The Wrangler's Mail Order Bride (11 page)

S
he decided
to head down to the barn to see Hank after she’d finished putting her clothes away. Maria, the housekeeper, had come by to check on her, and they’d made an arrangement for a tour later in the evening.

Clara strolled down the long drive, slowing as she passed the small, white house with the blue window frames. She stopped in front of the small iron gate that led into a patio area filled with the neglected shrubs and herb plants she’d noticed before. Several bright scarlet flowers struggled to break through a tangle of weeds and she looked left and right before she opened the gate and went in.

She bent down and quickly cleared away the weeds so that the plants might have half a chance to break through and produce even more blooms. Looking around and seeing no one, she put her nose to the window to see what was inside, and was met with flowered fabric covering the glass on the inside.

“Darn,” she muttered under her breath as she turned and went back out the gate, pulling it shut behind her. Now that she knew this had been Katie’s special house, and that Mr. Archer had closed it up after she died, she was even more curious to peek inside.

The sputters and neighs of horses neighing carried through the door as she approached the barn. She slowed again, wondering which part of the barn Hank was in. She opened her mouth to call out to him just as she approached and stopped as she noticed the barn door was open. Something made her slow even more and poked her head around the corner.

The ten stalls she’d noticed the day before each held a horse, beautiful ones of all colors and types. She’d seen some of them in the book she’d brought and recognized a palomino and what she thought might be a quarter horse, but she wasn’t sure. Some smaller horses, younger, she guessed, were in stalls with larger horses.

The barn was empty—of humans, anyway—so she entered, expecting to see Hank maybe in the arena. As she walked through, she gravitated to the left side, petting the noses of all the horses she passed as they eagerly thrust their heads out, neighing slightly as she touched them.

As she approached the open door at the opposite end of the barn, she turned around, each horse now on the right side of the barn looking at her intently. On the left, the horses stomped and whinnied, some of them even kicking their doors as she passed. She shook her head as she remembered what Hank had said about the horses he’d broken being on one side and other horses—maybe trail horses—on the other. There was no question in her mind which side held the horses Hank had trained.

She turned again and walked toward the shade covering the benches beside the arena, pulling her bonnet down to shade her eyes from the piercing sunlight.

Hank looked up at her and smiled as he held the lead of a smaller horse, a beautiful white one, as it circled around him. She’d never seen anything like this before, and wondered if they were just having fun or if there was some purpose to what he was doing.

She reached the benches and sat down beside a young couple, with a young girl who looked to be six or seven sitting on the young woman’s lap.

“Hello,” she said to the woman as she sat on the bench next to her under the shade of the towering tree, nodding toward the young family.

“Oh, hello,” the woman said, sitting the young girl down on the bench between the young man and her. “Would you be Hank’s new wife?” She extended her hand to Clara as she felt heat creep into her cheeks. His wife?

She cleared her throat, willing her flushed cheeks to cool. “Well, yes, I suppose I am,” she said, shaking the woman’s hand. “My name’s Clara Martin…er, Clara Archer.”

The woman wrapped both of her hands around Clara’s. “Oh, Mrs. Archer, I’m so terribly sorry that we’ve interrupted your wedding day. Hank told us when we got here. Thank you for accommodating our final training. Today is the day we get to pick up Abigail’s horse, and we wanted to make sure he was safe for Abigail to ride. And Hank’s the only one we trust around here for that. The only one Frank and I felt comfortable with.” She gestured toward the bench as she looked toward Hank, her hand over her eyes as she squinted in his direction.

“Please don’t worry, Mrs. Beckett. Hank takes this very seriously, and I don’t believe he would have cancelled for anything in the world.”
Including me.

The woman wrung her hands. “Well, I do apologize, though. If we weren’t riding to Tucson tomorrow, we would have left as soon as we heard.”

Clara smiled as she watched Hank in the hot sun, patiently running the young horse through its paces, seemingly pleased with what he saw.

“Can you believe he does all this without even using a whip? Amazing that he can train like this just using his voice.” Mrs. Beckett shook her head slowly, watching Hank with gleaming admiration.

“People use whips? On horses?” Clara’s hand moved to her chest, her mouth open.

Mrs. Beckett broke her gaze away from Hank’s progress and turned to Clara. “It’s not quite like it sounds. It’s the way horses are broken, normally, and in the right hands, it’s guidance rather than painful punishment. But Hank, somehow, doesn’t even need one. Just his voice…” She trailed off, looking back to her daughter as she and her father watched Hank intently.

“Hmph,” muttered a voice behind them.

They both turned at the sound, Mrs. Beckett smiling and walking over, her hand extended.

“Hello, Mr. Archer.”

Good day, Mrs. Beckett.”

“Isn’t it remarkable what your son does with these horses?”

Mr. Archer repeated his previous comment as Clara pulled the brim of her bonnet down further and smiled.

“What is it, Mr. Archer? Surely, you must be aware what a gift he has. And what a gift he is to those of us who want gentle, safe horses in our stables.” She turned and winked at Clara before walking back to her family and sitting on the bench.

Her father-in-law folded his arms over his chest as he glared at his son in the center of the arena. Shaking his head, he turned on his heel and walked into the barn.

Clara moved over to where Mrs. Beckett watched Hank and sat beside her.

Mrs. Beckett eyed Clara. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Archer. It will get better. This has been a long-standing issue between Hank and his father. I’m sure it’ll be settled sometime. We’ve known the Archer family a long time, and things are…difficult now. I believe Mr. Archer will see that Hank is much more valuable here, training horses, than out on the trail.”

They continued to watch as Hank wiped his brow with his handkerchief, leading the horse out the gate of the arena. He walked into the barn, and Clara and the young family followed.

As they entered the barn, Hank placed the riding blanket on the horse, and then the saddle, cinching it tightly before he placed the bridle over its head and the bit in its mouth. The horse objected for a moment, and Hank bent down, whispering in its ear, and Clara’s eyes widened as the mare immediately settled.

Hank winked at Abigail and said, “You ready for a ride? I need to teach you a few things before you go. Teach you how to talk to him, too.”

Abigail laughed as Hank lifted her on the horse, her hands immediately going to the saddle horn. “I see you’ve done this once or twice,” he said, smiling at Abigail as he led the horse back out into the arena.

Mrs. Beckett sighed, the look of gratitude unmistakable as she watched her daughter and her new horse enter the arena.

Clara’s new insight into what Hank wanted to do—no, needed to do—made her wonder exactly what his father was so opposed to. And she was fairly certain it was going to get worse before it got better.

T
he day had been very long
, and Clara retreated to her room after the riding lesson, not sure where else to go. When Maria knocked on her door and told her that supper was ready, she sighed, preparing herself for anything.

She was pleasantly surprised that the food was excellent—although she’d never heard of, let alone eaten, enchiladas before—and as the easy conversation slowed, Clara stood from the table, the unusual meal that Maria had provided still tingling on her tongue.

“That was delicious, and like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.”

Maria’s thick, black braid swung as she turned around and motioned for Clara to sit.

“Was it too hot for you, Señora?” she asked as she wiggled her finger at Sage and Saffron, whose job it apparently was to clear the dishes after supper. “Come now, ladies. I am a housekeeper, not a maid.”

“Hot?” Clara asked, a quizzical glance at Hank as she took her seat.

“Maria’s from Mexico, and we’ve grown accustomed to food the way it’s prepared there,” Mr. Archer said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. “Not many people can handle it.”

“Oh, Mr. Beau, I made it special for Miss Clara. Not too spicy. Was it okay?” She eagerly turned to Clara as the girls took the dishes into the kitchen.

“Absolutely wonderful,” Clara said, lifting her water glass and nodding in appreciation.

Maria’s smile spread wide as she nodded in return, wiping her hands on her apron as she turned to go back into the kitchen as well.

“Pa, may we be excused?” Pepper, the youngest of Hank’s sisters asked.

Beau turned to his daughter, his eyes soft.

“I don’t know. Let’s ask the question, shall we?”

Pepper groaned, turning to her sisters and saying, “Has everyone finished with their chores?”

“Papa, you know we always finish before supper.” Pepper laughed as she looked around at her sisters, nodding.

He smiled warmly as he looked around the table.

“Thank you very much. You may be excused.”

“Oh, one thing,” Clara said as they pushed their chairs back from the table. “I wanted to thank you all for welcoming me into your home. And for your lovely song today. It made the wedding special.”

They looked to their father before casting their eyes around, most of them ultimately settling on their feet.

He gave a curt nod as he looked at his daughter, tacit permission for them to leave, and they did—all together and in quite a rush.

“You don’t have to tell them twice,” Hank said as the last of his sisters pulled the door closed behind them.

“Hank, would you step outside with me for a moment? On the porch? I have some things to discuss with you.”

“Sure, Pa, let me just get Clara a wrap and we’ll be—“

“Just you, son,” Beau said over his shoulder as he walked toward the porch.

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned to Clara, his gaze stern.

“You don’t mind, do you? Family business.”

Clara’s breath caught in her throat at the unmistakable message. She wasn’t family.

“Pa, we just got married today, and I was hoping to spend some time with my—“

Clara wrapped her arms around herself, backing up slowly toward the kitchen. “It’s fine, Hank. I’ll go help in the kitchen.”

Hank threw up his hands. He shrugged at Clara as he scowled at his father’s back and followed him out the door.

“I won’t be long, Clara. We’ll sit out?”

“That would be nice, Hank, but I truly don’t want to intrude.”

Hank let out a heavy sigh and shook his head as he closed the door behind him.

Clara pushed the door open into the kitchen, pausing as she heard Sage say, “Pa says it’s only for a little while. She’s just here until he gets the property, and then that’s it.”

“I guess there’s really no point in getting to know her,” Saffron said. “She sure seems nice, though. She liked the flower I gave her.”

“You gave her a flower? Don’t do things like that. If you like her, it’ll be harder when she leaves. Just like Mama.”

Metal clattered and Clara jumped as Maria said, “Girls. You cannot be like your father, afraid to be hurt. That is no way to live. You won’t feel pain, but you also won’t feel joy. It isn’t right.”

“But Maria, Papa wasn’t like this before Mama died. He says not to let yourself get hurt like that. Like he did.”

“I don’t care what he says. And you can tell him I said that. He is not himself.”

“Well, I’m going to do what he says, anyway,” Saffron said. “He knows best.”

“You always do what he says,” her sister said. “That’s why you’re no fun.”

The swinging door pushed Clara back against the wall as Saffron ran out, laughing as Sage chased her. “I’ll show you who’s no fun.”

Clara pressed her hand against her heart, willing it to stop beating so quickly.

“Hey, you two, slow down,” Maria shouted as she walked out of the kitchen. She gathered another stack of dishes and gasped as she turned and saw Clara, her face beet red and her eyes downcast.

“Oh, Miss Clara. I didn’t know you were here.” Maria sat down at the table, patting the chair next to her.

Clara took a deep breath, her pride stung as she slowly reached the table and sat beside Maria.

“Is it true? Mr. Archer thinks I’m not staying? He wants me to leave?”

Maria shook her head slowly, taking Clara’s hand and squeezing. “I’m sorry you heard that, Miss Clara. The girls—well, since their mother died, it’s been very difficult here. So many hurt people. No one really talking. So they get things in their heads and I don’t know where it comes from.”

Clara’s eyes misted as she felt the lingering sadness tug her heart again.

“You feel it, don’t you? I knew you did.”

“I wasn’t sure what I felt, but I do believe that’s it. Lots of grief here.” She pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and ran it over her brow. “I can see it in their eyes.”

Maria’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, I can see that. And you know what else I see?”

Clara looked up at Maria, surprised to see her smiling.

“I see the way Mr. Hank looks at you. It has been a few short days, but I also see how Miss Saffron looks at you. You have brought more life into this house in those days than has been here in a year.”

Clara’s hands tingled and she laughed.

“And I see how you look at him, too,” Maria said quietly, her kind smile giving Clara some comfort.

“None of that matters, Maria, if Mr. Archer wants me to be gone. I imagine if that’s what he wants, that’s what will happen. And Hank will be leaving on the trail soon…”

Maria shook her head firmly and stood, her hands on her hips.

“This has been going on long enough and he needs to stop this business of trying to control everything to protect his heart. If he doesn’t stop, he’ll lose Mr. Hank, and then all of you, too, will want to leave.”

Clara stood, picking up some of the dishes from the table as she sighed.

“I don’t know quite what to do. I want—”

“You want what?” Hank said as he came through the door, his cheeks flushed.

Clara looked quickly to Maria as Hank began to shove the chairs back under the table.

Maria winked at Clara and said, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Mr. Hank, there’s some lemonade on the side table out on the back patio for you two.”