Rugged Hunter, Delicate Heiress

Chapter 4: The Man from Voss

I met Henry Voss on the front steps of the bank.

He wore a tailored suit and a gold tiepin shaped like an oak leaf. When he saw me, he smiled as if we had met at a party instead of beside a foreclosure notice.

"Clara," he said. "I'm sorry about your father."

"Thank you."

"I knew him a long time. He was proud, but he was never careless."

Cal stood at my shoulder. Voss's smile shifted when he saw him.

"Mercer," he said. "Still prowling around the ridge?"

"Still keeping people off it."

"Your lease will expire when the estate changes hands."

"It hasn't changed hands yet."

Voss looked back at me. "I'm sure you've heard my company is interested in the property. We can make the transition easy. You'd receive enough to start again somewhere comfortable."

"I don't want to start again somewhere else."

"Sentiment is expensive."

"So is a timber operation that destroys the land it depends on."

His eyebrows lifted. "You've been learning the business."

"I've been reading my father's accounts."

For a fraction of a second, his expression tightened. Then he smiled again.

"Your father never wanted to see the estate broken up. I can make sure it's put to productive use."

"By cutting down the ridge?"

"By managing it. Your husband understands the value of a working forest."

I glanced at Cal. He didn't react.

Voss held out a cream-colored card. "If you reconsider, call me. I can offer better terms before the bank starts auction proceedings."

I took the card because refusing it would have been childish. Then I folded it in half and slid it into my pocket.

At home, I copied the ledger entries into a letter to the bank. I requested the original records of the disputed payment and a full account history. I wrote politely, but I didn't apologize for asking.

Cal read the letter before I sent it.

"You don't need my permission," he said.

"I know. I want to know whether I've missed anything."

"You haven't."

I sealed the envelope.

We were both quiet at supper. Afterward, I washed the dishes while Cal went outside. When he returned, his shirt was damp at the collar.

I looked up from the sink. "You've been working."

"I was stacking wood."

"I can see that."

He reached for a plate.

"Wait." I wiped my hands. "I'm sorry. That was unfair."

He paused. "Which part?"

"The way I spoke at the chapel. I treated your home like it was beneath me because I was frightened."

"You were frightened?"

"I'd lost everything I knew. I thought if I acted as if I still had all the power, I might keep some of it."

Cal held the plate between both hands. "Did it work?"

"No."

"Then don't waste your strength on it."

It was not a soft answer, but it was honest. I leaned against the counter.

"I don't know how to live here."

"You'll learn."

"You make that sound easy."

"It isn't."

I looked at his hands, at the pale scars crossing his knuckles. "What did you give up by marrying me?"

He set the plate down. "The chance to buy the lease."

"You gave up your savings."

"I haven't given up everything."

"But you wanted the land."

"I still do."

"Then why help me save it? If the bank takes it, you could start over somewhere else."

His gaze held mine. "I could."

He didn't say more. I didn't press him.

That night, I washed the plates and set them to dry. Cal stood behind me, close enough that I could smell soap and woodsmoke, not sweat.

I didn't move away.