Wedding At Rocking S Ranch

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

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

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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