Kate Bridges - Rancher Wants a Wife

Cassandra looked down at her faded clothes. Her well-worn jacket and long skirt appeared so paltry compared to the freshly tailored suit the other woman had been wearing. She came from money, no question. And judging by the daring expression on her face, she definitely knew Jack. Did the woman know he’d be married tomorrow? Cassandra removed the derringer and box of bullets from her satchel, and hid them in the dresser. She tucked the newspaper and books in, too. One other question burned in her mind as she prepared for the afternoon with Jack.

Who was that woman?

* * *

To Jack, it seemed almost like a regular outing with a regular woman, except this one would soon be his wife. He stretched out his legs in the buggy, repositioned his silver-tipped cowboy boots and grasped the reins in his callused hand. Warm winds enveloped him and Cassandra as they drew closer to his ranch.

She’d changed from her traveling clothes into something plainer—long brown skirts, an ivory blouse and patched shawl. She’d let her blond hair fly free, and he enjoyed seeing it spill over her shoulders. However, she was still wearing that damn hat with the dangling scarf she was obviously using to shield her scarred cheek.

He wished she’d chuck the blasted thing. She didn’t need it. But saying so might only embarrass her.

How many nights in the past month had he thought of what it might be like to bring Cassandra home?

He felt more awkward than he had imagined he would. When their knees brushed, when he pointed out his neighbors’ ranches on surrounding hills, indicated the train tracks that ran through the valley to reach the lumber mills, even when they simply sat and said nothing, a mountain of tension rippled between them.

It was as if they each didn’t trust the other. But why would she mistrust him? She was the one who’d turned him away in Chicago, more than once!

He was relieved when they finally approached the house. Red-colored dogwood lined the perimeter of the quarter-mile laneway. The buggy whisked into the shade of the big oaks as they neared the wide, two-story house. Sunlight danced off the clay roof, bounced on the walls of white-painted timber, and sparkled against blue shutters. A stone chimney dominated the north wall.

To the other side, one of his gardeners was painting the fence, his ranch hands were busy working at the two stables, and splendid horses galloped across the fields.

Cassandra turned her head to view the pretty sight. “How many horses do you keep?”

“Twenty-six at the moment. It’s gone as high as thirty-six. I rent them to neighbors, whenever they’re needed in the vineyards, or at harvest season, or sometimes for traveling. It works out well. My neighbors get the use of fine horses, and my animals get exercised.”

“And you get to buy and trade livestock. Impressive. What you’ve always wanted.”

He grinned at her perceptiveness.

The two sheepdogs came dashing out from the stables and circled around them, tails wagging.

Jack parked the buggy, signaled to one of the hands to come get it, and went to help Cassandra down from her seat. She didn’t need assistance this time. She managed to slide out before he got to her, skirts billowing in the wind, scarf flapping against her face.

She didn’t look well. Rather pale and shaken. “Are you feeling all right?”

She nodded. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I hope you’ll like it here.”

“It’s breathtaking, Jack.”

Her comment filled him with pride.

She smiled nervously, and when some of the men working in the vicinity cast their curious eyes her way, she stepped closer to Jack. The dogs swished their orange tails and panted at her. With a laugh, Cassandra bent down to say hello.

“Meet Caesar and Queenie,” he told her.

She gave them a pat and a rub behind the ears. “By your names, it sounds as though you rule this place.”

“Jack!” called his hefty foreman. “Sorry to bother you, sir. Got a scheduling problem with two of the mares.”

“Excuse me.” Jack left Cassandra’s side for a moment, conversed with his foreman, ironed out the dilemma and returned to her side.

His housekeeper and butler greeted Cassandra warmly when she entered the oak double doors. They were a married couple from England, Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh. Although conservative in their ways, underneath their formal exterior, and once folks got to know them, they were very friendly. Jack had already explained to them the nature of Cassandra’s scar, that she’d been trapped in her burning home and that a timber had fallen across her face. She had dashed in after her father, to locate her sister upstairs. The other two hadn’t made it out alive, but Cassandra had been rescued by a volunteer fireman.

The Dunleighs discreetly ignored the visual marking.

“Miss Hamilton,” said the very tall housekeeper, whose gray hair was impeccably groomed. “Welcome to California.” Her gold-rimmed spectacles slid down her nose.

“Very nice to be here.”

“May I take your shawl?” asked her husband. He was six inches shorter than his wife and slightly hunched.

“Please.”

“And your hat?” asked Mrs. Dunleigh.

Cassandra hesitated, then slowly slid it off. No one paid her any mind. Jack hadn’t realized how tense he was about the whole hat thing until she finally gave it up, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.

He peered toward the table by the door, and the overflowing letter holder there.

“The mail came this morning, sir,” said Dunleigh. “Some correspondence appears to need your attention immediately. One letter is from the auction house in San Francisco.”

“I’ll get to it shortly.” There seemed to be a never-ending pile of paperwork from his suppliers and customers.

“Dr. McColton,” chirped the housekeeper, “I’ve set some refreshments on the terrace.”

“Very good.” Jack ushered Cassandra through the house.

He wished they would warm up to each other, but there was only strain. She took in the view as their boots tapped on the clay-tiled floors. Colorful rugs lay scattered in the sitting room between the horsehair sofas and chairs and fieldstone fireplace. Mexican artwork adorned the plaster walls. Twenty feet up, timber rafters crisscrossed the ceiling.

The kitchen, with two fireplaces, butcher-block counters, sideboards lining two walls, and a wide pine table, overlooked one of the terraces. The dining table could easily accommodate fourteen.

“My, Jack,” Cassandra said. “I had no idea your house was this huge. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Everything in California’s big. I didn’t notice.”

She tilted her head, eyes sparkling as if she didn’t quite believe him, and he noticed with a quickening of his pulse that there was some tenderness in her gaze.

“Shall we sit outside?” he asked.

She nodded. They made their way to the bamboo chairs beneath a trellis. Thankfully, the color had returned to her face, which was shaded by the lush fronds of the palm trees above. “What a gorgeous spot.”

Jack adored the view, too. It was why he’d decided to buy this piece of property. Land as far as the eye could see. Rolling vales and sloped vineyards that blended into a big blue sky. The scent of earth and wind, and a feeling that Mother Nature had taken extra care when she’d created Napa Valley.

“Sir,” interrupted the butler. “Two gentlemen to see you from San Diego.”

“Today? But they weren’t supposed to arrive till next week.”

“They mentioned they had business this way, sir, and wished to call on you today. Shall I—” Dunleigh glanced at Cassandra, who seemed to withdraw “—ask them to return next week?”

“Please go ahead, Jack.” Cassandra lifted a cool drink to her lips and sipped.