When they were in their room, Angeline came in wearing a long face.
“Angeline, I saw you go into the garden with the pastor. What’s upset you?”
Angeline sat on the bed and unfastened her clothes. “Starting Monday morning, I’m going to be the preacher’s nanny while he calls on the ill and homebound.”
“Oh, I know you like helping. You’re kind to be willing to take care of little Matthew.”
Cassandra admired the minister, Reverend Grady McIntyre. She suspected Angeline had a crush on him. Angeline working for the minister might develop into a solution for her friend. Time would tell.
Chapter Six
Cassandra sat in the parlor with Lydia and five of the other girls one Saturday afternoon. Josephine was working in the mercantile and Cassandra missed the other girl weighing in on subjects. Cassandra enjoyed listening to her friends’ lively chatter. A series of strange pops broke into their conversation.
Ophelia sprang to her feet. “That’s gunfire. I’m going upstairs to see what’s happening.”
Cassandra and the other girls followed Ophelia. From the windows in her room, they had a clear view of downtown. A group of rough looking cowboys stood in front of the bank, their horses kicking up dust in the melee.
Cassandra’s knees turned to jelly. Sam, Sheriff Adam Pender, and others from the town were exchanging fire with the robbers. She sent up a prayer asking God to protect Sam, the sheriff, Bart, and the other townsmen and help them subdue and arrest the robbers.
Ophelia gasped and clutched at her chest. “One man left the others and headed toward the mercantile. Oh, no! Michael Buchanan was hit going after the man. Josephine—I have to see if Josephine is all right!” She turned to leave.
Lydia stopped her. “Not while there’s gunfire. Let Adam and the others do their job then we’ll go check on Josephine and Michael and the others.”
Cassandra scanned the chaotic crowd through gunsmoke and dust. “Can any of you make out if Sam Drummond and Bart Tucker are all right?”
Lydia squeezed near the window and sighed as if relieved. “I see Adam. Oh, there’s Sam with him. I make out the barber, the fire chief, and Zane Evans. Brendan Callahan and Hamish McAdams are there, too. Would you look at that? Grant Pettigrew isn’t helping, he’s writing everything down for the newspaper.
Rachel peered over Lydia’s shoulder. “Has anyone besides Mr. Buchanan been shot?”
Lydia rested her forehead against the polished glass. “Not that I can tell. Thank heavens! Those robbers threw down their guns. That bunch of ruffians is under arrest and going to jail.”
Cassandra rushed down the stairs. How she hoped Sam and Bart were uninjured. Unmindful of how her haste would appear, she picked up her skirts and tore down the street at a run.
Sam saw her coming and grinned at her as he shoved his revolver into his waistband. “You’ve missed the excitement.”
She grabbed his arm, reclaiming her breath hampered by her corset. “Oh, Sam, we watched from the upstairs window. I was so afraid you or Bart would be injured.”
Sam’s expression changed to one of disdain. “No chance of Tucker getting shot unless the men got inside. He sure didn’t come outside to help.”
From behind him, Bart appeared indignant. “My obligation is to the depositors. I had to be vigilant lest one of the robbers came into the bank and demanded money.”
Cassandra sighed. “I’m grateful you’re both all right. Mr. Buchanan was hurt.”
Sam focused on the street. “Looks as if he’s in good hands.”
When she looked around the horses and men, she saw Josephine bending over her boss. Adam strode toward them, spoke briefly, and then made a dash for the mercantile.
Sam caressed her arm. “Cassie sweetheart, I’d better see if Adam needs help. His deputy is busy with the prisoners. You take care in case the men we rounded up aren’t the only ones. There could be a lookout somewhere in town we haven’t seen.”
Cassandra watched Sam hurry toward the mercantile. She scanned her surroundings warily, not having thought of a robber in hiding.
Bart glanced around. “Excuse me, my dear, but I have to get back to the bank. Depositors will be needing assurance that their money is safe.”
“Of course, I’ll go back to Lydia’s.” But she stood rooted to her spot, watching those around her.
Nearby, Ophelia gestured to where a crowd had gathered around the wounded man. “I’ll go help Josephine.” The quiet young woman strode toward where Mr. Buchanan lay.
Riley Gaston knelt by the injured man. Soon, he stood and gestured to several men to carry Michael Buchanan. Josephine accompanied them.
Rachel came to stand beside Cassandra. “Looks as if they’re taking him home. Where’s Ophelia going?”
Prudence gestured toward the mercantile. “Appears to me she’d going to run the store. Can’t just abandon a business like that one on the busiest day of the week. People will need goods.”
Lorraine dusted off her skirt. “This ordeal has stirred up too much dust. I’m going back to Lydia’s.” She turned and trudged toward the house.
Lydia stood motionless, staring at the mercantile.
Cassandra moved beside her. “I know you’re worried about your friend. Adam’s good at his job and I’m sure he’ll be all right.”
Lydia glanced briefly at her then focused on where they’d last seen Adam. “Thank you, Dear. Adam was the first person I met when William and I arrived. I can’t help believing he’s my welcome. Now that William is gone, Adam is my strength.”
“Have you told him so?”
“Many times.” Tears glistened in Lydia’s eyes when she met her gaze. “We… We would have married but he feels he has nothing to offer me.”
“Pfft.” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Men can be so dense, can’t they?”
Adam and Sam emerged from the store with a rough-looking man sagging between them.
As they drew closer, Adam nodded to indicate the prisoner. “Mrs. Horowitz knocked him out with an iron skillet. Quick thinking lady.”
The grubby-looking ruffian groaned as Sam and Adam continued to the jail, half dragging, half escorting the criminal.
Cassandra linked her arm with Lydia’s. “Might as well go back to your house, Lydia. The heroic knights have subdued the dragons.”
Lydia released a sigh. “Again.”
***
Monday afternoon, Cassandra answered the door. “Why, Bart, what a surprise. Won’t you come in?”
He laid his hat on the foyer table. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping by uninvited.”
“Let’s go into the parlor.”
Mrs. Murphy appeared with a tea tray. “I thought you might like to serve tea to your caller.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Murphy.” When the cook had turned away, Cassandra picked up the silver teapot. “How do you take your tea, Bart?”
“Milk and two sugars. I must say this is a pleasant room. Seeing you serving as hostess reminds me of why I came by.”
“Oh, and what is that?”
“I’m hosting a group of men Friday evening at my home. Bankers are coming from as far away as Weatherford to meet with me. We’ll be discussing business, of course, so you might be bored, but I wonder if you’d consent to serve as my hostess for the evening?”
“Serve as your hostess? I-I don’t know.” That sounded too much like a declaration of intent to her and she still had doubts.
“My dear, having you grace the table will put the men at ease, I’m sure. You’ll be doing me a great favor if you accept.”
“If you think I could help, then I suppose my coming won’t hurt, as long as Lydia agrees. She’s our hostess and we trust her judgment implicitly.”
He flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve. “I’m sure she’ll agree. After all, she invited me to be one of the few of the inner circle of bachelors.”
“Yes, she did, didn’t she? All right, I’ll agree to act as your hostess if I’m treated w
ith respect and dignity.”
“How could you doubt I’d do anything else?” He had such a satisfied gloat on his face that she almost changed her mind right then.
He stayed another twenty minutes chatting about events in town. After he’d gone, Cassandra asked, “Lydia, may I speak to you in private?”
“Of course. Let’s go into here.” She gestured and Cassandra followed.
They went into the office Lydia called hers but which hadn’t changed since her husband was alive. “Is something wrong?”
“I hope not. Bart Tucker asked me to act as hostess at a dinner he’s giving on Friday for a group of bankers. I hope it’s all right that I accepted.”
Lydia’s face showed that she disagreed with Cassandra’s choice. “Have you made up your mind to marry Bart?”
“No, I’m having such trouble deciding between him and Sam Drummond. I almost declined Bart but I thought this might give me an insight into what being his wife would be like without actually agreeing to accept his proposal.”
“Frankly, I wish you hadn’t consented to this, Cassandra. Since you have, I hope you’ll think hard and long about him. Don’t just look at his material possessions. Judge the man. Please compare him to Sam as a man and not as a bank account. Decide who will truly make you happy.”
“I will, Lydia. I’ll decide on Friday night which man I want to spend my life with and let them both know.” Even though Lydia invited Bart to, as he put it, be a member of the inner circle, Cassandra received the impression Lydia didn’t really care for him.
“I’m happy to hear that, dear. I pray you’ll make the right choice when the time comes.”
When she returned to the parlor, Cassandra listened to the girls chattering, but she kept quiet. She had a lot to turn over in her mind before Friday evening.
When Angeline returned from babysitting and then visiting the elderly and infirm, she sat beside her. “You’re awfully quiet. Anything happen today that put you in this mood?”
“Bart came by for tea.” She explained what he’d asked.
“I hope you told him no, but I can see by your stubborn expression that you didn’t. What does Lydia think?”
“She was about as happy as you are. I’ve agreed, though, and I won’t go back on my word.”
“Well, at least maybe this will help you make up your mind.”
“I’m sure spending an evening in his home will do just that.” She visualized herself reigning over a table of important men. How could that be a bad thing?
Chapter Seven
On Wednesday, Sam came about ten. She fought to tamp down her pleasure at seeing him again and lost.
“Nice to see you looking so pretty, Cassie sweetheart. I must have lost five pounds pining away for you since Saturday night.”
She couldn’t suppress a grin. “You talk such a tall tale, Samuel Drummond. But, I am glad to see you again.”
“I have the boss’ rig and want to take you on another picnic. Don’t turn me down. I’ve already picked up a basket from Martha.”
“I’d love to go on a picnic. Let me tell Lydia I’m leaving so she won’t wait lunch for me.” When she found Lydia, she was in her office.
Her hostess looked up from a ledger. “What can I help you with, Cassandra?”
“Sorry to intrude. Sam has called to take me on a picnic.”
Lydia leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Lovely, I hope you enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you.” She hurried back to join Sam.
He stood hitting his hat against his leg. “All ready?”
She glanced toward the stairs. “I suppose I’d better get my parasol.”
“Suit yourself but you won’t need it. The weather’s overcast and the rig has a top.”
She tilted her head and gave him her best coquettish smile. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll damage my ivory complexion?”
He grinned at her. “Bet I know where you heard that. No, I don’t think a bit of sun will damage your beauty. I imagine when you’re an old woman you’ll still be beautiful.”
Pleasure at his compliment swept through her. “Well, you’re in a good mood, cowboy. No point asking if you’re hungry. I guess we’d better get on our way.”
He escorted her down the steps.
At the end of the walk, she glanced at the sky, wary of the clouds as he helped her into the buggy. “Doesn’t it look like rain?”
He helped her into the vehicle. “Can’t tell without a barometer.” He glanced at her lapel watch. “You have one on you?”
She grinned at his silliness. “I happen to have left mine in my room. I distinctly remember shoving it into my purse.”
He hurried around the buggy and climbed onto the seat. “Then we’ll have to take our chances. Least if it rains, we have a roof over our heads.” He clicked the reins.
“That’s true.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “I suppose the rain always falls straight down in these parts.”
He nudged her back. “Well, occasionally. Other times it blows straight at a body.”
“If rain comes today, let’s hope for the occasional straight down then.” She smoothed a hand along her skirt. “I don’t want to get this poplin dress wet. It’s a problem to iron.”
“Hope you don’t mind if we go back to the same cabin. Worked out well last week so I thought we’d go there again.”
“And if it does rain, we’ll be dry.” Sam was so easy to be around. He might not have money, but he was fun. She could easily visualize him helping Trenton become a strong man. And, wouldn’t her brother love to work with horses on a ranch?
Sam pointed out the names of trees and plants as they rode along the narrow road.
A funny bird ran across the road in front of them then along beside them for a few seconds. “That’s the weirdest looking bird—if it is a bird—I’ve ever seen. What was that?”
“That’s a roadrunner, properly called a chaparral.” He pointed at a bird circling high ahead. “That’s a red-tailed hawk looking for his dinner.”
“He can’t have ours. I have to save every crumb for your hearty appetite.”
He slid his arm around her and tugged her closer. “Now you’ve made me feel bad. I don’t eat that much.”
“Just what’s not nailed down. I’ll bet your boss saves a lot on groceries when you stay in town.”
“You know, someone might have mentioned that very thing to me, but I think it was the cook. He’s a bit testy at times.”
“Your cook’s a man?” She’d never heard of a male cook except in fancy restaurants where they were called chefs.
“Lots of ranch cooks are men, especially for the bunk house and on the range. There’s a woman cook at the main house, but she just prepares meals for the boss and any guests he has.”
This time she saw the cabin as it came into view. A loud crack of thunder warned them just before rain poured from the sky. The wind whipped the rain over them in spite of the cover on the rig.
He snapped the reins. “We’d better get off the range in case of more lightning.”
Sure enough, she saw bolts zigzag from the sky to the ground as they pulled up by the cabin. He hurried around and swung her down and grabbed their lunch. “Stay inside until the lightning stops. Anything upright is a target on open range like this.”
Water dripped from her face and hair and ran down her arms. She hated to think how disheveled she must appear. At least she wasn’t wet to her skin, but her dress was soaked.
Sam’s shirt stuck to him and emphasized the breadth of his chest and strength of his arms. Water ran off the brim of his hat. Good thing the floor was stone or he’d have left a mud puddle.
“Have to get the horses under cover.” He hurried back outside.
Shivering, she went to the fireplace where wood was laid for a fire. In the gloomy room she found matches on the mantel, struck one, and then touched the flame to the tinder. At first only smoke curled upward but then kindling nestling at the bottom of the lo
gs caught.
Smoke drifted from the fireplace into the room. Oh, she should have opened the damper first. After bending over to check, she found the lever to start a draft. Soon warmth would radiate from the fire and the smoke dissipated.
The stove was not a type she’d ever seen. She supposed the principle was the same on all ranges. After collecting the matches, she struck one and got a flame going then adjusted the flue.
Sam came back in, dripping wet.”Sure glad to see the fire going.” He tossed a couple of blankets on a chair. “I brought one of these in case you didn’t want to come back here. The other was folded under the seat. I’ll turn my back while you get your dress off and wrap up in a blanket.”
She rubbed her upper arms. “M-My dress off? That… that would be highly improper.”
“Cassie sweetheart, you’re shivering. If you don’t get out of your wet clothes and wrap up in front of the fire, you’ll catch cold. I don’t want to be responsible for giving you pneumonia.”
She knew he was right, but she was appalled to be in this position. “All right, but no peeking.”
He turned his back to her and she quickly shed her bodice and skirt. Her corset and petticoat were a tiny bit damp, but not wet. The poplin had prevented the rain from absorbing through to her unmentionables. She grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around her.
“You can turn around.” Holding the cover together with one hand, she spread her wet things on a chair.
“Let me set this closer to the fireplace.” He picked up the chair and carried it near the hearth. After that, he unrolled one of the thin mattresses and laid it in front of the fire. “You sit here where you’ll be warmer.”
She did as he asked, grateful to feel the heat and have a soft, warm place to sit. “You’d better take your own advice and get out of that shirt and cover yourself.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He unfastened his shirt.
Pretending to look away, she used her peripheral vision to watch him strip out of his shirt. Heavens what broad shoulders and trim waist he had. She was glad when he pulled the other blanket like a cloak around him or she’d have been tempted to stare openly. He tossed his hat on the table and moved another chair near her then hung his shirt on the back. He grabbed the picnic basket and brought it with him.
Cassandra (Bride Brigade Book 3) Page 5