California Romance (36 page)

Katie?
a little voice mocked.
This has nothing to do with her or with the cowboys. You’re jealous of Abby Sheridan because Seth Anderson is paying attention to her and taking her to the barn dance
.

“That’s stupid!” Dori exclaimed as she burst through her bedroom doorway.

Solita looked up from turning down the covers on Dori’s bed. Her round, brown face showed surprise at Dori’s outburst. “What is stupid, querida?”

Solita was not the person Dori wanted to face right then. The housekeeper’s dark, knowing gaze saw far too much. Keeping secrets from Solita was like trying to keep the sun from rising.

“I’m just mumbling,” Dori quickly said, then blurted out the last thing she wanted to discuss. “Did you know that Curly invited Katie to the barn raising?”

Solita’s wide, white smile deepened the laugh crinkles around her eyes. “Sí. Senor Curly admires our Senorita Katie. She returns his regard.”

The news jolted Dori. “She does? How do you know?”

“Is your head so far up in the clouds that you cannot see what is happening under your very nose? Unless my eyes deceive me, Senorita Katie will be Senora Prescott
muy pronto.”
Solita plumped the pillows and patted Dori on the shoulder. “Now you must rest.” She smiled and went out, closing the door behind her.

Dori doubted she could stay awake long enough to don night clothes and tumble into her soft, welcoming bed. “It sure is different from the pine branches in the cave,” she muttered. The thought roused her from the stupor into which her tired body was sinking. A multitude of memories pounded her weary brain. Scene after scene replayed, clarified by hindsight and accusing her in no uncertain terms. “If I hadn’t defied Seth by jumping Splotches over the draw, I wouldn’t have been humiliated, almost drowned, and forced to spend the night in a cave,” she whispered.

An all-too-familiar rush of fear made her tremble, followed by the memory of Seth’s voice when he said,
“Jesus, the Rock of ages, is truly our shelter. We never need be afraid, no matter how bad the storm.”

The words stilled the tumult in Dori’s soul like no amount of reasoning or berating herself had ever been able to do. She remembered how safe she’d felt, wrapped in the saddle blanket and knowing nothing could harm her while Seth kept watch. How vulnerable he had looked when she awakened to find him sleeping. Dark shadows beneath his eyes attested to the strain he had been through while hauling her out of the raging stream. The shadow of a beard as red-gold as Seth’s hair showed on his usually clean-shaven face. Dori’s first impression slipped into her mind:
everything Matt had said and more
.

Now a lump rose to her throat. Why did life have to be so hard? Why couldn’t Seth love her, instead of Abby?

Dori cried herself to sleep.

The day of the barn raising came all too soon for Dori. Much to Bud and Slim’s delight, she had accepted their gallant invitation to
“es-cort”
her, but she dreaded the event. Even the new, yellow-sprigged gown that made her hair look darker and her eyes bluer, failed to comfort her. “Lord, I’m going to need Your help,” Dori impetuously prayed. “I can’t beg off going. Even if I fooled everyone else, Solita would know why.” She made a face at herself in the mirror and raised her chin. “If You’ll help me make it through the day, I’ll—”

“Come on, Dori, time’s a-wasting,” Matt sang out from the bottom of the staircase before Dori figured out what to promise God in return for His help. She wrapped herself in a cape against the early morning chill and lightly ran downstairs. Too bad she couldn’t trip and twist an ankle.

Busy with women’s work at the barn raising, Dori longed to be out riding Splotches. “Will this day never end?” she muttered to herself. Barn raising was a hard, hungry job and required a multitude of meals. Dori helped serve the horde of workers midmorning sandwiches, cake, and lemonade; a hearty dinner; more sandwiches, cake, and lemonade in the midafternoon; and a full supper. In between, she listened to Sarah, Abby, Katie, and a bevy of other women and girls chatter, and assisted in washing a mountain of dishes. When she had a few moments to rest, she stepped outside and watched the barn going up under the magic of many willing hands.

By the time the kitchen chores ended and Dori threw out the final pan of dishwater, she never wanted to attend another barn raising. How could Katie, in her favorite green-checked gown, and Abby, radiant in pink, be so excited about the barn dance to follow? All Dori wanted to do was to crawl in a hole and pull it in after her.

She sighed. “Sterlings don’t quit,” she admonished herself. “Now get out there and be the belle of the ball.” She grinned in spite of herself.

The first discordant notes of fiddles tuning up jangled in her ears. The three musicians swung into a lively hoedown. “Grab your partners, ladies and gents,” the caller commanded. “Line up for the Virginia reel.”

Bud reached Dori a few steps ahead of Slim and led her to the head of the line. Matt grabbed Sarah. Curly and Katie came next, then Seth and Abby. A dozen other laughing couples took their places, men in a long line with their partners facing them.

“Swing your partner.

“Do-si-do.

“Allemande left.

“Grand right and left.”

Dori’s feet responded to the calls. Her reluctance gave way to enjoyment. When she encountered Seth and he swung her in time to the music and asked if she were having fun, she could honestly answer, “Yes.”

“Feel like riding tomorrow?” he wanted to know.

“Of course.” Dori’s heart sang. Seth might be Abby’s
“es-cort,”
but the look in his eyes gave rise to a faint hope. The lively young woman had obviously set her cap for Seth, but he didn’t appear to be roped and hog-tied yet.

March gave way to April, April to May, then early June and time to drive the cattle to the high country, turn them loose, and let them graze until the fall roundup. Dori was wild to go. “Sarah’s never seen the high country,” she pleaded when Matt, Seth, and Solita violently opposed their going along. “It’s been years since I’ve been there. You won’t mind roughing it for a couple of weeks, will you Sarah?”

Sarah’s eyes glistened, but she sighed and said, “No, but if Matt thinks we shouldn’t go, it’s all right with me.”

“It’s not all right with
me.”
Dori crossed her arms and glared at her brother. “Brett says we’ll be just fine and no trouble at all. Curly, Bud, and Slim can look after us.”

“And who will be looking after the cattle?” Matt inquired in a deceptively mild tone.

“All of us.” Dori smirked. “Sarah is a good rider. Seth says I have the makings of a great cowhand. I can ride and rope and shoot. Please, Matt, take us.” She clasped her hands around his arm and met his gaze straight on.

Matt raised his hands in defeat. “Ganging up on me, are you?” He appealed to Katie, who sat nearby. “I suppose you want to go, too?”

“Me?” She gasped, eyes enormous. “Mercy, I never thought I’d be for doing such a thing. May I?”

Mischief glinted in Matt’s eyes. “Why not? I won’t have to tell Curly to look after you. Seems he’s taken over that job on his own.”

Katie turned red as a poppy. “Begging your pardon, sir, but you’re for being a bit of a spalpeen.” She rose and shook out her skirts.

“And what might that be?”

“An Irish rascal, as you well know.” She fled in the burst of laughter at Matt’s expense. He turned to Solita.

“How about you?”

The housekeeper stared at him as if he had gone loco. “No, Senor Mateo. I will stay here and run the ranch while you are away.”

Matt grunted. “Probably do a better job than Brett or me.” He stood and stretched. “All right. We’ll leave as soon as we can get ready.”

Dori could hardly wait. She pestered Solita, who was in charge of making lists to ensure enough provisions were purchased, until the housekeeper staged a Mexican mutiny. “Out of my kitchen or there will be no trip.”

Dori hugged her. “Sorry. It’s just that I’m so excited. I love the high country.”

Solita rolled her eyes. “I know.” She chuckled. “Does it also have something to do with the fact a certain Senor Anderson is going?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Dori challenged. Not willing to hear the answer, she spun out of the kitchen and up to her room in order to hide her hot cheeks. “Not that it does any good.” She sighed. “Solita has eyes like an eagle. She doesn’t miss a thing.”

It didn’t take eagle eyes for Dori to see the stranger who descended on the Diamond S one afternoon a few days before the time set for departure to the high county. She was pulling on her boots by her open window and watching the activity at the corral. Curly, Bud, and Slim sat perched on the top fence of the corral observing Seth break a colt and jeering good-naturedly. A rig from the Madera livery pulled up.

Dori leaned forward. A stranger climbed out. The driver set two valises on the ground, nodded to the trio on the fence, and headed back for town.

Who on earth
…
?

Dori felt hot blood flood her face. She blinked and looked at the stranger again. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a cry. No one on earth could be stranger than the person standing in her yard. The scarecrow-like man was clothed in someone’s cockeyed idea of western apparel: A purple-and-white-striped satin shirt. Kelly green pants. Fringed chaps. Spanking new high-heeled boots—and the widest Stetson ever seen in California. Twin pistols in a low-slung holster belt completed Stancel Worthington III’s outfit. A mail-order cowboy, if Dori had ever seen one.

After a moment’s hesitation, Stancel approached the fence and the staring cowboys, who were obviously struck dumb by the apparition. “I say. Where might I find Dolores Sterling?”

Curly, always the trio’s spokesman, was evidently the first to recover his wits. “Miss Sterling may be out riding.”

Dori suspected Curly bit his tongue to keep from adding, “Not that it’s any of your business” and blessed him for his evasion. Curly knew perfectly well where she was—he’d waved to her just a few minutes earlier.

The answer obviously didn’t faze “dear Stancel.”

“I am Stancel Worthington III, of England and Boston,” he announced in a haughty voice that made Dori long for one of her cowboys to flatten him. “I’m taking advantage of the summer break at the Brookside Finishing School for Young Ladies in Boston. I have come to tame Dolores, marry her, and take her back to civilization.”

He produced a handkerchief and delicately held it to his nose. “My good man, please be so kind as to show me to my accommodations—as far away from this dreadful odor as possible.”

T
he colt Seth had been breaking gave a final snort of independence, ended his fight against the inevitable, and stood quivering in the corral.

“Good boy.” Seth patted the horse’s neck, slapped him on the rump, and sent him flying. An explosion of mirth whipped Seth around. Curly, Bud, and Slim were draped over the fence howling and holding their sides. A stranger stood outside the fence glowering at the trio. Seth’s jaw dropped in disbelief. The colors of the man’s clothing far outshone even the outfits the guitar-strumming vaqueros wore on fiesta days.