Kathryn Albright - Wedding At Rocking S Ranch

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

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.”