Rancher Wants a Wife. Kate Bridges

and Cassandra wished she knew some of the friendlier ones.

      The twenty-minute ride to the ranch was discouraging. She clenched her bouquet of wilting roses in her lap, looked out at the pastures and greenery, and wished that there wasn’t two feet of space between herself and her new husband. She wished he would at least touch her.

      “I’ve made you dinner,” Mrs. Dunleigh said when they pulled up to the big house. “It’s warming in the oven. If you’d like me to join you and serve it—”

      “That’s fine,” Jack interrupted. “We’ll manage from here.”

      “Congratulations to you both,” said Mr. Dunleigh. “Sheila and I wish you many happy years together. And we look forward to many more years of service in this household.”

      “Thank you,” said Jack, and Cassandra smiled in appreciation.

      The gent tipped his bowler hat, then he and his wife headed toward a side entrance.

      Cassandra looked after them. “They have their own wing of the house?”

      Jack nodded. “They definitely won’t be joining us on our honeymoon eve.”

      Flustered at the thought of finally being alone, Cassandra accepted his assistance from the buggy. His hands spanned her waist and she slid down beside him, so very conscious of his nearness.

      “We were surrounded by other people for so long,” she said, “I thought we’d never be alone.”

      Jack’s grin was a welcome relief from the tension of the past few days.

      “I’ve let all the staff know we’re not to be disturbed. The Dunleighs have retired to their quarters, and the ranch hands and their cook are in the bunkhouse.”

      He took Cassandra’s hand and pulled her around the house to the private entrance and terrace near the dining area. After opening the French doors, he turned, and before she realized his intent, swung her up in his arms.

      “Over the threshold, right, Mrs. McColton?”

      Hearing her new name spoken aloud made her shiver. She was his wife.

      He set her on her feet inside the kitchen, where tantalizing aromas wafted from the brick wall ovens. And there were cut flowers everywhere—white and yellow roses, mountain orchids and pristine lilies of the valley.

      When Jack set her down, he didn’t let her go. He allowed his palm to linger on her shoulder blade, the warmth of his touch seeping into her flesh.

      Breathless, she looked up at him. His dark hair, newly washed, tumbled to the sharp line of his eyebrows. His skin was tanned from the sun and the wind, and a muscle rippled in his cheek. Those eyes, those dark brown eyes the color of moist earth and swirling clay, swept over her. Not in such a detached manner as when she’d first arrived, but more pulsating, controlling, tempting.

      Yet the two of them were still ill at ease with each other. He reached down and brushed a strand of hair from her left cheek, her good side, and stroked it. His touch caressed her skin.

      Then he dropped his hand and glanced around the kitchen, as if scoping out what the housekeeper had arranged for them.

      Cassandra took the moment to try to compose herself.

      She’d lost her heart once to another man, with dire consequences, and didn’t wish to risk it again. Though she and Jack were now married, the peril she felt in possibly having her heart ripped out a second time, only to be replaced with a painful emptiness, made her cautious. Perhaps more so now that they were wed.

      There was so much more to lose.

      Maybe it was the heartless ruin of everyone she’d lost over the last five years that struck her with such force. First, learning the truth about Troy, his uncontrolled fits of temper when he drank, his dalliances with prostitutes, his words, “I always found you too prim and proper,” the last time they’d spoken. How could his pronouncement still hurt so much?

      And then the second aching loss that would never be filled—the missing presence of her sister, Mary, and the loving protectiveness of her father. Cassandra would forever feel that pain.

      It seemed that life’s sorrows didn’t stop at just one heartache. They kept coming and coming...and all she could do was try to protect herself the best she could.

      Cassandra had tried her hardest to remain optimistic—especially in the boardinghouse, with the other women. Some had lost children in the fire, and that pain had to be indescribable.

      Being here with Jack, she felt so terribly vulnerable and fragile.

      He had the power to destroy her.

      If she let him. If she let him into her heart, into her soul, into her very life.

      It would be much simpler, much less damaging to her, if she kept him at a distance. If anything, the outburst by Elise Beacon today had forewarned Cassandra of how much she could still hurt. She wanted to ask Jack about that other woman, but now that they were alone, she was reluctant to bring it up and spoil their moment.

      He turned around again, a smile lingering on his lips.

      “You’re a very beautiful woman,” he murmured.

      Beautiful? Really? Her?

      Her breath tripped in her throat. It was the first sensual thing any man had said to her since the fire. But...would Jack be terribly disappointed, as Troy had been, when they became more intimate? Not that she had ever slept with Troy, but their relationship had been physical enough on one occasion that it still brought shame to her cheeks. He’d partially disrobed her.

      How could she have been so deceived into believing he had loved her?

      Stop it, she told herself. This was nonsense, thinking like this when she had another man, a more honorable man, standing before her, trying to express some gentle words.

      “You look very dashing in your suit. I had a lovely day.”

      “It’s not over,” he said, and indicated that she should look around the room.

      To their right, the dining table had been set with a lovely assortment of fine china, sparkling goblets and silverware. A feast was about to be consumed. Candles about to be lit.

      Yet what she noticed most was that Jack had removed his hand from her back moments ago. A cold shadow, a phantom of his masculine touch, lay there instead.

      “A toast to us?” He offered her the choice between a white chardonnay and a red pinot noir. “They’re both superb wines from the area.” They settled on the red, and he poured.

      “It’s very nice,” she said, upon tasting it.

      There was something very romantic, yet also very much missing, when the two of them sat down to eat, both in their wedding attire. Jack was attentive to her needs, serving her the finest cut of roast beef she’d ever tasted, potatoes pulled that day, green beans mixed with a walnut sauce, and savory desserts of raspberry custard and lime pie.

      If they had been in love, the dinner might have been incredibly sentimental and romantic. Instead, without family and dear friends to share it, it seemed lonely. And awkward, with the two of them trying to pretend they were totally at ease with one another, that there was nothing but food on their minds, that they weren’t both thinking apprehensively of the wedding night ahead.

      * * *

      Jack was trapped in a primitive urge of desire as he led Cassandra up the winding staircase to his wing of rooms. What red-blooded male wouldn’t be anticipating a night with such a woman? She appeared so innocent and demure on the outside—always had—and that made him imagine all the more what lay beneath that shield of white lace and scrubbed skin.

      There’d been some problems today at the ceremony that he needed to explain, but not now. The talk he wasn’t too thrilled about having with her could wait a bit longer.

      “This