Rancher To The Rescue. Barbara Phinney

be inappropriate to draw her into his arms? Surely if anyone needed to be comforted right now, it was her.

      Yes, it was inappropriate, and a woman like Clare would resent the belief that she needed a good, strong hug right now.

      “The plan had been to return whatever money they didn’t need,” Clare was saying. “They had expected to stay for the summer in Germany, but hoped her treatment would take less time. I don’t think he even cared that the mortgage would be a month late. My father often thought that there was no point in worrying about money.” She sank into her chair again. “I guess he didn’t worry about not surviving the first leg of the voyage, either.” An angry glance up at Noah told him that tears glistened again in Clare’s eyes.

      Immediately, Noah dragged a chair closer to her. He perched on the edge of the rounded and uncomfortable seat, his knees poking up into the air. He really hated these fussy, overstuffed things. “Clare, we don’t know what has happened yet.” He rubbed her upper arm, then dropped it quickly, afraid the touch was too personal. “Did you explain that to the bank manager?”

      Looking resigned, she shook her head. “All I did was make an appointment. I can hardly ask them to wait until proof comes of my parents’ deaths. That may never happen. The manager may give me an extension, but that will come with a penalty. My wages won’t cover even the basic mortgage payment, let alone one with a late fee attached. And what about the other bills, such as food and coal? Where would the money come for them?” She sighed in exasperation. “You see, I can’t afford to take time off to sort out my parents’ affairs. That would leave us with no money.”

      Outrage bubbled through him and he struggled to quell it. Her shortsighted father had left her in a bind that no woman should be in. “When is your appointment?”

      “Tomorrow. I’ll be speaking with the manager. Maybe before I go there, I’ll have some better answers.”

      To what questions? Noah doubted proof of her parents’ condition one way or the other would come in the next twenty-four hours. Or the money she needed, for that matter. Again, resentment bit at him with a ferocity that had up to now been reserved for his own parents’ manipulation.

      No, this isn’t about them. You’ve left them behind, them and that lie you’ve agreed to be a part of.

      Focus on Clare.

      “Clare, let—” He had just begun to speak when the front door opened and juvenile screams tore through the house.

      Clare’s brothers were home.

      Noah felt his eyes widen as they barreled into the parlor. The boys were in a terrible state, their clothes muddied and ripped, their faces smeared with dirt. They skidded to a stop when they spied him rising to his feet.

      Clare also stood, although her movements were slower, far more careful. She blinked and swallowed and Noah wondered if she was going to blurt out what she’d learned about their parents. Surely, Tim and Leo, suddenly looking younger than their nine and seven years respectively, could not fully understand what had happened. Yes, they’d understand if their parents had died, but not something as tenuous as being overdue at their first port of call. That they could be lost at sea. Children tended to see in more clear-cut ways than adults did.

      Noah held his breath, all the while watching Clare, praying she’d say nothing. At least for now.

      Eyebrows raised, her eyes shutting for a long moment, Clare sat down again before asking quietly, “Why are you two home early?”

      The older boy, Tim, stared at his scuffed and muddied shoes. “At lunch, we went outside and down to the river. There’s a part where a spring comes right through the bank. It’s all muddy.”

      “And why did you go there?”

      “So we could smear mud on our faces to scare Mary Pemberton. She sits by the window ’cuz she isn’t allowed to go outside and get her dress dirty.”

      “She’s a scaredy-cat and told Miss Thompson on us,” Leo added.

      “Enough of that,” Clare scolded. “She reported only the truth and should not be criticized for doing the right thing.”

      Tim shrugged. “We weren’t allowed back in school unless we came home and changed.”

      The younger boy hastily wiped mud off his cheeks with his sleeve. It had dried and now fell in flakes to the carpet. He then wiped his hand on his torn pants and more mud fluttered down.

      From some distant recess of the house, the clock struck the half hour. “It’s two thirty,” Noah commented. “How long is your lunch break, boys?”

      “And how did your clothes get ripped?” Clare asked quietly.

      Tim’s gaze dropped to his filthy shoes. “We climbed a tree down at the river. One of the branches goes right out over the water without touching the mud.”

      “So we could clean ourselves off without coming home.” Leo finished his brother’s explanation, as if their unorthodox ablutions were perfectly normal. “But Miss Thompson told us to!”

      Tim nodded. “We thought it would be better that way.”

      “In case someone saw you and reported it to me, you mean?”

      The boys looked confused. Noah wondered if they were even capable of such subterfuge, or they actually thought it would be easier that way.

      “But we fell into the mud,” Tim answered. Being the older brother, he knew that they’d done wrong, whereas Leo didn’t. Or else Leo was ignoring the obvious.

      “I’m hungry,” Leo announced, oblivious of his brother’s contrition. “You didn’t give us enough food for lunch. And it’s cold in here.”

      Noah glanced at Clare in time to see her shut her eyes again. A crimson stain crept up her neck. What was she going to do? They needed discipline. Guidance. They also needed to learn there were consequences to their actions.

      “Go upstairs and change,” Clare said wearily. After a slight hesitation, she added, “Supper will be a bit late, but I want you to clean yourselves up first, anyway. Just don’t make a mess upstairs, but bring down those filthy clothes when you’re done. I’ll have to mend and wash them before school tomorrow. Let’s hope they dry in time.”

      For a long moment, the boys merely stared at her, as if sensing something was off. Then, after a nudge from the older brother as he turned to leave the parlor, the younger one followed.

      When Leo had closed the door behind him, Clare sagged.

      Noah laid his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t tell them yet.”

      “I can’t, not without crying my eyes out. They won’t understand what it means to be lost at sea, anyway. They don’t realize how big the Atlantic is.” She sank back into the chair again. “Look at them.” She threw up her hand before smacking it against her chest. “Look at me! I can’t even discipline my own brothers.”

      “They’re not dogs that need immediate correction. You can do it later tonight. They’ll know why.”

      Clare shook her head. “It won’t be fair. I learned in college that children’s misbehaviour is simply an expression of another emotion, in this case, missing our parents. Tim and Leo need time to fully work out how they’re feeling about Mother and Father being gone.”

      Lifting his eyebrows, Noah tightened his jaw to stop from contradicting her. He’d seen those boys around town even before their parents left. He’d heard Tim and Leo from within the confines of the Recording Office, too, before the school bell rang. He shouldn’t ask, but the question slipped from his mouth. “How is missing your parents getting converted into obvious mischief?”

      She pulled from her apron pocket that crumpled handkerchief and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “They began to act up when our parents started to prepare to go to Europe. I think they were scared. Misbehaving would bring our parents’ attention