Wedding At Rocking S Ranch
- -
- 100%
- +
What have you brought me to? she asked silently, thinking of her late husband. She didn’t expect him to answer her from across the chasm; it was just that she felt so very alone now. If he had accompanied her as they’d first planned, this journey would have been a great adventure. Without him, she could no longer view it as such. It was only a duty.
Thus far, regard for his memory had kept her on the train and steady to her course. It hadn’t been so long ago that she was the bold one in her family and among her friends. What other woman at twenty-one years of age did she know who skipped the traditional year of waiting and married a man after only five weeks? Tongues had wagged. The gossips in town had had their day, and she hadn’t cared. In her mind, love had its own calendar and could not be denied.
Her father viewed her penchant for adventure differently. To him, she was simply impulsive and willful. Or—as her dearest friend, Chloe, had been quick to point out—foolish. Cassandra had scoffed at her words then, but after all that had happened, maybe her friend was right and her great-aunts too. Maybe, as Aunt Tilly had said when she was little, she was being punished.
She remembered the day. She had scrambled through the fence after a cat, tearing her dress on a nail and muddying her stockings and shoes. She had crossed two streets and become lost by the time she finally caught the frightened animal. The cat had clawed her neck and tore her pinafore in an effort to get away from her. After wandering the streets for what seemed like hours, the grocer’s wife had helped her find her way back to the house.
A hellion—that’s what you have on your hands, Aunt Tilly had told her mother. You must curb her penchant for constant adventure and excitement. It is unbecoming in a woman.
If her great-aunts were right, and it was her willful choices that had brought on all her heartache, then maybe doing this would fix it in some small way. The loss of Douglas and their baby had been retribution almost more than she could bear. When her month was completed, she would return home and bow to the wishes of her family. Perhaps then life would go on.
Doug’s death had tamed her right down. Now all that remained was to keep the promise she’d made to him. There were so many other things in their short life together that she had been unable to control. This, his last request, was something she could do. She would keep her promise, and then perhaps once it was accomplished and she was released from it, she would be able to move on with her life.
“Ma’am?” The conductor walked down the aisle toward her. “This is your stop. It’s as far as your ticket takes you.”
She glanced out the window once more at the rustic wooden buildings and the dirt street. “It may as well be the ends of the earth.”
He gave his short beard a thoughtful stroke. “Now, Oak Grove ain’t all that. It must have a few good points or people wouldn’t stay.” He brought her hatbox and parasol down from the overhead compartment, and handed them to her and then headed back to the door.
She squared her shoulders. She could do this. Moving to the doorway, she let the conductor help her down to a box he’d placed for the purpose of disembarking, and then down again to the wide planks of the platform. The harsh wind whipped the black ribbons of her bonnet and blew a small tumbleweed across her path. No one else on the train got off. Her trunk and carpetbag were the only luggage sitting there—a forlorn statement in her mind.
The conductor released her arm and tipped the brim of his cap. “Good day, ma’am.” He swung a leather satchel over his shoulder that contained mail for Oak Grove residents and strode toward the station office, disappearing through the doorway.
Cassandra took a deep breath and turned to survey the small town. From her vantage point on the platform, she could look straight down the main street. To her left stood a large livery stable. To her right stood a two-story building with a sign—Wet Your Whistle Saloon—above the batwing doors. Tinny piano music filtered out from somewhere inside. Farther down the street, past the laundry and bathhouse, there appeared to be a hotel and restaurant.
Fourteen days ago, she’d written two letters. One to Mr. Barker, the foreman in charge of the Stewart property, and the other to a Mr. Wolf, a friend her late husband had mentioned a time or two. Mr. Wolf’s address had been in town. Between the two men, she thought that at least one would have been here to meet the train...and her.
She sighed. All right then. She would figure this out. It wasn’t as if the entire process was an insurmountable obstacle. She would get there on her own. Traveling to the property shouldn’t be all that difficult. All it required was to hire a wagon from the livery and a guide.
* * *
Wolf stood unmoving on the shaded boardwalk in front of his parents’ dry goods shop and watched the woman on the platform. The sun slanted just above the horizon, casting her in silhouette and stretching her shadow like a sharp-angled ghost down Main Street. The black netting on her expensive-looking hat covered her face. The black feathers on top were arranged artfully and yet tall enough to brush the underside of her opened parasol—a parasol fancied up with black lace and satin trim. Quite the sight for a simple town like Oak Grove.
He had a good idea who she was. Cassandra Stewart—the woman Doug had fallen so hard for. She was the reason Doug had dug his heels in about returning to the ranch. The way Wolf saw it, because of that she was also the woman who had had a hand in his death.
What was she really doing here? Her short note had only mentioned seeing the ranch and checking on Douglas’s grave site. There had to be more to it. Nobody traveled halfway across the continent just to see a piece of land. Especially some rich woman who looked to be more used to Sunday socials and carriage rides in a manicured park than a wild prairie.
“All aboard!” the conductor called out from the train steps. The engine rumbled and the wheels creaked as they forced the massive metal beast to move. A whistle blew—a loud, sharp sound—startling the woman and making her grasp her parasol tighter.
Sanders, standing at the doors to the saloon, noticed her too. He started toward her, doffing his hat as he approached. “Daniel Sanders, ma’am. Help you with your bags?”
“I thought there would be someone here,” she said, her voice wavering with uncertainty. She glanced once more down the main street. The action gave away her apprehension.
Did she expect to be taken care of? Was she a hothouse flower whose only purpose was to look pretty? He couldn’t see Doug marrying someone like that, but it had been several minutes and she hadn’t moved from the platform.
Torn between giving in to the urge to assist her and his feelings of distrust, Wolf hesitated. He didn’t want Sanders bothering her, particularly if she was Doug’s widow. Even though he had reservations about her, it remained that she was Doug’s choice. That meant, in Doug’s stead, he owed her assistance. Besides, it wasn’t like him to deny any woman simple courtesy. Reluctantly, he stepped off the boardwalk, drawing her gaze.
“You need a place to stay?” Sanders inquired. “You are welcome at the saloon. Got a couple of vacated rooms upstairs right now.”
She flashed a startled look at him. “Thank you, but no.”
Sanders tipped his hat back, looking her up and down. “I’ll make it cheaper than what Austin charges at the hotel.”
She stiffened. “I already have accommodations.”
Sanders shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Wolf stepped up on the platform. “Raymond Wolf, ma’am. May I see to your things?” He figured that was enough of an introduction to have her either admit who she was or turn him away in the same way she had Sanders.
She peered through her hat netting, taking a good long look at him. For a moment, Wolf thought she was going to refuse his help.
“Thank you, Mr. Wolf.”
Sanders snorted. “Well, what do you know...”
His tone caused a familiar tension inside. Wolf curled his fingers into fists.
“Guess you got what you came for, ma’am.” Sanders didn’t bother to tip his hat as he turned and headed back to his saloon.
At that, the woman visibly relaxed. Her shoulders lowered, and she took a breath before focusing again on Wolf. “I don’t mean to be rude. I wasn’t expecting... I mean... You are Douglas Stewart’s friend, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer at first. He wondered what kind of assumptions she held about Indians.
This close, he could make out a few observations of his own. She was attractive, even with the dark smudges beneath her eyes. They accentuated the paleness of her skin. Large night-blue eyes with dark lashes stared up at him through the crisscross of black netting.
Her hair was the color of the sun. A few strands that escaped her bonnet floated across her cheek and shimmered, a pale gold. Had it been loose and flowing, instead of knotted up at the back of her head, he figured that sight would bewitch just about any man who had eyes in his head.
The fact that she was dressed all in black swung like a silent weight between them. Nearly a year had passed since Doug’s death. She hadn’t come to witness her husband being laid to his final rest on the ranch, and that burned inside Wolf. “Cassandra Stewart.”
She nodded.
He walked over to her trunk, tipped it slightly and hoisted it onto his shoulder. “I’ll take you to the hotel. Tomorrow, when you have rested, we will go to the ranch.”
“You misunderstand, Mr. Wolf. I intend to stay on my late husband’s property. It is mine now.”
Her words echoed inside his mind. Mine now. It didn’t seem right. A part of him was angry that for the past year this woman hadn’t acknowledged her ties to the ranch and hadn’t asked after the men who worked there day after day. Now suddenly she shows up, calling the ranch hers when she hadn’t cared one whit about it before.
The entire thing left a sour taste in his mouth. Besides, it was late in the day to head there. That wouldn’t stop him if she were a man, but with a woman it was different. A lot was different. Did she really expect to stay with Barker and the rest of the ranch hands? They could be a coarse lot.
“No.”
She tilted her head slightly. “No, you won’t escort me? Or no, I may not stay there?”
Although she asked politely, he detected a resolve beneath her words. He stood there, the weight of her trunk bearing down on his shoulder, getting heavier and heavier. The ranch was her property now, according to the banker and Mayor Melbourne. Not much sense for him to argue with her. “Are they expecting you?”
“I wrote to Mr. Barker, the foreman, at the same time I wrote to you. You are here.”
“Not because you gave me a date and time. I can see the train depot from my shop.” He wouldn’t admit that he’d been checking to see if she disembarked every time the train pulled through for the past three days.
“Oh. Well then, I’m very glad you noticed my arrival. Shall we go?”
“It’ll be dark in an hour.”
“I was told it was only an hour’s ride.”
“On horseback. A wagon with a load takes longer.” He’d had about all he could take of her trunk. He’d drop it in another second. He’d also had about all he could take of her stubbornness. “Look. There are no women out there. And a lot of men.” Blunt, but maybe that would explain the situation to her.
She frowned. “I need to stay there. It is at my late husband’s request. If you won’t take me, I must find someone else who will.”
He admired her determination—grudgingly—but that didn’t mean he was giving in. “Tomorrow. First thing. You can come with me or stay right where you are until morning. Either way, I’m taking your trunk to the hotel.”
Her mouth pinched in disappointment, but this time she picked up her carpetbag and hatbox and followed him.
Chapter Three
The morning sun had barely crested the horizon when Cassandra heard movement downstairs and tiptoed down for a cup of tea and some toast. Usually at night, she was plagued by dreams that robbed her of rest. Her parents’ estate was quiet. That’s the way her mother and father preferred it. However, the last two nights on the train had been anything but quiet. The gentle rocking of the train car had been soothing, and for the first time in nearly a year, she had slept well. Now, here, in this small town, even the close proximity of the saloon and the occasional shouts coming from within it hadn’t bothered her. She found it all rather strange. In an odd way, the noise was comforting. Life went on here, busy and loud, despite the upheaval she had lived through back East.
She pushed the curtain aside and stared out the hotel window at the dusty town, watching as it slowly woke up. Down the road, a portly man stepped from a dark green building. Over his head, a sign spelled out the words Law Office. Cassandra took note of it. If that was Mayor Melbourne, eventually, she would have need of his services.
Nothing looked as she had expected. The way her husband had spoken of Oak Grove, she thought there would be more than framed buildings in the town. She’d expected that at least the bank would be brick or stone—something more substantial than wood. Something permanent. The town wasn’t as big as Douglas had led her to believe, but then he had always seen everything as bigger and brighter than it was. She had loved that part of him—the visionary. It drew her to him. He was ever an optimist.
For a man who chased adventure and sought new experiences, Douglas had a soft spot for his homestead. He’d said once that it was the place he considered the center of his life. He’d been anxious to show it to her, anxious to have her love it as much as he did. And anxious for them to make a home and raise a family together there. He’d pulled her right into his dream and now here she was.
She didn’t have his history with the land. A home and a family would never happen—at least not here. Even now she missed the breeze off the Potomac and the dogwood trees and the green of the past summer. The trees would start showing their colors now—orange and red and yellow. It was her favorite time of year. Just as soon as she accomplished her duty to Douglas and to his memory, she would be happy to get back home.
For some unknown reason, she had expected Mr. Wolf to be similar to her husband. To be outgoing and personable. The man was the exact opposite. He hadn’t even greeted her properly. Although he’d not actually been rude, he’d been distant and quiet. So very different. How had Douglas ever come to be friends with him?
Douglas had not mentioned that Mr. Wolf was Indian. With his skin the color of almonds and his short hair as black as night, it was the first thing she had noticed. The decidedly cool expression in his dark brown eyes was another thing she’d not expected. It was unsettling. And it was obvious he didn’t like her on sight. Here they shared a common bond in their feelings for Douglas, but it didn’t seem to matter to him. She’d hoped there would be a glimmer of friendship—something so that she would feel less a stranger in a strange place.
He had lifted her trunk with ease and then stood there listening to her for several minutes as if the load he carried was no more than a ten-pound burlap sack of potatoes. Wide shoulders and all, he was a formidable man—a man’s man. His jaw square and hard—just like the expression in his eyes.
She was not looking forward to the ride out to Douglas’s property. The sheriff might have provided a better escort—or even accompanied her himself. After meeting Mr. Wolf, she was certain that would have been the more comfortable choice.
A sigh of resignation escaped her. There was no getting around it now. He would be here at any moment.
Across the road, a young woman flung open the front door of a cabinetry shop and busily swept the dirt out with a vengeance that spoke of an agitated state. She looked to be near her own age. When she turned, Cassandra stiffened. The young woman was in a family way and close to the date of her confinement. While she watched, a man stepped from the shop door, gently took the broom from the woman’s hand and drew her close. He kissed her tenderly and then picked her up. The woman’s head lowered trustingly to his shoulder as he carried her back inside.
Cassandra’s throat suddenly thickened with emotion. She pulled away from the window and pressed her fist to her chest as she tried to swallow past the lump that had formed in her throat. It was a good thing that she was going to Douglas’s property today. To stay in this room and witness the couple across the street more than once would quickly become unbearable.
A knock came at the door.
“Mrs. Stewart?”
It was Mr. Wolf.
“I’ll be right there,” she managed to say.
She took two big breaths to regain control of her emotions and then picked up her hat from the bureau. Positioning it on her head, she tied the black ribbon beneath her chin and adjusted the netting over her face. Today her month began. She would get through this. She would stay on the Stewart land for a month to honor Douglas’s wishes, then sell the place and return to Alexandria.
Opening her door, she found Mr. Wolf waiting in the hall, his brown Stetson in his hands. He wore dark brown canvas pants and a butternut cotton shirt. His hair was wet and slicked back from his face, with a small wave just over his forehead.
“Are you set on staying out at the ranch?” he asked.
Again, no greeting, but right to the point. And he certainly wasn’t a fan of her staying on the property. “I am.”
His jaw tensed, the movement so subtle that she could have easily imagined it.
“Are you ready? Packed?”
She nodded, then indicated her trunk sitting where he’d left it, the domed lid closed.
He strode into the room, picked it up easily and carried it down the stairs and outside to the boardwalk. She grabbed her parasol and carpetbag and followed. While he walked to the livery, she found the proprietor—a Mr. Austin—and took care of her bill, then strolled outside to wait by her luggage.
A few moments later, Mr. Wolf drove a one-horse buggy from the livery and pulled it to a stop in front of the hotel. He jumped down and helped her into the rig, deposited her belongings in the boot, then climbed up beside her and snapped the reins. All without a word.
They rode south from town, over the railroad tracks and along the bank of a wide river. On the narrow dirt road, the small buggy seemed to dip into every crevice and small rut, missing none and sending up a small plume of dust behind them as they continued.
“I didn’t see this river from the train. Does it have a name?”
He stared straight ahead. “Smoky Hill River. Runs eastward into the Kansas River.”
“Does it run through the Stewarts’ farm?”
“In places.”
“How long did you know my husband?”
“Since he was eleven. I was twelve.”
She calculated the arithmetic. “That makes you twenty-seven now.”
“Twenty-eight.”
When he didn’t elaborate or ask anything of her, she stopped trying to hold a conversation. It would be enough just to get to the property. Douglas’s cousin—Mr. Barker—would probably be much easier to talk to and answer her questions in a more agreeable manner.
She smoothed her skirt over her knees. Autumn weather could be capricious, and she hoped the October sun would not grow too warm for her in the black gabardine. The shade provided by her parasol was of little use when the material heated up. Twice during the summer, she had fainted because of the heat—although her mother had thought it due more to her indisposition than the humidity and temperature.
“I appreciate you doing this for me,” she said, growing tired of the silence and hoping once more to draw the man out. She wanted to know more about the property and his friendship with her late husband. “Do you visit Doug’s farm often?”
“When I hunt.”
“So, there is good hunting? What sort of animals do you hunt?”
“Quail, turkey, rabbit, deer.”
Short answers and still no smile or glance her way. “How did you and my husband meet?”
“At the ranch.” He darted a quick glance aside at her. “It’s a ranch. Not a farm. Don’t call it a farm.”
She stiffened. He may have only been correcting her, but it felt like a critical chastisement. “I’m sorry if I offended you. Ranch, then,” she said, acknowledging him.
She should be giddy with having drawn such a string of information from him. The sarcastic thought was not like her. What was wrong with her? Why were her emotions on edge with him? Usually, around others she was numb. For nearly a year now she had been numb. All this traveling must be more wearing on her than she had anticipated.
He didn’t elaborate further, and after a few attempts on her part to learn more, she grew quiet. What was the point of trying to drag information out of him when it was obvious he didn’t care to talk? She looked over the river to the far bank and the rolling prairie beyond, her thoughts flashing back to the Potomac River that flowed so near her parents’ estate. There was no comparison between the two. They were both too different.
The buggy lurched suddenly, and before she could react, Mr. Wolf grabbed her arm. “Hang on!”
Strength pulsed from his steadying grip.
Startled, she met his gaze. “I’m all right.”
He let go, but she caught the relief in his eyes before he turned his focus back to the road.
She drew her shawl tighter together at her throat, as if somehow the material could shield her from him. The heat from his touch burned through her sleeve. When he’d thought she might slip off the seat, the look of worry that had flashed in his eyes surprised her. She didn’t understand it. Up to now he hadn’t shown any concern for her. He had treated her like an obligation—one he carried out with obvious reluctance.
They continued on, the dirt road curving around a few bluffs and then skirting the river again. They forded a shallow creek. Mr. Wolf made no attempt to speak again.
“I imagine this is how it will be at the ranch,” she finally said. “No one will appreciate my intrusion. This next month will be an uncomfortable dance between the men there and me.”
“You plan to stay a month?”
“That’s what my late husband asked of me. Is there a problem with the length of my stay?”
“No. Just figuring things. You’ll be around for the fall roundup.”
She hadn’t heard that term before. “A roundup? Just what does a roundup entail?”
He darted a glance at her, his jaw tightening for a second before he answered. “We gather the herd, brand the new calves and drive a portion of them to the stockyards.”
“Oh. Then it is the procedure for taking them to market to sell?”
He shook his head. “Ma’am. You really do know nothing of ranching.”
He wasn’t condescending. He was simply stating a fact, but still she was irritated. “And obviously you consider that a bad thing. Yet I’m sure you would know nothing of my life back in Alexandria, so perhaps we can call a truce.”
He didn’t answer immediately but then blew out a breath. “You should know that the men at the ranch are hard workers and loyal to the Rocking S. One has lived on the ranch since Doug’s father planted his first fence post back in ’63. He and the others helped make it what it is today.”
“Meaning that I am an outsider? That I am not welcome?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Dismay and hurt swirled inside, making her chest tighten. She hadn’t expected to arrive with fanfare and a welcome party, but she did expect common courtesy. “Doesn’t it mean something that Douglas chose me for his wife?”
Mr. Wolf stared straight ahead.
She huffed out a breath. “Wonderful. So they dislike me already, sight unseen. Even though I married Douglas. Even though I am the new owner of the ranch. Thank you for pointing that out.”