have the slightest interest in marrying you?”

Jo fought the urge to smack the baffled look from Connor’s face. Were all men clueless as to what motivated a female?

And what didn’t?

“I’m sure you thought I’d swoon at the idea of becoming Mrs. Connor O’Leary, but on the contrary, I value my independence and the ability to make decisions for myself.”

Connor scowled, looking as prickly as a porcupine ready to attack. “Really? And how is that going?” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “You’re currently jobless with nowhere to live. Your brother is doing nothing to help you. I thought you might appreciate someone who actually cares what happens to you.”

Each of his words hit her nerves like the blow of a hammer. As quickly as her dander had been raised, the fight drained out of her. Her bottom lip began to quiver, and she whirled toward the bedroom so he wouldn’t see her cry.

He caught her by the arm before she could disappear into the other room.

“Jo, wait.” He released a weary breath. “This is not how I intended our conversation to go.”

She yanked her arm free. “No, you expected me to fall at your feet in gratitude for the great sacrifice you’re willing to make. Well, I don’t need that kind of charity.”

“Who said anything about charity?”

She wrapped her arms around her middle, the wood of the door solid against her back. “Then what’s in it for you other than free help around the farm? You’d be stuck with a wife you didn’t want. What if you met a girl and”—her voice quavered—“fell in love? You’d be trapped in a marriage to me.” She shook her head. “I won’t let you throw away your life.”

“You’ve got the wrong idea.”

She pushed away from the wall. “You should leave now. I have to be out of here by this afternoon.”

“Jo—”

“Please, Connor. Just go.”

He let out a low growl that raised the hairs on the nape of her neck. His arm whipped out to haul her against his broad chest. Then he very deliberately lowered his mouth to hers.

Her heart gave a primal leap into her throat, thudding so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else. Though she wanted nothing more than to kiss him back, the rational part of her brain knew she had to stop him.

Mustering every ounce of internal fortitude, she splayed her hands against his chest and pushed him back—hard.

“So that’s what you want out of the deal,” she said, breath heaving in her lungs. “A willing body to warm your bed. Well, it won’t be me. I’m sure I can find a way to make a living and keep my self-respect.”

Hurt flashed across his face, causing a stab of guilt to rip through her.

He stiffened, his features hardening to granite. “Have it your way,” he bit out. “I’ll leave your last pay with Mac. You can pick it up on your way out of town.”

He stared at her for a second longer, then marched out the front door, slamming it behind him.

Two days later, Connor strode through the barn, irritation cinching his spine. He pulled off his gloves and slammed them to the ground. “Why are these stalls not clean?” he hollered to anyone within hearing distance. “I can’t bring the horses back to this filth.”

“Sorry.” Mac brushed by him. “This used to be Joe’s job, so—”

“Get someone on this. Now.” Connor retrieved his gloves and stalked off, fighting the urge to put his fist through a wall. He may not be their boss anymore, but he was still the lead stable hand.

He stormed out of the barn and across the frost-packed earth. Nothing seemed to appease the anger that constantly bubbled to the surface ever since Jo had rejected him.

At the fence, he blew out a breath. The ugly truth sifted through his foul mood, bringing more shame than anger. He owed Jo an apology for his boorish behavior. She’d been right. He’d expected that, after only a couple of kisses, she’d accept his marriage proposal and fall into his arms in gratitude—without even considering what she truly wanted.

Now, not knowing how she was doing was eating at his insides. Where was she living? Did she have a job? What if she were forced to sleep out in the cold?

Connor abruptly turned. For his peace of mind, he needed to find out—and the only person who might know was her brother.

Two hours later, after a brief conversation with Seth Miller, Connor pulled his father’s car to a halt outside Mrs. Bingham’s estate. According to Seth, Reverend Filmore had helped Jo get a position cleaning the Bingham mansion. Though Connor should have been happy to know she was okay, he had to see for himself and offer an apology. He couldn’t leave things the way they’d ended between them.

Not wanting to disturb the residents, Connor walked to the rear of the house and rapped loudly on the back door.

A plump, middle-aged woman answered the door. “Yes?” She sized him up, taking in his sheepskin jacket and denim pants.

Perhaps he should have taken time to change into something more suitable.

“Is there a Miss Miller working here?” he asked.

“The new girl?”

“Yes. I need to speak with her. It won’t take long.”

The woman shrugged. “You can find her in the cellar.” She pointed to a set of cement stairs just inside the back door.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Connor made his way down the narrow staircase and into the damp cellar below. A musty smell permeated the air in the dimly lit area. He followed the sound of a scrub brush until he came upon Jo, kneeling on the cold stone floor, scouring a metal washtub.

With the intensity of her work, she obviously hadn’t heard him arrive, and he took a second to drink her in, from the brown work dress and striped apron, to her hair, mostly hidden under a white, frilled cap.

His pulse sprinted to life, simply from being in the same room with her. He cleared his throat. “Hello, Jo.”

She let out a squeak. Her arm jerked, sending the brush sailing across the floor.

“What on earth are you doing here?” She rose and ran her wet hands down the front of her apron. A rosy hue infused her cheeks.

He bent to retrieve the brush and handed it back to her. “Seth told me where you were. I came because I owe you an apology.” He hesitated, shoving his pride aside to do what was right. “I was wrong to assume you’d want to marry me. It was arrogant and insensitive, and I should have considered your feelings.”

She sighed. “It’s all right, Connor. You were only trying to help.” She pushed at a strand of hair that had escaped her cap.

“It doesn’t excuse the fact that I acted like an oaf.” He gave a sheepish grin. “Trying to solve everyone’s problems is one of my biggest failings. That and thinking I know all the answers.”

She stepped toward him, her chin lifted. “It’s not a failing. I think it’s a noble trait to want to help people.”

He leaned one shoulder against the stone wall and crossed his arms. “I’m glad you feel that way, because I have another proposition for you.”

A wary light crept into her eyes. “What kind of proposition?”

“I spoke to my brother-in-law, who’s the director of an orphanage in Manhattan, about a possible job for you.” He paused. “Rylan said he’d be glad to meet you and see if you might fill in for my sister, Colleen, when she has her baby. You’d have a room and your meals provided.” Connor watched her closely to ascertain a response.

A wrinkle formed above her pert nose. “But I just started here . . .”

He scanned the dingy room and the stacks of bins to be cleaned. “Do you enjoy the work?”

Her gaze slid to the bucket at her feet. “Not really,” she whispered.

Connor withdrew a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Here’s Rylan’s information. Do with it what you will. No pressure.” He dropped his hand to his side, wishing he could prolong the visit. “Well, I’d best let you get back to work.” Reluctantly, he tore his gaze from her and started up the stairs.

“Connor?”

He held his breath, hoping that she’d changed her mind about marrying him. “Yes?”

“Thank you. For the apology . . . and the information.”

He swallowed and nodded. “You’re welcome. I hope everything works out for you.”

Then, before the blueness of her eyes distracted him any further, he jogged up the stairs and back outside to the harsh light of day.