Yellow Rose Bride. Lori Copeland

yesterday,” he whispered. “They said a judge from Lubbock was coming through here today. All we have to do is watch for him, Vonnie. He’ll ride through here.”

      “But it’s late…”

      “Come on.” He pulled her to her feet.

      It was nearly dark when a dust-covered Jenny Lind buggy, with patched roof and floral curtains for privacy, rolled down the road. Vonnie and Adam studied it and the lanky driver from the shadows.

      “Do you think it’s him?”

      “It’s got to be.”

      The tall, thin man in the dusty black frock coat and stovepipe hat gingerly stepped down from the buggy and gathered some pieces of wood. In a few minutes he had a campfire going and a skillet on the fire, into which he forked thick slices of bacon.

      Adam and Vonnie approached the campsite. “Judge?”

      Startled, the man frowned up at them.

      “What do you want?”

      Drawing a deep breath, Adam cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt your supper, sir, but me and my lady here…we want to get married.”

      Straightening, the man studied a trembling Vonnie. “Married?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Adam was holding her hand so tightly she protested with a soft whimper.

      The old man’s pale eyes swept Vonnie. “You got your folks’ permission?”

      “Don’t need it, sir. We’re old enough to make up our own minds.”

      The man’s eyes centered on him.

      “You are the judge, aren’t you? We heard you were coming.”

      The man nodded slowly, his attention drifting back to Vonnie.

      “You can marry us?”

      “If you got a dollar for the license—”

      “I got a dollar,” Adam said, digging into his pocket and producing a silver coin.

      The coin Adam dropped into the judge’s narrow hand disappeared into the pocket of the shiny suit jacket.

      “Got a ring?”

      “No, sir,” Adam said.

      The judge eyed Vonnie. “You sure you want to do this, young lady?”

      “I’m sure,” she said.

      Adam slipped his arm around her and drew her closer to his side.

      The judge dusted his coat and straightened it, then settled his hat more firmly on his head, tugging it down low on his forehead. Adam could barely see his eyes now.

      “Do you love this…woman?”

      “I do,” Adam said.

      “You’ll take care of her come sickness or other troubles?”

      “I will.”

      “No matter what happens, you’ll stay with her?”

      “I will,” he vowed. “We both believe in the gospel, sir. I’ll take care of her.”

      “Young lady, do you love this man?”

      “I do,” she whispered.

      “You’ll take care of him in the good and bad times?”

      “I will.”

      “No matter what life hands you, you’ll stick with him?”

      “I will.”

      “Then I pronounce you man and wife. Kiss your bride.”

      Adam’s arm tightened around her; his lips brushed hers. “I love you,” he whispered against her mouth.

      “I love you, too.”

      The judge bent to turn his bacon before it burned. “Where you heading now, young people?”

      “We’re staying with friends tonight,” Adam said.

      “Then what?”

      “Not sure.” At the time, he didn’t want to think about tomorrow and what would surely happen.

      “Planning on walking, are you?”

      “We got horses, by the trees.”

      “Uh-huh. Well, my blessin’s to you both.”

      “Thanks, Judge. Thanks a lot.” He looked at his bride. “Thanks a whole lot!”

      “Have you spoken to Beth about the building plans?” P.K.’s voice broke into Adam’s thoughts.

      Getting up, he moved to the file cabinet. “No, but I’ll get around to it.”

      “Get around to it? Son, it takes time to build a house. We’ll need to get the men started as soon as possible. You’ll want to move your bride in shortly after the honeymoon, won’t you?”

      “I’ll talk to Beth, Dad.” P.K. had raised his sons with an iron hand. No give, no take. His way or no way. Adam knew the land had been a hard taskmaster. Building a ranch the size of Cabeza del Lobo—Wolf’s Head—out of the desert had been grueling, demanding more than most men could give. Many had folded up and left, selling out to the highest bidder, often P.K. His father had stuck it out, made his mark on the land. He’d done it without a wife’s support, while raising four boys with a housekeeper’s help. Adam respected him for that. They’d butted heads over a lot of things, but how to run the ranch wasn’t one of them. P.K.’s cattle and horse instincts were still indisputable.

      The Baldwin ranch was a sprawling establishment with patios and flowering gardens surrounding spacious adobe buildings. P.K. owned four sitios of land, 73,240 acres, but he controlled more than a million acres. At the peak of his prosperity, the ranch supported 50,000 Hereford-graded cattle, 15,000 horses, and 6,000 mules. Some thirty Mexican and Opata Indian families lived on the ranch, harvesting hay, vegetables and fruit, in addition to overseeing the livestock. The Baldwin water supply was plentiful; five springs, creeks that flowed in the spring and fall, and an underground river easily tapped by wells.

      Forty acres situated to the south of the main hacienda were reserved for Adam and his wife. Pat, Joey and Andrew had been allotted similar parcels with adjoining property lines.

      P.K. had made sure that when his sons married, they had ample room to raise his grandchildren.

      Adam knew that the prosperous appearances were deceiving. The past few years Cabeza Del Lobo had fallen on hard times, which was why P.K. was pushing for this marriage with Beth. Adam was expected to step up and do his duty for the good of the family. He sighed. Beth deserved a better man than he. She deserved to marry a man who loved her.

      His thoughts turned to Vonnie and the feud between their fathers. Even now, when their children were grown, P.K. and Teague Taylor hated each other more than ever. Sometimes he caught P.K. staring at Vonnie—resenting her heritage? He was never sure. He had never openly spoken about the half Cherokee/half white blood that ran through Teague’s adopted daughter’s veins. He’d known that Teague loved his child with great intensity and whatever lay between the two men, P.K. had never stepped over the line and used racial inequality to further inflame the rift.

      Letting the curtain drop back into place, P.K. returned to the chair. “Noticed you drank punch with the Taylor girl last night.”

      “Mmm,” Adam responded absently.

      “Was that necessary?”

      Filing a folder away, Adam closed the drawer. “Only being polite, Dad.”

      P.K. grunted. “Noticed her useless father didn’t bother to show up.”

      “Did you really expect him to?”

      “I