Page 28 of Fairest of Heart

Her chin lifted, and her brow pinched.

Doc favored her with a self-deprecating grin. “I know we’re a bunch of old-timers without much to offer a young lady, but you’d be safe here. You’d have a roof over your head, food to eat, and seven overprotective grandfathers to make sure whatever trouble dragged you into those woods doesn’t touch you again.”

Penelope’s vision blurred as she stared at Doc, overcome by the generosity of his offer. To have a place to hide until Narcissa left the area or, even better, until she left Texas altogether. A place that already felt more like home than any place she’d been outside of Edith’s kitchen.

Titus’s words flooded her mind. “They’re good men. Godly men. Every one of ’em.” She’d seen that truth play out over the last day. Had experienced nothing but kindness from their hands. Had never once felt like an object to be lusted after or a servant to be ordered about. Even now, respect rang through every word Doc uttered. Whatever choice she made, he’d see it carried out.

Her heart settled on a decision before her mind could fully sort through all her options.

“I’ll stay.” Peace settled over her as the words tripped off her tongue. “At least for a little while.”

Perhaps long enough to see Titus again. To thank him, of course. And return his shirt. Not to pursue any kind of romantic connection. That would be foolish, and she was far too sensible to pine away for a man when there was work to do and life to live.

So why did her pulse flutter at the thought of his return?

12

Enoch Kingsley pulled his spectacles from his face and rubbed his tired eyes. He was getting too old for late-night bookkeeping. He needed quiet in order to think properly, though, and that only existed after the rest of the men retired to their beds.

Thankfully, the numbers added up cleanly tonight and reassured him that his decision to take in an impoverished girl without even a stitch of decent clothing to her name would bring no lasting hardship upon the Diamond D. The small income he earned from renting his old office space to the doctor who took over his practice would continue covering the cost of their supplies, even with eight to feed instead of seven. They only required a few staples, anyway. Flour, sugar, salt, cornmeal, coffee, and beans. Ike’s garden kept them in vegetables. Coy managed the chickens and hogs. Angus enjoyed fishing—and napping—at the creek, and Jeb kept his shooting skills sharp by bringing in small game and the occasional deer. Even Rowdy brought back wild onions, berries, and dandelion greens when he ran across them while hiking.

A few head of cattle grazed in the upper pasture, too, thanks to Dusty’s arrangement with the livery in Glen Rose. He rehabilitated horses for them, bringing one nag out to the ranch every three months on a rotating schedule. He gave them fresh grass, room to roam, and no wagons to pull or saddles to wear. The livery ended up with fresher, healthier mounts, and Dusty ended up with a new calf each spring.

No one paid rent at the Diamond D, but everyone contributed. However, in all his visions of a retirement ranch for aging cowhands, Enoch had never pictured a young woman taking up residence among them. A young woman in need of proper clothing and shoes.

Ike had already pulled him aside and offered a half-dozen pints of honey to trade at the mercantile. That combined with the money Titus left and funds Enoch planned to withdraw from his personal savings should cover the cost of fabric, thread, new stockings, and perhaps a set of hairpins. Penelope hadn’t asked for anything, but she’d been working her fingers to the bone for the past week, scrubbing the place until it shone, taking over kitchen duties, and mending every tear and loose button in the mending closet. She deserved a treat.

A soft knock had Enoch reaching for his glasses. By the time he had them perched back on the bridge of his nose, the object of his thoughts had cracked the door open and stuck her head inside.

“Doc? I don’t mean to disturb you, but I thought you might like some chamomile tea. May I bring it in?”

He closed the ledger and rose to his feet. “Of course, but you didn’t have to go to all that trouble.” He hurried to the door and held it wide so she could easily navigate through the portal with not only a cup of tea but a plate of cookies as well.

“It’s no trouble.” Her smile brightened the dim office more than the lamp on his desk.

He’d only known her for a week, but he’d already developed a huge soft spot for the girl. Besides his darling Mabel, he’d never met a more unselfish, giving woman. Penelope was always doing for others. Baking sweets, picking up after the men, even leaving Rowdy little treasures at the breakfast table every morning. There wasn’t a man under this roof who hadn’t been charmed. Jeb even groused less when she was around.

As she set the snack down, he found himself wishing he could do more for her. She’d lost so much. . . .

Her fingers hovered over the book at the top corner of his desk, the one he’d been planning to take upstairs. Since losing Mabel, he never went to bed without a book. Helped a man feel not quite so alone when he had the words of another to keep him company. Might Penelope feel the same?

“Have you read it?” Enoch asked. The Count of Monte Cristo was probably not regular reading material at girls’ schools in Chicago, but one could never be certain. “It’s quite a rousing tale.”

As if his words had given her permission to explore, she allowed her fingers to alight upon the cover and trace the stamped title. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Take it.” The impulsive words left his mouth before he thought them through, but he didn’t regret them. She needed a friend, and books made wonderful companions. “Perhaps we can discuss it after you finish.”

Her face jerked up toward his, her eyes wide, her cheeks slightly pink. “Oh, I couldn’t. Not when you were intending to read it.”

He chuckled softly. “I’ve read it multiple times, Miss Snow. I can easily find another book to suit my needs. Although . . .” His gaze turned to the glassed-in bookcases that lined the back wall of his office. “There may be something else in my collection that would better fit your taste.” He crossed to the nearest case, opened the cabinet door, and ran his hand along the spines. “I don’t have any Austen or Brontë, I’m afraid, but you might enjoy The Last of the Mohicans or perhaps Far from the Madding Crowd.” Those had a touch of romance in them. Women liked romantic stories, didn’t they? “I’ve got some biographies as well, and a whole host of dull medical texts if you ever have trouble sleeping. You’re welcome to borrow anything you like.”

She inched up behind him, her footsteps light. Bending at the waist, she brought her eyes level with his cabinet shelves but kept her hands folded behind her back like a child trained not to touch.

“Do you happen to have a copy of Oliver Twist? I was in the midst of reading my copy when I was . . . released from my previous employment.”

When she was carted off into the wild and left for dead. Enoch bristled. It was past time this child experienced compassion and comradery.

Enoch hunkered down to reach one of the lower shelves. “I’m afraid I don’t have that particular work, but I have a couple others by Dickens.” He fingered the top of a thick volume’s spine and angled it outward. “Have you read Great Expectations? Some consider it his finest work.”