exasperation, Brandon Calhoun wheeled away from her and stalked to the window, where he stood glaring out at the autumn afternoon. Sunlight, slanting through the glass, played on the waves of his thick chestnut hair, brushing the faint streaks of gray at his temples with platinum. How old was he? Old enough to have a seventeen-year-old daughter, but surely no more than forty. There were deepening creases at the corners of his eyes, but his belly was flat and taut, his movements graced with a young man’s vigor.
Harriet had come to teach school in Dutchman’s Creek less than a year ago. Except for the schoolchildren, she was not well acquainted with many of the town’s citizens. But a woman at church had told her that the banker’s wife had died six years ago and, despite the fact that any number of ladies had set their caps for him, he had raised his daughter alone, just as she had raised Will. Maybe that was part of what had drawn the two young people together. Will and Jenny had met last summer and had been close ever since. That they were becoming too close was as much a concern to Harriet as it was to Jenny’s father.
Silence lay cold and heavy in the little classroom as Harriet pushed herself away from the desk and took a step toward him. Her legs quivered beneath her, threatening to give way. She willed herself to stand erect, to thrust out her chin and meet his blistering gaze with her own.
“Believe it or not, I’m no happier about this situation than you are,” she declared. “For years, I’ve been planning for Will to attend college. He’s finishing up his preparatory work by correspondence now, so that he can enter Indiana University in the spring to study engineering. If you think I’d have him jeopardize his future by getting mixed with some girl who doesn’t have the sense to—”
“Jenny isn’t some girl!” he snapped, cutting her off angrily. “And as for sense, she’s every bit as bright as she is pretty! I want nothing but the best for her, and that doesn’t include your calf-eyed, tree-climbing brother! By heaven, she deserves better!”
Harriet felt her anger rising as his words hung in the air between them. So the truth had come out at last. Brandon Calhoun was nothing but a strutting, bombastic snob who placed himself above common folk like Will and herself and judged his daughter worthy of a Vanderbilt heir. Merciful heaven, what grandiose delusions! He was nothing but a big fish in a very small pond! If she weren’t so furious, she could almost feel sorry for him!
“You’ve made your position quite clear, Mr. Calhoun,” she said in a voice that crackled like thin ice. “At least we seem to agree on one thing. I’m as anxious to protect Will’s future as you are to promote your daughter’s.”
Her subtle shift of verbs was not lost on him. His cobalt eyes darkened and she braced herself for another blast of hostility. For a long moment the only sound in the room was the droning buzz of a horsefly trapped against the windowpane. Seconds crawled past. Then, as Harriet held her breath, his rigid shoulders sagged. He exhaled raggedly, thrusting his fists into the pockets of his fine gabardine jacket.
“Jenny’s all I have,” he said. “She’s the only thing in my life that I give a damn about. If you had children of your own, you’d understand how I feel.”
If you had children of your own. Harriet winced as if he had caused her physical pain. She had put aside the hope of having her own family when she’d taken on the task of raising Will. Now, at twenty-nine, she knew that time had passed her by. She had become that most disparaged of creatures—an old maid.
Pressing her lips together, she gazed past him into the blur of sunlight that fell through the uncurtained window. She had always despised self-pity and refused to indulge in it. But the wretched man had known exactly where to jab and he had jabbed with a vengeance. Harriet had no doubt that he’d meant to wound her.
He cleared his throat, breaking the leaden silence between them. “This so-called talk you had with your brother. What did he have to say about his intentions?”
“That he loves your daughter. That he wants to marry her.”
He sucked in his breath as if he’d been gut- punched. “And how did you answer him?”
“How do you expect I would answer?” she retorted. “I told him it was foolish to even think of love at his age, let alone marriage! Getting involved with a girl at this point could ruin his plans for the future— indeed, it could ruin his whole life!”
“And did you resolve anything with him?” Brandon Calhoun’s voice was flat and cold.
“Only that there’ll be no more sneaking out at night to see Jenny. Will tends to be headstrong. As his sister, I’ve learned that if I draw the reins too tightly he’s quite capable of breaking them and going his own way.”
“So the reality is, he’s eighteen years old and the only control you have over the boy is what little he allows you.” He shot her a withering scowl. “I thought as much.”
Harriet fought the urge to fly at him and rip the smug expression off his face with her bare hands. “Whatever you’re implying, Mr. Calhoun, my brother is a decent, responsible young man!” she snapped. “Ask anyone who knows him!”
“I already have. Hezekiah Moon at the feed store says your brother’s the best worker he’s ever hired. He’s always on time, he has every account figured to the penny, and he can load a wagon in the time it takes the customer to have a smoke. But that doesn’t mean I want the young whelp sniffing around my Jenny!”
“So what is it you want?” Harriet demanded, suddenly out of patience with him. “If you’ve only come to grouse and complain, please consider your mission accomplished and let me get back to work!”
He retreated a step as if startled by her sudden vehemence. Then he swiftly recovered and seized the offensive. “I wouldn’t have wasted my time in coming here if I didn’t have something in mind,” he said, shifting his weight uneasily, like a boxer. “Since you don’t keep your money in my bank, I can only judge your financial situation from what I see. You live in a rented, two-bedroom shack next to the cemetery. You don’t own a buggy or even a horse, and as for your clothes—”
“My clothes are clean and modest and in good repair.” Harriet’s fists clenched against the skirt of her faded gingham dress. “If I don’t look like a page from a fashion magazine, that’s none of your concern, nor is the way I live! Aside from the matter of Will and Jenny, you and I have nothing to say to each other, Mr. Calhoun! Now kindly get out of my classroom and leave me in peace!”
He loomed over her, making everything in the room seem small. Blue lightning crackled in his eyes. “For what it’s worth, Miss Smith, I own this building and the land it sits on,” he said. “That would make it my classroom. And I don’t intend to leave you in any kind of peace until you’ve heard me out.”
Harriet willed herself to ignore her liquid knees and slamming pulse. She faced him squarely, her chin up, her features composed, her eyes meeting his in a steady gaze. But when she spoke, her shaking voice betrayed her. “Go on, then. I can hardly throw you out with my bare hands.”
One dark smudge of an eyebrow slid upward in unspoken challenge, as if to imply he’d like to see her try manhandling him; but when he spoke, his manner was cold and formal. “Very well. I’m prepared to make you and your brother an offer. I think you’ll agree that it’s more than generous.”
“I’m listening.” Harriet felt as if the ground had dissolved under her feet, leaving her with no solid
