Family of the Heart by Dorothy Clark

Author:Dorothy Clark
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harlequin (UK) Limited
Published: 2008-10-25T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Clayton rode past the railed pens holding the mules and horses resting from yesterday’s hard labor, stopped in front of the handler’s shed and dismounted. “Unsaddle Pacer and put him in his pen and give him some hay, Murphy. I will be here the rest of the day.” He handed over the reins, patted the roan’s neck, then grabbed his leather pouch from behind his saddle and hurried toward the work hut. The work at this site would be finished today. Tomorrow afternoon at the latest. And then they would move to the next job.

Clayton glanced around. Workers were already hard at work cleaning up the site. Men were throwing construction debris from the bottom of the canal into skid wagons to be hauled up the high, sloping bank. On the towpath across the ditch, men with scrapers were lining up to smooth the surface. Things were moving apace.

He nodded to the men loading unused timbers onto a wagon to be moved to the aqueduct that was their next work site and quickened his steps. The canal repairs were progressing faster than he dared hope, thanks to his good fortune in hiring John Wexford. The man had proved himself wholly capable of bossing the easier jobs—and of controlling the hot-tempered, quick-fisted workers. He still had to check on Wexford’s sites every couple of days, and his accelerated workload—dawn to dusk every day—was exhausting, but that was welcome. He had not had a glimpse of Sarah Randolph or the child in weeks. He left before they rose and came home after they were abed. Of course that would stop after the July first deadline. And then he would have to act.

Clayton frowned, stepped into the temporary, collapsible hut and tossed the pouch on the scarred tabletop. It still seemed the best solution would be to have Sarah take the child home to Philadelphia and care for it there. It would be well cared for—and they would both be out of his life. The only flaw in the plan was Sarah Randolph. She had not taken the nanny position to earn her living, so offering her increased wages to rear the child might not influence her to agree. If he knew why she—

Wild whoops split the air. Clayton pivoted and rushed back outside. Across the canal, the four men guiding the wooden scrapers were each urging their horses to greater speed, fighting for the lead position. In the dirt behind them were crooked grooves and ridges gouged out of the ground by the corners and edges of the wildly tipping scrapers.

Activity around him ceased as the workers stopped to cheer on their favorites in the impromptu race.

“Stop!” Clayton cupped his hands around his mouth. “You men on the far towpath—stop your horses!” His effort was useless, his order lost in the whooping, shouting din. The wild race went on. One of the scrapers slammed into another, sending it careening toward the edge of the bank. The worker hooted and urged his

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