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DECEMBER 9, 1891
With Christmas only a few weeks away, the bookshop bustled with shoppers searching for gifts. Clara took great delight in answering the questions prompted by the window display. Maddie predicted that all their copies of A Christmas Carol would be sold by the end of the week.
As interesting as the morning was, Clara fretted about the afternoon ride to the ranch sitting beside the silent shepherd with the mysterious past. After learning that he was a widower, her anger toward him had abated. While she still resented his unsolicited opinions, she wondered if his wife’s influence had prompted his remarks. Perhaps his convictions about what a child desires were based in more personal experience than he admitted to.
Dressed in warmer attire than the previous day and better prepared for the chilly ride to the ranch, Clara waited for Mr. Kincaid in the children’s section with Daisy. As inexperienced as she was with such things, even Clara could see evidence of her dog’s condition. She ran her hand lightly across the dog’s extended abdomen, pausing when she felt movement. “Oh, my. Was that the puppy?”
“Looks like she might have those pups in a week or so.” Graham Kincaid leaned against the book case, his arms folded over his chest.
How could he appear so detached from this travesty? The flash of anger warmed her cheeks. Daisy’s condition was still his fault, at least indirectly. Then she processed what he’d just said. A week? She dropped her gaze to her dog. “That soon?”
Kincaid took a step closer and squatted on the other side of the dog’s bed. He ran a hand along her side. “Sooner, maybe.” He stroked the collie’s head and crooned to her. “Good girl. You’ll be bringing into the world some fine pups.”
She was struck by his gentle manner. But this must be routine for him. The sheep in his care gave birth in the summer range, and he’d be the only one there to help them.
The man was still looking at Daisy when he asked, “What do you think you’ll be doing with her pups? She might have four or five, you know.”
How could she possibly know? She’d never had a pet before Daisy. What had he said? Surely, she’d misunderstood. “Five?” she asked weakly.
“Aye. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Clara glanced across at the man, a smile touching his lips. He was enjoying this. She gripped the fabric of her skirt in tight fists, glaring at him. “Your dog did this to her!”
Kincaid’s lifted his gaze to her and nodded with calm admission. “Aye, I’ve no doubt.”
She raised her voice, a half-octave above her normal range. “What are you going to do about it?”
A woman peered at them through an open space on the shelf between Shelley and Keats, a shocked, rather scandalized expression on her face.
Kincaid rubbed a hand across his mouth. She was uncertain if it was his attempt to assemble an answer or disguise a smile, either way she found it irritating. “Well, I can help her with the birth if she’s in need. I could also buy the pups from you if you were willing to sell them.”
“Sell them?” Clara jumped to her feet. This was too much. She made a grab for her coat and turned for the door. “I think we should be going now.”
Kincaid rose and gestured for her to precede him. “After you.”
Refusing to look at him, she started for the front door. But she remembered she hadn’t said goodbye to Daisy. She turned back and patted the dog’s head. “I’ll be back before you know it.” Taking a deep sigh, Clara marched to the door. The only way she was to get through the next few days was to paint quickly and ignore the man as much as possible.
Graham stared at the number he’d written ten minutes ago, shook his head, and measured the board a fourth time. Something wasn’t lining up. He looked about the barn for another length of lumber to cut.
Bart started in again on whatever it was he was trying to say for the past quarter of an hour. “But it’s like I said before, the woman can push me so hard I want to pull out my hair from all her jabbering and the next minute I can’t wait to kiss her.”
If the man could just get to the point. Graham stuck the pencil over his ear and folded his arms, staring hard at the red-headed foreman of the Hartmann ranch. Maybe if Graham could focus on what he was saying, Bart would be done with it and leave him in peace to finish.
“And that’s just it, isn’t it?” Bart seemed to have finished his monologue, but when Graham didn’t answer the hanging question he added, “Some days I feel I can scarcely live with her, but I know I can’t live without her.” He stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as though he was standing on a bed of coals.
“Are ‘ya looking for advice, Bart?” Graham asked after several awkward moments passed. “I mean, it’s good to hear you’ve got yourself a fine wife and all, but is there a point to this?”
Bart pulled off his hat and smacked it against his leg, sending a cloud of dust flying. “Tarnation! You see? She’s got me doing something a man just oughtn’t to do.”
“What are you talking about?” Graham stared at the man sputtering before him like a steam engine spinning its wheels on a greased track.
“Jessie! And you! And that young lady, Miss Webster.” His face was coming close to matching the color of his neckerchief as he slapped the hat against his leg once more. “She’s pulled me into her schemes again.”
Realization dawned on Graham with the brilliance of a summer sunrise in the mountains.
Bart wailed, “I’m sorry, Graham. Men ain’t suited to matchmaking.”
Graham tucked his thumbs in his front pants’ pockets and leaned back against the workbench. “That’s for certain sure.” Although he wasn’t pleased with the idea that the women had conspired against him, for that’s how he saw it, he wasn’t about to rage at the poor man before him, wringing his hands. “Relax. It’s just women doing what they do so well—meddling with a man’s life.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“That it is.” Graham folded his arms and cocked his head to one side, considering the matter with greater interest. “So, what was it you were tasked to do? Talk me into the notion that a wife would make my life complete?”
Bart blew out a long puff of air, just like that steam engine. “So, you know.” His cheeks reddened, and Graham surmised his natural complexion couldn’t prevent the flush from revealing his discomfort. “I wasn’t lying. Jessie has improved my life. I’m a better man because of her. The fact is, if a man stays in the mountains too long by himself, he’s missing out on a whole lot of the good things the Lord has provided.”
Graham tugged at his bottom lip, studying the man’s earnest face. Even if he disagreed with Bart’s mission, he felt a mite of empathy for him. He didn’t dispute what the man was saying, not for a moment. Graham had known the gentling power of a woman. He knew the changes that could soften and at the same time strengthen a man’s heart.
To marry again just to warm his bed was unthinkable. Even if Clara Webster was pert and pretty, a woman so insensible to the needs of her dog would most certainly be equally blind to the needs of a man.