Читать книгу Wedding At Rocking S Ranch - Kathryn Albright - Страница 13

Chapter Four

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.