Читать онлайн книгу «Wedding At Rocking S Ranch» автора Kathryn Albright

Wedding At Rocking S Ranch
Kathryn Albright
Can a widow in the Wild West……find wedded bliss again?When Cassandra Stewart fulfils her husband’s dying wish by visiting the ranch he loved, she plans to sell it. But then she meets his best friend. And as aloof, ruggedly handsome Wolf shows Cassandra the value of life on the prairies, tenderness begins to grow from their shared pain into something more… Maybe there’s a future for her at the Rocking S Ranch after all…


Can a widow in the Wild West...
...find wedded bliss again?
When Cassandra Stewart fulfills her husband’s dying wish by visiting the ranch he loved, she plans to sell it. But then she meets his best friend. As aloof, ruggedly handsome Wolf shows Cassandra the value of life in the prairies, tenderness begins to grow from their shared pain into something more... Maybe there’s a future for her at the Rocking S Ranch after all...
“A fast-paced, sensual and delightful read about lovers torn apart by duty and reunited by destiny.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Gunslinger and the Heiress
“Fans of western and marriage-of-convenience romances have it all in this pleasant, quick-paced love story.”
—RT Book Reviews on Texas Wedding For Their Baby’s Sake
KATHRYN ALBRIGHT writes American-set historical romance for Mills & Boon. From her first breath she has had a passion for stories that celebrate the goodness in people. She combines her love of history and her love of stories to write novels of inspiration, endurance and hope. Visit her at kathrynalbright.com (http://www.kathrynalbright.com) and on Facebook.
Also by Kathryn Albright (#u6f04fd97-e1f2-5c3d-a04c-5fce2fd3a870)
Wild West Christmas
Western Spring Weddings
Mail-Order Brides of Oak Grove
The Prairie Doctor’s Bride
Heroes of San Diego miniseries
The Angel and the Outlaw
The Gunslinger and the Heiress
Familiar Stranger in Clear Springs
Christmas Kiss from the Sheriff
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Wedding at Rocking S Ranch
Kathryn Albright


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07397-4
WEDDING AT ROCKING S RANCH
© 2018 Kathryn Leigh Albright
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dedicated to my father,
who has championed my writing career from the
beginning and who, when I was barely up to his knee,
introduced me to a love of stories with his
amazing tales of a young girl and her flying horse.
Contents
Cover (#u995de938-4a89-50a7-96a6-7a2b98471502)
Back Cover Text (#u8350b063-33c5-52cf-a0d4-b771c8be2ecc)
About the Author (#u0b3b8398-7303-5ff8-a87b-e68d7b6f64fe)
Booklist (#ub97da436-59f8-5e82-aa60-44366c70e554)
Title Page (#u4a40f54a-fc88-5123-b010-b6585ed1157a)
Copyright (#uf02d14e5-d2ec-5451-9d61-69745b3641de)
Dedication (#u6736cc3b-27f4-5912-9109-39b43b7cb109)
Prologue (#u4384d443-85ec-5024-b809-f46976bd186d)
Chapter One (#uce2408aa-cb93-5b4a-b509-73d381c883a0)
Chapter Two (#u6e2f7cfa-f885-5705-a9ad-474a693b1341)
Chapter Three (#ue1d8dcf6-34e9-5ce1-8cfc-859952907cd9)
Chapter Four (#ucd7bb4a2-26b9-5cad-89a6-01ea3794816d)
Chapter Five (#u7070c479-7ca8-5892-9f19-06ce609c7c41)
Chapter Six (#ue87d60b3-15d9-554a-82f5-377f572f5b31)
Chapter Seven (#ud4c90f33-45de-5a70-919f-d40cb43a821f)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u6f04fd97-e1f2-5c3d-a04c-5fce2fd3a870)
Oak Grove, Kansas, 1878
Raymond Wolf rammed the oil-soaked cloth down the rifle’s barrel for one last coating, making sure the path was smooth and slippery without any catches. It had to be perfect if it was to be his best friend’s wedding present.
The long swab pressed against the farthest end of the shaft, and at the same moment, something squeezed in Wolf’s chest. An invisible weight descended, as if the very air pressed down on him. Maybe he had been working too hard. He’d had that large order to finish for Dodge City last week, which demanded all of his time. This was the first chance he’d had to work on Doug’s rifle.
The sensation grew stronger. Doug’s face filled his mind. He set the rifle barrel on his workbench and clutched the turquoise stone at his neck. The small workshop, the snow falling outside the front window, all faded away into a gray mist. Then his friend’s face faded too. Something had happened.
“Wolf?” Jackson Miller spoke from the doorway, breaking into the strange fog. Miller stepped inside quickly, followed by another man—a stranger—and shut the door. “Got a man here looking for you.”
Wolf released his grip on the stone and struggled to shake off the premonition. He stood and backed away from his work area, staring at the hammer, trigger guard and bow drill that lay on the table. Absent only a moment ago, now the strong scent of oil and varnish filled the air once more.
Miller stepped farther into the room and removed his flat cap. “Are you all right?”
Wolf looked up, still slightly dazed. “Miller,” he said, acknowledging his neighbor.
Then his thoughts cleared, and he noticed the short, pudgy man in a gray suit peering around Miller’s shoulder. Wolf wiped the oil from his hands on an old rag and slowly removed his shop apron, hanging it from its neck loop on the peg beside the window. He turned back to the two men. “What can I do for you?”
“Raymond Wolf?” the stranger asked, his gaze dubious.
Outsiders always took a moment to adjust to his looks. Confusion happened first, quickly followed by suspicion, and then the lingering unspoken question: Why wasn’t he on a reservation with the rest of his tribe? And more than that—was he dangerous? Wolf counted it ironic that along with his appearance, the profession he had fallen into—gunsmithing—also made them nervous. It was ironic and, if he was truthful, satisfying.
“Excuse me. My name is Franklin Masters. I...uh...have some unfortunate news regarding an acquaintance of yours. A Mr. Douglas Stewart.”
Wolf blew out his breath and braced himself. He knew what would be said before the man continued. His friend—his blood brother—wouldn’t be coming home.
Chapter One (#u6f04fd97-e1f2-5c3d-a04c-5fce2fd3a870)
Alexandria, Virginia
Cassandra Stewart slipped her hand through the crook in her father’s arm and leaned on him for support as she descended the grand staircase of her parents’ estate.
At the bottom of the stairs, her mother stood beside their housemaid. “I don’t like this, Cassandra. Not one bit. Are you sure that you want to do this today?”
“No. I’m not sure, but I’ve put it off for far too long. It’s been ten months since Douglas has been gone.”
“You are still weak. Just the work of dressing has taxed your strength.”
She smoothed the wide silk belt at her waist. It matched the dress she had donned. How she hated the color black. “The attorney said it was necessary as soon as I was feeling well enough. Today is a good day. I feel stronger. Besides, Mr. Edelman went out of his way to travel all the way from the city to take care of things. It is time.”
Father patted her forearm—his way of showing support, both physically and emotionally. He was ready for, as he stated, “the entire disaster of her marriage” to be over and done with. He wanted his little girl back and for life to return to the way it once had been before she ever met Douglas Stewart Jr. Father simply wanted to protect her—his only child—and this was his way to do it. He had no idea that she could never go back to life as it once was. Not after all that had transpired. Douglas had changed everything in her life. So had the loss of their baby.
The house echoed with the whispers of her two great-aunts. While she’d been confined to her bed, they’d discussed her in the hallway just beyond her bedroom door. A wayward woman—tainted—they’d called her, speculating whether the death of her husband was a punishment from above because she’d blatantly gone against her parents’ wishes and the mores of decent society to marry so quickly. Most couples were engaged a year before the wedding ceremony.
Cassandra consoled herself with the knowledge that their own marriages had been long and lonely, as their husbands both sought to escape their daily harping and criticism. Her own marriage, although only a few short months, had been a wonder, and she would be forever grateful to have had that time with Douglas. Yet her great-aunts’ harsh judgment stung her conscience. She had never been good enough to suit them. A disappointment—that’s what she was.
As she walked slowly down the hallway, a chill coursed through her. She pulled her tatted shawl tighter around her shoulders with her free hand. Despite the heavy heat of the midsummer afternoon, she was still cold. The meeting shouldn’t take long. All she had to do was sign the official papers, and her late husband’s land would then be ready to sell. She might have sold it long before this, releasing the burden of a property she’d never seen, if not for Mr. Edelman’s insistence that he make sure that no will existed.
And then there had been her daughter. Cassandra had held out hope that the property would be a legacy to pass on, but her daughter had come early—much too early. Her chest tightened at the memory. She didn’t want to dwell on it, yet couldn’t help herself. Hope had become despair. And a mad fury had overtaken her. Douglas had been reckless to participate in that boat race. He’d thought himself invincible in all things. The very quality that had drawn her to him had also been the death of him.
Well, today would be one more snip in the rope that tethered him to her. A rope that she both loved and hated at the same time. Her heart had ached for so very long—nearly a year now. Her hopes and dreams had all been dashed the moment the boat he’d crewed with his friends had collided with another.
As she entered the library, Mr. Edelman turned from the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the lawn and the Potomac River. He was a short round man, with light gray hair and eyes to match. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Stewart.”
At the sound of her married name, her father’s grip tightened on her hand. After all this time, it still bothered him.
“Thank you, Father.” She released his arm and sat down in the chair he held out for her on one side of the massive oak table. “Mr. Edelman. Thank you for making the journey today. Please take a seat.”
Her mother and father took seats on each side of her at the long table as if to bolster her for what might be coming.
“Indeed, it is no imposition. It is always a treat to get away from the city for a short break in routine, especially in the oppressive heat of summer.” He cleared his throat and took a seat across from her. “I prepared the paperwork several months ago and simply set it aside, awaiting this moment when you would be ready. All that is needed is your signature in several places.”
He set his leather satchel on the table and withdrew a stack of papers. “Most of your late husband’s finances are tied up in the property. Since he left no will, as his wife, you inherit everything. Once the ranch sells, you should have enough money to choose where you want to live and live there quite comfortably.”
Mother gave her a quick side hug. “You will stay here. As you have since the...incident.”
It wasn’t an incident... It was a marriage. But the courtship and wedding had happened so fast, and then the marriage had been over just as fast. No one’s fault, the captain had written in his report of the boating accident. If not for the months of morning sickness that followed and the lingering ache in her belly, Cassandra might have wondered if the marriage had happened at all.
Mr. Edelman placed the first paper in front of her, along with a pen.
Something he’d said gave her pause. “You must be exaggerating the extent of his holdings. Douglas said it was a very small farm. He only had a few cows. Certainly not sufficient enough to keep me for more than a year.”
She picked both papers up and started to read. Halfway down the page she realized she hadn’t understood anything and started over. The inked letters swam before her, the words meaningless.
Mother leaned toward her. “I’m sure Mr. Edelman has everything in order, dear. He’s very reputable, and your father has already looked over everything.”
Cassandra stared at the line where she was to put her signature. It was all so very final—putting her mark there. She should simply sign it and let it go. There was already a potential buyer in Denver waiting for word from her. But all that she could think of was the last time she’d seen Douglas. He’d been in so much pain toward the end, but he’d asked her to do one last thing for him.
Mother leaned toward her. “Sign the paper, dear. Mr. Edelman is waiting.”
Cassandra looked up and caught the worried glance her mother sent her father. Another chill slithered through her. Why did she feel so torn about this? Had she procrastinated, not because of her health, but because of the promise she had made to Doug? Was that the real reason she had put off this moment?
“Before I sign this, I have one question.”
“Yes?” Mr. Edelman said.
“Will I be able to stay on the property after these papers are signed?”
He looked momentarily surprised. “Well...no. Any further contact with the property would be handled by Mayor Melbourne in Oak Grove. He is the attorney there. He has agreed to handle the sale upon receipt of these papers. There would be no need for you to travel there yourself.”
“But...what if I choose to?”
Father shook his head. “We’ve been through all this. You are not strong enough to go.”
“But I will be. Not tomorrow, or even next week. But someday.”
Mr. Edelman leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his girth. “I didn’t realize that you had reservations about selling your land. Perhaps you should explain.”
Your land. How could it be hers if she’d never seen it? Never walked upon it? “You see...after his accident and just before he...he passed, my husband asked me to go to the farm. He wanted me to live there—to stay for an entire month. I’m sure he hoped I would come to love it and stay, but, of course, that is not possible. I would not want to be there without him.”
“Your parents didn’t mention any of this when they retained my services.”
Of course they hadn’t. Discussing it in front of Mr. Edelman was their ploy to make sure she felt even more pressure to bend to their wishes.
“It would be sensible if the property were nearby, but to travel all the way to Kansas...” her father interjected.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Edelman said. “Highly irregular for a young woman of means. Not a good idea to travel on your own. There are ruffians and scallywags out West.”
Cassandra nearly smiled at the exact same words her parents had used when trying to stop her from marrying Douglas. Surely the great Wild West held all sorts of people, not just the social miscreants mentioned time and again by her family and close friends.
“Douglas spoke of the place only a few times,” she said. “He looked forward to showing it to me, but then the boating accident happened.”
“It really is for the best, Cassie,” Mother said. “You belong here. Not halfway across the country stuck on a cow farm with a bunch of rough men.”
Her mother’s words left little uncertainty as to her true feelings. Cassandra glanced up at Mr. Edelman. No doubt he’d heard of her situation, bantered up and down the seaboard by gossipy society matrons. Mother’s inference did not help the slightly tarnished, although completely undeserved, reputation that she’d acquired by marrying Douglas so rapidly.
She suddenly realized that her fingers were clenched around the pen and her teeth were clamped together. Even her chest was tight. She had loved Douglas honorably. It wasn’t fair for others to judge her otherwise.
With that thought, something in the cold ashes of her core sparked. A wisp of the determination she’d once possessed began to glow inside her. Douglas’s memory didn’t deserve to be brushed aside and forgotten as if he’d never existed, as if he were an “unfortunate incident.” Their marriage had happened no matter how hard Mother and Father tried to sweep it under the rug...and push her to forget it.
She was angry that he’d left her alone and reeling from the consequences of his careless behavior, but she still loved him. Their short marriage had been wonderful. Maybe she should do as he asked. A promise, after all, was still a promise, even after death.
She set the pen down, her movement slow and deliberate. “I want to see the grave and make sure that my husband’s interment—” how she hated that word “—was handled appropriately. I believe I will make the journey after all.”
The silence that followed her announcement reverberated like the last gong of a bell.
“Well then,” Mr. Edelman said after a moment, glancing from her to her parents. He gathered the papers together in front of him. “If you are sure that is what you want, I’ll get these in the post to the attorney in Oak Grove. They’ll be waiting there for your signature after you have fulfilled your promise to your late husband.”
“Why can’t I carry them with me?”
He looked unsure. “It’s irregular.”
“It seems sensible to me. They are, after all, my papers.”
“Very well. When you arrive in town, simply leave them with Josiah Melbourne.” He started to close his satchel when he stopped. “Oh, yes. Here’s one more item.” He withdrew a small box and handed it to her.
The crude wooden box was the size of a small rectangle jewelry case and without any decoration. She turned it over. Her husband’s initials—DLS—were burned into the bottom. “Where did this come from?”
“Mayor Melbourne said it was found among your late husband’s papers.”
She frowned. “Why am I only seeing it now?”
“We thought it an oddity,” Mother said quickly. “It’s just an ugly box. Nothing of consequence.”
“But it was important enough to Douglas that he kept it with his legal papers.” Cassandra smoothed her fingertips over the letters. The box was an amateur attempt at woodworking. Was it Douglas’s first attempt? She knew so little of that part of his life. Now she guessed it made scant difference.
“I took the liberty of opening it, thinking it might hold something of import regarding your late husband’s estate,” the attorney said, indicating she should go ahead and open the box. “As you will see that was not the case.”
She opened the lid.
A folded piece of paper lay on top of a few small assorted items—a lock of auburn hair tied with a bow, a bullet and a leather thong with a small turquoise stone. On the very bottom was a feather. Mementos, she supposed. She wished Doug were here to explain their meaning.
She opened the paper and found a note in her husband’s script, written with a steady, strong hand.
Wáse’ekhaar’a—
You will know what to do.
Wira’a
“This isn’t for me,” she murmured, confused. They certainly were strange names.
“We could put it in the post,” Mother suggested. “There is no reason for you to hand carry it all the way to Kansas. You belong here.”
Cassandra closed her eyes. “Mother. Please. I will simply take it with me. Someone there will surely know what it is all about.” She turned to the attorney. “I’m sorry to have brought you all this way only to stop short at the last moment.”
“Quite all right.” He leaned toward her, his gray eyes kind. “Your mother and father do have your best interests at heart. You are obviously still recovering from your illness, and it is an arduous journey to travel so far.” He stuffed the papers and the box carefully back in the satchel. “If you change your mind and end up staying here, then send me word and we will talk again.”
“Thank you, Mr. Edelman.”
He stood, as did her parents. At the library door, he stopped. “Please consider, Mrs. Stewart. A promise made to a man on his deathbed isn’t legally binding. God would not hold you accountable for trying to ease the last few hours of your husband’s life. Good day.” He turned and headed down the hall, followed by her mother and father.
They would, as a matter of course, hold a whispered conversation out of her hearing, trying desperately to figure out a way to keep her here. Whatever plan they hatched would come to naught. She was getting stronger. She had to do what she thought was best.
“God might not hold me accountable,” she whispered into the empty room. “But I do.”
Chapter Two (#u6f04fd97-e1f2-5c3d-a04c-5fce2fd3a870)
Autumn, 1879
The Kansas Pacific train blew its whistle, announcing its arrival into Oak Grove. Cassandra Stewart gripped her reticule tightly against her chest, her nerves on edge. The squeal of brakes and the sudden hiss of steam as the engine slowed did not help to ease her anxiety.
It had taken all her courage to remain on the train at the last station in Salina. All she’d wanted to do was disembark and wait for the next train back to Alexandria. Nothing here was as she imagined. There were no trees, no beautiful parks or lovely brick buildings, no rolling hills or quiet waters. Only prairie on one side of the train and stockyards—empty at the moment—on the other side.
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 (#u6f04fd97-e1f2-5c3d-a04c-5fce2fd3a870)
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.”
His jaw ticked. “Most people around here judge someone by their actions. Not by who they marry.” He slanted a look at her. “’Course, you jumped at marrying faster than a lot of women would. Five weeks. That’s not much time to get to know someone.”
So that was what was bothering him so! “Do you think I tricked Douglas into marrying me?”
He pressed his lips together, thinning them into a line. He drew back on the reins, stopping the buggy. When he spoke, his deep voice held tempered frustration. “You didn’t come when his body was laid to rest. Why is that? Why did you leave it up to me?”
The full brunt of his animosity startled her. He judged her unfairly. Heat rolled off her as she tried to find the right words. To tell him the full truth would give him the advantage. He would think her a weak woman, and she couldn’t let him or anyone think that. “My reasons are no one’s business but my own!”
She lifted her chin, unable to believe she faced the same cynicism here as she had in Alexandria. She’d hoped it would be different here. She’d hoped to find a small bit of acceptance, yet if Doug’s good friend was suspicious of her motives, how much worse would the men at the ranch be?
He gave a sharp snap to the reins, and the horse and buggy started forward again.
The movement loosened her tongue. “Strange though it may seem to you, where I come from, a woman is judged very much by who she marries. My parents knew nothing of Douglas or his background. They tried to separate us the moment they saw that things were getting serious. They weren’t impressed with him or the small amount of property he possessed. But I trusted him, and for the short time we had together, I cared deeply for him. That is why, when he asked me to do this, I promised that I would.”
The lump in her throat grew twice as big. Her eyes stung with tears. She would die before she cried in front of this soulless rock of a man. She’d thought... She’d hoped that Mr. Wolf would be an ally. A friend. It was obvious that any regard he had for her husband did not extend past him to her.
Perhaps it was best to speak only of the ranch and the property. After all, her true business in being here—to honor Douglas’s request—wasn’t anyone’s business but her own. Once she had control of her emotions, she tried again, but this time, she made the attempt to see things through his eyes. “I suppose if the men have worked at the ranch as long as you say they have, they must be very good at what they do.”
“They are,” he said, his words clipped. He paused but then continued in a quieter voice. “What I’m saying, Mrs. Stewart, is they feel a part of the ranch. It is more than a job to them. It is a way of life. If your purpose for coming here is to sell the land, they’ll have trouble with it.”
She hadn’t given the repercussions of selling much thought. Her plan was to spend a month on the ranch and then focus on getting the ranch off her hands and collecting the money. Now this Mr. Wolf brought up an entirely different side. Would new owners bring their own set of men to run the ranch? Would Douglas’s men be out of a means to make a living?
“Is that what they think? That I’m here only to sell the property?”
“It makes sense. You are from the East. You are from the city. And you are a woman. You know nothing about ranching.” He glanced sideways at her. “You did call it a farm.”
She closed her parasol and set it across her lap. “Thank you for your honesty. I appreciate knowing what I am heading into. Truly, I do.”
When she’d written to Mr. Barker regarding her intent to sell, he had advised her to hold off telling anyone until after they’d taken the cattle to market. They had to have the full number of hired hands to drive her cattle to the stockyards or there could be difficulty. If the experienced men left to find employment elsewhere before that, she could lose a healthy portion of her profits due to having to hire new, possibly inept cowboys. That had been her only concern—or so she thought.
Now Mr. Wolf had completely upended that. There was much more to consider. By coming here, what was she getting herself into?
Chapter Four (#u6f04fd97-e1f2-5c3d-a04c-5fce2fd3a870)
Wolf sat rigid, determined not to let anything the woman said sway him. He’d thought that after a year he had worked through this anger, but apparently it still simmered inside him.
He didn’t blame Doug for marrying her. Doug had a big heart—one that had a tendency to jump headlong into things. Over the years, it had gotten him into plenty of trouble—and Wolf right along with him when he jumped in after Doug to pull him out of some of the wilder antics.
He blew out a breath as he thought over the past year. This was something he couldn’t fix or cover up. When Doug had headed east to find a better bull to strengthen his beef stock, he’d asked Wolf to go with him and see the sights. But what did the East hold? There was nothing but cities and smoke and people who would cast curious looks his way. He was better off right here in Oak Grove where people knew him.
He missed his friend, but there was more to it than that. The land was a part of him. He’d walked the land that made up the Stewart ranch his entire life—even before it belonged to Doug’s family. He’d camped there, hunted there and fished there. And once the Stewarts became a part of his life, he’d helped with roundups. He had thought that he would always have the ranch and the surrounding land as a place to go. Doug’s death had thrown everything into confusion. No one connected to the ranch had any idea how long or even if they would continue working there. And he didn’t know how much longer he would be welcome.
This woman had not admitted anything, but he knew in his gut that she would sell the ranch. There was nothing to hold her here—nobody that she knew, no inkling of ranching experience. She would never want to keep up a place this size. By the way she dressed, she obviously came from money. She would head right back East with the first snowstorm of the season.
He pulled on the reins, slowing the horse and buggy as they passed a weathered, whitewashed post.
“This is the northern boundary of the Stewarts’—of your property. That post is the marker. It’s another mile to the ranch house.” He urged the horse on with a sharp whistle of air between his teeth.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. When the outbuildings first came into view, Mrs. Stewart straightened at his side. “This cannot be right,” she murmured.
“This is the Rocking S Ranch... The Stewart ranch.”
“But it’s much bigger than I anticipated. Everything is much bigger. I’m confused.”
He looked over the scene, trying to envision it as a newcomer. The main house was a two-story wooden structure with a large wraparound porch, freshly painted white with dark green trim. Wildflowers, overgrown with weeds, edged the porch. A large stable stood across the dirt drive with the bunkhouse—lodging for the ranch hands—and tucked back behind the house was the cookhouse. The place looked the same to him as it had for the past twenty years. The only real change he could see was the small sapling that Mrs. Stewart had planted in the front yard. The oak tree was now twenty feet high and the only tree in sight for miles.
Beside him, the new Mrs. Stewart sniffled. She fumbled with the drawstring on her reticule. “Drat,” she mumbled in exasperation, searching for something inside.
He stopped the horse, giving her a chance to find what she was looking for. A second later she withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at the moisture in her eyes.
Was she crying about a house? He’d never figure out women...
She caught his look and turned away from him.
Guess he hadn’t treated her all that well. Whatever was going through her head about the ranch didn’t matter. It was none of his business. What did matter was that it wasn’t the way to honor his friend’s memory. For whatever reason, Doug had chosen this woman to wed, which meant Wolf should at least treat her with respect. “What’s wrong?”
She sniffled again and looked back at the house. “I wish my parents were here. They said his house would be a hovel—a dirt hut. And that his cattle were likely mangy. And that his property would be mud and dirt and not nearly enough to survive on. They should see this. It is beautiful.”
She turned back to him. “Why would he do that? Why would he purposely lead them—and me—to believe those things when they weren’t true? He even called it a farm.”
Her question took him off guard. It painted her in a different light—one that was softer than he had first suspected. A bit more vulnerable...and maybe a bit more innocent. At least he knew for sure that she hadn’t married for money now. It was Doug who had tricked her instead of the other way around.
“The joke is on both of us, Mrs. Stewart. You didn’t marry Doug for his property.”
“Of course not. I didn’t know he had much.”
“Telling you all those tales was his way of making sure it was him you wanted and not his money.”
She sniffled again. “I suppose you are right. He constantly surprised me. That’s one of the things I loved about him.” She drew in a shaky breath. “How I wish he were here with me now.”
“He is here. His spirit is here.”
He snapped the reins, urging the horse on. Another few minutes and he pulled the animal to a stop at the front steps. He jumped down and strode around to her side of the rig. After a second’s hesitation, she let him assist her to the ground. His hands spanned her waist easily, and when she landed, he felt a slight tremble flow through her.
She darted a glance his way and then stepped quickly back from him, squaring her shoulders.
But that look had revealed a thing or two. She wasn’t as sure of herself as she tried to act.
Before he could ponder on it further, Barker strode out onto the porch. His clothes were a cut above what Wolf had seen him wear in the past. Had he taken to wearing his Sunday clothes all the time? Or had he seen them coming down the lane and cleaned up for Mrs. Stewart’s arrival?
“This is Mrs. Douglas—” Wolf began.
“I know who she is.” Barker interrupted him. An ingratiating smile inched up the older man’s face as he came down the front steps. “A pleasure, Mrs. Stewart. We’ve been busy getting things ready for your arrival. I’m Cleve Barker, the manager here at the Rocking S.”
Barker’s attitude took Wolf by surprise. Courtesy was not part of the man’s makeup, which immediately put Wolf on alert. Yet Mrs. Stewart seemed won over by the foreman, answering his greeting with a relieved smile. Wolf frowned at that. Barker’s graciousness was likely insincere, but it sure made his own greeting less than hospitable. Guess he could have been more welcoming.
“Then I suspect I shall have to forgive you for not meeting me at the train,” Mrs. Stewart said.
“Oh, I knew Wolf here would see to your transportation. Or the sheriff. Or any number of others in town. We have been preparing for your stay here ever since receiving your letter. I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am. A sad day indeed for all of us here when we learned of Doug’s passing. Particularly for me, seeing as how he was my cousin.”
Her smile—the first Wolf had seen—revealed dimples. “Douglas mentioned that you are related.”
“Second cousins. His mother’s side. Which means that you must call me Cleve. We are family now too.”
Wolf pressed his lips together, skeptical of this side of the man. Barker oozed an oily kind of charm that put Wolf on edge.
Mrs. Stewart allowed Barker, his hand on the small of her back, to escort her up the steps to the porch. He opened the door for her. “Come right in.”
When Wolf would follow, Barker stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “I can take things from here.” His hard gaze challenged Wolf to say otherwise.
Wolf didn’t like this. Something didn’t sit well with him about the entire situation. “I figured I’d carry up her trunk.”
Barker looked over Wolf’s shoulder to the buggy. “Leave it on the porch. My men can bring it inside later.” He didn’t budge, still blocking Wolf’s path.
His men? Wolf knew Barker wanted the ranch. Once he had learned Doug wasn’t coming back, he’d wasted little time changing things around the place to suit him. But the fact remained it was Mrs. Stewart’s property. At that thought, an uneasy feeling settled in his bones. Was he leaving her with a snake in a snake pit?
Mrs. Stewart stood at the bottom of the stairs, ready to ascend, her hand on the railing.
“Ma’am? You sure about this?” he called out over Barker’s shoulder.
“I’m fine, Mr. Wolf. I do thank you for bringing me here and your help with my luggage.”
Guess there wasn’t much more he could do, no matter his unease with the situation. He tipped his hat to her and turned back toward the buggy.
As he hoisted the trunk to his shoulder and then deposited it on the porch, he couldn’t get his mind off the situation and the vulnerable look he’d seen in her eyes when he’d helped her down from the buggy. It was that look that made him hesitate about leaving her here.
Barker didn’t want him around, that much was obvious, but that had always been the way between them. When Barker had arrived looking for work, he hadn’t liked that Doug turned to Wolf for advice about the ranch instead of him. Wolf had been a part of this ranch since the beginning, but Barker didn’t care about the history between Doug and Wolf. He figured that family came first—no matter how loose the tie. And he knew how to work that connection with Doug. The man might be several years older and rough around the edges, but since Doug had no family around, he wanted Barker to stay.
Barker had worked as a ranch hand before he’d come to find work at the Rocking S. A few decisions he’d made at the beginning made it obvious to both Doug and Wolf that he didn’t have the experience to be a foreman. He needed overseeing until he wised up. That’s why, when Doug left for the East, he’d asked Wolf to check in on the place every now and then and especially to be there at the stockyards when the cattle were sold. Doug figured that with more experience and instruction, Barker would eventually learn the ropes.
Barker took instruction from Doug, but when it came to Wolf, from day one the man turned a deaf ear. Doug knew it but figured it would eventually work its way out between the two of them. Doug, always the optimist. But once his cousin left for the East, Barker changed—moving into the big house and helping with less of the physical work. By the time everyone learned of Doug’s passing, Barker acted as though he owned and ran the entire operation.
In the year that Doug had been gone and knowing Barker like he did now, Wolf wouldn’t put it past him to step right in, pretending to comfort Mrs. Stewart in her grief and while he was at it, take what he wanted while she was at her most vulnerable. That could be the ranch. That could be her. Likely it would be both.
He looked out over the ranch, remembering a time before the outbuildings and the main house were there, a time before the few fences had been erected to keep the cattle away from the large garden and out of the corn. Over the years there had been lots of changes, but the land still called to him. It would always call to him. Since they’d learned of Doug’s death, all the hired men carried on doing what they knew best—ranching—but knew that sooner or later they would all get word on what would become of the ranch and, by extension, them.
In the corral, Jordan Hughes worked with a horse, getting it used to the feel of a saddle. Wolf walked over and leaned against the railing, watching the young cowhand work with the two-year-old gelding. The kid was entirely too timid, but he’d learn. And being cautious was always better than being foolhardy.
Wolf watched for a few minutes, offering a suggestion once and feeling pleased that Jordan tried it and it worked on the horse. Then he headed over to the cookhouse to say hello to Otis.
As he approached, he heard humming around the back of the building and followed the sound. Otis sat on an old straight-backed chair, a bucket filled with potatoes at his feet as he peeled the one in his hands. He looked up when Wolf appeared and wiped a hand on his dirty apron. His face, swarthy and lined from a life in the sun, managed to rearrange itself into a grin.
“You’ll be cooking for more. Mrs. Stewart has arrived.”
“Figured that was her in the buggy.” Otis tilted his head, squinting into the sun to study Wolf. “You stayin’ too?”
“Might. Barker’s acting strange.”
Otis grinned. “Well, he probably don’t know how to act around a proper woman. All he’s ever been with is Gertie from the saloon. Nice as she is, he still don’t treat her very good.”
That didn’t do much in the way of reassuring Wolf. “How would you know?”
“Oh, I get into town every now and then.”
Wolf grunted. Now that he thought about it, Otis did stop into his parents’ dry goods store to get spices that his mother grew and dried. He just hadn’t realized the old coot stopped at the saloon too.
“’Course lately, Barker’s had Gertie out here for a few days at a time. She’s been gettin’ real comfortable in the house. Guess things will be different with Mrs. Stewart around. Been ten years since the first Mrs. Stewart. She kept us all on our toes, don’t you know.”
Wolf remembered. Douglas’s mother had had high expectations of everyone and everything, but then she had high expectations for herself too. She had a gentle way with all of it, and the ranch hands respected her. It would be interesting to see how the new Mrs. Stewart fitted in with things.
“When I saw the buggy, I started in on these spuds. Got a special meal planned.” He turned over the potato in his hand, critically examining it for any remaining peel. Then he squinted back up at Wolf, studying him. “How long are you fixin’ to stay?”
Although Wolf hadn’t made up his mind, Otis knew him better than he knew himself. Since Doug had departed with the understanding that Wolf would look after things, Wolf figured a wife was included in that understanding too. Should the situation be reversed, it was no more or less than what he would expect of Doug.
Wolf mentally ran through the work orders waiting on his workbench in town. He had new ones coming in daily. If he stayed here on the ranch more than a day or two, he’d have to bring his tools and supplies here.
“Hmph,” Otis said when Wolf didn’t answer immediately. “Well, whether you stay or go, it’s up to you. All I can say is it’s a dang good thing we had a wet spring. The garden’s producin’ a sight more’n I need what with the comin’ of the fall roundup. There’ll be a rack of bellies gathered at the table with or without you, though I doubt Mrs. Stewart eats much at all compared to the hands.”
Wolf turned a deaf ear. He’d heard Otis’s caterwauling ever since he was small and knew the man meant little by it. After years of soldiering with Doug’s father, Otis had arrived with him and worked as a ranch hand at whatever needed doing. He’d handled the cattle until his old war injury had gotten the best of him. Since then he had settled into a job that he truly enjoyed. Guess he was more a farmer and cook by nature than a cowboy.
“If I stay, I’ll bring in a turkey.”
“It’ll only set Barker off—you being in the bunkhouse again.”
A smile tugged at Wolf’s mouth. Didn’t bother him a bit. “Barker doesn’t own the ranch.”
Concern clouded the old man’s eyes. “Not yet anyway.”
So Otis had concerns about Barker too. That look sealed Wolf’s decision. He’d take the rig back to the livery, let his folks know he’d be gone awhile, grab his tools, saddle his own horse and be back. And he would stay as long as it took to see which way the wind blew.
Chapter Five (#u6f04fd97-e1f2-5c3d-a04c-5fce2fd3a870)
Cassandra climbed the stairs to the second floor. Four doors—two facing two—lined the short hallway, which was awash in light from a window at the opposite end. The upstairs smelled musty, as if the place needed to be aired out.
She knocked lightly on the first door that she came to. Hearing nothing from within, she swung it open. A small bedroom greeted her—one that hadn’t been used in quite some time, considering the dust on the bureau. She walked across the wood flooring, the heels of her shoes making a sharp sound with each step, and cracked open the window.
The next door revealed a man’s room in total disarray. Toiletries and two whiskey bottles littered the small table near the four-poster. A sweat-stained shirt hung from the tall column at the corner of the bed. Crumbs sprinkled across the tousled sheets. A layer of dust coated the lampshade on the table beside the bed. And the odor—oh, my!—like dirty socks.
A framed painting hung on the wall at the head of the bed. She recognized the subject immediately. Douglas as a young boy. He’d said that his mother painted. The thought brought the sting of tears to her eyes. This must have been his room.
Boots sounded on the stairs. She turned as Mr. Barker approached. “Who is staying here?”
“I moved a few things in. It made it easier to do the ledgers late at night in the study.” He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Guess it could use a good cleaning.”
The thought of him sharing the house with her was unnerving. Even with the more relaxed standards in the West compared to the East, surely it was not acceptable. It certainly was not acceptable to her. “Your work habits are commendable, but surely you can see my dilemma. I thought I’d be alone in the house.”
His bushy brows shot up. “It’s a mighty big house for just one person.”
Did he think this was his house? He certainly acted that way. Perhaps it was because he was Douglas’s relation. “Did my husband ask you to stay here, in what was his room?”
He hesitated.
It was just long enough that she knew Doug had done no such thing. “Really. You must move your things to your regular accommodations while I’m here.”
“Are you sure? You might feel safer with a man in the house.”
Did he know nothing of propriety? “It isn’t...proper.”
He frowned. “Guess I could move back to the foreman’s room for the time you are here.”
“Thank you,” she said tightly. “By nightfall, if you don’t mind.” Sure that the entire room would need to be scrubbed, she was about to ask who cleaned at the house when the front door slammed open.
“Cleve?” a woman called out in a singsong voice.
Cleve sighed. “Be right back. Something I got to take care of. Go ahead and look around.”
He strode down the stairs. “Where you been, Gertie?” he demanded. “You were supposed to clean up the place.”
A woman? Here at the ranch? Curiosity got the better of Cassandra, and she tiptoed to the top of the stairs. From her vantage point she could see the sliver of a woman through the stairwell. Her dark brown hair was pinned up in a loose knot, with strands falling down her face and sticking to her flushed cheeks. Her dress was simple, but it was the cut and the way she wore it that was quite suggestive.
“Just walking. What else is there to do on this ranch while everybody works and you ignore me? It’s plain boring around here.”
He lowered his voice. “I told you when Mrs. Stewart came, you had to head back to town. She’s here now. Upstairs.”
Gertie glanced up the stairs.
Quickly, Cassandra pulled back from view.
“So you are throwin’ me out just like that? What about my things?”
Cleve leaned in and whispered something in her ear.
The woman pulled back, giggling behind her hand. “All right then. See that you do. I could use a new hat too.”
“Catch a ride with Wolf. He’s taking the buggy out front back to the livery.”
Her eyes lit up. “Wolf! Oh, now, there’s a grand idea.”
Cleve pushed her gently but firmly toward the door. It closed, and Cassandra stepped back from the stairwell. A doxy! The man had entertained a prostitute right here in Douglas’s house. Probably even in his bed.
A moment later, Cleve came to the top of the stairs. He paused when he saw her standing there in the small hallway. His eyes hardened slightly. “I’ll get my things now.” He walked into the room he’d been using and began gathering up his clothing.
She stared after him, more than grateful now that Mr. Barker was moving back to the bunkhouse and Gertie was leaving. She didn’t want to contemplate whether he would have had the gall to entertain Gertie while she was here. She certainly hoped not.
For all his talk about spending all of his time preparing for her arrival since receiving her letter, she had yet to see even a fragment of that preparation.
Finally, she turned to look at the last two rooms. The first, a smaller room, appeared to have been a lady’s sitting room, or perhaps at one time a nursery. Light streamed through the south-facing window, and needlepoint covered the cushions on the chairs. The last room, attached by an adjoining door to the sitting room, opened into a large bedroom. Feminine doilies covered the small bureau and the back of a chair. A pretty pink, white and green braided rug looked as if it had barely been stepped on. A big four-poster stood with the head of the bed against one wall. The colorful quilt covering was a bright Flying Geese design in shades of pinks and greens that matched the rug.
She let out a sigh. What a comfortable, spacious room. This had to be the bedroom used by Douglas’s parents. Here, she felt a welcome that had heretofore eluded her. She could be at ease here. This is the room she would use during her visit.
She walked through the room and peered through the window. The view overlooked the front drive. A short space farther stood the corral and stable. Beyond that were two large pens separated by a wooden fence. One pen held a handful of cows and the other pen had five horses milling about and creating a dust plume. Farther still, cattle foraged lazily through a field of tall grass. And in the distance, water sparkled. Possibly a lake...or perhaps it was the river she had passed on the ride here. It was difficult to tell. With the exception of two windswept bluffs near the water, there was nothing to break the endless prairie and the beige and brown of an earth that was preparing for winter.
It was all so very different from her home. In Alexandria, even this late in the year, pristine sidewalks, cobblestone streets and courtyards overflowing with potted flowers and clematis vines climbing up wrought iron gates provided a feast of color for the eyes.
She turned away from the window, her throat tightening with emotion. The prairie had a beauty all its own, but without Douglas, it was a foreign place. He wanted her to stay here and learn to love the prairie as he did. But this could never be her home. Not without him.
Outside, a door shut, the noise drawing her gaze back to the glass pane. Mr. Wolf strode from one of the smaller buildings, his long, purposeful strides covering the distance to the buggy in the blink of an eye. He jumped into the conveyance with a catlike grace and grabbed the reins.
“Yoo-hoo!” the woman, Gertie, called out.
Cassandra couldn’t see her, but the woman’s voice came from below where Casandra stood. A moment later, Gertie ran from the porch to the buggy. After a brief conversation where Gertie did all the talking, Mr. Wolf nodded, then jumped to the ground on her side of the buggy. He assisted her up to the seat and then climbed up beside her and snapped the reins.
The thought of that woman riding back to town next to Mr. Wolf left a sour taste in Cassandra’s mouth. He’d done the neighborly thing—no more or less than anyone should have done. The woman certainly couldn’t walk all the way back to town. So why this sudden feeling of disappointment? Mr. Wolf didn’t owe her anything—no type of allegiance—just because he’d been a friend to her late husband. That would be ridiculous. So, what was the matter with her?
She looked across the yard, and as if to mirror her mood, a cloud scudded across the sky, blocking the sun. Here Mr. Barker—Cleve—had been welcoming and pleasant, yet there was something about him that she didn’t trust. He’d not had the sense to keep his personal life separate from his work, and he’d assumed that she’d welcome him staying in the large house with her. Perhaps he felt entitled because he was family, but that excuse sounded weak to her. He was still a stranger.
However, Mr. Wolf had been moody and gruff. Yet even in that moodiness there had been an honesty in what he’d said to her. He’d forced her to consider the other men who lived and worked here on the ranch. And there was something more—he’d acted worried about leaving her here even though, in the end, he’d done as she asked.
A moment later, Cassandra heard Cleve stomp down the stairs and out the front door. On his back he carried a sheet-wrapped bundle and now headed for a low-slung wooden building on the far side of the stable. He had acquiesced to her request, but he was obviously irritated and didn’t care if she knew it. He probably considered it a demotion to move from the main house to bunk with the other ranch hands, but he shouldn’t. He should have considered her feelings and her reputation to begin with. Her reputation would be in tatters if he stayed in the house—cousin or not.
She walked through the lower level—the parlor, Douglas’s office, which was also a library, the dining area and kitchen. She was at odds as to what to do next. It wasn’t yet noon. She couldn’t unpack until someone carried her trunk up the stairs. Should she explore the outbuildings? Start delving through the business ledgers of the ranch? Eventually, she would have to visit Doug’s grave site.
She hadn’t expected to feel Doug’s presence everywhere. It wrapped around her like the quilt on his parents’ bed. Arriving here was enough. Arriving... That was all she could handle for today.
She walked outside and settled onto the porch swing. A cool breeze rustled through the leaves of the large oak tree. The leaves had turned shades of gold and brown, mirroring the color of the tall grasses of the prairie. An old flowerbed, now devoid of anything but weeds and a few spiderwebs, edged the side of the house on each side of the porch steps. While she swung slowly back and forth, a tall, gangly man emerged from the stable and limped toward her. He was followed closely by two other ranch hands and then Mr. Barker.
She stood and walked to the front steps. She’d never been in charge of anything before, much less a ranch. A knot of nerves grew inside her stomach as she waited for the men to stop before her. Was it best to remain on the steps, higher than them? Or step down to level ground? Would they realize immediately that she knew nothing about life on a ranch? Wrapping her hand around the porch post, she leaned against it, relying on its solid strength to steady her.
Surprisingly, the gangly man with the limp arrived ahead of the others.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Stewart. I’m Otis Klap, the cook and gardener.”
“How very nice to meet you, Mr. Klap.”
“Just Otis, ma’am. I’ve been here since the last Mrs. Stewart arrived with your late husband in tow.”
She felt the tug of the first genuine smile on her face in over a month. “You knew Doug, then? I’d like to hear your stories of him when he was little.”
Otis grinned up at her from the bottom of the steps. “He was all of eleven years old and full of vinegar, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so. I’m sure I can think of a story or two.”
The other ranch hands arrived then. One man whipped off his hat and murmured a polite welcome as Cleve introduced him. He was simply called Fitch—a stocky, bowlegged and, by the heavy sprinkling of gray in his beard, a good twenty years older than she. Beside him was Jordan Hughes, who was quite young—“barely into his whiskers” as her father would have said.
“I’m puzzled. I thought a ranch this size would take more workers.”
“Two of the hands are helping with the roundup at the Circle P, and another is riding the range here, keeping an eye on Rocking S cattle,” Cleve said. “They’ll stop in when they get a chance. I’ll make sure to introduce you when they do. Did you pick out a room?” he asked, changing the subject.
“The one with pink and green.”
“Figured you’d want that one, seeing as how it is the biggest. Jordan? Fitch? Carry Mrs. Stewart’s trunk up to the south room.”
The two men did as he’d instructed. When they returned, she thanked them.
“Ma’am?” Otis said. “We’re all real sorry to lose Mr. Doug. And...maybe this ain’t the best time to be askin’, but it’s been nigh onto a year now...” He hesitated.
“Go on,” she prompted.
“Well, what we want to know is if you are sellin’ the ranch and if we will be out of a job.”
Cleve stepped up to stand beside her. “Nobody has said anything about selling the ranch. Now, give the lady a chance to settle in before you pester her with your questions.” He moved to take her elbow.
But Mr. Wolf’s words had settled inside her, and she was suddenly thankful that she’d had time to consider the ranch hands’ point of view, if only briefly. These men were worried about their livelihood—something she had never had to address in her own life. They had a right to some sort of reassurance. “As long as you are content here, I...don’t intend for there to be changes for any of you.”
Cleve rubbed the three-day-old stubble on his chin. He was the only one who knew she planned to sell. He was also the one who had told her not to say anything to the rest of the hands until after the sale of the cattle.
“May I see the rest of the property? Perhaps after the noon meal?” she asked.
“Today is not the best day for it, ma’am,” Cleve said.
She glanced up at the sky. Clear. Blue. Only one small cloud. “I...I don’t understand...”
“I got a few things to take care of first.”
She hadn’t thought of that. Of course, he had ranch business to attend to. “Perhaps someone else could escort me?”
He didn’t look happy. “You are going to want to know a few facts about the place, and I’m the one who knows them, so it will be me accompanying you. But we’ll go tomorrow morning.”
It was obvious that he wasn’t going to budge. “Then if not the property, perhaps the outbuildings?” she asked.
“I could show you around, ma’am,” Otis said, stepping forward and glancing at Mr. Barker. “If’n you’re interested in the garden or the smokehouse, that is.”
“That would be perfect. Thank you, Otis.”
She turned to address the men. “Very nice meeting all of you. My husband thought highly of each of you, and I thank you for all your hard work, especially since he has been gone.”
She was finished, as far as she knew, but the men continued to stand there, waiting. Finally, she turned and entered the house, feeling their gazes following her. She climbed the stairs as Cleve continued speaking with the men. Last-minute orders, she supposed.
* * *
Otis called her down to dinner two hours later and rang the triangle iron by the kitchen door. She was famished. She sat down at the table to a steaming bowl of onion soup and a plateful of mashed potatoes and steak. Mr. Barker seated himself at the foot of the table.
For a ranch foreman, he had made himself quite at home—dining at the main table, sleeping in the house... Perhaps that was how things were done here, but it felt odd to her. At home, her parents had a maid and a cook. The maid had a room in the downstairs part of the house, but the cook went to her own home at the end of the day. There were no men living in the house but her father and the butler. The coachman had quarters over the carriage house. Still, all the help ate at the kitchen table—not in the formal dining room.
No matter, really. She would adjust. Perhaps it would bode well. At breakfast she and Mr. Barker could discuss the plans allocated for each day. For the time she was here, she would make a place for herself, a routine.
She glanced up to see Otis waiting for her to take her first mouthful. As craggy and wizened as he might be, did he care about her opinion on his cooking? She found it endearing and quickly cut off a small square of the meat and took a bite. A bit tougher than what she was used to, but flavorful. A spoonful of soup followed.
“It’s very good, Otis,” she said honestly. “Thank you.”
“Wasn’t sure it’d be to your likin’. Mrs. Stewart—Douglas’s ma—she paid attention to details about everythin’. But Doug...he weren’t picky about his meals. Could be I got sloppy over time.”
“Well, this is fine. What about Jordan and Fitch? Surely they are hungry too.”
“Oh, they don’t miss a meal—especially that young Jordan. He’s got a hollow leg that’s as long as Kansas is wide. They’re both out here in the kitchen with me.” He nodded and then slipped back into the kitchen.
That eased her mind a bit about being alone with Mr. Barker. She took a few more sips of soup. “Mr. Barker, I want you to know that I appreciate all you have done in Douglas’s absence. It couldn’t have been easy to manage a place this size.”
“I’m glad to see that you are aware of that.”
“With your obvious expertise in all things related to this farm, I am going to draw on your knowledge frequently. I need your help. You see, I know nothing about farming or cattle.”
His chest puffed up a bit as he cut off a generous portion of steak and stuffed it into his mouth. “Then I’d say the first thing you need to do is to quit calling me Mr. Barker. My name is Cleve. And the second thing is, this is a ranch, not a farm.”
She grimaced, her reaction a mixture of watching him talk and chew at the same time as well as realizing she’d heard that comment before and not too long ago. “I’ve already been so informed. There are no ranches near Alexandria. I’m used to farms.”
“I can understand your confusion. You passed a few of the fields we planted in wheat and a few in oats. That’s all winter feed for the cattle.” He leaned forward and covered her hand with his own. “I’m family now, Cassandra. You can count on me just as Douglas did. I care about this place.”
She was so shocked at his gesture that she froze.
His gray eyes glittered. “There are several improvements I am making to the place. I’ll call them to your attention as I show you the property. Anything to bring in more profit, right?”
She pulled away, uncomfortable with his touch. “My husband didn’t mention any improvements, but it certainly sounds like him.”
“No? Well, I can’t blame him there. A woman as pretty as you? I’m sure he had better things to talk about than cattle prices and fertilizer.” He chuckled lightly at his own quip. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ll fill you in on our ride tomorrow.”
She didn’t care for his condescension. No longer hungry, she stood. “I believe I’ll finish unpacking. Please thank Otis for the dinner.”
Chapter Six (#u6f04fd97-e1f2-5c3d-a04c-5fce2fd3a870)
Wolf rode in just after dusk. A talkative customer, his father’s request to watch the dry goods store and an injured pup in Wally Brown’s livery had all conspired to keep him from returning quickly to the ranch.
As he dismounted, a golden light flared and caught in the upstairs bedroom of the main house. So, Mrs. Stewart had chosen that room as hers. It would suit her. He remembered seeing the feminine touches the first Mrs. Stewart had sprinkled about the room. He’d been young then and thought such things unnecessary and impractical—a waste of precious time that could better be spent hunting or fishing or setting a trap. What did a cushion decorated with colorful ribbons have to do with a ranch? But it had brought her joy. And in a hard land like the prairie, joy was a precious gift.
He stabled his horse and carried his gear to the bunkhouse. He shook out his bedroll and smoothed it over the first available straw mattress. In the bed next to his, Otis snored away. As the cook, the old man had to be the earliest to rise and get a large breakfast ready.
Cleve Barker strode through the door and stopped short at seeing him. “What are you doing back?”
“Thought I’d stay a few days. Maybe do a little hunting. See how Mrs. Stewart settles in.”
“I can manage things.”
Wolf remained silent, but his eyes narrowed. He wasn’t going to budge. The sooner Barker realized it, the better things would be.
Finally, the man continued on to a room at the back of the building and shut the door.
So he’d moved back into the foreman’s quarters. Good.
There had been a few rough patches that sparked the animosity between him and Barker when Douglas first hired him on, but eventually Barker figured out where they both stood in the scheme of things at the ranch. Looked like Mrs. Stewart was figuring it out too and insisting on her place. His opinion of her rose a notch.
Seemed like ever since Doug left, Barker had taken on more liberty with his position, to the point of making decisions that changed the vision of what Doug had for the ranch. Wolf figured as long as they could be easily reversed, most could wait until Doug came home and saw to things himself. Trouble was, Doug wasn’t coming home now and Barker acted like he owned the place.
What was going through the man’s head now that Mrs. Stewart had arrived? If she planned to sell the property, could Barker afford to buy the ranch himself? A foreman didn’t make that kind of money. Did he hope to prove to her that he could take care of the place and she should keep it as an investment? That might not be a bad thing at all for the men here—except where did that leave him and his promise to Doug? Watching over things for a short while was one thing, but that had already stretched to a year. How could he continue for an indefinite time, especially since any respect between him and Barker continued to erode?
Wolf lay back on the bed, laced his fingers together under his head and stared up at the long wooden beam over his head. If only he could buy the land. He had a little saved up, and he knew how to run cattle. He’d worked the land with Doug for years whenever his own parents didn’t need him at the store.
He’d still need a loan to cover the difference between what he had and what he needed. Would the bank work with him? It always came back to the fact that he had Indian blood. Some people couldn’t see past that, and the banker, Micha Swift, was one of those people. Guess for now it didn’t matter. Cassandra Stewart hadn’t said a thing about selling.
The important thing was to see to Doug’s last wishes. In the same way that Doug had a motive when he tricked Cassandra into believing him poor before marrying her, he had motives for everything he did. He was smart and, more often than not, one step ahead of most people. Of the two of them, Wolf was more cautious, having to think through each part of a plan and the consequences before acting, where Doug plowed right on ahead.
This month that Cassandra had agreed to stay wasn’t an idle request on his best friend’s part. Doug had probably expected her to come much sooner than this. Until he understood it all, he’d hang around. He’d make sure that Cassandra stayed safe from any harm while she was here. Harm could come in any number of forms—a snake in the grass, an ornery steer or a two-legged varmint named Cleve Barker.
Chapter Seven (#u6f04fd97-e1f2-5c3d-a04c-5fce2fd3a870)
The next morning, Cassandra waited on the porch for Mr. Barker to appear from the bunkhouse. He had been absent the rest of yesterday after their dinner—an occurrence of which she was most appreciative. When he still hadn’t appeared after ten minutes, she walked to the stable and found Jordan, pitchfork in hand, scattering fresh straw in a stall.
“Hello, Jordan. Is there a horse that I can use while I am here? Mr. Barker is taking me to see the property today.”
He leaned the pitchfork against the wall. “Sure ’nough, ma’am. Got the perfect mount.” He strode to the back of the stable and came back with a small gray mare. “She’s our most gentle. Her name is Patsy.”
“Hello, Patsy.” The animal’s ears flicked toward her. Cassandra stroked the horse’s neck as she eyed the saddle Jordan threw on its back and cinched it. At home, she used an English saddle—one made for a woman.

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