Tomorrow's Shining Dream

by Naomi Rawlings

  He shifted away from her and grasped her arms firmly at the elbows so she couldn’t reach for him again. “We can’t do this. You’re engaged to another man.”

  “I’m not engaged yet.”

  “Close enough.”

  Her eyes roamed his face. “What if I don’t want to be engaged to him because… because I have feelings for you?”

  Those words. How many times had he wished to hear them? They should bring floods of joy, followed by years of happiness with the woman he loved.

  A sharp sensation knifed through his chest instead. Maybe she had feelings for him now, but how long would those feelings last once she realized she’d never be able to keep her horses if she married him? “You don’t have feelings for me. You can’t.”

  Her nostrils flared. “I take it you don’t feel the same about me?”

  “Practice,” he muttered. “This was all supposed to be practice.”

  How had things gotten so out of control? Why had he said yes to Anna Mae’s ridiculous idea in the first place? “We can’t marry each other. You wouldn’t be happy with me, at least not long term. Now go back to the ball where you belong and dance with Andrew.”

  She gasped and drew away from him, but he didn’t stay to soften his words or better explain what he meant. If he spent another moment alone with her, she’d end up back in his arms, and he’d be promising her all manner of things that he shouldn’t.

  So he spun on his heel and strode away before she could stop him.

  22

  She tried to dance, truly she did. But how could she force a lightness to her feet and a smile to her lips when Daniel Harding had just kissed her…

  And then rejected her?

  Music floated in the air as she moved her wooden feet around the dance floor, trying to follow Andrew’s lead. Other couples swirled and twirled past them, smiles on their faces and laughter in their voices.

  If only this party wasn’t supposed to be for her, then she could slip away to her room and spend some time alone.

  Curled into a ball on her bed, crying until dawn.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Charlotte forced her eyes up until they met Andrew’s. “I think I’m just…”

  She stepped on his foot, and he sucked in a breath.

  Great, not only had she forgotten how to make conversation, but she’d also forgotten how to dance.

  “Would you like to get some air with me once the dance ends?” Andrew asked through a slight grimace.

  “Sure.” The room seemed far too hot, though that sensation probably had nothing to do with the room and everything to do with her conversation with Daniel.

  Why had she told Daniel how she felt? She should have kept it all to herself. At least then she wouldn’t have given him the opportunity to reject her. She could still hear his words ringing in her ears. Go back to the ball where you belong and dance with Andrew.

  The strains of music slowed, signaling the dance was almost finished. Charlotte forced a stiff smile to her face and urged her feet to follow Andrew’s for a few more steps.

  “Let’s go somewhere private.” Andrew’s breath tickled her ear, his head so close he nearly bumped her.

  “That sounds lovely.” It was a lie, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her through the maze of people crowding the dance floor. They descended the stairs together and walked through the large stone arch that held the doors to the hacienda. A breeze gusted over the desert to ruffle the bottom of her dress and toy with the wisps of hair hanging beside her cheek. The night air was certainly cooler than the stifling atmosphere inside.

  She didn’t pay much attention to where they went as he guided her off the terrace and up the trail behind the house. She was just glad to feel the desert wind on her face and be away from the crush of people.

  Andrew was completely silent as they walked, almost as though he felt just as awkward as she did.

  Wait. He couldn’t know about her kiss with Daniel… could he? Her heart beat against her ribs in a wild, unsteady rhythm.

  But nothing about Andrew indicated he was upset or angry as he led her higher up the mountain, using the light of the full moon to guide them. His shoulders were straight and his back was held in a line of perfect posture, but that wasn’t unusual.

  They walked for five minutes or better before he stopped at a small ledge that afforded a clear view of the house. The noise from the party didn’t travel this far up the mountain, but with lights shining from nearly every window, the house looked cheerful and happy, so very different from her own heart.

  Beyond the house, the silvery light of the moon cast the valley in a gentle glow, allowing her to make out the shapes and dips of the land. It was yet another breathtaking view of her beloved—

  “Charlotte.”

  She turned to face Andrew, except he wasn’t standing beside her anymore. He’d dropped to one knee.

  “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She stared down at the top of his head, the moisture leaching from her mouth.

  No. No. No. No. No. Andrew couldn’t be proposing now, not when her lips still remembered the taste of Daniel’s mouth, and her fingers still recalled the bumps and crags of the seashell pot he’d given her.

  But Andrew’s eyes were wide in the moonlight, his face so very sincere.

  “Andrew,” she rasped. She suddenly couldn’t do this, couldn’t commit her life to a man she didn’t love, even if it seemed like marrying him would solve her problems.

  She’d blame it on Daniel. Maybe it was his kiss earlier, or the tender way he looked at her whenever they were together—a way Andrew had never come close to imitating. Maybe it was that day at Closed Canyon when Daniel had said he’d never married because he hadn’t found the right woman, and getting his head shaved was better than being bound to the wrong one. Or the day in the stable when he’d told her that God’s grace was sufficient enough to cover her weaknesses.

  Or maybe it was the fact that though she and Andrew had spent a week together, Andrew didn’t know what she liked or disliked, what she’d miss about Twin Rivers, or any of the other things that mattered to her.

  Or maybe it was that she’d fallen in love with Daniel Harding, pure and simple. And this wasn’t like the infatuation she’d had with Robbie or her willingness to settle down with Sam just so she could stay in Twin Rivers.

  It was the kind of love Wes spoke of having with Abigail, the kind Sam and Ellie Owens shared, and Mr. and Mrs. Harding too. It was the kind of love that stayed with you for the rest of your life… even if you couldn’t have the person you loved.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into the night. “You’re a wonderful man, truly you are, but you don’t want me for a wife.”

  Andrew stayed on his knee for a moment, blinking up at her as though he didn’t quite understand. Then he pushed to his feet, still keeping her hand trapped in his. “Have I done something to offend you? Because I assure you, Charlotte, I very much want you to be my wife.”

  “No, you don’t, or you wouldn’t if you knew what I was really like. How poor of a dancer I am, how quickly I get nervous around people I don’t know. I don’t like wearing a dress, or riding sidesaddle. And I don’t want to leave the desert.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “I can’t marry you.” There. She’d said it more clearly, and refusing him was getting a little easier each time. “I thought I could, or I never would have gone on picnics with you and taken you to explore the desert. I would have written you right away in El Paso and told you not to bother coming back to the A Bar W.”

  She twisted her hands together at her waist, the polished manners she’d tried to teach herself forgotten. “I was confused, and you need to know I’ll never be a socialite or enjoy crowds and parties. But you’re a good man. Kind and sweet and polite. You don’t deserve a wife who’ll think of you as a
friendly acquaintance and feel trapped living in your grand San Antonio mansion.”

  He stared at her for a moment, his mouth hanging open as though he’d forgotten how to close it. “I… well, I… it sounds as though your mind is quite made up. Do you care if…”

  He gestured to the house in the distance and cleared his throat. “That is, I’d like a few minutes to myself. It’s terribly ungentlemanly of me to ask you to return to the hacienda unescorted, but you’re not quite like most of the women I know back in San Antonio.”

  A small smile tilted her mouth. “No, I don’t suppose I am. I don’t mind seeing myself back to the house.” She reached out and gripped his hand. “And Andrew, I’m sorry for misleading you, for making you think things could be different between us. For a while, I truly thought they could, but I was wrong.”

  He gave a slight nod. “I have to admit, I didn’t imagine things would end this way, but you’ve given me much to think about.”

  “Are you terribly disappointed?”

  “Not disappointed so much.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, then tugged his hand away. “But I have some thinking to do. You seem to know what you want in a husband, and I’ve always had so many women show interest in me, that I’ve never given much thought to the kind of woman I want to be bound to for the rest of my life. Is it bad of me to say I would have married you simply because our fathers wanted it, without giving any thought for how happy you or I would have been in the future?”

  “I nearly did the same.” In fact, she probably would have married him if she hadn’t gone and fallen in love with Daniel.

  He swallowed, and the small sound echoed overly loud against the desert night. “Thank you for speaking your mind.”

  “You’re welcome.” An hour ago, when Daniel had left her in Wes’s office, she’d felt as though a weight had settled on her chest. But now, as she left Andrew behind to stare out over the desert while she picked her way down the mountain, she felt suddenly light, maybe even happy.

  Unfortunately, her father didn’t look nearly so happy when she walked back into the ballroom alone. He made a beeline straight toward her.

  “What’s taking you so long? It’s past time for the announcement.”

  “What announcement?”

  “What announcement do you think? Now where is your fiancé?” He spoke loudly enough that the people standing nearby turned to look at them.

  Had he put Andrew up to proposing? Tonight? She swallowed. “I don’t have a fiancé, but I’d like a word with you. Privately.”

  “Yes, that seems like a good idea.” Wes appeared at her side. She didn’t know where he’d been or how much of the conversation he’d overheard, but his eyes held a dark look.

  “I don’t want to go to my office.” Pa glowered at both of them. “I want to get on with the evening.”

  “Did you tell Andrew to propose to me tonight?” she whispered softly enough so those nearby couldn’t overhear her.

  “Of course. No time like your birthday to announce—”

  “Your office. Now.” Something about the finality in Wes’s voice must have caused Pa to take him seriously, because Pa snapped his mouth shut and stalked toward the door.

  Charlotte could feel the gazes of half the residents of Twin Rivers boring into her back as she trailed her father out of the ballroom, but she didn’t care. Her blood simmered beneath her skin, and every muscle in her body felt tight. It was time her family had a conversation and her father and brother learned everything. It was time she followed the advice Daniel had been giving her for the past two months and see if telling the truth would really set her free.

  23

  Wes couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Charlotte so angry. She stormed into Pa’s office, tension roiling off her in waves. She wasn’t shouting—at least not yet—but somehow her quiet fury seemed worse than an outburst.

  “I’m not marrying Andrew.” She didn’t wait for Wes to close the door before spewing the words at their father.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, girl.” Pa’s voice was quiet, but it held an edge of steel. “Of course you’re marrying Andrew. I have it all arranged.”

  “I don’t care what you have arranged. I’m not doing it.”

  Pa narrowed his eyes into slits. “You have to.”

  “No, I don’t. And don’t look at me like I’m doing something wrong. You haven’t even told Wes yet!”

  Told him what? Wes looked back and forth between them.

  “Fine, you want me to tell him?” Pa straightened and turned Wes’s direction. “I’m dying. The doc’s given me only a month or two to live.”

  “What?”

  “The A Bar W will be yours before Christmas.”

  “You monster!” Charlotte stormed toward their father and jammed a finger into his chest. “How dare you tell him like that! He at least deserves an explanation.”

  “An explanation about what?” Wes heard his words echo through the room, but he didn’t remember moving his mouth to ask them. Pa couldn’t be dying. This had to be some kind of joke.

  “About why he’s dying.” Charlotte turned to him.

  He shook his head. He’d already lost his mother, his baby brother, and Abigail. Not Pa, too. He sank down into one of the wingback chairs in front of his father’s desk.

  “And we both deserve an explanation about why he hid his illness from us for so long.” Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest.

  “What illness?” Wes asked, but both his father and his sister were too busy glaring at each other to look at him.

  “I already told you. I hid it because I needed time to make sure things were in order.” A faint cough rumbled from Pa’s chest. He reached onto his desk, grabbed a thick stack of papers, and thrust them at Wes. “Here, you’ll want to read these. We’re part owners in the railroad.”

  “Why do we want anything to do with the railroad?” Wes glanced at the papers, then scooted them toward the center of the desk. He was too busy trying to make sense of Pa being sick to think about business.

  “Because we need to diversify.” Another cough rattled Pa’s chest. “Drought or disease could come through and decimate our herd at any time, and we’d be ruined. A smart businessman has more than one source of revenue, and I wanted to leave you with that before I died.”

  Leave him with…? “So you really are…?”

  Now that he looked close enough, Pa seemed a little thin, but that hardly meant they’d be digging a new grave in the family cemetery before Christmas.

  Pa coughed again, but unlike before, this cough was loud and jarring, causing him to double over and brace a hand on his desk. He’d heard Pa cough like that a time or two before but had never thought much of it. This time the coughing didn’t stop, and the fit consumed him in a matter of seconds.

  Charlotte moved to his side, murmuring something near Pa’s ear, though Wes couldn’t hear it over the loud, bark-like sounds coming from his father’s chest. She took the arm Pa had propped on the desk, wrapped her other arm around his shoulders, and led him behind the desk to his overstuffed chair. At some point, Pa fished a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and held it to his lips, and red flecks of blood soon stained the white cloth.

  “Pa?” Wes pushed himself out of his chair and rounded the desk.

  Charlotte had already pulled open one of the bottom drawers to reveal an entire stack of handkerchiefs. She handed one to Pa, then held up a waste bin for him to dispose of the cloth that had already become blood-soaked.

  Pa’s coughing was so loud Wes didn’t try speaking to Charlotte. Instead he stood back and watched as she deftly handed him two more cloths and then held up the waste bin. The vicious hacking filled the entire room, a bone-deep sound that left no question as to how ill Pa was.

  When it finally subsided, Pa slumped forward, wheezing in loud breaths through lungs that seemed determined not to draw air. His skin had gone from pale to a deathly shade of gray, and his face carried new shadows a
round his cheeks and eyes.

  “How long have you known?” Wes met Charlotte’s gaze above Pa’s head.

  “Not long.” She looked down and picked at an invisible speck on her dress. “A couple weeks, maybe. Consuela knew from almost the beginning, but he asked us not to tell you until he had his affairs in order and the ranch ready for you to inherit.”

  “Is it consumption?”

  She nodded. “That trip he went on this spring? The one he said was for business? He was at a sanitarium in the mountains of Colorado.”

  “I’m not dead yet,” Pa’s voice emerged thin and weak, like a dried-out reed ready to snap. “Stop talking about me like I’m already gone.”

  “Consumption.” Wes tested the word on his tongue while a sickening sensation rolled through his gut. “Pa, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Like Charlotte said, I still had business to take care of, and it wasn’t settled until tonight.” Pa nodded at the stack of papers on the desk. “Now I have both a husband for Charlotte and a plan to grow the family holdings for the next decade or better.”

  “Wait. Does the railroad have something to do with me marrying Andrew? You didn’t…” Charlotte’s tongue darted out to lick her lips. “You didn’t use me as some part of a bartering chip in a business deal, did you?”

  “Don’t be foolish.” Pa straightened in his chair to look at Charlotte, but his head sagged as though his neck didn’t have the strength to support it. “You’re not a bartering chip. Charles just wanted to make sure our families would be permanently united before signing an agreement that would have us working together so closely. And I can’t blame him.”

  “Just how closely does your business deal have us working?” The sickening sensation in Wes’s gut tightened into something hard.

  “Close enough that if we fail to transfer one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to the Mortimers in ninety days’ time, they’ll get a forty percent stake in the A Bar W.”

  “What?” Now Wes was the one yelling. He strode around the desk and grabbed the papers. “You said this deal was supposed to cement our future. How could you sign an agreement that makes someone else part owner in the ranch?”