“Doesn’t matter. The debts were your husband’s to pay, not mine. Now that I own the land, Kirkpatrick has no claim to it. Simple as that.”
Except there was nothing simple about it.
One of the horses nickered from the depths of the barn as if agreeing with her thoughts.
“I can give you the money to pay him off,” Caleb offered.
“Like I said, I don’t take charity.”
“And I don’t give it. Think of it as a loan. You’ll work it off, repaying me instead of Kirkpatrick. No one needs to be the wiser.”
She scoffed at his naiveté. Obviously this man had never lived in a small community before. “Everyone in town knows I don’t have that kind of money. They’ll question where it came from and how I’m earning it.”
“Tell them your husband won the money in Laramie.”
“They won’t believe it. Robert was never any good. He lost far more than he ever won.” The fact Caleb was standing here with the deed to her land proved that.
“They’ll come to in time if you stick to your story. People believe what they want to. Seems to me people in this town have a good opinion of you. If you say it’s true, and I back you up, they’ll accept it in the end.”
Rachel stared at him long and hard trying to find his angle and coming up empty. “Why would you do that? What’s in it for you?”
“Don’t matter.”
It was an ambiguous answer at best, revealing nothing of his motives. Try as she might to see behind the guarded green-brown eyes, she couldn’t. But she knew one thing for certain—people didn’t extend such a favor without expecting something in return. But what did Caleb Beckett want? And how high a price would she have to pay?
A vision of her mother, wasting away from guilt and disgrace, entered her mind. She quickly backpedaled away from his suggestion. Some prices were too high.
“No,” she said firmly, knowing her answer could be the final nail in her financial coffin. “I appreciate the offer to extend the loan, but it would never be believed. I’ll use my wages and repay Shamus in installments. If he objects and gets the circuit judge involved, then we can reveal the truth of ownership. In the meantime, if you’re still amenable, we’ll act as if nothing else has changed.”
Except that everything had.
And they both knew it.
“Suit yourself,” he answered, letting the matter drop.
“I will. Now, if you’re determined on playing the part of hired hand, I’ll show you to the bunkhouse.”
Chapter Seven
They walked in silence, Rachel leading the way. She tried not to stumble, an attempt made more difficult by the fact that she could feel Caleb’s eyes boring into her back. As crazy as it seemed, she could feel his silent perusal travel over every inch of her like a caress. She was thankful it was a short walk from the barn to the bunkhouse.
“What’s this?”
Rachel glanced behind her. Caleb pointed to a low pile of stone boarded over.
“The old well. We dug the new one when we built the new house.”
“Where was the old house?” Rachel pointed to a spot nearby. “What happened to it?”
“It burned down. We ended up boarding up this well when Brody was small to keep him from falling in, but lately Ethan’s taken to pestering it. He’s convinced there’s gold at the bottom and it’s the end to all our problems.”
“Could get dangerous.”
“I keep an eye on him.” Her anger spiked at the implication she failed in her duties. She turned and kept walking.
“Never said you didn’t. You always this ornery?”
She turned and glared at him over her shoulder. He made her ornery. She didn’t like the strange feelings that crept up whenever he was near. Not that she’d be telling him that. “Here’s where you’ll be staying.” She stopped in front of the wooden structure. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was solid and well made.
A flicker of something she didn’t recognize skittered across Caleb’s expression with such speed she wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all. Was he regretting letting her have the house?
“It’s small, but it’s clean. The men built the bigger bunkhouse when we took on more hands. You, Brody and Foster will share this one.”
“Where do the other hands stay?”
Rachel pointed to the larger bunk on the rise. “Len, Stump and Everett stay there. Freedom has the smaller cabin closer to the house.” Caleb didn’t respond, just continued staring at the door. To break the silence, Rachel opened it and stepped inside.
A tiny window on the side wall over Foster’s bed let in a hint of light through the calico curtains. She’d hung them in the hope it would add a homey feeling. They were new, replacing the ratty old blue ones that had been there for an age. She had tried to spruce the small bunkhouse up as much as she could, but there wasn’t much to be done. There was barely room to move. Foster’s single bed and a set of bunks were against two walls with a narrow walk space in between. A chest of drawers sat at the foot of the bunk beds, and a potbellied stove and bucket of wood filled up the space at the other end of the living space.