LITMIR.BIZ

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she would be glad to give it to him. He had a noble, good-hearted son, and yet he was beating him down for no good reason.

      She’d noticed the difference in Nate the minute they arrived at the ranch. For two days, she’d watched a capable, authoritative, helpful man take care of business. But the moment his father stepped out the front door, Nate became an awkward servant trying without success to please an implacable master.

      An uncomfortable sensation stirred in her stomach. Back home in Georgia, it wasn’t just the carpetbaggers who mistreated people. She’d seen for herself how some Southerners treated their former slaves as if no war had happened, as if no Emancipation Proclamation had freed them. She was thankful Daddy and Mama got rid of the plantation and moved to town. There they didn’t have to deal with such things as getting enough people to work in the cotton fields, work they’d always done as slaves but now had to be paid for. The house servants Susanna’s parents had employed received a salary and were well treated. She’d never heard Daddy or Mama speak to a servant like the Colonel spoke to his own son. The Southern man she married would need to understand she expected no less for their servants.

      Weariness once again overtook her. She untied and slipped off her walking boots and lay on the bed, but could not sleep. Despite Nate’s being a Yankee, she must somehow find a way to pay him back for his kindness. Even knowing the trouble he would get into with his father, he had saved Daddy and her from untold grief, perhaps even death. That was worthy of a reward of some kind. But what could she do? The Northams were obviously wealthy ranchers, so he didn’t need any material repayment. All she could do was pray and let the Lord work things out.

      Her eyelids grew heavy, but she managed to whisper a prayer for Nate to make it through his current scolding without too much difficulty. Even if he was a Yankee...

      * * *

      “Did you check the entire shipment before you loaded it up?” The Colonel stood behind his large oak desk, bracing himself on his fists as he leaned forward in a threatening pose. With him standing, Nate didn’t dare sit down, no matter how weary he was from his travels. “Every plate? Every cup?”

      An unfamiliar thread of assurance wove briefly through Nate’s chest, just before the more familiar anger roared up and closed his throat. Of course he’d checked the shipment before loading it onto the wagon. How stupid did the Colonel think he was that he would have the horses haul home a broken cargo? But a bitter retort never got him anyplace, so he said, “Yessir. Everything was in perfect condition.” He made sure he spoke loudly, clearly and respectfully so his father wouldn’t have further cause to yell.

      Yet he couldn’t leave it at that. “It was a good thing Miss Anders was with us.”

      Snorting, the Colonel straightened and stared at him as if surprised he would offer additional information without being asked.

      Nate hurried on. “When we got to the river, she suggested that we take it over on the train. I mean, the water was fast, and when we took their wagon through first, we drove over a lot of rocks and branches. So I flagged down the train and—”

      “And you needed someone else to suggest that obvious solution?”

      Nate stepped back, and the heel of his boot hit a chair. Somehow he managed not to lose his balance. “W-well, you had it brought by wagon all the way from Westport because you didn’t trust the trains, so, no, sir, I didn’t think of it.”

      Again, the Colonel snorted out his disgust, although Nate had no idea what had him so riled. His father ran a hand across his jaw and sat in his leather-covered desk chair. “Now, about those people—”

      “Yessir.” Nate still wouldn’t sit until invited to do so, but the ache in his legs didn’t help his temper. “Those people. I know for a fact that you couldn’t have driven on past them any more than I could.” Where had he gotten the courage to say that? “And you would have been ashamed of me for not stopping to help.”

      The Colonel’s eyes narrowed. “That didn’t mean you had to bring them home to burden your mother. You should have left them in Alamosa.”

      Nate explained the situation at the hotel. “Even your name didn’t affect the proprietor.” He offered a sheepish grin.

      The Colonel didn’t react. “Just make sure your mother doesn’t have extra work. And make sure they leave as soon as possible. That Anders fellow seems like the kind of lazy Southerner who will sit around expecting people to wait on him like his slaves used to do.”

      Nate wouldn’t ask how he knew whether Anders had kept slaves. Not everyone in the South had. But his father often spoke disdainfully of Southerners, as if they were all the same, all except Reverend Thomas, the preacher he’d brought from Virginia.

      The Colonel snatched up the packing list for the china and thrust it toward Nate. “The first time your mother goes out visiting, you check the shipment again to make sure nothing broke on the way from Pueblo. If it did, I may be able to get a replacement from San Francisco by the time our party rolls around.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I expect you back to work on the new addition before dawn tomorrow. Anders and his daughter may get to sit around, but you’re back on the job.”

      Nate started to say he’d been on the job during this whole trip to Pueblo, but his father slapped the paper back on the desk, causing him to jump.

      “And don’t be getting any ideas about that Anders girl. Maisie Eberly will turn eighteen in a few weeks, and George and I expect an announcement from the two of you right after her birthday.” The Colonel pulled out a ledger and opened it, scanning the pages as if prospecting for gold, effectively dismissing Nate.

      He stared at the top of his father’s head. No, he would not be getting any ideas about the lovely Miss Susanna Anders, not her or anybody. He had too many things to work out in his life before taking on a wife or even a sweetheart, not the least of which was whether or not he would keep working like a slave for his father. And he certainly wouldn’t be proposing to Maisie. It wasn’t fair to either one of them. But George Eberly was as domineering as the Colonel, so avoiding marriage could turn out to be the hardest thing Nate—and Maisie—had ever done.

      * * *

      “I’m so grateful to you for sharing your room with me.” Rested after her nap, Susanna sat in the blue velvet bedroom chair while Rosamond Northam and her friend Maisie Eberly sat side by side on the bed. Dark-haired and green-eyed like her brother, Rosamond had her father’s lean face and her mother’s sweet smile. “I’ll try real hard not to put you out.” She’d never had to share a room and had no idea how this girl would react to such an intrusion.

      “Oh, don’t worry about that. We’ll have a good time.” Rosamond nudged her friend. “Won’t we, Maisie?”

      “You bet we will.” Maisie giggled, and her curly red hair bounced as she nodded her agreement. “Just like the Three Musketeers.” She leaned toward Susanna. “Have you read Dumas’s book?”

      Caught up in the younger girl’s merriment, Susanna offered a more ladylike laugh. “Yes, but I’m a little rusty with my swordplay.” She searched her mind for specific scenes from the exciting tale. “And I doubt we’ll find any queens to rescue.”

      “Maybe just a cowboy or two.” The girls giggled and bounced and put their heads together in a familiar way. Despite their differing coloring and features, they were like two peas in a pod.

      Susanna’s heart warmed. What nice young ladies, although at sixteen and seventeen, they still had some growing up to do. She had no doubt Mrs. Northam was responsible for any measure of decorum her daughter displayed, but the way they had noisily run up the front staircase a while ago revealed that both of them also possessed a bit of Colorado wildness. Someone should establish a finishing school out here. They would probably find many students among ranchers’ daughters. Of course, Susanna would never correct them, for that in itself would be a dreadful breach of etiquette. All she could do was set an example of refined behavior.

      A soft knock on the door interrupted their merriment,

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