Western Spring Weddings

by Lynna Banning

  “Clara broke her ankle.”

  Dal got her full attention with that.

  “What?” she asked. “Broke her ankle? How?”

  “Running down the stairs,” he answered.

  “Oh, heavens. When?”

  “’Bout four hours ago. Doc says if she walks on it at all, she could wind up lame.”

  Concern leaped inside Ellie’s chest as her heart sank at such an idea. Clara was the dearest person. She was kind to everyone, and generous, and about the most beautiful woman one would ever see. Her eyes were the deepest blue, and sparkled so brightly when she spoke that people couldn’t help but smile, and her brown hair was naturally curly and so thick she could poke a flower behind her ear and it would stay there all day even without a pin.

  “Lame?” Ellie repeated softly. “Dear me. She must be so distraught, so...” Her thoughts shifted slightly. “What are we doing leaving her? You should be there to take care of her, and I—”

  “She has Mrs. King taking care of her, as well as Bill. He’s never far from hand.”

  Mrs. King was the housekeeper at the Rocking R and Bill Thorson was the man who Clara was so excited to be marrying. Those two were truly and sincerely in love. Bill was a ranch hand who had grown up on the Rocking R right alongside Clara. At least, that was how Clara had explained it. Ellie couldn’t imagine ever experiencing the kind of feelings Clara had for Bill, but then again, it wasn’t likely she ever would. Marriage was not in her future. She’d had enough of taking care of men with just her two brothers. She’d been catering to them, it seemed, since the day she’d been born, and that wasn’t about to end anytime soon. They couldn’t so much as boil water. It was just as well, as it wasn’t likely any man would ever want to marry a cattle rustler’s daughter.

  Swallowing around the lump that formed in her throat, she focused her wandering thoughts back on her friend. “Without Clara, there is no reason for me to go to Wichita.”

  “She says there is,” Dal answered. “She says you’re sewing her wedding dress and must make this trip in order to have it done by her wedding day.”

  “That is true,” Ellie said. “I will sew her dress once I have the material, and I will have it done by her wedding day, but I could have given you a list of items, and—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “I’m not traipsing in and out of dress shops to buy silk and lace or anything else.” He leaned back and looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment. “Why didn’t you just order what you needed from Silas?”

  “I suggested that, but Clara didn’t want to. She said Mr. Thatcher would probably get the order wrong, and that she wanted to go shopping for the material, not just settle on whatever he managed to get in.”

  Dal nodded. “She’s right that Silas might get it wrong. It took him three tries to get in the perfume I ordered for Clara for Christmas. It almost didn’t arrive in time.”

  “She really likes that perfume,” Ellie answered.

  “I know she does. It’s the same one my father always bought for my mother.”

  The lump in her throat returned—or maybe it had never left. It was always there when she was around Dal. “Yes, she mentioned that,” Ellie managed to answer.

  He glanced out the window briefly before turning back to her. “Well, Miss Alexander, I hope you are up for completing Clara’s list on your own.”

  Having never stepped foot in a store other than Silas Thatcher’s, Ellie had no idea what she was in for, but she unabashedly answered, “Of course I’m up for it.”

  “Good, because Clara’s counting on you.” Leveling his stare at her until she felt it right at the center of her bones, he added, “I will not allow my sister to be disappointed, so I’m counting on you, too.”

  His blue eyes, which were the same shade as Clara’s, were so intent, so serious, that Ellie couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it, but she did muster up a slight nod of acknowledgment.

  “While we are on that subject,” he continued, “if your sewing skills are not up to the standard Clara believes them to be, please tell me now.”

  Ellie opened her mouth to tell him she’d been sewing for years, but the words wouldn’t come out. Shirts made for her brothers held little comparison to a wedding gown. This was her first attempt at something so intricate, something so important, but if Clara’s dress was half as gorgeous as how she pictured it in her mind, the entire town would be talking about it, and she’d finally have a way to make money. Enough money that someday the sod shanty would be but a memory.

  “As I said, I won’t have my sister disappointed,” Dal repeated. “She’s been dreaming of marrying Bill since she was no more than ten. Making her wait until she turned eighteen was not an easy feat. But she’s done it, and she’ll have the wedding I promised her.”

  Thankfully Ellie’s voice had returned—at least she hoped it wouldn’t fail her a second time. “I would not want to disappoint Clara any more than you would, Mr. Roberts. I am fully aware of how much this wedding means to her, and also how much her wedding gown means to her.”

  “But can you sew it?”

  His arrogance, that attitude he had whenever she was around, grated on her nerves. She had no idea whether he was the same with others—she’d barely seen him except for the few times she’d visited the Rocking R at Clara’s invitation. He might be far richer than she, and an extremely handsome man who left girls giggling in his wake, but in her eyes he was nothing more than a cowboy. A man who cared more about cows than people. The very kind of man she never wanted anything to do with. He might think he was something special, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t some sort of supreme being, put there by the Almighty to look down upon others. She understood all of that very clearly. He, it seemed, did not.

  “Yes, Mr. Roberts,” she answered. “I can sew it.”

  The gaze that roamed over her and spent a significant amount of time on her old and much-too-large coat and the skirt of her well-faded dress said he clearly had his doubts.

  “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  Although he’d barely uttered the words, she’d heard them and they stung. Anger zipped up her spine faster than a bee could sting. Insults were not new to her, and living with two brothers had taught her how to fling gibes back as fast as she could sling rocks. “Excuse me?”

  Chapter Three

  Dal rarely regretted anything he said, but right now he did. She was to blame. Every time he got within ten feet of Ellie Alexander he felt like a greenhorn tossed upon a saddle for the first time. That was why he tried to stay as far away from her as possible. There was no logical reason for him to feel that way, and he was a very logical man, which was why it irritated him so badly.

  Knowing crow was better eaten warm than cold, he drew a breath and apologized, “I beg your forgiveness, Miss Alexander. I’m afraid Clara’s mishap has left me rather irritated. I should not have taken it out on you. You have my word I won’t do it again. If Clara wants you to sew her dress, then you are the one who will sew it.” If that meant he would have to oversee every stitch she made in order for the dress to be up to his standards, he would do that, too. Clara and Bill had obeyed his rules as promised, and he’d fulfill his promise to them by providing the most elaborate wedding Buckley had ever seen.

  If the blush on Ellie’s face was any indication, he’d guess his apology had caught her off guard. Which could be a good thing. He had a feeling that keeping her off guard might be his best approach.

  “Th-thank you,” she stammered. “In turn,” she continued, with her voice gaining more stability, “I promise that I will not disappoint either Clara or you with my sewing abilities. Her dress will be precisely what she wants.”

  Her chin had risen as she spoke, and whether he wanted to or not he had to appreciate her resilience. Much like he did her beauty. With eyes as bro
wn as coffee and her long, straight hair so black it literally shone, there were few more lovely than Ellie. That, too, had concerned him recently. With her living out in the middle of nowhere with her two brothers, Dal wondered about her safety every time she left the ranch. He wondered who knew where the little sod shanty was located. And how many hours her brothers left her alone out there with no protection other than a dog the size of a horse. At least he assumed she still had that dog. It had been years since he’d ventured out to the shanty shortly after her father had died.

  Lester Alexander had been caught red-handed stealing cattle, and had been hanged on the spot, along with his brother, Ellie’s uncle Alfred. Dal’s father had been among the men who’d hanged the brothers, but Dal’s mother had been the one who’d taken food to the Alexanders afterward. His father had been mad that she’d hauled Dal along with her. At the time, Dal hadn’t liked it much himself, but over the years he’d come to understand his mother had been teaching him a lesson in life. That there are two sides to every story and the outcomes of every action ripple out to far more people than just those directly involved.

  He’d been ten when his mother had taken him to that sod shanty, which meant it had been sixteen years ago.

  Dogs didn’t live that long. He looked up. “Whatever happened to your aunt?”

  As her eyes widened and she swallowed hard, he realized he’d asked aloud the question that had shot into his mind. The way her teeth sank deep into her bottom lip had regret floundering about inside him again. Damn, he was a greenhorn when it came to her. The next four days were going to be the longest of his life. That idea didn’t please him in the least, and when things didn’t please Dal, he always tried to change them. Surely today should be no different.

  “We’re going to be spending a considerable amount of time together the next few days, Miss Alexander,” he said. It was time to face the topic that was always just below the surface when she was near. It couldn’t stay buried that long. “We might as well accept that, and how uncomfortable we make each other.”

  Both of her dark eyebrows rose into perfect arches. “Uncomfortable?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “Uncomfortable. It’s quite obvious you don’t like me, and that’s understandable, considering the history between our families.” He paused briefly before saying, “Yet, you’ve befriended Clara.”

  “It’s impossible not to befriend Clara,” she pointed out.

  “That is true. She’s a very likable person.”

  “And an honest one.” She appeared to relax a bit then, sitting back in her seat rather than perching on the edge as she had been. “Evidently, that runs in your family.”

  “Evidently?”

  She nodded. “You’re right, I don’t like you, but it has nothing to do with the history between our families.”

  “Oh? Then why is it?”

  Glancing around the car before slowly leaning forward, she hissed, “Because you are an arrogant ass.”

  Dal couldn’t stop himself. His roar of laughter had all the other passengers looking their way, including the old cowboy who lifted a corner of his hat to peek out beneath the rim.

  “I guess we’re now even,” he said.

  She removed the hand she’d thrown over her mouth to ask, “Even?”

  “Yes, one insult for another.” He released another chuckle as he shook his head. Ellie Alexander had more guts than he’d given her credit for.

  Her cheeks were bright red, but her eyes turned dark. “You find that funny?”

  “I think I find it admirable, Miss Alexander.”

  “Admirable?”

  “Yes. I’m aware that some people have described me just as you stated, but none have had the courage to say it to my face.”

  “I may not like you, Mr. Roberts,” she said with a hint of nervousness, “but you do not scare me.”

  He had to wonder if she’d said that to convince herself more than him. Whatever the case, he said, “You do not scare me, either.”

  “Then again,” she said smartly, “we’re even.”

  Dal wasn’t sure he would say that, but he leaned back and relaxed. Taking off his hat, he laid it on the seat beside him. “So, whatever happened to your aunt?”

  Ellie wondered if she should answer. Keeping quiet truly seemed to be the best option as the less Dal knew about her and her family the better. But a knot forming in her stomach didn’t completely agree. It told her he already knew anything there was to know.

  “How about that dog you had?” he asked.

  The softening in her chest had her responding without thinking. “Samson?” She’d cried for weeks after the dog had died, but now his memory brought nothing but fondness. “He died a few years ago,” she said. “Of old age.”

  “That’s too bad,” Dal said with enough sincerity that she believed him. “I’d never seen a dog that big. Haven’t since.”

  “Since when?” she asked. “When would you have seen Samson?”

  “Shortly after your father died,” he answered. “I went to your place with my mother. Your brothers were there, and your aunt.”

  “I must have been there, too,” Ellie said. “My mother died a few days after my father.” At two, she’d been too young to remember the event, but had been told the tale often enough that it was now seared in her memory as if she did recall every minor detail. How Mrs. Roberts had brought over baskets of food, and how her mother and the baby she’d been carrying had died that same day. In the bed Ellie still slept upon every night. However, she hadn’t been told that Dal had been with his mother.

  “I didn’t know that was when your mother died.”

  Ellie lifted her head. “Few did. Considering the circumstances.”

  “I can’t be blamed for your father’s death. Only he can be blamed for that.”

  “I never said I blame anyone.” And she didn’t. But James and Daniel, her brothers, certainly did. Aged five and six, they had been old enough to remember everything, and to this day they still held responsible anyone who had anything to do with the Rocking R for the death of their father.

  “You don’t need to say it.”

  Ellie leveled her gaze on him. “No, I don’t. Do I?” If that was what he wanted to believe, it was fine with her. She wasn’t here to make friends with him. She was here because of Clara, her one and only true friend.

  They stared at each other for a length of time. Long enough that the rumbling of the wheels and the rattling of the carriage no longer echoed in her ears because all of her thoughts shifted to focus on why she should care if he thought she blamed him or not.

  “What happened to your aunt?”

  It was a moment before she realized he’d spoken, and by then, her mouth had already started to answer. “She left five years ago.”

  “Left?”

  That event she did remember. “A drifter came through looking for work, to earn enough money to further him along. The next morning he was gone and so was Aunt Jenny. Along with the small amount of money we’d had.” Ellie let out a sigh, mainly to release the thoughts that surfaced when she thought of her aunt. She didn’t begrudge her. It was more that she envied her. Aunt Jenny had had the courage to walk away. She didn’t.

  “Do you ever hear from her?” he asked.

  “She wrote once,” Ellie said, clearly recalling how Aunt Jenny had written that a person just knows when it’s time to move on.

  “How old were you when she left?”

  “Thirteen. James was sixteen and Daniel seventeen, so we were plenty old enough to take care of ourselves.” Lifting her chin, she added, “And we have.”

  “Thirteen,” he repeated. “The same age Clara was when our parents died.”

  Ellie remembered the Sunday both Mr. and Mrs. Roberts had been shot while riding home from church in thei
r buggy. The posse tracking down the killer had stopped at their place, wanting to know where Daniel and James had been that morning. They had been at home but the sheriff hadn’t believed that, not until he had tracked down the shooter—the son of another man who had been hanged for rustling Rocking R cattle.

  Unlike when her own parents had died, the entire community had turned out for Dal’s parents’ funeral.

  Wanting to avoid any more animosity, Ellie said, “And like you’ve done for Clara, my older brothers have provided for me.”

  He made no comment or acknowledgment. Granted, her brothers didn’t make the kind of money that Dal did, but they worked from sunup to sundown and kept paying the taxes on their ten-acre plot. Dick Weston, the farmer they worked for, couldn’t afford to give them the kind of wages the Rocking R paid, but her brothers didn’t want to work with cows. They preferred farming the land. That didn’t remind them of their father and how his theft of Rocking R cattle had led to their whole lives being stolen from them.

  “The sun will be setting soon,” Dal said. “We should see what Mrs. King packed for us to eat while we still can.”

  Ellie’s cheeks grew warm again. The jerky and biscuits she’d packed for herself would pale in comparison to anything Mrs. King had made. The lunches she’d eaten while visiting Clara had been extraordinarily delicious.

  Dal opened one of the leather bags near his feet and pulled out a red-and-white-checkered bundle. It might have been her imagination, but Ellie swore she smelled freshly baked bread and her mouth began to water.

  Opening the neatly folded package, he said, “Looks like ham.”

  Ellie managed to swallow a moan before it sounded.

  “Here,” he said, holding out a thick sandwich.

  Ellie turned away. “No, thank you.”