“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.
Mitchell’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