Montana Rose Read online

  “Whacks? Rod?” The words caught in Rose’s throat.

  Mr. Whimpstutter peered over the top of his glasses at Rose.

  “Whacks,” he repeated loudly. “The rod will be used often and with exuberance. Miss Bush, I’ve had my doubts a woman has the ability or strength to dispense discipline as necessary. Do you have that ability?”

  But before she could answer, Jesse Rivers barged into the room, carrying an armload of wood. Making as much noise as possible, he dumped it into the woodbox next to the stove. Then, casting a brief look in Rose’s direction, he gave her a conspiratorial nod.

  For several minutes he’d stood unseen in the entryway and heard the rules being laid down, he’d also heard the bullying of Mr. Whimpstutter. Disgust had filled him at the unfairness of the situation and the man’s belligerence. An interruption had been called for. He quietly returned to his wagon and proceeded to fill his arms with wood.

  Originally, he’d entered the building intending to ask Rose where she’d like the wood stacked. He hadn’t made it any farther than the vestibule when anger filled him hearing the three browbeat her with their narrow-minded rules and demands. He didn’t recall making the decision, he just knew she needed rescuing.

  “Mr. Rivers, you are intruding. Is this necessary?” Mr. Whimpstutter sputtered.

  “It sure is. I furnish the wood for the school, and I deliver it when I have time. Do you have a problem with that?”

  The three were speechless. Rose noted that Jesse Rivers had only to enter a room to own it.

  “Now if you’ll excuse us,” Jess continued, “Miss Bush and I have to decide where to stack this wagon load. I’m sure that if you leave your rules behind, she will be quite capable of reading them.”

  “Well, I never.” Mrs. Chinney started to protest only to clamp her mouth shut at one quelling look from Jesse.

  Muttering and harrumphing, their chins pointed upward, the trio indignantly marched out the door.

  “There will be weekly inspections,” Mr. Whimpstutter threw back over his shoulder, determined to have the last word.

  “She’ll be ready,” Jesse muttered.

  Chapter 7

  “Mr. Rivers, I—”

  “Sit down, Miss Bush, before you fall down. I don’t plan on catching a woman indulging in vapors.”

  His words had the desired effect. The earlier anger fueled by the edicts of the school board, coupled with Jesse’s brusque command, flared into life. Her face took back her rich color and twin spots of displeasure rested becomingly on her cheeks. Her nostrils expelled air filled with fire and warning. The warning was lost on Jesse as he recognized and applauded the fighting spirit of the woman facing him, hands on each hip.

  “Don’t you dare presume to tell me what to do. I am not anyone’s doormat.”

  Jesse shrugged. “Could have fooled me. You were doing a darned good imitation while Mr. Whimpstutter read you the rules of conduct.”

  “Rules of conduct,” Rose snorted. “Well, here’s what I think of their rules of conduct.” She marched to the desk, grabbed up the papers, and threw them into the air. A feeling of satisfaction filled her as she watched the papers flutter and fall. Her rosy lips curled into a wide smile that made Jesse’s heart do a curious flip.

  “Hmm,” he muttered, enjoying baiting this feisty woman. “Maybe you do have the ability and strength to give out whacks with the rod.”

  “There will be no whacks or rod in my classroom,” Rose fumed as she paced in front of the desk, missing the imp in Jesse’s eyes. “I may want, no, need this job, but I won’t be bullied into acting outside my principles. Spare the rod and spoil the child. Ha!” She narrowed her eyes, drilling them into Jesse. “I won’t be dictated to by you either, Mr. Rivers. While I may owe you thanks for your timely interruption, that’s all I owe you.”

  “It wasn’t timely. It was planned.”

  “Planned?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much did you hear during your eavesdropping?”

  “Enough. Enough that I knew if someone didn’t interrupt and stop you, that fiery temper you were trying to hold in check might erupt and there would go your teaching job before it even started.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Oh, I don’t care. Not about you or your job. That’s your problem. And, from what I’m hearing you say, you don’t have any great love for teaching.” He held up his hand to stop her protests. “Like I said, I don’t care. What I do care is seeing that Tory gets an education. And it appears you have been elected. Wise River has been without a teacher too long. Those three dragons guarding the schoolroom have found reasons to refuse every applicant. You have Ben McCabe and his influence in this community to thank for your job.”

  Jesse felt cruel as he watched some of the fight leave Rose. He shouldn’t have thrown all that in her face. Not after her brush with the school board. Still, he wasn’t about to be swayed by eyes with depth and color that changed with her every mood. He had to be cold, immune to her courage and spirit. Immune to any woman.

  Rose took a deep breath. As much as she hated to admit it, she already knew that having this position was because of Dr. Ben McCabe. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing this was one of the rare times she hadn’t been in total control of her life. And, it appeared, others saw that, too.

  “Mr. Rivers, how or why I got the position is something I won’t discuss. However, I will concede I’m not here because of any great desire to teach. It is not my first love. But”—she cast him a warning glance—“I will deny that with great vehemence, should you desire to blab what I’ve just shared.” She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his.

  She continued. “I am committed to teaching the boys and girls of Wise River. Not with a rod but with patient forbearance and recognition of what constitutes being a child. I am qualified to teach. And, you can put your mind to rest, Tory will receive an opportunity to learn. Now, I’m sure you have better things to do than stand here. I’m grateful for your timely interruption. Thank you. I do need this job and you are correct, my tongue would have lost it for me. You may put the wood wherever you think best.” And with a swish of her skirts, she flounced out of the room.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Hate to admit it, Jesse, but that little wisp of a woman put you in your place and told you what for.” Chuckling to himself, he went out to his wagon and load of wood with a surprisingly light step. Teacher Rose Bush would be someone to watch, and maybe every now and then, to bait.

  Rose slid back the curtain from the kitchen window, and hiding behind it, watched Jesse unload the wood. She’d seen muscular, handsome men before, but there was something about Jesse Rivers that captured her attention. It certainly isn’t his sweet disposition. Still, I have to give him credit for acting quickly in what was about to become a tense situation. And just because I admire his physique and good looks doesn’t mean I’m not aware that a snarly disposition inhabits that body.

  Then, not giving herself time to question her actions, she slid the coffee pot to the front of the stove and reached for two cups. Removing the glass dome from the cake plate, she cut a large slice of the tiered chocolate cake she’d baked earlier and placed it on a saucer. Taking a deep breath, Rose opened the back door and called out, “Mr. Rivers.”

  Jesse leaned against the now empty wagon and wiped his brow with a bandana. He eyed the stacked wood with satisfaction. It wasn’t enough, but it would last a few of the cold winter months. He’d bring more before the snow fell.

  “Mr. Rivers,” Rose called louder.

  Jesse turned and again forced back the fluttery feeling in his stomach. She was an attractive woman. That’s all it was. Well, hell, she was beautiful, not merely attractive.

  “Yes?” he said, his voice curt.

  Rose caught back the smile on her fa
ce, already regretting her impulsive decision to invite this arrogant man into her home. Darn. Oh well, she’d finish what she’d started.

  “Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

  “No.”

  “Fine.” She flung the word at him. And before he could say anything, she slammed the door.

  He couldn’t resist. He ambled over, cracked open the door, and called into the quiet kitchen, “But I’d sure welcome a cold glass of water.”

  Rose whirled, her hands on her hips, mouth pursed, ready to do battle. But Jesse wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the large slice of chocolate cake resting by an empty cup. His mouth watered as he looked up. “Mine?”

  “It was. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “I am.” He winked at her, and with a small dimple dancing at the corner of his mouth, he slid into the empty chair and picked up the fork.

  Rose glared, then took her frustration out on the hand pump on the sink, grabbing a glass and vigorously pumping it full of cold water. The indoor pump was a luxury, one she wished was also present in the classroom. Toting buckets of water was a job she didn’t look forward to.

  She plunked the glass down so hard, some sloshed over the side.

  “Thanks.” He pretended not to notice her hot temper, and drained the glass. “Now I’ll take that coffee.”

  “Coffee?” she spluttered.

  “Sure. Goes real good with cake. You bake this?”

  “Of course I did, Mr. Rivers. It didn’t just sprout up and grow in this kitchen.”

  Jesse took a large bite and let the rich chocolate roll around in his mouth. “Mmmm, mmmm. Ma’am, you ever get tired of teaching, you could open a bakery. I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted cake as good as this.”

  Jesse’s words of honest praise defused Rose’s temper. Filling both cups, Rose gingerly took a seat across from him. Oblivious to her, he took one bite after another, concentrating only on the quickly diminishing cake. Giving a sigh, he regretfully took the last bite then scraped his fork across the empty plate and brought it to his mouth, giving it a lingering lick.

  “More?”

  “Sure. But I won’t.” Embarrassed, he remembered his manners. “Aren’t you joining me?”

  “I had a piece earlier. I take it chocolate cake is a favorite of yours?”

  “Teacher Bush, anything I don’t have to cook or burn trying to cook is a favorite of mine.”

  Rose laughed, surprised by his wit and the enjoyment she felt in his presence.

  “Not a cook, huh?”

  “Nope. Not even. Tory tries and between the two of us, we don’t starve.”

  “I’ll cut a piece for you to take home to him, and if you don’t make me angry again, I’ll include a second piece for you.”

  “You’ve got a deal. But since your fuse is mighty short—”

  “And your tongue is mighty sharp,” Rose interjected.

  Jesse threw back his head and laughed. He’d done more smiling and laughing in this woman’s presence than he’d done in a mighty long time. She was infuriating, that was for sure. But she also proved a delightful opponent.

  Chapter 8

  Jesse was still smiling when he pulled the empty wagon into the yard. His quick assessment took in the quiet ranch and too-empty house. It would be nice if just once Tory was there to meet him. Hell, it would be nice if just once Tory wasn’t wearing a scowl on his face. He’d take anything. Any overture of friendliness would be an improvement. How was he ever going to reach this brother who had become such a resentful, distrusting stranger?

  Looping the reins over the wagon brake, Jesse ambled over to the barn and opened the wide doors. Tory turned, and seeing Jesse, a mask shuttered his face. He moved in front of a wooden box, hiding it in a secretive manner.

  “I didn’t expect you back,” he snarled.

  “I live here, Tory.”

  “I know you do. I just meant— Never mind.” He bent to pick up the box, making sure he covered it with his body, and started past Jesse.

  Jesse reached out and touched the boy’s arm only to have him jerk away as though he’d been touched by a red-hot poker.

  Jesse’s hand fell to his side as feelings of hopelessness rushed through him. “I, uh, I brought you something.”

  “Yeah, what?” Tory asked suspiciously.

  Jesse walked back to the wagon and returned, holding out the plate of Rose’s cake.

  Tory’s eyes lit up and a hint of a smile caught the corners of his mouth. There it froze, as if the muscles had forgotten how to move in any direction other than a frown.

  “Where’d you get that?” his brother asked.

  “From the new schoolteacher.” Jesse grinned, pushing the dish toward Tory. “She sent you a piece.”

  “Why?”

  Jesse’s grin faded. “I don’t know why, Tory.” His voice filled with exasperation. “Does there have to be a reason for everything?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. It was too late. He’d just given Tory the opening he’d been waiting for.

  Tory’s hand flew out and he knocked the cake to the ground. “Here’s a reason for you,” he growled. “Try I don’t want it.” He whirled around and ran out of the yard into the thick copse of trees surrounding the back of the ranch.

  Jesse’s first impulse was to go after him, grab him by the shoulder, and shake some sense into the brat. But that was what Tory would expect. What he’d received for longer than Jesse cared to admit.

  He bent down and carefully picked up the cake where it had flown from the plate, landing on a patch of weeds. Jesse turned it over in his large palm. Clean, well sort of, and he brushed a couple leaves from the rich chocolate. A dab of icing stuck to his finger and he stuck it in his mouth, sucking off the sweetness. Placing the cake back on the plate, he moseyed toward the house. If Tory refused to eat it, then he would. Darned if he’d let a perfectly good piece of cake go to waste.

  Later, as he unharnessed the team and went about the rest of the never-ending chores, his mind went over the eventful day. Tory hadn’t returned to the house. Sometimes he spent the night in the woods, more at home there than at the ranch. “And around me,” Jesse muttered.

  He’d tried giving Tory time and the privacy the boy seemed to demand. But it wasn’t working. Tory threw off every overture Jesse made. Maybe he’d been wrong not to call him on some of his actions. Like the cake. Anger once again filled him and he wanted to take off into the woods, see what the allure was that called to his brother. But he didn’t and wouldn’t.

  He carried an armful of split wood into the kitchen and started a fire in the large range. Filling the coffee pot, Jesse couldn’t help remembering an earlier cup and the warm hominess of a kitchen filled with a woman’s presence.

  His eyes roved over the large farm kitchen, comparing it to the small room attached to the classroom. The entire living area would come close to fitting in this one room.

  Jesse’s father hadn’t scrimped when it came to something he wanted. And a large house was something he’d wanted. Four bedrooms, a spacious living room, a good sized kitchen with a mudroom entry, and an office, made up the two-story house with the wraparound porch.

  Jesse made a derisive sound. The living room was a joke. The lavishly furnished room fooled one into imagining pleasant evenings gathered in front of the river rock fireplace. There had been no pleasant gatherings. In fact, Jesse couldn’t remember the four of them being in that room at the same time. The fireplace was rarely used, and the stiff and uncomfortable furniture was for show only.

  What he could remember was his mother, and then his step-mother, silently shuffling from room to room, fighting the unending dust, keeping the house as spotless as his father demanded. Two of the bedrooms were shut off and never used. Although ther
e were two boys, they weren’t allowed rooms of their own. Now, Jesse occupied the room that had been his parents’, and Tory remained in the bedroom they’d shared once long ago.

  Returning home, the first thing Jesse had done was to strip the bedroom and get rid of the furniture. He’d raided one of the unused bedrooms for a bed, dresser, and chair. But before he’d moved in, he made a trip to town and came home with a large tin of the new Sherwin-Williams paint.

  It was only after the paint had refreshed the room, making it his, had Jesse moved in. There were still times, though, when he’d catch himself looking over his shoulder, expecting to hear his father’s heavy footsteps in the hall.

  Jesse shook the grates in the cook stove and set a cast-iron skillet over one of the lids. Another supper of fried steak, gravy, and too-hard biscuits. That it was filling was the highest praise that could be given.

  He took his time and, knowing it was useless, set two plates on the table. Slowly drinking his coffee, Jesse waited. The gravy thickened and a skim had layered over it when he said to hell with it. He dished up his meal, eating it while glaring at the empty place facing him.

  After the last dirty dish had been washed and the skillet scoured, Jesse climbed the stairs to his room. He paused outside the closed door of Tory’s empty room. The showdown he’d been putting off was looming closer. There had to be rules set and one of them would be Tory would attend school. Eleven years, going on twelve, and he still could only read primers. Whatever allure the woods offered, school, helping around the ranch, and being present for meals, would be priorities. Jesse blew out the lamp, and the last thought he had before sleep claimed him was that tomorrow he’d lay down the law to Tory Rivers. A promise that filled him with trepidation.