nodded, albeit gruffly. Yes, he needed to find some food. The children would want to dip into Victoria’s wicker box of treats, no doubt, but it was his responsibility to feed them, not hers.
The train jerked and wheezed to a stop, causing Victoria to careen into him. He caught her and held her steady. But she immediately pulled free and reached for the baby. Thankfully, Emily was still centered in the soft bedding.
Victoria smoothed the infant’s clothes as she lifted her. “Go find a store,” she told Mitch. “All we need is a bit of bread and cheese and maybe some fresh fruit. I’ll take the children out for some air. We could all use a cold drink, so I will find a pump, but we won’t leave the depot.”
Mitch bristled at the authoritative tone. “I know what to buy. I have fed my children before.” At the sound of the door at the end of the train car being opened, the boys tore off toward it, leaving Mitch to grit his teeth. Then, with a sweep of his hand, he indicated that Victoria should go first down the aisle. With Mary in front of her, and the baby secure in her arms, she walked ahead. Her fine purse dangled from her wrist. It matched the outfit she’d bartered away better than the one she now wore, but with her regal walk, Mitch doubted anyone would dare even consider the fashion faux pas, as his mother might have called it.
Cool, fresh air barreled into the car. It smelled as though the town had seen a good thunderstorm overnight. When he reached the door, Mitch spied Ralph already jumping in a nearby puddle.
They’d only just climbed down when Mitch called to his children, deciding to take Matthew for the extra pair of arms to carry back some food.
But that would leave Victoria with the four young ones. On an afterthought, he said, “John, you come with me. The rest of you stay with Miss Templeton, and mind what she says.”
“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
