Wishing for the Rancher’s Love (High Country Ranch #5)

Chapter 1

1

Summit County, Colorado

November 1879

“I’m going as fast as I can.” Clementine Oakley purposefully stirred the boiling caramel mixture slower. It was almost done and ready to pour, but she wasn’t about to tell Grady Worth that.

Grady leaned against the hallway entrance of the small work area at the back of the general store, tapping one of his boots impatiently. His arms were folded across his chest, pulling his flannel shirt tight and outlining his broad chest and thickly muscled biceps.

Not that she cared about his broad chest and thickly muscled biceps. Or how mussed his dark-brown hair was without his Stetson. Or how the layer of scruff on his face made him look rugged. Or how the dark brown of his eyes was always so mysterious and appealing.

She didn’t care one ounce about Grady. He’d been her nemesis for years, and with every passing day over the two weeks since she’d started renting the room above the store, he’d grown more antagonistic.

“You’re taking twice as long as usual.” His voice was loaded with irritation.

“Am not.”

“I can tell you slowed down.”

She was tempted to go even slower, but she didn’t want to ruin the batch of caramel, which needed constant stirring while it was boiling. Instead, she shifted so he had full view of her pretty face and womanly figure. “Admit it. You like when I go slow. Then you get to admire me for longer.”

He snorted. “You have plenty of other men giving you attention and don’t need mine.”

He wasn’t wrong on that score. She knew well enough that men found her blond-red hair, green eyes, and willowy body attractive. In the high country of Colorado in 1879, where men still outnumbered women, the attention wasn’t anything new.

She tucked a loose strand of her long hair back into the messy bun she wore, which was even looser and messier after a long day working in the store. “You sound jealous.”

“You wish.”

It was her turn to snort. She’d lost count of how many times they’d had this sort of petty conversation.

Sometimes she wished they could turn back the years and return to being friends, like they’d been after he’d moved to Breckenridge eight years ago. At the time, he’d been fourteen and she’d been twelve, and those had been the carefree years before his mom had died.

Of course, things had started changing even before Mrs. Worth had died, but after she’d passed away three years ago, Grady and Clementine had gone from friends to enemies. Now they had nothing left between them but dissension.

Clementine swirled the mixture of molasses, sugar, chocolate, milk, and butter in the large saucepan on the old corner stove. The combination was gooey and rich and chewy, and the caramels were a favorite among her customers.

They’d been one of Mrs. Worth’s earliest confectionery creations and one of the first the dear woman had taught her.

Grady shoved away from the hallway entrance and straightened to all six feet, three inches of brawny solidness gained from his hard work operating the town’s livery. As he took a step into the room, he filled it with his overpowering presence.

It didn’t help that the lean-to was small and crowded. With its original log walls and slanted ceiling, it was crammed full of crates of goods waiting to be unloaded in the store. She hardly had space to turn around without bumping into something.

With only one small window on the back wall, the area was gloomy, and she almost always needed a lantern to work. And it almost always smelled like coffee beans and musty potatoes and onions, especially when she wasn’t making her candy.

It was hard to believe the room had served as a living area for the Worths when they’d first opened the store. The other little room off to one side that was now a telegram and post office had once been a bedroom for Mr. and Mrs. Worth. Grady had used the dormer upstairs as a bedroom, and eventually it had become a storage room.

Mr. Worth had cleared out the dormer and offered it to Clementine to rent after her ma had died in May. With the need to care for her ma no longer tying her to High Country Ranch—High C Ranch, as it was known—she could have moved to town so she didn’t have to ride back and forth to work at the store.

However, she’d stayed at the ranch—hadn’t been able to force herself to leave, even after Maverick had married his best friend’s sister, Hazel.

At first Clementine had wanted to be there to help take care of the place and be close to her twin sister Clarabelle. However, Clarabelle had met and fallen in love with Franz Meyer back in June and moved away to be with him.

Then their adopted brother Ryder had needed assistance taking care of baby Boone over the rest of the summer until his mail-order bride had arrived. So Clementine had remained at home to be close enough to ride to Ryder’s ranch several days a week to help with the baby.

After that, Clementine had considered Mr. Worth’s offer again, but her other adopted brother, Tanner, had needed help doctoring the woman he loved back from an injury. Once Maisy had healed, the two had left for the East and would likely be gone all winter.

Maverick and Hazel claimed they loved having her live with them. But with Hazel being pregnant and due next spring, they would soon have their own little family to occupy them, and Clementine feared she would be even more of an outsider.

That lonely day at the end of October, Clementine had been at High C Ranch making a batch of candy, and with the emptiness of the house taunting her, she’d broken down in tears.

The realization had hit her hard that she was the only one of her siblings who wasn’t married. She’d never imagined she’d be the last of her brothers and sisters to find love. She supposed they hadn’t imagined it either, since she was the most outgoing and social of her siblings.

As she’d stood there in the kitchen, she’d asked herself what was wrong with her that she didn’t have someone to love the way her siblings did. The feeling that she’d struggled with for so long—that she wasn’t likeable enough—had resurfaced, making her need to get away and do something different with her life.

She’d gone to town the next day and accepted Mr. Worth’s offer to rent the room. She’d moved in a day later and settled in over the last couple of weeks, cleaning the place and making it a cozy home.

The trouble was that she no longer had the big ranch kitchen to use for making the candy she sold in Worth’s General Store. Now she had a less-than-ideal situation where she created her candy in the crowded back room. She was grateful Mr. Worth had offered to let her use the old stove. He’d even told her she could come over to the house and make her candy there.

But so far, she’d managed well enough. After all, if Mrs. Worth had been able to make her goodies in the lean-to room after first moving to Breckenridge, Clementine could do it too.

If only she didn’t have to worry about Grady rushing her.

Grady stepped farther into the room. “I don’t have all night to stand here and wait for you.”

On a Thursday night in mid-November, with the temperature having dropped below freezing, she knew exactly where Grady wanted to be.

“I didn’t ask you to wait.” She reached for the greased pan resting on the worktable next to the stove. “I don’t need a nursemaid watching over me.”

“That’s debatable.” His tone took on a cocky ring, and he started to twirl a key attached to a small leather strip around his finger.

“Go, Grady.”

“You know I would if I could.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

“My dad will give me a whupping if I leave you here by yourself.”

“Whupping? You’re not five, even if you sometimes act like you are.”

He released another snort.

She couldn’t hold back the beginning of a grin. Although she missed their friendship, she could admit there were times when she took great enjoyment from the zingers they threw at each other.

He stopped beside the stove and peeked into the pot at the caramel. “Dad gave me the duty of making sure the store is locked up every night, and I intend to do it.”

No doubt Grady was checking how far she had to go before the caramel was ready to pour out to cool. He’d watched his mom make candy often enough that he wasn’t entirely ignorant of the process.

“I know you can go faster, Clementine”—the irritation was back in his voice—“so stop delaying.”

She released an exasperated exhale. “Give me the key, and I’ll lock up after myself.”

He flipped the key in a circle again and pressed his lips together. He had a tiny scar underneath his bottom lip from an ice-skating accident long ago. She’d always liked the scar—thought it gave his face texture, made his mouth more manly.

She held out her hand for the key.

He paused in twirling it but didn’t immediately give it to her.

She lunged for the key as best she could while still stirring the caramel.

He easily lifted the key out of her reach.

She hopped and gripped the strip.

But in the next instant, he switched it into his other hand, even farther from her reach. All the while, his lips curved into a half smirk.

She didn’t care about his mouth anymore. Not that she ever had. But especially not now. The only thing she wanted to do to his mouth was wipe the smirk off. “Just give me the key.”

He dangled it in the air above her. “Promise you’ll take it over to Dad just as soon as you finish here?”

“Yes, of course.”

“The front door is already locked, so you only need to lock the back.”

“Yes, Grady. I realize that.”

He hesitated a beat longer, then tossed the key onto the worktable with a clatter. Before she could stop him, he reached down into the bowl with the fruit-nut mixture that would go into the caramel, swiped up a finger of the concoction, then popped it into his mouth.

“Hey! That’s disgusting.” She swatted at him.

But he was already dodging away from her with the same finesse and ease he showed on the ice. He rounded a stack of crates, hopped over another, and was at the back door before she could try to swat him again.

“How many times do I have to tell you to wash your hands first?”

With his finger stuck in his mouth, he mumbled something—certainly not an apology. No, Grady Worth never apologized for anything. He was too stubborn and proud and smart for his own good.

She was tempted to toss her wooden spoon full of caramel at his retreating back, but she didn’t relish having more to clean up than was already there. So she only glared at him as he opened the back door and stepped through, tossing another smirk her way as he did so.

As soon as the door closed and he was gone, she shook her head, then concentrated on the last steps of making the caramel. Within minutes, she had mixed in the fruit and nuts, poured the thick layer into the waiting pan, and spread it out. She let it cool while she washed the sauce pot and utensils. As she picked up a knife to cut the caramel into squares, the bell from the door at the front of the store tinkled.

She halted. Grady had said he’d already locked the front door. Had he forgotten?

Grady might be irritating and frustrating, but he was too responsible to neglect something so important.

She peered into the short hallway that led away from the lean-to. A faded calico curtain hung across the access to the storefront, acting as a divider and providing some privacy from the store’s customers.

Had someone come inside to shop, even though the sign on the door read closed and even though the place was obviously dark and deserted for the evening?

She listened carefully, but the only sound she could hear was the sudden thumping of her heart.

Maybe the tinkling bell was nothing. Maybe a gust of wind had rattled the door. Or maybe someone passing by outside had triggered the bell. Whatever had happened, she couldn’t worry about it.

She lowered the knife into the fudge and began to cut.

At a thud and the sound of something falling to the floor in the storefront, she froze, her eyes darting again to the hallway and the calico curtain separating her from whoever was in there.

Because someone had come into the store. There was no doubt about that now.

She swallowed and pushed down a lump that was threatening to lodge in her throat. Then before she allowed her imagination to run wild, she swiped up the lantern from the table and started forward, knife in hand. It wasn’t a big or a sharp knife, but it made her feel a little better to have it.

When she reached the end of the hallway, she stared at the curtain, wishing she could see through it. “Hello? Is someone there?”

Footsteps plodded quickly, the bell tinkled again, and then the door closed sharply.

Clementine was already pushing aside the curtain and racing into the front room. Light from the lantern revealed a deserted store, but she crossed directly to the door, swung it open, and stepped outside into the chilly darkness.

Breckenridge’s main thoroughfare was busy for the evening hour, with men returning from the nearby mines to the hotels, boarding houses, and saloons.

She held the lantern high, hoping to see someone rushing away or looking guilty. But everyone seemed to be in a hurry, and no one looked particularly guilty of trying to break into Worth’s General Store.

After several more seconds of scanning the people in the area, she returned to the familiar interior of the store. As she closed the door, she surveyed the floor-to-ceiling shelves that lined the walls, then the double-sided set of shelves at the center of the room.

All it took was a single glance, since she was so familiar with where everything in the store was located. The bolts of fabric, thread, buttons, and other sewing notions were organized neatly to the right of the door. The ready-made clothing and hats came next. After that, the shelves were stocked with linens, blankets, towels, and canvas that the miners needed. Ropes, ammunition, kerosene, whips, harnesses, and more filled the shelves on the back wall to overflowing. Most of the foodstuff in cans, tins, and bottles lined the shelves to the left of the door.

Several glass display units were strategically placed in front of the wall shelves, and one near the front of the store contained her candy. Jars of various sizes and shapes on the top were filled with hard candy sticks, rock candy, comfits, drops, and pulled creams. The more elaborate chocolates, caramels, candied fruit, almond hardbake, and other creations were displayed inside the unit on platters, arranged beautifully to entice customers into buying the candy.

Nothing appeared to be out of order... except for something near the candy jars.

She veered toward the display and lifted the lantern higher to find a single silk red rose lying on the glass countertop.

“What on earth?” She set down the lantern and her knife and then picked up the silk flower that looked as though it had come off a fancy bonnet. A ribbon with a small slip of paper dangled from the short stem.

How odd.

She turned over the paper to find simplistic, messy handwriting. “I hope you like the gifts.”

Gifts?

Her thoughts flew back to the past week and the items she’d found—a pretty ribbon tied to one of her spatulas, a bowl of fresh eggs on the worktable, and a page of poetry that appeared to have been ripped from a book.

Were those the gifts?

She hadn’t known what to think about the items she’d found, and at first had assumed Mr. Worth had given them to her. But when she’d thanked him for the eggs, he’d denied knowing anything about them.

She’d thought about confronting Grady. But he would never be an admirer—secret or otherwise. And he would never leave the items to be nice to her. To tease her, yes. But never to be thoughtful.

She twisted the silk rose around in her hand. If Mr. Worth and Grady hadn’t left her the gifts, then who? Who would have gone to the trouble? And why?

At the strange feeling of being watched, the skin at the back of her neck prickled. Her gaze darted to the front windows. She expected someone to be standing there, peering inside. But only a horse and rider passed by on the street, and the fellow wasn’t looking in her direction.

Was Milton Fogg leaving the gifts? The miner turned newspaper owner had been trying to win her over for the past few months. The man simply didn’t appeal to her. And it wasn’t just because of his large eyes and nose. He was at least ten years older than her, seemed set in his ways, and was too serious. But he was persistent and had asked her again just yesterday to go to dinner with him.

What about Jeremy Usher? The blacksmith’s assistant was decently good-looking with his sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. But at times, he struck her as childish, as though he hadn’t quite grown up yet even though he was twenty. He made a point of visiting her at the store every day, buying a piece of her candy each time he came in.

Had either of those two men been responsible for leaving her the gifts over the past week or so? Yes, the gifts had started about a week ago.

She studied the handwriting. Knowing how prolific Milton was with his writing, she couldn’t imagine him having such messy handwriting. But Jeremy was less educated and might not know how to read or write well. It was possible he was trying to do something nice for her, although he didn’t seem the type of man who would think about anyone besides himself.

The real question was, how had the fellow gotten inside the store if Grady had locked the door? And if the person had known she was in the lean-to making candy, why hadn’t he come and talked to her and given her the flower? Why keep it a secret?

She glanced around the store again as if she could discover the answers to all her questions, but nothing made sense.

If he’d hoped to make her feel special with the silk rose, it hadn’t worked. Instead, it had unsettled her more than anything.

With rapid steps, she returned to the door, locked the bolt, then hastened back into the lean-to, where she finished cutting the caramel and covered it with a towel.

When she was done with the last of her tidying and wiping, she grabbed her coat from the hook next to the door. As she stuffed her arms into it, something in the pocket poked her. She slipped her hand inside, and her fingers connected with the silky petals of another rose.

She pulled it out to find that it was nearly identical to the red rose she’d found on the candy display case, also with a ribbon holding a slip of paper. Had the person come inside the back door while she’d been at the front of the store?

A chill crept up her spine.

She turned the note around to find more of the same messy handwriting. This time the message read: “I’d like you to be mine.”

As if the rose were scorching her fingers, she tossed it. It fell to the floor, and she could only stare at it as another chill rippled through her.

Normally, she didn’t mind a little bit of extra attention. But whoever was doing this was going too far.