“You really shouldn’t keep the store open this late. I’ll help you put up the shutters.”
“No.” Liza put out a hand to stop her. “I can’t close up the store yet. I’m waiting for someone.”
Granny narrowed her eyes. “At this hour? Who?”
As Liza started to answer, the door was pushed open again. The man in the doorway was of medium height, slim, with brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance, but dread curled into a knot in Liza’s stomach. “Good evening, Mr. Brown.”
“Good evening.” He nodded to Granny. “Mrs. Whitlow.” He paused. “Might I speak with you privately, Miss Fitzpatrick? Perhaps we could use the other room. There is a matter I would like to discuss with you.”
“No,” Liza said quickly. “We can talk here. It is all right if Granny stays.”
“Don’t mind me,” Granny said brightly. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse.” She folded her hands, eyes bright with curiosity.
Liza went behind the counter, where she had her reticule waiting. “I have the money here.” She handed him the coins. It was almost all the money she had in the world, but giving it to him was worth the sacrifice if that meant keeping the claim. “There. That is the last payment. Now Pa does not owe you anything, and neither do I.”
Mr. Brown put his wallet away inside his jacket. He withdrew a piece of paper. “And here is the IOU. It was unfortunate that your pa needed to borrow money, but I’m glad at least that I was able to be the one to help you in your time of need.”
“Thank you.” She had to force the words out. “I am sure Pa thought he was doing the best he knew how, but I would prefer if he did not borrow money from anyone in the future. I can take care of him until he gets on his feet again.” And next time, he can tell me when he borrows money to keep the claim going.
“Can you?” The question was mild, but those pale green eyes were intent upon her. “Apparently, you have not heard. Your hired hands quit this afternoon.” His thin lips curved up into a faint smile. “They should be halfway to Astoria by now.”
The words settled into her like lead weights. “I expect we’ll manage.” She only wished she knew how. There was no way she could get the harvest in by herself.
“It looks like you’ve gotten some new supplies.” Mr. Brown scanned the bolts of fabric on the shelf behind her. “I’d like a few yards of that braided trim if you would be so kind.”
Liza measured out the yards of fabric and wrapped it up for him. He was playing with her, wasting her time. What use did a man have for trimming? None.
He never shifted his gaze from her. “You could sell the claim to the Baron, you know.” Mr. Brown’s boss, Barclay Hughes, had come out to the Oregon Territory a few years back. He had quickly made a fortune cutting down trees and shipping the wood down to San Francisco. To his face, everyone called him Mr. Hughes. Behind his back, he was known as the Baron. “He wants the land. He’ll be pleased if I can get it for him. I can make sure that he doesn’t cheat you on the deal. He listens to me. He will give you a good price for your claim, and you could find permanent work in town.”
“Sell the claim? And give up our independence? Thank you all the same, but no. My father is going to prove up his claim, and I am going to help him. No one is going to take it from us.” She finished wrapping up the fabric and pushed it across the counter to him.
Mr. Brown leaned forward, and she had to repress the urge to step back. “Frankly, Miss Fitzpatrick, you can’t do it. Not just you and your father.”
He thought she would give in. Thought she had no choice.
Since that tree had fallen on Pa’s legs, breaking them both, getting the crops in had become a major worry in her life. Without the harvest, she and Pa would not be able to afford to stay on the claim over the winter, which meant they would lose it. The law specified a man had to live on his claim if he wanted to prove it.
The wheat was ripe now. There was no time to hunt for new helpers. If she put off the harvest, the rains would come and the crops would rot in the fields.
Her thoughts flitted to the man in the back room. Mr. Brown had always acted possessive where she was concerned, no matter how often she’d made it clear that she had no interest in him. Dealing with him had been awkward enough when she had only been paying off Pa’s IOU. Once he learned that her fiancé was in town, it would be a thousand times worse.
She couldn’t face his reaction to the news. Not tonight, when she was still trying to come to terms with Matthew being back in her life. Perhaps by morning, Matthew would remember who he was, who she was. What they had meant to each other. All she knew for sure at this moment was that she needed to talk to him before she could decide how to handle Mr. Brown’s reaction to the news. She went to the front door and held it open. “Please don’t let me keep you.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when you’ve had more time to consider. I know you’re a stubborn little lady, but I’m sure by morning you’ll understand that I only want what is best for you.”
From her place by the fire, Granny called out, “You’ll be wanting to go back to the hotel before you lose your chance of supper. I don’t know why you don’t just board with some respectable family instead of paying all that money to stay at that fancy new place, but that’s young men for you. Always have to present a good image to the world.”
Mr. Brown opened his mouth to speak, then he shut it again, pressing his lips together. Anger stained his cheeks with bright red patches. Abruptly, he turned and left.
Liza shut the door behind him and bolted it. She leaned against it, closing her eyes for a moment, and a sigh escaped her.
“There’s a man who dearly likes to get his own way.” Granny’s dry voice came from behind her. “Mr. Brown won’t be happy until he’s gotten your claim for the Baron.”
“That’s what I am afraid of.” Liza sat down in the other rocking chair and wrapped the quilt tightly around herself. “I don’t know what to do about the harvest.” There. She had said it out loud.
“Why is that man so set on your claim? He’s bought up most of the claims around. You’d think he’d be satisfied.”
She shook her head. “He wants to please the Baron. He thinks if he goes through me, Pa will agree to sell the claim.”
“That’s true enough. Whole town knows your pa would do anything for you.”
“For me, yes.” It never occurred to him to let her share the burden. That was part of the problem. Granny was looking at her, eyebrows raised, so Liza explained further. “After my mother’s death, Pa left me with my aunt in Iowa while he came out here and threw all his energy into building a new home for us on the claim. I think it helped him deal with his grief, as well as giving him a way to provide for me. It was his legacy, he always said.” She did not want to think of what losing the claim would do to him. He would feel a failure, not just as a farmer but as a father.
“Come sit by me and say your prayers, child.” Granny spoke gently, instead of in her usual acerbic tone. “Let the Lord carry your troubles for the rest of the night.”
It was good advice, but Liza found that she was not able to stop worrying. The fire was getting low—a log sank down into a bed of glowing embers. She settled into the other rocking chair, wrapped a thick quilt around herself and stared into the embers.
Why had Matthew taken so long to come to her as he’d promised? She had waited, first hopefully, preparing the loft in the cabin for two people.