“I am not my mother.” She had promised herself she would never follow in her mother’s footsteps, but Shamus had Brody and Caleb owned her land. Rachel had nothing else to bargain with.
Maybe she was like her mama after all.
“I’ll give you a few days to ponder that,” Shamus said.
She wanted to tell him he could wait until hell froze over, but she didn’t have enough bravado left in her to convince him she meant it. She stood, mute, as Shamus turned and walked away.
“What were you thinking?” Rachel whispered, leaning across the table at him. Though the restaurant at the Pagget was sparsely populated, she kept her voice low.
Caleb knew she wouldn’t be pleased, but a small part of him had hoped her relief over having Kirkpatrick out of her life would override her displeasure. Given the potent mix of anger and indignation edging her voice, he’d been wrong.
She continued to glare at him. He wouldn’t hold his breath waiting for a thank-you once the shock of what he’d done wore off.
“You’re free and clear of him now,” he added.
She laughed bitterly. “Do you honestly think that will stop him? And what will people think, you paying off my debt and living in my house? They’ll think I’m earning it on my back! The one thing I was trying to prevent, if you’ll recall.”
Caleb glanced around at the other patrons. A few had cast them sidelong glances when they first entered the restaurant but no one appeared to pay them any mind now. Still, he kept his voice down. This was not a discussion he wanted overheard.
“I made it clear the money came from Robert’s winnings in Laramie. I was merely the messenger as you were busy tending to Len and overseeing his care.”
A haggard waitress appeared at his elbow and refreshed his coffee with a thick mixture he’d barely swallowed down the first time. Lord liftin’, what did they do to the coffee here? He’d tasted better sludge left on the campfire overnight.
Rachel waited for the waitress to leave before she continued. “You had no right. I told you I would handle this on my own. Why didn’t you tell me you were planning this?”
“You would have told me no.” Which should have been his first clue that any attempts at gallantry would be met with umbrage.
He had hoped, foolishly so, that sharing some of their pasts and admitting their feelings had helped bridge the gap and made her realize they were on the same side. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel in his debt.
Maybe he had underestimated the importance of her feelings. He wished it didn’t matter, but he was embarrassed to realize it did. Not that he understood what had developed between them any better than she did. It’d come on with such speed and intensity he’d had no time to duck or maneuver around it. Walls he had built thick and wide around his heart were no defense. Rachel had found a weak spot, and the more time he spent with her, the more she chipped away at it. At this rate, there would soon be nothing left.
If he had any sense at all, he would leave. Her debt was paid. Kirkpatrick would no longer be a problem. He could sign over the deed now, saddle up Jasper and leave town.
So, why didn’t he?
“I did what I thought was best. Now you can hate me and glare at me till the sun sets, but what’s done is done. We might as well make the best of it.”
Rachel stood abruptly, bumping the table. The thick coffee oozed over the edge of his mug and puddled on the blue checked tablecloth beneath it.
“You make the best of it,” she said in a harsh whisper. “Robert, Shamus, you. You’re all alike. You think you can take over my life like you have some right to it. Well, you don’t.”
The comparison rankled him. “I am nothing like Kirkpatrick or your dead husband.”
“What you are is a complication I didn’t ask for and don’t want.” She took a deep breath, the shakiness in her voice verifying the tenuous grip she held on her emotions. “I am sorry if my actions last night gave you the impression I was willing to let you have your way in all respects. Let me assure you, I am not. I do not care what your intentions are or were, you do not have the right to make decisions about my life.”
“That’s not what I was trying to do. I just thought that—” What? Did he think she would fling herself into his arms, relieved and grateful? Maybe a part of him had. He had done it for her, dressed it up in the purest of motives, but somewhere under the surface, he had hoped it would improve his standing in her eyes. A foolish attempt given that he had every intention of leaving.
Didn’t he? The answer was no longer clear.
“You didn’t think! Not about what I wanted. You have no idea what you’ve done. No idea the position you’ve put me in. Now, if you will excuse me,” she said, turning before he could get enough of his wits about him to stop her. “I am going home.”