Carol, Bride of Archer Ranch: Sweet Western Historical Romance (Wild West Frontier Brides Book 6)

by Cindy Caldwell

  Will’s cheeks flushed as he wheeled the chair over to the settee. “My ma’s a lot of things, but a good cook isn’t one of them.”

  His voice had softened as he spoke, and Carol hoped she hadn’t offended him. He was definitely quiet and hadn’t told her much about himself, but she sensed since she’d met him that things had not gone completely well for him, and there was a reason for his reluctance to speak. Having met his mother, now, she was sure of it.

  Will’s deep brown eyes tugged at her heart and she wanted to share something that was a little more meaningful than casual talk about the weather but she didn’t want to scare him off.

  She reached for the chair that he’d stopped at her side and tried to pull herself into it. “How about you come into the kitchen and I’ll show you,” she said as she tried to pull herself over into the chair. She’d never tried before and she wasn’t quite sure why she felt now was a good time, but her efforts at becoming as independent as possible seemed to have no bounds.

  Will hung his hat on the hook and turned back to Carol. His smile was slight, but unmistakable.

  She frowned. “You’re not laughing at me, are you?”

  His eyebrows shot up and he took two quick strides to her side. “No, not at all. I was just interested to see how you were going to manage that. I’m happy to help you, but I wanted to see if it worked.”

  She could feel his concern but also his humor, and she smiled. “Well, I guess I could use some assistance if you don’t mind.”

  “Any time. Any time at all,” he said as he moved her gently onto the chair, her head reeling at his closeness. She wondered again why his presence impacted her at all, and she reached into her pocket and ran her fingers over Dennis’s most recent letter.

  The swinging door to the kitchen had been propped open permanently since she’d had use of the chair and she did her best not to groan as she propelled her way through. Will followed, and she stopped at what she considered her “station” in the kitchen where Saffron had arranged things within easy reach. She opened the cupboard to her side and smiled up at Will, gesturing to the canisters of flour, salt, lard—and sugar—that she could now reach.

  “That looks mighty handy,” Will said with an approving nod as he crossed over behind her. “Is this most of the things you need?”

  She turned the chair toward him and smiled as he cocked his head and rubbed his chin with that “thinking” look she’d become accustomed to as he reached absently for the pencil behind his ear. She wondered what he was thinking now.

  “Mostly, yes. It’s only one cupboard that’s low, and sometimes I have a tough time reaching for things up higher, like the spices, but I’m not that skilled in cooking, anyway. For now, I just keep it simple.”

  He crossed over to one of the upper cupboards and reached for it, pulling his hand back and frowning as he turned to her. “May I?”

  Carol laughed at the mere thought that something in the cupboard might be secret. “Of course.”

  He spent a moment opening and closing the cupboards as he ran his fingers over the handles. The pine doors were fitted with brass knobs and Saffron kept them shining.

  Carol couldn’t reach them very well, so wasn’t able to help with that task and a cloud passed over her face. “I guess there are still quite a few things I can’t do.”

  Will blinked a few times and she imagined he had been lost in thought. “Oh? I don’t imagine there’s much,” he said as he took a quick glance back at the cabinet.

  Carol was just about to ask Will about his mother and cooking and all sorts of other things but she stopped abruptly as Andy came sliding into the kitchen, throwing his hat on the hook.

  “Carol! Carol, I have a letter—oh!” he said as he ran into Will.

  Will grabbed him by the shoulders and laughed. “Whoa, there, fella. You’d think the British were coming or something.”

  Andy looked down at his hands sheepishly as red crept up his neck. “I’m sorry, Mr. Will. Didn’t know Carol had company,” he said as he handed the letter to Carol. “I think it’s from that man,” he whispered as he glanced at Will.

  “Oh?” Carol said as she glanced up at Will. They hadn’t discussed Dennis—Will hadn’t discussed much at all—and her heart fluttered at his blank expression. He had a way of doing that—and she could rarely tell what he was thinking.

  Will pushed himself up from the counter and ruffled Andy’s hair. “I’ll just be on my way, now that Carol’s got company.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Will. Didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just that Carol’s been waiting for this letter and I thought I should hurry. It’s from her suitor.”

  Carol turned toward Andy and her expression must have terrified him as he turned white and looked from her to Will.

  Will froze for a moment and looked away as he ran his hand over his chin. The question in his eyes shot straight through her. She wasn’t sure what Dennis was, but he certainly wasn’t her suitor. And the feelings she had for Will—well, she wasn’t sure how she felt about him, either, no matter what he felt for her. Her heart ached, but she couldn’t pry her tongue from the roof of her mouth as Will turned toward the door.

  “I was just leaving anyway, Andy. Gotta be out at Archer Ranch here before dark.” Will gave a thin smile.

  Carol watched out the window as Will untied the horses and headed down the drive. It wasn’t until he passed through the gates that she noticed Andy had sat down at the table and was staring at her. “Yes?” she said as she set the letter down on the table.

  “Well, come on. Aren’t you going to open it? We’re all dying to know when he’s coming.”

  Chapter 24

  Will wasn't the type to do much in a hurry—he was too meticulous for that—but he couldn't get out of that drive fast enough. He pulled his hat further down his forehead and rested his elbows on his knees as he flicked the reins at the horses. Archer Ranch wasn't too far away, but he couldn’t get there soon enough.

  Well, he supposed Ma had been right after all. All those times she’d told him to just be quiet and mind his own business, he should have listened to her. The knot in his stomach was familiar. He’d learned long ago that in his house it was better to just be silent, and let his mama have the floor. Especially after Pa died. When Pa was around, he kept things pretty even-keeled. But after he died so suddenly, Ma just kept talking and talking and he and Joe decided it was best to just keep to themselves.

  And he should've done that now. Carol had a suitor. He’d think for somebody who talked as much as she did, even though it was much more pleasant to listen to her than anybody else he’d ever met, she might've mentioned that.

  Had she mentioned that? He'd been so used to tuning people out maybe he missed it. No, he would have noticed that. He did remember something vaguely about a friend of hers coming into town—but nothing more than that.

  Not that it made any difference. He’d just wanted to help her, and he pushed away the uncomfortable feeling, the knot that had been with him all the way from the Benson house. He shook his head and pushed his hat back as he neared Archer Ranch. Wouldn't do any good to think about it now.

  As he drove under the iron gate of the ranch, Hank waved him over to the stable. He liked Hank. He didn't talk too much, and always seem to know what Will had in mind for any repairs or new equipment. He drove up to the door of the stables and he waved up at the house as Mr. Archer headed down the drive, He walked quickly with his hands in his pockets, his brow furrowed. Will worried for a moment that the latch hadn't held, like Sage said. When he wasn't thinking about Carol on the drive over, he'd run through the latch in his head several times and knew that it should be working just fine.

  He hopped down from the wagon and looped the reins over the fence of the arena. He reached into the back and picked up his bag of tools, ready for whatever he might find. He reached the gate before either Hank or Mr. Archer and jiggled the latch. No, it was sound. Holding just fine. He dropped his bag on the ground a
nd leaned up against the fence, throwing his arms over the top as he looked down the hill and over in the direction of Tombstone.

  Carol kept creeping back into his head, and he wondered if she was now as excited as Andy had been to see her—suitor. He could barely allow the word in his head, and it surprised him.

  It only took a moment for Hank and Mr. Archer to reach him, but by that time he was curious as to what he’d been called out for.

  "Nice to see you, Will." Hank slapped him on the back as he reached the arena. Will turned and shook his hand. "What brings you here?"

  Will rubbed the back of his neck and poked his thumb toward the latch on the gate of the arena. "I thought you did," he said as he narrowed his eyes at Hank.

  Hank walked over to the gate, placing a hand on each side and jiggling it soundly. "Nope. The latch works just fine. In fact, I've never seen latches quite like this, so I don't know why you’re out here."

  Beau Archer stomped up to the gate in quick, long strides, his polished black boots not dusty quite yet. "I asked you here, Will. Thanks for coming out."

  He looked from Hank from Mr. Archer, and he smiled when Hank shrugged his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets. Hank looked over to his father, waiting for him to speak.

  Mr. Archer shifted his weight from one boot to the other, looking out of the corner of his eye at Hank. "Why don't you head up to the house, son? I think Maria is almost ready to serve supper."

  Will looked at Hank and the grin that was spreading. Hank's eyes twinkled and he leaned back against the fence of the arena, his elbows resting against the top plank. "Thanks, Pa, but I'd like to stay right here, if you don't mind."

  Mr. Archer crossed his arms over his chest and let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. You just mind yourself, now. This is a sensitive conversation.”

  Watching the interaction between Mr. Archer and Hank, Will missed his father even more. They’d been like this, laughing and bantering, back when Will still talked. Even though it wasn't something that he chose to do anymore, it was quite pleasant being in their company.

  They all stood a while in silence as Mr. Archer seemed to gather his thoughts. Finally, Mr. Archer turned to Will and said, “You remember when you came out to before and I asked you about maybe making a gift?"

  Will ignored Hank’s snicker but couldn't hide his own smile. "Yes, sir, I do. Have you had any ideas? I don't even know the lady in question."

  Hank crossed his arms over his chest and rested heel of his boot on the first rung of the arena gate. "I think I might."

  Mr. Archer's cheeks reddened, but he forged ahead. "There's a lady that I would like to give a gift to. I'm just going to say this flat out. Something unique, something special. I haven't done anything like that in a very long time, and I'm fresh out of ideas."

  Will arched his brow. He thought he might know who Mr. Archer was referring to, but if he was right she was somebody who had anything she wanted, or could certainly get it. "Mr. Archer, if you're talking about Mrs. Allen I'm not sure that she couldn't buy just about anything she wanted. I don't know what I could make that might make her happy."

  Will had never seen Mr. Archer quite so uncomfortable. "Well, why don't you set your mind to it. Maybe I can ask around. How about you let me take you to The Occidental for supper tomorrow night, and we could talk it over. Her birthday's coming up, and it needs to be something special."

  Will picked up his bag and turned toward his wagon. "Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Archer. I’d be happy to join you. I’ll give it some thought. I certainly would like to help you solve your problem."

  Mr. Archer let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, son.” Will nodded and shook Mr. Archer’s hand. He wanted to speak, but couldn’t. “I know my problem is now in good hands. I'm sure you can come up with something." He waved at Will, and turned and headed up the driveway, walking up as quickly as he’d walked down. Will turned to Hank after Mr. Archer was out of earshot. "That was a bit of a surprise."

  Hank laughed and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Not so much. We don’t talk about it but he seems both happy and miserable when Mrs. Allen's around. You know what that means, don't you?"

  Will shook his head slowly as Carol’s bright smile flashed before his eyes. Miserable and happy both? Was that a good thing?

  The thought of not hearing her laugh, not reading with her, not being there to help her—well, he just didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to ask her about this man who was coming—what he’d meant to her, how she felt about him. That would mean he’d have to talk to her, actually ask the questions.

  But if that’s what might come of it—miserable—he’d just as soon let it alone. Heck, that was hardly worth it. No, Carol had a suitor and that was just fine with him.

  He turned and walked toward the wagon, saying over his shoulder, “No, I don't. It appears I know absolutely nothing about courting. And even less about women.”

  Chapter 25

  Will crumpled up yet another piece of paper, throwing it against the wall over his desk. He’d been thinking and thinking of things he could make for Mr. Archer—well, Mrs. Allen, really—and kept drawing the same thing over and over. He just couldn’t get it out of his head, but since he wasn’t happy with any of the drawings, he’d finally given up and tried to sleep.

  He wasn’t sure how many hours he’d tossed and turned, but as the twinkling stars began to fade and the sun turned the sky different shades of pink, he finally gave up.

  He threw on his clothes and splashed water on his face from the basin on his dresser. He dipped his hands once again and ran them through his hair. Beads of water flew as he shook his head, trying to remove the thoughts that wouldn’t go away—thoughts of Carol. Actually, thoughts of Carol and the suitor that was coming to see her.

  He opened the window to his bedroom and leaned forward on his elbows, inhaling deeply of the sage that dotted the desert before him. The lone shade tree in the yard that he and Joe had climbed many times stood silently, not a single leaf rustling. He’d always thought of his pa when he looked at the tree, and his eyes traveled upward to the small tree house they’d built together. He’d always loved it there. Alone, and quiet. He wondered why he never went back. Maybe if he did, he could get these thoughts out of his head.

  He stood and braced himself on the windowsill, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. He could hear his father’s rich, deep laughter and for a moment he thought it might just be real. But when he lifted his head and looked over to the treehouse, it was dark. And silent.

  The grandfather clock down in the parlor struck six and he realized if he didn’t hurry, he’d run into Ma in the kitchen and silence would be something he wouldn’t get for quite some time. He’d made a point not to talk to her last evening, coming home from the shop well after he knew she would have already retired.

  As the happy face of his father in his memory faded, it was replaced with the memory of his mother and his aunt the previous day at the ice cream parlor. When they’d surprised him by walking in while he was with Carol, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected.

  It had crossed his mind that he might have to broach the subject of his growing friendship with Carol with his mother, but just the thought of his aunt’s response had stopped him. And now he was glad he hadn’t, as Carol had a suitor coming and any thought he had about her didn’t matter now.

  He pulled on his boots and reached for his vest, throwing it over his shoulders and buttoning it as quickly as he could. He pushed on the latch of the door slowly and pulled it open, his boots falling as lightly as he could make them on the stairs. He was about halfway down to the kitchen when he heard the rustling of dishes.

  He set his jaw and tugged on his sleeves. It wasn’t as if his mother’s opinion made much difference to him. Certainly not as much as his pa’s would have, but he’d learned a long time ago that some topics were just easier to avoid with his mother. And he had a bit of an inkling that the topic of
Carol Benson might be one of those better avoided.

  “Will, is that you?” His mother’s voice rang from the kitchen as he briefly thought of tiptoeing out the front door. He realized he’d just have to come home eventually, though, so he squared his shoulders and walked into the kitchen. Maybe it was his imagination and his mother wouldn’t say anything at all.

  His hopes were dashed when he entered the kitchen and his mother said, “So, tell me about you and this Benson girl.”

  “Nothing to tell, Ma,” Will said as he reached for the pot of coffee on the stove. He was careful not to meet her eye as from experience, he knew that just made her talk more, especially if it was something that they disagreed about. It really didn’t pay to disagree with her at all.

  “Don’t you dismiss me, Will Stanton. I saw what I saw, and your Aunt Dorothy saw it, too.”

  Will set the coffee pot back on the stove and sighed as his mother moved it from where he put it to the other side. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say, so he sat down thinking it might be better just to wait her out.

  In all of his twenty-five years, that had never worked and it didn’t work now.

  “Will, I just can’t imagine what you’re thinking. A girl like that, who can’t even walk? How could she possibly be a wife to you?”

  Mrs. Stanton fumbled with the dishes she was putting away. As she placed the last dish on the stack, she turned toward Will and leaned back against the counter. She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes.

  “Ma, Carol and I are friends. I don’t know what you think you saw. We were just having ice cream. I like to help her.”

  As soon as it came out of his mouth, he knew it was a mistake. And he was right.

  Mrs. Stanton’s hands fell to her hips. She narrowed her eyes at her son and said, “You and your fixing things. Do you really think this is something you can fix? Will, she can’t walk. Not even you can fix that.”