by Dorothy Love
Nate was a fine man, kind, hardworking and intelligent, well liked in town. Maybe he wasn’t the most exciting man in the world, maybe the sight of him didn’t exactly make her heart beat faster, but she enjoyed his company. So why couldn’t she get the image of Griff Rutledge’s handsome face out of her mind?
Halfway home she remembered she still needed flour, eggs, and sugar for the wedding cake.
Griff watched Carrie’s rig make the turn at the bottom of the street and whistled softly. What a woman. Hers was not the half-formed prettiness of a young girl, but the full loveliness of a mature woman with all the self-possession maturity brings. Her hair was somewhere between red and gold, the color of a Carolina sky at sunrise. And those eyes—clear and blue as the Atlantic. She smelled good too, like the air after a low country rain. He wondered if there was a Mr. Daly in the picture. Probably so. Women like that didn’t stay unattached for long. Just the same, he was glad he’d accepted her invitation. Lately he’d spent far too much time alone.
When the rig disappeared from view, he retraced his steps to the bank. Though he didn’t plan on staying here any longer than necessary, if a profitable proposition was in the offing, he owed it to himself to hear the banker out.
The big black colt stood where Griff had left him, tethered to the rail outside the bank. Griff stopped to admire the horse. Everything about him, from his height to the shape of his hindquarters to the proud set of his neck, bespoke quality. Obviously, the banker had spent no small sum acquiring him.
The horse bobbed a greeting and nuzzled Griff’s hand as if they were old friends. Griff felt a surge of pride. He had disappointed his father in every way imaginable, but his skill with horses was the one thing Charles Rutledge had been unable to ignore.
“Beautiful, isn’t he?”
Griff turned to find the Gilman fellow standing outside the bank, puffing a cheroot. “He is indeed. One of the finest I’ve seen since the war.”
“Come on in.” The banker ushered Griff to his private office at the back of the building and motioned him to a chair. He extracted another cigar from the humidor on his desk and held it out. “Care for a smoke?”
“No, thank you.” Griff unbuttoned his coat and settled into the leather chair.
Gilman puffed his cigar, sending a cloud of blue smoke curling behind his head. “How’s your father these days?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve been away from home for a long time. After my mother passed on, I lost touch.”
“I see.” Gilman eyed Griff across the desk. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”
“I’ve a bit of unfinished business to clear up. Soon as it’s done, I’m headed west.”
“Ah, the lure of California claims another son of the South. Too bad.”
“The South we knew is gone, Mr. Gilman. I’m headed much farther west, to New South Wales. A friend of mine went over in ‘fifty-eight. Ever since the war ended, he’s been after me to come down and take a look.”
Gilman frowned. “Australia? What on earth for? All they have there is red dirt and kangaroos.”
“I’m told the place is booming since the great gold rush. There’s still some gold to be mined and millions of acres of ranch land available. I might try my hand at running a cattle station.”
Griff paused and gave free rein to his imagination. What would it be like living amongst a bunch of foreign drovers, fighting off dingoes in the middle of the night?
“Good heavens, man,” Gilman said. “If it’s a ranch you want, I’ll put you in touch with Wyatt Caldwell down in Texas. He sold his lumber mill here in town a few years back, and now he’s got one the finest herds of longhorns in the state. There’s no need for you to go clear to the edge of the known world.”
“I appreciate the offer, but my mind is made up.” Griff shifted in his chair. “Maybe we should get down to business.”
“Very well.” Gilman set his cigar aside. “I’m the head of a committee looking for ways to bring more money into Hickory Ridge. Like a lot of other towns these days, ours is declining, and we have to do what we can to save it.”
Griff nodded.
“I expect you heard about that fancy horse race they started in Louisville last spring.”
“The Kentucky Derby, yes. Eleven horses in the race this year, or so I heard.”
“We can’t compete with that, but we’ve decided to sponsor a horse race of our own this fall. We’re inviting the best horsemen from all across the South to come to Hickory Ridge and compete for a thousand-dollar prize. We’ll have barbecues, a parade, and a dance.” The banker’s eyes shone. “Why, it’ll be almost like Race Week in Charleston in the old days.”
Griff nodded, though in his experience nothing could match the excitement and grandeur of Race Week, when ladies wore their finest gowns and men competed for honors on horseback. Years ago he’d turned his back on Charleston and everything it represented, but he couldn’t forget the exhilaration of those crystalline winter days when he’d raced one of his father’s sleek Thoroughbreds. The glittering balls when he’d held some of Charleston’s most beautiful women in his arms. Then the carriage rides home through the chill evenings, the sounds of soft laughter drifting through the moss-draped oaks lining the streets.
Charleston was a magical place then. But that life was over and done. He eyed the banker across the desk. “Where do I fit in?”
“It’s clear that you have a way with horses. And given your background, I’d say it’s a fair bet you know something about racing.”
Griff nodded. “I’ve trained and raced horses since I was a boy.”
“I need a good trainer to work with Majestic and ride him on Race Day. I’ll pay you to train him. And if you win, I’ll throw in the prize money to boot.”
“I see.” A recent run of bad luck, coupled with complications at his bank in London, had rendered him temporarily short of funds. The money he’d put away for safekeeping after the war had been invested overseas and was proving difficult to extricate. “What’s in it for you?”
“Bragging rights. And the satisfaction of helping my town onto her feet again. If our race is a success, every business from the mercantile to the inn to the barbershop will benefit. If people have a good time, they’ll want to come back to Hickory Ridge next year. Race Day could become an ongoing event, bigger and better every year. One day we might even outshine the Derby. What do you say?”
“I’m intrigued. But I need time to think it over. I haven’t yet had a chance to pick up my bags from the train station.”
The banker rose. “Fair enough. But don’t keep me waiting too long. Majestic’s a natural on the track, but he’s a handful, and the trainer I hired last fall up and quit on me a few weeks back. It’ll take a lot of work to get this colt ready. I want to get him back into training as soon as possible.”
“Understood.” Griff shook Gilman’s hand. “I’ll be in touch.”
He left the bank and headed for the train station, turning the offer over in his mind. According to the report he’d received two weeks ago from the Pinkerton Detective Agency, the person he’d come here to see appeared to have settled in for a while. He could afford to take his time. If he stayed on in Hickory Ridge until after Race Day, he could sail from San Francisco afterward and arrive in Australia just as spring was unfolding. The most hospitable time of year down there, if the newspapers were to be believed.
At the railway station he claimed his bags from the agent and walked the short distance to the Hickory Ridge Inn. After signing for his room and obtaining his key from the pale-faced clerk, he headed up the carpeted stairs to his room, surreptitiously taking in the gleaming woodwork, wide windows that let in the clear spring light, tasteful paintings adorning the long hallways. He fitted his key into the lock and entered his room. Though the carpet was worn in places and the bed sagged a bit in the middle, the inn was more elegant than he’d expected to find here in the middle of nowhere. He set down his leather bags, opened the c
urtains, and raised the window, letting in the sounds from the busy street below.
Maybe he would stay awhile. Figure out what he really wanted to do in New South Wales before heading off to the unknown.
He scanned the street. Two gray-bearded men sat on the porch outside the post office, whittling. Farm women in sunbonnets and calico dresses came and went from the mercantile. An empty freight wagon rumbled over the brick street. Outside the bank, Majestic tossed his head and strained in his harness. Griff massaged a knot at the back of his neck. Training that magnificent colt, riding him in front of a crowd sounded more appealing than anything else he’d done lately. That, and attending a wedding as the guest of the lovely Carrie Daly.
He turned from the window and stretched out on the bed, lacing his fingers behind his head. Nothing much excited him anymore. A restless life that took him to every city worth the name had also left him jaded and dissatisfied. But now he found himself looking forward to the prospect of working with Majestic. And to Saturday.
He grinned to himself. How odd that here in Hickory Ridge he’d found the only two things that were beyond his power to resist: a spirited horse and a beautiful woman.
TWO
“Missus Daly?” Libby Dawson bent to retrieve another tray of cookies from the oven. “Mister Henry said for me to ask is you about done with that weddin’ cake.”
Carrie pushed a wayward curl back under her kerchief and set a heavy pan on the stove. “It’s all done but the boiled icing. And the decorations.”
Libby transferred the cookies from the baking pan to a blue enameled serving plate. “These sure do smell good. You the best baker here’bouts, I reckon. Better’n the bakery in town is what folks say.”
Carrie smiled. “I don’t know about that. But I do enjoy baking when I’m not rushed.” She looked pointedly at the young woman. “Tell my brother everything will be ready in time.”
She glanced at the clock. Though it was only eight o’clock, she felt as if she’d been up all night. At first light she had walked up the trail to the waterfall at the back of the farm and filled a clear glass jar with bright orange butterfly weed, wild iris, and delicate Virginia bluebells. The Dawsons—Libby and her mother, Cleo—had been busy all morning preparing food for the wedding celebration, setting out bowls and platters on the table beneath the hickory trees in the yard. Carrie’s bouquet of wildflowers occupied the center.
Carrie stirred the icing until it thickened. While it cooled, she washed and hulled a bowl of plump strawberries and rearranged the cinnamon cookies on their plate. She finished the cake and headed upstairs to dress for the wedding.
She stepped into her new dress and fastened the tiny buttons, pinned her hair, and donned her hat. The little silk toque was several years old now, but thanks to Ada Caldwell’s skill and good taste, it was as stylish as ever, and it matched her new dress perfectly.
Eager for Ada’s arrival, Carrie peered out the window. Several of Henry’s friends from the mill had arrived, including Sage Whiting, the foreman. Sage’s wife, Mariah, stood beneath the trees chatting with Dr. Spencer and his wife, Eugenie. An unfamiliar rig drove into the yard and Carrie’s stomach fluttered. Had Griff Rutledge arrived? But it was a friend of Mary’s who emerged from the rig. Carrie shook off a vague feeling of disappointment. Why should she care whether or not the horse tamer showed up? After all, she was practically promised to someone else.
Carrie turned from the window and gazed around her bright, airy room. Had it really been fourteen years since Frank Daly lost his life at Bloody Pond? Though she had finally made the decision to set aside her widow’s black, she missed her husband still.
And she thanked God every day for Henry. Since Frank’s death her brother had been her only family. Together they’d added a parlor and a second floor to their family farmhouse, built a new barn and tool shed. Thanks to Henry’s extra income working at Wyatt Caldwell’s lumber mill, they lived more comfortably than most. Her life wasn’t exciting, but she had grown content keeping house for Henry, attending church, reading by the fire on cold winter evenings. Now, everything would be different.
“Carrie?” Henry knocked on her door. “You dressed?”
“Come in.”
He entered the room, a shy smile lighting his tanned face. He took her hand and spun her around. “You look pretty, little sister.”
She smoothed the folds of the dress. “Jeanne Pruitt did a wonderful job. But honestly, Henry, it’s too fancy for me.”
“You deserve it. I wanted you to have something nice.” He reached into his pocket. “Look what I found.”
“Papa’s watch fob.” She ran her fingers over the worn leather. “I thought it was lost.”
“I thought so too, but Caleb and Joe unearthed it, playing in the attic.”
Caleb and Joe. Ever since Mary had accepted her brother’s proposal, she and her boys had spent nearly every Sunday at the farm, and Carrie always dreaded their arrival. The boys were dirty, noisy, and rude beyond measure. So far, for Henry’s sake, Carrie had held her tongue. But once they were all living together, things would have to change. She sighed. Perhaps Henry was right and a man’s influence would shape them up.
“Anyway, I’m glad they found it,” Henry said. “Ma and Pa were a good match. Maybe it’ll bring me some of their good luck.”
“I hope so.”
He stuffed the watch fob into his pocket. “You know what I was thinking about last night? That summer right after Ma and Pa died, when we were visiting with Aunt Maudie and them and we went swimming one night to cool off. Two stars came out, and Aunt Maudie told us they were Ma and Pa, keeping an eye on us from up in heaven. You remember that, Carrie?”
“Barely. Mostly I remember cousin Althea trying to drown me.”
“She was just fooling. Besides, I was right there. I wouldn’t let anything hurt you. I still won’t. You know that.”
She nodded. He had always been her best friend, her protector. She watched her brother smoothing his hair before the mirror. No one in Hickory Ridge, least of all Carrie herself, had ever expected Henry to wed. After all, he was long past the age when most men had taken a wife. And he seemed content with his lot until the unfortunate day that Mary Stanhope set her cap for him.
“I’ve been thinking about Ma and Pa a lot lately,” he said. “I sure hope they know we turned out all right.”
The sound of hoofbeats on the road drew her to the window again. A handsome couple in a gray rig pulled into the yard. The man got out and turned to help the woman out of the buggy. Carrie’s heart lifted. After four years in Texas, the Caldwells finally were back in Hickory Ridge.
All thoughts of Mary and her two ruffians evaporated. Carrie grinned at Henry. “Ada and Wyatt are here.”
“I reckon we’d best get down there then.” He held the door for her.
Their eyes met. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “Good luck, Henry. Be happy.”
“I intend to be.”
She picked up her fan and raced down the stairs and into the yard.
The other wedding guests swarmed around Wyatt and Ada, offering words of welcome. Bursts of laughter filled the air.
“Carrie.” Ada Caldwell broke away from the crowd and enveloped Carrie in a warm embrace. “How are you? And what a darling hat.” She cocked her head, studying her friend. “It still suits you perfectly.”
“I think so too.”
Ada looped her arm through Carrie’s. “It’s so good to see you. You can’t imagine how much your letters meant to me. Especially that first year on the ranch. Wyatt was so busy building his herd and getting the ranch going that I hardly saw him. I don’t know what I’d have done without your long letters and without Sophie for company.”
“I missed you too.” Carrie squeezed her friend’s hand. “And our quilting circle. Though it was never the same after Lillian passed on.” She smiled, thinking of Wyatt’s beloved aunt. “So, tell me, is your millinery business still going strong? You’ve sc
arcely mentioned it in your last letters.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have much time for hatmaking these days. Now that Sophie is away at school, Wade takes more of my time. Not that I mind.”
“He’s a darling boy,” Carrie said. “The photograph you sent was quite the talk of the town.”
Ada’s gaze sought Wyatt in the crowd, standing near the table. A tender smile lit her face. “Wade looks just like his father. They’re quite a pair.”
Henry stepped off the porch and rang a bell, summoning the guests for the ceremony. Mary Stanhope, who had sequestered herself in Henry’s bedroom on the first floor, stepped outside. Widowed years earlier, she was still a young-looking twenty-eight. She wore a dark blue lace skirt and matching blouse. Her blond hair was piled into a mass of curls atop her head and held in place by two silver combs that caught the morning light. Carrie suppressed a sigh. If only Mary’s spirit were as lovely as her countenance.
Mary crossed the porch and took her place next to Henry. Her sons, in stiff new clothes and slicked-back hair, stood beside her.
The guests made their way across the yard, the ladies’ skirts bright bursts of color against the pale green grass. Ada squeezed Carrie’s hand. “We’ll talk more after this is over. I can’t wait to hear all the latest news.”
“All right.”
“Carrie?” Ada studied Carrie’s face, her wide gray eyes full of concern. “Where’s Nate? And why do I get the feeling you’re not happy about this marriage?”
“Nate’s on his way back from Nashville. He went to look at some more books. Though I have no idea where he’ll put them. His shop is full to bursting already.” She glanced toward the road. “I’m sure he’ll be here in time for cake.”
“You’re avoiding my other question. Do you think this marriage is a mistake?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. Of course I want Henry to be happy. He deserves it more than anyone I know. I only wish that—”