An Endless Love to Remember: A Historical Western Romance Book

by Lorelei Brogan

  Sophie, watching her ascend, felt her heart lurch a little.

  Errands attended to, and her niece settled in nightdress and wrapper, she searched about the ranch grounds for her next designated quarry. She found Jessie ensconced in the back yard swing, lolling and dreaming as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  Well, perhaps she hadn’t.

  “H’lo, Auntie. Nice afternoon, isn’t it? Do you think we’ll be eating supper soon?”

  “Why, do you have plans?”

  Jessie smiled her sweet siren’s smile. “No. I’m just hungry. Did you want me?”

  “Yes, dear, I came to find you. Your father is awake, and I’ve made a big pot of tea. I think we’d better have a little chat about your upcoming nuptials, don’t you?”

  Smoothing her brilliant fuchsia skirts, the girl slid gracefully off the seat and joined her aunt. “I would love to. Poor Papa. What a surprise he’s about to receive. What do you think he’ll say?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea.” As they walked along, through the lingering sunlight with its microscopic glints of golden dust, Sophie peered curiously at her niece. “We talked very little at the party yesterday. So much excitement—unplanned as it was. And both of us were quite tired last night when we drove home. How are you feeling about this—this secret betrothal?”

  Suddenly Jessie paused to swing herself around in a full circle, laughing joyously, arms spread wide as if to catch those rays of the sun. “I love it. I think it’s wonderful. I can’t wait to spend more time with Sam, so we can discuss all the details about our wedding.”

  Sophie stopped on the back porch stoop to open the screened door. “And you’re truly in love with Sam?”

  “Of course I am. He’s such a dear, isn’t he? And so handsome!”

  “I wasn’t aware,” said Sophie dryly, as she followed her niece into the kitchen, “that you had spent so much time with him before he left.”

  Shrugging, Jessie pooh-poohed that. “It isn’t quantity that matters,” she said in a prissy tone. “It’s quality.”

  “Ah. So you had a meeting of the minds, did you? Somehow, Jess, I feel you might be more in love with the notion of being married, than with the man himself.”

  The spacious room was quiet and cool, despite radiating heat from the cook stove. While Sophie stirred tea leaves into the boiling water, Jessica, deep in thought, followed the accustomed routine of piling shortbread onto a plate and retrieving the sugar bowl from the pantry.

  Once the tray and all its parts had been assembled, she said quietly, “What’s wrong with wanting to be married? Especially if it’s to someone who seems to be decent and hard-working. At least I won’t be an old maid.”

  That was a direct thrust at Sophie’s own spinster status, and it drove deep and hard. Nor did it endear the girl, and whatever machinations she might be making, to her aunt. But Sophie was nothing if not diplomatic.

  “At least,” the older woman agreed noncommittally.

  Riley, for whom today had been a good, as opposed to a bad, day—meaning smoother movements and less pain—seemed happy to have company in the parlor, where he had taken up residence.

  “Well, my dear, your afternoon nap has evidently been of benefit,” his sister approved. “You look to be rested, and in much better spirits.”

  “I certainly am, Sof. Now I’m wonderin’ whether I just want to keep my bedroom upstairs after all, instead makin’ so many changes in my life.”

  He was dressed and presentable—not in the more formal wear of a Sunday at home, but in comfortable, loose clothing that wouldn’t bind or chafe on taut muscles and weary bones. With the tea tray on a table before his big overstuffed chair, he was able to pour and add condiments without too much effort.

  “Oh, I certainly would move it to the first floor, Riley. Getting about would be so much easier for you. And you’d be close to any action going on with the ranch. Here, I’ll get the cream.”

  In the minute or two that it took for her to head out to the kitchen, and return, Riley glanced at his daughter, who had taken a wicker chair opposite. “Haven’t seen much of you lately, Jess. Whatcha been up to?”

  She smiled a secretive smile, looking up as her aunt re-entered. “Wellllll…”

  “Your daughter has some news to share with you, Riley. You’d ought to have a listen.” Sophie settled into the well-worn contours of her own chair and waited.

  Her father waited expectantly, as well.

  When the silence had dragged on long enough for dramatic effect, Jessie smiled again. “I’m getting married, Papa.”

  Surprise held no comparison to the look of shock on his face. “You’re what?”

  She explained. She went into great detail about yesterday’s surprise announcement, and all the kerfuffle involved, and all the congratulations and best wishes, and all the people crowding round to give her attention.

  Now, the three of them were in discussion mode, with food and drink to make the possibly unpalatable slide down more easily. Riley was not completely against the idea—Jessica was twenty-two, after all; fair on her way to being a spinster—but he wanted to get acquainted with the young man she had chosen, ask a multitude of questions, and demand to know just what he intended. Nor did he seem at all bothered or aggrieved by the way all of this had come about.

  “No different from a mail order bride, in my opinion,” he said at one point. “May’s well get yourself a man while you can, Jess, there bein’ such a shortage of able-bodied fellers around now that the war has ended.”

  Jessica was looking happier and happier as the interview proceeded. “So you have no real objections?”

  “Dunno yet.” He glanced up from under bushy brows to consider this lovely young thing to whom his wife had given birth and whom his sister had nurtured. “Wish I’da been there, though.”

  “Most of the guests asked about you, Riley. And we offered our apologies for your absence. Everyone knows your situation.”

  “Huh. Well, my situation is that I haven’t seen this Sam Marsden in a coon’s age. So, I repeat. Before anything serious takes place, engagement or no engagement, I expect you to bring him here for supper. Real soon. Wanna give him a good goin’ over.”

  “Of course, Papa. When I talk to Sam, we’ll work something out. Oh, thank you, thank you!” With the grace of an elfin sprite she flew over to embrace her father and lay a thistledown kiss on the top of his head before flitting away.

  Brother and sister exchanged glances.

  “This okay with you?” he asked gruffly.

  “I believe I am still—adjusting,” admitted Sophie. “There are some complicating factors which must be dealt with.”

  “You don’t say.” He dipped one of the flaky shortbreads into his cup, liberally creamed and sugared. “And where is Vickie through all this?”

  Sophie wasn’t quite ready to discuss everything that she had discovered this afternoon about the two girls, and what lay between them. He wouldn’t understand. Also, he might very well take out that lack of understanding—some might call it spleen—upon his younger, more vulnerable daughter. “She wasn’t feeling well. I gave her a tonic and sent her to bed.”

  “Huh. Well, no matter. If Jessie’s gonna go and get herself hitched, then that’ll still leave Vickie to be here at home and take care of me when things get worse. You got any more of them little cookies, Sof?”

  Chapter 6

  It was far from being the best of times.

  Sophie began to wonder if the current prevailing atmosphere throughout the Clark compound might be what soldiers had experienced during the War Between the States, whether North or South—that being an armed camp: tense, stress-filled, and snappish. She had been forced into the unenviable position as arbiter, and she didn’t like it one little bit.

  “What’s goin’ on around here, anyways?” Even her brother, notoriously obtuse, had complained to her several days after the Sunday revelation. “The middle of my back is itchin’ somethin’ f
ierce, like somebody’s all set to draw a bead and blow me away. Have I got some new enemies somewhere that I dunno nothin’ about?”

  “Leave the laudanum alone,” was Sophie’s dry, unsympathetic advice, as she set a plate of steak and eggs on the breakfast table. “You’re imagining things, that’s all.”

  As if she would ever even consider sharing information with him about Vickie’s predicament! When the girl was ready to disclose all that had happened, then she could, all on her own. Till that time, it was her business alone.

  Meanwhile, it was all Sophie could do to keep the sisters even within shouting distance of each other. Which was becoming more and more a necessity, if she didn’t want murder and mayhem committed, right here in the house. So far, both had become quite imaginative about keeping out of each other’s way. Sometimes a whole day went by without a single glimpse for Vickie of Jessie, and vice versa.

  Now and then, as she moved along through her daily tasks, she considered rather wistfully that it might be worth sending Vickie off somewhere for a lengthy visit. At least until the wedding was a fait accompli. Just to have some peace and harmony restored.

  But then the problem arose of just where that might be. Of family, there was none; of friends, these lived within a ten mile radius of the ranch. What good would that do? What possible excuse could be used?

  Nor could Sophie herself take her afflicted niece out of the way to travel and sightsee. Not with a wedding due to take place. Much as Vickie needed her solid, calming presence, so would Jessica. If for nothing else, then for guidance and support.

  No wonder Sophie was feeling just about torn in half these days.

  It was required by their father that both attend meals. Certainly while Riley felt well enough to sit down with them, anyway, which was about every other day. So Vickie’s fertile imagination had to invent a whole saga of pretexts to avoid this rule on the in-between days. She had a headache.

  She’d gotten filthy out working with her beloved animals and needed to soak in the tub. She had another headache. She’d been called away by Lydia Prentiss, the foreman’s wife, to visit a sick neighbor. She’d fallen ill with a female complaint and please no-one ask for an explanation!

  She’d already used a few. The rest she tucked in the back of her mind for future use.

  But, otherwise, the sisters did their best to avoid each other. And had well nigh succeeded.

  Except that Riley insisted upon a family dinner, to be scheduled for the following Sunday, to which the Marsdens must be invited.

  When Sophie voiced even the slightest demur, her brother was adamant.

  “D’ you know anything about these people?” he demanded.

  “Not much,” she was forced to admit.

  “Well, then. If my daughter is plannin’ to marry into the family, then we’d darned well better get acquainted. Expect me just to hand her over, sight unseen, like some hole-in-corner forced weddin’?”

  Sophie’s pliable face registered her shock. “Of course not. And don’t you even dare breathe a whiff of scandal about these plans, or Jess will never be able to hold up her head in this county again!”

  “Hadn’t set out to. That’s why I wanna see what the Marsdens are like. All I know is by reputation, which ain’t so danged good.”

  Open ledgers were spread out across his enormous desk and a bottle of ink sat capped on one corner, waiting to be employed. Sophie had interrupted whatever work he had been doing on the ranch accounts to bring him a fresh cup of coffee and a plate of mid-morning raisin scones to tempt his appetite. Now, paused by his edict, she sighed.

  “Oh, Riley. Aren’t you the slightest bit concerned by the way this betrothal has come about?”

  His heavy brows shifted into a frown. “What d’ you mean?”

  “Well…not exactly hole-in-corner, as you described it. But—I don’t know…not so much honest and forthright, either.”

  “Siddown, Sof, and tell me what’s on your mind.” Riley’s love for his sister was deeply entwined with gratitude and appreciation for all that she had done for him and his girls over the past dozen years. Now, puzzled, he extended one hand toward the empty chair. “Somethin’ just not quite right about it, y’ mean?”

  Clearly she was troubled. “I don’t know, Riley. It just seems odd we’ve heard nothing about this secret plan to wed until Buckley Marsden broke the news at Sam’s welcome home party. Shouldn’t the girl’s family be first to know of such an exciting event?”

  Thanks to Vickie’s confession, Sophie was privy to just about every detail of this whole affair, and just how underhanded the whole thing was. Rather than blurt out her niece’s confidence, she wanted to try leading her brother gradually to the truth. Let him wonder. As she had.

  Considering, he shifted a few of his papers about. “Dunno. In my book, a betrothal is about as permanent as a marriage. You don’t easily go breakin’ one or the other. If Jessie ain’t serious about this young man—”

  “Oh, I do believe she’s all of that. I just have a sort of—I’m not sure—nagging, uncomfortable feeling about the secrecy.” Another sigh as she rose. “Well, other unions have been started with much less, I suppose, and proven to be successful. So I shall send a message to the Marsdens, then, inviting them for Sunday dinner?”

  “I think that’s the only logical thing to do. And be sure that you get Lydia up here to fix the food, so’s you’re free to join everybody at the table. Don’t want you flittin’ back and forth like some servant. You take on too much work sometimes, old girl.” He gave her a fond glance.

  “Hmmph,” was Sophie’s only response as she departed for her own, familiar realm. Little did Riley know of exactly how much she did take on!

  “No,” said Vickie firmly, some time later, when she was tracked down playing with the mewling kittens while Daisy watched jealously nearby. “Absolutely not.”

  “My dear,” Sophie managed to protest. She had sought out her niece—always so alone!—to apprise her of Sunday’s plans in advance, that she might be prepared. “I’ve already written a note to the Marsdens, and sent Blake to deliver it for me. This is a celebratory dinner, I suppose you might say. Also informative. And you know your father will demand that you be there.”

  “He can demand away all he wants. I won’t be there.”

  Distressed, Sophie was all but wringing her hands at this newest wrinkle in the family’s dramatics. “Vic, you simply can’t—”

  “Can’t what? Sit there at the table while my filthy lying thief of a sister accepts congratulations like some smug cat? Not on your life, Auntie.” Vickie rose from her crumpled position on a pile of the barn’s straw, where Daisy and her little ones had taken up residence. Brushing off bits of chaff and dust, she strode toward the door. “No. I won’t do it.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, just to keep peace in the family—”

  Vickie whirled back, with eyes flashing blue fire that boded ill for anyone thinking to cross her now. “There is no longer peace in this family, Aunt Sophie, and you know it. My own sister has betrayed me. She’s no better than a—a female Benedict Arnold. Or a Judas! She’s a snake in the grass, and I refuse to even speak with her.”

  “But with this dinner—”

  “Hang the dinner! It was Papa’s idea; then he can deal with it. With my absence.” She gave a bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Don’t worry, I’ll think up something palatable as an excuse. I have a whole pocketful, just ready and waiting!”

  * * * * *

  “What d’ you mean, she won’t be here?”