His Perfect Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch - Spicy Version Book 1) (3 page)

A man in shirtsleeves and grey trousers stepped through a door at the side of the simple chancel at the front of the chapel.

“Rev. Pickering.” Franklin resumed his slow stride up the church’s center aisle.

Corva skipped back to take his arm and walk with him. It was her wedding march, after all.

“Ah, Franklin.” The young reverend strode forward to meet the two of them at the front of the chapel. “Is this Miss Collier?”

Franklin turned to Corva, light in his eyes. “Yes.”

“Good, good.” The reverend clapped his hands together. “Well, I’m all ready. Are Mrs. Evans and your aunt Virginia going to join us as witnesses?”

“Yes,” Josephine called from the back of the room, shooting through the church door, Virginia at her side. “We’re here.”

That was all that was needed. Rev. Pickering had known they were coming and made arrangements in advance. There was even a bouquet of daffodils for Corva and a veil, which she graciously declined. The beauty of the chapel was enough for her, though her artist’s mind could barely contain itself through the short service.

Before Corva could catch her breath and wrap her mind around the importance of what she was doing, she was answering “I do,” to Rev. Pickering’s questions about whether she would love, honor, and cherish the man beside her, the man she’d just met. Franklin took his vows with heartfelt solemnity. Corva may not have known much about him, but beyond doubt, she was certain that he would never raise a hand to her. That was all that mattered.

“Then, by the power invested in me by our Lord and the Territory of Wyoming, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

As Rev. Pickering finished, Franklin turned to face Corva. With careful respect, he leaned toward her and touched his lips to hers. It was a formal kiss, but Corva had received so few kisses, so few embraces and kind words, in her life that she closed her eyes and savored it. Franklin was her husband and, as such, there would be more than kisses at some point, but for now, this was all she needed.

“Perfect, perfect.” Virginia sighed beside them, dabbing at her eyes as if this was the culmination of a long love story. “Franklin, my boy, I’m proud of you.”

To Corva’s surprise, Franklin flushed red at the compliment, as if it was undeserved. “Thank
you
, Aunt Ginny.”

Virginia shook her head. “Oh, now, none of that. You know I’ve always been proud of you.”

“Always?” Franklin’s comment was so quiet this time that Corva wasn’t sure she’d heard it.

“Now. Shall we all go to the hotel? Introduce Corva to your friends and neighbors?” Josephine asked.

The prospect of being paraded in front of a bunch of strangers and clucked over didn’t sit well with Corva.

Whether Franklin noticed the way she shrank at the prospect, or whether he already had other ideas in mind, he said, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather take Corva back to the ranch to show her the house.”

“Yes, of course, of course.” Virginia waved her hand. “I need to head home and see how Jarvis is doing with the herd anyhow. We have at least a dozen cows who are about to calf,” she explained to Corva.

“And if I don’t get home and make sure lunch is taken care of, Pete will be a curmudgeon all afternoon,” Josephine added.

“We sent your things on to the ranch with Luke, by the way,” Virginia added. “Ran into him just outside the station. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Franklin answered.

That was it. Within minutes, their small group had dispersed, and Corva found herself strolling along at a snail’s pace with Franklin in the fresh outdoors once more.

“My wagon is parked at the hotel,” he explained as they edged their way around the church’s huge yard. “It’s faster to cut through this way, and I can show you some of Haskell in the process.”

Corva glanced this way and that, taking in everything as they walked—green fields, new buildings, and snow-capped mountains on the horizon. “It’s such a picturesque town.” It all but begged to be painted.

“My father’s theory is that industry is only half of what draws people to settle in a certain place,” Franklin explained. “Aesthetics and community are the rest.”

“He may have a point.”

“The church, for example,” Franklin went on. “You saw how lovely it is. And the church yard.”

“It’s enormous.”

Franklin nodded. “That’s because we have a potluck lunch for the entire town after church each Sunday, when the weather permits. In fact, Dad wants to build a shelter of some sort so that we can have our potlucks in the rain too.”

“How interesting.”

“There’s a town council, but honestly, almost every issue that crops up in Haskell is decided at potlucks through the course of conversation.”

Corva grinned, giving the yard beside the church one last look. “I think I like that idea.”

“It makes for some interesting lunches.”

She laughed. Even though Franklin’s expression remained impassive, laughter felt right.

A loud, popping crack ahead drew her attention on. Beyond the church yard was another, huge yard—a baseball field. It was lined with raised rows of benches on two sides. Several people sat in small clusters on those benches, watching as what looked like a single team practiced on the diamond.

“Baseball,” Corva exclaimed. “I’ve heard so much about the game since the end of the war, but I’ve never seen it played.”

Franklin nodded to the field. “You’ll certainly get to see it played here. Haskell has gone nuts over the sport. Each of the surrounding ranches and the town have their own teams.” He grew a shade more serious as he nodded toward the diamond and said, “That’s the Bonneville Bears practicing right now.”

“Bonneville Bears?”

His expression grew darker still as he said, “Rex Bonneville. He owns a ranch adjoining ours. The second biggest ranch in these parts. He’s a bit—”

“Franklin!”

His explanation was cut off by a high-pitched, female shout. Corva had to search for a second before she spotted a short woman in a flouncy purple dress with honey-brown hair waving her arms at him. The woman had jumped up from a circle of three other young women, all of whom bore a distinct resemblance. The woman who had called out hopped down from one of the higher benches and charged across the field. The only hint Corva had of Franklin’s feelings about the woman was a quick, heavy sigh.

“Franklin, what a treat to see you in town today. I wish you had told me you were coming in. I would have invited you to watch the boys practice with us. We’re having such a jolly time.” The flouncy woman finally puffed to a stop when she was mere feet from Franklin.

“Vivian.” Franklin managed a tense pinch of his mouth, which may have been an attempt at a smile.

“You’re looking dashing today,” Vivian went on. “Is that a new suit? It looks expensive. Did it come in on the train just now? I simply love it when you or your family send away for fancy things that come in on the train.”

A hitch formed in Corva’s chest, not of jealousy—which part of her thought she should be feeling, considering how beautiful and fine the woman in front of her was—but of embarrassment for the woman’s sake. She was well aware that men came west looking for gold, but apparently women did too.

“This isn’t a new suit,” Franklin said. He cleared his throat. “I did meet the train, however. I came to town to greet Corva when she arrived.” He glanced to Corva.

Only then did Vivian blink and glance to Corva, noticing her existence. “Who’s she?”

Franklin took his time answering. “Vivian, I’d like you to meet Miss Corva Collier.” He stopped, nodded to himself, then said, “I mean, Mrs. Corva Haskell.”

A warm flush filled Corva’s body. That was her name now, wasn’t it? Not just in her imagination. “How do you do?” She held out a hand to Vivian.

Vivian stared at her, then at Franklin. Ever so slowly, her lip curled. “Mrs.
What
?”

Franklin blew out a breath. Corva had the impression that if he wasn’t holding her arm with one of his and his cane in his other hand, he would have rubbed his face, possibly to hide.

“Corva and I have just been married,” he said, offering no other explanation.

Vivian’s transformation was quick and alarming. Her pretty smile evaporated into a sour grimace, which morphed into a bitter pout. “But Franklin,” she choked. “
I
wanted to marry you.”

The comment was so bold and had so much insistence behind it that Corva’s brow shot up and her heart pounded against her ribs. Clearly, Vivian was a force to be reckoned with. Corva wanted to let Franklin’s arm go and step away, possibly even running back to the train station, although the train had moved on.

“Vivian, you know what I’ve said about that in the past.” Franklin kept his voice low and his eyes fixed on Vivian, almost as if he was scolding her.

“You said you would never marry anyone, that no one deserved a cripple for a husband,” Vivian pouted.

Corva snuck a sideways glance to Franklin, who looked a little like a moth that had been skewered with a pin in a case. The same feeling of heartache that she’d sensed the moment she saw him returned.

Vivian turned her vicious stare on Corva and went on with her outburst. “I see now that you
lied
.” Her chin and nose shot up. “I had no idea you were such a liar, Franklin Haskell. Papa will be furious.”

“I’m sorry if you had the wrong idea about things.” Franklin did his best to placate her. “I thought I had made my intentions clear from the first.”

Vivian sniffed. “You didn’t know what you were talking about. You were supposed to come around…eventually.”

“You know that wasn’t—” He stopped, pressing his lips together and squeezing his eyes shut.

It dawned on Corva that her new husband was a patient man. That thought made her smile, in spite of the confrontation they were mired in.

At last, Franklin took a breath, hugging his arm—and with it, Corva’s hand—closer to his body. “I’m sorry if you are disappointed, Vivian, but with so many single men in these parts, I’m sure you’ll find a husband in no time.”

“Not one as rich—I mean, as refined as you,” Vivian pouted.

“You never know.” That was all the answer Franklin was going to give her, which made Corva proud. “If you will excuse us, I’m going to take Corva home now.”

Vivian balled her fists at her sides and barely managed to swallow a frustrated growl. “Good day to you, then,” she spit out. “And welcome to Haskell, Mrs. Haskell.” She snorted. “That sounds so stupid.”

As Vivian stomped off, heading back to the benches where the three women Corva assumed were her sisters sat, Franklin led Corva on.

“Sorry about that,” he sighed. “I promise, I never gave Vivian any call to think she had hope where I am concerned. She won’t be a problem.”

“It’s all right.” Corva squeezed his arm. “I’ve known women like that before.”

“I’m sorry for that too.” The corner of Franklin’s mouth twitched up.

A hope-filled chuckle bubbled through Corva’s chest. Just as quickly, it flattened. Yes, she
had
known women like Vivian, which meant she knew she had to tread carefully around her going forward.

Franklin couldn’t decide if the day was going well or if it was a disaster. He refused to admit to himself that he’d worried Corva would take one look at him—one look at his braces—and get back on the train. But she hadn’t. In fact, her reaction had set off waves of sparks in his gut. She’d thanked him, thanked him for marrying her. Guilt for every time in the last few weeks that he had come close to changing his mind and marching over to Aunt Ginny’s house to call the whole thing off joined the mountain of guilt that already rested on his shoulders.

And yet, there Corva was, sitting next to him on the bench of his wagon, hands gripping the padded edge as she gazed in wonder at the mountains and plains around them. She was pretty, with a sweet, heart-shaped face and rosy lips. Her hair was a soft color—somewhere between light brown and blonde—with a hint of curl in its wispy ends. She was slight enough that a stiff wind could blow her over, but Franklin also got the sense she was as strong as an oak.

He cleared his throat to snag her attention as they passed through the wrought-iron archway marking the entrance of the ranch. “This is where my father’s property starts.”

Corva dragged her smile away from the blue sky of the mountainous horizon. “It’s simply stunning here,” she said in her lilting accent. “Truly paradise.”

Franklin nodded, tempted to rub at the itching spot on his chest, right over his heart. “It was originally called Green Stream Ranch.”

“Oh, no. Paradise Ranch suits it much better,” she said before he could say pretty much the same thing.

“It’s technically two ranches,” he went on. “My father and his closest friend, Cyrus Piedmont, came out here more than twenty years ago and staked this claim, so to speak. They saw the potential in the land and brought in herds of the finest cattle well before most people saw that this was good ranch land.”

“Did they have trouble with Indians?”

The flicker of worry in Corva’s expression dredged up a wave of protectiveness that knocked Franklin off balance. As if he could truly protect her if it came down to it.

He shook his head in answer and to clear it. “Not particularly. Some. As much as anyone else. Dad has always been generous and helpful with the tribes in this area. Plus, Dr. Dean Meyers and Aiden Murphy—some of Haskell’s most prominent citizens—work in close connection with both the Indians and the government. Aiden is the area Indian Agent.”

“I see.”

“When Cyrus Piedmont married my Aunt Virginia, Dad’s sister,” Franklin continued with the family history, “Dad gave them half the ranch as a wedding present.”

“What a lovely gesture.”

“It was.” Franklin’s expression pinched for a moment. Old, bad memories rose up through his spine, as if the pain of his injuries were fresh again. “After Uncle Cyrus died and Mother moved back East for a time, there was some bad blood between Dad and Aunt Ginny for a while, a dispute over the property line.”

“I take it things were solved?”

“Yes.” It was all the answer he could give. How was he supposed to explain that his arrogant foolishness had been instrumental to the solution? Yes, the sins of his past may have helped his father and aunt to reconcile, but the very thought of the obnoxious braggart he had been back then turned his stomach.

“That’s Aunt Virginia’s house over that way.” He pushed away the ache of those memories and the corresponding dull throb that was always present in his legs by pointing off to the left.

“That cluster of buildings there?” Corva sat straighter, raising a hand to shield her eyes as she looked. She leaned closer to him. The whiff of flowers came with her.

Franklin resisted the urge to scoot closer to her and breathe her in. “Yes. The biggest building is, of course, the barn, but that one off to the side, the large log house, is Aunt Ginny’s house.”

“What about the other, smaller ones?” Corva lowered her arm, looking to him for an explanation instead of off in the distance.

“One of them is a bunkhouse for Aunt Ginny’s ranch hands. She employs about eight men to work her herd.” He cleared his throat. “The other one is where her foreman, Jarvis Flint, and his family live.”

He left it at that. There wasn’t more he was comfortable thinking about, let alone explaining. His arrogance all those years ago had manifested itself in clumsy attempts to court Alice, who was now Jarvis’s wife. Hot shame painted his face at the thought.

“Over that way is Dad and Mother’s house.” He switched is reins to his other hand and pointed with his right arm across Corva’s body. The gesture brought them into even closer contact. He pulled his arm back as if he’d reached too close to a fire.

Corva turned and shielded her eyes again to take a look at the other half of the ranch. “I see another big building, a barn?” Franklin hummed to tell her she was right. “And that must be a bunkhouse too, and a big house. Your father’s house?”

“Mmm hmm.”

They reached a narrow, dirt lane that forked away from the main road. Franklin steered his horse to take the wagon off the main drive.

Corva blinked in surprise. “We’re not going to your father’s house?”

“I don’t live there.” It was the simplest answer Franklin could give.

“Where do you live?”

Franklin nodded ahead, down the road. “I had this house built out by the stream. It’s a pretty spot, and it’s quiet.”

“Oh.” Corva leaned against the back of the bench. It was hard to tell if she liked the idea of living apart from everyone else or not.

Franklin covered the awkwardness of the moment by saying, “Dad has his own team of ranch hands. Technically I’m the head of that team, but with my legs, since I can’t do any of the physical work involved in raising and herding cattle, I put a lot of trust in Travis Montrose.”

“I see.” Corva twisted to glance around him at his father’s ranch as it faded into the distance.

“Travis came out here with his brothers, Mason and Cody, two years ago.” It was strange to give an account of someone else’s life, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle his own at the moment. “Their parents had a farm and a ranch of some sorts way up in Oregon, but it failed when their father passed on about five years ago. Luckily, that was about the time Dad was advertising for more ranch hands, and since their ma was living with their sister at that point, all three of the brothers came down here.”

“Interesting.”

Franklin couldn’t tell if it was interesting or not, but it was kind of Corva to at least pretend to be interested in what he was saying. It’d been so long since he’d had this much to say that he’d forgotten what it was like to carry on a conversation.

“Dad’s baseball team is Howard’s Hawks, by the way, and Aunt Virginia’s is the Piedmont Panthers.”

Corva brightened, her smile rivaling the sun. “How fun. Do you—” Instantly, her smile faded and she blushed. “No, I suppose not.”

“I don’t play,” he confirmed her swallowed question. How many times had he sat in the benches watching a game, teeth clenched, longing to swing the bat and run? He cleared his throat and said, “The Hawks are playing the Bears on Sunday. That’s why you saw the Bears practicing. Tomorrow, it’s the Hawk’s turn to practice on the field, although you can bet that Mason will have the boys throwing balls around and sprinting after work tonight. Mason is our team captain.”

“I see,” Corva answered, and again Franklin wondered if he was boring her.

That worry was short-lived. “We’re here.”

They crossed a wide, wooden bridge over a winding stream lined with shrubs and trees, and turned a corner. His modest house and stable came into view. Corva caught her breath and hummed.

“You’d hardly know this house was here from the other side of the stream,” she said.

“I planned it that way,” Franklin answered.

She turned to him, her eyes asking why, but he pretended not to see. Instead, he drove the wagon to stop beside a raised platform. The horse came to rest at just the right spot and bobbed his head with a snort as if to say, “We’re home.”

The platform was designed with a long ramp, so that all Franklin had to do was stand, take up his cane, and step carefully from the vehicle. Gideon Faraday—a scientist and inventor and another of Haskell’s unique inhabitants, who also happened to be his brother-in-law—had built the ramp and another just like it leading up to Franklin’s front door. In fact, after Gideon had gotten through altering the original house Franklin had built, there wasn’t a single thing that Franklin had trouble climbing or reaching or doing with his broken legs.

Franklin was still slow to walk around the wagon, and by the time he made it to the other side, Corva had already hopped down on her own.

“Oh, sorry,” she said when she saw his frown. “I should have waited for you to help me.”

Franklin shook his head and waved as if it didn’t matter, though somehow, deep in his heart, it did. Some husband he made. “Your weight probably would have knocked me over anyhow.”

He was already halfway to forgetting the comment when Corva’s face fell and she lowered her head. Franklin frowned, running back through his words. He wasn’t saying that she was clumsy or heavy or anything. It was best to let it go and move on.

“Let me just get Kingsman settled here, and I’ll show you the house.”

Corva waited as patiently as she could while Franklin unhitched his horse from the wagon and led it into the simple stable. The first sight of her fiancé—no, her husband now—had raised a hundred questions about how he could navigate his way through the tasks of everyday life with iron braces on his legs. Walking was difficult enough. But as soon as he pulled the wagon up to the strange ramp in front of his stable, as soon as she saw a similar ramp leading to the front door of his house and caught a glimpse of other adjustments and contraptions inside the stable—like railings around the walls and a long stick with a claw on the end that must have been for reaching things on high shelves—she was fascinated.

So fascinated, that by the time Franklin finished settling his horse and limped slowly back to where she stood, she burst out with, “Franklin, were you born lame or did something happen?”

Franklin froze halfway through offering her his arm. He lowered his arm and glanced off toward the stream, face pinched.

Shame hit Corva like a lightning bolt. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It isn’t my place.”

Franklin took in a breath and offered his arm, escorting her on to the house. “I suppose if you look at it one way, it is your business now. You’re my wife.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper for the last statement.

Uncertainty crashed over Corva before she could stop it. Franklin didn’t seem as overjoyed to be married as his Aunt Ginny and Josephine did. He hadn’t smiled once since she’d stepped off the train. His expression was strained now, and though it could have been pain from his legs, it could also have been dissatisfaction with the situation. Mrs. Breashears had mentioned that Virginia and Josephine and Mr. Charlie Garrett were interested in bringing brides out to Haskell, Wyoming, but she’d never actually said that Franklin Haskell was eager to be married. What if this whole thing was someone else’s idea and she was an imposition?

All those thoughts zipped through her head in the time it took for Franklin to escort her around the parked wagon. “I had an accident about ten years ago,” he began, then paused. “No, eleven years ago.” He let out a breath and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Corva murmured. She was, especially for her presence and for marrying him if that wasn’t what he wanted.

“It was my own fault,” he went on, staring at the ground in front of him. “I was young and arrogant and stupid. I…” He stopped, shook his head, then straightened his shoulders and looked her in the eye. “It was back when Dad and Aunt Ginny were bickering about the property line. There was a contest to build fences. Whoever finished their fence first got to claim the line was where they wanted it to be. I…I was brash and full of myself, and I tried to cheat by sabotaging the other side. Only, in the process, I upset a wagon full of heavy fence rails, and the whole thing came crashing down on me. By God’s grace alone, none of the rails crushed my head or my vital organs. My legs, on the other hand… The lacerations alone nearly killed me, not to mention the breaks.”

He let out a long breath and kept walking. It was almost as if the weight of those fence rails was still pressing down on him. Corva bit her lip. Poor Franklin still carried that burden, and now there was a distinct possibility he’d been burdened with a wife he didn’t want either. He’d been kind and welcoming to her, but she couldn’t say he’d been warm.

“I know how it feels to break a leg,” she said after a respectful pause. Maybe he hadn’t wanted her, but they were married now, and she was determined to be helpful to him and not another problem.

“You do?” He sounded far more surprised than she thought her revelation warranted.

“Mmm hmm.” She tried to smile, but the terror of those memories turned it into something more like a grimace. “When I was a girl. We lived in Atlanta, Mama, Papa, and I. When the war started, Papa joined the cause, of course, so then it was just me and Mama. Then Sherman came.”

A shudder passed through her. Franklin stopped at the bottom of the ramp leading up to his door, squeezing her arm.