Kate Bridges - Rancher Wants a Wife

This wasn’t what he’d had in mind for her visit. He’d hoped to spend the whole day with her. However, the rest of the afternoon continued in the same manner. Every time they’d begin to talk, there’d be an interruption, and he was called away. Every time he’d try to lean over and say something more intimate than “Help yourself to another bite of cheese and grapes and walnuts,” one of the Dunleighs walked in with another announcement.

He found Cassandra outside two hours later, steps from the terrace, gazing at the colorful flowers and shrubs he and his gardeners took such pride in. She bent lower and sniffed a wild rose, a pink one, and her hair tumbled over her shoulder. She pushed it back with pretty fingers.

“Now I know where you got that beautiful bouquet.”

“Sorry for all the interruptions.”

“I think I’d better get back. There’s much I have to do for tomorrow.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner?”

“There’s something very charming about the tradition of being separated from the groom the night before the wedding. Don’t worry about me eating, I’ll order from the hotel. Sorry, I’m not very hungry now.”

He was concerned. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, much.” Her eyes were brighter, her lips fuller and pinker.

“Do you need help with anything at the hotel? I’m sure Mrs. Dunleigh would be pleased to lend a hand. With your wardrobe, for instance.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He felt suddenly shut out of her life.

He understood she was a bride needing her privacy, but back in Chicago, she’d always shut him out of her thoughts and feelings. He shoved his hands into his pockets, brought back to their days there, when he’d been much younger and much more nervous around the fairer sex. Hell, he was a lot more experienced than he used to be, and being with Cassandra shouldn’t affect him. But the five years he’d spent carousing in saloons with entertaining women didn’t seem to help him now.

“I hope you’ll consider this a fine home, Cassandra,” he said.

“I look forward to it very much.”

He wondered whether he should show her the second floor, where the bedrooms were located—his, soon to be theirs—but decided not to. It would be awkward to press something so personal upon her, in full view of the staff, when he and Cassandra weren’t yet married.

“Tomorrow at six,” he reminded her. “I’ll have the Dunleighs come to your hotel at quarter to the hour to escort you to the church.”

She nodded and kept her distance.

He stayed at arm’s length, too. He wanted to kiss her, but his staff persisted in intervening. Cassandra didn’t seem to expect, nor did she appear to miss the fact that he didn’t approach her. When he was called away again by his foreman to check on a sluggish colt, Jack said goodbye to her and asked Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh to accompany her to the hotel.

“We’ll see each other tomorrow,” Jack said.

“Have a good evening,” she replied, as cool as a moonbeam. She pulled her shawl around her slender shoulders and was gone.

* * *

He hadn’t kissed her!

Hours later, alone in her hotel room with a towel wrapped around her newly washed hair, Cassandra still couldn’t believe the slight. It was all she’d thought of since the moment they’d parted, during her ride back to town with Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh, and during her bath on the lower floor of the hotel.

She stared at his pink roses on the nightstand. She’d placed them in a vase beside the lone lantern, which cast a dim glow. Why hadn’t Jack tried to kiss her? Had he found her repulsive?

She didn’t think so, for he was about to marry her. Most men wouldn’t wed a woman unless they found her appealing in some way. Besides, the way his burning gaze sometimes raked over her, she knew with a rush to her pulse that he sometimes found her attractive.

Perhaps he’d wanted to be affectionate, but the sight of her marred cheek had stopped him.

She couldn’t imagine how their wedding night would go. Was that promise of sexual excitement in his dark brown eyes deceiving? Or would his physical skills match the apparent appetite in his hungry gaze? If he was a passionate man, then why in blazes hadn’t he kissed her?

Some men put up a good act, pretending to be what they weren’t. Troy Wainsborough had been a prime example. On the surface, he’d been a successful attorney, a protégé of her father’s at his law offices. She’d been coaxed and prodded for years in his direction by her father. Beneath the surface, however, Troy had a darker side that involved drinking and loose women. He’d been belligerent to her, not a family man at all.

His cousin, Jack, who was taken in by Troy’s family at a young age upon the death of his parents, had always been labeled the black sheep. Her father had believed it, emphatically pointing out the young man’s disobedience to his aunt and uncle, his frequent brawls and his argumentative nature.

Cassandra’s misjudgment of Jack had come to light the night he’d left Chicago. Hours too late to apologize to him.

But here they had a second chance.

Dressed in her tattered nightgown, Cassandra lifted the hot iron she’d ordered from the front desk, and pressed it upon the limp lace of her wedding gown. Although the dress was thirdhand, passed down to her from Mrs. Pepik at the boarding house, Cassandra adored it. She gingerly ironed the collar and tended to the small creases beneath the bust.

At the thought of all her dear friends in Chicago, her chest ached with emptiness.

Everything here seemed so solitary.

She wished her sister were here to help her prepare for the wedding. She wished her father would be here tomorrow to walk her down the aisle. She wished she had a single friend in this town. Most fervently of all, she wished that Jack McColton had swept her up in his arms and kissed her as if she meant something to him.

With a catch in her throat, she set the iron aside. It was getting cool, and the ironing was finished. As practical as she was, Cassandra knew she’d better get some sleep tonight. But if she did have a true friend in this town, they would have spent the night talking, sharing thoughts about Chicago and what this new community was all about.

Instead, Cassandra finished the sandwiches she’d ordered from the kitchen, packed her luggage, gave her faded leather shoes a polish, and said a prayer for tomorrow.

When the sun beamed through her windows in the morning, she was awake and ready. She dressed in her casual clothes, dined by herself for breakfast and took a stroll down the boardwalk, ignoring the curious glances of strangers. Eventually she bought a newspaper and brought it back to the room.

In the afternoon, she read every article and advertisement. She paid particular attention to the Help Wanted section, news of a robbery on the San Francisco rail line, ads for the law offices, and properties for sale. There were lots of things people could hire her for—including searching for lost relatives, preparing documents to present to lawyers, helping to recover stolen property, and possibly uncovering criminal activity.

When the time neared, she brushed her hair, twisted ribbons through the blond strands and braided it to one side. She donned her corset, slipped into her stockings and garter, and stepped into her wedding gown.

There was only a tiny oval mirror nailed to the wall, just big enough to see her face, so she wasn’t able to get a full view of herself in her wedding finery.

Perhaps she should have procured a veil of some sort to drape across her face. She sighed, hoping Jack would overlook her imperfections. Not many men would accept her as a bride. She respected Jack McColton for his strong sense of honor and his desire to marry her despite her flaws, and prayed that it would be enough when it came time to spend the night together.