CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

“Marry Claire?” Tyler almost choked on his drink. “Other than putting me in debt, ruining my partnership with Boothe, shackling me to a wife, and spoiling her life in the process, what the hell would that solve?”

“You’re looking at it all wrong, Ty.” Jonas sat forward on his chair, his eyes twinkling. “In the first place, as Claire’s husband, you’d be able to put the land to its best use. Second, Boothe would have no reason to continue harassing her; you’d already have the land. Third, you wouldn’t be shackled if you made the marriage a business arrangement. In fact, you’d be free to come and go as you pleased. And last but not least, with your financial aid, Claire, Emily and Mrs. Parks would get to live in their house. That would make them very happy indeed.”

Tyler drummed his fingers on the glass. Jonas’s reasoning was sound. If Claire was dead set on keeping Bellefleur, he could think of only two sure ways, other than by natural disaster, that anyone would ever gain control of her land: either through marriage or death -- which, in Tyler’s eyes, were one in the same. But as a business arrangement, a marriage with Claire might just be tolerable. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more the idea made sense.

Jonas eyed Tyler as he swirled the liquid in his tumbler. “There is one hitch, however. Claire is still engaged.”

“You know my philosophy on hitches, Jonas.” Tyler folded his arms behind his head and leaned back against the chair. “So if I decide to take your suggestion, an absentee fiancé won’t stop me.”

“Nothing stops Tyler McCane!” Jonas said, smacking his fist against an open palm.

Tyler grinned, catching his enthusiasm. “Nothing!”

“And you do love a challenge, don’t you?”

“I do indeed!”

“Then I say, go after her, lad! If anyone can win her over, it’s you!”

“You’re right!”

With a triumphant gleam in his eye, Jonas drained his glass and rose, leaving Tyler with the distinct feeling Jonas had maneuvered him into a corner.

“You’re turning in so soon?” Tyler asked in surprise.

“No, actually, I’ve got to pack.”

“Pack? Are you going on a trip?”

“I’m moving in with Claire and Emily. I’m their first boarder.”

Tyler was dumbfounded. “What about your cabin? What about our nightcaps?”

“I thought it would be pleasant to sleep in a house for a change. And you’re quite welcome to come to Bellefleur for a nightcap. I’m sure the other boarders will be gathering in the parlor in the evening to enjoy Claire’s company.” Jonas smiled innocently.

Tyler couldn’t believe his ears. Jonas, his assistant, his right hand, his best friend, was leaving him? Who would he discuss the day’s business with? Who would help him make plans for his empire?

“I’m not moving across country,” Jonas went on. “I’ll still make the daily runs upriver and back. I just won’t be here in the evenings. But like I said, you can come to Bellefleur anytime.”

“It won’t be the same.”

“Change is good for us. As my clever mum used to say to my dad, ‘You may be on the right track, dearie, but if you don’t start moving, you’re going to get run over.’” Jonas shrugged. “Well, I’ll be off now. Have a good night. See you in the morning.” Touching his finger to his temple in salute, he sauntered away.

Tyler stared at the empty doorway. Had Jonas been putting him on? He could never be sure. As he finished his whiskey, he noticed Jonas had left his glass sitting on the table. Tyler set his own glass down with a bang. So that’s how it’s going to be, is it?

He couldn’t believe Jonas had deserted him to live at Claire’s. Neither could he believe Claire had decided to run a boarding house in her home. If she was willing to take in boarders, she would do about anything to keep Bellefleur.

Tyler suddenly had a mental picture of Claire playing hostess to a passel of renters, some of them men hungering for a beautiful, available woman. His nostrils flared as the green-eyed monster struck. He wondered if Claire’s fiancé knew about the situation. Tyler knew he certainly wouldn’t like what Claire was doing if she were his intended.

Tyler’s blood began to boil. And why had “Rancid Lanced” left Claire in the lurch? What kind of man was he? And why the hell was Claire so enamored of him, when he seemed so indifferent to her problems? Realizing that he was clenching his jaw and tightening his fists as though he was about to throw a punch, Tyler forced his body to relax.

Should he seriously consider Jonas’s suggestion and marry Claire? Or should he leave Claire to struggle until she collapsed under the sheer weight of her responsibilities?

Tyler pondered as he stripped off his shirt and pants. Turning down the wick of his lamp, he lay down on the bunk and crossed his arms behind his head. If he decided to follow through on Jonas’s idea, then it might be beneficial to rent a room for himself at Claire’s. That way he’d also be able to prevent any wayward male boarders from harassing her. Tyler smiled in the dark, imagining how grateful she’d be. And he’d be around all night to accept her gratitude. All night, every night, till death do us part.

With a shudder, Tyler sat up and went to the commode to splash water on his face. He’d had a long day. His thinking was irrational. He’d see things differently after a good night’s sleep.

 

The next day passed in a hectic whirl for Claire. She started at dawn in the kitchen, giving every surface a good scrubbing. By noon, she had worked her way through the back parlor, the dining room, the front parlor, and the front hallway. Standing back to survey the results of her labors, she smiled. Finally, the house was beginning to show its former beauty.

Doctor Jenkins arrived just as Claire and Emily were finishing their noon meal.

“Good to see you, Claire,” he said, shaking her hand. Samuel Jenkins, a tall, strapping man in his late thirties, looked more like a woodcutter than a healer. He wore plaid shirts with black suspenders and pants and a heavy black beard, and had red cheeks and a bass voice. His father, Henry Jenkins, had been the town physician for forty years until his death.

After showing the doctor to Mrs. Parks’ room, Claire sat at the kitchen table polishing a pair of tall, brass candlesticks from the mantelpiece in the parlor. Emily sat across from her, her small fingers moving carefully across the pages of her book. Both waited anxiously for the doctor to finish his exam.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, the sisters rose and went to the front hall. “How is she?” Claire asked.

“Is she going to die?” Emily piped in.

“Mrs. Parks has a weak heart, I won’t tell you otherwise,” the doctor said. “If you can get her to take it easy and not overwork herself, she should have some good years left. But I’d think about setting up a room for her down here. That climb certainly isn’t helping any.”

“She can have the back parlor. It sits unused now anyway,” Claire said. “I’ve been looking for someone to take over Mrs. Parks’ duties, Doc, but I haven’t had any luck so far. Do you know of anyone who needs work?”

Jenkins scratched his bushy beard. “I know a lady who may be able to help you out. She worked for Ed Crane until his wife died. Now he’s moved in with his children, so I suspect she could use a job. She’s a hard worker, but she takes some getting used to.”

“If she can do the work and will accept what I can pay, I don’t care if she has three eyes,” Claire admitted.

“As long as she doesn’t smell,” Emily added.

Doc Jenkins laughed. “I’ll send her out. You can decide for yourself. In the meantime, see that Mrs. Parks takes the tonic I left her. I’ll stop back in a week and see how she’s doing.”

Claire followed the doctor out to his buggy. “I haven’t had a chance to speak to you since my father’s funeral,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to be sure Emily hadn’t followed. “I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“I’ll tell you what I can,” he said, climbing into the old black buggy his father had used.

“Could an argument have caused my father’s stroke?”

“If it was upsetting enough and if conditions were right, I suppose it could have.”

“Had he come to see you about any health problems?” she asked.

“No, but he might have seen my father before I took over two years ago.”

Claire doubted that he had. Arthur Cavanaugh had always been as fit as a fiddle. She was more sure than ever that the argument between her father and Boothe had caused the stroke.

 

“So she’s taking in boarders, is she?” Reginald Boothe drummed his fingers on the desktop and stared at the sheriff sitting across from him. “You realize if you had succeeded in wooing her, you’d be making wedding plans right now.”

“I’ve tried, Mr. Boothe. Cee Cee always finds a way to hold me off.”

Boothe studied him. It wasn’t surprising that a woman as pretty as Claire would turn down Simon’s advances. Remembering how Claire’s mother had turned down his advances, his eyes narrowed and his hand curled into a fist. Haughty bitch. He’d taught Marie Reneau a lesson, however, one she’d paid for until the day she died. Now it was Claire Cavanaugh’s turn to pay. “Has her fiancé turned up yet?”

“No.”

“Then you still have a chance.”

Simons toyed with his hat in his lap. “To be honest, Mr. Boothe, I think your partner has his sights set on her.”

“McCane?” Boothe resumed his drumming. McCane was shrewd. Perhaps he’d decided marriage was the best way to get control of the land. “I don’t really care who marries her, Wilbur, as long as we get that land.”

The sheriff jumped to his feet. “You told me I could marry her.”

“What do you want me to do, order her to marry you?”

Simons’ lower lip jutted out in a pout as he hung his head. “No, sir.”

“Then I suggest you forget about her.” Boothe watched the sheriff lumber out, then swivelled to look out the window. So Claire was taking in boarders to pay her living expenses, was she? Well, there were ways to put a stop to that.

 

Jonas arrived late in the afternoon, while Claire was beating a braided rug on the line in the back of the house. The upstairs rooms were now ready for renters, and Mrs. Parks was comfortably settled in the back parlor. Squinting through a dust fog, she waved at him cheerfully.

“Brought you a surprise,” he called, holding up a sack. He removed a plucked chicken and held it up. “I’ll even start it roasting.”

“How kind of you, Mr. Polk!” Jonas had truly been a life-saver for them. Instead of sailing with the LADY LUCK today, he had posted notices for boarders and picked up supplies for the pantry. She finished her task, rolled up the heavy rug, and carted it back to the house. Jonas met her at the door and helped her put it down on the bedroom floor.

“You’ve done wonders in the house,” he told her as they returned to the kitchen. “And you’re looking a bit worn out. Why don’t you run upstairs, clean up, and put on a pretty frock while Em and I finish preparing tonight’s supper?”

Claire was too exhausted to argue. When she came down to the dining room later, she found that he and Emily had already set the table and had even lit the tapers on the sideboard. “Another celebration?” she asked.

“In honor of all your hard work,” Jonas proclaimed.

After a delicious chicken dinner, Jonas surprised them with scones he’d had the LADY LUCK’s cook prepare. As they were feasting on the delectable, buttery confections, the buzzer rang at the front door.

“Sit still,” Jonas insisted, when Claire stood. “I’ll get it.”

A few moments later, Claire heard Tyler’s deep voice in the hallway. Her heart raced as she jumped up from the table and hurried to greet him, smoothing wisps of hair away from her face. She should have worn one of her prettier frocks. The deep rose with white sprigs seemed suddenly frumpy.

She arrived just in time to hear Tyler say to Jonas, “I’ll come back another time.”

“Good evening,” she said breathlessly. Just the sight of him made her cheeks grow warm. She saw his eyes darken with admiration, and blushed harder.

“I was just telling Ty that our dinner ran a bit late,” Jonas said, giving Tyler a look Claire didn’t understand.

“Won’t you join us in the dining room for dessert?” Claire asked.

It almost seemed as though a curtain fell behind Tyler’s eyes. “No thanks. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Oh, you aren’t intruding at all,” Claire said instantly, and just as quickly regretted her eagerness. It wasn’t ladylike to seem eager for a man’s company. It wasn’t proper for an engaged lady to be eager for another man’s company.

“Tell him we’ve got a special dessert,” Emily called from somewhere close by.

“You don’t want to hurt the tyke’s feelings, do you?” Jonas chided. “Even though she is eavesdropping again -- aren’t you, Emily?”

Tyler gave Jonas a look that clearly showed his annoyance at being put on the spot. “I’d be happy to join you,” he told Claire.

In the dining room, Tyler greeted Mrs. Parks and took a seat across from Emily as Jonas pulled out a chair for Claire. “Too bad you couldn’t have come sooner,” Jonas remarked. “We had such a wonderfully plump and juicy roasted chicken, and potatoes.” He patted Claire’s shoulder. “Your boarders are going to love it here. Home cooking is a rare treat for men without wives.”

Claire stared at him, perplexed. Jonas was making it sound as though she had prepared the meal.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Mrs. Parks said, rising slowly, “I’ll leave you young people to talk. I’m feeling a bit worn out.”

Jonas immediately jumped up. “Let me assist you, Mum. Emily, perhaps you’ll bring your book and read to Mrs. Parks a bit.”

As the three left the room, Claire glanced at Tyler, who appeared to be very uncomfortable. She immediately suspected that Jonas had coerced him into coming to Bellefleur. Obviously he hadn’t thought of it on his own, or he wouldn’t look so miserable. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked Tyler.

“That’s fine.”

Tyler waited until she had poured it, then gingerly picked up the dainty china demitasse, feeling like the proverbial bull in the china shop. He hadn’t expected to walk in on such a homey domestic scene. It was painful for him to do so, a reminder of what he’d never had. He’d always told himself he didn’t want this kind of life. Yet here he was, not only feeling sorry for himself, but also wanting it very much.

He glanced at Claire as she poured his coffee. She seemed glad to see him, which made him feel better. She sat down and picked up her own cup, sipping steadily, as though she didn’t know what to say. He stared at her slender hands and wrists as she lifted the cup to her mouth.

Ah, how he remembered the taste of that mouth. Tyler felt the telltale signs of arousal as her lips fitted themselves to the contours of the cup. He watched her smooth throat move as she swallowed and then he saw her eyes focus on him. For a moment, their gazes locked and he knew she was remembering, too.

The coffee sloshed in her cup. Claire set it in the saucer with a clatter. “Would you care for a scone?” she asked quickly, reaching for the plate in the center of the table.

Tyler took one so he’d have something to do besides stare at her. Yet he found himself watching her still as he chewed a buttery mouthful. It was moist and tender and just a bit sweet. Like her kisses.

“Tyler,” she said hesitantly, “why were you asking questions about the Greenes the other day?”

He swallowed the bite of scone and took a drink of the coffee, trying to get his thoughts away from matters of the flesh. “I wondered how well acquainted you were. I thought you might know if Mr. Greene was much of a drinker.”

Claire sat forward, her eyes instantly alert. “Would it make a difference if he were?”

“The sheriff is blaming Mr. Greene’s death on alcohol,” he told her. “I was near the body when they loaded it into the wagon and I didn’t smell any alcohol. I was just curious as to why he would be so quick to use that as an excuse.”

Claire searched his gaze intently. “What do you think happened to him?”

Tyler rubbed his jaw, trying to decide how much to tell her about Greene’s death. He didn’t want to spread rumors, but he did want her to be aware that there was a murderer on the loose. “I suspect there’s more to the story than Greene’s getting drunk and walking into the river. My gut feeling is that he met with foul play.” Tyler saw her eyes widen in alarm.

“Did you know that Mrs. Greene left town immediately after her husband’s death?” she asked.

At that moment, Jonas and Emily came down the hall toward the dining room. Tyler stood up. He didn’t want anyone intruding on their privacy. “Why don’t we step outside for some fresh air?”

“There’s a cool breeze tonight,” Claire replied. “We can sit on the porch swing and talk.”

Painted dark green, like the two rocking chairs near the door and the two giant flower pots bordering the steps, the wooden swing hung at the far end of the deep porch. A pink, white, and green crocheted lap robe lay over the back of the swing. Tyler leaned against it and stretched his arm out. Claire sat beside him, her hands folded gracefully in her lap, her head turned, staring out at the river in the distance.

“What did you hear about Mrs. Greene?” he asked.

“The sheriff said she left without a word to anyone. He thinks she went back to Germany. She didn’t even stay to see the shop closed or the furnishings sold. I find that very disturbing. I don’t think she would have done that willingly.”

“If it will put your mind at ease,” Tyler told her, “I’ll see what I can find out.”

Claire smiled at him, her relief evident in her lovely eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Just looking at her made Tyler’s pulse race. Lord, how he wanted her. But he couldn’t rush things. He knew better. “Jonas tells me you’re going to rent out rooms,” he said casually.

Claire looked down at her hands, as though she was embarrassed about it. “Yes, I am.”

“Seems kind of a shame,” he said with sigh, glancing around, “having all those strangers in your home.”

“It won’t be so bad. The house feels empty without my father here. It will be pleasant to have people around.”

“Strangers,” he corrected. When she said nothing, he added, “Maybe having a few friends among the strangers would help.”

Claire turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Tyler moved his hand to lift a strand of black hair away from her neck, brushing the satiny skin of her throat lightly with his fingers. “I wouldn’t mind being able to keep an eye on my property across the road while my house is being built.”

He saw her eyes widen. “You want to stay here?”

“If you have the room.”

“Oh, Yes! Yes, I do!” she exclaimed happily. “And as you say, having friends here would help.”

“I can move in tomorrow.”

“I don’t have a housekeeper yet, or a cook.”

“That doesn’t bother me.”

A smile spread across her face. “Then tomorrow will be fine.” Claire sat back with a sudden frown, nervously smoothing her skirt. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m taking in boarders.”

Tyler didn’t know how to answer, so he said nothing. She continued, “I’m in somewhat of a financial bind at the moment. The tobacco won’t be harvested for another six weeks, so renting out rooms will give me enough income to get by until then.”

“Maybe you should consider selling Bellefleur and finding something you can comfortably afford.”

She turned with a jerk, her eyes wild with something that looked like fear. “Never. This is my home. I’ll never leave it.” Abruptly, she stood and walked across the porch.

Tyler was stunned by her quick, almost desperate response. Jonas was right: Claire wasn’t about to be budged. He followed her over to the steps, where she stood rigidly by the railing, her back to him, one arm wrapped around the column that rose to the porch ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She rubbed her arms, as though suddenly chilled. “I can’t explain my feelings about the house. I don’t always understand them myself. I just know that this is the only real home I’ve ever known and I’ll die fighting for it.” She glanced at him over her shoulder and then looked down in embarrassment. “Sometimes I think I must be mad.”

Tyler put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to face him. “I’ve felt that way about myself many times.”

“You?” Claire searched his eyes. “You’re not mad,” she said softly.

“Neither are you.” His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth, so soft and inviting. Dear God, how he wanted to taste those lips again. He put his finger under her chin and tilted it up, then ran his hand slowly, caressingly, along her jaw line, enjoying the silkiness of her skin. He saw a warm blush color her cheeks, and her breasts rise and fall as her breathing quickened. He smiled, knowing she was as aroused as he was.

Bending his head, he kissed her, a light, feathery touch of his lips to hers. Fire coursed through his veins as Claire closed her eyes and leaned into him, her mouth supple and sweet. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her harder. Her breasts were soft and yielding against his chest. Her thighs brushed his swollen groin, stoking the fire inside him to even greater heights. As he ran one hand down her back to her firm, round bottom, his manhood pulsed against the restraining clothing, pressing into her curves until he thought he would explode.

Suddenly Claire pushed away, breathing hard. “I can’t kiss you like that,” she said, turning her back on him.

Tyler gritted his teeth. That damn Lance again. The thought that she was so committed to the louse made Tyler see red. “Why can’t you kiss me like that?” he asked. “Are you afraid your fiancé will object? It’s hard for him to do that when he’s not here, isn’t it?”

He saw Claire’s back stiffen. “He’ll be here,” she said in a curt voice.

“When, damn it? He should have been here for your father’s funeral. What kind of fiancé deserts his bride-to-be at a time like that? And where was he when you were fighting to save your home?”

“I don’t know where he is,” Claire said through gritted teeth. She swung to face him and for the first time Tyler saw anger in her eyes. Her fingers curled into fists. “I’ve written him again and again and he hasn’t replied once. All I’ve had is one brief telegram. I don’t know if something happened to him or if he’s just” -- she fought hard to keep from crying --“forgotten me.”

Tyler grabbed her shoulders and brought her close, his own eyes blazing with fury. “No man in his right mind would forget you.” He covered her mouth with a passionate kiss, oblivious to her cry of protest. She pushed against him, but he held her tightly until he felt her arms wind around his neck and her mouth soften and heard a low moan of desire in her throat.

Lance could go to hell. This woman was his.