Wedding at Rocking S Ranch Read online

  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

  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

  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.