Rancher Wants a Wife. Kate Bridges

they wouldn’t be laughing at her scar.

      She decided she was being foolish. They obviously knew Jack, and were giving him female attention—which seemed to be a common pastime in Sundial. And why not? He was a charming, hardworking bachelor. But soon-to-be-married, she hoped they realized.

      Jack held out his arm and she took it. Soon she was registering at the front desk, her bags were being whisked upstairs and she was exchanging pleasantries with the young man behind the counter. If he noticed her cheek, he didn’t let on that anything was amiss.

      “Take care of her,” said Jack. “We’re getting married tomorrow.”

      “Are you now, Dr. McColton? Congratulations to you both.” The boyish clerk swung the registry back toward himself, read her name and addressed her. “Miss Hamilton, welcome to the Valley Hotel. Will you be needing any amenities shortly? Something from the dining hall, or perhaps a bathtub filled?”

      Jack interjected, “Cassandra, I’m hoping you’ll come with me to the ranch for dinner. Won’t you?” When he turned his handsome face toward her, her qualms subsided about the women she’d seen outside. There was no need to get stirred up about what might or might not happen in this town now that she’d arrived. She was here, and determined to make the best of it.

      “I’d love to see it. But I do need time to get back this evening, soak in a hot tub and prepare for tomorrow.”

      A smile tugged at the corner of Jack’s mouth. Heat flashed in his penetrating eyes, and she got the distinct impression he was imagining her in that tub.

      She tried to squelch the flutter she felt, wondering what the marriage night would be like, and nervously brushed back strands of wispy hair. “Please give me ten minutes to freshen up. I’ll be right down.”

      “Take twenty,” he said, strolling through the large, cool foyer.

      The desk clerk tapped a bell on the counter. A porter appeared. Carrying her satchel, Cassandra marched up the wide wooden staircase behind him. The hotel wasn’t as grand as some in Chicago, but its Californian flavor—with rustic timber, a stone fireplace in the front entry and plenty of windows—was appealing.

      She knew there’d be no time for a honeymoon. Jack had explained it in his letters. She wouldn’t be disappointed, she told herself. He enjoyed working hard in his profession, and made no excuses for it. She preferred that over someone sitting idle.

      Besides, what other man who’d written to her asking for her hand in marriage had promised her an easy life? Not one.

      The porter unlocked a door, handed her the key, set her large suitcase inside and politely left. Cassandra walked into the airy room. The furnishings were sparse, but a large window overlooked the street below. She pulled aside the curtain and noted again the buildings she would likely visit soon in her quest to become a detective—the sheriff’s office, land registry, courthouse, the two banks on the corner. She peeked to see if that brunette woman was still at the hat shop, but saw no sign of her.

      Cassandra looked down at her faded clothes. Her well-worn jacket and long skirt appeared so paltry compared to the freshly tailored suit the other woman had been wearing. She came from money, no question. And judging by the daring expression on her face, she definitely knew Jack. Did the woman know he’d be married tomorrow? Cassandra removed the derringer and box of bullets from her satchel, and hid them in the dresser. She tucked the newspaper and books in, too. One other question burned in her mind as she prepared for the afternoon with Jack.

      Who was that woman?

      * * *

      To Jack, it seemed almost like a regular outing with a regular woman, except this one would soon be his wife. He stretched out his legs in the buggy, repositioned his silver-tipped cowboy boots and grasped the reins in his callused hand. Warm winds enveloped him and Cassandra as they drew closer to his ranch.

      She’d changed from her traveling clothes into something plainer—long brown skirts, an ivory blouse and patched shawl. She’d let her blond hair fly free, and he enjoyed seeing it spill over her shoulders. However, she was still wearing that damn hat with the dangling scarf she was obviously using to shield her scarred cheek.

      He wished she’d chuck the blasted thing. She didn’t need it. But saying so might only embarrass her.

      How many nights in the past month had he thought of what it might be like to bring Cassandra home?

      He felt more awkward than he had imagined he would. When their knees brushed, when he pointed out his neighbors’ ranches on surrounding hills, indicated the train tracks that ran through the valley to reach the lumber mills, even when they simply sat and said nothing, a mountain of tension rippled between them.

      It was as if they each didn’t trust the other. But why would she mistrust him? She was the one who’d turned him away in Chicago, more than once!

      He was relieved when they finally approached the house. Red-colored dogwood lined the perimeter of the quarter-mile laneway. The buggy whisked into the shade of the big oaks as they neared the wide, two-story house. Sunlight danced off the clay roof, bounced on the walls of white-painted timber, and sparkled against blue shutters. A stone chimney dominated the north wall.

      To the other side, one of his gardeners was painting the fence, his ranch hands were busy working at the two stables, and splendid horses galloped across the fields.

      Cassandra turned her head to view the pretty sight. “How many horses do you keep?”

      “Twenty-six at the moment. It’s gone as high as thirty-six. I rent them to neighbors, whenever they’re needed in the vineyards, or at harvest season, or sometimes for traveling. It works out well. My neighbors get the use of fine horses, and my animals get exercised.”

      “And you get to buy and trade livestock. Impressive. What you’ve always wanted.”

      He grinned at her perceptiveness.

      The two sheepdogs came dashing out from the stables and circled around them, tails wagging.

      Jack parked the buggy, signaled to one of the hands to come get it, and went to help Cassandra down from her seat. She didn’t need assistance this time. She managed to slide out before he got to her, skirts billowing in the wind, scarf flapping against her face.

      She didn’t look well. Rather pale and shaken. “Are you feeling all right?”

      She nodded. “It’s been a long journey.”

      “I hope you’ll like it here.”

      “It’s breathtaking, Jack.”

      Her comment filled him with pride.

      She smiled nervously, and when some of the men working in the vicinity cast their curious eyes her way, she stepped closer to Jack. The dogs swished their orange tails and panted at her. With a laugh, Cassandra bent down to say hello.

      “Meet Caesar and Queenie,” he told her.

      She gave them a pat and a rub behind the ears. “By your names, it sounds as though you rule this place.”

      “Jack!” called his hefty foreman. “Sorry to bother you, sir. Got a scheduling problem with two of the mares.”

      “Excuse me.” Jack left Cassandra’s side for a moment, conversed with his foreman, ironed out the dilemma and returned to her side.

      His housekeeper and butler greeted Cassandra warmly when she entered the oak double doors. They were a married couple from England, Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh. Although conservative in their ways, underneath their formal exterior, and once folks got to know them, they were very friendly. Jack had already explained to them the nature of Cassandra’s scar, that she’d been trapped in her burning home and that a timber had fallen across her face. She had dashed in after her father, to locate her sister upstairs. The other two hadn’t made it out alive, but Cassandra had been rescued by a volunteer fireman.

      The Dunleighs discreetly ignored the visual