Kate Bridges - Rancher Wants a Wife

“Our courtship ended months ago,” Jack replied. He glanced at Cassandra, whose pretty mouth had fallen into a grim line. She’d lost her color, and his indignation flared at what this outburst was doing to her. “Reverend, I’m afraid Miss Beacon exaggerates the extent of our involvement.”

Elise appeared crestfallen. She’d always been overly emotional, overly wrought when things didn’t go well, and she certainly had no right to place blame at his feet. She was the one who’d flirted with other men when she’d been with Jack. But to say so here would be to smear her honor. No matter how unreasonable she was to voice her objections at his wedding, he would not stoop to her level.

Cassandra would have to trust him on this.

But dammit! He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

Hugh, his best man, stepped out to try to smooth the difficulties. “Elise, everyone here knows and respects your forthright nature.”

The reverend latched on to Hugh’s train of thought. “Yes, Miss Beacon, it is always best to clear the air, and I do appreciate your communicating your thoughts on the matter. However, that is not a lawful reason to stop this wedding. Unless he formally proposed to you?”

Elise’s color heightened as she slowly shook her head.

“Now, are there any just causes why this marriage cannot lawfully take place?” The gray-haired gent scanned the crowd.

When Jack looked again at Cassandra, she seemed to be swaying. He leaped to catch her and her bouquet before both could collapse to the floor.

Other people rushed to their aid.

The front pew was cleared and Jack helped her sit. He knelt at her feet, the white folds of her gown billowing around them. “Cassandra,” he said gently.

“I’ll be all right,” she said. “So sorry. I think it’s the heat and lack of sleep.”

“There’s no need to apologize. It’s me who’s sorry.” And extremely concerned at her pale color. “Would you like to rest? Or would you like to leave?”

Cassandra didn’t immediately respond. Hugh, however, slid in next to Jack, in the new gray suit he’d had fitted in his office yesterday. “Can I do anything?” His words sounded genuine, despite his earlier warnings to Jack to steer clear of marrying a mail-order bride.

Jack shook his head.

“Seriously, Jack,” said Hugh, “maybe I can help by talking with Elise.”

Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh appeared beside them and fussed over Cassandra. Jack stood up in the swarm of people and searched for Elise, but she was no longer there. Neither were her friends. Hugh shrugged his shoulders in frustration.

The crowd hushed and watched. Jack held out his hand and Cassandra grasped it with renewed strength. He helped her to her feet. Whatever had happened, she had recovered. The warm white color of her gown accentuated the fresh glow in her cheeks. Dammit, every time he looked at her burn, he felt a flash of guilt. Especially today. No bride should have to feel self-conscious on her wedding day. He sensed the tension between them, as if they were more like strangers than a couple who’d once known each other and were happy to be standing before the altar.

“I would like you to be my wife, Cassandra,” he said clearly, so there was no mistaking it in the crowd. “Would you do me the honor?”

“I would like to, very much.”

With relief, they turned to face the minister, and were wed.

* * *

She waited, but still there was no seductive kiss.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” said the minister.

Jack briefly brushed his lips against hers. Cassandra wished for more, but gathered that he must be as apprehensive as she was, considering what they’d just been through with that combative woman. Why had she waited until that moment to speak out? She must have been seated in the congregation at least several minutes before Cassandra had arrived. Why not speak to Jack privately before the ceremony?

It was as though she had wished to be as dramatic and confrontational as possible. Jack’s explanation seemed plausible to Cassandra, and when she’d known him in Chicago, he hadn’t been one to string along any women. Plus there hadn’t been one person in the congregation who’d corroborated the woman’s story.

Cassandra was still trying to make sense of it when Jack whisked her outside and seated her in the buggy. To her disappointment, Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh traveled with them. The butler took the reins, his wife sat in front with him, and Cassandra and Jack shared the rear seat. Cassandra desperately wanted to talk to Jack alone about what had happened, but considering that the Dunleighs were within earshot, she decided to keep her private thoughts to herself.

A few people hollered in good cheer as they left the church, and Cassandra wished she knew some of the friendlier ones.

The twenty-minute ride to the ranch was discouraging. She clenched her bouquet of wilting roses in her lap, looked out at the pastures and greenery, and wished that there wasn’t two feet of space between herself and her new husband. She wished he would at least touch her.

“I’ve made you dinner,” Mrs. Dunleigh said when they pulled up to the big house. “It’s warming in the oven. If you’d like me to join you and serve it—”

“That’s fine,” Jack interrupted. “We’ll manage from here.”

“Congratulations to you both,” said Mr. Dunleigh. “Sheila and I wish you many happy years together. And we look forward to many more years of service in this household.”

“Thank you,” said Jack, and Cassandra smiled in appreciation.

The gent tipped his bowler hat, then he and his wife headed toward a side entrance.

Cassandra looked after them. “They have their own wing of the house?”

Jack nodded. “They definitely won’t be joining us on our honeymoon eve.”

Flustered at the thought of finally being alone, Cassandra accepted his assistance from the buggy. His hands spanned her waist and she slid down beside him, so very conscious of his nearness.

“We were surrounded by other people for so long,” she said, “I thought we’d never be alone.”

Jack’s grin was a welcome relief from the tension of the past few days.

“I’ve let all the staff know we’re not to be disturbed. The Dunleighs have retired to their quarters, and the ranch hands and their cook are in the bunkhouse.”

He took Cassandra’s hand and pulled her around the house to the private entrance and terrace near the dining area. After opening the French doors, he turned, and before she realized his intent, swung her up in his arms.

“Over the threshold, right, Mrs. McColton?”

Hearing her new name spoken aloud made her shiver. She was his wife.

He set her on her feet inside the kitchen, where tantalizing aromas wafted from the brick wall ovens. And there were cut flowers everywhere—white and yellow roses, mountain orchids and pristine lilies of the valley.

When Jack set her down, he didn’t let her go. He allowed his palm to linger on her shoulder blade, the warmth of his touch seeping into her flesh.

Breathless, she looked up at him. His dark hair, newly washed, tumbled to the sharp line of his eyebrows. His skin was tanned from the sun and the wind, and a muscle rippled in his cheek. Those eyes, those dark brown eyes the color of moist earth and swirling clay, swept over her. Not in such a detached manner as when she’d first arrived, but more pulsating, controlling, tempting.

Yet the two of them were still ill at ease with each other. He reached down and brushed a strand of hair from her left cheek, her good side, and stroked it. His touch caressed her skin.

Then he dropped his hand and glanced around the kitchen, as if scoping out what the housekeeper had arranged for them.