Cassandra (Bride Brigade Book 3)

by Caroline Clemmons

  Anger consumed him. He had allowed himself to be hoodwinked again. The woman he’d thought of as “his Cassie” might be nothing but another woman after the prize.

  He wanted to punch something, someone. How had he fallen for her so hard when she was a lying cheat? And, he’d almost married her. What should he do?

  He threw the paper that announced his betrayal on the bed and stomped out of the room. After tossing the key at the clerk, he strode toward the Golden Eagle Saloon. He wasn’t that much of a drinker, but tonight he intended to drown his sorrows. He stood at the bar, both elbows on the smooth surface.

  Elias Kendrick walked over. “Hello, Drummond. Don’t see much of you. Heard you’re courting that nice Miss Bradford.”

  Unwilling to admit to being duped, he nodded. “Have been. May invite some of the other ladies out too.”

  Appearing surprised, Kendrick clapped him on the back. “Well, that’s your business. Have a good evening.”

  The damned banker leaned on the bar beside him. “Well, I see you’ve realized you’ve lost Miss Bradford and you’re taking solace in drink.”

  Tucker didn’t know how close he came to a punch in the face. Sam turned so only one elbow rested on the bar. “No such thing, but I won’t discuss a lady like her in bar.”

  Red suffused Tucker’s face. “You’re just a sore loser. She’s going to be my hostess on Friday night when a group of bankers dine with me. We’ll be in meetings all day but they’re coming to my home for supper.”

  Determined not to let Tucker know how much that disturbed him, Sam forced a smile. “I’m sure she’ll be a fine hostess.” He tossed back his drink and motioned to the bartender, Bill Dixon.

  When Bill approached, Sam tapped the bar top. “Leave the bottle, Bill. I’m thirsty tonight.”

  Tucker snapped his fingers and gloated. “I knew it, she turned you down.”

  “She did not. I told you to quit talking about the lady in here. Surely you respect her too much to bandy her name about in a bar.”

  With a wave of dismissal, Tucker said, “Aw, no one cares any longer. That went out of style years ago.”

  Sam set down his glass and grabbed Tucker’s shirt collar. “I said don’t mention her in here. You clear on that?”

  Kendrick placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Is there a problem here? If there is, take it outside. No loud arguments or fighting allowed in here.”

  Tucker, whose toes were barely touching the floor, moved his mouth like a fish gasping for water.

  Sam released the shorter man. “Tucker and I were just recalling a few rules of etiquette. I think he remembers them well enough now.”

  Tucker adjusted his collar and straightened his tie. “You’re crazy. You can’t insult a man of my importance like that.”

  Sam didn’t even look at the man, but watched him in the long mirror back of the bar. “No insult, Tucker. Just a discussion of rules.”

  Kendrick winked at Sam and put his hand on the banker’s shoulder. “There’s a game starting over there. Do you feel lucky tonight?”

  Tossing a glare over his shoulder, Tucker said, “As a matter of fact I do. Things are going my way lately.”

  Sam paid for the bottle and walked back to the hotel. He shouldn’t have let the banker stoke his anger, but the wire had already fueled the fire. Now he just wanted to forget he’d ever read the danged telegram.

  “Evenin’, Mr. Drummond.” Lemuel eyed the bottle as he took Sam’s key from the pigeon hole and pushed it across the counter. “Everythin’ all right?”

  He felt foolish carrying an almost full bottle of whiskey. Offering a smile he didn’t feel, he picked up the key. “Fine, thanks, just a little thirsty. Awfully noisy at the Golden Eagle tonight.”

  What a dumb thing to say. The place was no noisier than any other time and a lot less so than on Friday or Saturday. Lemuel must think he’d gone nuts. If so, the hotel owner had the presence of mind to keep the opinion to himself.

  In his room, Sam kicked off his boots and stripped down to his knickers and socks. After picking up the water glass on the washstand, he took it and the whiskey and set them on the bedside table. He pulled back the cover and lay with his shoulders braced against the headboard.

  Heathington’s wire had etched itself on the inside of Sam’s skull. Even when he closed his eyes, he could read the wretched paper as if it were in front of him. He’d trusted Cassie but she had lied to him.

  Once again he wondered if he were that bad a judge of women. He had no trouble discerning an honest man from a fraud. Why hadn’t he been able to do the same with women? This was twice he’d been made a fool.

  With Edith, his pride suffered but his heart was undamaged. Not true with his Cassie, though. Dadblame it, he still thought of her as his. She still owned his heart in spite of her perfidy. He’d forget her. From now on, he’d stay at the ranch and send Slim in for supplies so he wouldn’t have to see Cassie.

  Could he do that? Could he isolate himself on the ranch with no one but his ranch hands to talk to again? The prospect loomed bleak and he couldn’t help thinking of the way Cassie had responded to him on their picnic. Was that a part of her scheme? Did she do the same with Bart Tucker?

  The thought of her kissing the banker repulsed Sam and he held the glass of whiskey so tight he feared the beaker would break. Ordinarily, he wasn’t much of a drinker. A pint of beer with the boys on payday sufficed.

  With a huge exhale, he tossed back the fiery liquid and willed it to dull his brain. Perhaps if he drank enough, he’d forget his heart ached. Was there enough whiskey in Texas to achieve that goal?

  Chapter Nine

  Cassandra awoke with lovely memories of the prior day’s picnic. She lay in bed reliving Sam’s passionate kisses. She’d no idea a kiss could make her entire body hum. Or that a kiss could heat her body until she wanted to mold herself to Sam and have him do…. Well, she didn’t understand what she wanted exactly, but she was sure he would know how to quench the yearning that threatened to overwhelm her.

  Angeline stirred and wretched into the chamber pot again. Poor dear, she was suffering so much. Worrying couldn’t be good for her, either.

  Cassandra rose and poured a glass of water. “Here, rinse your mouth and I’ll get you a cool cloth for your face.” Lifting the ewer again, she added water to the bowl and returned the pitcher to the washstand. When she’d wrung out a cloth in the water, she handed the cool rag to her roommate.

  Angeline put the lid on the chamber pot and pushed it under the bed. “You’re kind to me, Cassandra. What’s to become of me?” She rose and sat on the mattress.

  “You’ll marry and have a baby. Now get dressed and come down for breakfast before you go to your nanny job.”

  “I will. Reverend McIntyre will be going to visit those in the country today. I may be late returning. If I’m not here for supper, don’t worry.”

  After they’d eaten, Angeline and Josephine left for their jobs. The rest of the girls helped tidy the house and then amused themselves talking in the parlor or working on projects in their rooms. Cassandra had brought her sewing to the parlor and sat in a chair by the window where the morning light illuminated her stitchery.

  Rachel sat beside her. “You’re fortunate to be courted by two beaus. I’m not sure I’ll even have one.”

  Cassandra glanced at the raven-haired beauty. “You must have. I’ve seen men call for you.”

  Conspiratorially, she leaned near. “I went on a picnic with Mr. Buchanan, but he just wanted to make Josephine jealous.” Grinning, she sat up straight. “I’ve been on a stroll with a couple of different men, but I don’t think they were interested in me specifically, just in acquiring a wife.”

  “Oh, Rachel, you’re so lovely. I’m sure several men must be pining for you.”

  The other woman laughed. “If so, I wish they’d tell me. I do want to marry and have a family with a kind and loving man.”

  Near them, Ophelia looked up from her sewing. �
��That’s what each of us wants. I hope each of us finds the right man for her. He’d have to be very understanding to want to marry me.”

  Cassandra smiled at the shy woman. “Because of your back?”

  Ophelia gasped. “How did you know?”

  “All the way here, you sat up without leaning your back against anything. Once early in the trip, I saw stripes of blood on your dress. I’m sorry you were treated so badly and hope you find a kind, gentle husband here in Tarnation.”

  Ophelia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “That’s my dream, but my scars may repulse any man who gets close enough that he sees them.”

  Rachel reached out and touched Ophelia’s hand. “Nonsense. I don’t know what led to the scars, but a man who sees your sweet and compassionate nature will love you all the more for what you’ve suffered.”

  Ophelia stared at her hands. “Thank you, both of you.”

  The doorbell sounded, and Rachel stood and went to the door. She admitted Sam. He asked for Cassandra and then asked Rachel to please see if he could use Lydia’s office for a private discussion.

  Cassandra heard his request and went to him with a broad smile. When she saw him, however, she faltered. “Sam, are you ill?”

  His face was gray and his eyes bloodshot. “No, not exactly.”

  Lydia came forward and opened the door to her office. “Nice to see you, Sam. I hope nothing’s wrong. You don’t look well.”

  He didn’t look at either of them. “Didn’t sleep well is all. I just need to talk to Cassie… Miss Bradford in private.”

  He waited for Cassandra to precede him. He followed and closed the door behind him. His ashen face made him a different man than she’d seen the previous day.

  She touched his arm. “Sam, what on earth is wrong? Has someone died?”

  He indicated she should sit in one of the two armchairs. “Not exactly, just lost a dream is all.” Towering over her, he pulled out what looked like a telegram and handed it to her.

  She read the words with astonishment. “That lying, lecherous monster. How dare he say such things?” She raised her gaze to meet Sam’s and handed him the traitorous paper. “What’s the meaning of this, Sam?”

  Red spread across his pale face and he waved the paper in her face. “You’re asking me? The meaning is that now I know what a fraud you are. You were fired and thought you’d profit by claiming to be kin to Jeff Heathington.”

  His demeanor pierced her heart quicker than any arrow could. Pride rooted her to the chair. Her hands squeezed the chair arm until her knuckles were white.

  “We are related as I explained to you yesterday. His grandfather was a younger son, so my great-grandfather inherited the home where I grew up, the one now owned by that traitorous Jeffery Heathington.”

  Acting as if he hadn’t heard her, he rose and paced. “You lied to me, Cassie. You misled me.”

  Her dreams cracked and disappeared in a hazy mist. “I may have omitted details, but you cannot tell me even one thing I said that was a lie. And, by the way, you omitted the fact you knew Jeff Heathington. I’m surprised you would even associate with a man like him.”

  He appeared to register her accusation and stepped back from her. “We have mutual friends. Six years ago I was a guest in his home. He was gracious and cordial.”

  To think they’d almost crossed paths while she was a servant shocked her. She sat straight, unmoving. “I’m sure he was if he thought there was anything you or your mutual friends could do for him. He’s always after the main chance.”

  “Ha! You would accuse him? Cassie, I’ll not be made a fool of again.”

  She stood and faced him. “No one made a fool of you, Sam. You’ve done so all by yourself. I thought we shared something meaningful, that you trusted me. I even hoped you were coming to have deeper feelings for me—maybe growing to love me. Since you value that depraved traitor’s word more than mine, obviously I only imagined you cared.” She turned and headed to the kitchen.

  He called, “Cassie…. ”

  She couldn’t listen to his accusations any longer. Her heart breaking, she hurried through the kitchen and up the back stairs, praying she could hold back tears until she reached her room. She threw herself across the bed and let the tears come.

  How could he have said those things? He’d proposed and she’d almost told him yes only yesterday. She waited merely because of her commitment to Bart for tomorrow night.

  With a sob, she remembered the dinner she was to help host. She’d wished she could get out of the event. But, now Bart was her only admirer.

  Ophelia came into the room. “I brought your sewing. Mr. Drummond looked very upset when he stomped out. I peeked inside and you weren’t there so I figured you came up the back way.” She laid the sewing on the chair. “Please tell me what’s wrong and what I can do to help you.”

  “No one can do anything to help.” Cassandra explained everything to her friend.

  “I’m sorry you had to work as a servant in your own home. When he has time to think things through, he’ll change his mind. His reaction is more because of his first wife than about you.”

  She shook her head as a new round of sobbing shook her. “He meant what he said. I’ve lost him.”

  “I doubt that’s true. Even if it is, you still have Mr. Tucker.” Ophelia spoke with hesitation and a hint of distaste. “If you want him, that is.”

  “I have to now. There’s no one else vying for my attention.”

  Ophelia touched her arm. “You don’t have to accept the banker. Cassandra, you were the one who insisted there are more men who want wives than women here. Please don’t tie yourself to that banker unless you really care for him.”

  The tone her friend used when she said “that banker” caused Cassandra to search Ophelia’s face. “You don’t like Bart, do you?”

  Her friend’s focus shifted to the window. “I don’t exactly dislike him. I’ve no right to an opinion of him where you’re concerned. Only you can decide that.”

  “Please be honest with me.”

  Ophelia took Cassandra’s hand. “All right then. He matches the cold, snobbish woman I thought you were when we first met. That was before I knew you were kind-hearted, generous, and worried about your brother.”

  Cassandra twisted her handkerchief. “Oh, Trenton—what will happen to him if I don’t marry well? He’s in such a difficult position where he is. The telegram said he’d left and I have no idea where he is. I pray he’s with Mrs. Long.”

  “Perhaps more important is asking yourself if Bart Tucker is the man you want influencing your brother.”

  That thought stabbed at her, caused her to wonder. She couldn’t imagine Bart taking time to counsel Trenton. If she married the banker, she wasn’t certain he would even want Trenton living with them.

  Dabbing at her eyes, she rose to splash water on her face. Some women cried daintily. Cassandra’s face turned blotchy and her eyes swelled.

  Ophelia stood beside her and poured more water into the washbowl. After dipping a hand towel into the liquid, she wrung out the towel and folded the cloth. “Lie down and hold this on your eyes to reduce the swelling.”

  Cassandra complied. “I’m fortunate to have such a caring friend. Thank you.” She heard the dinner gong and fisted her hands. “Oh, what will the other girls think? They know I went into Lydia’s office with Sam and that he was angry when he left.”

  Ophelia patted her hand. “You remain here and I’ll tell everyone you have a megrim and need quiet and rest. I’m sure Mrs. Murphy will let me bring you a tray. If you feel better, you can come down for supper. If not, I’ll bring you a tray then too.”

  After Ophelia had gone, Cassandra fought more tears. What a mess she’d made of her chance at happiness. She cursed Jeff Heathington with all her being.

  When they’d returned from the picnic yesterday, she’d been so happy and optimistic. She’d practically floated through the rest of the day. How foolish she’d been to believe sh
e could start over with such ease.

  At least she hadn’t cancelled being Bart’s hostess tomorrow night. Perhaps Ophelia was correct and Bart wasn’t her last chance, but she couldn’t suppress the sense of desperation that overwhelmed her. She’d been dreading the event, but now she’d better perk up and generate charm.

  She rose and dipped the cloth in water again and returned to bed. Air from the window cooled the eye mask. Fragrance from the garden drifted in the window. This time, the delicate scents failed to soothe her.

  If only Sam’s accusing face hadn’t engraved itself in her mind. Whether her eyes were closed or open, she couldn’t erase the image of him thrusting that telegram in her face.

  Lying was not something she did well, even by omission. But, he’d omitted things too. He’d never even mentioned he’d been in Virginia much less that he knew that odious Jeff. Millie Heathington was mean but wasn’t nearly as bad as her husband. Jeff had gone out of his way to humiliate her.

  Even though Cassandra was lady’s maid to his daughter Arabella, Jeff Heathington had insisted Cassandra help serve food or refreshments whenever her former friends had visited. Not only had she lost her family, her status, and her friends, but she’d been forced to pretend she didn’t know those former friends when they came to call.

  Pity and snobbery in Virginia had been equally hard to bear. Yet, none of that compared to the loss of Sam’s good esteem. Absolutely nothing.

  Would he soften his opinion once he’d had time to consider the facts? She doubted he would, especially if Sam had been deceived by Jeff when he’d visited. How could Sam not see through Jeff’s phony façade?

  As a cowboy, Sam was probably in Virginia with his boss and had been awestruck by his reception in the Heathington home. He wouldn’t understand how Jeff came to have that home in the first place. Would Sam even care?

  A soft rap on the door preceded Lydia entering with a tray. “I’ve brought you soup, bread, and pudding.” She set the tray on the bedside table. “Are you feeling better?”