Fate's Intervention Page 8

  “I think that if we can purchase White Star as the stud, we can breed championship quality horses. That’s what I think. I also think that if we’re going to start breathing life into your father’s oxygen-deprived business then we better head on over to the auctioneer’s stand. Bidding starts in about ten minutes.”

  “So, does that mean you accept the position of head trainer?” Marcelle smiled back.

  “You are one fruity female,” Matthew sighed. “I wouldn’t be ‘head’ trainer, I’d be the only trainer, which means that, yes, I’m taking the job, or I wouldn’t be escorting you to the auction.”

  “Ah, isn’t my charming personality reason enough for you to act as escort?” Marcelle laughed.

  “Without a doubt.” Marcelle didn’t miss Matthew’s sarcastic tone. “Now shouldn’t we get going?”

  “That might be a good idea since the auction starts in about eight minutes,” Marcelle smiled.

  “Lord have mercy,” Matthew muttered with a laugh, following behind Marcelle, “what have I gotten myself into? Rules of engagement, geez. Well, catch me gawking now, Miss Weatherman,” he murmured, his gaze remaining deliberately glued to her derriere.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “You didn’t have to do that, you know. Why did you?” Marcelle asked, her voice rising to cover the distance separating them. She wished she didn’t have to walk with such a wide gap between them. It made their conversation not only difficult, but also available to any prying busybodies; however, White Star was too excited about the mares and the mares were too nervous about White Star for them to be close to each other right now. They’d have to introduce them slowly once they reached home.

  “According to you, you nearly spent your entire budget for White Star alone. Had I not helped you with the rest, then the plan you had for breeding the finest horses would have been over before we even started. After all, White Star can’t breed with himself, and if White Star can’t breed, then I’m out of a job as fast as I hired on, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I still can’t believe we got White Star. Wow, what a coup. I’m just glad that our only real competitor had to leave suddenly or we may have lost him.”

  “That was fortunate,” Matthew agreed.

  “Still, you spent a good portion of your savings to help and it may take some time before dad can repay you in full.”

  “Actually, I have a plan for that,” Matthew said. His tone gave Marcelle pause, and she halted and eyed him suspiciously.

  “What sort of plan, exactly? And remember before you say it that my dad has to approve.”

  “I thought you were in charge today. Your father didn’t approve your hiring me either, so are you telling me now that I may actually be out of a job before I’ve even had it a day.”

  Marcelle started at that. He was right. She had made a major decision without her father’s input or approval, so why couldn’t she make another? After all, she only had one skin to flay, so if she was going to lose it, she might as well make the loss worth it.

  “Very well, Mr. Daragh,” Marcelle said, continuing her trek toward the stables. “I’ll hear your proposal.”

  Matthew tugged at the reins of the three mares and followed, “I’ll fill you in after we reach the quartering stables and rid ourselves of these horses. It’s too much effort to yell at you.”

  “Remember you said that if you ever get mad at me,” Marcelle teased.

  “If I ever get mad at you, young lady, yelling will be the last thing I’d do to you,” Matthew teased in a menacing voice.

  “Oh, really!” Marcelle asked. “Exactly what do you do with women that you get mad with? You haven’t left a trail of dead bodies across the country, have you?”

  Matthew laughed, “Hardly.” Boy, she’s got a quick wit, he thought, making him wonder if he ever really could get mad at her. He glanced over at her and his gaze fell on her lips. If he ever did find himself in an argument with her, it would be an extremely pleasant task quieting any outbursts she might have.

  That thought brought a frown to his face. Those kinds of thoughts are the last ones he needed to have about his new boss’s daughter. What was wrong with him? Usually he tried to avoid women overall, yet now he was entertaining thoughts about kissing one of them.

  “Well, judging from the frown on your face, I’d rather not know what you would do to them,” Marcelle said.

  “What?” Matthew asked, snapping his attention away from her lips.

  “The expression on your face,” Marcelle expounded, “looks like you just ate six lemons at once, which tells me that the thoughts you had about how to handle an argument with a woman could not possibly bode well for the woman.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about kissing you,” Matthew said impulsively. He really was treading on thin ice.

  “What?” Marcelle halted in mid-stride. She stared at Matthew wide-eyed, like a doe caught in the sights of a hunter’s rifle.

  “If we were having an argument, I’d simply kiss you. Now, do you think we can drop the subject?” Matthew snapped, the brooding frown deepening on his face. “It’s inappropriate, at best.” That’s a valid argument, he thought. Especially when they’d already had a blunt conversation about his sexual prowess, kissing is nothing. Tantalizing, nonetheless.

  “I’m not the one who started it, if you recall, and if the thought of kissing me makes your face pucker up like that, it probably wouldn’t be that great an experience for me either.”

  “Don’t make me prove that statement wrong, Marcelle,” Matthew said, deliberately forgetting formality, and then turned and stormed away.

  Marcelle couldn’t think of anything to say to that bold statement, or his use of her given name, which sounded too good coming from his lips, so she was all for dropping the subject. Her mind, on the other hand, had a field day trying to decide what it would be like if he should kiss her, and that had her rethinking her impulsive hiring of Mr. Daragh.

  Of course, if she hadn’t hired him, then the dreams she’d entertained about Weatherman Stables would remain unrealized; however, if she was going to make the venture a success, then she was going to have to stop entertaining thoughts about the new employee.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “How much for one night?” Matthew asked the stable-master, his gaze scanning the facilities for anything that might harm the newly purchased animals.

  “Well, if’n you want the one night, it’ll be four bits,” the old man said, “but if’n you want them fed in the mornin’, then it’ll be two bits extra.”

  “That seems reasonable,” Matthew said, digging into his pocket for the required coins.

  “Each.”

  Matthew eyed the old man critically, “That, on the other hand, is thievery, old man.”

  “Yeah, well, I ain’t denying that, Mister,” the old man said with a toothless grin, “but this here is the only time I make enough to eat, so unless you want to be stabling your horse in the next town over, then that’ll be. . . .”

  “Yes, I know – six bits per horse.”

  “That’s a fact.”

  “You had better provide some mighty fine security for that price,” Matthew grumbled, pulling the money from his pocket.

  “Well, now, if you want to add a guard, then the price . . . ,” the old stable-master started, “will be at no extra charge,” he quickly amended when he saw the look in Matthew’s eyes. “In fact, I’ll be happy to watch over them myself – all night. I’ll be looking after them mighty fine, yes sirree.”

  Matthew slapped the man on the shoulder, which nearly sent him sprawling face down in the dirt, “Glad to hear it, old man. We’ll be over at sunrise to retrieve them, so they’ll need to eat before then.”

  “Yes, sir. No problem, sir.”

  Matthew tipped his hat and headed outside. Marcelle was gently cooing to White Star while trying to keep his head from turning to catch a glimpse of his new harem. Matthew smiled at the sight as he approached. He took White Star’s reins
and his smiled widened at the relief that showed on Marcelle’s face.

  “You weren’t giving the beautiful lady any trouble were you, boy?” Matthew asked, and Marcelle blushed. The horse snorted and Matthew laughed. “Well, you shouldn’t have been. You’ll get your hooves on those mares soon enough. Now is certainly not the time.”

  “I hope it didn’t cost you too much to stable them,” Marcelle said, after they saw the horses settled in their stalls. She wanted nothing more than to forget their earlier conversation, and talking about the horses seemed a good way to do just that. She still had a hard time looking directly at him, however, so she kept her gaze pinned on the buildings directly ahead instead.

  “More than I cared to pay, but they need to stay somewhere, and this is the only place available.”

  “I wish you had let me cover the cost, or at least half of it.”

  “The money’s not a problem, Marcelle,” Matthew assured her. “I have a vested interest in those horses also, remember? Without them, my future with Weatherman Stables would be short-lived.”

  “Well, if you’re certain.”

  “I am,” he said, then took her elbow and guided her down the boardwalk toward the local restaurant. “You hungry?”

  “Yes, but I probably should head over to the hotel first and check on Father. He might wish to join us and we really need to fill him in on the details of our day, don’t you think?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Matthew said, and veered across the street to the only hotel in Lander. He wasn’t the least bit in a hurry to meet Mr. Weatherman. Especially since Marcelle hired him against her father’s knowledge. Still, he couldn’t put it off forever. She’d assured him that she was acting on her father’s behalf today and he really had no reason to doubt her. After all, her father had sent her to buy the horses today, so that said something about her credibility. Of course, from the way it sounded to him, the ideas for their stables were her ideas alone. Impressive, but he had to wonder what her father would say once he discovered she’d not only purchased horses on her own today, but hired a new trainer/stable master and started a new enterprise as well.

  “You can outline your plan to us both while we’re there,” Marcelle offered, “That is, after I let Father know that you’re now working for us.” Marcelle said softly – too tentatively. Something in her tone brought Matthew to a stop. His grip on her elbow tightened slightly, forcing her to stop as well. Then he turned her to face him, uncaring that they were right in the middle of the thoroughfare. His action forced Marcelle to refocus her attention on his face. The thunderclouds had reappeared in his normally clear, blue eyes. She didn’t have to guess at what had caused them this time. She knew.

  “Are you saying that it really is possible that your father will disagree with your decisions today?”

  “Well, of course, he may object,” Marcelle said lightly, trying not to sound concerned, “after all, this was the first time he entrusted me with the family business and I did do something unusually presumptuous with that temporary authority. I mean, I hired a new trainer. In reality, you’re our very first trainer,” she babbled nervously, “and, not only that, but I drastically changed the business, veering off into a whole other direction, in which you had to invest quite a sum of money,” she continued and Matthew froze. She was echoing his very thoughts from only a moment earlier. “So father,” she concluded in a rush of breath, “may be . . . well, he may question . . . you know, we don’t know what he’ll say or do, so let’s not borrow trouble, shall we?” Marcelle smiled encouragingly. It didn’t work. Matthew exploded.

  “Damn!” Matthew threw his hands in the air and started pacing. “I really could lose this job and the investment that I just paid out, all in one afternoon. Is that what you’re telling me?” He stopped pacing and glowered at Marcelle, who was blushing profusely.

  “Mr. Daragh, if you will just calm down for a moment. My father is a very kind and reasonable man, so there is absolutely no need for concern. I’m certain that any objections he may have will be short-lived once he hears what plans we have for Weatherman Stables. Especially when he sees how genuinely knowledgeable you are about horses.”

  “I hope for your sake, Miss Weatherman that you are right,” Matthew said tightly, reaching for Marcelle’s arm again.

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Daragh?” Marcelle said softly, dodging his attempts to regain hold of her elbow. “Because if it is, I take exception.”

  “If I lose everything today because of the whims of a woman, I’ll show you exception, Miss Weatherman,” Matthew said, his tone raising Marcelle’s hackles. She pulled further away, absurdly undaunted by the anger clouding his face. “I’m not quite certain I like your tone, sir!”

  “I don’t particularly care what you like at the moment, woman. What I care about is my future or lack thereof, which may end prematurely if we don’t clear out of the way of that oncoming vehicle.”

  Marcelle turned and looked down the thoroughfare. “What vehicle?” She said and then gasped as Matthew’s hand latched onto her elbow.

  “Got you!” He snapped, pulling her toward the hotel.

  “Do you mind?” Marcelle said between clenched teeth, trying desperately to pull free of Matthew’s iron-tight grip, but Matthew wasn’t listening. He continued onward as if she wasn’t tugging at him, trying to get free. All he could think about was the upcoming meeting with her father; and what would happen to his investment if her father determined to terminate his employment. He could take the three mares and leave, but he couldn’t do much without a stallion to impregnate them with and Marcelle had purchased White Star with her father’s money, and White Star was the only stud in which he was interested.

  I’ll just have to convince Mr. Weatherman that I’m an asset he can’t do without, or I’ll be out a heck of a lot more money trying to purchase White Star back from a woman who may be just furious enough never to bargain with me for the rest of eternity. Tarnation!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Come in,” a faint voice called from inside the hotel room.

  Matthew opened the door and stepped back, allowing Marcelle to precede him into the room.

  “Hello, dear,” her father said, “you’re back earlier than I anticipated you . . . ,” Peter stopped talking when he spied Matthew standing in the doorway. “ Who have we here? I thought I told you to go out and buy horses, not find a man. Although the sight of you with someone makes this old heart glad.”

  “Father! It’s not what you think.” Marcelle shot a glance at Matthew and blushed. Obviously, he hadn’t thought about the idea that his employment might include a marriage contract. It didn’t, but his expression said he suddenly doubted her honor. “Now see what you’ve done, Father. You made him think ill of me. Now do hush and tell me how you’re feeling, then I’ll be happy to make the introductions.”

  “There’s that sharp tone again,” her father reprimanded lightly. “And you, young lady, will tell me why you’ve taken that tone with me before I tell you anything. Were you unable to place bids today? Is that why you’re speaking to me inappropriately?”

  “No, nothing like that, Father,” Marcelle said, kneeling down in front of her father’s chair, “and I’m sorry I was a bit short with you.” Marcelle patted her father’s hand, unwilling to tell him that her mood had to do with the man standing in the doorway.

  He had a lot of nerve threatening her in the street, hauling her into the hotel without so much as a by your leave, and then eyeing her as if she was an infectious disease when her father was obviously toying with them. Honestly, the man tended to get all ruffled over the most trifling of things.

  “Very well, then. I’m feeling much better, now that I had a long rest,” her father said, casting sidelong glances at the man standing in the doorway. “So, now that I’ve been courteous enough to answer your query, you need to answer mine. Why are you in such a dither? Is it because of this gentleman that’s returned here with you?”

  “If tru
th be told, yes,” Marcelle could never fool her father for long, so trying was pointless.

  Matthew straightened and eyed her suspiciously, “What exactly have I done to upset you, Miss Weatherman?” He asked, his voice a strained whisper.

  Marcelle moved from her father’s side, raised her chin haughtily, and strode over to where Matthew was standing, “Well, if you hadn’t been so rude to me before we got here then I might not be put out with you now.”

  “Oh, if that isn’t just like a woman,” he said, eyeing her with exasperation.

  “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that whenever there is a problem, a woman automatically assumes the man is the one who caused it, when in this case, Miss Weatherman, you are the one who angered me.”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  “As well you should.”

  “Just where do you get off accusing me of riling you when you are the one that literally manhandled me into this hotel room!”

  “If you hadn’t played a little tease with me, leading me to believe that your decisions were final and placing my employment in jeopardy before it began, then I wouldn’t have had to get disagreeable with you!”

  “Now, now, children,” Peter interrupted, a grin on his lips. If he didn’t know better, he would think that Marcelle had inadvertently met her future mate. That is, if the gentleman in question appeared the slightest bit interested, which he didn’t. Of course, Peter thought, there are always ways around lack of interest – and I’ve got nearly an entire year in which to convince the boy that it’s in his best interest to marry my daughter. I might see her happily wed after all. Talk about dumb luck. “Someone please explain to me what this ruckus is all about,” he said, eyeing both of them in mock irritation. Both had the good sense to look abashed.

  “Father,” Marcelle whispered, “may I introduce Matthew Daragh? Matthew, this is my father, Peter Weatherman.”