Rancher Wants a Wife (4 page)

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.

She looked down at the white fabric cascading over her hips. Everything seemed to be in order.

The gown had a high waistline, cinched beneath her breasts, a plunging neckline offset by a half collar at the back, puffy sleeves and a very long train. Cassandra carefully picked up the swirly back end and slipped the elegant loop over her finger to hold the train off the ground. Her shoes weren’t new—black stiletto boots with tiny leather buttons, the only good pair she owned—but they gave her a nice height.

She twirled with pleasure, and her hemlines brushed nicely over her ankles.

The knock on her door came at precisely quarter to the hour of six. When she opened it, Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh were standing there in formal attire.

“My dear, you look beautiful.” Mrs. Dunleigh gave her a tender smile, and Cassandra felt more appreciated in that one simple act of kindness than she had all day.

“Thank you.”

The heavyset Mr. Dunleigh, more reserved than his wife, nodded at her scuffed luggage. “May I take your bags? There’s a man outside waiting to take them to the ranch.”

“Yes, please.” Cassandra had repacked her pistol, bullets and books, and now welcomed the help. She looked at her wild roses. “I nearly forgot about a bridal bouquet. These will do.” She picked up the bundle of roses, dried off the stems and wrapped the moist ends in a blue lace handkerchief. She wondered if Jack had imagined when he’d given them to her that she’d be carrying them down the aisle.

Ten minutes later, they were walking to the church. It was only a few blocks from the hotel, but even so, Cassandra attracted lots of attention. Shop owners peered out of their windows, a man sweeping the boardwalk stopped to stare, people on horseback craned their necks and a small child grabbed at her mother’s skirts and pointed.

The church on the corner was covered with clapboard. A tall steeple rose above it, shaded by redwoods.

“There has to be some mistake,” said Cassandra, drawing nearer and noticing all sorts of buggies lined up along the street. “We’re having a small ceremony. Just a few people. Maybe this is the wrong church.”

“No mistake.” Mr. Dunleigh said matter-of-factly. “This is the correct location.”

Mrs. Dunleigh leaned over to whisper, “I don’t know what’s gotten into Dr. McColton today. I heard him inviting everyone, whatever friends happened by the ranch. Said he should’ve announced the wedding weeks ago....”

Cassandra moaned softly. Had Jack assumed that she wanted a large ceremony because of her comment yesterday that he hadn’t told many people about their impending nuptials? It was kind of him to think of her...but this wasn’t what she’d meant. These were strangers to her, and would only increase her jitteriness.

“Come along, miss,” Mr. Dunleigh urged. “We’ll go through the side door and leave you with Reverend Darcy.”

“Leave me? Oh, no, please,” said Cassandra.

Husband and wife turned to her. The housekeeper’s spectacles slid to the bottom of her nose as she peered down at Cassandra. “Yes, what is it?”

“Mrs. Dunleigh, surely you’ll understand, but may I borrow your husband, please? My father’s not here, and I feel awkward asking a stranger. But it would mean the world to me if Mr. Dunleigh could stand beside me and walk me down the aisle.” Cassandra’s mouth went dry as she peered at the gentleman. “Please, Mr. Dunleigh.”

His wife pulled a hanky from her long sleeve and sniffled into it. “Of course, my dear, we wouldn’t have it any other way.” She gave a pointed look to her husband, who didn’t appear to be convinced.

His eyebrows were raised as he deliberated. When he hesitated too long, he was reprimanded by his wife. “Yes, of course,” she prodded, “he’d cherish the moment. Wouldn’t you, dear?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a simple nod. He wasn’t enthusiastic, but was gentlemanly about the matter.

Mrs. Dunleigh entered the front of the church. Cassandra and Mr. Dunleigh took the side stairs and stepped into the alcove at the back. Reverend Darcy, with short gray hair and a long black robe and collar, greeted her kindly. “Good evening. Welcome, welcome, lass.”

He gave her instructions on how they’d begin, then quickly departed. Cassandra stood nervously beside Mr. Dunleigh in the alcove. Judging by the shuffling of feet and amount of murmuring behind the wall, it sounded like a packed congregation.

When the pianist began “Here Comes the Bride,” Cassandra placed her hand on Mr. Dunleigh’s elbow and came out of hiding.

Up at the altar, Jack turned.

He looked splendidly handsome in a formal black tailcoat and blue cravat. His black hair caught the light cascading from an arched window, and the corners of his mouth lifted upward in what appeared to be approval. He glanced briefly at her burned cheek. His jaw tightened and she saw regret in his eyes.

What was he thinking?

Mr. Dunleigh marched her down the aisle. They fumbled a bit because their paces didn’t match. Cassandra, light-headed, felt the strain of tension and worry that had been building for months.

The pews were jammed with a hundred bodies, all turned in her direction and staring. Some looked curious, some aloof; some were smiling. Cassandra focused ahead, gripping her flowers as though they were a lifeline.

Jack’s best man was standing to his side, a dapper-looking fellow in a gray suit, with slicked-back red hair. Because of his cool expression, he was harder to read than Jack. On the other side, as Reverend Darcy had explained to her, his elderly wife was waiting to be a witness for Cassandra.

They reached the altar. Mr. Dunleigh faded away, and Cassandra stepped up beside Jack. His eyes flickered over her, then down to her roses.

“This is it,” he murmured. “Are you ready?”

She nodded and smiled, but couldn’t help but wish he’d said something more personal. She bowed her head as the minister began.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together on this beautiful summer day to join this man and this woman.”

The rest was a blur to Cassandra. She was feeling queasy and started to rock. The next thing she knew, they were nearly at the end. Her head swam. Only a few more minutes...

“If there is any man who can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

“I object!” a woman’s voice called from the back.

Cassandra snapped to attention.

People gasped. Jack swung around sharply.

Dismayed, Cassandra swiveled in her wedding gown, peering past all the faces to the stylish woman in a plum-colored suit who’d stepped out to voice her objections. She was the brunette who’d dropped her package coming out of the hat shop yesterday when she’d spotted Jack and Cassandra together.

Bouts of nervous coughing and shuffling ran through the congregation. Did everyone else know about this woman and this potential problem?

Had Jack seen this coming?

Chapter Four

C
haos broke out as Jack looked on, feeling powerless at his own wedding.

Reverend Darcy tried to take control of the situation in a calm, clear voice. “Miss Elise Beacon, please say what’s on your mind.”

Murmurings and exclamations turned into dead silence.

Elise stood in a pew next to the aisle, surrounded by female friends. She grasped the railing in front of her and glanced at Jack with what seemed like apology in her eyes.

He steeled himself. How could she do this? What gave her the right? He tried to restrain himself, but burned with fury.

“Reverend, I’m sure the whole town knows that Jack has been courting me, with expectations of...of... I feel he’s being disingenuous to arrange a marriage to someone else.”

“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.

Cassandra took the moment to try to compose herself.

She’d lost her heart once to another man, with dire consequences, and didn’t wish to risk it again. Though she and Jack were now married, the peril she felt in possibly having her heart ripped out a second time, only to be replaced with a painful emptiness, made her cautious. Perhaps more so now that they were wed.

There was so much more to lose.

Maybe it was the heartless ruin of everyone she’d lost over the last five years that struck her with such force. First, learning the truth about Troy, his uncontrolled fits of temper when he drank, his dalliances with prostitutes, his words, “I always found you too prim and proper,” the last time they’d spoken. How could his pronouncement still hurt so much?

And then the second aching loss that would never be filled—the missing presence of her sister, Mary, and the loving protectiveness of her father. Cassandra would forever feel that pain.

It seemed that life’s sorrows didn’t stop at just one heartache. They kept coming and coming...and all she could do was try to protect herself the best she could.

Cassandra had tried her hardest to remain optimistic—especially in the boardinghouse, with the other women. Some had lost children in the fire, and that pain had to be indescribable.

Being here with Jack, she felt so terribly vulnerable and fragile.

He had the power to destroy her.

If
she let him. If she let him into her heart, into her soul, into her very life.

It would be much simpler, much less damaging to her, if she kept him at a distance. If anything, the outburst by Elise Beacon today had forewarned Cassandra of how much she could still hurt. She wanted to ask Jack about that other woman, but now that they were alone, she was reluctant to bring it up and spoil their moment.

He turned around again, a smile lingering on his lips.

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” he murmured.

Beautiful? Really? Her?

Her breath tripped in her throat. It was the first sensual thing any man had said to her since the fire. But...would Jack be terribly disappointed, as Troy had been, when they became more intimate? Not that she had ever slept with Troy, but their relationship had been physical enough on one occasion that it still brought shame to her cheeks. He’d partially disrobed her.

How could she have been so deceived into believing he had loved her?

Stop it
, she told herself. This was nonsense, thinking like this when she had another man, a more honorable man, standing before her, trying to express some gentle words.

“You look very dashing in your suit. I had a lovely day.”

“It’s not over,” he said, and indicated that she should look around the room.

To their right, the dining table had been set with a lovely assortment of fine china, sparkling goblets and silverware. A feast was about to be consumed. Candles about to be lit.

Yet what she noticed most was that Jack had removed his hand from her back moments ago. A cold shadow, a phantom of his masculine touch, lay there instead.

“A toast to us?” He offered her the choice between a white chardonnay and a red pinot noir. “They’re both superb wines from the area.” They settled on the red, and he poured.

“It’s very nice,” she said, upon tasting it.

There was something very romantic, yet also very much missing, when the two of them sat down to eat, both in their wedding attire. Jack was attentive to her needs, serving her the finest cut of roast beef she’d ever tasted, potatoes pulled that day, green beans mixed with a walnut sauce, and savory desserts of raspberry custard and lime pie.

If they had been in love, the dinner might have been incredibly sentimental and romantic. Instead, without family and dear friends to share it, it seemed lonely. And awkward, with the two of them trying to pretend they were totally at ease with one another, that there was nothing but food on their minds, that they weren’t both thinking apprehensively of the wedding night ahead.

* * *

Jack was trapped in a primitive urge of desire as he led Cassandra up the winding staircase to his wing of rooms. What red-blooded male wouldn’t be anticipating a night with such a woman? She appeared so innocent and demure on the outside—always had—and that made him imagine all the more what lay beneath that shield of white lace and scrubbed skin.

There’d been some problems today at the ceremony that he needed to explain, but not now. The talk he wasn’t too thrilled about having with her could wait a bit longer.

“This way,” he said, leading her by candlelight to the far room with the best view of the valley. “Your luggage should be right inside.”

“There.” She spotted the bags on the right side of the bed—her side—and blushed.

Was there anything she didn’t blush at?

“I’ll show you to the bath.”

“You’ve arranged a hot bath?” She followed him into his private dressing room.

“Of course.”

“Well, then, you’ve thought of everything.”

The massive room was lined in oak cabinets and armoires. Clay tiles covered the floor, along with a colorful Oriental rug he’d purchased on the docks of San Francisco, coming in from Hong Kong. Matching tapestries clung to the high walls. A freestanding pewter mirror stood in one corner, along with a basin and pitcher of water.

He took her down a private flight of stairs to a private bathing room. It was easier to have the tub on the main floor so that he or his staff could haul the water outside to drain.

Logs in the fireplace crackled softly. He walked to the cauldrons of steaming water hanging above the fire, lifted one and carried it to the claw-footed porcelain tub. He added its contents to the fresh cool water already there, prepared by his staff.