caring man like that without trying, but not Annie. No, she’d learned a great deal about handsome men and ugly ones, and she didn’t trust either. With a shake of her head, she told herself to forget her past. It was over, and she was ready to start her new life, preferably without any men, handsome or ugly.
She surveyed the amazing place to which her deception had led her. For a moment, being in a schoolroom made her feel an utter lack of confidence until she reminded herself she was no longer Annie MacAllister and straightened her posture. She was Miss Matilda Cunningham, the composed and educated schoolteacher of Trail’s End.
Well, she would be for at least a few days, until someone discovered she was not Miss Matilda Cunningham. During that time, she’d be warm and fed and safe, which was enough for now. With that bit of comfort, she picked up the lamp in her left hand, pushed the valise ahead of her with her foot and entered her bedroom.
It was tiny, but it belonged to her, at least temporarily. Even as her muscles protested, she turned slowly around the small space and smiled. It was hers alone! The narrow bed had been pushed against the rough, wooden inside wall. Two hooks hung beside the window, and a dresser stood next to the door out to the privy. When she placed the oil lamp on the dresser, the light wavered. Was it low on oil? Slipping her shoes off, she thought a sensible young woman would go to bed before it got so dark she would need a lamp.
But a sensible young woman would not find herself in a position like this. Annie lowered herself onto the bed and contemplated the fix she’d landed herself in when she’d assumed Matilda’s identity.
No, a sensible young woman would not find herself teaching school when she didn’t know how to read or write.
Chapter Two
John Matthew Sullivan snapped the reins over the heads of his horses as they trotted down the short road between the schoolhouse and his home. He’d chosen the pair carefully—they had exactly the right stride to pull the surrey he’d had built to his specifications. Painstaking and cautious described him well, characteristics passed on to him by his father.
But for him, the value of the animals lay in their magnificence and spirit, the sheer beauty of their matched paces and movement.
Beauty. His thoughts came back to the new teacher. Although he’d investigated her references carefully and heartily recommended Miss Cunningham to the school board, tonight he hadn’t felt completely confident about the young woman who was to teach his daughter and the children of the community. She’d written fine letters, had exceptional recommendations and excellent grades from the teachers’ college. However, this evening she’d behaved oddly, seeming uncertain and confused.
Of course, she’d just been in an accident, one in which another young woman had died. She had a wound on her arm. Bruises, cuts and blood covered her.
Small wonder she was distressed and flustered. She was understandably upset from her experience. So what flaw could she possess that now nagged at him?
He slowed to allow an armadillo to saunter across the road and considered the question.
She was too young and too pretty to be a teacher. Under the grime—in spite of it, actually—she was very attractive with thick, dark hair and what he thought to be rich, brown eyes. As a respectable widower and pillar of the community, he shouldn’t have noticed that. As a man, how could he not?
Of course, Miss Cunningham wasn’t as lovely as his dear wife, Celeste, had been, but even with the dark bruise on her cheek, he could see her features were regular and, well, appealing. But definitely not as fine as Celeste’s had been. His wife, alas, had been a fragile woman. Miss Cunningham appeared to be the opposite.
Even with the stains on it, her dress had been modest and ladylike. Her speech had been clear and precise, the tone well modulated. Neat and clean and a good example for the girls in her class. That was strictly all that mattered about the exterior of a teacher.
But she seemed so very young. Although Miss Cunningham had written she was twenty-three, she didn’t look over twenty. Of course, there are people like that, who look younger than they are in actual years.
Miss Cunningham seemed like a moral young woman, not the kind of young woman who flirted with men like the previous teacher. Twice when he’d approached Miss Cunningham, she’d pulled away. She’d seemed almost afraid of him, but that was to be expected from an honorable young woman.
And yet something bothered him, something besides her looks and age. He couldn’t nail down what it was. It had something to do with her reaction when he mentioned that the students were eager to start class. Surprise, almost shock. Even her confusion after the accident couldn’t explain that to his satisfaction.
He’d visit with her tomorrow and see if he could discover what troubled him. He’d allow her to teach for a few weeks. If she didn’t measure up to the standards of the school board, well, actually, they could do nothing. It had taken months to find a teacher of quality like Miss Cunningham. No one wanted to come to Trail’s End. The school board had been fortunate to find someone who needed a position as much as they needed a teacher. It would be impossible to find another this year.
“Buenas noches, Señor Sullivan,” Ramon said as his boss drove into the stable.
“Ramon, what are you doing out here so late?” He stepped out of the surrey and tossed the reins to the man. “You should be home with your family.”
“Gracias, señor. El viejo fell today. I made the old man rest.”
“Duffy fell?” What was he going to do about Duffy? After he was thrown from a horse last year, John had given him the easiest job on the ranch to keep him safe. He might need to hire another man to take the load off Ramon and keep an eye on Duffy.
“Tried to put a bridle up on a hook. Lost his balance and fell off the bench he was standing on.”
“I’ll check on him,” John said. “I still don’t expect you to work these long hours. Understand?”
“Sí, señor.”
“After you finish with the horses, go home to your family.”
As he spoke, John started toward the small room in the back of the stable where Duffy Smith lived. He preferred the room in the stable to sharing the bunkhouse with the younger, rowdier hands.
The elderly man had taught him everything he knew about caring for animals. He’d always worked hard. Too proud to rest at seventy, he still expected to do his share. That caused John no end of trouble and worry, but also made him proud. He’d probably be exactly the same in thirty-five years.
The room was barely large enough for a narrow bed, small table and a dresser. A lamp glowed in the corner. Duffy’s skinny body could barely be seen under the colorful quilt Celeste had made for him,
“All right, Duffy. What’s this I hear about you?” John held up his hand as the older man struggled to get up. “Don’t try to get out of bed. Stay there.”
Duffy’s expression was sheepish behind his full beard and thick mustache, both streaked with gray. “I’m fine.” He shook his head. “Stupid bench threw me, boss.”
Just like Duffy to blame it on the bench. He hated getting old as much as John hated watching it happen. “Do you have everything you need?”
“The
