Wendy: The Bewildering Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch - Sweet Version Book 3)

by Merry Farmer

  Travis crossed his arms and leaned against the stable door with his good shoulder. “Yeah? Her name is Wendy, isn’t it? The seamstress?”

  “That’s her.” Cody grinned from ear to ear. “Well, I got word that she’s coming in on today’s train.”

  Travis frowned and straightened, arms dropping to his sides. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question he really wanted to ask was “Are you really going through with that harebrained idea?”

  Cody shrugged, kicking the dirt. “Figured you’d be busy getting things squared away with Bonneville. Besides.” He met Travis’s eyes. “I wanted to get the first look at her.”

  Travis shook his head. “First look? It’s not like anyone else is going to call dibs on her, Cody. You sent away for her. She’s a woman, not a mare waiting to be ridden.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Cody’s grin turned cocky, and he winked.

  It was all Travis could do not to walk over and smack his brother upside the head for his crassness. If he was going to meet a lady with those sorts of thoughts on his mind, then it would be no surprise if the lady in question turned up her nose and ran at the sight of him.

  That thought settled it. Travis strode further into the stable, taking his saddle off the wall where he stored it and heading to his horse, Archer.

  “What are you doing?” Cody asked, mounting a last.

  “Coming with you,” Travis said, brooking no argument.

  “I don’t need you to come babysit me while I meet my future wife.” Cody nudged his mount forward, walking out of the stable.

  “Who said I was coming for your sake?” Travis called after him. Cody was out of earshot by the time he followed up with, “It’s that poor woman I’m concerned with.”

  He saddled Archer as fast as he could while still being careful. His old friend stood still while he worked. Archer was one of the things he’d miss the most about Paradise Ranch. He didn’t actually own the faithful mare, even though he’d spent the last several years taking care of the old girl as carefully as he’d take care of any woman under his protection. Some things about grabbing opportunity by the horns and moving up in the world were harder than others.

  Possibly in response to the bond they shared, Archer responded deftly to Travis’s commands when he mounted and headed out after Cody. Cody was almost to the edge of the ranch by the time Travis caught up with him.

  “You trying to avoid me or something?” Travis smoothed Archer into a walk beside Cody, who refused to look at him.

  “This is none of your business,” Cody replied, jaw tight. “Wendy will be my wife, not yours. I’m the one who sent away for her. You’ve never shown a lick of interest in getting married.”

  “Because I want to be sure I can provide for a family before I rush into anything half-cocked.”

  “Is that why you’re going all Benedict Arnold and slipping into Bonneville’s pocket?”

  Travis sighed. “That’s part of it. It would take me twice as long to earn what Bonneville is offering me if I stayed with Howard.” He shook his head and frowned at how quickly Cody had turned things around on him. Adjusting in his saddle, he went on with, “This isn’t about me anyhow. If you’re so certain you’re ready for a wife and the children that usually follow, why are you acting like you’re doing something wrong?”

  Cody darted a sidelong look at Travis. He swallowed and kept his mouth shut. The two of them rode along in silence. Travis split his focus between the road in front of them and his brother.

  Finally, when Cody’s silence grew too long and suspicious, he said, “You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Cody answered, too fast. He cleared his throat, shot Travis another sideways look, and said, “I don’t even know what she looks like. What if she isn’t as pretty as Corva Haskell or Eden Chance?”

  Travis’s scowl deepened. “A woman’s beauty is in her soul. If she’s a good woman with a kind heart, it doesn’t matter what her face looks like.”

  Cody snorted, lip curled in a teasing sneer.

  “If you don’t believe that, then you’re about to walk into the worst mistake of your life,” Travis said, raising his voice.

  Without warning, Cody pulled his horse to a stop. Travis braced himself to be told off, but instead, Cody’s gaze floated past him. Travis twisted to see what his brother was looking at. They’d ridden as far as The Village, the collection of new houses that Howard Haskell was building as incentive for his ranch hands to marry and start families. Only three of the houses were finished and only one was currently occupied, but foundations had been dug and construction started on two more.

  “Look at that,” Cody sighed, as happy as he was oblivious. “A whole, big house, just for me.”

  “And your wife,” Travis grumbled.

  “You could have one too,” Cody went on. “If you respected things like loyalty. I don’t see Rex Bonneville building houses for his employees.”

  Travis’s frustration swelled. “I don’t need a house right now,” he said quietly. “God has provided plenty for me. The cabin Bonneville’s offering will do just fine.”

  “Yeah? Well it’s your loss. Don’t go crying to me when you find a gal to settle down with but can’t afford so much as a room in a boarding house.” He pressed his lips shut, lowering and shaking his head.

  A lump formed in Travis’s throat. He swallowed it as best he could and leaned over to thump Cody’s shoulder. “My choices are nothing personal. We’ll still be neighbors, and we’ll still be brothers.”

  Cody sent him a look that said he didn’t believe that for a second, but said, “I know.”

  He nudged Archer into a walk, and Cody followed. “Nothing will change, you’ll see. It’ll be…it’ll be fine.” Dagnabbit, he’d never been very good at emotional stuff.

  “Sure,” Cody said after they’d ridden a quarter of a mile. “Besides, you’ve taken care of us for these last few years, even though some of us are too old for being taken care of. Can’t go doing that forever.”

  Travis sent him a wry grin. Mason was plenty old enough and acted his age. Cody’s “us” consisted of one person—him. And Travis had taken care of him.

  “Well, it’ll be your wife’s job to take care of you now.” Travis nodded.

  “Yep.” Cody’s grin returned full-force. “Let’s hope she’s a smart one, because taking care of me is the biggest job out there.”

  He laughed at himself, but the joke was anything but funny. Forget whether Cody was ready for marriage, Travis suddenly hoped this Wendy woman was ready for Cody.

  Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. The marriage was all but done. He rubbed his jaw, then sighed. “Come on, let’s go meet that wife of yours.”

  Chapter 2

  As the train whistle sounded the approach to Haskell, Wyoming, Wendy pressed a hand to her stomach and held her breath, whispering the most earnest prayer of her life in her heart. This was it. She couldn’t keep the smile off her lips. Nashville, Memphis, and the struggles of her old life were behind her. Today was the day things started anew. Starting today, she wouldn’t be a struggling worker anymore, she would be a wife, and maybe soon a mother.

  “Haskell. Haskell, Wyoming,” the porter attending their car called as the train lurched to a stop. Wendy had been surprised at the number of passengers traveling this far into the wilderness, and she was even more surprised that so many of them stood at the porter’s call. It gave her hope. If Haskell had more of a population than Mrs. Breashears had led her to believe, even though Wendy was dedicated to conquering domestic duties, she might have a chance to ply her trade and do a bit of seamstress work to contribute to her household.

  That happy thought lifted her from her seat into the aisle. Maybe she wouldn’t have to give up sewing completely. She turned to reach for her sewing kit—housed in a miniature trunk that she’d covered with rich brocade several years ago. The swish of her skirts as she moved to better balance as she brough
t it down widened her smile. She’d worn her finest gown to meet her new husband. Some would consider it vain or even showy, but clothing, the way that one presented themselves, was of vital importance in making a strong impression.

  With a smile on her face, feigning confidence, telling herself she was ready to meet her new life head-on, Wendy took a step forward—

  —and was immediately cut off as a man in a dusty suit stepped into the aisle in front of her. His movements were deliberate, and he paid Wendy no regard whatsoever as he turned to reach for his bag. His bulky form blocked her without apology.

  “Excuse me, sir.” Wendy fought to keep her impatience in check. “May I walk around you?”

  The man took one look at her over his shoulder, curled his lip in a sneer, and barked, “You’ll wait your turn, you uppity darkie.”

  Indignation snapped like a whip down Wendy’s spine. She held her back straight and kept her chin up. “Common courtesy would dictate that a gentleman stand aside to let a lady pass.”

  The man snorted and yanked his bag from the rack above his seat. “I don’t see any ladies, only a pretentious—”

  Wendy’s jaw dropped at the word he called her. The heat of anger flushed her face, but the man had already moved on, charging down the aisle to the train’s door. Wendy waited until the man had stepped down from the car to move. Fury made her dizzy, and disappointment turned her stomach. She’d had such high hopes that things in Haskell, Wyoming would be different.

  Ahead, a man with a bushy moustache sent her a sympathetic look as she approached the door. “Sorry, miss,” he mumbled. “We’re not all like that in Haskell.”

  “Oh?” Wendy cursed the waver in her voice.

  “Nope.” The man held out his hand. “Herb Waters is the name. I own the livery in town. Well, for now. My sister in Denver…” He stopped abruptly and laughed at himself. “My sister tells me I talk too much. I’ll let you get on with things.”

  Mr. Waters gestured for Wendy to walk ahead of him down the aisle. If there was one kind man in Haskell, there could be others. Wendy paused before the train car’s door, closed her eyes, and took in a breath. Her mother’s words—said so many times before she passed away—settled over her. “There are good people in this world and bad people. What they look like has nothing to do with it, it’s how they treat their fellow men that means everything.”

  She opened her eyes and forced a smile. One rude man was not going to ruin the happiness that waited for her on the platform right outside the train. If her hands were free, she would have smoothed any stray hairs away from her face, checked to be sure her stylish, plumed hat was in place, and adjusted her skirts. As it was, she could only clear her throat and step down onto the train platform.

  Uncertainty hit her as soon as her heels clicked on the boards. Haskell was small, but the platform was busy. Mr. Waters zipped out from behind her and rushed off on his own business. Porters and a man in a stationmaster’s uniform worked unloading baggage from the last car on the train. Wagons were parked around the platform, and the passengers that had already disembarked were hugging and greeting friends or family. The rude man who had insulted her was being fawned over by four young ladies in dresses that were fashionable, yet somehow inappropriate for the dusty street. Wendy winced at the sight. Those young ladies would have been ideal customers if she was in a position to continue sewing. Then again, if the man—who, judging by age and the girls’ reactions to him, must have been their father—held the opinion of her that Wendy assumed he did, there was a fair chance they wouldn’t patronize her anyhow.

  There were other people scattered about the platform, waiting for passengers or perhaps cargo, but not one of them looked like he could be Cody Montrose. There was a small circle chatting and staring expectantly at the train that consisted of an older woman, a fine gentleman just past his prime, and two young men dressed for work. They squinted at the train’s windows as if looking for something. Wendy wished them well in their search, but kept scanning the platform and the street right below it for her fiancé.

  Relief flooded her when she saw him—or at least the only man in sight that looked like he could be for her. He strolled deliberately across the street in front of the platform—a fine, chocolate-skinned man in a suit that must have been purchased from San Francisco. He was clean-shaven and had somehow managed to avoid getting dust on his shoes. As he walked, he took out a gold pocket-watch to check the time. From a distance, Wendy could see how fine the piece was.

  “Excuse me,” she called to him, walking quickly to the edge of the platform.

  The regal man stopped, searching around him with a confused frown to see who had spoken.

  Wendy put on her brightest smile, heart swelling with satisfaction at her future husband. “Excuse me, I’m right here.”

  The man turned to her, his expression softening to politeness. “Yes. You are.”

  Wendy blinked. Her heart began to shudder in her chest. The man didn’t seem to have an idea who she was. “I’m your bride,” she explained. “From Nashville. Wendy Weatherford.”

  The man continued to stare at her. He shrugged and shook his head. “I didn’t send for any brides. I did send for the latest editions of The New York Times and the San Francisco Chronicle. I don’t suppose you have those with you?” His grin was charming, amusing even, but it carried no recognition.

  Behind her, she thought she heard someone say, “Wendy Weatherford?”

  But before she could react, she was already asking the finely-dressed gentleman, “Aren’t you Cody Montrose?”

  The man in front of her burst into laughter so quickly that prickles formed across Wendy’s face, and her hands and feet went numb.

  “I’ve been called any number of names in my time, but Cody Montrose has never been one of them.” He continued to chuckle, coming closer to her to offer his hand. “The name’s Solomon Templesmith,” he introduced himself. “Can I help you?”

  She had barely recovered her composure, let alone gathered herself enough to give him an answer, when a man’s voice behind her said, “You’re Wendy Weatherford?”

  Dread twisted in Wendy’s gut as she turned to find the older man and woman and the two young working men approaching. It was impossible to tell which one of them had spoken, but it hardly seemed to matter. They all wore variations of the same bewildered stare.

  “Yes.” She turned fully toward them, trying to smile but failing in her shock. “I am Wendy Weatherford. And you are?”

  All four of them stood stock still, eyes wide.

  At last, the woman sighed and said, “I think Mrs. Breashears left out one tiny detail in the description she sent.” More silence, then the woman shook her head and gestured as if she were brushing a fly away from her face. “I’m Mrs. Josephine Evans,” she explained, hand outstretched to take hers.

  Wendy half lifted her hand to shake Mrs. Evans’s before realizing both hands were full.

  “Here.” The older of the two younger men hopped forward, his expression serious, though not unkind. “I’ll take those.”

  His eyes met hers for a moment as she handed her carpetbag and sewing kit over. A spark of attraction swirled through Wendy’s already fluttering stomach. He had gentle, hazel eyes, and right then, they seemed to brim with compassion for her situation. She swayed toward him for a heartbeat, as if he was the lifeline being thrown to her. The older woman still had her hand raised, though, and as soon as her bags were with the kind-eyed man, Wendy took it. She smiled as serenely as she could.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Evans,” she said. Inch by inch, she recovered her composure and held herself with as much grace as she could in the situation.

  Mrs. Evans peeked at her companions, then cleared her throat. “This is Mr. Charlie Garrett.” She introduced the older man.

  “Miss Weatherford.” Mr. Garrett bowed as he shook her hand.

  “This is Mr. Travis Montrose.” Mrs. Evans gestured to the man who now held Wendy’s
things. Her face pinched, her shoulders twitched, and she turned to the other young man. “And this is Mr. Cody Montrose.”

  Wendy smiled and faced her fiancé, back straight, hand outstretched in greeting. “Mr. Montrose.”

  Cody Montrose stared back at her. His were the only set of eyes that were still rounded in shock and, Wendy was loathe to admit, horror. He’d gone pale, except for bright splotches of red on his cheeks and his mouth hung open. He didn’t take her offered hand.

  “Nuh-uh,” he said at last, shaking his head. “I can’t marry her.”

  Tension sizzled in the air around them. Wendy’s chest and throat squeezed.

  “But,” Mrs. Evans started, hands fidgeting in front of her. “But you sent for her.”

  “I didn’t send for her,” Cody said. He gestured to Wendy, sweeping her with a look from head to toe.

  Wendy felt as exposed as if he’d shouted for everyone in Haskell to come take a look at her. “I’m sorry if I’m not what you were expecting.” She could only manage a whisper. “You are not what I expected either.”

  She twisted to see if Mr. Solomon Templesmith was still witnessing the scene, but that gentleman had moved on and was now talking to Herb Waters, like the two of them were good friends. A shiver of panic curled through Wendy. She was on her own in the middle of nowhere, about to be abandoned.

  “Oh dear.” Mrs. Evans sighed. “This is a muddle. But really, Cody, you did commit to marrying the bride we chose for you.”

  “That was before I saw that she was a…” He ended by swallowing, then turning to Mr. Garrett. “Is it even legal for me to marry her?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Mr. Garrett said through clenched jaw. Clearly, he wasn’t happy with the situation. Wendy could only pray it wasn’t her that frustrated him.

  “But she’s…” Cody started. “And I’m…” He stared at Wendy again with horrified eyes. “Is it even legal?”