Читать книгу Wedding At Rocking S Ranch - Kathryn Albright - Страница 12

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.”

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?