Wedding At Rocking S Ranch. Kathryn Albright

to. “Perhaps someone else could escort me?”

      He didn’t look happy. “You are going to want to know a few facts about the place, and I’m the one who knows them, so it will be me accompanying you. But we’ll go tomorrow morning.”

      It was obvious that he wasn’t going to budge. “Then if not the property, perhaps the outbuildings?” she asked.

      “I could show you around, ma’am,” Otis said, stepping forward and glancing at Mr. Barker. “If’n you’re interested in the garden or the smokehouse, that is.”

      “That would be perfect. Thank you, Otis.”

      She turned to address the men. “Very nice meeting all of you. My husband thought highly of each of you, and I thank you for all your hard work, especially since he has been gone.”

      She was finished, as far as she knew, but the men continued to stand there, waiting. Finally, she turned and entered the house, feeling their gazes following her. She climbed the stairs as Cleve continued speaking with the men. Last-minute orders, she supposed.

      * * *

      Otis called her down to dinner two hours later and rang the triangle iron by the kitchen door. She was famished. She sat down at the table to a steaming bowl of onion soup and a plateful of mashed potatoes and steak. Mr. Barker seated himself at the foot of the table.

      For a ranch foreman, he had made himself quite at home—dining at the main table, sleeping in the house... Perhaps that was how things were done here, but it felt odd to her. At home, her parents had a maid and a cook. The maid had a room in the downstairs part of the house, but the cook went to her own home at the end of the day. There were no men living in the house but her father and the butler. The coachman had quarters over the carriage house. Still, all the help ate at the kitchen table—not in the formal dining room.

      No matter, really. She would adjust. Perhaps it would bode well. At breakfast she and Mr. Barker could discuss the plans allocated for each day. For the time she was here, she would make a place for herself, a routine.

      She glanced up to see Otis waiting for her to take her first mouthful. As craggy and wizened as he might be, did he care about her opinion on his cooking? She found it endearing and quickly cut off a small square of the meat and took a bite. A bit tougher than what she was used to, but flavorful. A spoonful of soup followed.

      “It’s very good, Otis,” she said honestly. “Thank you.”

      “Wasn’t sure it’d be to your likin’. Mrs. Stewart—Douglas’s ma—she paid attention to details about everythin’. But Doug...he weren’t picky about his meals. Could be I got sloppy over time.”

      “Well, this is fine. What about Jordan and Fitch? Surely they are hungry too.”

      “Oh, they don’t miss a meal—especially that young Jordan. He’s got a hollow leg that’s as long as Kansas is wide. They’re both out here in the kitchen with me.” He nodded and then slipped back into the kitchen.

      That eased her mind a bit about being alone with Mr. Barker. She took a few more sips of soup. “Mr. Barker, I want you to know that I appreciate all you have done in Douglas’s absence. It couldn’t have been easy to manage a place this size.”

      “I’m glad to see that you are aware of that.”

      “With your obvious expertise in all things related to this farm, I am going to draw on your knowledge frequently. I need your help. You see, I know nothing about farming or cattle.”

      His chest puffed up a bit as he cut off a generous portion of steak and stuffed it into his mouth. “Then I’d say the first thing you need to do is to quit calling me Mr. Barker. My name is Cleve. And the second thing is, this is a ranch, not a farm.”

      She grimaced, her reaction a mixture of watching him talk and chew at the same time as well as realizing she’d heard that comment before and not too long ago. “I’ve already been so informed. There are no ranches near Alexandria. I’m used to farms.”

      “I can understand your confusion. You passed a few of the fields we planted in wheat and a few in oats. That’s all winter feed for the cattle.” He leaned forward and covered her hand with his own. “I’m family now, Cassandra. You can count on me just as Douglas did. I care about this place.”

      She was so shocked at his gesture that she froze.

      His gray eyes glittered. “There are several improvements I am making to the place. I’ll call them to your attention as I show you the property. Anything to bring in more profit, right?”

      She pulled away, uncomfortable with his touch. “My husband didn’t mention any improvements, but it certainly sounds like him.”

      “No? Well, I can’t blame him there. A woman as pretty as you? I’m sure he had better things to talk about than cattle prices and fertilizer.” He chuckled lightly at his own quip. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ll fill you in on our ride tomorrow.”

      She didn’t care for his condescension. No longer hungry, she stood. “I believe I’ll finish unpacking. Please thank Otis for the dinner.”

       Chapter Six

      Wolf rode in just after dusk. A talkative customer, his father’s request to watch the dry goods store and an injured pup in Wally Brown’s livery had all conspired to keep him from returning quickly to the ranch.

      As he dismounted, a golden light flared and caught in the upstairs bedroom of the main house. So, Mrs. Stewart had chosen that room as hers. It would suit her. He remembered seeing the feminine touches the first Mrs. Stewart had sprinkled about the room. He’d been young then and thought such things unnecessary and impractical—a waste of precious time that could better be spent hunting or fishing or setting a trap. What did a cushion decorated with colorful ribbons have to do with a ranch? But it had brought her joy. And in a hard land like the prairie, joy was a precious gift.

      He stabled his horse and carried his gear to the bunkhouse. He shook out his bedroll and smoothed it over the first available straw mattress. In the bed next to his, Otis snored away. As the cook, the old man had to be the earliest to rise and get a large breakfast ready.

      Cleve Barker strode through the door and stopped short at seeing him. “What are you doing back?”

      “Thought I’d stay a few days. Maybe do a little hunting. See how Mrs. Stewart settles in.”

      “I can manage things.”

      Wolf remained silent, but his eyes narrowed. He wasn’t going to budge. The sooner Barker realized it, the better things would be.

      Finally, the man continued on to a room at the back of the building and shut the door.

      So he’d moved back into the foreman’s quarters. Good.

      There had been a few rough patches that sparked the animosity between him and Barker when Douglas first hired him on, but eventually Barker figured out where they both stood in the scheme of things at the ranch. Looked like Mrs. Stewart was figuring it out too and insisting on her place. His opinion of her rose a notch.

      Seemed like ever since Doug left, Barker had taken on more liberty with his position, to the point of making decisions that changed the vision of what Doug had for the ranch. Wolf figured as long as they could be easily reversed, most could wait until Doug came home and saw to things himself. Trouble was, Doug wasn’t coming home now and Barker acted like he owned the place.

      What was going through the man’s head now that Mrs. Stewart had arrived? If she planned to sell the property, could Barker afford to buy the ranch himself? A foreman didn’t make that kind of money. Did he hope to prove to her that he could take care of the place and she should keep it as an investment? That might not be a bad thing at all for the men here—except where did that leave him and his promise to Doug? Watching over