The Rancher's Inconvenient Bride

by Carol Arens

  “Did you find someone?”

  “No. Not someone, but something.”

  Without thinking, she clasped the clover charm on her necklace. Rubbed the smooth gold between her fingers, seeking what courage could be found on the small solid surface.

  “What you saw was a cat peering in the window. Must have been looking for a dry place.”

  A cat! All of a sudden she had to look away. She sent him into the rain because of a cat?

  She was not becoming a stronger person at all! Until she could stop seeing Hilda Brunne in a feline’s face she was not a person to be respected.

  “I’m sorry.” With regret, she got off the bed then walked toward the door.

  “It was a very large cat, honey. Don’t go quite yet.”

  He tossed the covers off and got up from the bed. This time she had the decency to stare at the floor.

  When he touched her arm, she looked up to find him wearing a dressing gown.

  “No wonder you think I’m weak and silly.”

  He frowned, looked like he was about to say something but only shook his head.

  After a moment, he drew her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. “I do not think that.”

  Setting her aside, he went to a table beside a big stuffed chair and lit the lamp on it. The room suddenly flared in a warm yellow glow.

  “Sit down.” He pointed to the chair then dragged another, smaller one from the bedside. “There was something I wanted to discuss with you earlier, before the cat interrupted.”

  Rain pattered on the widow, emphasizing the fact that she did not know what to say to lessen the shame of seeing the boogeyman in the face of a feline.

  “Maybe another time.”

  The very last thing she wanted to discuss was the thing he no doubt wanted to.

  He was not willing to share his bed with her. No doubt the only time she would see her husband in the way a wife deserved to had passed a moment ago.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pressed her into the chair. He sat down beside her with the window at their backs. She could not see the lightning moving off into the distance but the noise of it lessened as it pounded over the land.

  “I’ve had a telegram from my mother,” he announced.

  Of all the things, that was not what she had expected him to say.

  “How lovely.” It was lovely. How lucky he was to have a mother to send him a telegram.

  “You might not think so when you hear what she has to say.”

  “I did suspect she might not approve of me.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers, because she really had hoped that her mother-in-law would approve. How could she blame her, though? They had been neighbors. Mrs. English had been a guest at the Lucky Clover. She would have heard that Agatha should not bear children. It was not a secret.

  “Actually, she is thrilled.”

  “She can’t possibly be. All women want grandchildren.”

  “What she wants at this moment is to come here and give us a lavish wedding reception.”

  All of a sudden a mere cat in the window did not seem so horrific.

  “She’ll act as hostess, but you will also be called upon.” He touched her hand, ran his long thumb over the ridges of her knuckles. “Is this something you can do? Shall I forbid her to come?”

  Agatha Marigold Magee could not do it. Not in a thousand years.

  But Mrs. William English? That woman could do nothing but try. Perhaps if she showed herself to be an extraordinary hostess, confident to her bones, maybe then her husband would not see her as a virgin in need of safekeeping.

  “Of course I can do it.”

  She stood up because she really did need the privacy of her bedroom. So many things had happened tonight that she could scarcely wrap her emotions around them.

  Slowly coming out of his chair he reached for her, ran his hands up her arms then cupped her chin in the fingers of one hand. His thumb stroked her cheek, made her want to close her eyes with the pleasure of it.

  “Thank you, Agatha. I know this isn’t an easy thing for you.”

  She’d seen a cat, imagined an enemy and been informed that she would be hostess to a party to celebrate her marriage.

  She shouldn’t be, but she was ill at ease.

  The temptation to lean into William, to allow him to make it all go away for a time was beguiling.

  Temptation pushed its seductive fingers at her spine. In the end, doing so would only postpone her agitation.

  “It’s been a long day, William. Sleep well.”

  She hesitated only a second beside his door before she turned to her own room.

  She hated that the distance felt like a hundred cold miles.

  * * *

  The midmorning sun shone down bright as a new penny. In William’s opinion, there was nothing quite as lovely as a summer morning. Those few hours before the sun wilted everything and everyone were something to make a man feel good.

  Evidently Miss Valentine felt the same because as soon as he opened the front door she rushed out to accompany him on his stroll to the telegraph office.

  “No more limp, little miss. Looks like all that time on the couch has done you good.”

  She’d also put on a bit of weight with all the indulging Miss Fitz did.

  “Good morning, Mayor.” Tom Baynor greeted him with a broad smile when he entered the office. “Who is that you have with you this morning?”

  The light inside the office seemed dim, as he had come in from the bright sunshine. He heard Miss Valentine’s nails tapping around in the small office while she smelled the doorway then the corner of the counter.

  “She’s my wife’s dog. Miss Valentine is her name.”

  Tom came around the counter and stooped down. “And a fetching little thing she is.”

  The fetching thing lived in his house, slept on his furniture and probably scratched his floors, but yes, she was endearing.

  And she did make Agatha smile. In fact, the only happiness he’d seen from her this morning was when she fastened the pink bow between Miss Valentine’s ears.

  He’d hoped to be the one to make her smile, so he’d asked Agatha to come walking with him. She had declined, claiming to have another engagement.

  All he could hope for was that her engagement was not with a chair in deep shadow.

  She had to feel that he had rebuffed her affection and he worried that she would withdraw into herself. Take a step back toward the person she had been when her nurse was in control of her.

  While William did like to be in control of what happened around him, he did not want to be in control of his wife.

  After nuzzling the dog behind her fluffy ears, Tom stood up and walked to the business side of the counter.

  “What can I do for you, Mayor English?”

  “I’d like to send a telegram to my mother.”

  He needed to know when his mother was planning her party. It could be a lavish gala with all the eminent folks of Cheyenne invited, or an intimate affair involving a hundred of her closest friends.

  The celebration was being planned with his future in mind. His mother was supportive of his political ambition. He’d been all of fifteen years old when she realized he would be content with nothing else.

  Whatever she had in mind, he would need to prepare Agatha for it.

  It was true that many grand events had been held at the Lucky Clover, but Agatha had always been peering out from the shadows, not the one to greet and welcome guests, to make sure they were comfortable, to solve any issues that arose.

  “You might not need to.” Tom turned, reached into a cubby in the polished wood shelf behind him and plucked out a telegram. “It came first thing
this morning. Looks like she’ll be here day after tomorrow.”

  He felt gut-punched. It was not that he didn’t want to see his mother, he did. But he’d need to warn Agatha that their quiet time with just the two of them, Miss Fitz and Mrs. Bea was at an end already.

  Life spun around his mother. Wherever she was, a whirlwind of activity swirled about her.

  “There you are!” The door slammed against the wall. Henry Beal charged inside, his breath puffing like one of his bellows.

  Miss Valentine wagged her tail, jumped up to greet him. If the man noticed, he didn’t show it.

  “Good day, Henry.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” The blacksmith’s heavy eyebrows dipped low, his mustache traced the downward slant of his lips. “Last night folks heard moaning and crying coming from the Bascomb. I figured you ought to know.”

  “I’m not sure why I need to know about it more than anyone else.” Except that the moaner might be the person who had been peering in his window.

  “It needs to be investigated.” Henry stared at him without blinking.

  “That’s a job for a lawman.”

  “I’d tell him if we had one.”

  If he didn’t need the position of mayor as a stepping-stone to governor, he’d quit. After he punched Henry in the nose.

  “That’s the town’s doing, Henry. I’ve presented you many good candidates.”

  “That don’t change the fact that some old woman is keeping folks up at night with her wailing. It’s downright eerie if you ask me, the way she keeps keening. Mrs. Peabody says then she isn’t crying, she’s singing lullabies.”

  So, it was a woman. He’d thought so.

  That would account for the small footprints leading away from the garden window.

  What he couldn’t understand was why she would be peering in his window. He’d invited her to come to his office and she hadn’t.

  “I’ll check the hotel, Henry. I doubt the woman is a threat.”

  “Figured we could count on you.” All of a sudden Henry’s lips tipped up under his mustache. The severe line of his eyebrows softened. He appeared to notice the dog for the first time. “Why, what a sweet pup.”

  Even though Miss Valentine was not a working dog like the ones on his ranch, he realized that she was useful for something other than leaving fur on his furniture.

  Unless he missed his guess, the dog had just earned him two votes.

  * * *

  By the time Agatha walked the short distance from town to the cliff, she was winded. But not as winded as she had been yesterday.

  Morning sunshine warmed her shoulders, made her want to stretch out on the big rock to her right, act like a lazy cat with nothing to do but purr and soak up warmth.

  She might do that one day, but right now that indulgence was not her goal.

  Down below, she spotted the horses galloping the same as they had done before. And just there—she was certain she saw right—a newborn foal ran on spindly legs beside its mother.

  Removing her bonnet, she set it on the rock. She plucked the pins from her hair, shook it loose and free, the same as she’d seen the horses do with their manes.

  She ran until she was winded, rested then ran again.

  Last time she had run a shorter distance. Tomorrow she would run farther than she did today.

  Because someone was counting on her. Someone she did not yet know. But a small, sweet someone who belonged to her—and to William.

  * * *

  In its own way, the great full moon shone down as brightly as the sun had this morning.

  Not that he could appreciate the beauty of light and shadow glazing Main Street. He was far too weary for that.

  Even though he’d hired a crew for the day to prepare six extra bedrooms for his mother and some of the guests she was bringing, he’d done much of the work himself.

  Mrs. Bea had been helping Mrs. Fitz in the kitchen. Agatha, having convinced them that she had some experience with feeding large crowds, spent much of the day and evening elbow-deep in bread dough and other things that kept them dusted in flour.

  It had been near 10:00 p.m. when the ladies emerged from the kitchen, smeared with what looked to be purple juice.

  With all the hard work they had been doing, he hoped they would not be offended if his mother brought her own cook from home.

  Another hour had passed before Agatha had gone to her room and another forty minutes before he heard the creak of her bedsprings.

  He was going to investigate the Bascomb later than he had planned on. He would have preferred doing it in daylight hours. What sane person would not?

  But besides not having the time to do it then, he didn’t want Agatha to know what he was doing. He’d told her there had been a cat at the window the other night. That was all she needed to know.

  Finally, at twelve thirty he’d put his ear to her door and heard the slow, even breathing of sleep.

  At last he had been able to creep from the house with no one knowing.

  No one but Miss Valentine who trotted happily out the door behind him. He’d tried to make her go back inside but she wagged her tail, scrambled down the stairs then sat to wait for him.

  Truth to tell, at this time of night he didn’t mind the company.

  Confronting the woman in the hotel was not a thing he looked forward to, but it had to be done. Perhaps the presence of the dog would make him seem friendlier, more approachable.

  With the moon bright, he decided there was no need to light the lantern until he was inside the hotel.

  Looking at the abandoned building a block ahead, he thought it looked foreboding.

  Better empty and foreboding than the den of malignancy he feared it would be turning into soon.

  An image bloomed in his mind while he stared at the darkened windows. The once elegant hotel turned tawdry, with red lights in the windows, bawdy music spilling out of open doors and inebriated men lounging on the boardwalk. Rouge-cheeked, half-dressed women calling out from upper-floor windows for them to come back inside.

  Even if it wasn’t as bad as his imagination painted, it was not going to be a place fit for Tanners Ridge.

  As before, he entered through an unlocked back door. Miss Valentine’s nails tip-tapped on the dusty wood floor.

  Something was different than the last time he was here. Cigarette smoke lay heavy on the air. That was odd since he hadn’t gotten the impression that the shy woman was a smoker. There had been no lingering residue.

  Glancing up and down the hallway, he saw no light creeping from under doors. But the further along he went, the stronger the smoke scent became.

  Miss Valentine stopped at a door to his right, growled softly.

  This had to be the room. Would the woman flee again before he had a chance to speak with her? He hoped not. It ate at his gut, wondering why she had been spying on him and Agatha.

  Slowly, he opened the door.

  Two people sat at a table beside the window that overlooked Main Street, their shapes black silhouettes due to the moonlight streaming in from behind.

  The glowing tip of a cigarette rose, fell, then traced a circle in the air.

  “Welcome,” said the deep voice of the larger figure.

  A chair scraped, the smaller form flipped up the hood of her cloak then stood up. William could see nothing of her face, which was cast in deep shadow.

  Sure was strange for someone to be wearing a cloak in July.

  She limped from the room going out a door at the other end of the space, the head of her cane striking a regular rhythm on the floor.

  “I’ll miss that one’s charming company,” the man said with a half laugh that sat uneasy on William’s nerves. “Won’t you join me and explain what you are doing in m
y establishment?”

  William lit the wick of the lantern, adjusted it to low then set it on the table.

  The man sitting across from him had a long face and dark shaggy hair that needed cutting.

  “Mr. Lydle?” It could be no one else.

  “You have the advantage of me, sir.”

  “William English.” William offered his hand. Pete Lydle accepted his greeting. Even in the soft light given by the lantern he noticed that the man’s fingernails were nicotine-stained. “Mayor of Tanners Ridge.”

  “I must wonder why you are wandering about my place in the middle of the night.”

  It set William a bit on edge that Miss Valentine leaned against his pant leg, trembling. The dog usually greeted everyone with a wagging tail.

  “I was hoping to meet with the woman.”

  “Why would you want to?”

  “I’ve had complaints about her crying at all hours. I believe she was looking in my window the other night.”

  “I can’t imagine the wretched creature would cause you any harm.”

  “I imagine not. I am concerned for her well-being, though. Are you acquainted with her?”

  “Just met her when I got here a couple of hours ago.” Pete Lydle took a long draw, blew out a ring of smoke. “Can I offer you whiskey?”

  “Thank you.” For friendliness’ sake, he accepted the amber liquid.

  “Don’t worry, it’s good quality, not the rot-gut that so many don’t mind drinking.”

  That Lydle didn’t mind serving. It was one of the things he’d learned about the fellow.

  He finished the drink and had to admit it was fine stuff.

  “I’d like to speak to the woman if you know where I might find her.”

  “She’s an old crone is all.”

  “But possibly mentally unbalanced.”

  “Might well be, Mayor. But you need not concern yourself over her. I’ve just hired her to look after my girls. She is now under my protection. I’ll see she doesn’t bother you.”

  From all he’d heard, control would be a better word than protection.

  “Feel free to visit the Palace anytime you like, Mr. English. But don’t bring the dog.”