“Money?” Celia asked. “Of course they did.”
He nodded. “Yes, but money I didn’t have myself. I had to find investors. And I was quite good at it. I never had trouble finding men willing to part with their money to put my ideas into action. Of course, none of them ever made that money back.”
Celia nodded. It made sense. An unsuccessful business couldn’t make money. “Were they angry about that? Your investors, I mean?”
“Some of them. Some understood it was a gamble. But there were also those who seemed to take it as a personal slight. And some of them thought I’d been out to con them the whole time.” He looked down and turned his palm to take her hand in his.
Celia relished the feel of it. She’d never grow tired of this. In fact, it was hard to draw her mind away from the comforting feeling of his hand clasped about hers and back to the conversation. “They were wrong to think that way. I’m sure you wanted more than anything for those ideas you had to succeed.”
“I did,” he said quietly as he looked at their clasped hands. “But some others thought I didn’t.”
Celia understood. “But you feel badly about it.”
He pressed his lips together, pausing a moment before nodding. “I know they agreed to the risk, and I put every effort into making the ventures succeed, but . . . I still feel badly. And if it’s at all possible, I’d like to pay them back.”
Pride unfolded inside Celia like a bloom in the spring. There was no reason under the sun Jack needed to do such a thing, and yet, he felt as if it were the good and right thing to do. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
He smiled at her, relaxing into his usual, easy demeanor. “I don’t know how yet, particularly since we’re already facing a difficult winter. But perhaps I can use the time to ponder some options. There might be some way I can earn some extra funds, maybe come spring.”
“I can help.” Celia sat up straighter. “I’m not the most adept at sewing, but perhaps I could do some needlework for ladies who are overwhelmed with farm or ranch work, or with running their husbands’ businesses. I could do their mending or take up hems. Or I could offer to do some canning for them, or their wash.” Now that she was thinking about it, the ideas flowed quickly. It would be hard, given the amount of work that needed to be done at home, but if Jack needed the help, Celia would do everything she could.
And then an even better idea hit her. “Jack! We could sell the calf. She’s weaned, and we don’t need a second milk cow. And if we do, we can always speak with one of the ranchers nearby and, well . . .” Her face colored, and Jack laughed.
“Thank you,” he said, taking her hand between both of his. “I never dreamed I would ever find someone like you.”
Celia ducked her head, pleased but embarrassed. “We ought to get back to work.”
“That we should.” He stood and helped her up before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek and disappearing back through the parlor. After a moment, the front door opened and shut.
She rested a hand on her cheek, which felt as if it was on fire. She could hear him whistling as he crossed the front porch. Celia grinned in spite of herself.
Yet as she began the work of preparing dinner, doubts filtered into her mind between the memory of his arms holding her to him and the smile he gave only to her. He’d looked truly troubled when he came back from town. Something must have happened. Something that bothered him enough to suddenly want to pay all these men back.
Celia shook her head. It had been the guilt he’d carried with him, that was all. And with that, she let her mind wander back to the warmth of his hand and the comfort she felt simply knowing he was here.
Chapter Seventeen
Placing that much money in an envelope addressed to Jeremiah Rogers in Manhattan was not an easy thing to do. All Jack could think about was how much they could have bought with it. Food. Clothing. Seeds in the spring. He could have even treated Celia to a wedding band to wear.
Instead, the calf was now sold to a fellow McFarland had introduced him to, and all that money was on its way back to New York. It was just enough to pay Rogers back for his failed investment. Jack would have preferred to send it to Sullivan, since he was the more imminent threat, but he knew the man wouldn’t accept partial payment. And he wasn’t about to give Sullivan any clue to where he was, ever. When it came time to repay him, Jack would send those funds with the stagecoach to Kearney or perhaps southwest to Denver.
Mrs. Thornton raised an eyebrow when he handed her the envelope and coins for postage. He could tell she wanted an explanation of what he could possibly be sending to New York that filled an envelope so. But he said nothing. The woman already thought he wasn’t good enough for her sister. He wasn’t about to give her another reason. Besides, he already carried enough guilt at selling something that hadn’t even belonged to him a few weeks ago, despite Celia’s insistence. Instead, he bid Mrs. Thornton good afternoon and left her staring at him as he left.
His work in town complete, Jack began the walk back through the light blanket of snow that had fallen earlier in the day to the livery. He stepped aside and nodded to
