there assets?”
Jane’s stomach clenched. “Just the house. Papa built it when he came out West after the War to work for Uncle Junius on the newspaper. Since Uncle passed on a year ago, well, the house…” She swallowed hard. “It’s in need of some few repairs, but it’s all we have now.”
Rydell leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. “And?”
And. Jane stared at his hands. The long, tanned fingers sent a jolt of awareness into her belly. His hands had held guns, had handled gold. His hands, she had heard her mother whisper, had touched women. Many women.
She wrenched her gaze away, studied the wall behind his dark head. “Well, Mr. Wilder, I have come to a decision. A very difficult decision, you see, because…” Her voice faltered.
“I can imagine,” he said quietly. “This must be hell—uh, hard for you.”
With all her heart she wished he hadn’t said that. The very last thing she wanted was understanding. It stripped her pride away, left her exposed. Vulnerable.
But, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“I have decided to establish a business in Dixon Falls. A dressmaking shop. I am quite a capable seamstress, you see….” She made another attempt at a smile, but tears stung under her lids. All these years she had dreamed of going back to Montclair, imagined how it would be when they lived again with Aunt Carrie. Odelia would help with Mama, and they would plan picnics and a ball in the summertime. To think that now she had to beg like a common…a common laborer.
Oh, God, can this really be happening? I am sitting here in Rydell Wilder’s bank at noon on the hottest day yet this July, asking—begging!—for money?
“How old are you, Jane?”
His voice was low and quiet, but the question sliced through her muddled thoughts. She stiffened. “How old…? Not ‘How much do you need?’ or ‘How do you intend to proceed?’ but ‘How old am I’? Why on God’s green earth would you want to know that?”
“I know how much you’ll need,” he said. His mouth quirked toward a smile. “And how you intend to proceed; you’ll roll up those lacy sleeves and go to work. What I need to know is what my risk is.”
“Your risk? What about my risk? I am prepared to offer our home as collateral.”
“I don’t want your home. As you said, it’s in disrepair, and besides…”
Every nerve in her body jangled into excruciating attention. “I am twenty-six years old,” she blurted. “If you don’t want the house, what do you want?”
He did smile then, a slow, sensuous curving of the lips, and a light flickered deep in the cool gray eyes. He paused, assessing her with an odd mixture of amusement and pain. “I want to make you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” Her voice sounded tight.
Rydell waited a full minute before answering her. She would never know how many years he had thought about such a moment, a time when Jane would again turn to him for help. His chest felt like a horse had ridden over it.
He’d wanted Jane for so long he couldn’t remember a time when seeing her didn’t make him ache. He knew about the debts her father had incurred, about the state of their house. At least a dozen times he’d planned to go to her, in spite of her father’s disapproval, and offer a proposal of marriage.
“I’ll lend you three hundred dollars, enough to pay off your father’s…obligations, rent you a store, and get you started in business.”
Jane sat bolt upright. “You will? Just like that?” She narrowed her eyes. “With no collateral?”
Rydell smiled. “A deal, as I said.”
That she wanted to be independent surprised him. He had to admit he admired her for wanting to try setting up her own business, but the truth was he wouldn’t give a moldy flapjack for her chances of success. She was a lady with a capital L, refined manners, soft voice, gentility.
He’d always admired that, too. Oh, Lordy, she was so close to being his he couldn’t think straight. He was facing the biggest gamble of his life.
“If you succeed in your business venture,” Rydell said carefully, “you simply repay the loan.”
Jane stared at him. “And if I can’t?”
Rydell took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. “Well, here’s the deal. I’m going to hold you yourself as collateral.”
“Me?” Jane echoed. “What happens if I fail?”
He sent her a quick look, his eyes unreadable. “If you fail, you marry me.”
Chapter Two
For one unsettling moment, Jane thought she was going to faint. “I beg your pardon? I think I must have misheard—”
Rydell held her gaze. “You heard it right. If you go broke sewing dresses, then you’ll marry me.”
She fought a wild desire to pinch herself. “Marry you?” Her voice was definitely not her own. She tried again. “Marry you? Why on earth would I do that?”
He regarded her with a steadiness that made her heart skip erratically. “Maybe because you’re up a creek.”
Fury brought her to her feet. “Now just one minute, Mr. Wilder. I am not ‘up a creek’ as you so crudely put it. I admit my father’s passing has caused a small problem, but problems are not new to me. I will persevere, and I will triumph.”
Rydell nodded. “Oh, you’ll persevere, all right. But you’re not equipped for life the way it shakes out in the West—your folks made sure of that. They treated you like a hothouse violet. For a woman like you—a lady—you’ve pretty much got three choices, as I see it. One, work yourself into an early grave keeping up that house for your ma. Two, take a job in a saloon—or maybe worse. Or…” he lowered his voice “…three, get married. I’m offering you a respectable way to survive.”
Jane bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood and sank onto her chair. “My parents did not overprotect me,” she snapped. “They cared for me, taught me about the finer things of life, about history and art and music. Mama encouraged my piano studies until she…” Her voice trailed off.
“You’re twenty-six, Miss Davis. Your father discouraged every unattached male within a hundred miles from comin’ anywhere near you. I’d say you’re well on your way to being an old maid.”
Jane expelled a pent-up breath. “And just what gives you that idea? Yankee gossip, most likely.”
Rydell leaned closer. “Is that what you dreamed about while you were growing up? Caring for your mother for the rest of your days?”
“You do not know one thing about my mother!”
Rydell chuckled. “Once nice thing about living in a town as small as Dixon Falls—when you don’t know what
