Olive cleared the plates after their dinner. Coralee had taken to eating her meals in the kitchen with the cook and Sally of late. It didn’t make sense to create more work for Olive by insisting on using the dining room when she was busy concocting special foods to accommodate Calvin and Daddy’s needs and doing more laundry and ironing than ever before. In addition, she was still preparing meals for some of the war widows and their children when the need arose. Sally was out delivering one of them now.
Houston had been dining with Coralee and the household staff since he’d begun working for Calvin two weeks ago and didn’t seem to mind the informality. She could imagine what those out at El Regalo would have to say about the arrangements. So be it. She didn’t have the time or energy to think about that.
He scraped his chair back from the table. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’ll head to the study.”
As soon as he left, Coralee turned to Olive. “Daddy liked the custard sauce you made today. He ate several bites.”
“I’m glad. He needs to eat.”
“Thanks to you and your excellent cooking, he does.” Not nearly enough, but every bite helped. “I should look in on him and collect Calvin’s dinner dishes.”
Coralee headed for the stairs but paused on the landing. The lantern light pouring from Calvin’s study caught her eye. Houston worked hard all day, first at the 7 Heart and then here at her brother’s ranch. Night after night, he spent hours hunched over Calvin’s desk studying his ledgers dating back several years. Why Houston felt the need to go through so many of them was a mystery. She’d asked him about it a time or two, but he evaded her questions.
Despite her resolve to avoid being with him any more than necessary, she found herself looking forward to their interactions. Things had changed on their ride back from town the week before. She’d resisted talking with him as long as possible, but she enjoyed learning about people, hearing their stories. If she was honest with herself, she’d felt a burning need to know what Houston’s life out West had been like and why it had held such appeal.
Their conversation had proven to be enlightening. Although he’d enjoyed running his hardware store in California, he’d quickly dismissed the possibility of buying one right here in Hartville. It seemed he had it in his head that if he was to fit into his family, he had to be a rancher here at home.
Considering the fact that GW Hart lived and breathed cattle, Houston’s way of thinking made sense. His father had always been a taskmaster, expecting those who worked for him to put in a hard day’s work. She could only imagine how much more he demanded from his sons. Houston was certainly pushing himself, beginning his day before the sun was up and keeping the lamp burning late into the night.
If they were as close as they used to be, she would have no qualms about expressing her concerns. But they weren’t. He was the master of his plans, and although she didn’t like to think about it, they could change at any time. If things didn’t work out for him here, he was liable to return to California. Even though her resistance was weakening, she had to keep her distance, or she could end up getting hurt all over again.
She grabbed the railing with one hand and shoved the other in her pocket. A piece of paper crinkled, bringing her to a stop. How could she have forgotten?
Reversing course, she dashed down the steps and made straight for Calvin’s office. She rapped on the door frame. “Houston?”
He looked up from the ledgers spread before him, a sea of figures that must swim before his tired eyes. “Yes?”
“This came for you today.” She approached the desk and held out the envelope from the telegraph company. “The delivery boy brought it right after lunch. He said it’s from California. I’d intended to ride out and give it to you, but I got busy with Daddy’s exercises, and it slipped my mind. I’m sorry.”
He took the envelope and pulled out the telegram. His shoulders sagged as he read it. He tossed the paper on the desk, leaned back, and gripped the horseshoe-shaped arms of Calvin’s captain’s chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Her chest tightened. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”
“It’s from Peter, my partner out West. He wasn’t able to come up with the money to buy the hardware store from me before I left, so he was going to run it himself. But he’s changed his mind. A buyer has made a ridiculously low offer, and he plans to sell it unless…”
Unless he went back? Despite the heat of the summer’s day, a chill raced through her.
He rested his hands in his lap and twiddled his thumbs. His gaze flitted over the pages of figures spread before him. He spoke more to himself than to her. “I can’t believe Peter would do something like this. I’ll have to figure out how to handle it. I might have to—”
A crash came from above.