Wedding At Rocking S Ranch. Kathryn Albright

and then perhaps once it was accomplished and she was released from it, she would be able to move on with her life.

      “Ma’am?” The conductor walked down the aisle toward her. “This is your stop. It’s as far as your ticket takes you.”

      She glanced out the window once more at the rustic wooden buildings and the dirt street. “It may as well be the ends of the earth.”

      He gave his short beard a thoughtful stroke. “Now, Oak Grove ain’t all that. It must have a few good points or people wouldn’t stay.” He brought her hatbox and parasol down from the overhead compartment, and handed them to her and then headed back to the door.

      She squared her shoulders. She could do this. Moving to the doorway, she let the conductor help her down to a box he’d placed for the purpose of disembarking, and then down again to the wide planks of the platform. The harsh wind whipped the black ribbons of her bonnet and blew a small tumbleweed across her path. No one else on the train got off. Her trunk and carpetbag were the only luggage sitting there—a forlorn statement in her mind.

      The conductor released her arm and tipped the brim of his cap. “Good day, ma’am.” He swung a leather satchel over his shoulder that contained mail for Oak Grove residents and strode toward the station office, disappearing through the doorway.

      Cassandra took a deep breath and turned to survey the small town. From her vantage point on the platform, she could look straight down the main street. To her left stood a large livery stable. To her right stood a two-story building with a sign—Wet Your Whistle Saloon—above the batwing doors. Tinny piano music filtered out from somewhere inside. Farther down the street, past the laundry and bathhouse, there appeared to be a hotel and restaurant.

      Fourteen days ago, she’d written two letters. One to Mr. Barker, the foreman in charge of the Stewart property, and the other to a Mr. Wolf, a friend her late husband had mentioned a time or two. Mr. Wolf’s address had been in town. Between the two men, she thought that at least one would have been here to meet the train...and her.

      She sighed. All right then. She would figure this out. It wasn’t as if the entire process was an insurmountable obstacle. She would get there on her own. Traveling to the property shouldn’t be all that difficult. All it required was to hire a wagon from the livery and a guide.

      * * *

      Wolf stood unmoving on the shaded boardwalk in front of his parents’ dry goods shop and watched the woman on the platform. The sun slanted just above the horizon, casting her in silhouette and stretching her shadow like a sharp-angled ghost down Main Street. The black netting on her expensive-looking hat covered her face. The black feathers on top were arranged artfully and yet tall enough to brush the underside of her opened parasol—a parasol fancied up with black lace and satin trim. Quite the sight for a simple town like Oak Grove.

      He had a good idea who she was. Cassandra Stewart—the woman Doug had fallen so hard for. She was the reason Doug had dug his heels in about returning to the ranch. The way Wolf saw it, because of that she was also the woman who had had a hand in his death.

      What was she really doing here? Her short note had only mentioned seeing the ranch and checking on Douglas’s grave site. There had to be more to it. Nobody traveled halfway across the continent just to see a piece of land. Especially some rich woman who looked to be more used to Sunday socials and carriage rides in a manicured park than a wild prairie.

      “All aboard!” the conductor called out from the train steps. The engine rumbled and the wheels creaked as they forced the massive metal beast to move. A whistle blew—a loud, sharp sound—startling the woman and making her grasp her parasol tighter.

      Sanders, standing at the doors to the saloon, noticed her too. He started toward her, doffing his hat as he approached. “Daniel Sanders, ma’am. Help you with your bags?”

      “I thought there would be someone here,” she said, her voice wavering with uncertainty. She glanced once more down the main street. The action gave away her apprehension.

      Did she expect to be taken care of? Was she a hothouse flower whose only purpose was to look pretty? He couldn’t see Doug marrying someone like that, but it had been several minutes and she hadn’t moved from the platform.

      Torn between giving in to the urge to assist her and his feelings of distrust, Wolf hesitated. He didn’t want Sanders bothering her, particularly if she was Doug’s widow. Even though he had reservations about her, it remained that she was Doug’s choice. That meant, in Doug’s stead, he owed her assistance. Besides, it wasn’t like him to deny any woman simple courtesy. Reluctantly, he stepped off the boardwalk, drawing her gaze.

      “You need a place to stay?” Sanders inquired. “You are welcome at the saloon. Got a couple of vacated rooms upstairs right now.”

      She flashed a startled look at him. “Thank you, but no.”

      Sanders tipped his hat back, looking her up and down. “I’ll make it cheaper than what Austin charges at the hotel.”

      She stiffened. “I already have accommodations.”

      Sanders shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

      Wolf stepped up on the platform. “Raymond Wolf, ma’am. May I see to your things?” He figured that was enough of an introduction to have her either admit who she was or turn him away in the same way she had Sanders.

      She peered through her hat netting, taking a good long look at him. For a moment, Wolf thought she was going to refuse his help.

      “Thank you, Mr. Wolf.”

      Sanders snorted. “Well, what do you know...”

      His tone caused a familiar tension inside. Wolf curled his fingers into fists.

      “Guess you got what you came for, ma’am.” Sanders didn’t bother to tip his hat as he turned and headed back to his saloon.

      At that, the woman visibly relaxed. Her shoulders lowered, and she took a breath before focusing again on Wolf. “I don’t mean to be rude. I wasn’t expecting... I mean... You are Douglas Stewart’s friend, aren’t you?”

      He didn’t answer at first. He wondered what kind of assumptions she held about Indians.

      This close, he could make out a few observations of his own. She was attractive, even with the dark smudges beneath her eyes. They accentuated the paleness of her skin. Large night-blue eyes with dark lashes stared up at him through the crisscross of black netting.

      Her hair was the color of the sun. A few strands that escaped her bonnet floated across her cheek and shimmered, a pale gold. Had it been loose and flowing, instead of knotted up at the back of her head, he figured that sight would bewitch just about any man who had eyes in his head.

      The fact that she was dressed all in black swung like a silent weight between them. Nearly a year had passed since Doug’s death. She hadn’t come to witness her husband being laid to his final rest on the ranch, and that burned inside Wolf. “Cassandra Stewart.”

      She nodded.

      He walked over to her trunk, tipped it slightly and hoisted it onto his shoulder. “I’ll take you to the hotel. Tomorrow, when you have rested, we will go to the ranch.”

      “You misunderstand, Mr. Wolf. I intend to stay on my late husband’s property. It is mine now.”

      Her words echoed inside his mind. Mine now. It didn’t seem right. A part of him was angry that for the past year this woman hadn’t acknowledged her ties to the ranch and hadn’t asked after the men who worked there day after day. Now suddenly she shows up, calling the ranch hers when she hadn’t cared one whit about it before.

      The entire thing left a sour taste in his mouth. Besides, it was late in the day to head there. That wouldn’t stop him if she were a man, but with a woman it was different. A lot was different. Did she really expect to stay with Barker and the rest of the ranch hands? They could be a coarse lot.

      “No.”