The Nanny Solution (5 page)

Nothing about this woman made sense, Mitch thought. When had she planned to pull out this treat box? The other day, when they'd first met, she'd offered his children biscuits in open defiance of her mother's scathing look, giving him hope that she liked children, but she'd then pawned off Emily on that woman who sat across the aisle, who was also looking with great interest at the treat box.

Then Victoria had kept the children busy with scratch cradle, seeming to enjoy the experience. Mitch glanced down at Emily, who was beginning to stir again. She'd need to be fed and changed soon. Victoria would no doubt simply hand the child over to the other woman like the mistress of a mansion. Yet her actions right now were more of a child at Christmas than an overbred lady.

The children eased over to him, their eyes wide and focused on the orange he was absently peeling. He hadn't had one of these in years, not since some had been given to him as a wedding gift. The scent of fresh orange wafted up through the stuffy hot air into his nostrils, stirring his own stomach, for he had not eaten all day, either.

He was not hungry, he told himself. And he could feed his own children without Victoria's help. He'd hired her to mind them, but mostly to care for Emily. And she'd foisted that duty off pretty quickly.

Still irritated, Mitch divided the orange into segments, telling the children in a gruff tone to take only one each.

“You should eat, too,” he told Victoria coolly. She took a segment.

“As should you.”

Begrudgingly, Mitch took the final segment.

He could feel Victoria's curious gaze linger on him a moment, before it returned to the treat box. “Only one more thing tonight. Too many sweets will cause nightmares,” she warned them. She divided up the mince tarts into tiny portions, and Mitch noticed with a frown that she saved the larger portions for them, and not the children.

“I don't need any more food,” he snapped.

“Yes, you do. The children have already wolfed down the meat pies and would polish this whole box off if we let them. You and I won't do these children any good if we're hungry and grouchy. So eat.”

Their gazes locked and he could see her pale eyes defiant beneath uplifted brows and a suddenly stubborn chin. He could argue that they shouldn't eat any more in order to save it, but it would look as though he couldn't afford to purchase food for them. And with most of the passengers around them far too curious, he'd rather not invite any more interested stares.

He should be grateful to God that her housekeeper had the forethought to provide this box.

Her housekeeper. Mitch knew she and her mother each had a personal maid, too. He'd seen them peeking out of the kitchen when he'd herded his children into the parlor. What had he been thinking, hiring Victoria as he'd done? She was going to make a fool of him the whole trip with her fancy airs.

His jaw set and his mouth pursed into what felt like a thin stubborn line, Mitch took the portion of mince tart and accepted a small chunk of cheese.

He waited until Victoria bit into her portion, her action more of a delicate nibble as she held her hand under her chin to catch any crumbs. What he did—shove the whole third of the tart into his mouth—felt clumsy and tactless.

The pastry was delicious, melt-in-your-mouth good, as was the cheese. With his last swallow, Mitch turned away.

Evening deepened, and while Victoria was seeing that Emily was prepared for the night, the porters set about making up the berths. Here in second class, passengers had to provide their own bedding. He'd purchased it and had it delivered to the train, knowing he'd need it at the ranch, anyway.

More purchases, more money borrowed from the bank, borrowed from Smith, the man who wanted his mineral rights so much his latest offer had borne an edge of a threat.

When Victoria returned with the baby, he gaped at the change. In the newly lit lamplight, she looked more like a schoolgirl than a young Boston socialite who seemed to have, for whatever reason he did not wish to learn, fallen on hard times. The porter had prepared all the bunks with plump mattresses, straw-filled and topped with wool, making up the beds with the sheets Mitch had purchased. Many of the passengers had already settled in theirs for the evening.

Now it was their turn.

* * *

Although Victoria had bartered away her corset and bustle, and had been wearing this dress with only a petticoat and chemise, she suddenly realized she wasn't dressed for bed yet. An awkward situation, with Mitchell so close. His sudden and rather penetrating stare didn't help.

“Don't worry,” he muttered. “The boys and I will take the upper berth. You and the girls will take the lower one.”

She looked around. “What about our belongings?”

“The porter and the conductor will see that anything we can't take into the berths is secured.”

Mary flung open the curtain below. “Look, Miss Templeton! Look at the big pillow!”

Victoria bent down and peered in as Mary pounded the pillow with two small fists. Mitchell had set the baby's basket and her treat box at one end, and Mary, although still dressed, was pressed against the bottom portion of the curtained window.

“If that is all, I'll say good-night.” Mitchell then told the boys to move down to the end before he heaved himself up, completely ignoring the porter as he hurried down the aisle with a small step stool.

Victoria watched him disappear into his berth and yank closed the curtains. Well, he couldn't wait to be rid of her companionship, could he? With a surprisingly heavy heart, she slipped into the lower bunk and closed her curtains.

* * *

Mitch's sleep was deeper than he'd expected, he decided the next morning, considering he'd had a long nap and had shared the berth with three boys who took up the majority of the space. Finally, when he heard the porter gently awakening the passengers, Mitch opened his curtain and eased out. If at all possible, he'd let the boys sleep longer.

Victoria was already up, fixing Mary's pinafore. Emily was out of her basket and kicking about on the bunk. Before he could speak, the boys jumped down.

“The train is slowing, Papa,” Ralph announced. “I can feel it.”

“We're coming into a depot. The locomotive needs to take on more water.”

“I'm hungry,” Ralph said.

Mitch nodded, albeit gruffly. Yes, he needed to find some food. The children would want to dip into Victoria's wicker box of treats, no doubt, but it was his responsibility to feed them, not hers.

The train jerked and wheezed to a stop, causing Victoria to careen into him. He caught her and held her steady. But she immediately pulled free and reached for the baby. Thankfully, Emily was still centered in the soft bedding.

Victoria smoothed the infant's clothes as she lifted her. “Go find a store,” she told Mitch. “All we need is a bit of bread and cheese and maybe some fresh fruit. I'll take the children out for some air. We could all use a cold drink, so I will find a pump, but we won't leave the depot.”

Mitch bristled at the authoritative tone. “I know what to buy. I have fed my children before.” At the sound of the door at the end of the train car being opened, the boys tore off toward it, leaving Mitch to grit his teeth. Then, with a sweep of his hand, he indicated that Victoria should go first down the aisle. With Mary in front of her, and the baby secure in her arms, she walked ahead. Her fine purse dangled from her wrist. It matched the outfit she'd bartered away better than the one she now wore, but with her regal walk, Mitch doubted anyone would dare even consider the fashion
faux pas
, as his mother might have called it.

Cool, fresh air barreled into the car. It smelled as though the town had seen a good thunderstorm overnight. When he reached the door, Mitch spied Ralph already jumping in a nearby puddle.

They'd only just climbed down when Mitch called to his children, deciding to take Matthew for the extra pair of arms to carry back some food.

But that would leave Victoria with the four young ones. On an afterthought, he said, “John, you come with me. The rest of you stay with Miss Templeton, and mind what she says.”

“Excuse me!”

Both Mitch and Victoria turned. The conductor climbed up the stairs and waved his hat to secure everyone's attention. “We have a delay, I'm sorry to tell you. A storm blew through here last night and a large number of trees fell onto the tracks. It will take at least a day to clear the debris.”

A murmur of disappointment rolled through the crowd.

“As soon as possible, we'll let you know when we are able to get under way again. The train may move ahead, but only onto another line. Please don't go anywhere until we know more.”

“You want us to just stand here like idiots?” one man shouted out from the group by the stairs. Others who'd wandered down from the men-only car began to grouse, their voices raised in cacophony.

The conductor held up his hand to ease the discord. “Of course not, sir. We'll have a better idea of how long our delay will be as soon as we see what equipment this town has.”

Immediately, the conductor was assaulted with questions. Mitch led Victoria and the children out of earshot, to the short side of the depot's main building. “It looks like we'll get more fresh air than we planned, but I'll still go ahead and purchase some food.”

“When were we supposed to arrive in Proud Bend?”

“Tuesday morning. I had scheduled it all out, even chose this route because of its speed. But now, I can't say.” He didn't want this delay. He had a ranch to run, and needed to brand the heifers he planned to keep. Several other ranchers had been interested in purchasing the rest of them. He needed that quick infusion of cash to pay his quarterly mortgage installment or that bank manager would be using the default as an excuse to force Mitch to sell him his mineral rights.

Victoria glanced over at the crowd. “I need to send a telegram to my uncle to tell him of this delay.”

She wasn't traveling to a beau? His heart took a treacherous leap. Determined to ignore it, he answered, “Fine. I'll do it. What is his name?”

In answer, Victoria opened her small drawstring purse and pulled out a folded paper. “Here's the telegram he sent my mother. All the information is on it.”

Mitch took it and unfolded it. The name at the top was as clear as if she'd spoken it aloud. Walter Smith.

His stomach turned. That cad of a bank manager and Victoria's uncle were one and the same man.

Chapter Five

M
itchell's expression went from concerned to filthy angry as quickly as Victoria could blink. “Walter Smith is your uncle?”

With raised brows, Victoria nodded. “Is there a problem?” She could have counted the seconds that passed as Mitchell swept his narrowed gaze down her frame and back up again, as if seeing her for the first time. When that same look crossed the breadth of her shoulders and up to her face again, she knew one thing. Mitchell MacLeod didn't like what he saw. A chill ran through her, despite the bright sun on her.

Mitchell opened his mouth to say something, but Ralph tugged hard on his father's jacket. “Papa, why was that man mad?”

And, as if picking up on her older brother's cue, the baby in Victoria's arms began to cry. For once she was grateful for the sound. She welcomed the break from the inexplicably dark moment that had passed between Mitchell and her. “I need to change Emily and see that she's fed.” She looked around, and then finally dared to settle her gaze on Mitchell. Whatever was going through the man's mind was a mystery to her, but the fact remained that her duty at this moment was to the child and not the father.

Still, she needed that telegram sent away. “Will you please see to the telegram?”

“Yes.”

A colder word there wasn't. Refusing to be bothered by the change of mood, Victoria set off for the sleeper car. As she reached it, she glanced back, hoping to find Mitchell's mood improving while he explained the situation to Ralph, but instead, her own cautious gaze collided with his.

Mitchell was watching her. Closely. Running her tongue over her dry lips, Victoria tore her gaze away and allowed a young black porter to help her climb aboard. She offered him grateful thanks and, spying the woman who'd agreed to feed Emily sitting in her seat, she pushed the disturbing thoughts of Mitchell from her mind and hurried toward her.

* * *

Mitch swung his stare from the car, all the while trying to ignore feeling as though he'd been punched in the gut.

Lord, what are you doing to me? First Agnes, then this?

No, first Walter Smith, subtly cunning, pressuring him to sell his mineral rights. Then Agnes's betrayal. Now Victoria's.

Is hers a betrayal? You sought her out, not the other way around.

Only on Lacewood's recommendation, he argued stubbornly to himself. What if the three of them together had schemed up a plan to force him to sell his rights? He had entrusted Lacewood with his dead wife's affairs, confiding in him details of the ranch's ownership and the difficulties with Walter Smith's bank. Had Lacewood seen an opportunity and set up this plot with Victoria, getting her to convince him that keeping his mineral rights was a selfish gesture?

“Papa?”

Snapping out of his paranoia, Mitch peered down at his youngest son. Those wide, innocent eyes, along with the stares of the rest of his children, met him in earnest. “Why was that man angry? Is the train broke? Why are you mad at Miss Templeton?”

Mitch pulled in a stilling breath.
Lord, help me.
His children were far too observant for their own good.

Still, his gut tightened and bitterness blossomed on his tongue. A gust of wind delivered the foul smell of oily smoke to him, at the same time fluttering Victoria's telegram. He quickly shoved it into his jacket pocket. “I'll explain what's happening in a few minutes. But it's nothing serious, Ralph. We just need to send a telegram.”

“So you're not mad at Miss Templeton?”

Mitch couldn't miss the concern in his children's eyes. They didn't want him mad at Victoria, probably because they were afraid she'd leave them like their mother had done. Mitchell blew out a sigh. They were getting far too attached to her. “Miss Templeton surprised me, that's all.”

Matthew, being old enough to pick up on what his father was now attempting, grabbed his brother. “It's nothing, Ralph. The train tracks are blocked with trees and Papa knows Miss Templeton's uncle. Don't you listen?”

“I do listen! I'm a good boy!”

Matthew pushed his brother. “You weren't when Momma died. You threw a tantrum!”

“Enough, both of you!” Mitch raised his hand, palm out. “Mary, go help Miss Templeton. Matthew, keep an eye on John for a minute. I won't be long.” Taking his youngest by the hand in an effort to thwart a fight, Mitch made a straight line for the telegraph office.

But at the entrance to the office, Mitch stopped, holding open the door as a middle-aged couple and a young, attractive woman exited. The depot bustled, a beehive of activity. Inside the ticket office an argumentative man voiced his opinion loudly, and the line in the telegraph office coiled around like the back end of a snake. This delay would be costly.

Mitch turned, wanting to make sure his children were mindful of his instructions. Mary was climbing aboard the sleeper car, hauling herself up the steep steps as the young porter who'd helped Victoria offered his hand. Below, Matthew and John were kicking a small rock back and forth underneath the first set of windows.

Beside them, the middle-aged couple who'd exited the telegraph office paused a moment, the man holding the older woman's hand as she fussed with her shoe. Having fixed whatever it was, she smiled her gratitude up to her man, and in that moment, he leaned forward to steal a kiss. Playfully, she batted him lightly, while the young woman laughed.

The intimate moment clenched his stomach, stalling him briefly. The love that couple shared glowed like a fine mountain sunset. How had their love survived the turbulent times, he wondered. What did they know that he didn't?

He caught a glimpse of Mary skipping through the train car, stopping halfway when she reached Victoria. Victoria was bending over the seat. She turned her head when Mary approached, then, a moment later, as she lifted the tiny Emily up into her arms, she looked out the window.

Again, their gazes crashed together like rams in season. Her gaze was wide, curious, and cautious. He knew then why he couldn't share a love like the one he'd seen in that middle-aged couple. Because he had chosen poorly, both in wife and in occupation.

All he'd wanted was to build a life for his family. He'd left them in Boston, his wife's hometown, so they wouldn't have to deal with the hardships of ranch life without even a roof over their heads for the first little while.

It had taken time to build a house. Even now, Proud Ranch wasn't finished. He was gone long hours, sometimes days, fixing the fence that his neighbor had objected to. And if there was one thing he'd learned, it was that separation wasn't good for a marriage.

He couldn't do a thing about his family, except what was right, and he couldn't do a thing about his occupation, either.

But he could prevent more personal humiliation.

Mitch ground his heel into the gravel beneath his feet as he spun away from the train and deeper into the telegraph office, putting his back to Victoria and her soft, beguiling eyes.

No more humiliation.

* * *

Victoria watched Mitchell stride into the telegraph office. It wasn't hard to see the man was upset. He'd taken one look at her uncle's name on the telegram and had gone from frustrated by the sudden delay in the train's schedule to just plain angry. But why?

Her shoulders drooped. She knew so little about her uncle that she couldn't even begin to speculate. He owned the bank in Proud Bend, a large one, according to her mother. Victoria had secretly assumed Abigail was exaggerating the size. How big could anything be out West?

Not for the first time, Victoria grated against her mother's belief that women should avoid all financial matters. Thanks to that silly notion, Victoria's business sense was limited to her basic math. Yes, she'd listened in on several marital arrangements and the exchange of money that invariably accompanied them, but that was the extent of her experience. Mercy. No wonder Mitchell seemed surprised that she believed she could find employment.

In her arms, the baby fussed. “Can I hold her, Miss Templeton?”

Victoria smiled down at Mary. “Of course, but just for a moment. She will need to be fed as soon as the other baby is finished.”

She glanced over at the young mother across the aisle. Victoria had honestly believed she'd done what was right by securing this arrangement, but Mitchell believed otherwise.

Mary sat down on the seat and Victoria set the baby in her arms. “Support her head, dear. She isn't as strong as you.”

“Her grip sure is strong. She got ahold of Ralph's curls once and wouldn't let go.”

Victoria chuckled. “Was she born at home?”

“No. Mama went to the hospital.”

Victoria sat down opposite Mary, feeling her heart squeeze shut as she remembered how Mitchell's wife had died. “Did you see much of Emily after she was born? Before your father arrived?”

“Some ladies from the church came and got us.”

Victoria gasped. “You children weren't living alone, were you?”

Immediately, Mary clamped shut her mouth and dropped her gaze. Her eyes narrowed as she refused to answer.

Leaning forward, Victoria touched Mary's small hand as she splayed it over the side of Emily's head. The baby was rooting around, looking for food, and would not last long before she fully protested. “Mary? Did your mother tell you not to say anything about living at home alone? It's okay. No one will get into trouble. And I'm glad you had some ladies help you.”

Mary continued to say nothing, although glanced up one time. Her eyes were filled with tears.

Oh, dear. Victoria felt her own eyes water. Oh, she was not good with children. Look at her, all ready to burst into sympathetic tears with this little child. She should be strong. Who would have thought Victoria Templeton, once a prominent socialite in Boston, and half the time a mother to her own mother, could be reduced to tears just because a small girl's eyes watered?

“I lost my father when I was a little older than you,” she said, digging out her hankie from a small pocket. “I still think about him all the time.” She dabbed her eyes, noticing only then that the mother across the aisle was finished and was watching her with keen interest.

This would never do. She shouldn't be embarrassing herself like this. “It's okay to be sad. It shows you loved your mama.” Standing, Victoria took Emily from Mary and gave her to the young mother. Once the baby was settled, Victoria returned to her seat. “But you have your father back now. And you're going to a new home built just for your family.”

Two fat tears rolled down Mary's cheeks, and, surprising Victoria, she slipped off the seat and up onto her lap. Victoria's arms automatically wrapped around the little girl and held her close. Mary's little body shook and vibrated as her crying increased.

With a hard swallow, Victoria blinked back her tears and glanced away from the young mother's prying stare. She looked out the window. She could see only Matthew's head, but occasionally, she could see John's pop into view as they played some game.

“Matthew told us.”

Victoria looked down at Mary. “What did Matthew tell you?”

“Not to tell anyone that we were alone. He said we should tell everyone who asked that Momma was resting. He said it wasn't a lie. That she was resting with Jesus now.”

Victoria stifled a small gasp. “And the baby? Where was Emily at that time?”

“The hospital kept her.”

Victoria frowned as she glanced over at Emily. The baby was only about a month old, Mitchell had mentioned. When had he arrived in Boston? She looked down at Mary. “Were you and your brothers alone at home? The nurse shouldn't have allowed that.”

Mary shrugged. “Matthew said it would only be until Papa arrived. But the ladies of the church came. One lady made us molasses cookies, and they all made us drink hot milk.” Mary looked up at Victoria. “Your face is wet.”

Finding her handkerchief again, she quickly dried her tears. With a weak smile, she shrugged aimlessly. “So you weren't alone for long?”

“The reverend came by. We told him what Matthew had said, but he told Matthew it was wrong to lie. But it wasn't a lie! Mama
is
resting now!” Mary paused and seemed to calm down a bit. “I miss her.”

Victoria sighed and hugged the girl tightly. “It's okay.” While her grief was honest, the assumption that they were alone for weeks on end would probably prove to be false. It had to be, Victoria reasoned. Outside the window, Matthew jumped, and she could see his entire head briefly. He was a proud boy, determined to protect his family.

She had a feeling he'd acquired those traits from his father.

As if on cue, Mitchell appeared at the telegraph office door with Ralph in tow. His broad shoulders, stiff and proud, turned as he squeezed out past a young man hurrying inside. He wore a simple sack suit, dark gray in color. Her sharp eye told her it could use a brushing and a pressing with a good flatiron, but it was suitable for travel. He must be warm, for the day was heating up, but he had not loosened his bow tie or undone any of the closely tailored jacket buttons. As if by habit, he tipped his head as he donned his Stetson. When he raised his head again, Victoria found her breath catch ever so slightly. He cut a fine figure.

The couple Victoria had noticed earlier called out to Mitchell. Following them was the young woman, her small carpetbag pulled up to her waist as if for protection as the four stood and spoke at some length.

What were they talking about? Was Mitchell already looking to replace her, having spoken to them inside?

Most likely. Victoria really hadn't done an adequate job caring for his children. She'd pawned the baby off on another woman. And at one point while Mitchell had been sleeping, she'd scrubbed those boys with her soap. Had they complained and in so doing, shamed their father into looking for a way to rescind his offer of employment? Could he even do that? Was she going to be abandoned here in this little Midwestern town whose name she didn't even know?