by Jane Porter
“You’ve never had a date, Johanna! I don’t know what makes you such an expert on men.”
“I listen to my clients. I’m surround by women. I have a pretty good idea of what makes a relationship work, and it’s not being unevenly yoked.”
“This is becomingly appallingly somber and biblical. We will be fine.”
“I just think you need to have a care. Your Mr. Sheenan was raised in Ireland, not here. He might have very different ideas about women taking charge.”
“Well, I’m not going to tiptoe around him, and I wasn’t raised me to be one of those silent, deferential ladies. Papa taught me to have confidence, and I do. Now stop fussing and get to your brother’s before he comes looking for you!”
An hour later, when Ellie recounted her conversation with Johanna to her father, she expected him to smile, or be mildly amused. Instead he sighed.
“She’s right, your Miss Douglas,” he said heavily. “You need to proceed carefully, Ellie. No man desires an opinionated bride.”
“You always let me have an opinion.”
“Because you were my daughter, not my wife.”
“Why is it different?”
“It just is.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me.”
He gave her a long, penetrating look before tipping his head back against the chair, eyes closing.
Ellie watched him, aware that he was far too gray, and while he’d always had strong, high cheekbones, his cheeks were now hollowed out, the bones brutally prominent. He was beyond gaunt, closer to skeletal.
“Let’s not discuss this anymore,” she said, going to his side and adjusting his blanket, drawing it higher on his chest and tucking it in around him. “I thought you’d be amused. I didn’t intend to worry you.”
“But I am worried. I’m afraid I’ve failed you.”
“Failed me how? You’ve been the best father, the most loving father—”
“But I’ve shielded you from reality, and I’m afraid you’re going to be hurt, badly hurt.” His eyes opened and he looked into hers. “You don’t have to marry Sheenan. Take the house on Bramble—”
“I don’t want the house on Bramble. I want to stay here, in our home.”
“But this isn’t the life I wanted you to have. This isn’t why I worked so hard.” His voice rasped, and then he inhaled sharply, setting off a spasm of coughing.
She waited for the coughing to end. It seemed like forever. After a while, she had to look away from his face, and how difficult it was for him to catch his breath. He was dying in front of her and there was nothing she could do.
When he was finally quiet, she pulled the rocking chair next to him and sat down, taking his hand in hers. “Papa, you have worked hard. This ranch is your legacy. There’s no way I can just let it go, or allow it to disappear. It’s your land, our land, and it ties us together. This land will be our bond even after you are gone. Think about it. It’s all I will have of you, and it’s how I will remember you. Can’t you see it’s worth fighting for?”
His eyes watered. “But, Ellie, in the end it is just land. Acreage. Dirt and weeds. Heads of cattle. And you will remember me. I know you will remember me. The land isn’t essential.”
“You’re wrong. I know you because of the land, and how you’ve worked it, first in Texas, and then on those endless cattle drives, and now here. This ranch is your life’s work. It’s thirty years!”
“You’re not even twenty-two—”
“Exactly. Young and healthy and determined to preserve your property. Our property. And in my heart I know you will be pleased, as well as grateful, that your legacy lives on.”
He was silent and Ellie battled her temper. “Papa, if I was a man, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.” Frustration deepened her voice, making it crack. “It would be assumed that I would take over, and do everything in my power to ensure the ranch’s success. And instead of arguing with me about moving into a new house on Bramble, you’d be spending your last few months teaching me everything you knew about managing this place. You’d ride with me across the property and share with me wisdom, advice, encouragement. Instead you’ve done everything you can to discourage me—”
“For your good.”
She laughed. “Then you don’t know me, Papa—”
“Ah, but I do. You were meant for a city and a big mansion and lots of staff to ensure that you are comfortable and happy. You love your comforts, Ellie. You love your fine buggy, your new dresses, and pocket money to spend. Just because I preferred the open land, doesn’t mean it’s your future.”
“Yes, I’d like a fancy house, as you put it. But I can have that fine house here on our land. I don’t need to live in Marietta, and I certainly don’t want to be shoulder to shoulder with townspeople, which is why I’m getting married. And you like Mr. Sheenan. You told me so. You wanted him for me—”
“I never said such a thing.”
“But you asked me, quite pointedly, why I wouldn’t consider him. I know you approve of him, so give me your support and help me decide when this wedding should be and where it will be. What do you think of the Graff?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“How many people? Who should we invite?”
“You handle the details. Just tell me when and where to show up.”
She smiled. “I can do that.”
In the end, the wedding was not to be the brief, but elegant Wednesday ceremony at the Graff, but a rushed exchanging of vows in the Burnett front parlor Saturday noon in the Easter dress since the wedding gown wasn’t finished. Ellie wasn’t complaining, though. How could she, when just yesterday, on Good Friday, she hadn’t thought her father would last the night?
Alone in her room, Ellie gathered her long thick hair, rolling and pinning the red mass into the full, feminine style her father preferred. It took patience, as well as many sections and pins to create the vivid auburn crown but eventually it was secure. Gently she teased a few loose curls free to frame her face and neck before pinning her mother’s long, delicate lace veil to her chignon.
The veil had a small tear where she’d torn it as a little girl after discovering it tucked in the cedar chest at the foot of her parents’ bed, but the tear made the veil all the more dear. Her eyes stung as she then attached her mother’s pearl earrings, one lobe and then the other. It had been a long time since she’d thought of her mother, but suddenly Ellie missed her almost desperately, thinking she should be there with her, helping her dress.
But no, it wouldn’t do to cry for her mama. Today would be happy. Today she was getting married.
Blinking hard, she turned to look out the window, her gaze taking in the stable and barn and all the land beyond. She loved the ranch, and the mountains, and the dark blue Yellowstone River winding through the valley floor. In summer, the valley glimmered blues and greens. In autumn, it turned bronze and gold. Winter and spring the gold faded, the wan yellow dusted white. This was her valley, her home, not tidy little Marietta with its handsome courthouse and two-story library, courtesy of money from the Frasier copper mine. She wasn’t a Frasier and she didn’t want to be part of a town that the Frasier money built. No, this swathe of land beneath Emigrant Peak was hers, this was where she belonged, and maybe she’d always imagined her wedding at St. James with a reception at the Graff Hotel, but in the end, this was probably the best wedding for her.
A wedding at home. A small, private affair in front of the parlor hearth. Instead of a minister, the clerk from Marietta’s city hall would officiate, and he’d arrived a half hour ago and was waiting in the parlor.
The only guests would be the Douglas family, and she could spot Sinclair Douglas’s buggy in the distance, the smart, modern carriage drawn by a team of grays.
Now all they needed was the groom himself, Mr. Thomas Sheenan. She wasn’t worried, though. He wasn’t late yet, and she was certain he’d come. He might not want her, but how did one refuse a gift like the Burnett Ranch
?
Ellie sat back down on the small upholstered stool before her French dressing table, the set a gift from her father for her eighteenth birthday. She gazed in the mirror, not recognizing the woman with the veil and pearls. Maybe it was because the woman in the mirror looked uncertain and scared.
Ellie closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, and tried again, opening her eyes to look at herself once more. Green eyes. Small nose. Wide mouth.
She forced a smile. But the expression in her eyes was still empty. Sad.
She smiled harder, lifting her chin, and then tears filled her eyes and she covered her face, not wanting to look anymore.
She would do this, and she’d make her father proud but, oh, it wasn’t as easy as she’d imagined.
But what were the alternatives? There were none. She had no options at this point, and so she’d give her father this day, a perfect day. Perfect, in this instance, being peace of mind. He’d be here to witness the marriage, and know that once he was gone, she wouldn’t be alone.
The knock on the door made her turn from the mirror.
“Come in,” she called, expecting Johanna. Instead it was Thomas Sheenan filling the doorway, tall, broad-shouldered, and oh so very intimidating in a formal black coat, black vest, white pleated shirt and bow tie. She wondered who had loaned him the suit because surely it wasn’t from his own closet. Either way, he appeared a proper groom, with not even a hair out of place. “Mr. Sheenan, you look very fine today.”
His head inclined, his set jaw easing a fraction. “As do you.”
He sounded sincere, and suddenly there was a lump in her throat and her eyes burned. “Thank you. And thank you for dropping everything to marry today. I know it’s been quite hectic, even a little havey-cavey, but I appreciate you being here so that we could hold the service now, instead of next week.”
“Yesterday must have been a difficult day.”
“It was frightening, yes, but Papa is here today and I can’t ask for more than that.”
“You could, but I don’t suppose you would.”
She didn’t even try to puzzle out his meaning. It was enough that he’d agreed to marry her and he was here and her father was here. It was a miracle really. “I’m content.”
“So, no second thoughts?”
“No. What about you? Are you having cold feet?”
His dark gaze met hers, searching her eyes for who knew what. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to do that to you.”
“True.” She drew a quick, sharp breath, suddenly filled with butterflies. “How have you left things with Mr. Gilmore? Does he expect you back, or are you free?”
“I’ve left his employ. This morning I finished moving the last of my things out.”
“Where are your things now?”
“Here.”
She swallowed against the rise of nausea. She shouldn’t be surprised. They were marrying, so he’d live here, of course. She’d known he’d be moving in to the house, but it was all happening so quickly now.
“Your father directed me to store everything in the attic and, for now, I’ll be sleeping in the guest room at the end of the hall.”
For now. The words sent a shiver of sensation through her. It wasn’t a comfortable sensation and her pulse quickened. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about anything but securing the ranch and making Papa happy.
“I know that room is small,” she said, struggling for a normalcy she didn’t feel. “But I hope it will be adequate.”
“I’m not worried about the size of the room. The bed is another matter. It’s quite short.”
“It was once the nursery.”
“That would explain the cot-sized mattress.”
“I’m sure we can get a larger bed for the room. I understand that the mercantile in Marietta carries good mattresses.”
“I’ll sort it out. Don’t worry about it. You have enough on your mind.”
She nodded, grateful, even as a rush of adrenaline made her increasingly queasy. This marriage to Thomas Sheenan was really happening. He’d already moved into the house. They were discussing beds and mattresses and soon he’d be sleeping just a few feet from her.
The butterflies in her middle intensified. Ellie pressed a hand to her stomach trying to calm her nerves but her pulse was racing faster, not slower, and she suddenly wanted to throw up.
“You’re looking pale,” he said.
She struggled to smile but hot gritty tears stung the back of her eyes. “I’m fine. Just a little bit overwrought, but that’s to be expected as I didn’t sleep more than an hour or two last night. I was afraid to leave my father’s side. Yesterday was so frightening. I thought he was gone for certain at one point and I must have screamed, loudly, because Mrs. Baxter and Mr. Harrison and Johnny, they all came running.” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop the words, they spilled from her in a tremulous breathless stream. Even her voice was pitched higher than normal but she was afraid to draw a deep breath, fearful she’d burst into tears. “But he’s here today, so that’s something to celebrate.”
“And our marriage today. Something else to celebrate.”
She looked away, unable to meet the Irishman’s dark penetrating gaze. “Mrs. Baxter made us a cake. I haven’t seen it, yet.”
“It’s on the dining table now. It’s quite impressive, considering she had so little time to prepare.”
“Mrs. Baxter is an excellent baker. My father loves her scones. He says they are nearly as good as his mother’s, and apparently those were the best he’s ever tasted.” Ellie mentally kicked herself, not sure why she’d said any of that. She felt as if she was losing control, her thoughts as wild as her pulse.
Knotting her hands in her lap, she looked to the door, and then the window, not knowing what to focus on. She just knew she couldn’t look at Mr. Sheenan. He made her uneasy. He wasn’t like the men her father employed. Nor was he like the men she’d dated. Sinclair Douglas was big and muscular, but Sinclair had a way of putting others at ease. He had the manners of a gentleman, as well as kindness in his eyes. There was nothing kind in Thomas Sheenan’s gaze. No, his gaze was dark and hard and far too intense.
He reminded her of a wild horse trapped in a corral, just waiting for the chance to escape. Break free.
He wouldn’t be easy to manage.
It would be strange living with such a man. She couldn’t imagine ever sleeping with such a man. It was difficult just thinking that he’d be down the hall in the guest room, never mind one day sharing her bed.
But that was down the road, she hastily reminded herself. Months and months from now. She wouldn’t even think about the physical side of marriage for a year. Instead, she’d focus on becoming acquainted. She didn’t expect friendship from him, nor affection. But affection was not necessary. As long as he respected her, she’d be fine. They’d be fine. The goal was for them to be able to work together. Cooperation would be essential.
And just like that she became aware of how he filled the entire doorway, as if a wall, not a door and her heart gave another hard, sickening thump.
Her father had told her that men were a lot like livestock. They needed regular feeding, and water, and sleep. They didn’t do well when hungry. They could be grumpy when tired. But provide a man a good meal, and a good bed, and he’d be content.
She drew a slow painful breath. She was counting on that, at least.
His dark gaze narrowed as he studied her. “Do you have any questions you want to ask me? Is there anything you’d like to know before we go downstairs?”
There were a hundred things she wanted to know about him but not one coherent question came to mind. It was impossible to think when panic thumped through her veins, making her throat thicken and her stomach churn.
Stalling for time, she turned back to the mirror and inspected her hair, and reached for a pin. “Have you invited anyone to join us today?”
“That is your question?” His voice sharpened, the Irish accent growi
ng pronounced.
She flinched a little, feeling far too sensitive. Her hand shook as she slid the pin into her coiled hair. She reached for another, and added that to the heavy mass of curls at the back. “I just wondered if you’d have any family with us.”
“No.”
“Do you have family in America?”
“I had an uncle, but he died shortly after I arrived, before I had the chance to see him.”
“Where did he live?”
“Bozeman.”
“That’s why you came to Montana?” she asked, striving to sound calm, hoping to be properly conversational as their gaze met in the reflection.
But his answer was curt. “No.”
Clearly this wasn’t the conversation he wanted to be having with her. “Since none of my questions seem to be making you happy, tell me what I should be asking you, Mr. Sheenan.”
He practically scowled at her from the doorway. “I don’t know. I’ve never been married before.”
“Excellent. That makes two of us,” she said lightly to hide her sudden terror.
Thomas Sheenan was scaring her half to death. Dressed in a fine coat with a smart vest and bow tie, he should have appeared elegant, and polished. Civilized. Instead he looked like a wild animal smashed into a tailored suit.
His shoulders were too wide. He was too tall, the top of his head nearly touching the doorframe. He dwarfed the doorway, and these were not small doorways, either. Her father had built everything oversized to accommodate his height. Her father, a tall, tough Texan had always made her feel protected, and safe.
But Thomas Sheenan did not make her feel safe, not when the chiseled planes of his face looked granite hard, and his dark gaze burned her through the looking glass.